The museum of almosts

In the heart of a bustling city, hidden amidst the hustle and bustle, there stood a peculiar building known as "The Museum of Almosts." 

Its walls held stories of dreams that were almost realized, hopes that were almost fulfilled, and paths that were almost taken. 

People often visited the museum to reflect upon the roads they didn't traverse,  dream about the choices they could not make. And then a part of them would always stayed behind, turning into yet another artifact for the others who visited to witness and behold. 

Such was the museum of almosts. It was always almost there, and sometimes it wasn’t.  

Nobody had told Aanya about the museum. She was on her way to work when she spotted it one day. 

“Strange,” she thought. “I take this route every day but I don’t remember seeing this here.” 

As if magically, she found her feet drawn by an inexplicable force towards the building. She gazed up at its grand facade, its windows sparkling with the sunlight, as if inviting her to step inside and confront her own "almosts." 

She hesitated, unsure of what she might find within those walls. Was the summer heat causing her to have hallucinations, or was it the whispers of her own heart that had led her here? 

Aanya had always been pragmatic, never allowing herself the luxury of regrets. Life had forced her to make tough decisions, and she had forged ahead with determination. But lately, a sense of emptiness had seeped into her being. It gnawed at her, challenging the certainty of her chosen paths. She wondered if the relentless pursuit of her goals had left her with a void, a sense of longing for the roads not taken.

Growing up, Aanya had been a meticulous planner. Each year, she would fill her personal diary with carefully crafted to-do lists. From graduating in engineering by 23 to landing a job at a multinational company, her ambitions were neatly mapped out. Marriage, children, and even becoming the CEO of her own startup were all part of her grand plan.

She had almost achieved everything on her list, but now, a strange wistfulness washed over her. The goals she had  pursued suddenly felt incomplete, mere "almosts" on her journey. 

Standing before the museum, Aanya  wondered if there was more to life than just ticking off boxes. Summoning her courage, she stepped inside. 

The museum was a labyrinth of rooms, each filled with artifacts symbolizing the moments of almosts. It welcomed her with soft lighting and hushed murmurs. As she wandered through the exhibits, she noticed artifacts that spoke of unfulfilled aspirations and missed opportunities. 

Each display held a story, a tale of an almost that had remained just out of reach. Each spoke of the wisdom gained from near-misses, the lessons taught by the paths not taken. In one room, she saw a painting with brushstrokes that fell just short of perfection. In another, a collection of manuscripts waiting to be published.

As she explored, Aanya encountered others who, like her, were grappling with their own "almosts." Their stories echoed through the halls, mingling with a shared longing and a search for fulfillment.

However, amidst the poignant displays, she discovered a glimmer of hope. She realized that life was not about reaching a predefined destination or achieving all the goals on a list. It was, she understood, more about finding entirety and contentment in each of her "almosts."

Aanya stepped out of the museum with a newfound perspective. She would embrace the beauty of the unfinished, the magic of the journey itself. Instead of dwelling on what could have been, she would savor each step she had taken and every choice she had made.

On her way home, Aanya looked out of her car window. This time, the weather and the susurration of trees no longer carried nostalgia or regret. They whispered possibilities, reminding her to embrace the wonders of the present. They urged her to find joy in the journey of her own beautifully imperfect, ever-evolving life. 

Her happiness would no longer be defined by the checkboxes on her to-do list, she decided. She would find fulfillment in the entirety of her  almosts, while leaving room for the spontaneity of the unknown. She would cherish the beauty of the journey. 

As she turned to catch a final glimpse of the museum through the speeding car window, she saw it fading away in the sunlight.  

Its purpose had been served for now. 

©️ Priyanka Naik

#BlogchatterBlogHop: Message in a bottle (a short story)

Roxanne was strolling  languidly on the beach  when she noticed something glinting. At first she assumed it was flotsam. But curiosity drew her closer.

She scooped out the half-buried object from the golden yellow sands. It was a bottle. Inside it was a tiny roll of writing paper. Her mind began to race. 

