My Haven

A Cancerian loves his home with a respect bordering on reverence. His home is where he plays, lives, loves, dreams and feels safe. Though he may travel over half the earth in connection with his career, no Cancer person is ever quite happy without a hearth to call his own. Sometime make a point of noticing the expression on the face of a crab who has just returned home from a long trip. Pure ecstasy.

Linda Goodman (in her book ‘Sun signs’)

I am a Cancerian. It’s more a confession than a statement. I love my home. I run to my home when I am depressed or happy or plain confused. But the basic idea being that I run back home. Today when I sit back and think about ‘my home’ there are 2 places that come to my mind.

One of my homes is in the heart of Bombay. It isn’t about the four walls of my physical house but the whole experience of its surroundings. Home for me is the MARINE DRIVE, JJ flyover, Kala Ghoda, Regal circle, Colaba Causeway, Bombay central Station, Flora Fountain and all the lawyers offices of that area (had few of my best clients there when I was in the investment business), dockyard road, Love lane, Clare Road, Nagpada, BHENDI BAZAR and of course my flat at Byculla... I can see train tracks from my place. The train passing by every 3-5 mins (am so used to the noise that I don’t even register how apart they are from each other), the far off ships docking, the bells ringing at Gloria church, the cranky next door old lady, my over nosey yet adorable liftman, irritating and seriously smart bldg school boys (damn I feel a generation gap already), cute bitchy and once again extremely smart school and college girls of my bldg (yet again what was I doing at their age, playing with dolls?)... and most importantly, my family resides at this place... My sistah! Love her or hate her... can't live without her. And when the hell did she get so mature? My mother – she is my best friend and confidant and one of the most taken for granted people of my life. I will make it up someday soon. My dad – serious and sometimes incommunicable, but always manages to put everything in order in the background. We four are a combination that is live firecrackers or the serene and comforting sea... depends which mood you pick on us at.

These are few reasons I call Byculla my home. It is everything I ever wanted and I FEEL at home here. But today when I got to know that after 3 days of staying here 2 more days are holiday for me and I have a choice to stay back for 2 days more, there was only one voice shouting softly in my head – GO back to Nerul, go to Nerul, GO GO GO GO GO...

Second of my homes is in Nerul. It’s been a nearly a year and a half now that I am staying at a rented apartment here with 2 of my class mates. One of them being my best friend. My first impression of Nerul was – its a ‘gaon’! This place has this eerie ability to alienate you as soon as you set foot here. Now I dunno whether it was the rain (it was monsoons when I went there first and rain gets me depressed about life in general) or it was the place itself. The immigrants to this part of the world will agree that this is a place where zombies florish... flourish... that I surely do. Nerul home for me consists of my COLLEGE, my house (the four walls), RD’s (sutta cum chai joint), Rangoli restaurant, HDFC bank ATM (thats my cash source dude, it definitely is home for me), DMart – the local departmental store (this is where a portion of money withdrawn from HDFC goes), Mayors bungalow, Nerul station, the cinema at Sanpada station – it plays the latest popular movies though it resembles a porn theatre (a guy friend once told me that and I shrieked. Nonetheless we still visit it often as it is very light on the pockets)... and a few more things here and there. I wouldn’t be caught dead saying this, but still I will – I love this place. I love it for the solitude and solidarity that it gives me. A great combination. It frustrates and it comforts. It lets me ‘be’ when I need it and gets me so lonely sometimes. I have experienced my freedom and the evils of ‘excessive’ freedom over here. This place is me. But at the end of every week when Sunday approaches... like a spirit being carried in its carriage I drift to Byculla and nothing can stop me. I love coming back to Byculla...

I play, live, love, dream and feel safe in both these places.

Home for me is both these places. Equally. For some time now, I need to shuffle between both these places to sustain myself. Nerul gives me my space, Byculla gives me my people, the people who mean the world to me. And for right now this arrangement is perfect. I have developed as a different human with this arrangement. But sooner than later this arrangement is going to give way. My college will be over soon. There will be happiness for I can go back to Byculla and sadness as I will not be a part of Nerul the way that I am now. I don’t know which of these 2 feelings will supersede. I will let myself tell me that then. But whatever the feeling, the fact remains. I will lose the home away from home.

