Houses.

We have been moving around the city ever since I was a child till we ended up buying a house in South Cal in 2014.

The experiences have been myriad to say the least. As I stood reminiscing about how the houses and all that they have brought in with them have shaped me through the years, I couldn't help but smile.

Childhood began with a stint at Kalyani. A quaint little house where morning winds were always moist with the aroma of fresh flowers. Gardens. Bach in the background, hot milk and kindergarten. T.V. with buttons for channels, a dial on the phone. Talking about milk, it used to come in glass bottles at 7.
We had a library, which also had a record player and a stack of vinyls. Easy chairs. Eucalyptus trees by the gate and a neighbor with a vintage car and a vintage smile.

We moved in to the city a few years later. Cramped ourselves in a small apartment in South Cal. I had learnt by then that space was important. I missed the library, but we made that up with regular visits to my grand parents at Kalyani during the weekends.

Suddenly, we had to move again. This time, to North cal.

This new House was quite something. And the setting, the ambiance of the house as well as the neighbourhood was truly surreal. 

A british Quarter within a medical institute, which in itself was as old as the city it seemed. The campus had space, but was within the bustle of the North. The neighbourhood around it was, and still is, cramped and smelled like working class.

It baffles me today when I consider the number and the variety of people living there and making ends meet. 

The easy by lanes of the South are polar opposites to the busy streets of the North. The Houses here are conjoint twins and the families within are as different as they can get. Some houses have a small courtyard. The walls tell stories of sustenance. 

That was a contrast. Our house had high ceilings and a balcony. A rare find.

Morning would involve a pretty long walk or a tram ride to the bus stop for school. 

The winters were always more memorable. I remember buying my woollens from the Bhutia bazar.

Halfway through high school, we moved back south. 

It was an apartment. I realised space was elusive. 

It was near my old neighbourhood when we had moved out to the North. On my return I had noticed how my old acquaintances had moulded themselves into adults. I had noted that they had become the same people whom they had seen on the porches during their childhood when we fooled around the weekends.

It was a long sigh from my end.

Luckily our apartment had a neat terrace. I share some really personal memories with that place.

Then, finally, we found another house worthy of living in. 

But soon, I will have to move out. 

Belonging somewhere is equally rewarding and difficult.

I'd like to call it a night for the time being. It has been easy lately.
Today it was raining. Very unusual for December.

Chewing the Cud

First things first. This catharsis was due. I do not know if I had a writers block, or whatever. I, however, strongly suspect that distraction, coupled with a healthy dose of stupidity had left me bewildered these past few years. Bewildered enough to take decisions, form ideas. But I would  like to tell myself that it has passed.It feels liberating to admit that I had been in denial indeed. I own up to who I am, would be a brazen, obvious statement. 

I just re read what i had been scribbling in these pages for the last few years.

Appalling. Lost time in which I could have been more expressive, at least summarize what was going on.

False promises are loose ends. 

I'm in two minds like always. But I have come to realize that it is indeed welcoming. 

I intend to post. Thoughts have been really sincere lately, rapt and engaging, constructive.
But I'm lazy. 

I want to make this a cheesy post about how my taste is changing BS, but I think I can't do that anymore. I'm way too brazen. 

I like travelling, but I'm outta money. Or I need more time to get about to it.

Everyone starts off with disrupting a structure. Then onward, they either soften or they pave their own streets.  They invited me over to a debate, an offer I declined at first but then agreed to later. I wanted to play the big-fish-in-a-small pond, I won. 

I spoke out that day, ended up learning that body language is plenty handy when you're hustling. 

I never had a clue that hustling can be so satisfying. I mean, that's exactly what I'm doing across the tables when I'm not managing the herd. Hustling my ideas over others', to have it my way. 

We are all control freaks and a little digression always ends in distress. Then again, it all settles down. 

This is getting slightly disconnected. I realized that the post will come out as a reflection. 

I miss Paris. I'm don't want to sound like I'm pretending to have spent years there, but during the short window of my stay the city has blessed me with its warmth. I have memories, few, but i do.

Everyone likes music and books. I like history, and stories that come with it. 

Lessons from the past are the only source of inspiration.

I like slow grooves now. More jazz with more coffee. Or the stories of despair emphasized in the hip-hop beats on the metro. 

I want to re-wind. Share memories (my version of events, feel free to judge) and either callously mention their bearings on my perspectives in a passive tone or dissect them.

Reddit is an informative website and censorship is bad. I hear opinions, I try to build concrete ones but they always end up ephemeral. That's a good thing in a way, tailored for the situation. One might also call them flexible.

I have realized that I love listening to music as much as i like gazing at paintings. These manifestations of creativity overwhelm my senses. That's why the museum hopping.

I spent two days at the Van Gogh and Rijks. Gogh, Gaugin, Vemeer and Rembrandt. I have witnessed all except one of Van's works. 

Pere La-chaise was beautiful. Morrison's hotel with Wilde, Chopin and Chaplin. Bless them.

Yes, I love chocolates. I like coffee (I think I said that) and waffles and fougasse. 

It feels right to feel right. Not right - winged but. Sometimes I feel like presenting my ideas on an open platter, but I exercise sufficient restraint. I believe it is best to respect borders others have set up, although I need not have my own.