A cat named Dog and a dog named Steed.

I once had a cat
I called him Dog.
I bought him a collar, and
A tag that spelt out D-o-g.
I'd chase him down perches
And find him chasing bees
But never picking my paper
Or wagging to please.
I didn't like cats
But he was my Dog.
So I watched him,
Pick after his poop
Lick his coat clean
Get his milk,
And leave no trails.
I loved him much,
This Dog of mine.

I now have a dog
I call him Steed.
And I love him much,
This Steed of mine.

Gotta keep 'em there, in my pocket.

'Then I guess you've got to just stay here, in my pocket' said the voice at the other end. No, it wasn't a random chat-up line or an ex caught up in a cheesy moment! It happened to be a rather Do-I-have-a-choice-but-to-deal-with-this-now work moment. So there I joined, with my cackle into their earphones, on another's jogging track. And I have since come to cherish this picture of myself, a really tiny me, swaying in a gigantic sweatshirt pocket!

When I run, I carry my music and my thoughts. I sometimes take a longer stride or skip a step, to keep in sync with the rhythm of my thoughts and the music. I fancy breaking into a bollywood number when 'Suraj ki bahon mein' makes it's sunshine entry. I should do it, some day; or why, every day! I sing along, I mumble. I try to make a plan for the day. And mostly, that ends up being the only structured work that I'd have done that day- make a plan. And I heed to some more thoughts, and at the end of the trail I think, 'I've got to put you away now, in my pocket'. And I picture me, a really tiny me, swaying in a gigantic sweatshirt pocket!

On Coffee, Roy & lucid writing

One can't expect a day that starts with Roy and a cup of strong smooth German coffee to be anything but inspired and spirited!

'To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.' - Arundhati Roy

Great respect for the lucidity in her writing, deeply researched subjects and honestly rendered thoughts.

'As a writer, one spends a lifetime journeying into the heart of language, trying to minimize, if not eliminate, the distance between the thought and language', writes Roy.

It has been an ongoing struggle with me, as a creative - and it evidently holds true with all other media of expression as much as with writing. Ergo, I find greater relevance to her usage of  the term 'language', not limiting to words, letters or symbols.

'I think what I've got is something slightly resembling, Gumption.'

It was a weekday morning crowd at PVR Saket - socialites (assuredly, caked out), a gang or two of f.r.i.e.n.d.s., corner seat couples, and scattered loners. I am not to be confused as being a part of this frame. I am mostly capable of being invisible to the world, while playing the lead in the fantasy of my own making. I had made a solitary trip that wintry morning to watch The Holiday. Donning my then favourite pair of brown laced boots and the green and purple flannel scarf passed down by my sister, I had set out, secretly revelling in the fact that in the parallel world, no one would notice my absence from school. (I did mention that I was capable of being invisible, didn't I?)

It proved to be exactly the kind of two hours I had sought. Light, witty and uncannily relatable. And it continues to be my go-to movie to destress, to chuckle, and to hear Winslet say 'Gumption' in that most endearing English tone! 

(Nonchalantly gets up with a li'l head tilt, a shrug, a wink and starts to tap dance!)

'Thinking, tangling shadows in the deep solitude', writes Neruda.

Some moments, if you put them away long enough like pressed leaves, turn into an obscure musing from the past. Veins remain, as a pretty painting to the soul, without the fragrance or the wind that it once soaked into its being. And the wind, the winding path, the tree, the park bench - you start to wonder if they may only have been a figment of your imagination after all.

One such random musing, on changes.

'Soon as it begins it begins to change. It's strange, changes!' (The Weepies)   

I never liked change much; mostly the kind that comes unannounced and steals your sunshine! Yet I have come to appreciate what comes with the patience and the small steps that get you through it. And though it sometimes involves a painful amount of packing, shovelling and reorganizing of my thoughts and plans, I have enjoyed the new experiences, the learnings, and the renewed sense of being alive that it instills. The more I contemplate on the course of this metamorphosis, the greater I realize that I do not want it to stop. I am not intent on arriving; and if there were to be a 'being-me' destination anyhow, 'now' doesn't seem like it!

Passe-partout.

Words are tricky, emotions chaotic and complications clearly unwanted. So we agreed that there wasn’t a need for tags and definitions between us. Yet occasionally we are confronted with uncanny parallels to our life, in the casual unfolding of a sitcom, or the pages of a book. They prompt us to dig just a little deeper into our own subconscious. It was likewise that I found the near-perfect articulation to my early impressions about you, as I read the prologue to 'Around India in 80 Trains'. Passepartout. My (prospective) travel companion.

The wanderlust - our dreams of the road (and gypsies and caravans); the frustrations and limitations against taking off, albeit not for shared reasons; and the desire to ‘get lost’ – had lend to the solidarity. I relished, connected to and had started to look forward to our conversations, the occasional scrambled eggs and coffee, and the somewhat lame yet seriously rendered downtown rendezvous. The growing camaraderie, the wish lists, the short getaways, all agreeably nurtured my vagabond dreams. And the prospect made me happy (and hopeful).

Though tags and definitions can mean no more (or no less) than our actions, I say this all the same. I think of you as my Passepartout.