And I will find a new home away from home soon... a third place to fill up this gap. This time if I have a choice I will look out for a home which has a good night club and a multiplex nearby... God hear my prayer! Amen.

Expressing one's self

It is so amazing to be able to express yourself clearly. To be able to use words that convey the exact meaning of what you are thinking and feeling.

I have heard this so many times. I used to live by this statement all through my naive college life. I had someone then who made me believe that I was understood. Don’t get me wrong. If you are the one who understands another person or are being understood by someone else, good for you. Just that for me towards the end of it all... I said so many words expressing exactly what I felt that the intensity of it left itself redundant. My expressions were left redundant.

I couldn’t understand it then and a long long time after that. I always believed and to an extent believe it still that I am bad with words. I was told to improve on it; told to express myself more often, without restriction, without any prejudices. I did. It didn’t help.

I was never trying to be a poet, a writer, a literary expert. I just wanted to be understood. I was told to be clearer, more precise. I tried. I guess I tried so hard and so often that the words itself lost its meaning. How would you tell someone more clearly that you are lost, but by just saying you are lost. How clearer can one get with words asking do you love her but by plainly asking whether you love her... I was lost then. But somehow, I could never get anywhere with certain people. I guess I was too complex then. I guess I was with the wrong people then.

Over the period of time in this drive to express myself better I stumbled upon something very beautiful. Silence. The beauty of this is that from this urge to be understood I somehow landed up understanding people. Obviously this simple realisation did not dawn me easily. It took a lot of blank stares from people I believed understood me to a whole array of foot in mouth moments. In both the cases I just looked back and wondered where did I go wrong. I did not see it then, I see it now. Silence is what was missing.

We lay so much emphasis on saying the right words at the right time that we forget to mention the silences at the right time. Everyone around me wants to be heard. I was one of them trying too. But now I want to listen it all out. Listening is so much more difficult when one has so many right words in their heart and so many exact meanings to what they feel. Fortunately/unfortunately for me that was never an issue. And the irony of the situation is that people have started understanding me better with my silences than my words (mostly it is the respect for the unknown). It’s a power beyond explanation and I am exploring it more.

Life in songs

Travelling through time... trying to find places/things/people who mirror the essence of me. Found none. Thought of creating it (people too)... couldn’t! I am like the poet who is bad with words. I can feel poems run through me, but can’t pen it down. It’s the highest level of frustration, believe me. It’s like having Office 2007 but having to work with a 98 processor... what a life! Amazing... you know why? Because that passion comes out in ways one can never imagine. It shows through my restlessness, peeps through my silence, blinks through my eyes and whispers through my indifference. One of the best ways I feel I can express myself is through songs.

Songs. They are so amazing. I hear a good lyric and it hits me in my stomach, why can't I write something. I have better ideas than that. When I see someone playing the guitar, I WANT to be able to play it. I know I might be able to create melodies. It’s not as if I haven’t tried. I have, a lot (atleast the poems part. Guitar not really, as I don’t have one, but soon I will).

I can attribute a song to different phases of my life (phases in chronological order).

When I was in school – Overprotected
When I was a teenager – Somewhere I belong
When I fell in love for the first time – Love at first sight
When I had my affair – Kiss from a rose
When I realised what love is – Until
When I lost my love – Empty
When I lost myself – Six feet from the edge
When I got a glimpse of the dark side – Zombie
When I found love and let it go – I’m leaving on a jet plane
When I found myself – I’m no angel

I know I am not perfect, but I can smile
And I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes
If you tell me that I can't, I will, I will, try all night
And if I say I am coming home, I’ll probably be out all night
I know I can be afraid but I am alive
And I hope that you can trust this heart behind my tired eyes


And life goes on... for every phase to come I will find a song. If for once I don’t, I will make my own. But will have a song no matter what...

P.S. This post was written earlier and within a few days I got a guitar as a birthday gift from my friends and am rite now on seventh heaven. Anyways this is one of the most meaningful gifts I have ever got...