My favourite ghazals, the rain, some alcohol, a good book, the moon, and hot coffee.


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The choice to customize is always tricky, especially when it involves being able to tweak your own life. You have freedom, and you have choices, and you can do whatever you want. I would compare my customized life to an ice cream tub. You know when you have too many choices while buying ice cream and you end up with a weird flavour because you tried mixing all the colourful attractive scoops together? Something like that. I’m living a weird colourful life in an ice cream tub it seems.

I’m underpaid, I’m independent, I’m paying my own bills, I’m doing what I love, And I’m happy. I wanted this life, and I have it now. (Yeah, I would love to earn more money, but hey, don’t they say something like you should do what you love and success and money would follow? I’m waiting for that ideal situation) Despite the problems, this wait is way more tolerable than what my life was till a year ago. I was overpaid (Yes, I truly believed so, and that depressed me), I was dependent, everything was taken care of, I hated my job, and I was terribly stressed about everything. There was a lurking sadness, always. And though it was somewhere inside me, in a little corner, hiding all the time, I felt it surfacing sometimes at odd moments- like when I was two drinks down, and listening to Mehdi Hassan; It surfaced in the form of a tear, in the form of a half-smile, in the form of a sway of my head. It did. And I enjoyed it. Funnily, I grew fond of it. I grew fond of how I enjoyed my grief, and explored and discussed philosophical questions with myself. Like I would have these complex discussions going on in my head, and I would just smile like a retard. It’s such a triumphant feeling you know, like you’ve found a life hack or something.

As days passed by, and things remained the same, I discovered it surfaced at other times too- when I looked out of the window at the downpour, when my own grief touched me through the sound of the rain. And I loved it. It surfaced when I saw the moon, pale, a little more than half, reminding me of the incomplete things in my never ending, rolling-all-over-the-floor to-do list. Sipping hot coffee and looking at the clouds through the huge glass window of my office tower, sometimes watching flocks of birds forming patters in the sky and admiring feeling jealous at their beautiful execution of creativity; secretly writing poetry sitting in the office washroom, and feeling ecstatic; being deeply and inextricably buried in a good book for days. All this, and more helped me survive the constant unrest, the constant sadness of not being able to find where I belong. And I feel stupid saying it, but I had fallen in love with my grief. When you feel you are sinking and you just embrace life for what it is; not resisting, not fighting. May be I had just befriended the little things that reminded me of it- my favourite ghazals, the rain, a good book, some alcohol, the moon, hot coffee. May be.

Last month, for the first time, something unusual happened- My favourite ghazal- Ranjish hi sahi by Mehdi Hasan didn’t stir the same emotions in me as it always did. I didn’t feel happy to be sad. May be because funnily, I didn’t have a reason to be sad. I somehow felt at peace with myself. For that ephemeral moment, I felt I was doing fine, and I don’t know why, but I didn’t like it. I had liked the sweet confusion, the seeking, my pursuits, I had liked all of that. I wanted the same old familiar feeling, even if it meant feeling a little low. Sometimes when I feel things like these, I seriously doubt my sanity. Like seriously, what’s wrong with me? (They say humans can never be happy, I now know what they mean.)

The following week of course, I was busy again. I was anxious and excited about doing well at work and there was commotion. But I just couldn’t stop thinking about what I had felt that night. It was something I had never experienced before, but it was also short-lived. And yesterday, I found myself looking at the moon and brooding again. Once again, I had a reason to ponder over the mysteries of life. Once again I was feeling low about something, and then feeling happy about the discussion in my head. Like life was making sense to me in weird ways. Call me mad, but that’s a major survival trick.

Of course, I need to work on and figure how to be happy when I am really feeling happy though.

Lol. kidding. 

 

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3 thoughts on “My favourite ghazals, the rain, some alcohol, a good book, the moon, and hot coffee.

  1. Are you still with MAD? I am very glad that you are out of the usual bustle and found something that you like to do. People spend their entire lives in something that they dislike and you should feel quite lucky. I am bit confused that you lost your love for mehdi hassan and that led you to some massive soul searching which satisfied your philosophical yearnings! Our psyche is quite quaint, ain’t it?

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    • I didn’t lose my love for Mehdi Hassan. It was just a phase. Absolutely enjoy listening to him now. But I’m glad I experienced the momentary lack, and then return of love. Validates my belief about saturation for the things we love in life.

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      • This is so aptly put. I stayed several years of my life in a place called Vancouver. My friend and I used to have many arguments on whether it is possible to get too full of the beautiful scenery around the city. I never got too full of it but several of my friends did. I guess it is the same for me and sweets!

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