Blue Escapade: Isn't it sad

Came across this interesting thought when I randomly stumbled to this blog ...

"I was just thinking...if you happened to be reading somebody's blog very regularly...somebody you didn't know but chanced upon and somehow got addicted to his/her blog...and you read and read what he/she wrote until you felt like you knew the person and grew so close you wanted to know what had happened to him or her everyday...and then this somebody suddenly stopped posting any entries. Wouldn't it be worse than death? Having to have to wonder if he/she has met with an accident, has simply stopped writing, has plunged into depression...etc etc. And never knowing the answer in the end because you simply have no means to contact this person save for the blog that he/she has abandoned at least for now? For me, it would be worse than death, just like that of a mother awaiting news of a missing daughter."

Have a look - Blue Escapade

Another Beach

Another one of my favourites at Goa is Arambol Beach. These pictures are of the back side of the beach, around the rocks, where the freshwater lake is. The first one (of the main beach) is taken from near the lake (which is more like a lagoon), and the second one is taken from the rocks on the way to to the backs. As you can see, this part is not very crowded - if you come on the right day and time, the entire beach and lake are all yours. This particular day, we had it for a few hours to ourselves.

"In the recent past, Arambol, north of Chapora, was one of the back-up destinations for the free-spirited folk who found themselves banned from not wearing clothes or indulging in lack of mind control at Anjuna, when that place chose to assert a more rigid behavioural code. Ironically, it became a very popular choice because of its perceived isolation from outsiders and modern development. Today, elements of contemporary comfort have been installed here, but overall changes have been minimal and the village remains tranquil and relatively uncrowded."

"The immediate coastline lacks the palm-fringed exotic cliches of the southern Goa beaches, but it has plenty of character and is pretty in its own kind of way. The main beach has adequate bodysurfing and there are several attractive bays a short walk to the north. A hot spring near the main beach feeds into a freshwater lake, producing a silt that hippies are fond of smearing on their bodies to revitalise the skin."

Pining for Goa

I have had a pining for Goa for the past couple of days. The beaches, the sand, the air, the sun, the food, the psychedelia and more importantly the good times. It’s been sometime since I have been there. It seems to be haunting me. The other night I watched a movie which had a good part of it shot in Goa. And then someone I know is going to Goa. And lots of people have recently been talking about it. So I pulled out my old (digital) photo albums and went through my last Goa vacation. I couldn’t help but admire this sunset view from the cliff at Vagator.

Love across the salt desert

She came out of nowhere. And when I saw her, I knew my life was going to change. I didn't know why or I didn't know how, but I knew. It was innocent. It was not me. It was not for me. But I thought it was. I believed it was. I wanted to make it for me. And then she looked. The way she looks when she does. And it took me somewhere. Else.

I found her when I was not looking for her. I found her when she was not looking for me. But that didn't matter. Things that are meant to be are meant to be. She came towards me without a thought. I went towards her with so many thoughts.

And we met.

It was magical. It was ordinary. Ordinary is magical. Because sometimes it changes everything.

Her subconscious was swept away. Her subconscious melted. Her subconscious was mine.

And I was in heaven.

Rain from a glass cage

It's raining and the air is misty. I am surrounded by glass and I can't hear it. But I can feel it. I can see the streaks across and around me. Dripping down and snaking its way. To be replaced by more. Further, the distance, is grey. Clouds and sky merge to become one. And the result is grey. One grey enveloping the world and merging towards you from the horizon. Fading into mist. And then fading into sight. And the sight fades into the rain, which fades into the glass. Being sprinkled with drops. And all this in silence.

Woosh.

And then through the glass vision bursts into the room. And now you can hear voices around. And then the room merges into my distance and the distance merges into me. And I stare into the distance. Into the grey. Into the rain. Trying to listen to the sounds outside. But only hearing the ones inside.

Writing is an escape

Sometimes writing is an escape. It can take you away. From where you are. But not always to where you want to be. Because when you are writing intensely, you let your writing carry you away to where it wants to go. And you have to follow. You submit to it. That is when I find I can write the best of my stuff. The submission is important. You have to let yourself go. And it is tough. Particularly the first time. It is not easy to let go and let your writing control you while you remain a mute spectator to it.

Going with the flow.

But where? You can't see where the road, or rather the river is going to take you. River is more accurate I think. A flowing gushing river. Where you don't have much control. But if you relax, you will do better than to resist it. Kind of like the first time you kiss someone. Or rather the first time you are kissed by someone. Hhmmm. Interesting thought. The difference between the two is quite a bit I must say. The initiator and the initiated. And that can make all the difference.

But I digress.

So now, as I write this - what comes to my mind - I have totally forgotten about all the stuff that happened today or what is supposed to happen next. I am just letting my thoughts flow on writing.

Yes, writing is an escape.

Another Diamond

Diamonds sparkle in the sky
As another day
Another weekend
Draws to a close
Another day
Another week
Starts tomorrow
And the moon fades away

Unexpected Guests

Echoes in the background. Wind vibrating windows. The beauty of white on white. Pristine. The wind rustling the leaves, sounds like the first rainfall today. The water gushing in the drains, carrying with it stories of the neighbourhood. Washing away the sins of yesterday. The night. Last night. Everyone at the urban party, intoxicated. But for one lonesome figure. In the crowd and dissolving into it. Into her thoughts. Of a life far away. Smoke floats through the room, mixing with alcohol, clouding vision and foresight. Loneliness goes into the background, paving the way for this new night.

Rumble ...

The mind is blank. And then it rumbles.

The thoughts come slowly, breaking through. Making their way through the cracks. Over the precipice. Not the threshold. The intenseness numbs all other senses and there is only one at work now. Fingers beating away at the key board to the rhythm of thoughts. Thoughts that are running ahead and away. But they come back and pull back, urging you to move with them. The urgency of the thoughts comes through. And you move along, down a road you have never been before. And then the road reaches a river and branches out to the sea. The thoughts dissolve into a pot puree of memories of thoughts past. And as they mix, they become clearer. They become action. And action is the ultimate manifestation of a thought.

My thoughts hunger for their manifestation. My thoughts live.

Modern Day Amnesia

It's been a rough week. Lots of stuff to do. Shifting into my new place. Trying to get things in order. Running around. Life!

Relaxing now, and musing over the past week. Strangely I don't remember much of it. Actually just flashes from here and there but barely a few. My memory of the week past by seems to have disappeared from my brain, even though so much has happened in the last week. Some sort of amnesia. Probably modern day amnesia?

Memories are strange. Sometimes even the smallest of details - like the smell of a room 6 years ago won't leave you but what happened 6 days ago goes blank. Like that.

Trying to think back to some of the small details I can remember. And there are lots. Mostly from childhood.

Childhood seems to burn a lot of memories into your mind.

And they seem to come back again and again sometimes. Early memories shape future ones. Memories that are similar seem to be easier to remember. Memories that associate itself with the same place, same people too. I am sure there is a lot of study behind this and probably a science. Must remind myself to look it up. Will be fascinating I am sure.