The Nomad Moves – Out, Away and On

There are 65 drafts in my Dashboard.

Words unwritten, thoughts incomplete, keys  untyped, blanks unfilled.

Blanks never to be filled.

Never mind.. Doesn’t matter anymore.

For I realize.. am realizing.. since this morning..

That this blog – born of impulse, has to die of impulse.

For I realize.. am realizing.. since the past week..

That this blog – created for no purpose, has served its purpose.

Conjecture Girl was born for want of anonymity.

She crawled around, picking words off the floor & putting them into her mouth in a flash.

She tottered around, holding on to walls of thoughts for support & flailing arms, grabbing ideas in the air.

She babbled, gurgled, found indulgent listeners, and chattered on, and on, and on.

She got  too busy growing up to be a Woman..

That she did not realize that her life’s mission had been realized.

She had gotten me to  taste my love for words.

She had gotten me to feel the flow of thoughts.

She had painted in front of my eyes, chaotically-expanding horizons.

She had slipped into me – the seed of love for thinking through words.

She had goaded me into growth – slyly fed me a bitter pill.

Her job done..

The nomad in her wants to move out..

The recluse in her wants to move away..

She and I – we want to move on..

May be to meet at times far off.. at places far off..

May be for good.

For now.. we part as friends, with the fondest of memories.

But before that, we get together one last time..

To thank you all – our precious, indulgent lovely readers..

To say good-bye – to the strange friendships we made with some of you..

To wish you all the most vibrant of luck – for we might never meet you again..

And smile one last time – at each other, at you.

One last hug.

Thanking you all,

Sincerely yours,

Moving Out, Away and On..

The Conjecture Girl

:)

 

P.S : Leaving this unedited – lest, I change my mind. Please do excuse gaps in the thought & mistakes in the writing. One last bit of torture from me. :D

Word Muse #7 – Far Off

For what are ‘Word Muses’ and the list till now, look here.

 
There sleeps the past..

    In some city too far off.

There peeps the future..

    In some other city too far off.

Here breathes the present..

    In this city too near, too here.

Too warm for touch,

    Too close for comfort.

Too real to be strange,

    Too unreal to belong.

 
So quick is the heart to flutter..

    Its lashed lids; its wispy wings.

Yet, sealing in dreams for new stars..

    Yet, reeling in flights to new neighbors.

For ever in denial; for ever on the run..

    Of that which settles; from that which attaches.
 
Waiting in patience,
    Braving the heat of the familiar.
    Craving the cold of the strange.

Waiting in hope,
    Yet another pasture dusty and fresh.
    Yet another start crusty and brash.

For the next home too far off..
    For the next people too close by.

Ever unsettled, ever flowing, ever fleeing, ever seeking..
The nomadic heart – the one that lives too far off, beats too far away.

The Journey of a Bond

It starts with a squealed “Tum bhi?”

And many more rushing on to you..

Happy milestones across the road,

In a giddy flight along the highway.

Dare turn away from the smooth sail..

Into a dusty lane of bumps and holes.

And another, and any other..

Past the bruises, beyond the aches.

Exploring, and getting lost..

Into each other’s flaws and fears.

The miles build up in comfortable silence..

An occasional “Tum bhi, na!” marking distance.

That journey never-ending..

Piling up labored miles, unnoticed..

From an excited “Tum bhi?” to many an exasperated “Tum bhi, na!”..

Of that scarily special bond, well worn in – a friendship in adulthood.

Of Ideal Weeks and Ends

I have a book in my hand now (as usual), and it looks straight into my eyes and challenges me to let go of intelligence and inhibitions for a page (not very usual). It asks me to actually sit and describe my “ideal day – weekday or weekend” instead of just wishing for a vague one.

So, please close this window full of unedited rambling thoughts and go read something more sensible, intelligent and beautiful.

Doesn’t everyone wish that their ideal life is full of what they currently love to do, and whom they currently love? Careers, ambitions, family-plans, and far off old-age be damned?

