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  How could I forget that night? It was exactly ten days since my grandfather had passed away. I was close to 1400KM away from home at Bombay, unable to sleep; merely staring at the wall a little before midnight. There was a sense of melancholy and wishful dreaming over my head. My teammates were fast asleep, heads buried in makeshift pillows. It was January; the floor was as cold as ice but yet, vaguely comforting.

  Silence screeched as the wall suddenly lit up to life, reflecting the warm hues of an oriflamme presence somewhere. The sound of the crackling rose up to the second floor apartment where we lay as the fog lifted, disintegrating into nothingness in the face of the bonfire built out of all which held people back.

   Bhoghi, the harvest festival, had dawned. It was midnight as heavy drumming began to sound, awakening the sleeping souls to stare out into the dark; where below, there lay a mound of light and lilt. Smiles cast invitations even when we couldn't see. We ran, our flip-flops slapping the bare mosaic flooring. The sound of the dholaks and laughter intensified with every step of ours, the excitement building. I rolled out only stopping to a reckless halt before the fire. The flames, a feet away leaped about, taller than I was, a fourteen year old girl in disarray. A Sardar, otherwise camouflaged by his beard and black turban smiled through it, holding out sweetmeats to me.The flames blazed higher, smoke spiraling into the vast sky charring the past and ready for the future.

    Slowly, the other state gymnasts descended the stairs and gathered around smiling, laughing and chattering away. Girls who would otherwise be dressed like dolls before the floor exercise performances began to dance in baggy pajamas and disheveled hair holding hands. My hands slowly slipped into theirs, strangers I didn't know in a place I wasn't really acquainted with. All I knew then was that the sound synced with my heartbeat and that the dance came from within.

It didn't matter that midnight in a strange place that I was holding hands and dancing with strangers. It didn't matter how close I was to the fire that night because I didn't feel any heat, only the warmth. It didn't matter that night that my grandfather was dead. I learned to laugh out loud again after a ten-day hiatus. It didn't matter that I was celebrating the festival away from home because, that moment in the dark when all our eyes met lingering with joy, shining in untamed light, I felt at home.  

Source: GOOGLE IMAGES. I do not own this image.  

~Hemu

Dangling Feet

   I’m borderline aqua-phobic. The line lies between that simple stance that my feet can touch the floor of the water bed and the assurance that drowning is not a possibility. It lies submerged in the sea-green blues of the waters, the fear of not death but suffocation unto death and the helplessness of it.

   Sixteen years of age was when I set out to Calcutta for the first time in my life en-route to Manipur. The train chugged away, pulling with ease the coaches that followed, sculpted with steel carrying people full of dreams. The locomotive sped at an immense speed as I edged my way to the doors of my bogie, swaying with the whims of the vehicle itself.

  It was noon and everyone had slept into obliviousness. The door was wide open, as I held the handles just on the outside and lunged my body forward for the erstwhile breezing wind to scream in my ears. Drawn to the avenues open to my senses; I merely collapsed and sat down on the steps, still holding on to the rails, feet dangling to the moving Jelly stones. The rhythmic lull of the wagons over the railway tracks seemed like the ritual of love-making between two as I closed my eyes; unaware of the people around me, singled out within.

   I don’t know how many minutes passed before my eyes opened to a change in sound, the return of the breeze alongside the summer sun. The rhythm was the same, but the echoes and sounds that emanated, completely different.  I gazed ahead to look at the calm blues staring back at me, its ripples moving from one to another, in constant motion.

   My fingers tightened around the handles as I peered down. Hundred feet below were deep waters that could devour me alive. It was the first time I saw seemingly bottomless waters below my own dangling feet. The initial flutters of anxiety and fear had drowned in the overwhelming feeling that was caught at my throat. I had never felt this comfortable, alive and fearless of waters. Transience and permanence loomed to and fro, as the moving waters coupled with the climax of the lulling pleasures put me in the moment, in complete awareness of my senses.

   I was neither in the past, nor an eon later. I lived that moment, completely, without the fear of suffocation and drowning lest I fall. In that unknown place, over an unknown water body somewhere in North-east India, I could then do nothing but smile as the cool wind kissed my face.
I have never felt that liberated, thoughtless and free in all my life, ever since.

~Hemu

I do NOT own this image. Source: Google images 

Still Little Moments

| Isn't it true that the smallest things, the most minuscule moments in life are what one reminiscences the most? There are some dishes that your grandmother makes/made that you can taste when you think about it, the carnivals you attended as a child whose colours are still fresh in your memory.

I generally don't post anything from my personal journals.This is the first time I am sharing anything from my personal diary. These are two little moments in my life from my past that I now look back with immense love and longing for, that I have recently written in my 2014 journal, Shon. 

Two little stories that I'd like to share with you from my past that I would trade my present with. The sportsperson in me that I long to meet again.

 I'd love to know what your memorable moments are. Please feel free to share it with everyone here.  |


#1
Synthetic tracks. My spikes dig momentarily into the rubber and shoots out just as quickly. My body leans in to the left, just a slight tilt; like the angle in the mirrored version of number 7. I'm out of breath and feel the pang of heavy wind and breathlessness burn my nose and throat. But the pain is beautiful. It pulls me and pushes me. My feet is never stagnant and there is no thought on my mind but the lines I'm bound within and the place I have to reach. That slight tilt in my body with my legs striding and the pulling within that's trying really hard to finish the race I started... that after that point my legs will be fine and the pain will subside. I can breathe without noticing my own breath and the necessity of air to my lungs. It is the time that I give nothing but my very best. That moment of tilt as I cover the curve of the race, that's when I'm the most steady.

#2
It's almost 5:00- 5:30 pm in the evening but my coach is relentless. I can't go home until I land on my feet from the Round Off Backflip Back Somersault. It doesn't matter how many times I fall down. I can't stop, I'm not allowed to stop. If I left for home now, I may never set foot in my gymnastics training every again. The hall on the left wing corridor on the first floor of my school was empty except for black mats, my coach, a picture of Gurudev with a walking stick and a smile and myself. Anger welled up as tears in my eyes. It's unfair that the other kids are allowed to go home and I am not. My coach didn't care. I just want to leave. I muster my strength and run with quick, agile steps and completed the element, landing on my feet.

I landed right!

I did the Round off Backflip Back Somersault for the first time in my fourth grade.

My anger reaped happiness. My coach merely smiled. I did it a couple of times more and landed right every single time until my coach asked me to stop practicing and go home. Oh, at that moment I never wanted to stop performing the element nor go home.


P.S : I still remember the first time I performed the floor exercises on proper floor. The height, the stillness in the moment when I was in the mid-way of my element, in mid-air and swiftness that existed at the same moment. The perfect landing. It still takes my breath away.

Image source: www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk

~Hemu