going home again...

another pile of goodbyes.. but this time... its not a little pile but infact a single large one. My suitcase reminds my flatmate of a pregnat woman. now that's something... how I managed to pack everything in it is a tale of wonder.. besides cursing it and zipping painstaking micron by micron I at one time did my best Space Odyssey imitation.. by jumping on the bag like an awakened ape... my Monolith was finally zipped up. The remains of my life scattered around the room.. Let me collect my life into a portable form. Two Suitcases and a Carry bag.. my life.

I'm leaving my super efficient little home for the last 7 odd weeks and heading home.. back to Rajma Chawal and traffic jams... bad driving and dirty air.. hehe.. yeah yeah and I'm so glad... a quick stopover at home.. before heading to Ithaca and another half year of scholarly pursuits... I long to be with the familiar again and it seems so strange that I'm already feeling sad for the little time I'll have... it's almost like I don't have time to be relieved...

But I am so glad for the Fort Palace trip... It'll give us much needed time to be alone.. that day will have to last a hundred and eighty more... It will have to, we must make it.. there's no option.

as I bid farewell to Nanyang Technological Univeristy and Ez-Link cards and OCBC bank.. I feel nothing. as always.. oh u cold cold man... I smile a mischevious smile.. oh well..!

to another dawn and another chapter.. but I'll be back here.. I'm not completely done with this place just yet...

Al Nasrin.. my new Oasis...

As I sit... on the corner of Arab and Baghdad Streets... staring at a white and green back lit which reads Al-Nasrin, with the smell of the all familiar molasses smoke filling me... I can say again I am in my new found Oasis... Pull... Al Fakheer mint... bliss...

though I tried to write this post earlier.. I felt I would not be doing it justice unless I wrote on location.. so here is my first on-location post... hopefully there will be many more to come...

the scene is set... a lot of plain metal and plastic chairs scattered about.. tables with little square floral patterned candle holders and a familiar camaraderie of sheesha patrons... in front the road with cars rolling by and on this occasion.. an old classic.. a yellow boxter convertible.. adds to the occasion... it flowing lines in sharp contrast to the delivery vans and working class air of this area... in the distance the golden dome of the Masjid Sultan and around you carpet sellers and more sheesha bars, and the broken down pavement under your feet, with so many of it's own stories to tell, no doubt. The air is filled with casual chatter which spills into the streets from all over, and surprisingly Lionel Richie... adding to the eclecticness of the whole setting...

as I sip my iced mint tea I am reminded of another eclectic oasis on a Colaba rooftop of a very shady hotel... and I wonder if my blog resembles a global sheesha backpackers guide... maybe so...

pull... release... I return to myself.. to here and now.. content in the knowledge that amongst even the most sanitized of nation states there is this little Oasis of revelry and old world Bohemia still thriving... refusing to be modernised...

as I am about to press publish... the magical sound of the Qur'an fills the air from the nearby mosque and Lionel Richie is turned off in respect...

In the name of Allah, the Gracious, the Merciful
All praise belongs to Allah, Lord of all the worlds,
The Gracious, the Merciful, Master of the Day of Judgment.
Thee alone do we worship and Thee alone do we implore for help.
Guide us in the right path
The path of those on whom Thou hast bestowed Thy blessings, those who have not incurred Thy displeasure, and those who have not gone astray*

*cf: Sura 1.1 to 1.6, The Holy Qu'ran

the hollow disconnect...

like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own
down to a hollow where the sun has never shone...*

outside it's raining.. as it always seems to here.. inside I sit alone.. immersed in my own thoughts... and realise the only word i can come up with to describe this feeling of helplessness is... hollow.. a deep echoing hollow... a hollow disconnect of being so far away.. of being in this unrealistic reality so different from the one you imagined you'd be in and fought to achieve for quite a while..

words that jangle in your head....*

it gnaws at you and makes you want to just close your eyes and drift off into a eye-clenched sense of nothingness less you break down... u grasp at the very sense of normality to keep yourself from being swept away in an untiring emotional swirl... you grasp at the thought of a thought.. a glimpse.. a verse... a ticker... of the familiar... an image... but its gone in a flash and try as you might it doesn't help..

when you knew that it was over,
were you suddenly aware...
that the autumn leaves were turning
to the colour of her hair*

you sit alone and type furiously.. hoping... even praying that you're making sense... sense of what you're feeling or afraid to feel... its a hollow sense of the fear... of the what if it all unravels and spills out.. which reality will you pick.. which reality will pick you.. the one you fight so hard to hold onto in a fragment of a dream and a sense of whats awaits you far away.. oh so far away.. or the reality that you live with every breath... the one that you fight so hard not to get immersed in..

and here I sit, hand on the telephone, hearing a voice I know, a couple of lightyears away**

to fill your moments of hollow terror with a sense of what can be is a very hard life to live my love.. make it easier...

*cf: Windmills of your Mind, Ost - The Thomas Crown Affair
**cf: Diamonds and Rust, Joan Baez