Yes. I am.
It has been more than a year since I wrote a blog post (or rather posted one). I have written quite a bit since last year but hardly anything has made it to this blog. This has been my longest break since I started the blog and it is strange considering there has been so much to write about.
Last year and the part of this year has brought about a number of changes- turning 30, adjusting to a married life, moving to U.S., learning how to drive, and getting used to change in working styles. It has also been about the usual stuff- travelling and eating interesting things, reading new stuff, having conversations on politics and sports, and trying out new things in kitchen.
It was a morning of a date which is quite unclear in my memory. I woke up to the rising sound of traffic and the fluttering of pigeons eternally stuck in the window railings. I picked up my toothbrush, squeezed the last remains of the toothpaste, and tucked the brush into my mouth. I needed some company before sitting on the toilet seat, so I walked towards the door and pushed it open. Lying there was my roll of newspapers, with colorful bunch of pamphlets. But along with it was an envelope addressed for me.
फिर निकल चला मैं।
पहले शिक्षा, फिर नौकरी,
फिर शिक्षा और दूसरी नौकरी।
कभी क़स्बा, कभी शहर,
कभी देश, कभी विदेश।
हर जगह संभावनाएं खोजता,
कभी दुसरो को, कभी खुद को ढ़ुंढ़ता।
प्रवासी कहिये या अप्रवासी,
जड़ो से उजड़ा हुआ कहिये या जड़हीन।
फिर निकल चलूँगा मैं।
For an outsider flipping guidebooks (swiping in our case) and capturing countless images, the Andalucían city of Seville is a perfect destination. It offers the visitor traditional grammar of conflicts, chronicles of rise and fall, and images of an eventful past. A city which balances romanticism with rationalization, it has the frantic pace of a Flamenco performance, and the soothing influence of a symphony orchestra. But above all it has some of Spain’s most innovative tapas, served with a distinctive Sevillan flair.
We walked towards one of our favourite pubs in Bangalore, belting past the street vendors, groups of Bangalore college students, and recognizable bunches of software workers. Crossing Brigade Road was a routine affair on weekends, often accompanied by meeting a long lost friend, an unwanted encounter, or an unusual one (like meeting a person and not remembering his/her name). The lane on the right (while turning in from MG Road) was crowded as always, and the place had usual business sense one can associate with a Sunday afternoon.