Love Happens

When we fall in love, the scenery around us changes from bright colors and defined forms into fuzzy Instagram pictures.

I experienced life the Instagram way when I met my husband in Dec 2008. From the very first interaction, everything around me assumed hues of warm, endearing colors. Our courtship just lasted three months which, as my friend assured me the other day, was enough to lend excitement to my otherwise regular arranged marriage story.

I've been struggling to write about love. What made me believe, in a matter of a few weeks, that my husband was the one? Besides the common interests, love for books & theatre, what made me so sure that this person will keep me happy for the rest of my life? That he'll take care of my needs and support me in every way? That he'll be able to fulfill all those dreams and hopes that I had tucked away somewhere in my soul and forgotten about?

And my answer is simple. Nothing.

Love can come by when you're least looking for it. When I met Adnan, I had crossed our society's 'marriage-able age' mark. I wasn't on the look out for a Prince Charming myself and was ready to marry whoever my parents deemed fit for me. In this case, I must admit, I was very lucky because had my parents ever come under societal pressure, I shudder to think where I might have landed. 

I found love at the right time in my life and this love has made me a completely different person from who I was five years back. And that, I think, is what real love does. It makes you grow and blossom into the person you were always meant to be. And when a man loves and takes care of you when you're down with fever and throwing up in the toilet or when he doesn't snub you when you're complaining about a bad hair day or shares your enthusiasm for almost all your hobbies- you've found true love. 

Almost.

'The deepest love is not the most carefree.'

Travels with my Aunt - Graham Greene

Colette on Writing

"We cannot paint a beloved face without passionately distorting it - and who speaks willingly of the things that belong to real love? But we can catch and hold - with words or with the brush - the crimson flush of dying leaves, the green of a meteor against the blue night, a moment of dawn, a catastrophe...Pictures which of themselves have no sense or depth, but which we invest with meaning or sharp foreboding - they bear forever the stamp of some particular year, mark the end of some mistake or the culmination of a spell of prosperity. For that reason no one of us can ever swear that he has painted, contemplated, described in vain". 

( My Mother's House - Colette)

January 28th was Colette's birthday. Read about her novella The Cat here on the blog.

Image: Google

A Word, a Song, a Tennis Player = Nostalgia

Watching Pete Sampras at the second semi-final of the Australian open last weekend transported me straight to my school days. The match was one-sided anyways (although I was rooting for Rafa but it was rather sad to see Fedrer lose in straight sets) and frequent camera shots of Sampras in the audience sent me into flashback mode.

The year was 1995. I was fifteen and had this SUPER crush on Pete Sampras. In fact it wasn't just me, my entire group of friends was in love with this tennis demi-god. My room was an altar to his greatness and whenever pictures of Sampras appeared in the sports section of the newspaper they found their way on a wooden makeshift board in my room. 

The period from 1995-1998 was the most fun and carefree time of my life. Of course, it is only now that I look back at those days so fondly because during that time we were drowned in books, exams and grades. I guess it is always in retrospect that we find life more attractive. This was the time of cassette players, dish antennas and VCR. When Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge was released, each one of us fell in love with SRK. It was easy to identify all who had watched the movie over the weekend on Monday mornings (clues included a dreamy expression, sighs the entire day and references to the movie in every conversation). There were endless discussions over all the music albums and an intense rivalry existed especially between fans of Awaz and Junoon. Inquilaab was the one album we all played excessively during our college days. It was (and is) my favourite album by Junoon. I remember when they released Azadi, their fourth album, my friend called me and we discussed (in great detail) every song of the album. The conversation lasted at least two hours, on a landline which was the ONLY telephone in the house. 

One glimpse of Sampras was all it took to unleash a flood of memories. Photographs are not always the only route down memory lane. Sometimes all it takes is a word, a song or a tennis player. 

The Blank Page, Truly Madly Deeply (Savage Garden) and Pete Sampras. 

2014 - The Year of No Resolution

It's not a good idea to pen down resolutions and keep them neatly in a folder. You're bound to find the paper (or papers if you are ambitious) when you're throwing out the old to make space for the new (an exercise some of us indulge in when the new year starts) and once you've come across those lined sheets there is no other option but to make a trip to the guilt motel.

After making several trips to the guilt motel last year, I have deleted the word resolution from my life. Resolutions, in my experience, are dangerous creatures. When I made resolutions last year, which I duly noted down, I limited myself to those six or seven points. I made a parameter around my life and put in 'ifs' and 'buts' over every action. 'If I do the above in two months' time, I am entitled to this. If I manage to finish this by ------ I will -----------'. I had become my own moral, emotional and spiritual policeman. A control freak. A sort of nasty departmental head.

Resolutions made me lose my spontaneity. If I wasn't able to meet a certain task at a specified time, I lost interest in doing it. Listing things down into neat sentences and keeping it all together in a folder did not make me a more organized person. It made me an unhappy person. And yet I kept going back to the list, hoping that by rearranging bits of it I'd find answers. It was only in the latter half of the year that I realized that the answers lay OUTSIDE the list. 

The past year I did a lot of things which were not part of my resolution wish list. And it was these unplanned events which made me a different person; more fulfilled, happy and confident. As soon as I let the resolution list collect dust, I was able to leave my comfort zone and discover the new old me. 

So I resolve to make no lists this year, except for grocery. Unplanned grocery shopping is a one-way ticket to the guilt motel! 

Think, write, read, create...

....and live in the moment, all through this new year.

What happens in Goa, stays in Goa.....

........ except for the books!

It is always very difficult for me NOT to buy books while travelling. And more so at a literature festival where there are stacks of books on display beckoning innocent book lovers like me to buy one and then another one and then one more. Which is what happened in Goa where we (which includes a bunch of super talented people) happened to be in the first week of December for the Goa Arts & Literary Festival (read about us at GALF here).

And the beaches do really look like this in Goa, minus the hippie couple.

A postcard from the works of Mario Miranda.

The Outsider & Sadequain - Happy Birthday Albert Camus!

Death, execution, and religion are the dominating themes as Meursault comes to term with the consequences of his action. He is an outsider at his mother’s funeral, at his trial and remains one till the end. 

These were my thoughts when I first read The Outsider (read complete review here). And these feelings are beautifully captured in the illustrations by Sadequain which I stumbled upon while browsing through a copy of the book, Mystic Expressions by Sadequain, published by the Sadequain Foundation.  These lithographic illustrations were made by the artist in 1964, four years after the death of the author. 

The Scene of the Crime

Meursault's girlfriend, Marie, as visualized by the artist. 

Today marks the 100th birth anniversary of Albert Camus and to celebrate his birth month I'm going to be reading his book, The Myth of Sisyphus, which is considered a 'brilliant explanation of the central idea of absurdity which was developed artistically in The Outsider'. 

Quite an existentialist celebration!

Note: All images were taken by me from the book 'Mystic Expressions by Sadequain'.