T for 'Travel-trums'

New places free you of obligations. You don't feel constrained by the exigencies of circumstances...people...work...life. The loss of familiarity is comforting in more ways than one.

That's the best part about wanderlust; it disconnects you from the life you have been leading...the regularities, the monotonies, the humdrum of your otherwise frenzied existence. Living amidst strangers, traveling amongst people you have never seen or met before provides a strange solace that there is so much more to this world than your banal problems, milk-and-water issues that you have been fretting over. It widens the scope of possibilities. It broadens your vision. It triggers off a pluralistic view on the slideshow playing before you, the slideshow called life.

However, like every vacation, this one ends too, and you have to pack your bags and leave for familiar territory once again. You don't wish to say goodbye. But you know you have to...before this place becomes familiar as well. You need to carry memories of the 'here and now' in your heart and leave before they change into putrid chunks of the defunct existence that you were running away from in the first place. So that somewhere in the deepest recesses of your mind, there is this place that you can time travel to every now and then, a dream stay-cation that allows you to slip into a skin that is not your own.  A secret Narnia--an adventure destination where you don't belong, and yet in a strange sort of way, belongs only to you...when home seems too hard to handle.

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T for 'Travel-trums'  is the twentieth post in the 'A-Z Series' of posts, a chain of scribbles by me on topics starting with each alphabet of the English language. Read back and forth for the other posts, and please feel free to contribute your thoughts on the subject.

Shooting star

Romancing with the moon
Albeit afraid of the night,
Reigning in his magic
She'd always twinkle bright

But alas! She had no 'forever'
Her love was brought to end
And when the world got down to question
There was nothing to defend

That day her glory ended
And the skies-they mocked her plight
She burnt out all her passion
And went missing-out of sight

Breaking into smithereens
With a ferocity intense
She sparked up like fire
Until it all made perfect sense

Reduced to rock and lava
Compelled to leave the sky

Transforming into a meteorite
She bid her final goodbye.

S for 'Stray thoughts'

There is something about mornings. My life, thoughts, feelings make so much sense then. The first rays of the sun falling on my face through an open window are almost cathartic.
As a matter of fact, some of the best decisions of my life have been made early morning. That's when the patina of confusion that has been forming over my thoughts begins to dissipate, and the light comes shining through.
Perhaps this also has much to do with the fact that this is the only time I can enjoy some solitude and complete me-time, with not much disturbing my chain of thoughts, except, ironically, more thoughts calling fire from all corners of my brain.
However, this break of dawn just after the twilight zone is as imperstive as is poetic. As crucial as is romantic. As introspective as is depressing (sometimes). I wouldn't call it insomnia, that, to me, has a negative ring to it. I'd rather call it a state of prolonged wakefulness that my internal clock has got attuned to over time and habit.

Late nights and early mornings, I sometimes wonder how I manage with so little sleep. I'm sure, on some deeper invisible level, it must be taking a toll on my health and life (with sleep hours being nowhere near the much needed 5-8, I can't exmuch much, can I?). But life is not over until it's over, right? So until then, let me put in some extra hours to write some poetry, enjoy some music, get swept away in good literature, and think about the colossal mess my universe is in.

But as the hours tick by and the sun gets brighter, life reminds me that I need to get back on track. This kind of derailment is not helping. I feel my morning clarity slowly disappear, acquiring murky shades of confusion, guilt, and regret once again. The day has its ways of befuddling me with its nuances.

Ever heard the riddle of the snake who attempting to reach the village well that climbed up three steps everyday and slipped back two? (Or something like that) . I have faint memories of hearing it as a child. Could never fathom the answer then mainly because it was a complex mathematical problem for a kid my age, and also because the thought of a snake climbing stairs would amuse me and I'd burst into giggles.
But thinking about it, I'm still not sure how many days it would take him to reach that well. But I empathise with him now. Maybe the whole riddle was just a metaphor for existential crisis. Maybe the entire point was not to focus on the question but rather to try and understand how the snake might be feeling. Or maybe I just cracked a really sad joke and realised you might not even be laughing.

Yeah, that's the story for now...

Until we meet again,
Cheers!

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S for 'Stray thoughts' is the nineteenth post in the 'A-Z Series' of posts, a chain of scribbles by me on topics starting with each alphabet of the English language. Read back and forth for the other posts, and please feel free to contribute your thoughts on the subject.