A Night In The City

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The sun has almost set in the sultry winter sky
And to every poets consternation,
Each nook of the city smells like cigarette smoke;
They wonder what they should write today,
A pint down with a burning throat
They walk through the city, to capture life.
The night is piercing, even the hookers have put on modest clothes
And somewhere in a multi-storey building
A girl sings in the dark,
Her drunken voice bewitching the entire city in its merry spirit;
And further down the lane,
An old man collapses, and with a wheezing breath
Denounces his possessions to his son
And he breathes his last in the snow clad streets,
The stars bearing witness to this commemoration;
And a girl stands over the bridge,
Whose coat flips carelessly in the icy wind,
As she readies to jump into the freezing waters,
Thinking desperately of last words that’ll hopefully
Last longer than she herself did.
And somewhere an artist’s fingers roll the joint
After he’s fucked the same guy he did last week,
And the one before that and the one before that,
Wondering if this is what love feels like:
No late night conversations, no meals,
Just two hot naked bodies writhing in passion
And the familiar smell of smoke and sweat.
They all wonder, they’re all living,
And thus the city lives on-
They all wonder, they’re all looking for something,
Or finding something or making something,
Or just being.
The city breathes through their breath,
And the world feels alive, thriving,
Even though nothing is similar and nothing is different
Because it has all happened, it is all happening,
It will always happen
And yet is is never the same- the girl’s voice
Has never sung of that one morning, ever again
And the old man’s son will never know how proud
His father was of him.
And the artist has woken up to a realization
That what he loves has, and can never love him back,
So the next morning, when the moon descends
And the first shy rays of the eager sun wake them all up,
The poets, well, they’ll already be wide awake, with cheeks blued, and hands gritty,
Forgetting to see the sunrise, forgetting to breathe
As they write about the cities they’ve never left,
The cities they’ve never seen,
The cities they’ve never been,
The cities they’ve never owned.

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Update on The World Past Me.

It has been just a little more than a month since I’ve last posted on my blog, and over six months, since I stopped posted continuously. This is an long, overdue explanation for that.

I had trouble writing. The enthusiasm with which I wrote had deserted me, moreover, it felt impersonal. I’ve always written because those were words that I didn’t say, and they needed to be said. They’ve always been from the heart, they’ve always been about things that I felt, or did, or thought; my writing was never about just writing- it was a means for me to express myself.

Lately, more specifically starting last summer, I ran out of things to talk about. I ran out of things to say. I didn’t know what to write. I felt that the one thing that I had with me always had emancipated from myself. What I wrote was a result of my frustration of not being able to write, not being able to feel empty after I’d written, not being able to say what I needed to say. And let me tell you, that isn’t a good place to be. Imagine someone taping your mouth when you are telling them about a very personal event, or not being able to find a recall the word that would say exactly what you want to say and your mind going in circles at that thought and you’ll know what I mean. 

Many of you may also know that it was around the same time that I started my undergraduate studies as an English major in a university about two hours from my house. of course, as a language major, I was also supposed to write a lot. My conviction in my writing only grew weaker, and the feeling of being wordless was engulfing me. I could only write for my courses. I felt that this “academic” writing was draining me of my ability to write, for myself. I wrote, a little, as I said, but they were not writings that I was satisfied with. Their purpose was simple: to keep the blog running. And in that way, an entire semester passed, without me having blogged successfully.

However, last month, at my end semester break, I decided to write anything, poetry , prose, anything that would make me write. And I started a little something. From 11 pm to 3 am, I would sit with a cup of soup or coffee at the dining table in my house, surrounded my a warm blanket and alternate between writing and watching YouTube videos. And I did write; I wrote about 7.5k words in a span of 15 days. I don’t know a lot about these stats, but the important thing is that I wrote. I wrote without deleting every second word and without closing the file in my anger and without getting distracted.

