It felt like Flying Away

In the 19 years and 6 months of my bookish life, I have had some of those nights when I felt alive. When anything and everything seemed possible. When I felt like everything’s right within the delicate seams of the universe.

The night when I saw Ed Sheeran live with was one of them. Eating Rustomjee’s ice cream on a windy winter evening with the salt of the sea in the air and on my lips was another.

The most recent night happened a couple of days ago.

26th January 2016. India’s 67th Republic Day.


If you ask me if I am spontaneous, I will firmly tell you that I don’t have a single spontaneous bone in my body.

Or I would have.

The night of 26th January was a chilled winter night. I sat on the terrace of my building with a few peers. We were playing Truth or Dare. Nostalgia is much needed at times.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I don’t have much of a filter for my thoughts anyway. So the cringe-worthy memories were absent.

As the clock struck twelve, two things happened.

One, my ass began to freeze because of the icy (Not really. This is Mumbai we are talking about.) floor.

Two, we began to receive calls from the irate parental units. So my friends and I decided to disperse for the day.

All left but three. For once, we could actually see the stars. I couldn’t help but stare at the constellation Orion which is the only constellation I know.

The three of us talked for a bit in the freezing Mumbai air. It was a pleasant change from the perpetual heat and sweat.

A perfect night for a drive, as my friend suggested. The other friend agreed.

I was in a dilemma. I knew that mum would be absolutely pissed if I chose to go. I don’t have an official curfew. But nor do I have a life other than books leaving aside this particular incident.

I so wanted to go. But the urge to conform was very strong.

I decided to actually practice what I preach and flip a finger at conformity. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. No alcohol. No drugs. No cigarettes. Just three people in a car talking about life and shit.

Wild, I tell you.

I love the night. It is soft, velvety and the time for the writer in me to rise. Also, the moon and the stars come out only during the night.

A short ride ended up being an hour long. I fell for my city all over again. Why, you ask.

Because of the endless roads. Deserted but not quite.

Because of the reflection of the sparkling lights on the gentle waves.

Because of the sheer exhilaration of viewing a side of my city that I hadn’t seen before. 

Because I could feel the infinite possibilities in the air and more.

Because of my friend’s magnificent driving skills.

Because I felt like I was living my life for once.

Because I felt like I would die without regrets if I were to die.

Because I could feel my hair whipping around in the wind whenever the windows were down.

Because I felt free.

Because it felt like flying away.

What would you think …

…if I told you it’s night and  I am sitting in the living room Indian style.  I’m sitting on the floor all alone and  facing the sofa. My back is resting against the wall unit. On my lap, there is a pair of jeans and a dress bought just tonight. To my left is my savings box and to my right is a water bottle about a quarter filled. I have my earphones on and I’m listening to Pavarotti in Italian. I’m also writing a blog post and yawning occasionally.

I couldn’t have been any happier.

The Girl and The Star

One of my friends, Shubhada, wrote this beautiful piece. I was dazzled. So I just had to post it.

“She lived in Her bright little world of monotony. She gazed through Her lost vision. Wild vague dreams would chase Her slumber. Awakened, She would stare at the clear sky above. She had befriended that little star who stood alone in the vast expanse of darkness that stretched from horizon to horizon. The star illuminated resplendently her dark path as the girl smiled at her delightedly. Maybe they had struck a chord. They talked throughout the night. The star twinkled in reciprocation when She poured out Her heart. She would soak herself in Her tiny bed and feel blissful. Amidst the talk, She would fall asleep. The star still shone bright, twinkling in Her path of dreams. And then there were days when she did not show up. Yet She believed in her presence, warming up the sky. She wondered hard and consoled Herself to believe that she might have had a hard day herself. They celebrated each day as they grew old. They had built their own space. Neither windy storms nor heavy showers came in their way. And they loved these nights of dreams and stars…”


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