The Graceful Attachment.

I could hear voices from the kitchen and corridors in my apartment. There were a few, whom I know since I moved into this accommodation eight months back. The first time I saw them, I noticed that they weren't anyone with whom I can hangout, I thought. Reason??. Matrix accommodation and a new place to get up from tomorrow. When I started to complete my application for on-campus residence, they had something which I thought was a crazy question. The application form said "Would you like to prefer Matrix Accommodation?". I was in India and all attempts to reach the accommodation team to inquire about that freaky word went futile. Supposedly, they had meant the International Residential preference. It means, you can decide, if you want to stay with international students, (even they had provisions to choose mixed residents, i.e, no gender bias) rather than a native resident from India per say. As in every tough question while writing an exam, I chose matrix scheme at random and then eventually I was posted with ten others who were actually from almost four continents. Interesting. When I moved in with a heavy suit-case into my accommodation, I saw a number of fellow-students arriving at their residences. The first change. When I climbed stairs, I crossed a girl, who was supposed to move in to the same apartment as mine. She also had a huge suit-case, with a package hanging and dancing, cantilevered on the top of the main case, as she was ascending to the first floor of the apartment. As a usual thing, when you see someone struggling, you would want to offer some help. Help in progress. She quickly introduced herself and went in. Suddenly a wave of emptiness. I was expecting her to ask a few more questions or share some experiences while she came all the way from her country to England. Greedy. Suddenly I went to Chennai. Imagination. Every time, When I come back home from a trip, my mother or father, used to walk me from the entrance to our house, followed with a session covering questions about my last night's dinner menu, Southern Railways promptness in avoiding delayed starts and so on. This time, I had moved in from India to England, and there is nothing, but a table swamped with pamphlets and manuals on accommodation. Boring, I thought. Living room actually resembled a god-forbidden place. Chennai is heaven, I conclude. Seemingly, not bothered to show interest in answering back, I displayed a typical ruth, aged 24. Funny. My father would then continue his role play to test my patience. Occasionally, I failed in his tests. Resenting, I would shower to prepare myself for the day at the most uninteresting place called "Work". It wasn't "Work is Worship" in my case. Nevertheless, I had to succumb and act, like I did to convince my parents on religious duties as a Hindu Brahman. Table. Suddenly, I felt aloof and restless. Just a day before, I did everything I could to come here and now that I had hit this solitary hell, I had no body to call and pull a prank, shout at vendors/suppliers, which was part of my archaic job role and my mom, whom I call to say that her Onion Saambhaar was just on top of the world. (A South Indian Recipe, often mixed with Rice and served with Vegetables) Settling. I was suspicious about the size of the kitchen and so sneaked in to explore and critique the power of adverts and Campus snapshots. To my mind, they both overlapped. I thought it was fine. There were neighbors strolling the corridors of prison (Truly this is not exaggeration. The corridors look like corridors of a rehabilitation centers or an asylum often sreenplayed in movies. Almost, If I jump or lift my head, I could break the false-ceiling and do some visual inspection) to get familiar with accommodation services. Curious, I went for a walk around the block and noticed that the place was serene. Back in India, when I hit the street, It would be crowded, buzzy and noticeable. In contrast, this place was all less attractive, but idyllic.   They were looking like themselves, and everyone is ought to look like themselves. Simple. Retrospecting, my first conversations with them, during which I started to acquaint with everyone around, I felt like they are just usual, ordinary and strange. If I could elaborate further, they were special to me at that point of past, as inmates. During the first few weeks, I hardly spoke to them during my visits to the kitchen. If at all, the exchanges would be the usual starters like "How was your day ? or How do you find your course ? or How is everything getting along ?. Mere attempt to ease off, while being present in the dining room. Months passed, when we got to know each other more and more on all levels.  Like in every other relationship, I enjoyed sharing every thing with them, and there were a few occasions, to dance, to rant and to make fun among one another. Congruency. The transition from looking at them, as a stranger faded towards the phase, wherein we all became a family. The sharing surpassed and would slip through a few topics and we would talk about problems, issues within the University or modules or professors and a lot more. Suddenly, now when I look at them, they are no more new to me. I don't see anything that could possibly satiate the desire to explore more with them. But they look beautiful. More real. I sense that the communication has become more expressive. The way my eyes perceive them has radically changed. Now, it is just a matter of days, and I am moving to a new place. This cycle of strangeness would repeat itself again and again. It feels like none of them around is in reality a stranger. Ironical. It is all differentiated just by a word of mouth or a glance at them. Some how I sense there is an attachment with every thing, if you yen for that longing sense of connection. An attachment. "A graceful attachment". 