Fifteen days since I last worked on it, I have finally written something today that I am satisfied with, that makes me feel like I’ve done a good job. And it is in celebration of that that I am finally making this post, my first post in the new year that is 2017, that is making me think that yes, I will be more punctilious and adhere to blogging regularly.

Hopefully, this post today will unjinx the bad voodoo that has prevented me from writing, and hopefully, it’ll be the welcome mat for the next, and more frequent posts, on The World Past Me.

A very (late) Happy New Year to everyone. May words always be with you!

 

What I Learnt in My First Month in University

Four days ago was one month since I moved out of my house to the hostel in my university. Here are my observations on how it has been:

1. Some teachers won’t give a damn if you won’t. They won’t bother if you are listening, if you’re napping, if you’re on your cell phones. Your education is in your hands. It is up to you to pay attention.

2. On the other hand, the teachers who do actually teach will not spoonfeed you. They will give you stepping stones, they will tell you what you want, in a manner that’ll make you want to rip off your hair. But at the end, you’ll get an idea of what they were talking about. You’ll be grateful that they didn’t tell you. You’ll be happy that you were able to arrive at what you did without anyone putting thoughts in your head.

3. There are no fixed schedules. Your sleeping pattern revolves around the work you have. You may have a class at 9 in the morning and the paper due the same morning. You will have to work till dawn, you will have to sleep for 3 hours and you’ll have to attend the class. 

4. Which is why, don’t procrastinate. If you do, you’ll have not have the satisfaction of having submitted a paper that you actually like. For the two papers that I’ve submitted so far, I have  worked and I enjoyed the process. Even though it kept me awake till 4, the feeling that I had before going to sleep was unparalleled.

5. You’ll have a lot of free time at hand. For people like me who have classes I only 2 days a week and who are literally the most shy and laziest people in the planet, it’s very easy to fall into the trap of sleep. It’ll beckon you, call you, force you in subordination so much that you’ll sleep 15 hours a day. You’ll have to resist that. I fell into that pattern and believe me, that week, I didn’t have more than 10-12 meals of the 21 meals I should have been having. 

6. Which is why, get involved. One of the best ways you can make friends is by getting involved. Find your interest and go for it. You’ll find your kind of people if you venture out of your comfort zone. Even if you can’t, sit on the quad, go to the library, sit in the café; you’ll find someone to talk to.

7. Saying that, there will come a time when you’ll lose your appetite. The mess food will taste like sand, each meal of each day and you will literally feel your appetite fading. And you would be able to go one for days on just water. At that time, eat. Go to tuck shops, make popcorn, buy a sandwich but eat. Nourishment is important.

8. Have a night out with friends. Just go to the park, and sit there. Walk around, let the dew kiss your feet, play music, wait for the stars to recede. Talk about yourselves, know each other, your pasts, presents, futures. Witness the sunrise, I swear, you’ll feel like you were meant for that day only. (Not to mention, sleep at six and miss the first class of the day!)

9. There will be times when you’ll feel homesick, you’ll feel alone, and miserable. You’ll miss your home, your family, your friends, your school. You’ll feel like crying all the things that you’ve felt since you left home. Cry. Cry your heart out, in the pillow, on a shoulder, in the afternoon, at night after everyone’s asleep. You’ll feel a lot better, you’ll feel lighter, you’ll feel more settled.
10. You are here to learn but you’re here to make memories too. Many of the people you meet will probably end up becoming your closest friends for the rest of your life. Which is why, choose them carefully. I’m not saying don’t talk to anyone. Rather, talk, but make sure that the people you pour your heart out to deserve you. Don’t settle for less. You’re worth a lot more than a toxic relationship. Never demerit yourself. 

These are the few things that I learnt, rather experienced, in the first month. Do they match your college life, or are they not what you experiences? I’d love to hear from you!

Until the next month, then!

