This trip was almost due. Ten years of continuous stay, this life of a techie needed a move. Constraints will be there, priorities need to come at some point … if not at the onset.
Packing will be troublesome, so will be the journey. From a house that was marked ‘owned’ to be someone’s tenant, it won’t be easy. A new location, new culture, may be newer adventures … lots of them in store for us.
Dad’s not moving … may be he won’t. His social life, fondness for familiar fellows will keep him hooked to hometown
But I need to move. This city looks saturated, or may be the recession, as jobs don’t come easy. There are political disturbances. Opportunities, they are not what my city is now known for.
A new setup to start from scratch, that makes my body go numb. A new beginning is what is so allergic, changes are tricky. May be I waited too long to move … may be I should have moved earlier. Deeper roots don’t detach easily.
Bangalore or Pune? Time will tell …
For this time, I am getting myself prepared. To me, the sole focus is my work. They say one needs to stay employed and keep growing. I am no stranger to problems, and they will need to be looked into.
Trying to look forward now. The time has come for me to relocate. Lots of soul-searching, numerous discussions … and may be, some more.
Need to move now … or otherwise, it may be too late for me.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
A Messenger on the Sleigh
I lay still … eyes closed enjoying the morning chill. The new mattress on my queen-sized bed appears so cozy that I feel like never waking up. Soft effect of the foam, the plush sheet that covers it and the cute warmth of the comforter … all merges into the dawn of the thirty first.
From the window glasses, I could see smaller flakes … falling as they softly do, from the heavens. This is the dream of the white New Year’s Eve … as I draw the comforter close to my face.
Every winter, during the dawn of the thirty-first of December, I feel there’s a happy dream. A lovely hangover like it has never felt before.
Guess he comes in my dreams … riding his deer-sleigh!
Some romanticism is forever, and it doesn’t always require two to tango … the dream of the old man in red, riding the sleigh, remains visible. With a misty morning waiting me and a hot cup, bells from the reindeer’s neck remain jingling for long.
The mind just doesn’t get up. The body remains wrapped in the warmth of the comforter. And this idle mind keeps romancing the snow capped route with the sleigh!
Flakes fall softly on the window glass, turning into tiny globules of water and drips down. Nothing seems softer than this, not even the quietest fall of leaves. Tiny traces of white shine amidst the green of the small garden around my house.
My mood, there’s none to disturb. Wrapping the comforter around, I walk outside. Just to take that look. The small lane that leads to the neighbourhood winds away a lonelier soul. A chance look towards the letter box reveals it’s half open.
With carefully covered hands, I reach out for the depths of the letter box. A colourful envelope comes out.
In these days of electronic mail, the coloured envelope is a gift indeed. I open it, neatly tearing the border as I walk back inside.
Oh my! She has sent me a New Year’s wish. The warmth of the wrap and the delight of the lines that she has scribbled, my heart warms up. My lonely soul gets the spirit wrapped with those coloured images from the wishes.
Long time no see. Guess she looks at me like this every year. And the old man, the messenger, heeds her request … each year … every year.
Happy New Year … a happy new year indeed!
From the window glasses, I could see smaller flakes … falling as they softly do, from the heavens. This is the dream of the white New Year’s Eve … as I draw the comforter close to my face.
Every winter, during the dawn of the thirty-first of December, I feel there’s a happy dream. A lovely hangover like it has never felt before.
Guess he comes in my dreams … riding his deer-sleigh!
Some romanticism is forever, and it doesn’t always require two to tango … the dream of the old man in red, riding the sleigh, remains visible. With a misty morning waiting me and a hot cup, bells from the reindeer’s neck remain jingling for long.
The mind just doesn’t get up. The body remains wrapped in the warmth of the comforter. And this idle mind keeps romancing the snow capped route with the sleigh!
Flakes fall softly on the window glass, turning into tiny globules of water and drips down. Nothing seems softer than this, not even the quietest fall of leaves. Tiny traces of white shine amidst the green of the small garden around my house.
My mood, there’s none to disturb. Wrapping the comforter around, I walk outside. Just to take that look. The small lane that leads to the neighbourhood winds away a lonelier soul. A chance look towards the letter box reveals it’s half open.
With carefully covered hands, I reach out for the depths of the letter box. A colourful envelope comes out.
In these days of electronic mail, the coloured envelope is a gift indeed. I open it, neatly tearing the border as I walk back inside.
Oh my! She has sent me a New Year’s wish. The warmth of the wrap and the delight of the lines that she has scribbled, my heart warms up. My lonely soul gets the spirit wrapped with those coloured images from the wishes.
Long time no see. Guess she looks at me like this every year. And the old man, the messenger, heeds her request … each year … every year.
Happy New Year … a happy new year indeed!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Gossips sweet and sour
Winters are bit chillier these days… but many residents from my city are too cautious. The December chill makes them move in neck-high pullovers or warm mufflers wrapped around their much-hyped vocal areas. Or as a fashion statement, may be – the pink cardigan or the puffy sweater from areas like Kashmir or Ludhiana.