No? Well, everyone should – ideally. I do!

My ideal day..

  • Doesn’t see an alarm clock. My over-excited brain wrestles me awake and sends me rolling to try something that it just came up with.
  • I wake up with zero pain, fully rested, eyes wide open,  in an addicted hurry to get back to the ‘high’ of my research project.
  • A bright plateful of something  smelling green, white and yellow, and a tall glassful of something cold and kicking appear magically at my desk. I sprout a third hand that feeds me and wipes my lips.
  • My desk stands up when I do, sits down where I do, and lies down by my side when I need it to.
  • A window streaming in the golden sun, the midnight moon, and the evening breeze to brighten and rustle up my desk.
  • A long wall of white-board – offering its servile back to me to scribble, scratch, and doodle on.
  • A.R.Rahman, Kannadasan, Rafi, and Sahir Ludhianvi croon into my ears, and only my ears.
  • Nobody around to be weirded out by my whistling, and humming, and carrying on colorful conversations with the whiteboard and monitor.
  • I drown hunger, pain, and myself in  a challenging problem.
  • One of those evil people who love me come checking whether I am alive, and drag me back to the ‘real world’ – and I cry, kick, resist, sulk, crib and tantrum as much as I can before being disowned.
  • A slow, elaborate meal that lets me get a satisfying bite of that book from last night.
  • An hour of brainstorming over some ‘exciting’ research problem with the mentor to watch his eyes twinkle; and an extra half hour for ‘coffee’ aka discussing the most random of topics, arguing over the most absurd bits of ‘wisdom gleaned from experience’, and  laughing for reasons that tend to appear out of nowhere.
  • Watching someone express something that strikes a bell in the head – DING!
  • 10 minutes of nonsensical  leg-pulling and grinning with one of the best friends.
  • An intimate walk with the moon, and one welcoming the sun – with either a book, or a thought  for silent company.
  • 5 minutes by a lake, river or ocean – watching waves, ripples, and swooping pigeons.
  • 30 minutes of reading about something or some place or some one totally random – Information-porn and Travel-porn – till guilt of procrastination clicks the close button.
  • Watching people retreat to their beds, the night go by, birds chanting early morning mantras, and people waking up to their days one after another.
  • 10 minutes of letting some words run zig-zag in my head until they settle down, from sheer exhaustion,  into a thought.
  • Having most of the above points shake themselves up and settle in different orders.
  • Reading a book as if finishing that chapter NOW is the only way of preventing the apocalypse scheduled for dawn.
  • Falling asleep – very quickly – with an open book in hand, and an incomplete thought in head.

With a week swaying and flowing thus, let there be no ends. Who wants the week to end when one laughs, sleeps and wonders through it like a toddler?

But yeah.. let there be flash floods disrupting the week’s calm flow – unplanned, unannounced, vanishing as fast as they come.

Flashes of spontaneous brilliance – of a sudden outing to history, a splash of photography, a burst of close-to-the-heart writing.

Yeah.. those days of the weeks, and their bookish sleepy ends – ideal enough for now.

Why Pretentious? What Profound?

The long over-due explanation for the latest streak of self-indulgent madness on this blog :

Just like Word Muses, thoughts can be muses.

Sometimes a thought gate-crashes into my head, screams, sings and laughs aloud, and makes quite a nuisance of itself. A thought may have had real-life walking talking triggers, or it might be a love-child of something I am reading and something I have been obsessing upon. A thought might simply want to vent, or want to go out, mingle and breed. But all these thoughts are unabashed attention-seekers.

The only way to get one such thought-muse to behave is to indulge it with some blog-post attention. And that is what I do in this lazy, sometimes silly, sometimes serious series of posts.

Plus, calling these posts ‘profound’ makes it easy for me : your not understanding them doesn’t make me a bad writer – it makes you a bad thinker. Yes, I am going to be THAT pretentious! B-) }:-)

So, that explains the ancestry of the Pretentiously Profound posts, and absolves them of the ignominy of being bastard urchins. [dusts off palms]