Being an avid reader, her imagination quickly transported her to all those books she had read…about pirates and treasures; maybe this was a map. Or perhaps some lovelorn sailor had written to his beloved a confession before meeting his end jn the stormy water; a dismal end to a silent romance.

Roxanne unscrewed the cork of the bottle and recovered the paper. It was a note.

Dear reader,

This could have been a ticking bomb. Thank your stars It is not.

(Let this be a reminder never to touch something that has drifted from the sea, which I’m sure is where you imagined this to be  coming. But hah! Tough luck!)

We are a bunch of environmentalists on a mission; Project - ‘Message in a bottle’ (MIAB); an awareness project for reckless fools and romantic idiots.

You were going to throw this bottle back into the seaside, weren’t you? Maybe add a few lines of your own on the note it was carrying and set it asail for some dreamy eyed dingbat to find again? Six degrees of separation coming closer in such a glorious way binding strangers from different corners of the globe, right?

WRONG!

What is more likely to happen is this; the sea turtles and fish in the sea will choke on the cork or shards of the bottle broken from the current. And one tiny senseless act will become responsible for polluting our shores, destroying our aquatic life, and eventually damaging the entire ecosystem.

Sorry to burst your bubble, my friend. But life is no ‘Nicholas Spark’ novel. It is more of a Douglas Adams trilogy, where absurd things keep happening out of the blue and we need to constantly be on our feet in order to keep our planet from demolition.

So here is a friendly reminder. Stop polluting the earth with non-biodegradables. Go  natural instead. Conserve energy. Our forests and natural reservoirs need to be preserved.

And for heaven’s sake, please step out of your little Caribbean island pirate fantasy and stop flinging bottles into the sea, with or without notes in them.

Reduce, recycle, reuse (you know the drill). Now is the time to act.

Regards,

MIAB

(trying to save our planet, one step at a time)

P.S: Please insert the note in the bottle and place in found position.  

Project ‘MIAB’ is a  supervised project. Your response will be noted, and rest assured, the bottle will be duly disposed in a way that doesn’t harm our aquatic friends.

With nervous trepidation, Roxanne restored the note as directed. She knew what she had to do.

“Thank you, MIAB,” she whispered. “You have opened my eyes. I’m leaving the bottle behind, but will take your message forward.”

----------------------

This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop.

Cat-a-clysmically yours

They say a cat has nine lives to experience all the things she hasn’t before. But I did not want to wait that long.

I had had enough of this feline existence. Now I wanted to know what it felt like to be human. 

They say realization when happens comes gushing in like a river. I realized how true that is the day she entered into my home. My human did not even grace me with a formal introduction. They went straight to the bedroom and slammed the door on my pretty face. 

How I hated him then. I had never been subjected to such petulance before. To add insult to injury, he forgot to serve me my kitty treats that day. 

I felt my authority shifting. It had taken years to train my human to suit my needs. We had finally zeroed in a routine and established the ground rules. Alright, fine! I had established the rules. 

No interference in my me-time, no invasion of my private space, belly rubs three to four times a day,  a bowl of sweetened milk in the morning and evening in addition to cooked meals and a kitty treat at midnight every once in two days. 

Wait, hang on, before you start getting the wrong idea and think I was at the better end of the agreement, let me tell you about the great sacrifice I made as per the cat-human contract that I had signed on my humans face the first time I set paw in the house. 

In exchange for the minor above mentioned adjustments my human agreed upon, I was forced to give up, due to his silly dietary preferences, the entire range of fish and mice (basically all things non vegetarian) that cats of my royal pedigree feast upon. It wasn’t anything religious per se, but my human was vegetarian by choice. And the right of passage demanded that I was one too. 

Frankly, I did not agree with his views. But I tried to understand them (I don’t know why the world thinks of cats as selfish. We are pretty selfless if you ask me.) Coming back to the point, my human was a strong PETA activist and believed in animal rights. It was all fine with me until here, but the dimwit was compassionate towards, can you believe it, mice, because he believed that mice too had lives and families and yada yada. He wouldn’t even allow me to watch my favourite toon show on TV, because he feared watching Tom harass Jerry could harbour vile feelings in me towards those pesky nimble footed rascals. (Did I mention he was a self-proclaimed cat psychologist?)

