Life @bcc

 

Ah, youth! As I write this piece, my latest favourite plays over my little Bluetooth speaker. This leads me to reflect upon these soft tendrils of music that communicate so much yet so subtly.

Even from childhood, first there were the lullabies, singing which our parents gently lulled us into sleep, then the poems, even the mathematical tables were part music.

Then there’s the cadence of nature. The pitter-patter of season’s first raindrops on the dusty windowsill, the gentle cooing of the pigeons, the early morning racket of the birds, the thundering of the waterfall and the gentle bubbling of a fresh water spring, the rustling of the green leaves overhead and the dry leaves crackling underfoot.

Music has a strange nature. A powerful tool, it communicates feelings stronger than words can. And it is sound that makes memories indelible. The sound of someone's trinkets early in the morning, the sound of the doodhwalla's cycle bringing a singing merry man, the sound of the radio blaring with the early morning prasar bharti, the sound of the lunchboxes being prepared by caring mommies and daddies, early morning background sounds that communicate normalcy, whose absence evokes a strange feeling of missing something yet being unable to place what it is.

A mutual love for a song is like a soul connection. The mutual enjoyment of something as subtle as music conveys a bond deeper than just the periphery.

And it is with some sounds that feelings are associated. The sound of the school bell still evokes that exhilaration of the classes being over, a loved one's voice, hearing which reassures the heart.

And when talking of sound, how can we not say anything about silence. The silence that proceeds a big moment, the awkward silence of forced conversations, the comfortable silence of beautiful company, the silence that accompanies the dawn, the pause before an answer, for often that one pause says more than the answer does, the silence of solitude, the most beautiful of all.

There’s a certain music to all of us too. The way you speak is music in itself, the way you express, the way you choose to live your life is the music that best expresses you. For each one of us is a beautiful song sung out to the world. Only the ones who truly love us understand and appreciate our music. But there’s no need to change your own unique song to be understood by all. The right people will certainly be able to hear you for YOU. For,

“You gotta make your own kind of music

Sing your own special song

Make your own kind of music

Even if nobody else sings along.”

An Unstoppable New You

As we step into the new year, there’s one thing I wanted to say. Hold on.

Hold on to your persona, what’s ok for you, what’s not. Don’t change your boundaries just because the people around demand it. Don’t change your definition of normal even if it universally not is. Don’t change yourself just because the people around don’t have the sense to appreciate your unique brilliance.

Hold on to your dreams demanding though they may be. Hold on to your morals and ideals far-fetched though they may seem.

And, most importantly. Hold on to the people you love and who love you back. Who inspire you to push your limits. Who are with you in your random, unimportant lows. Who are ready to hold your hand and walk silently by your side if that’s all you need.

Here’s to a powerful and self-satisfying start to the new year, a year in which we choose thoughts and feelings aligned with our true nature of peace, love and happiness, a year in which we have our state of mind on top, on the list of perfections we seek. Because, I am my topmost priority.

I’d like to end with a song, a song which can define your persona in the new year. Just have one belief….

“ I’m unstoppable, I’m a Porsche with no brakes.

   I’m invincible, yeah, I win every single game.

   I’m so powerful, I don’t need batteries to play.

   I’m so confident, yeah, I’m unstoppable today.”

Wish you all a very powerful and Happy New Year!!

Christmas Nostalgia

Corridors ringing with carol rehearsals, auditions for the Christmas play going on in full swing, the holy hut being set up, and the entire building decorated inside out with all things festive. This was the atmosphere that greeted us this time of the year in my second home, my school.

Listening to Rhianne’s “Somewhere Only We Know”, I was reminded indubitably of my school, the place I know every single detail of, my place of peace, power and love for the past fourteen years.

And this Christmas, yes, is the first I am spending away from it.

Its something about Christmas, all due to being a faithful convent student, that just excites me up so much! The cheer of having freshly baked Christmas plum cakes, of dancing to “Christmas Time, Mistletoe and Wine”, of opening those little, cute gifts from family and friends, and of watching the quintessential “Home Alone” curled up on the living room couch while having hot chocolate. Incomparable fleeting moments of joy, all there to light the warmth within, when there’s a chill in the weather all around.

And, don’t get me started on Christmas trees! Those tall, coniferous, towers of joy all laden with bright red and golden tinsels, decked up with Christmas baubles and encircled in scintillating fairy lights convey the very crux of the Christmas spirit!

Although, I’ve spent almost all my life trying to figure out how to sing Christmas carols (and, am still not good at it), I really do enjoy listening to them. The crescendos, the modulations, the chorus, the entire experience of attending the carols is just so electrifying!

The most exciting part for us, back then, used to be when we were asked to decorate our classrooms a week before Christmas. Finally given a free hand at decor, we kids used to go mad and created everything remotely connected to Christmas. There used be bright red Christmas socks, Christmas trees, Santa Claus, snowmen, all in all shapes and sizes, and cotton, loads of cotton, our ‘fake snow’, as we used to call it then!

