All posts by AdiC

Writing is the passion... Thoughts arise, words flow and the excitement never subsides!

Hope.

9957b000369ac1ffb322358520ba4e79-822852273.jpg

What keeps you going on the less happy days? What keeps you from letting one night turn into yet another morning? What pushes you to breathe one more time even though it pains every time? The belief in God – whatever your religion may be, wherever your faith lies? Or is it destiny? Or karma – that you will get what you give around. Or are you one of those who believe in the power of humans and the ability to conquer the world – the rising supporters of humanism?

Me? For me, hope keeps me going – the hope that one of these days, I’ll figure myself out again. Someday the sun will be brighter, the world more colorful and the day happier. The hope that this too shall pass and l will survive it like I have all these years. Hope. It’s important not to lose hope.

Graciously yours!

Advertisements

Pride.

Often times, I have heard the phrase ‘heart swelled with pride’ but in a long, long time, this has been a first for me. I feel full – full of pride and a truckload of tears which if they were to fall out of my eyes would make the rainbow look dull in comparison! That is how happy I am as I see you moving closer to your dream. I saw you struggle but you never gave up – maybe you did at times, but I was lucky to be around and keep you steady. I saw you smile through the worst nightmares and yet wake up the next day with enthusiasm. I saw you believe in me when both of us didn’t believe in ourselves. Maybe the faith in life is what paid off. Karma has secrets we don’t really know about. Karma is not always a bitch. Bad things happen, but so do good things. I know you don’t ask for much but life has its’ way of giving you what you deserve, and not just what you ask for. I wish you could see the goosebumps lining my arms right now and the headiness of such happiness. Who wants to get high when life can give you such shots?

People change, lives change but times change too! Your time, it seems, is here A!

tumblr_oo4p6luss51steui8o1_500

Graciously Yours! ❤

Mugger.

He heaved deep breaths, silently. The room was lit up and the windows closed. How do I know this, he thought. He re-traced the conclusions his brain had arrived at. He couldn’t turn around but the steel mug placed in front of him reflected a light source, looked like a bulb. If he tilted his head slightly, he could see the outline of a bulb, yes. And the closed windows? The air was still and stale. He could feel the dampness of stale breath in the stillness of the room. Even his closed eyes could figure it out. His mouth was dry and his hands numb. As he sat with his head hung, fatigue trudged upon him. A door creaked open in the distance, heavy footsteps lining the carpeted floor, now an empty commercial space. He could see the reflection of a man in the mug in front of him. And that was the last thing he saw before a bag was pulled over his face.

dirty-metal-burn-marks-scratch-260nw-1055141264

Graciously Yours!

Launching LOI!

Letters of India

A few weeks ago, I discussed with some of you here on the blog that you’d still love to write letters and be pen pals. So here we are in the guise of LETTERS OF INDIA.

Currently, it is being spearheaded by three crazy and opinionated women:

Uno. A Chartered Accountant who’d rather write over crunching numbers and can’t get awed enough of quantum physics;
Dos. An English honours graduate who’s handling social media accounts, deliveries and a husband with a twin; and
Tres. A would-be lawyer who does, well, would-be lawyerish things – bickering, doodling, procrastinating and sometimes studying.

We want to be pen pals with you! And we hope you do too.

And we’re finally launching it! Please fill out the form and sign up. We hope to write to you soon. 🙂

Graciously Yours!

 

Plunged into darkness.

Sudipto was driving home late one night – later than usual, at least. The clock was ticking closer to welcoming the new day. The roads, broad and empty of the never-ending stream of cars, lit with street lamps on both sides, white and blue fairy lights trailing the silver poles. There were no buildings, no civilisation laying home along this road – only roads, statues and a wide, green patch in the middle of the city, fondly called the city’s lungs. He pushed the clutch and rammed the car into the fourth gear as he approached Red Road. Parts of his twelve-year-old ambassador creaked at the engine speed falling a decade or so short of a ton. He could never drive at such speeds with a passenger at the back – they called it rash driving – but this was when he enjoyed his bread earning life choice. It was always the bus and taxi drivers who drove rashly, never the rule admonishing pedestrian or the swerving bikers and honking and overtaking private cars.

