Completing a circle

Two years later, I was back at the place where it all started. The same building, the same faces, and the same roads, essentially nothing much changed. Sure few people left and some new faces were added but it was the same old Memphis.

All through the week, I had the song ‘That’s how I got to Memphis..’ playing in my mind as I tried to place the fork in the road, in hazy mental maps. I felt warmth and appreciation for the days I spent there but there was no tug pulling me behind. I guess that is something you feel only for your ‘home’..

Yet in some ways it was fulfilling, like completing a circle. When I left 2 years before, I did not bid farewell to the people around, mostly I just disappeared in my own uncertainties.
To keep me company on this trip, I was reading ‘Hearts in Atlantis’ by Stephen King. The book is essentially a mood that is deftly crafted in the interrelated stories. This is a ‘looking back’ book and I couldn’t have picked anything better to keep me company in this journey..

Taking my flight back, I found myself musing over another of King’s quote…. ”It's a little place on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That's where I want to live the rest of my life. A warm place with no memory.”

Winter sights

When we are not shivering and cursing the cold, when we are not wrapped up to our eyes or not nestled inside our apartments with the blinds pulled over.. but sitting comfortably by the window side in a cozy cafe sipping warm apple cider, munching warm toasted sandwich and gazing outside, winter sights are a rare treat and a time for some idle contemplation if you are completely by yourself..

I looked out of the window, taking note of how the terrain had changed from the version I had in mind from a similar day back in July. Its all brown and frozen now, there aren't the energetic folks doing a quick lap in the lunch hour. Back then it was like 15 days for me in this city and now its almost 7 months here but I am still an outsider-someone who gets chauffeured around but left to his own resources would probably sit down and cry at an intersection baffled and confused. But I like to think that there is still hope for me and they call it GPS!

Well coming back to the topic, I was about to describe winter only sights in this blog. So here it goes, looking outside of the window, I noticed some dry winter leaves skating on the surface of the frozen pond, playfully skidding from one end to the other. The wind would toss them on the pond and then they would be dancing on the ice trying to keep their balance. As a child I always wondered how cold would it have to get for the Naini lake to freeze completely so that we kids could just skate on it. Somehow that was my idea of super-fun. (why???)

Digressing again, When do you feel at home in a city, how long does it take?
Perhaps it depends on how you define the feeling of home.. but at the most basic level it is about comfort and familiarity. And at times its about the ability to handle the occasional curveball that comes your way. The feeling of Home springs out of strong association with-people, food, places, sports, cultural events, activities... just a myriad of things that make you warm and fuzzy inside. And it sure takes time to create those associations afresh in a new place where everyone has a different set of priorities.

Lets modify the question to a achievable level- when do you 'kind' of know a place, how long does it take?
I guess you begin to know a place when you have your personal list of favorite things in the city and you have a couple of things in your to-explore list..
Top three Kolkata picks: Ferry ride on the Ganges(super cheap/no traffic/lots of munchies at hand/peaceful), College street  and 'puchka & rosgulla' place in the neighborhood..
Top three Hyderabad picks: Go-kart track, all the Firangi Pani(s) and just the best coffee place by the secret turn somewhere in the Jubilee hills..
Memphis: ...............................................................(I really need to push myself....)

Again coming back to the topic I was about to describe another winter sight. You drive in your car and just a handful of light, fluffy and lazy snowflakes nestled cozily in the ridge of the windscreen wipers begin to fly off in the wind or to put it more poetically I'd say-begin to waltz in the wind!
Its a beautiful sight to watch snow falling, when its just waltzing around before silently settling down.As a child I used to keep peeking with anticipation through partially opened doors and windows when it became all numb and quite outside. The cold snow always filled my heart with warmth for my hometown, and even today I rejoice inwardly when the first snow covers the hills back home..
For me, looking at the emerald lake flanked by snow capped  Naini hills while sitting next to a warm 'saghad'-fire is the best winter sight and my version of 'home'...

photo credits: A fellow Nainitalian(i can't recall where I found this picture and saved it to my Naini folder)

The psyche of a goodbye..

First Act:

Some nights are cold for everyone and some nights are cold just for you..

Sometimes the reason is simple, it’s the blanket or the heating in the apartment to blame and you know you can fix it the next day. Sometimes you are left cold and awake all by yourself because you have traded away the known comfort of your life ‘here’ for the unknown adventure of a new life ‘there’.  It’s the fear of losing the comfortable blanket of friends, family, festivities and food behind that makes you break into a cold sweat. Fortunately the pragmatic mind can explain the cold shiver and point out that it is simply because you have packed and shipped away your warm blanket.

Second Act:

The cold night wakes into a slightly numb morning at the sound of the anxious alarm by the bedside. In its numbness the following lines ring true
 

“There is a line from Verlaine I’ll never now recall..

There is a street nearby from which my foot steps are barred..

There is a mirror that has looked its last on my face..

There is a door I have closed for the final time..

