I like to believe that the bigger picture called life is nothing without the finer details called days. I have not blogged in ages; I have not blogged properly in ages. I haven't been in the mood to write. It's not that life was boring. It's not that I had nothing to share. It's just that life didn't swing me this way. I wasn't charged enough to put my thoughts on paper. The bigger painting went gray. But, as I said, days matter. Today was the white of the moon that showed itself through the veils of grey.
My friends and I were invited to breakfast at Flour Works. It was a nice, quaint place with elegant tables and ambience. Out in the open, it was quite the place one would definitely want to take someone for a date. We had a nice time with the people there. There was live music playing in the background and the singer had an amazing voice! It's funny how we get attracted to things and people we know we won't see, again. It is as if we are fine with the temporary; the things that will end. Are we, though? Or, maybe, this is just another peculiarity of life. We crave permanency but suffice with the temporary. Perhaps, we know for the better.
The singer sang a few songs that were suggested by us- Wildfire, Dancing in a Burning Room- he didn't know Of Monsters and Men enough to sing it. But, god! Whatever he sang was just perfect! There was a steady drizzle, an embracing chill, a warm canopy, lively music and cheerful company. Sundays cannot start better. These are the days one prefers going out to sleeping in.
After the breakfast, we walked down that pretty road from Flour Works. We decided to walk it back home. Doing anything else in that weather would mean that we brought the joke onto ourselves. Grey skies- the sort which makes everything on Earth look vivid and true. Something that reveals the true colours. The perfect ISO-Shutter Speed setting. Heavenly!
Halfway home, it struck us that we could go to Aga Khan Palace. We did. Coincidentally, it was Gandhi Jayanti, as well. We went in. The last time I had been there was with dad, in 2014- when I came to this city for giving my College interviews. Time flies quickly, but memories stay. I don't remember what happened that day. I don't remember what else I did. Time gulps things. But, this, I remember. "One day, we should come here to sit under that tree to read a book," he said, pointing towards a huge banyan tree at the entrance. I couldn't and can't disagree. The orange of the grass and the darkish shadow of the tree are perfect. The palace embodies serenity- old, weathered pillars with stone dusting away, well-maintained orangish green grass, wooden railings, the calmness of a cemetery but the bustling life of visitors. Just the right amounts of everything. I stood against a wooden railing thinking about dad. I was looking at a kid run around a dysfunctional fountain. He stopped and leant over the parapet of the fountain to look into the water. I remember that I used to that once. "Whatever happened as I grew up." The kid's parents were playing with him, around the fountain. I don't know if it is just me or if it is everybody; such sights are rare to come by. People spending time with people- even those they call family. Why, I was spending time with my friends are a long, long time.
I ran into an acquaintance of mine. I know we study in the same college. Similar Course. Different batch. I know where I know her from and where she knows me from. We smile at each other whenever we see each other. We greet each other. We even strike a little conversation every now and then. I don't know her name. I don't think she knows mine. Quirks. Do introductions really matter? I'd love to know who she is, though!
I was with my friends throughout. It was lovely. Catching up with people you call family is ethereal in its own way. What was more ethereal, however, was the sense of solitude I felt despite them being present. I was in my own zone. My head was on a different wavelength, disjoint from this world. I needed that solitude- my wavelengths with little interference with worldly waves. I had that. I felt like I was outside the reach of mortal worries, third world problems, the real struggles. I needed that. To run far, far away from them. I found that today, and I loved it.
At the palace, we decided to just run off to M.G. Road. Catch a bus, run away, forget we have a different life and return later, much later.
Do you notice how impromptu all of it is? A few months ago, I met a girl named Disha Verma. She introduced me to the parts of life I was casually ignorant about. She showed me that my concept of beauty in life extended beyond what I perceived. She made me believe in the impromptu more firmly than I ever did. She also inspired me to do things the beauty of which cannot be explained in words. The impromptu clears your head, trust me. The impromptu is when you break your shackles. Maybe they'll come back to catch you, later on. But, that time when you broke free, when you feel your limbs free of metal and rust, you are the most liberated.
MG Road was our path to hogging our money away. Sweet Corn, Sabudana Vadas, Corn Cobs, Chicken Kebabs, Spring Rolls, Coolers, Pizza- FOOD. Lots of it! Random stops at shops to check out fancy stuff. And choosing not to buy them because food. takes. precedence. always! Always remember! That road, however, is THE BEST PLACE IN THIS CITY! There is so much life everywhere! So much cheer! One place where there is festivity in the absence of festivals? MG Road. That place, in that weather, is a carnival that arrived in your backyard in a jiffy with huge cotton candies, bagpipers, fireworks and colourful streamers all around on a Spring morning! I did not want to leave, at the end of it. Or maybe, I wanted to. But, I just wanted to go watch a movie at Victory Theatre. Good memories lie there! That, may be for some other post.
We caught the first bus going homewards. Somewhere close to home, I ran into the singer from Flour Works. He didn't see me. Or maybe he did and I'm just one of the many faces he had seen that day. I ran into him, again, though. Is 'temporary' an illusory permanence? The Abstract is an interesting dimension, indeed.
