Hols. Sleep. Bliss.

I feel like I need to write. There is this complusive sort of tingling in my fingers which makes me want to write about something, anything. But I'm not quite sure what I want to write about either, so I'm just going to ramble a bit about the hols, what I've been doing etc. etc.

So. Hols. Hm. Well I've pretty much done nothing. And by nothing I mean nothing which can be remotely called productive. I've slept and slept like a log for hours at an end, eaten home food and watched random stuff. Met a couple of people in between but pretty much been in hibernation. Although I did get disowned by a few people owing to the lack of communication from me but they eventually came around to talking to me again because they realised the futility of trying to not be friends with me. Heh.

Apart from that, I've tried unsuccessfully to clear my head. Of the gazillion things that are messed up in it. Tried and given up. I'm hoping the hills will help with that. Like they usually do. I did gain some perspective about Delhi though. Surprisingly, while having a completely unrelated conversation with Dad. But yeah, more about that next time. I'll let sleep take over for now. What bliss.

The City of Djinns.

So many emotions. So much to say. SO much to do. And yet, we get caught in the mundane trappings of life. It's a little tragic.

Anyhow, I suddenly want to write about Delhi. About the things that make it the city it is. The little things, the ones which you probably don't even notice but the ones that are actually the pulse of the city. But capturing and doing justice to those is a burden which I don't think I can successfully discharge. (Yes, debating can do that to you at times.) But I'll try nevertheless. In my own little way.

My earliest memories of this city are those of my childhood. Joyous and carefree. One thing that I miss in particular is the rides on that big jhoola. The coming of the jhoolawala was such a looked-forward to event. The distant sound of his bell. The scrambling and last minute arguments with mum to be allowed that one ride. Always just that one. And then the fighting to sit in a particular basket. What fun!

People say Delhi doesn't have a soul. "It's a soul-less city", "It's the rape capital, how can it have a soul?" blah blah. I've heard them all. And yet, I respectfully choose to disagree. I don't say that it's the best city in all respects, that it offers ideal conditions for living. It's got its own set of problems, just like any other city does. But what it definitely does not lack is a soul. Having lived in Delhi for 18 of the 19 years of my existence, I can safely say that Delhi has a soul, a mind of its own even.

In fact, I think every city has a mind and a soul. It's those unknown, unseen forces which seem to be omnipresent. Those that seem to drive the life in the city. Like silent guardians, perched on top, watching us deal with the lives they have created for us. Likewise, Delhi has a mind and a soul. The beauty of it lies in the fact that you can only feel their presence in the mundane things.

I would write more but exams beckon for now. In fact, initially I thought I would write one post, but now I think I'm going to convert this into a series of posts and supplement it with pictures too. 5 days isn't too long a period to wait. Till then however, I shall bid adieu.

Delhi, come soon. Waiting with arms wide open. :)

Best of times, worst of times.

Exams. Start tomorrow. And here I am, blogging about that strange feeling in the air. But it's true. There is a strange feeling in the air. And it's bothering me because I can't seem to decipher it. It's happy with the ever-so-slight touch of gloom. Ominous and yet immensely promising. So many questions, no answers. As always. So many people and so many relationships. Some old ones being broken, some new ones simultaneously being forged. And yet, for once, I don't care. Or so I would like to believe, although gut says (damn you, gut feels!) that it's a farce I'm trying to put on. Flip side is I don't know what else to do. Caring begins to hurt and I can't seem to take any more of that. Home. That's what I need. Soon. 


"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

Dickens never made more sense.