Diary of a Lost Wanderer: Where I belong

By
 
A Lost Wanderer is something I have always called myself. So this segment of my blog is dedicated to all those cynical musings which haunt me at times, nudging that writer in me to give them a form in my words.
Sitting by the window staring at a sleeping world I wonder where do I belong?
  
It is said, “Home is where the heart is. “But my heart is no longer here confined in the four walls of this room. When I had come to this city I had brought along a lot of hopes. Today the only thing that remains out of them is their broken remnants.
 
 My heart is lost in the noise this city calls music. And also somewhere in the streets where you can find everything that you want to buy but nothing that you need to have. Strangely enough not for a moment am I alone since the time I leave this room. People, in all forms, shapes and sizes are around. Running, walking, singing, chasing their dreams is how I see them; being pushed by life is how they actually are. And yet a strange sense of quietude envelopes me all the time. Everything is and still everything is not.
 
Source: Google Images
My mind wanders along with the wind to those dusty lanes of childhood where worry was alien. All that was known was to laugh at everything and anything. The day began with excitement and ended with more excitement mixed with anticipation of beautiful tomorrows. I feel that soft sunshine rays on my face as I lazily stretch my arms to hug life one more time. Is my heart somewhere here, I begun to wonder on hearing those melodious bells of that ice-cream Walla (Ice cream vendor) who spelt sweetness in every form. And suddenly it all becomes quiet... the loneliness of the night engulfs me once again.
 
Is my heart there? I squeak remembering those hundreds of books I had collected so lovingly all these years. Somewhere between those yellowed papers, wrapped in beautiful prose my heart must be laying there, basking in their magic. The sudden gush of the breeze that blows away a few papers wakes me up to say my heart is yet to be found.
 
I rummage through some of my old stuff lying untouched since quite some time silently hoping that my tired fingers will touch something and it will be déjà vu. No such thing happens for hours till the fatigue of my fingers reaches my eyes rendering the search useless, and in a way hopeless too.
 
Maybe in those long forgotten lyrics of melodies my heart still hums... or perhaps in those boxes full of memories I have stored in the attic. In those heartfelt hugs exchanged with my loved ones somewhere in the forgotten lanes or those heaps of pictures that adorn my otherwise barren walls.... my heart must be there somewhere, hopping from one to the other looking for that one place where I belong!

~A Lost Wanderer
June, 1998 

Popular posts from this blog

Essay: How to mourn the loss of love?

By
Image
Image Source: Unsplash.com I remember the first time I mourned the loss of love was when I was eleven.  For me, dance was love at that time. I had discovered a strange joy as I glided in and out of those movements. Every time I swirled; I could feel my heart soar. Any beat that strained to reach my ears, tempted me to move my body to its tune. I just knew I was born to dance and that is the only thing I wanted to do, all my life.  I had my reasons to believe so and a very simple one at that. It made me happy. That was a reason enough. However, my father thought otherwise. Girls from good families, do not dance. That line was enough to break all those rosy dreams of dancing on a stage. The day my brother was sent to the same dance class which was not good for me, was the day I experienced heartbreak for the first time.  That is the day I mourned the loss of my first love- Dance. 
Keep reading »

Diary of a Lost Wanderer - Lost & Found

By
Image
Dear Diary, I fell in love with Mumbai when I first visited it in 1995. Bombay, as it was then known, fascinated me since then.  If you ask me what made me fall in love with this city, I perhaps cannot explain. It wasn't that I was seeing the sea for the first time. It wasn't even the biggest city I had been to till then. Still, there was something so magical about this place. The trip was a short one lasting less than a week but this city now had my heart. Years later, I arrived here all alone on my first solo trip in 2005 and fell in love all over again. I got my first job and was required to come to Mumbai frequently. The local trains, the chaos on the roads, the crowds, the humdrum, the salty smell in the air, the stale air- everything about this city was intoxicating for me. 
Keep reading »

Metro Diaries: The Art of Making Love

By
Image
Image Source: Unpexels (Cottonbro) “Do you know why is it called making love?” He whispered, pulling the comforter closer.  I don’t remember for how long we had been in that room, on that bed. Lying aimlessly, just feeling each other in silence. I managed to just whimper to denote my curiosity.   “Because that is the moment we create love. We are the closest we could ever be to love, in its purest form. It is sheer magic as we are naked, in every form. Mentally, physically and emotionally before that one person, we love. We know they can hurt us, as much as they want to, in the way they want to. But love gives us that power to trust them, that they won’t.”   “And here I was thinking it is a need. Something you want at that moment and you get it!” 
Keep reading »