So finally, this year, when they could’t keep me anymore (I’ve completed my 12th class), I’m spending the Christmas away from my second home. In desperation, I’ve been trying to visit churches, watching Christmas movies, and reading Christmas themed books, all so I don’t (desperately) miss my school. But, as you’ve already read, maybe I’m not really succeeding at it. No worries, we’ll keep on trying!!

“From darkness lead me unto light” – the motto I grew up listening to, sums up what Christmas and other festivities try to convey. There will always be the darkness of despair, rejection and loss of love. But it is with love, joy and hope that light can truly be found. For, as Dumbledore said,

 “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times,

   If one only remembers to turn on the light”.

Merry Christmas!!

and yes, of course,

Happy Reading!!

 

Readaholics' Paradise!

 

“We’ll take you to the bookstore, then!”-the argument at which I invariably melted, this was the ultimate no-fail bargain me and my parents always settled down to for a task I didn’t feel like taking up but which was good for me. And, the bargain’s still on! The only difference being, now the bargain is between me, and well, me. For now, I have taken charge of ensuring almost all my wellbeings (or so I believe).

There’s a certain serene, holy feeling that bookstores have. From a busy, justling market, enter a bookstore and a certain calm descends over you. Here and there, you find fellow bookworms all lost in a world of their own whether while rummaging for a book, just admiring some, or reading the brief on the back cover. Everyone has a dreamy look somehow. Physically present but engrossed in a memory- perhaps of a book they’ve enjoyed, some lines running over their mind, a conversation about a book, a well sparked style of an author they can’t stop admiring. It’s just beautiful!

Even random socializing gets just so easy! For an ambivert (lemme be with my books please!), there’s no other place where I can approach a complete stranger without feeling awkward. In a bookstore, conversations just flow! And when you discover a common favourite, the click is instant! ‘From my mind to yours, we can even go on for hours’ (Bad poetry, I know).

Then there’s the beautiful, rustic biblosmia, the earthy smell of old books. The crackle of the new page. The playing with the fonts. And, of course, the way the covers are designed, with their embossings and different textures. So with a book, you’re up for an experience that evokes all your senses! And we sure love it!

Even after so many years, the feeling I instantly have upon entering a bookstore (any kind, honestly!) is one of pure wonder and sheer ecstacy. So many books stacked on one another going on to high piles, books of all kinds, of all possible writers and genres, each holding a wonderful story within itself, with all their alluring covers and then, there’s the quintessential ladder. For, what’s a bookstore without a ladder! It all feels like a treasure island!

And then there’s the treasure too! Apart from bestsellers and popular books, with the right eye and patience, you can find the real, special treasures! Books long out of print, omnibuses that publishing houses have shelved, lost pieces and even vintage old copies! Ahhh!!

Now that you’ve seen me (rather read me) rant about my pehla pyaar, may you, dear reader, find yourself going to amazing places (bookstores), meet wonderful people (readaholics) and be very prosperous (have your own personal library)! Now, allow me to take your leave, as I leave you to you and your kitabein!!

Happy reading!

Life Lessons Served in a Bhel-Puri!

 

There stands Kishore, a bhel-puri seller in his late 50s. Standing with his portable cute little bhel-puri stand, Kishore has just arrived in a busy hustling market, full of contenders. But here, he calmly stands, with a big smile on his face, as his eyes look out for potential customers.

 

A customer comes, Kishore deftly prepares his order, his big smile never leaving his face. Seeing this man, so pleased and contented with his life, has made me rather curious.

As I walk up to him, his smiling face turns to me. I ask for a serving of his bhel-puri.

As he starts making it, I observe standing by. He performs each step in a fun, rather dramatic way, almost as if he has been asked to make a display of his cooking prowess in front of each of his customer. 

He works precisely through the entire process, not moving further until he feels satisfied.

 

First goes in some puffed rice, then some roasted chickpeas, crispy green peas, some crunchy potato chips and some roasted peanuts. For freshness, Kishore tops this up with chopped onions, tomatoes and boiled potatoes. Then there go in lots of fresh green and red chutneys. A lemon is then cut (after tossing it in the air), and generously squeezed with great zeal. This entire mixture, is then enthusiastically shaken up, tossed up multiple times and transferred to a large leaf platter. To perk it up, freshly chopped coriander leaves are added for beauty and fragrance. The entire process is conducted so passionately, I find it almost funny, but at the same time, am filled with admiration towards this simple man doing his simple job with so much of vigour and energy.

 

As he presents me my plate, I excitedly scoop out a spoonful, and the flavour outburst is genuine! Just the right amount of sweet, salty, tangy and spicy, make up to what is a brilliantly simple but passionately done work. When you love the work you do, the lovingly done work is simply marvellous!

 

And thus, this trip to the market has proved to be a lesson in workplace positivity.

