Diary of a Lost Wanderer: Some scars and memories

By



Back from a ten day holiday and all that I can think of the place I had gone to. I visited that place after almost 8 years with a lot of thoughts in my mind only to find something very different to my thoughts. I share a bond with the cities I visit, I know it sounds very weird but then that is the best way I can describe it. 

Contrary to what I feel the moment I embark on my trip to Mumbai, Delhi, Rajasthan etc the moment I left for this city there was a sense of aloofness that imbibed into my heart. Every time I have gone there I get a sense of dejection, as if it is pain wanting me to feel it and hug it tightly. In the process of feeling its pain I sometimes end up reliving some of my past pain. And this time was no different. I ended up feeling its pain, even experiencing its tears in a manner that perhaps cannot be expressed in words. 

 That is the moment when I realized that it isn’t we who define a city for ourselves it is a part of the memories that we share with them do. I remember having some beautiful memories in Mumbai where I experienced love in various forms, those unforgettable childhood memories in the bygone lanes of Delhi and those amazing coming of age moments in other cities. Each and every moment so clearly etched in my memory that it barely takes a fraction of a second for those moments to come alive before my eyes. And this particular city is reminiscent of a lot of pain, some hurtful moments and some people who have given me lot of hurt in particular. Maybe it is this pain that cause me to feel so low when I am there. 

Source: Google Images
Life is such an amazing teacher. It sends people to teach us some lessons and when we refuse to learn them the easier way it ensures another medium which leaves a deep imprint of that lesson on our souls. Hurt I might be in that city and yet nothing can change the special place it has in my life for it is like that scar one carries after a deep wound. 

It is in memory of a lesson learnt, the hard way ofcourse. For me that city is a witness to me overcoming those tough times, it holds those dreams for me which today, are a reality. Somewhere safely in its confines it holds the hope I always carried in my heart and going there for me is an attempt to rekindle some of that hope once again in my life when I am just feeling that I have lost it forever. 

It is in the darkest alleys of your life that you realize your true being, your real strength; for in the dark even your shadow leaves you!



P.S: This post has been selected as a Tangy Tuesday Pick by Blog Adda

Popular posts from this blog

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 »

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 »

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 »