My previous blog isn’t mine anymore.Countless emotions scribbled on the white boxes, given shapes of words and sentences, forging them to make sense, are now done for, like an old diary. And yet the diary isn’t mine to keep. I wanted to vent out on why it went down that way, but as I started to write this, I thought it was better that I talked about something else.
When I started blogging, my world was in chaos. There were too many storms rattling my tiny wooden shack of sanity, too many distractions for my own cause. Then there were my own demons, spawns of my past decisions or indecisions that raised hell inside me. I was a puppet of my own uncontrollable self, slowly spiraling into nowhere. And I thought, well, another blog, another failed attempt of keeping up with myself. How bad can it be?
It lasted me three years, and three hundred plus posts till I couldn’t access it anymore. There is not a single emotion that I can go back to when I read through those pages, but a cocktail of bittersweetness that in times comes in overwhelming waves. But these emotions are but tiny ripples in the ocean of time. It’s easy to get lost if you want to.
When my plane was leaving Kolkata, I was going through another tsunami of emotions that almost choked me to death. While everybody was casually sitting, their eyes closed, it took me forever to come out of those sweeping waves that tried to keep me behind, that prompted me to stay in the city and never go out. It was hard, because nobody else cared. I was alone, drifting against time in a bubble that the city had made for me, and now I, aboard a circus cannon, was about to break free of that bubble. I was thinking of so many things, since the city had me hypnotized. The goods and the bads, the loved and the forgotten, the afternoons and the horrible summer noons, the forever promises. I kept on thinking about them and slept, somehow cornered in my window seat like a dog. The books I took with me never soothed me during my journey, because they were not supposed to. I had guessed wrong.
My first few days in Atlanta were mixed. It took me time to assimilate the change. This was a new world, and new worlds came with their own emotions. I was getting into another bubble. But as my mind wandered around the inclement weather and the storms that I brought with me, for the first few days the city didn’t look much different than the one I had left behind. It was a cleaner, emptier jungle. A city inside a foliage of brown and red and yellow and green falling leaves, each carrying a message, a ripple, an emotion. Yet you never found them in the ocean, because there were too many of them. The roads were filled with their history.
“Stuck in a hard place in the middle, walking on coals
Caught in holes, sorting the souls like the Sphinx and the riddle
Your invisible ripples surround me little by little/
Widening circles, the surface a living, physical mirror
Connecting fire with the fever, reflecting, I’m a believer
Let the whispers enfold you, pull you nearer and nearer
Little by little/” – Blue Foundation, Little by Little
It is all about finding your place in this emptiness. Because your life is never yours to begin with. You are a plan of the universe, a birthchild of cosmic particles. Your sentience is only trying to make you sadder, and it is not depressing at all. One must allow the sadness to come inside. Else there’s no appreciation of beauty. Like black skies that also whisper of romance, and winter that talks about withering love. I used to complain about things, about people – but then I realized it wasn’t worth it at all. If a person never wants me in his/her life, I cannot force them to. Like making a child love nature. It cannot be forced. It needs to come from within. The foolish self remains inside still, looking at the molten gold rays of the sun falling on the jungle, the winds sweeping the leaves into dances of their own, and thinking, maybe this is my place, this is my city, this is my niche.
I am still searching.