Seasons

In Bombay, its hot all year round. Except for the monsoons.
I've lived in places that have distinct seasons. Four in Atlanta, Three in Hyderabad.
I love seasons. Its amazing and awe inspiring when I experience that exact moment - when one season changes into the next.
In Mumbai, I always know when I cross the L&T flyover on the way back from work.
In June, I can see the approaching clouds and high humidity content.
In November, I cross my arms as I feel the wind cooling down.
In April - I frown at the blast of heated air on my face.
In Hyderabad - It was my nightly walk back to SV1 that would have these clarity stuck moments.
Listening to the peacocks - I knew that spring was not too far away
Watching the fluttering leaves made me crave for the rains
A bright moon peeping across Dry trees heralded winter.
Many years ago, even though it only seemed like yesterday, I used to have a tree outside my window that was a steady no error indication of weather changes. Green buds in spring, Lush foliage in summer, falling branches in the hurricane season, Red leaves in Fall and Barren in winter. I used to sit at the exact same couch and watch the years tick.
Its great therapy if you ask me.
It makes me aware of the cyclical nature of all things.
Happiness, Saddness, Fear, Joy, Situations, Relationships, Journey's.
Long time ago, I was dealing with a crippling personal crisis and it just so happened that the hardest part of my self discovery was in the penultimate months of the year.
It was a brutally cold winter back then and seemed like it would get the better of me. But by early next year, I had the spring back in my step as the leaves turned colors again.
It was oddly touching. The cooincidence of it all.
I think 2009 was a tough year for me personally. I would probably rate it as one of the hardest years I've had since my early Atlanta days. But I remembered what I had learnt before.
That even my own battles would follow a seasonal pattern. When they were hot and out of control, pouring torrents and tears, turn dry and barren and ultimately wane into the autumn of their own timeline.
I just had to wait. For my time to come.
The truth is, that everything changes. Its all transient and gone before you blink.
Its upto me, to take personal responsibility for whatever situation I find myself in - happy, sad, confused, delighted, disgusted, at war or at peace.
Beacuse times change and bring out the worst in me and the best in me
Yet - what is written by the hands of God, remains and survives... and makes its presence felt.
Maybe thats why - I love the spring so much.
Because I know that I must cherish it. Deeply and dance around with flowers in my hair.
And when the the rain falls, Faith will be a pretty good unberella to have.
I am 31 years old, and my city is Mumbai.
Thank God I have enough.

Signs - 4 : Tea in Turkey

The perfect vacation rarely starts with the perfect plan.
But it almost always does, in theory atleast.
This month - I drew up the plan for the holiday of a lifetime - sun, sand, beaches and feta.
Until sovereign debt, EU insolvency, inflation and a nationwide strike happened.
Greece no longer seemed like the perfect vacation and I scrapped my much beloved plans.
My travel agent provided me several choices. And as I mulled over them - I couldnt find any that seemed as exciting and could not help but wonder for a little bit if it would be too much of a compromise going somewhere else.
Yet, I continued planning with earnest enthusiasm and kept the spirits going.
And then one day last week, I decided that I needed to read a book during my commute to work and picked up a copy of "Chicken Soup for the Tea Lovers soul"
I sat in a rickshaw on a jam packed street in Mumbai, a heady concoction of dust, smoke and humidty making its presence felt and read half inspiredly about the pleasures of tea drinking in during white christmases, on quaint european squares and with cream filled scones in the yorkshire rains.
And then - I started reading a fascinating story.
About a couple that went on a holiday. And how they had a car breakdown. And just when they had succumbed to the holiday mess monster, were offered a refresing cup of tea by complete strangers in a foreign town and how they continued to cherish that one unexpected travel memory.
And the biggest surprise of it all - was that the story was set in the one city which was my top 2nd choice for a vacation. Istanbul.
And I knew at once, that it was the right choice.
Maybe even better than the oroginal choice. Because - in its own way, through complicated travels, it had chosen me.
I made a promise to go there and drink my own cup of pekoe while savoring the blue mosque and some lovely conversation. And I was at peace.
The Universe has a strange way of making itself heard.
Now if only, I always had the time to listen.
I wouldnt stress as much, I wouldnt sweat as much. I'd just let go.
Then again - I wouldnt be me.
But sometimes, in my own ditzy way, I hear its song.
And I am blessed. And I find meaning.
Amen.

Bookish

I confess - I am a people watcher.
Especially when I travel.
Airport lounges, long bus rides, noisy cafeterias and crowded malls.
And when the subjects in question, are reading books. Its even more fascinating.
Let me tell you why.
Many years ago, I took the bus in a quiet southen school town called Gainesville from Oaks Mall to Student Drive. It had been a hard first few weeks in the US and much of my time and energy was spent on observing how different and difficult everything was. Everyone was...
It was the last bus and there werent too many people on it.
Right across from where I sat ..was a young girl. In her early 20's. Like yours truly.
But the similarities ended there I thought.
She had half pink and half black hair. At least 5 piercings on her face. And colored tatooes that peeped out on any visible body part.
Was dressed in black from head to toe with smudgy black eyes that would put cleopatra to shame. Some obtrusive metal music blared from her music player and she blew bubbles from her bubble gum to pass away the time.
She seemed to have a pretty well defined idea about who she was about, what accesories were part of her identity..and she looked like she was all together and yet falling apart at the same time.
Being only 2 weeks old in the US, I had never seen anyone like her before.
And I thought to myself predicatably so - how different are we.
Both in this bus, headed to the same stop.
Me - from a far away continent - trying desperately to make sense out of the new life I had chosen for myself - where I constantly had to repeat what I said and think twice before I did.
And then I saw it.
In her hand.
Like a beacon.
A copy of Richard Bach -Illusions.
My bag suddenly became very heavy. Beacuse nestled between the peanut butter sandwich - I had made myself earlier that day and forgotten to eat and my documents file - was my own copy of Illusions. ..purchased on the street outside churchgate station..many long months ago.
It brought a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.
Perspective and Awareness - when they attack together - are lethal and spare no mental boundaries whatsoever.
I felt wistful and hopeful...that in some way .. This girl ..and I had something in common.
And it made me feel optimistic - and want to try and find something in common with all the unknown things and people around me.
And I drank from that half full glass...many many times in the years to come and still do when I encounter something new and daunting.
But this post is not about that girl or my multitudious grapples with life.
This post is about technology.
And why I love it and hate it at the same time.
Rewind back to my story and imagine that it was happening today.
I would board the bus - sit down and look at the girl.
She would be blowing bubbles, reading Bach happily on her kindle ....or her Ipad
And I would not have my revelation.
Books. Technology will undoubtedly bring books and literature to millions. At a click's notice.
But it will take away these small things - that bring me so much joy.
Like looking at the serious stiff upper lip gentelman .. reading a PG Wodehouse at the airport...
or a conservative indian aunty ..reading some raunchy mills and boons type ... or a flaky shabby teenager absorbed in shakespeare ...or many many people at the same airport lounge reading The Lost symbol ..a day after its release...
Its such a small thing... I know ...
But somethings are better the old fashioned way.
Like wine in glass bottles with corkscrews.
And Books in yellowing sleeves with dog eared pages that you inscribe and give to your loved ones and hold close to your hearts tightly when you are a nameless person in the waiting room of life.