He took the circuitous path home through Red Road, choosing to enjoy the wind rather than hurrying to park the taxi in the garage. The window on his side was already open, so he leaned to the left to roll down the passenger window too. The wind rushed into the car from both sides, driving out the smells of the day – the food, the sweat, the leather. He threw open a few more buttons of his front open shirt, unzipping his pants. The sudden touch of air on his sweat-caked skin made him shiver, a rarity in the humid city.

The next right would take him towards home. As he approached the turn, he still honked on the deserted road out of practised caution. The next moment he got distracted by someone waving out from the extreme left side of the road – he saw it out of the corner of his eye. He had slowed down for the turn but his head was now craned towards the left to see if he could help the person. He saw glimpses of white and then nothing more. Just like that, there was no one there anymore. He blinked his eyes rapidly, not sure if he was hallucinating before or now. His hands turning the wheel right and legs controlling the speed, he’d made the turn and sharply looked right to check again towards where he’d seen the hapless soul but nothing anymore. He’d heard stories of hauntings before but had never believed in them. He wasn’t afraid. He dismissed the incident and looked ahead to find the lane plunged in darkness. As if on cue with his sight on the road, the car’s headlights flickered off and the engine sputtered to a stop. Now he was afraid.

amman-dark

Graciously Yours!

Let’s Post!

The only times I stepped into Post Offices was to buy postcards and stamps for keepsakes – be it the dusty but spacious one in Port Blair where on the wall was put up the expected days to deliver posts all across the mainland of India or the small house up a steep flight of wooden stairs in Landour, marked as a Post Office where a family of three resided and all things post office were neatly stuffed in a bag. But I have not been to a Post Office to post a letter in more than two decades of my existence in India. And how many of my generation have really? In all likelihood, the only letters we’ve written were in school as part of the curriculum or to relationship managers in banks and cover letters as part of our search for jobs.

Letter Writing.jpg

I want to frequent my trips to the Post Office because I am craving to write letters and find myself some penpals! I’m sending an open invitation to everyone reading this – come let’s write letters to each other. I’d love to know how you spend your day, what you read, what holds your interest, what irks you, how cold is the ice in your country, what your culture finds appropriate. I’m looking for inspiration, more than glad to provide motivation and excited to ignite my creative spirits! Also, use my wrist a little more to write – the handwriting to going to dogs! So are you ready to write a few letters? Because I surely am!

For international contributors, I understand if you’d rather send emails, taking into account the cost impact – but you have to, you just have to, attach a handwritten note or a sketch or doodle as part of the email.

Reshare post! And leave a comment if you’re interested. ❤

Much love,

Graciously Yours!

Of trails and travails.

Every once in a while, the city closes in upon you and you choose to run after the sereneness of the outskirts, the hill stations, the backwaters, the mountains, don’t you? I almost managed to do the same. I say managed because we had failed to acknowledge how many more would also be looking for sereneness there! I visited Dehradun and Mussoorie recently, and if you think this post is about how pretty the landscape is and quiet the hills are, you couldn’t be more wrong.

Ruskin Bond’s books were my mates while growing up and the writer is famed for basing his stories around these few towns in Uttarakhand. I was obviously excited about the trip on that account too – to find myself facing those shops, houses, to walk in the trails of woods and the warmth of the people he’s written about. But I’d forgotten about the two big words – commercialisation and globalisation. With the ease of access to the towns, better roads and influx of tourists, Dehradun no longer is the regular hill station – there’s nothing hilly about it, all flat land and roads marked by McDonald’s and Bengali sweet shops, malls and Park Avenue stores. We picked up drinks from a Tibetan township thinking it’s a concoction they’d brewed at their place only to find it spread all across shops later on. So much for trying to experience something local. Well, at least, I sort of learnt to use chopsticks from one of the diner owners in the Tibetan township. Sort of.

Mussoorie has a dual face though! It’s got the ups and downs of a hill station, the roads which allow vehicles but has no space to fit two of them side by side, a mall road – typical of hill stations, which seemed commercially successful and now stretches for almost 3 km with people flocking it all times, even as late as 10:30 pm at night. The mall road boasts of eateries, brands, shops selling insignia for surrounding hill stations to be carried back as mementos of the visit and countless shops selling the same clothes! But if you take a diversion from the mall road, you’ll find the cobbled roads intact, men and women silently going about their lives, no tourists in sight and the clamour of the mall road light years away! The peace, though short-lived, I was hoping for. I also found the quaint coffee shops that take you back 50 years ago at Landour, where Bond is supposed to reside currently. On further observation, I realise the town was being redecorated to capture the old world charm by Dharma Productions for a film. Well, at least this commercialisation is pleasant to the eye!

