Bliss.

Bliss.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Consent.

Postponing this moment since quite some time now. I still don't know if I can put down everything on my mind.

Home for a week. Highlights include learning to drive in Appa's car under Lokesh's amazing guidance. I was really beginning to enjoy it. Spent quite some time bonding with Di especially since she couldn't make it to school. 

I wish I could be around for Divya and wish I could answer all her questions from whether Pierre Curie would have also died due to radiation exposure if he had not met with an accident, if Albert Einstein and Shiva were vegetarians, if Pastuer invented vaccines for diseases other than rabies and also if Tintin was a Hindu... :)

Yesterday Amma packed chapathis for the train journey because I'm usually famished by the time the train reaches around 9pm. I opened the box to see the familiar rolled chapathis with sugar and ghee. I smiled to myself as I began to munch on it. Rolled sugar chapathis and I have a long history. For the most part of my school life, these were my companions during the lunch break. 2 sugar chapathis and 2 more with chutney pudi. On days that Amma finished cooking the lunch in the morning, the loyal chapathis were replaced by exotic Chitranna, Fried Rice and even the rare Pulav. Irrespective of the breakfast at home, this was always my tiffin for school. I vividly remember, one day in high school when Rachana asked me why did I still eat in rolls like a primary school kid. Unable to give an answer, I had come back at vented on Amma for rolling the chapathis. 'I'm NOT  a Kid!', I had tried to convince her.

After the offending roll was banished for a while, it made a comeback at DCFL occassionally. Since I had to leave pretty early (7.15am), I often ate in the canteen.

And after all these years, when I saw two good old rolls of sugar chapathis tucked neatly in the box, it was a nostalgic moment indeed. What wouldn't I do to have them everyday just like the old days! Who cares of they were in rolls or folds, it was still my mother's cooking.

I don't know why I feel this way. I don't like it and I constantly contain every single emotion that threatens to reveal itself. Under the guise of other preoccupations, I ignore the noise in my mind, the uneasiness gnawing at me from the inside and the message from the distant past now looms in front as a reminder.

My dreams can't be stolen from me. Dreams of happy days and starry nights, dreams of flowery pathways and mistletoe, dreams of everything that I need and want; they are mine.  Every image that I created, every castle that I built in the air, every hope, every desire is mine and mine alone that cannot be trespassed upon without my Consent.

When words fail and you chose to let your brush do the talking...

Today's catharsis
:)