That was when I decided to bring up the contract. The feline-human contract every cat needs to introduce to its human. One smack on their cute little mutt faces when things go off limits shakes them off the feeling and shows them who is boss. 

But you know how emotionally weird some humans can get. Even after I had scratched my human, he stood there holding me in his arms, rubbing my back, hugging me like he was never letting go. 

And that’s when I saw it...out of all the humans in all the world, I had to land up with the clingiest one. Although somehow oddly, it felt comforting sitting like that, curled up in his lap, his hands running over my back. And right then , I knew I’d be eating to his tunes some day. But I didn’t realize it then that’s what love makes you do. 

It’s strange though how cats can expand even on a vegetarian diet. Sometimes I think it is my metabolism. But that stupid vet insisted that I was being over fed and pampered. Hitherto, my human who wasn’t much a foodie himself, was happy that I had turned out to be otherwise...and so took it upon himself to feed me every chance he got. I had overheard him telling his sister once that there was something oddly satisfying about the way i lapped the food off my plate, that made him feel strongly towards the ‘unconditional’ love I felt for him.

I think it was one of his emotional moments, and so I let him bask in the feeling. But I knew in my heart, what he was saying was balderdash. 

“Unconditional, my left paw,” I smirked. We cats are not programmed to love that way. It is imprinted in indelible ink on the very core of our feline personalities, the three defining words that maketh a cat...”Me before you.”

But my human had misread the signs. And I did not bother to clarify. Besides I was getting accustomed to the vegetables on my plate. Carrots, potatoes, turnips, tomatoes, he had opened up a whole new world for me. 

I’d always been an adventurous cat. And my palate and mind had adapted itself to the taste of human food. It served a double purpose—I did not have to hunt for my own food anymore. It was far safer and more effortless eating what was being fed to me. Besides, my human knew to cook and how. Wafting from our kitchen, aromas of deliciousness would find their way to the neighbouring alleys and street corners, making me the envy of other felines. 

They had started ignoring me now. They could not deal with the fact that while they were turning scraggly out of sheer desperation and hunger, my skin and mane turned lush and healthy. 

I, however, was battling my own weight issues. Luxury comes with its own set of problems that the hoi pillow has no clue of.

All this time, my human was a constant companion. He had taken it upon himself to change me from fat to fit, feeding me all kinds of diet. Atkins, south beach, all those  damn diets that his regular jogging buddies had resorted to, I tried too. I didn’t mind it actually. My palette had evolved, and I was quite enjoying myself. Except it was all vegetarian. 

It wasn’t always like this tough. Initially, I’d kick up a fuss, think that I’d straight out refuse and put an end to this nonsense. But my human would lovingly fill my kitty bowl with kibble and sit with his own dinner plate by my side. 

I’d often glance at his plate and realize how frugally he ate. Comparing his plate to mine was almost instinctual and prompted me to put my tail between my legs and eat up whatever is there in my bowlss fast as possible. I did not trust my human back then and was afraid that had I played stubborn for too long, the kibble would either be withdrawn or eaten...by him. I am not kidding. I recently watched on TV a documentary episode on a man who tried eating dog food just for a lark and eventually decided he loved it. 

My human had watched the documentary with me, and I somewhat recognized the mad gleam in his eyes. Besides some of that stuff was really tasty. I couldn’t believe it could taste so good, so I kept licking the bowl until my human poured me some more and then some more and more again. 

All was well until my next visit to the vet. One look at the scale and she almost had a shit fit. 

“Omigosh,” she exclaimed in her shrill accent. “What the fuck have you been feeding him? His weight has only increased.” 

I wanted to smack her good, show her who was boss. Who on earth made her a doctor? Whatever happened to body positivity et al? Besides did she just use the F word...were people even allowed to speak like that around cats?

