Of Snail Mail and Unanswered Questions



May be it’s still lying in the post-box in Dhaka, that looked like it had not been opened in a long time. But the man at the international counter in the post-office looked at my skepticism through his thick glasses and insisted I put all of my 18 post-cards in there. I had hand painted them so I really hoped a few of them would reach their destination. I sighed and nodded ‘OK, I’ll put them in the post-box’.

So the letter I wrote you might still be lying in that post-box in Dhaka, or it might have been one of many or the only one that made it out of there. May be it lies now in a post-office somewhere between Dhaka and wherever it is you’re living now. I sent it to your last known address. Or may be it was the only one that reached its destination. You. And lies torn to pieces, disintegrating, the blue ink and water colours no longer reminders of me. Or may be you kept it, tucked into a book somehwere or thrown into the pile of papers and stuff on your mixing table, as if forgotten but traceable, if you wanted to find it, someday. Like you and me have become to each other, as if forgotten but traceable if we wanted.

I suppose it is where it is supposed to be. Isn’t that what you’d say? Nevertheless it is one of many testimonies to you and me, concrete evidence sent into the universe that you and I existed, that we indulged our fantasies about each other only to be deeply disappointed. Why would we be different from all the others who believed naively in the possibility of finding their one destined soul mate in the infinity that is this universe? It would be nothing short of a miracle. And what had we done with our lives to deserve miracles anyway.

And, who knows what soul mates are supposed to do in our lives! It is one possibility that soul mates spend their lives together as partners serving to carefully conceal the reality of our undeniable loneliness. Perhaps they come and go, perhaps they are not one but many, perhaps they don’t exist, confirming our existential loneliness but also unveiling our self-delusion that we are somehow special, different, from those living seemingly carefree (or careless would you say?) lives. All we have are these questions for now. Answers will come in good time apparently, or they might not.

In any case, its not done yet in my head. There are chapters to come, truths to be revealed, epiphanies to discover. What part will you play in all of it? That of a distant muse or a close conspirator? Another question I will have to tuck away unanswered.

Moonlight – Movie Talk


This is not really a movie review but a love letter to a beautiful cinematic journey. Nevertheless I hope it urges you to go and experience it.

Sometimes resilience is really only made up of a few scattered moments of deep care, love and connection, that we hold in isolation to all the inadequacies and foibles of being human. People are not perfect but some moments with people are. Especially those people, who in all their imperfection reach out to hold your hand across the darkness that surrounds both. To hold that perfect moment as a precious pearl amongst all the ruins life served you and acknowledging its value can keep us going a long time. These moments, these perfect moments, strung together, shine light on hope on the dark days. On those days when you look within with brutality, when you hang your head in shame at your failures or at the unfair burden you have been deemed to carry. On those days this hand that reaches out marks your soul with a magical healing touch that endures.

The value of a safe space, especially for children, but so much for adults too, where you are truly seen for who you are, where you get to lift your head, straighten your back, push back your shoulders and find ‘pieces of your soul’ again. This safe space gives you the much needed practice to be yourself, slow and steady and the more time you spend in this safe space, the more courage and strength it gives you to be yourself, in oppressive, stifling spaces, hopefully.

Moonlight is a poetic portrayal of our imperfect selves, in an imperfect world, living perfect but fleeting moments of beauty, connection and homecoming amongst chaos and abandon. Finding ourselves, losing ourselves, stumbling upon safe spaces and special people destined for impermanence, looking up in awe at them, sometimes let down by their helplessness, sometimes by ours. 

Filled with moments that will knock the air in your lungs out and sublime intimacy, this movie will break your heart and make sincere attempts to heal it back in a slow dance of powerful emotions. With brilliant performances and beautifully written, framed and shot, intense sequences, this movie is equal parts art and poetry. Go WATCH and tell me what you thought?

Gaping hole´╗┐


You’ve gone and left a gaping hole,

Of dreams and hopes and possibilities,

Of things we could have been,

Of things we could have done.

And though I never counted on them,

The idea of it was reassuring,

Muddled it with dreary reality,

Smudged it with your fears and strains.

I will mourn as long as it takes,

And who knows of the afterlife?

But in this life you will still remain,

A gaping hole of possibility.

Let me hold on still to the dream,

Of an idealistic living.

Of loving without hopes and plans,

This gaping hole, that was sanity.

Fill it again with happy things,

Trinkets and memories

Words and songs and sweet nothings,

Tender looks of longing.

Moonlit nights of dreamy singing,

Dancing, driving, feeling,

Incomplete and still healing.

Trust the process

When I took up Psychology in undergrad, I didn’t know much about it or so I thought. It came my way and when I was faced with it I knew I had to take it and it has been the single most important decision of my life. It has shaped me into being who I am today and I can safely say that I chose well. In any case I have no regrets. When I really think about it no matter how disturbing a decision at any particular point, time really reveals its true purpose. Even decisions that are seemingly trivial can have an unexpected impact on our lives. 

So after yesterday’s I am not writing everyday anymore, I have had thoughts of being a quitter, of not being able to finish what I started. But I need to trust that I did what I had to. I don’t fully see why I started writing everyday and why I am stopping now, but I will at some later point. What I do have to learn is that people’s reactions to our decisions are meant to make us reflect. I must stop questioning why people’s reactions affect me. They are supposed to affect you and even influence you and ironically enough help you along your true path. You know this by how strongly you feel about your decisions without being able to convince other people about it. It doesn’t matter. You are the only one who needs to be convinced.

Day 89 – The end


At some point along my day today, it came to me, a revelation. I have been wondering why I wanted to write on this blog everyday. I said some things when I embarked on this journey, that I believed then to be the whole truth, but now a bit more of the fog has lifted and I see a little bit more.

It so happens that I internalised the idea that I was too discreet, that I didn’t reveal myself enough and that this was somehow a ‘bad’ thing. So I wanted to have the ‘courage’ to write about myself, to undo some fears around it. I have done it for 89 days now and there are days when I have loved it and there are days when I felt like I had put my innermost thoughts on a display window. There are days when the writing flowed naturally (very, very few) and days when I stared at my screen for 2 hours and wrote 6 lines of pretty unoriginal poetry. But through it all has come a revelation, I am discreet as a person, it is not comfortable for me to write publicly as if I was journaling. I am way more honest when I journal in a notebook. It helps me in understanding myself quite a lot. And that is primarily why I write, to understand myself. Through this blogging practice I have practically given up journaling just because of time constraints and how much writing I can actually do in a day.

My beautiful pens and notebooks miss me and I miss them sorely. But this writing practice gave me the realisation that I can write everyday if I wish to, but I will not produce the same quality of writing and that’s normal. And I also realised that I do not want to put writing that I don’t feel satisfied with out there. I don’t. I want to be able to rework texts for days, ponder over them, reread them several times and then post them when I feel satisfied. Writing everyday also meant that I began to put out there a lot more than I was absorbing. I might not have had time to read, but I had to write and this I am not comfortable doing. It feels superficial for me in the way my writing functions.

When I started thinking about this on the airplane ride earlier today I wanted to stop at 100 posts. I thought its a round number, it gives me 12 more days, in case I want to change my mind. But I have learnt that the heart knows. And today my heart knows that I want to stop, So here I am ending this on day 89, as good a day as any. I am looking forward to working more on some of the short story ideas I had in this process. And I will of course continue writing on the blog, better worked articles which come from more reflection than I am capable of in a day.

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. Your observation and appreciation were valuable and I hope you will continue to come to this space for more.