Diary of a Lost Wanderer

Image Source: Unsplash (@RobertMetz) Sandstorm- Wounds of the childhood Reshaping my future

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. 

 ** Trigger Warning: Death, Loss of a loved one, Suicide** Image Source:  Free Plant Image on Unsplash Dakko is no more.  Even as I type this sentence there is a sense of overwhelming disbelief within me. A strange numbness takes over my senses as my heart refuses to believe this ultimate truth staring at my face right now.  For me, she was love. Since the time I was an infant, I had known her as love. She was there when I needed her, pampering me, loving me, mollycoddling me, and bearing with all my tantrums throughout my life. I cannot imagine my three and a half decades of existence without her being there during some of my toughest times. 

Even before we had completely gotten over 2020, 2021 turned out to be a recap of the nightmare 2020 was. And what better way to deal with this chaos than the world of words!  Whenever the noise around gets too much to deal with, I turn to words. I resort to either writing or reading to stay sane. It helps me sail through. Today, I am sharing with you my own book which was born out of chaos. About the Book Laze on the sunny beaches of Australia, drown your worries at the Varanasi Ghats, or get lost in the endless roads of Pangong Lake – this book promises to infect you with an incurable wanderlust. Sprinkled with liberal doses of real-life incidences and stories these pages capture the real magic of a place through its people in the perfect manner Be it the old man climbing the Sydney Eye at the age of 80 or the lonesome kid at Nubra Valley they promise to redefine life like never before. Fasten your seat belts as you embark on a journey of a lifetime with A Lost Wanderer where ...

The moment I hear the question what is love? My answer always is this. Love is.  Those two words hold the entire meaning of love for me. When I was asked to write about my own version of love, my mind instantly ran to the nearest rescue I could find – music. For me, love is music, a song that your heart dances to and a rhythm that has the capacity to capture your soul. Love is the language of the universe, the one in which one soul converses with the other. 

  For the time I remember, I always wanted to write. I used to have diaries, secret journals which later on turned into blogs, and long emails to friends. I just wanted to talk and share everything that I thought of with someone. Gradually, with the passage of time friends dwindled (of course, one would get bored with the amount of talking I can do!) and that is when I moved to write stories. 

  How often do we underestimate the power of stories hidden within our family! This isn’t about such a story but about a possible alternate ending to one that has been haunting me for days. So I am sharing it here. My great-great-grandfather is a famous writer in my mother tongue. His works are considered classics today. Considered to be a visionary, he could foresee the future with unmatched accuracy. He didn’t rely on palmistry or horoscopes. It was his sixth sense that was so powerful. 

Kalindi's Dream Recently I attended a workshop led by eminent author and poet, Sharanya Mannivannan where we were given a visual tour of the Museum of Art and Photography based in Bengaluru and asked to write pieces inspired by the work we saw. This micro poem is inspired by the painting Kalindi's Dream  (pictured above) a work by Patrizia Maïmouna Guerresi, who works with photography, video, and sculpture.

 **Trigger Warning - Domestic Violence, Abuse ** Picture (C)  Sydney Sims   @fairytailphotography Kalpana lay there motionless long after Rajiv had left the room. Her mind went back to the time when it had all started. It was just a few days after their marriage. All the guests had left and it was only them now. Kalpana was nervous yet excited as she made preparations for breakfast that morning. She carefully laid out the table having made everything of his choice – the way he liked it. She remembered her mother and aunts telling her “ The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach .” How many pains had her mother taken to ensure she learnt to cook all types of delicacies! Though a little bit unnerving for her at the beginning she, later on, realized that any task done with love got returned with love. Hence she had consciously made an effort to know Rajiv’s favourite dishes and learnt them very nicely.