For today..

For all the conversations. beers. walks. riverside. colour. songs. sighs. hugs. moments. strangers. associations. buoyancy. denim. frozen noses. light. ash. autumn leaves. faces. nostalgia.
For today. That had noone and nothing other than me.
For the exuberance. together.
For the time that I will never be able to explain. without. or post facto recall.

It's been a while..

Sleeping at 5am never did anyone much good. But the autumn leaves and cider and smoke blowing out from the mouth, reeking of memories, did wonders. There has always been something about the night.

I'm the fray now. In the centre, if you like. Running.

Walking the walk I have learnt to love. Windows that sometimes go by in a flash. Those that I briefly glance at, smiling at the familiar me.

I like the old buildings. Don't quite like the alleyways I overlook.

I've learnt to be frazzled. But never let it seep in. It's ephemeral, you know.

I've learnt to make my peace with myself. At least on the good days. Make my peace with my awkwardness, latent aggression. and even with being on the periphery. I've made my peace with waking up to a grey sky. With 'alone'. I've made my peace with falling hair.

I sometimes yearn for listeners. Sometimes, I wish I remembered the stories I have tucked away.

I'm sure about my security blanket. After a long wait, I've found the circle around me.

I'm testing my ability to perform under pressure. But this year it's supposed to be a 100%...

London

I'm big on the comfort factor. Comfort in terms of letting go. In terms of not having to watch my step. In terms of my favorite shawl on my chair. I measure everything on the comfort scale - passion, chemistry and the rain.

Comfort vis-a-vis the self has been the most elusive.

From the absolute to the relative, comfort has moved from Che to a silver maruti to a photograph of a scrabble board on a cream wall in Central london.. it has been mushroom soup on a first day and it has been huddled in the middle of overwhelming affection. Faux leather blue sofas in a once-smelly kitchen and a second hand duvet cover. Hot dogs and books under a bridge. A now-torn map. the din of the tube. There were the impersonal headphones and of course, a boat on the Thames.