Diary of a Lost Wanderer: The mirror of life

By

It was like any other morning, quiet, beautiful and peaceful. I woke up to the incessant chirping of the sparrows near my window, seemed like they were having some discussion of their own. I rubbed my eyes to let the sleep hide within my eyelids till the evening and pushed myself off from the bed. Just like every day I drew the curtains apart and let the sunshine enter inside. I loved hugging them in the morning; the warmth they gave was unmatched for. The slight chill in the air making them more precious! 

I went through the morning chores like a robot when suddenly my reflection in the mirror caught my attention. There it was – a tiny speck on my left cheek that was waving back at me. You could blame it on the yet-to-be dissolved sleep in my eyes or maybe the specks of sunshine residual in them that I couldn’t see it clearly. The more I tried to rub it the more evident it became. Finally tired of it all I dropped everything and peered closely in the mirror to see what was it and there, sitting in all glory was my first wrinkle smiling at me. My first reaction was of disbelief. How could it be! Till recently I had people telling me I don’t look my age and when I asked them to guess they always told the wrong one making me beam with pride of having hoodwinked aging. *sigh* I collapsed on the bed with my mind giving up on any attempts to think straight. 

Source: Google Images
Unknown to me, my mind had wandered off to those lanes which till now were a taboo – the memoirs. I was staring at my childhood, where I would tip toe around the house in an attempt to look tall, wear my mom’s saree and try being like her. A teenaged me whose love affair with cooking had just began and the desire to master it all was so evident. Ah! My first heart break, how much it hurt … it felt as if the world would end and so would I. But that never happened. The world lived on and so did I. My first job which made me taste independence making me fall in love with it forever. And then all those faces clouded my memory – some known, some forgotten, some remembered, some loved, some despised, some cherished and some wanted with a deep unknown longing! 

I suddenly remembered my old diary entry – Getting old is like turning ripe for a fruit. Does it have a choice? Can it say no to its creator for it has begun to like where it is right now? It is born as a seed, turns into sapling, and grows over years to become a tree, gives a fruit and now that fruit is turning ripe. It might mean it is the end of the cycle, but it also means it is the beginning of a new cycle as every ripe fruit gives birth to a seed, one that will start it all over again. Why did people despise getting old then? I smiled recollecting these words. 

All throughout my life till now I kept on looking for milestones, many of which come together to make the journey of life; One that would just quietly whisper to me, “You have arrived” every time I needed this reminder. This wrinkle was a milestone that life had sent my way, telling me you have crossed one level. Now it is time to move onto the next and then the next till you reach your destination. The mirror of life was pushing me to move ahead with renewed vigour.

My smile just got a bit wider as I got up and blew a flying kiss to my newest possession before moving on to achieve yet another milestone.

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 »