dreams facing reality

There is a point when we dream, after that comes the time to act, that becomes our reality and after what is left is memories. So right in the center of the timeline there is a point called reality. And around it lie everything unreal and intangible like dreams and memories. The reality is a racist bitch. It always makes the dreams and memories to feel like outsiders and tries to keep it under its control like they are not part of this real world.

It’s a radioactive core, the reality, this nucleus of time chaining our dreams.  Chaining the heart from dreaming, to free it from the pain, but may be shield it from the joy. What if at the end of the sweetest dream I lose and it breaks my heart, it makes us think. It makes us fear to reach for greatness, to fall in love.

What if we are not good enough, what if we can’t do it, what if we don’t have what it takes. Reality is not made of dreamy things. It can be like that sometimes, hard, bitter, soft, sweet. So may be its not about dreaming, its about daring to dream.

And what are memories…they are just a shadow of that nucleus.

<3 Chennai

b612_20160925_174216The shift from student life to IT life, the shift from hometown to a new city, and so many changes have been happening in life. And it feels like a learning phase. A new world unfolds before us with each step we take. This is a journey that takes me to places, faces and new experiences. And this beautiful city called Chennai must be the first station in this journey. And there is all the excitement and fear running in my veins. Observing, learning, stressing, rocking, going through emotional roller coasters, that is how this ride has been so far.

What I see here is dynamicity, a rapidly developing city, standing with pride. Beautifully colored by the ethnicity of an ancient era.  Something about this city is preserved through ages that I wish this city never loses.  You have some impression on the places and people you have heard of. I had a picture of  the state of Tamil nadu inside my head. Where do we get these mind pictures from. May be from the books we read, movies we watch and things we hear.  For me some of it I could feel in the routes I covered and some of it is yet to be discovered if they exist.  Along with this grand, proud face there is a section of people you encounter everyday. That reminds us of the other side of life, the struggles, hunger and poverty.  Some of these faces makes our heart feel heavy and some people just frustrate us. There are so many people coming and begging before us, cursing  or emotionally blackmailing if they don’t get money. Many things about this place I can relate with my hometown, but the differences are more.

‘She had the aroma of white flowers..’ somebody wrote. I walk through the streets with my naked hair, and I will pass the girls and women wearing flowers, mostly pure white jasmins,  and sometimes roses, marigolds or some violet flowers. It’s beautiful to see. Tasty street food, smell of cooked corn, the sound of non stop traffic. And some friends to share all the experiences with. That’s how my journey back from office can be summarized as.

Each sight looks like a perfect picture, waiting to be captured. There are so many places to visit and its fun with friends. This is a time of ‘first time in life’. First salary, first time staying away from family, first Tamil friend, Telugu friend, and the list goes on.  Each of us  are so different, from language to what not. We belong to one nation and still these differences makes things complicated or exciting. But most of us are curious and appreciate these differences.

What else…Politics here is exciting for any outsider.  And some very interesting political dramas have happened in these days.. That’s it for now I guess. So apart from the hot climate and falling sick :p I am loving Chennai, loving the people I became friends with here but missing mom and home too. Sometimes I miss my room, home food, the view from my balcony but I really like this place, this life.


Tere Ishq Me — In Letter and Spirit

I might not have exactly grown up listening to Moh. Rafi singing his heart out in the melody “Hum Intezar Karenge Tera Qayamat Tak”; but have seen enough love stories over years which startled me with the extent lovers went waiting for their True Love. Some took many more births and re-births, some even in […]

via Tere Ishq Me — In Letter and Spirit

Unleash Me


Seeing the updates of a lone girl traveler makes me excited. Sometimes I feel like one journey like that is all I want and it will make me proud of myself. Right now it’s a distant dream and that sense of unachievable is what makes it desirable. Last day in Vytilla mobility hub I saw a foreign girl resting on the floor, leaning on her backpacks. Is it the admiration that left me staring or her bright blue eyes. I am only used to black and brown and light shaded iris. On top of everything I am reading Che’s motorcycle diaries.

Just like the posts I write and do not publish now a days, my plans for this vacation are piling up and is forgotten. Vacation has been going on for a while. Had many useful plans set on my mind. But only some has been done. Happy that at least a few things are going as per the plan. I am getting a lot of free time now. It feels like the silence before a storm. I am sure that I am going to get super busy soon. That thought reminds me not to take this period of life for granted. I am reading, writing, drawing, singing. What more do I want. May be we will never get completely satisfied with our life.

Speed thrills me and scares me at the same time. Just like that most of the things that thrills me scares me. I tighten the grip to enjoy the stupid adventure of standing at the edge of open doors of running trains. To feel a storm and to feel that storm caressing the hair. From the window seat I keep looking, from where we enjoy the view, from where we can choose to look at the skies or  the canopy, or enjoy the architecture or see the buzz of the people. From where we can choose to look at the paradise or nature or earthly beings. I want to go on a long trip. I would take Santhosh George Kulangara as my Guru, like Ekalavya of mythology. Who is a better person to be a disciple of other than the television journalist, the one who sow the seeds of Safari dreams in every young Malayalee’s heart.  I have always been a fan of Diego Buñuel and his series- Don’t tell my mother. There was a time when Ladakh was my dream destination, now it has changed to the spiritual capital of India. Not for getting out of the cycle of life or to wipe off any sins. It’s just to feel the feel. At least I want to realize for myself if I am really a traveling enthusiast or an enthusiast of the idea of it.

Life and its similes

life is a story

Life is like music, it’s like a game of chess.  Or is it like a game of cards, or winds and currents? What is life not compared with,  with rivers and seas and flowers and migrating birds. It goes on and on. And I am searching for a metaphor for life, a perfect simile for life.  But what is life not like? Where isn’t a model of life not present?

Something about that thought took me to a half-forgotten story at the back of my mind. A student after completing his study in herbology  was instructed by his Guru to find that plant which has no medicinal value.  He searched for days and weeks and months and returned empty handed. Guru was happy and told his disciple that no such plant exists. Thus the student successfully completed his studies. Similarly may be there is nothing without an essence of life. There’s nothing and no one without a lesson to teach and a story to tell. And everybody should listen to all those stories. And with the flow of the story, with the rising pitch feel amazed like a little kid.  Stories before eyes or hidden in history or in the pages of books, when can we read all these. Sometimes there are only questions that are filling the mind. And we are not reading or listening to any stories for answers?  If life is a game of chess, let’s just play it well.

Are we so font of the flow that,

 we think that this boat will keep floating

 and take us to some distant shore.

Even when we stop setting our sails

And we close our eyes and stop looking

At the stories of salty storms and waves

And leave the messages in bottles unattended