The Unusual Place of Motivation - Kitchen

Lying on the bed, thinking about a few tasks that I have to accomplish for the day, I move the curtains to get replenished. Somehow hunger strikes me early. 10.00 a.m. Ironical. Showering appears to be moved to the later half of the day. The unwashed black cereal bowl reminds that I have to sort the utensil mess. Dressed up, I head to the kitchen to make a bowl of rice crisps, smoothies and nutties with milk to fill myself. The first question for the day.It was the kitchen cleaning lady. I dont know her name yet. There was Sally in the kitchen, one of my inmates in the apartment. As usual busy with her breakfast preparation. Question was raised. "Did you have the kitchen kick-off meeting along with your residential tutor when you moved in??. There were the two of us in the kitchen. This is the only time in life, when you are talkative, people appreciate it. So the result is that I answered her, after a short pause. "Yah, I am the kitchen representative for this flat.". Generally, like many of us, I like to catch up with people through casual coversations, with whoever the person might be. But, the question, really is why did I have to pause a moment, when I have to start answering to that easiest question. Three months back. There was a kitchen cleaning lady, named Marie, who was the nightmare for all of us in my apartment. She is so fat, that bath tubs have to be made of soft material to allow expansion. Or else,even the tub would capsize. Now that was not a joke. During our first conversations, while she figured out that, I am the flat - rep, she filed minor complaints about the spreading of utensils around the table, failing to remove the rubbish bin and etcetera. I had posted notes informing the inmates that we will have to be weary next time. Of course every one around did their best to enjoy a tidy cooking room. Nevertheless, cooking pans were looking like remnants of a miniature prison cell. During which, the accomodation team would notify us, using kitchen do's and dont's posterized on the notice boards inside the kitchen. "Accountability". In a flat of ten, you can hardly identify this word. Marie would try her best to shout every morning, until you know that it is late to rise from bed. There were times, when my door was knocked every morning at 9.00 to seek justice for the messed kitchen. Marie and I, slowly progressed to become the inseparable duo, when it comes to warwick accommodation. One morning, I still remember, when a grill was thrown like a spear, out of anguish, which after leaving the dexterous hands of Marie, hit the kitchen floor producing a raucous echo. Now what is the occasion??. Marie got mad, because supposedly we had messed the pans. After this we were really worried about our heads, which could get slithered by yet another outrageous throw from Marie. Psychotic. The right word to use for someone who is behaviour is characterised with unusal rant, fretful dialogues or a unique mental pre-disposition to make others get off their seats. I really had wished to have a surrogate cleaner. Connection. Present day. 09.06.2010. The pretty cleaner said, "When I came in today, the kitchen was tidy." I exchanged glances with Sally, who was flummoxed. She continued, "It was all straight and clean. It makes our job easier, when you try to wipe and clean your own mess."She gave a hearty smile. Kind and sensual. We didn't have anything to reply back. I said, "Thanks, we do try to keep this kitchen neat." It was motivating. I don't want to put myself down to underestimate the value of appreciation. Had Marie sounded this way, even when she was petulant, I mean, we would have tried harder. She was boorish and boring from the start. Once she said, "If you see stains on the pan, you have to clean it". I thought WTF!!. But remember, Marie was huge. If she slaps me in reply, my ears can never hear again. Of course, you cannot hit the wall with your hand. I feel that some thing has come up. A lesson. " The smallest of efforts you put in some thing, is definitely the road towards expanding your results out of it". Plausible it seems, you might not get the result, that would be appreciated in the first few attempts.But, certain is the day, when you shall be looked upon. Now, this small appraisal was fresh in the morning. She smiled and left the kitchen. Sally is missing and that is usual. Break-fast time.

Sodium Memories - A Chemical Alter - ego

Is the title weird?. No.You will find it out, when you read further. I started to write this blog, mainly because I happened to suddenly remember some incidents in the past. Memories. Fine. Then what does Sodium signify in this context??. Simple. It happened under a Sodium Vapour lamp of my household, back in Chennai, India. What is so special to ace a blog??. For me when I share things, they proffer motivation. I am right now living in an apartment, in a county in Central England. Incidental, as it may sound, I have a well-lit sodium lamp, whose light is translucent through my bed-room window. It gives me a ride to the past, that could be called as ancient enough, as I was on my high-school vacation. Very Young. Pro-active. Possessive. I lived in a neighborhood, that attracted the young ones to play games of all sorts. Outdoor. Every evening, soon after dusk, we meet to chat, to shout, and to involve in all types of frivolousness. I still remember the fact that I never had a goal. A focused path to take life, out of high school. Careless. Concerned all about a job, which I would get to make my parents happy, but not too sure about the fact that whether, would I fancy a living like my mother or father did that time. It sounds like a good long-term goal, for an high-school kid to forebode a career. Blunder. I wonder and realize now that if you feel that your life is smooth, without you having to necessitate your decisions, the righteous ones, the ones that you are confident in shaping a career, then there is a possibility of dead-lock. Never create these instances in life. Result is contrition. Fortunately, in my life, I never had time to sit and regret. Counter-energy, helped me to evade such events. I went to a job. But I figured, I cannot extend my services, after a while. Reasons?? Plenty. Boredom, Servitude and Corporate Coalitions were the bullet reasons. If you think, you always have better options to choose from and you are pretty sure that you would never regret your choice, go for it. Come what may. Hesitation is injurious in life. It is a disease, it eats you slowly and you start to limp, when you are supposed to run behind things, that awaits your passionate flow of energy. There weren't either dilemmas or confusions. Of course, they aren't to be expected. But, they churn you the best decisions that you can make from a list of choices. Handed resignation. That was the best choice and sadly, the only choice. You cannot excel in something, that you are too tired to do on a Sunday morning. It could be anything. A 20-20 match. A sandwich. A trip chart. For me it was my job. There is something important that I wish to share here. Interpretations and observations about life definitely helps in building a strong conscious career. They are intertwined.  The field you intend to work , has to be the best reflection of your creative expression. I am ought to be cautious, when I mix them. But in a number of occasions, there are people around, who could mix it up for you. Precarious. You might find that it doesn't taste good. The mixture could mess up. I went inside the room. Locked in. For the first time, wholehearted, a decision sprouted from the seeds of a swamped mind. I felt brilliant. Charged. Not for the courage. But I found out the weakness that has been dreading me for years. Art of decision making. It cannot happen, you have to make it happen. Orthodoxysm limits an individual's ability to attain fulfillment. Ironical, paradox situations are built around them. If you allow the former, the latter is inevitable. If you cannot even draft your imagination, would you be able to innovate or find inner peace??. No. I don't succumb. Not anymore. It is a mistake, if it is the first time. It is an attempt of suicide, if you sense repetition. Pause. The sodium lights are off. It is morning. Past is starting to fade. Light has taken it's dominance. This light is natural unlike the Sodium. Memories are again resting.