Among the books in my library (I can see them now- Managerial Economics, Marketing principles-Kotler)

There are some I will never open again..” -Jorge Luis Borges

Third Act:

With a gentle lurch the plane wheels begin to glide on the runway. The pilot maneuvers a gentle turn towards the blinking lights of the runway and the plane passes by the signal man in his fluorescent vest. The flight attendants repeat the usual safety instructions. To an outside eye, it is the perfect slow lingering frame with the pacing hum of the engine slowly building up; the prelude before the bellowing engine hits full throttle and the flat expanse of the ground begins to race by. Then in one pregnant moment the wheels lose contact with the tarmac, fold back in and the plane becomes air bound. I believe this is one moment that defines ‘losing touch’ and ‘leaving behind’ physically. From this vantage point my mind was looking inwardly at all the ‘leaving behinds’-the glances, the words and the warmth of the last hug. This recollection was vividly overpowering and I knew not when it lulled me back into a peaceful sleep..

Fourth Act:

I am in a new place, among new people but I am not alone. An old familiar face from a time I thought I had left behind surfaced back again. So I am sitting in my new apartment, looking at the rain fall against the windows sipping my cup of green tea and hoping that life may keep taking me to places as long as it gives me a chance to reconnect with people I once left behind..

A week of Music

Music followed me or conversely I followed music but in the end all I can say is that it was a week full of music.
Perhaps this week was a saving grace for the month of April, for I had waited long enough for something to come along that I could blog about. I am writing this blog in the midst of a loud Mandarin conversation in my apartment, and even with my most conscientious effort to continue with my writing, I cannot string together a proper sentence-so much for the optimism to find music in a loud Chinese conversation.
Ahh..the sweet sound of silence, music to my ears!

The week started with a trip to Memphis, the city which traces its musical roots in a combination of country, blues, jazz, and rock and roll. The Memphis airport flaunts this musical history, but I was unaffected. I was more occupied to find the booth of the yellow checkered taxi which would take me to my hotel. It was at the hotel lobby waiting for the escalator that I clearly heard the strains of a familiar song from the good old days of rock and roll. I am cursing myself for not remembering the songs, but every-time I took the escalator I would smile inwardly at the song playing.
Monday evening, when I was finally done with my long interview process, my friend took me out to explore the city. From this point on-wards, I can assure that I have a better recollection of the songs that surfaced through the week! It was 'Purple Rain' and 'All Summer Long' as a live band performed on the Beale Street.
Beale Street is a significant location in the city's history, as well as in the history of the blues. It runs from the Mississippi River to East Street, a distance of approximately 2.9 km. and is lined with blues clubs and restaurants. During the first weekend of May (sometimes including late April), the Beale Street Music Festival brings major music acts from a variety of musical genres, the festival is the kickoff event of a month of festivities citywide known as Memphis in May.(source Wikipedia)

It was a street where all days of the week came to experience a Sunday and people just played along holidaying, singing, dancing eating and drinking with no cares for tomorrow! But the years rang loud and clear in the voice of this old shriveled man who was performing for the crowd. The street had seen it all, his act over the years, people swaying in the rises and ebbs of his voice, cheering as if in a spell when nothing else matters but music..

Driving back along the Nashville highway, my friend played her CD of country music and we were humming along Johnny Cash as he 'Walked the line',  talked of a 'Boy named Sue', felt the 'Hurt' of 'Folsom prison blues'. The next best thing after music will have to be food, and even mediocre Indian food in a foreign land with Jagjit Singh playing can be a treat. The day ended in the strains of her collection of Hindi songs and a bottle of wine. Good times!

Next day I flew back to Chicago, and music found me again or i found it -a bright blue guitar at the train station. Two guys headed to New Orleans started singing South American songs(Spanish/Portuguese, i wouldn't know), the music was sure making people tap their feet and occasionally break into impromptu dance faces! The next moment an Amish traveler joined the ranks of the travelling vagabonds and while his wife sheepishly smiled at him, he sang 'Joy to the world, the Lord is come'.
Well the train did come, and it was called 'City of New Orleans', so no surprise if they play the song 'City of New Orleans' as passengers board the train.

All these musical adventures span Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday night S calls up to ask if i would like to go for Bob Dylan concert the next day. Hell yes! I bought the tickets for Bob Dylan concert on Wednesday and Thursday was again musical with Mr. D performing.
The crowd had a generous mix of 40 year old, undergrads and we-the middle ground. S clearly shares no love for the middle ground, always ready to jump boat onto the younger side-but only if he could!
A new band named Dawes opened the show for Dylan, it was a decent band- 'A little bit of everything'

Then the legend took to the stage, and the next two hours it was him performing live!
He is undoubtedly the most influential person in the musical scene. There is so much already written about him, his life, his musical style that I have no fresh insights to offer. Sitting in the auditorium hearing him perform, it felt like a story telling session where some wise old man, who has seen life up close and personal (The more I die the more I live) was just talking about it in beautiful verses, deep voice and occasionally taking the help of the mouth organ that he picked up sometime in his youth.
'Tangled in blue', 'All along the watchtower', 'What good am I', 'Summer days' ..

On a personal note, the week ended with the sweet sound of success, and now I will have to wait and watch where this music takes me from here..