Unnamed avenues

Take a minute off of whatever you are doing and look back. Look back at everything you left behind. If everything that you carry on your back is hiding your vision and disquieting, in both positive and negative ways, then this writing is just for you. Lend all your senses to this rant.

I am just a traveller. I travel from one heart to another. I do not stay anywhere and I know with more effort, a little luck.. I might find a heart that comes close to giving me a feeling of ‘home‘. There I would stay. I could have missed it or I could be missing it right now. Leave that to me. I am a walker, never a runner. When I am inside your heart, there’s a possibility of me either walking slowly to stay a little longer or me strolling around unnamed avenues and wondering about the mystery that you are.

“The unnamed avenues of the heart are the places where people fall in love and fall in hurt, in no particular order. The unnamed avenues are the roads that your parents asked you to stay away from when you were a kid. They are the crimson boulevards that look beautiful during the autumn to everyone and during the winters only to a few who are okay with nurturing it when it has no leaves. They are the streets that smell of champagne and whiskey. You know who begins with the champagne and who ends up with a whiskey. They are the roads that have broken window panes. Window panes broken because of the crumpled papers thrown at them Not a stone, not a fist, a crumpled paper with an unfinished rant. Don’t tell me you were lucky to find the crumpled papers that belonged to a duffer!”

Do you think I can find a way through all these? Have I been a good guide? Let me know. Because it is with this blind hope against hope I am inside you now. Trying to walk through! I am not listening to your directions, I am listening to your songs. I am not waiting for your promises, I am waiting for your stories that are going to keep me awake. Why do I want to be awake? Because I am not time-bound inside your heart. There’s no night and day. It’s thought-bound. I exist when you think about me and die when you don’t. And that’s one more reason a traveller like me believes that death is never the end and a million stabs can wound you but, never ground you.

I would like to make a toast to all the people, who might not be reading this now.

“All the ways I took lead me out of your heart. Do you still think I was lost? And does that qualify as a reason for everything?

…”

Thanks for lending me your senses, fellow travellers!
Auf Wiedersehen.
(Signed)
just barath.

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Shooting Stars

What did the shooting stars do to deserve a moment of glitz

in the Infinity of time and sky?

A moment nothing more than

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A symphony short of the conductor.

 

Was it because of the burns that make it beautiful to the by-stander so far away?

Was it the friction?

Or was it the never ending falling out of love it symbolized?

 

I couldn’t really write or tell.

 

Even after being such shooting stars in the past,

Sharing the same core with her.

After all the burns that left me with only love and little common sense.

After all the black holes we believed we surpassed.

After all the scars,

A numbness for all but the pain of longing

A burn that is giving me a crushing pain that I’ll get used to.

 

A burn that will glow for the world,

Make no noise,

Meddle with sanity.

 

For it is

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A two-piece symphony short of the conductor.

Read in Nawazuddin’s voice for better results!

30 days. 2167 KM away from the place that was my home. This is crazy. Ok! Are you reading it in Nawazuddin’s voice or not? Do it. And you’ll have fun.

Delhi, I mean Noida, the region I stay now is confused. I am not going to start comparing it with Chennai, through each sentence of this work and go nuts. The places are different, the people who make these places what it is now are different. So, comparing is the dumbest thing I can possibly do. I am no one to comment blatantly on everything about a place unless I am a telephone directory or the UPI Number that got saved on my mobile automatically. I have met a fair share of good people here. We’ll talk about them later in this post. Back to Chennai.

Packing my bags from Chennai I was sure about few things. The first, I would not miss my home. I don’t miss my home.  The second being adulting would be fun. No! It’s not. Third being, I would not miss Chennai’s food. FML, I miss Chennai food and home food. It’s been 25 days since I had sambhar and I seriously forgot the last time I had rasam. Was sure about not missing home food, because of this saying that goes this way, “Cupcakes don’t taste the same everywhere, and blah, blah” Considering Idlis, “They definitely don’t taste the same everywhere. The best ones are served in my home, my grandma’s home and Ratna Cafe”. And Noida definitely needs to up it’s game when it comes to food to welcome more people into it and to fill all the thousands of empty apartments it has constructed under the banner of “Space Crunch”. Noida!! You don’t have crunch in space and in your snacks too. Sorry!

Sorry I got deviated from the Narration VoiceOver. Resumes.

“Have you ever looked back in time and realised it fleeting past by so quickly every single time? The last month was the exact opposite to me. I still feel the snag that last month was. Specifically because of the places I shifted too. I stayed for 7 days at a place, 1 hour in the next, was fucking homeless for 7 hours and settled in the place that I am typing this after it. Oh! This place I am staying now, has good music(Something to die for in Barath terms) and we also have a great view of the smog.

It has been a crazy ride, way past the few expectations I had. As I told in my previous post I did not enter Noida with this Utopic feeling, I just wanted the place to be decent and the racial slurs to be creative, which is party happening. Ahem! I mean partly happening.

From Amma calling and enquiring if everything is fine in Noida on the death of M. Karunanidhi and dad asking if everything was fine on the death of Mr.Vajpayee, to listening to my nephew’s smile on phone, this has definitely been a good month. Don’t expect me to talk about work! The first rule of working somewhere is you do not blog about work. You just talk about listening to ’96 songs on loop, getting good song suggestions, trying to understand Malayalam(again after college!), visiting Hauz Khas, having the best tour guide, planning on getting sick for Diwali, the bad jokes, the entering stock market, the getting busy, the whining, and the freshers party and every Sunday which is my “International Day of Washing Clothes.”

There’s just one thing I would like to tell anyone who is nearing their Quarter-Life Crisis. Not an Advice! Just telling.. This would be better to read in Nawazuddin’s voice. You can never see life in it’s rawest energy until you stand alone. And when you see life in its rawest energy, you will be scared. You are the protagonist, but this is not movie or a book. So, you will be. When you grow through it all. You would feel the sense of being alive everyday running through your spine, sending in the chills.

P.s.- 10 years down the line remind me to post the other side of this story that I might have ready with me. That would be even interesting and brutal.

First month in Noida- Done and dusted!!

Editing 3 days after publishing this post-  I MISS HOME!