Oh and don’t even get me started on the waterfalls! They’re no longer natural. They’ve been cemented and structured to flow the way man wants them to, with water rides, fun activities, shops, tea stalls, changing rooms set close to the rock bed of the fall. Ain’t saying it’s bad, au contraire, it’s brilliant for the people who live there. It’s just not what Ruskin Bond had written about. And no longer the spot for a getaway for me.

I came away from the hills renewed, of course, but disappointed with what we had done to places remote and almost preserved naturally till a few years ago. The human touch, we should call it.

wp-1526206648651-553381379.jpg
While trekking in Mussoorie – away from Mall Road. The irony is that the trail led us to shops at the top of the trail.
wp-1526206649558-492251550.jpg
Dharma Productions crew at work.
wp-1526206554634-842055162.jpg
Yes, that’s a waterfall. It ain’t a swimming pool.
Graciously Yours!

Forever?

I’d lie if I said you had me at hello, but once you had my attention, dear fellow, there was no looking back. I waited for you all day long and it was only by the night that you came – in my dreams. I stuttered when I spoke to you, flushed when I spoke of you. I’d be surprised if you even gave any second thoughts to my presence while you were the only presence that persisted in mine. Soon, you walked away out of my life, I flailed at your memories to keep you on my mind until someone else had me at hello. I say love. Others, infatuation.

I ask – is love only meant to be forever?

Graciously Yours!

Over to AI.

It’s been a rigorous few weeks at work, interspersed with a short vacation and a family get together, but rigorous, nevertheless. In fact, if you’ve ever paid attention, working right after a vacation seems harder than it really is. And as it happens to me, under pressure is when my mind tries to break away into the boundaries beyond to provide spurts of relief in the form of humour or deep thinking.

The thoughts tinkered this time were of this sort :

31167108_2135749196683579_2021550789547961210_n

So what if AI really took over? Experts in the field of guesstimating our future in terms of this fast-changing internet landscape say almost 50% jobs will be rendered futile and obsolete in another 7 years. So what do we do when AI takes over our jobs? There’ll be no 9 hour day jobs, no night shifts, no overtime, so much time to kill while we’re not killing for money.

A friend and I came up with a model where all you have to do is keep yourselves healthy and fit, eating and working out your way through life, getting paid by bots for doing a workout well and of course, being tracked by bots wherever you go, whatever you do, whenever it suits them, which is also what we’re already moving towards with the incessant app permissions we’re doling out. That’ll also mean we get to give time to our passions, enjoy our hobbies, in the current times labelled a luxury! Utopian plan, of course, but a girl can always hope. Heck, according to him, we’ll even have bots running hospitals for themselves! Grasping that will, however, take me a bit of time.

While you wrap your head around the plan we came up with, the video link I am sharing with you here will help broaden your mind and prepare you for a HUGE disruption in life as we know it :

How we’ll earn money in a future without jobs?

Oh and another interesting fact – I didn’t look up this video link. It was in my YouTube suggestions ‘coincidentally’ on the same day when I discussed AI takeovers and posted about them online. I see what the bots are doing but I am still a step ahead of you, you bots. Because I think. And you’re still learning to. So long!

Graciously Yours!

Writing.

You’d think the words come easy – that to write was second nature. You set deadlines, timelines, daily word challenges, look up picture prompts only to make sure the words keep flowing. You’re afraid that if you stop writing, you won’t be able to start again. You’re also afraid that if you keep at it, soon your life, your thoughts, your fears, your dreams will all be on paper to read. Nothing will remain sacred, nothing will remain your own. The tension remains – to do or not to do. It’s an addiction you want to lose to. You look into the eyes of the people who read your words and you see them contemplating how much of what you’ve written is fiction. You are afraid they’ll see you for what you really are. And on other days they take you to be what you’re not.

You’re only the medium for the ink to make sense on the paper. What do you do?

Image result for writing ink pens

Graciously Yours!