Five Word Challenge: July 2015

I came across the Five Word Challenge: July 2015 set by David/Megan here through a challenge response. I found it interesting so here goes my post. But before you get reading, I would like for you to take a look at my previous post Music Today here to know the background story and get properly into the feel of it.

The story starts here:

We look so weird because papa was testing the timer of the camera.
We look so weird because papa was testing the timer of the camera.

I am crawling on the floor and mumma is in the kitchen, probably preparing dinner for us. I am trying to walk these days. Sometimes, I stand for a few seconds and then collapse on the floor. When mumma first saw me stand for three seconds, she nearly cried with happiness. Now, when she is free, she sits some distance away from me and tries to make me walk, holding my hand or finger till I reach her. She claps when I do. She is so pretty when she laughs. I make my way across the room to the kitchen and hug mumma’s leg. She sees me and smiles, “Niki, come on!” 

She abandons her work, scoops me up in her arms and kisses me. She carries me towards the open balcony and there, some distance away, we both see the sun set gradually behind the mountain range that surrounds our small town of Phuntsholing. I see that she glances at the bridge across the valley that materializes from the dense tree cover  and I know what she is thinking. She is waiting for daddy. 

Suddenly the clouds rumble, a low, growling sound, that sounds very similar to what daddy makes in the bathroom when he is constipated. It comes as no surprise to mumma as it rains every other day here. I like it because she lets me play in the rain. She sets me down in my swing so that she can pick the clothes she had left out to dry. 

After she is done, she carries me inside and feeds me daal and rice. It starts raining soon after. Daddy has still not come. I can see that mumma is worried. It is already dark, and the rain makes it extremely hard to drive on the curvy roads. Suddenly the bell rings. I let out a shriek of happiness and crawl-run my way to the door, where mumma is already there, with a towel for daddy to dry. Daddy looks tired as he removes his tie, but as soon as he sees me, his eyes light up and a grin makes in way. He picks me up, kisses me, and says, “Muchano,” I don’t know why he calls me that, “kaisi ho?” How are you? 

I shout again and he throws me in the air. I laugh happily as he catches me. Mumma says, “Dinner is ready. I have set it in the balcony so that we can enjoy the rain too. You can also click some photographs.” She adds with a smile. She knows my father is an avid photographer; how much he loves to click my photographs and how much I love modelling for him. 

Daddy takes me to the balcony and on the way, we pass the music system. “You know what, Muchano,” he says lovingly, “there is a song that I luuurve, would you hear it?” he tickles me as he says. I laugh again, as he puts on a cassette. 

“Jagjit Singh,” he says grandly. “One of the finest shayars of all time.” 

As they settle down for dinner, and me for a round two, I look around me and smile. This is my family, these are the people that I love. My life is not illusion, it is a reality. I am happy. 

Pleasure-may-come-from-illusion

The F- Challenge!

F- Challenge

Put a stop to your dirty minds, readers. Let me have my share of say.

I created a challenge! Some time ago, I had mentioned in one of the posts here that I would be hosting some challenges, contests and competitions for the bloggers’ community. This is the first of that lot, The F- Challenge. This was invented while I was sitting at my coaching class, doing Maths, and rethought upon while travelling.

The rules of this challenge are:

1. Thank the person who nominated you.

2. Write a prose of five lines, in which every line should start and end with a word that starts from ‘F’.

3. Keep a link of the original F- Challenge in the post, so that the creator may get a pingback.

4. This challenge is open to anyone who sees it, or reads a F- Challenge post from someone.

5. Nominate 7 other bloggers for this challenge.

The nominees for this challenge are:

Sophie

Finicky Cynic

Anoop

Yusra

Adi

Erika

Rob

Kritika

Caitlin

Britta

Mon

Phoenix

I took the liberty of being the creator of this challenge to nominate many people, haha 😀 Anyhow, to all the nominees, best of luck. To all those who aren’t nominated, all the best! I hope you have fun.

Look forward to seeing your posts.

P.S. Close to 300 followers:D