I've got a hunger
Twisting my stomach into knots.
That my tongue has tied off.
My brain's repeating
"If you've got an impulse let it out"
But they never make it past my mouth.
Bop ba,Bop ba, this is the sound of settling
Bop ba, Bop ba...
It's been a while since I rediscovered anything-music, art, writing, places, pictures, etc.
There's something about rediscovering things. Almost eveything that is hardwired for us to know, feel is nothing but through memories. I don't know when I learnt how to cycle. Or swim. But when I do it again after decades, I know I can connect with those first-time, emotions of when the let-go happened- an impulsive second of recklessness, freedom and unbounded joy.
I've been in Delhi for a while now. This place I call home. Home that is so wonderfully comfortable and so understandably flawed. I've loved it while my foundation years where making me what I am today. I've hated it while I've been away. And today, I know I'll still be cynicle, criticizing, and... appreciative. I'll never accept it's beauty while I walk on it's roads with sprawling greens on either sides, and travel in the clean, shiny tracks with crooning voices inside. Outside this city where I'll leave my 21 years, my life, my world, and my past, I'll know it is irreplaceable.
We were on our usual job hunt, and Hotness and I were roaming the streets of Hauz Khaz.
Hauz Khaz is not a part of your usual Delhi. It is like a mini hill station inside the very city. The obvious temperature drop, the narrow, long road uphill and crowded array of almost squashed shops, cafe's and tea stalls, can't help but lift your spirits. Sometimes you wonder why people would be happy to have a one square feet, tiny shop that offers never-seen before curios, artifacts, and antiques, in a place which is so far away from the main city where civilization exists. Maybe because of it's exclusivity. But a romantic would tell me-it's the intoxification and irrevocable nature of the air that induces the drug of love... Death over seperation.
The ruins are so peaceful, and so calm, that you'd feel unnerved for a moment. Someone has walked those inside roads, run across the arch ways , sang the song of dusk and climbed down the rocky steps, to wave a goodbye to the dying sun, sitting at the edge of the green lake. Life seemed to have left those ruins, centuries ago. But it's still not sad, and it is still not gloomy.
The ruins, still, breath.
As we walked down that road, we visited all the cute cafe's and shops. It is amazing what one can do with just enough space to accomodate 8 people, keep a kettle in the background and call it a tea shop. It is also amazing, how this place still seems to be so innocently hidden away from commercialization.
It is all in the beauty of rediscovering that you realize that often, things we leave behind might have had more to offer than we'd known. It is not called living in the past, mind. It is called having LIVED the past.
Tuchs! :)
Twisting my stomach into knots.
That my tongue has tied off.
My brain's repeating
"If you've got an impulse let it out"
But they never make it past my mouth.
Bop ba,Bop ba, this is the sound of settling
Bop ba, Bop ba...
It's been a while since I rediscovered anything-music, art, writing, places, pictures, etc.
There's something about rediscovering things. Almost eveything that is hardwired for us to know, feel is nothing but through memories. I don't know when I learnt how to cycle. Or swim. But when I do it again after decades, I know I can connect with those first-time, emotions of when the let-go happened- an impulsive second of recklessness, freedom and unbounded joy.
I've been in Delhi for a while now. This place I call home. Home that is so wonderfully comfortable and so understandably flawed. I've loved it while my foundation years where making me what I am today. I've hated it while I've been away. And today, I know I'll still be cynicle, criticizing, and... appreciative. I'll never accept it's beauty while I walk on it's roads with sprawling greens on either sides, and travel in the clean, shiny tracks with crooning voices inside. Outside this city where I'll leave my 21 years, my life, my world, and my past, I'll know it is irreplaceable.
We were on our usual job hunt, and Hotness and I were roaming the streets of Hauz Khaz.
Hauz Khaz is not a part of your usual Delhi. It is like a mini hill station inside the very city. The obvious temperature drop, the narrow, long road uphill and crowded array of almost squashed shops, cafe's and tea stalls, can't help but lift your spirits. Sometimes you wonder why people would be happy to have a one square feet, tiny shop that offers never-seen before curios, artifacts, and antiques, in a place which is so far away from the main city where civilization exists. Maybe because of it's exclusivity. But a romantic would tell me-it's the intoxification and irrevocable nature of the air that induces the drug of love... Death over seperation.
The ruins are so peaceful, and so calm, that you'd feel unnerved for a moment. Someone has walked those inside roads, run across the arch ways , sang the song of dusk and climbed down the rocky steps, to wave a goodbye to the dying sun, sitting at the edge of the green lake. Life seemed to have left those ruins, centuries ago. But it's still not sad, and it is still not gloomy.
The ruins, still, breath.
As we walked down that road, we visited all the cute cafe's and shops. It is amazing what one can do with just enough space to accomodate 8 people, keep a kettle in the background and call it a tea shop. It is also amazing, how this place still seems to be so innocently hidden away from commercialization.
It is all in the beauty of rediscovering that you realize that often, things we leave behind might have had more to offer than we'd known. It is not called living in the past, mind. It is called having LIVED the past.
Tuchs! :)
1 comment:
Agree in parts, disagree in parts. But just glad you've gotten back to this page :)
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