From bus stops to coffee shops, most prefer a huddled conversation. More likely is a man-woman combination, often engrossed in the choicest discussion to keep their minds and bodies warm.
Men and women are all covered.
During my stay in US, there was a colleague who had this ‘manly’ habit of drooling on pretty faces and petite female bodies. He was in the billing department. He said he loved ‘working with figures’. But, come winter, he went morose. He cribbed about bodies getting covered from head to toe … fur replacing skin, and woolens covering more of the ‘attractive areas’.
This rarely pleases a hot-bodied man!
Substitute that with a cozy talk, winter seems welcome. Sitting inside the Barista or a CCD, one can work wonders speculating about fellow humans. Personal, sensational and intimate details of lives fall easy prey to speculation and make for some spicy stuff to go with the cup.
No sweat, no exhaustion of summers. Guess gossip time is around the corner.
I am a bad gossipmonger, not because it’s ‘unfair’. I fail to cook stories about others, may be it is not my cup of tea. But, I love to hear tales. Juicy, frivolous and naughty ones that attempts to tear apart a guarded individual it is directed at.
Breaking free from the afternoon naps, I recall aunts and cousins rejoice in winter discussing spicier tit-bits about celebrities, modern (and progressive) relatives or about cases of free-minded neighbours. Most may be predictive, yet the pleasure of dissecting private lives and deriving an enchanting gratification in chatting could be worthy of a chilly afternoon.
Back seats of buses seem no different. Young and old, crossing all barriers would be blabbering mouthfuls of peppery details. The listener can be immediately identified. Their eyes wide open amidst the chill … and all ears to the story despite the cacophony of sound in a frenzied milieu of noisy activities.
One of the latest I overheard the other day was between two co-passengers sitting cozy inside the bus. The subject is a married guy at work who’s ‘handsome’. And there is a lady, the one who wants to make it big. This pair seems to be working late too often. The lady in the bus, covered head-to-waist with her shawl, confides to her male friend (with a muffler around his head) of something going between these two co-workers. She has heard people say that they leave work pretty late. Some are even pointing at a fling developing with all ingredients of an adulterous flow of passion.
I am all ears, but they don’t notice me eavesdropping on their conversation. With due respect to the actors from the conversation, I also find the couple in the bus cooking up a spicy chemistry in their curious tones.
We don’t always need champion golfers. There are enough tigers in our woods catching prey day in and out!
Misty forests of life, chilly days are definitely godsend for some among us.
From bus stops to coffee shops, most prefer a huddled conversation. More likely is a man-woman combination, often engrossed in the choicest discussion to keep their minds and bodies warm.
Men and women are all covered.
During my stay in US, there was a colleague who had this ‘manly’ habit of drooling on pretty faces and petite female bodies. He was in the billing department. He said he loved ‘working with figures’. But, come winter, he went morose. He cribbed about bodies getting covered from head to toe … fur replacing skin, and woolens covering more of the ‘attractive areas’.
This rarely pleases a hot-bodied man!
Substitute that with a cozy talk, winter seems welcome. Sitting inside the Barista or a CCD, one can work wonders speculating about fellow humans. Personal, sensational and intimate details of lives fall easy prey to speculation and make for some spicy stuff to go with the cup.
No sweat, no exhaustion of summers. Guess gossip time is around the corner.
I am a bad gossipmonger, not because it’s ‘unfair’. I fail to cook stories about others, may be it is not my cup of tea. But, I love to hear tales. Juicy, frivolous and naughty ones that attempts to tear apart a guarded individual it is directed at.
Breaking free from the afternoon naps, I recall aunts and cousins rejoice in winter discussing spicier tit-bits about celebrities, modern (and progressive) relatives or about cases of free-minded neighbours. Most may be predictive, yet the pleasure of dissecting private lives and deriving an enchanting gratification in chatting could be worthy of a chilly afternoon.
Back seats of buses seem no different. Young and old, crossing all barriers would be blabbering mouthfuls of peppery details. The listener can be immediately identified. Their eyes wide open amidst the chill … and all ears to the story despite the cacophony of sound in a frenzied milieu of noisy activities.
One of the latest I overheard the other day was between two co-passengers sitting cozy inside the bus. The subject is a married guy at work who’s ‘handsome’. And there is a lady, the one who wants to make it big. This pair seems to be working late too often. The lady in the bus, covered head-to-waist with her shawl, confides to her male friend (with a muffler around his head) of something going between these two co-workers. She has heard people say that they leave work pretty late. Some are even pointing at a fling developing with all ingredients of an adulterous flow of passion.
I am all ears, but they don’t notice me eavesdropping on their conversation. With due respect to the actors from the conversation, I also find the couple in the bus cooking up a spicy chemistry in their curious tones.
We don’t always need champion golfers. There are enough tigers in our woods catching prey day in and out!
Misty forests of life, chilly days are definitely godsend for some among us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)