Musings

Curled up on a winter afternoon, I am listening to a song about a man in Budapest who is very rich and very much in love. Over time, its become one of my favorite songs. Its not the melody or the words or the artist, as is the case with me a lot of times. Remember how listening to your mother sing an old song she used to hum to put you to sleep makes you feel like you are home? This song does that to me. It makes me feel closer to someone who was home to me in a city I, till the time it led me to him, never liked.

It isn’t really a winter afternoon. Its middle of summer, flowers and a bright sun right above my head. Normally I would think to myself oh, what a beautiful fucking day. But today I wish it was cold. Doesn’t winter make everything more gloomy than it already is? Summer is my best friend. Its an old friend I wait eagerly to meet every year and do my favorite things with like hit the beach and let my clothes soak up all the salty water. But today I think its winter I am seeking so we could both go looking for some warmth.

I am panicking. I should be doing something else right now. I should be rushing, racing, like in a relay where I am the next runner and also the next. “Go speed-racer, go.” But today I find it an unsparing task to get out of bed. Its like the weight of air is pinning me down to where I am sitting. The air and also my heart. It feels so heavy, unwieldy. Days are so demanding. Why doesn’t the world pause to soothe me and take the sting out?

That’s my body but my mind? My mind today is a pendulum fighting against gravity, moving from one extreme to another. I have always found it so difficult to tame my mind. I have never tried to steer my heart, my heart is free and I’ll always let it be. But I wish my mind was my subject which I could discipline because it often leads me astray. What a merciless battle it always is between the mind and the heart, isn’t it?

I wish it was possible to turn around, trace my footsteps back to that exact moment when I got lost and then chose a different path which is more steady and rippleless. Right now I am in the middle of a sea storm, an antithesis of what I see outside my window, and my arms are tired of swimming against the waves. They were never strong, I should have done that workout he taught me to do. Instead, I kicked up a fuss each time.

It always calms me down to put everything in words. Isn’t it empowering to speak out? I can talk endlessly, my place in the classroom was changed too often. I think writing this down will subdue the chaos in a similar way. If it doesn’t, I will wait for this annoyingly perfect, vexatious day to end and go sleep by my mother’s side tonight, ask her to stroke my head gently, brood over when I had my fingers dipped in his luxurious hair and tomorrow, start all over again.

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