 

Doing everything as if you are doing it for the first time, enjoying it fully. By thinking of himself as this big celebrity chef on the world stage, sprucing up this brilliant dish, Kishore has totally changed the game!

 

As I think of myself, going through my college works with the same attitude of I-have-to finish-this-task, I actually make them all feel like tasks, meant to be completed, but not enjoyed. I spend the entire week going through these ‘tasks’, waiting for the weekend to actually do something more enjoyable. But then, we all know how time flies over the weekend. So is every week spent waiting for the weekend, and the weekend just flies!

Is this kind of existence actually going to work out for me? No. So, now, having identified the problem, I’ll have to work towards the solution. Sprucing up each of my works, making them feel less like ‘tasks’ and more like ‘works’ I have decided to put myself in. And, how am I actually going to do this? I actually don’t know for now. But, I hope to work this out. And, we can always come to Kishore, for a plate of deliciously done bhel-puri, and some inspiration too, I guess!!

 

 

 

 

Bud-dy

 Living in the same place since birth does come with its benefits. You don’t need to look for memories scattered all over, they find you instead. And friends! Your friends too stay with you, until you or they decide to leave.

But my friend, I knew, would never leave. My study partner, my playmate, my good-morning wisher and my agony aunt – the one to whom I could always turn to, always to find it strong and reassuring beside me. This is what my Ashoka means to me.

It was not as if we were friends right from the start. I was always a lost-in–my-own world kind of kid and though I always was an appreciater of nature, I never really noticed this pretty tree outside my balcony waving in friendship.

As I grew up reading Ruskin Bond and Mayank Austen Soofi (a.k.a The Delhi Walla) I instinctively learnt to observe and appreciate my surroundings, most importantly the natural beauty I was surrounded with.

It was then that I befriended the Ashoka tree. Though over the next few years, I was to befriend many more trees, the Jamuna, the Frangipani, the Neem, and the Peepul, but the Ashoka was always to remain someone special.

Standing calm and poised with its pretty leaves fluttering in the breeze, creating their own palette of green from its lightest to its deepest hue, it stands as a strong but pretty guard. My study table window opened out to the Ashoka and there I used to sit for hours, memorizing and repeating out to it, trying to work what the content in my books really meant, pausing for a chat with it when I got too bored,  wondering my doubts aloud to it, sometimes it answered them too, though I really don’t know how!

A bubble of life in itself, my Ashoka houses a cuckoo, a pair of mynahs and countless pigeons and squirrels. Sometimes, at night, it reminds me of a Christmas tree.

So, in times of joy and distress, I just need to peep out of my window to find my Ashoka, standing reassuring and tall. And if it isn’t physically possible to always do so, well, I can always close my eyes.

 

Unleashing Memories

 Photographs are not mere captures of moments of our past,

They are moments enlivened by memories that thrive as long as we last.

After rummaging in my grandparents' ancient, dusty attic for almost three-quarters of an hour, I emerged with a victorious smile, blinking in the sudden light in the sunny, fragrant veranda of my grandparent’s large ancestral home.

With my hair dishevelled, dusty face and fingers, and almost untucked shirt, I must have been a scruffy sight but the lightness pervading my heart let me see beyond all of this. Thumping on our spacious swinging bench under my favourite mango tree and placing my rather heavy object of search on my lap, I began to go eagerly through it. My grandparents’ album! Replete with memories that allowed me to see beyond the wrinkles of their old age, as doting angels determined to ensure my joy. My chance to see them fresh and young, as individual personas before they were bound by responsibilities.

I had hardly started when my grandparents arrived on the veranda searching for me. Poor souls, they had been anxiously searching the entire house noticing the sudden quietness, wondering what had happened that had quietened me!

On seeing me with their album, the joy on their faces was unparalleled.

Pulling them both to my side, I began flipping through the album. Here was my grandpa standing with his gully football team, here looking up at me with all the confidence in the world was my grandma posing on her convocation day, photos of my newly married grandparents, how young they looked!

Some photographs brought forth anecdotes, some inspired shy smiles and some, peals of laughter. It was great to see my grandparents who sat together only to disagree on the most trivial of things, suddenly chatting so animatedly, remembering the days of their youth, the days when they too, could be carefree.

This little incident led to me realising the joy of small things, the joy of those little diversions, which, in a seemingly monotonous routine can awaken us to the joy that comes in living, not just by continually aspiring, but also by pausing for a moment to look back at the moments well spent and cherished with the people we own, the ones for whom we can proudly say,“That person is mine!”

                             ******

Brought something new for you this time! For a long time, I’ve been thinking of bringing something different for my readers, and this piece seems to be the best thing to take the first step towards a new journey. From now on, I, your blogger, shall be bringing forth not just book reviews, but also different pieces that I keep writing. Hope you’ll keep showering this new endeavour with the same love you’ve always given to my book reviews, and maybe even more!

Love,

A Readaholic’s Panorama.