 My tail prickled with irritation. My human laughed nervously.

“Oh, the same diet you prescribed, doc,” he said. “Except maybe I slipped up a bit. I may have given in to his adorable face and replenished his bowl a few times.”

I stared at him. Why was he even explaining? I wanted out. I did not want to do anything with this shaman (I refused to call her a doctor after that) woman who couldn’t help my weight issues because of her own  inefficiency in treating my problem and was now trying to shift the blame on my human and me. 

But my human, to save me from embarrassment, had taken full responsibility. “I slipped up a bit,” he had said and my ears had turned warm with guilt. My healthy (slightly over-healthy...fiineee!) appetite wasn’t his fault and yet here he was taking the entire blame upon himself. 

We never went back to that shaman woman after that. My human realised my discomfort and decided we would manage my weight issues on our own. And I felt myself liking him a little more than I liked all humans...and maybe most cats as well. 

Those were days when he’d understand my feelings without me having to even purr. The  ‘Me before you’ aspect of my personality was slowly taking a back seat. And I found myself waiting for him to get back from work, worrying if he got delayed, restless if he left his meal unfinished, rejected if he didn’t hold me close. 

But good things seldom last and I should have seen this coming.

Cut to three years later, there I was, standing outside the bedroom, that had until now been my territory, with the door to my face. 

I knew the woman was inside, I could hear them talking. Soon enough the talking stops and was replaced by sighs and moans. I could hear her giggle and my ears started doing that ‘burning up’ thing again. Who was this shameless woman anyway and why was she here sharing my human? 

I scratched the door a couple of times, expressing my displeasure. I mewed at a higher pitch. But my effort only went ignored. The moaning had gotten louder and I heard her call out my humans name. I made a mental note to scratch her a couple of times when the door opened. 

She needed to be shown her place, and by that I mean the way out. She needed to know she wasn’t welcome in my house.

But when the door opened, it was my human who stepped out. 

“Two hot chocolate coming right up,” he said as I stared after his half naked image jogging to the kitchen. 

I had seen the glazed expression in his eyes and instantly realised this woman was a force to reckon with.

Carefully, I trudged towards the bedroom, dragging my fat body with me. 

The state of the room suggested that it was witness to a recent romp. I tried to put that betrayal behind me and softly moved towards the bed where she was sitting. She hadn’t noticed me still. 

My attack strategy was wicked but needed. I would encroach on her unaware and even before she realised it, pounce on her with all the vengeance I had saved up for the rats I wanted but could never have. I had channeled my ‘jungli billi’ and this woman was small fry. 

The thought of small fry made my mouth water. All semblance of guilt had been ousted by this betrayal from the human. 

I could unabashedly dream about devouring all the mice, all the fish in the whole wide world now and it would still not measure up to the sin he had committed. He had left me hungry. He had forgotten about the Queen in his life for some temporary fling. This couldn’t be forgiven. 

She lay within the sheets and I instantly ‘de she was naked. She too had the silly expression my human had. Perhaps she was waiting for the chocolate. 

The thought of my human serving her chocolate and ignoring my demand for my kitty treat churned my stomach with disgust and hunger. This woman would starve me to death if I didn’t do anything about it. I had to act fast, before my human returned. 

With all the power vested in me by the feline community, I curbed every instinct to let out a tribal meow and leapt.. 

It had been a while since I had jumped on the bed. Ever since my weight issues, my human would lovingly pick me up and place me there. I had forgotten I was royalty and was not cut out for this savage behaviour. 

With a flat thud, my attempt failed and I fell flat on the ground I was trying to jump from. 

I had accepted defeat. I could never make it to the bed to startle her. 

A disappointed meow escaped my throat and I immediately cursed myself for it. The least I could do is carry myself out the way I had come in, silently, preserving whatever little dignity I had left. 

The meow, however, must have fallen on her ears though. Because I heard a rustle of the blankets followed by a high pitched ‘awwww’ behind me. 

I turned back, the look of hatred in my eyes. 

