Packing Bags for Christmas.

The family has packed their bags and flown or driven off to different parts of the world. My sister and I were paired and packed off to Bangalore. The five day camp at Padmanabhapuram had reduced me to a bag of creaky bones. My muscles and and mind had barely woken up when Christmas celebrations at college came up. And thus in much delirium I was hauled with the rest of the baggage into a giant Volvo with Muthu (as Mercedes readers would remember is my very own sister Alfa).

The bus whirred forth, the blessed suspension  springs making the journey gentle and smooth despite the pothole-pecked road. I lounged back onto the reclining seat, pulled the thin ochre-coloured blanket the bus provided, and plugged in my headphones.

Soon all was but coloured lines of night lights, and all my daily worries flew by one by one like how an ashen piece of paper would crumble away to the wind. Soon was I was in that dreamy lair above the material world, tuned into one of those long philosophical bus journeys. Occasionally when my Hans Zimmer soundtrack hit a grave low spell my peace would be ripped apart like dagger down a sheet of cotton, by the snoring man seated behind us.

I woke up to a misty glass, rubbed it with a corner of my blanket- something I love to do. We were zooming by a dusty,dry  and extremely cold highway. "Electronics City" croaked the conductor. I glanced dubiously at my sister as I swung my seat upright, she nodded that I had heard it right. We hopped off at Madiwala where a pack of autorickshaw drivers pecked around us noisily. Muthu pushed her way through the pestering crowd, past the yellow and green auto rickshaws, fleeting puffs of engine exhaust warming our frozen legs.

We finally got into an auto that lay stray , ahead of the clutter. "Old Airport Road," instructed Muthu.

The wake-up call

I have been pretty coiled up and docile for almost two years now.Looking at the number of time I have to hit backspace, things definitely are dusty. Dust. My mind seems to twirl like scattered dust in an empty lit room.

I can't find the right shiny words to express the hundred things I want to say. Looking back at my old blog I feel a funny tickle incongruously running around my brain when my heart feels dull and sunken.

Perhaps this is the best way to start- find a couple of old favourite words, heave deep sigh and exhale the guilt of having not written for two years,kiss your keyboard and start.