a higher purpose...

The complacency of laziness – the art of laziness – relater – one who feels and finds solace in his comfort zone - in the home we have built for ourselves – in the rented space we seek to make ours for this brief time – we frame our pictures and hang them on walls and create a sense of ours – we seek to cover our lives in a layer of soothing familiarity – to escape from the fact that nothing is familiar – a new life a new home a new us – inevitable change defeated by framed movie posters and a collage of black and white still photographs – yet the unfamiliar isn’t altogether frightening – in fact it has become the perfect oasis of comfort – my new comfort – my beanbag replaced by an expensive couch and my sheesha and flat screen is now ours – individualism subverted for a better cause –a higher purpose – companionship – the kind that smells of fresh pine and freshly baked brown bread – the kind that you come home to each evening – and collapse in its manifold seductions of tranquility and belonging – and now you truly know what it means to come home – what home is – not just a collection of ikea – but a person with whom – home truly is – and then you realize that is isn’t about brick and mortar at all – but about who you share the space with – and then it doesn’t seem so criminal to think of moving on again – because you aren’t really moving on you’re just occupying some other space somewhere else – with the same person – home is where the heart is – home is where my heart is – her.

Homes...

mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

be it ever so humble, there's no place like home*

Home.. it's a very emotional word.. almost sacred.. in many ways... I have no home.. not in the physical sense that most people are used to... this is yet the story of my many homes.. the bundle of emotions that come with that and expectations of the future...

may be surrounded by
a million people I
still feel all alone
just wanna go home...**

The home I first remember had bee hives and plastic pools and a vegetable garden, I have vaguememories of picking beans and uprooting radish... The rest fades away in a sense of swirling brown furniture and some white walls... I don't know what became of it.. maybe someday I'll go back to it... 

There was a another home.. it was larger and more airy and I recall harmonium lessons... but that's most of it...

The home I grew up in.. in Jangpura - B is gone.. well it's still there but its been transformed into something ugly and functional... this home... my home went through many physical transformations.. yet it holds the only sense of home for me.. of standing still.. of belonging... I grew up here.. two decades worth of life, school friends and girl friends.. tents and beds, cupboards and wall posters, collages and carpets.. nights spends and days and afternoons, meals and parties.. birthdays and get-togethers.. many years of becoming who I am.. shaped in this abode.. yet.. today it is no more.. it was and will always be only in my mind the way I want it to be.. my home my only real home.. exists now only as a figment of my own mind.. 

After this my life has been a plethora of apartments.. 

Chennai.. three years three apartments.. Wallace Garden, Kilpauk and Harrington Road.. three makeshift lives, in three different stages, no real attachments.. you move from place to place taking with you little symbols of yourself.. books, curios, quilts and other scatterings, trying desperately to personalise an impersonal space.. trying to make it something you can call home.. very personally.. in a strange land.. in a new place.. you struggle to create a space of familiarity.. of comfort.. to come back to..

Bombay.. two years and two apartments.. different stages same building, same job.. you reach the city of dreams.. the one you always were drawn towards.. towards it's soul.. and you create again.. after being uprooted.. a sense of space you can climb into at the end of the evening.. to sink into a large beanbag and smoke a sheehsee and watch tele.. an look around the four walls.. bear now.. company accommodation... where someone else has been and someone else will be.. and while its yours.. you try your best to fortify that sense of mine..

Another aeroplane, another sunny place,
I'm lucky I know
but I wanna go home**

and between Chennai and Bombay... Gurgaon.. a beautiful home.. yet almost a guest house.. no time.. short visits.. by the time the sense of belonging grew it was always time to leave.. year after year time after time.. no time.. a home needs time.. time to belong.. to share.. to experience.. to create memories which you can carry.. on..

Delhi.. home again.. in some ways.. and in many more ways.. back to Nizz and the familiar.. another attempt of transplanting your life form one set of four walls to another and another struggle to adjust... but this time it was different.. human.. there was much more to coming home to this home than ever before.. thank you my hobbit.. for in some ways a real home after so long.. you can try as much as you like to personalise your space with as much of yourself but the only thing that makes it truly personal are the memories and love.. and the memories of love.. and for that.. you need someone.. to share that space with you.. truly.. and that makes it home.. people not just you care about and care for, but those you love, home is about being loved where you are... in some ways...

another year.. more travel, more apartments, Singapore & Ithaca, Nanyang Heights and Maplewood.. smaller rooms, more impersonal this time.. almost transitional almost knowledge that this time don't invest emotionally in this space.. it is transient.. passing..

and into a new tomorrow.. forward always onwards.. to a new home, to create a new home, somewhere else, another little haven a sense of slipping back into the familiar.. into that little comfort zone.. and again with someone.. with love.. with the one i love..

Let me go home
it'll all be alright
I'll be home tonight
I'm coming back home**

so many homes.. and none... homeless almost... but yet hopeful... 

*cf: John Howard Payne, 1823

**cf: Home, Michael Buble

here's to a happy landing...

I'm blogging on the plane back home.. ok now I am excited.. which is why Im bloggin on the plane.. of course this is just a notebook file and Im gonna have to cutcopypaste the piece but what the helll...

Ok so firstly the freedom of all those client calls.. its exhillarating... then meeting Gopikaa yesterday evening in Mumbai just set the tone for the weekend.. Im home... to my frineds.. to family to familiarity... Even Akshu sms'd saying welcome back! My first sms from him in the 10 years cellphones have been around! haha just kidding...

I was talkin to Donny as he congratulated me on my move back from 'this rat hole' to 'rajma chawal' as he put it.. and I was telling him how Ill probbaly be sick of the damn place in a month but what the hell... nothings perfect.. well except for onion pink cherry blossoms in winter and al fakheer gold aniseed... but then thats a different story all together... oh BTW i have abandoned my sheesha in Mumbai! giftd it away... imagine that shite!
dedigressing... nothings perfect and it could just be a matter of the least likely to kill you...

Chennai was a nightmare which turned into a slow moving disparity.. Mumbai was a whirlwind which became a tedious repetition of travel interrupted by night clubs and lounge bars... Lets see what Delhi's like this time around...

here's to a happy landing...

where you most hope for it...

dont fight it... jus give in... ive realised over the years and in the past few days... there are three things you cant fight.. gravity... those who love you/those you love and random urges... its pointless i tell u... go ahead jus lie down.. jus listen.. and jus indulge...

or you'll wake up one day with a broken back and pain in places u cant imagine have horrible thoughts and wish you hadnt been such a coward or such a prick all those times.. and then youll realise youre just looking for sympathy and youll find it in the one place you least expect it and most hope for.. and itll jus make your week.. and then youll realise youre leaving and its jus such a complicated little tumble jumble of emotions and what ifs and timing and place and diametric singularities that youll jus wanna lie down hug the pillow an smile and cry all at the same time...

start spreading the news.. im leaving in a week.. its going to be all sorts of new possibilities and problematic come face to face with the pasts all over again.... im looking forward to some of it more that others of course... but thank god its friday.. or wait is that tuesdays at friday...

a doctor an artiste a corporate whip a lawyer a mountain recluse a journalist and another one a couple of investment bankers a couple of hard working heirs a couple of not so hard working heirs... some old friends some new ones and a whole lot of acquaintances... try as u might u can never have things back the way they were.. meant to be?... whose to say... but u always try to recreate hope try and try again.. and then one day youll wake up with a broken dream and a more dazzling reality and youll realise maybe calvin did know a little bit of what he was on about.. not a lot but maybe just a bit and things do get better after they seem worse... and youll find bliss where you least expect it and where you most hope for it..

come home...