Lazy days

There is this weird happiness in being able to be lazy for the whole day when you are not forced to do one thing!

A Saturday when you had a festival holiday on the Friday and you had nothing to do but to enjoy your weekend, is a wonderful Saturday. Waking up lazily at a time you want after a good night sleep and then lazily making coffee and breakfast which by the way is upma that takes little or no effort.

Here i am, sitting in the balcony with Karan Johar’s Autobiography and my breakfast setup. With my little plants happily growing buds and the day light being messed up with these on and off drizzles with a background score of the Chaviti bhajans from the township prayer area is just a little too perfect set up for a lazy Saturday morning.

By the way, I’m reading Karan Johar’s Autobiography, “An Unsuitable Boy”. I don’t know what the title meant, but I’ve just started reading it and i must say it is good. If you are any bit emotional and any bit Indian, you’ll like it. Though I’ve read only prologue and one chapter, i can say that it is well written and well framed. You can just get the tone of a book from the first few pages itself. And ofcourse, any film makers book is interesting as it tells you things about people who are always in the limelight but have a coat of secrecy over them. I guess it is our curiosity that makes these books and movies interesting.

And in all of this, one cute thing happened which reminded me of my own childhood memories. While I was eating my breakfast and parallely reading, there is this little girl from the opposite apartment who observed me for like 5 to 10 minutes while drinking her milk, I assume. It was cute that sh stood over there observing a woman reading in her balcony. It reminded me of those childhood days of mine when we would come back from school or on a Sunday evening when my Mum would be sitting on her chair somewhere in a quiet corner of the house and reading something or anything. Infact, those quiet reading times were what inspired me to read, to fall in love with these amazing things call books. I have grown up watching people read which tells me that no matter how busy you are, you can always make time for a good book as long as your brain is free to take in. To this day, that love for books, that love for reading never left me. Infact that is the only thing I ever loved unconditionally in this entire world. Even though the time i can spare for reading is very less thesr days, i still cannot stop myself from buying books just for the sake of collecting them for the rainy day. Like today πŸ˜ŽπŸ˜‹. I just wish i made her a little bit curious about what I was doing and she takes up a book just out of curiosity. I only know her from this balcony and have seen her observing me while i was doing my quiet reading here. So, I can just wish.

It is also my dream to start a little library somewhere, possibly in the apartment complex i live to just make reading a little bit easy for people and most importantly kids. But I’m still a little bit selfish about my collection and is not yet ready to part with them and i know that the day i start giving our books i should be ready to loose them as well as not every book that goes out comes back. I know this for a fact after looking at library books being held hostage at our home for months if not years. It is not that my mum is stealing them, but it is just that she doesn’t find time to complete all of them and even if she does, she is just too lazy to return them. She returns them whenever she visits the local library but then gets back with a tonne of books again. I cannot tell you how much fine she has paid until now for those late returns! πŸ˜‰πŸ€”.

Okay, here we are at the end of my long weekend rant and the vegetable sellers are here on their usual time. We have this Saturday mini market in our Apartment Complex every week which helps me avoid going to the supermarket every now and then. So convenient. This is one of the things I love about living here.

Okay then, off i go to our vegetable market and bye bye.

Relive

I have no clue how people with tough lives and sad memories write memoirs or autobiographies. It is such a painful thing to do. It is almost as if the person is reliving their entire life which is more painful than the original version. Atleast in the original, we just live experiencing pain or any feelings along the way. But while writing, we recollect everything and anything the mind remembers. And you see, this thing called brain is so amazingly weird that it remembers everything that caused you pain but forgets others point of view entirely. In such cases, writing becomes the most painful and tiring activity one has ever performed.

It crushes the soul like anything breaking the heart into millions of pieces every waking minute and day. And at times like this when you realise that there is a pattern in your life and you might have repeated your past mistakes, just kills you. It need not be true but to people like me, everything seems to be wrong or done the wrong way or done for the wrong reasons, in retrospect.

I wish it was easy. 😐 Or atleast, i wish it wasn’t this lonely.