“No need to taunt me,” I wanted to say. “Every cat has its day.”

But before I could even react, she had come over to me, her most vulnerable self wrapped within those sheets. 

“Oh my, aren’t you such a darling, so so adorable,” she said, petting me with her open palm, her fingers running back and forth through my fur. “Come here, baby. Yeah. Good girl. Come here, my darling.”

What was happening to me? Why was I gazing into her honey coloured eyes, purring at her soft touch? I hated myself for this betrayal. Was this how humans felt? Was this how my human felt in her arms? All the feelings I had experienced ever since I had entered into the house rushed into my mind. Indifference, selfishness, belonging, possessiveness, jealousy, anger, disappointment and now this new feeling. 

Had my love for my human just turned unconditional? 

What had happened to the ‘Me before you’ philosophy I swore by? I was opening up to a new range of emotions. Probably this was what humans felt when they were in love. A moment of confusion, a moment of realization. Giving up. Giving in. For now I was glad my human's human was an ailurophile too. 

“Oh, seems like you two have met already,” said the voice that had won my heart over the last three years. I opened my eyes and saw my human standing in the room with two mugs of hot chocolate in one hand. “Isn’t she a sweetheart?” 

He made his way on the bed and sat with his legs crossed. No sooner had he done that, I found myself alighting from my position and settling comfortably in his embrace. 

“Awww...she loves you doesn’t she?” she asked, nuzzling my humans neck. Her question reflecting my thoughts exactly. 

“Yes,” said my human. “And she will grow to love you too.”

I purred comfortably in the security of his response. I had got my answer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

The time-keeper at Chor Bazaar

He sits outside his shop in the narrow lane of Mumbai's infamous chor bazaar. His is one of the many in line of the bric-a-brac stores in the area. Abdul Ghadiwala, he calls himself, a plump bespectacled man smiling broadly at the camera hanging in my neck with all except his front two teeth. I doubt that is his real name. Abdul sounds Muslim, and Ghadiwala sounds Parsi, but I do not debate. I simply assume it is part of the advertising gimmick he uses to sell his wares, a wide range of clocks and watches from the vintage to the new. There is a grandfather clock in one corner of the store, looking ancient yet in full working condition, an old Smith's clock, and a variety of other time pieces.

Abdul, however, unlike the other shop owners at Chor Bazaar, is more interested in regaling his life story than displaying his ware. I think he has presumed (from my cloth jhola and camera) that I work for some paper or am a reporter of some sort and that this might be his first lucky break to being famous.
He tells me his family has been running the shop since over three generations now.

"My grand father named it The time machine," he says, pointing to the signage hanging on a nail outside the store. "He used to say time is precious, and we have to treasure every second of it."

I smile, taking in the truth of the statement.
"Why time machine?" I ask, half expecting him not to know what it actually means. He surprises me.

"This shop is filled with memories from my past, but the people who come here show me glimpses of the future. Most of these antique watches too are testimony of somebody's past, but they are fated to travel into somebody's future. They are with me only for the time being, the present." he says, his disposition calm and almost Buddha like.
"I come here in the morning and say Namaaz, with the tick tick of the watches in the background. It has now become synonymous with my heartbeat.”

Then after a deep sigh, he continues.
"So with every customer buying a watch from my store, I feel my heart travels too. That way I don't just travel across generations but also visit places all over the globe..."

I laugh at the innocence and depth of his explanation. The man is a philosopher.
He takes offence and turns away, trying to hide his irritation by pretending to be busy. I immediately realize my mistake and attempt to correct the damage. I ask him if he has any hour glasses to show me. His face lights up at the mention of hour glass.

"Yes, yes," he says. "Nobody asks for them anymore."
He fishes out one from a dusty old box of curios that have been relegated to one corner of the store.

"Here," he remarks, placing the hourglass in my hand, "As good as new."

And just like that, he is back to regaling me with his stories. He shows me a gold embossed pocket watch that had travelled across two generations only to return back to his store. I tell him that would make up a grizzly horror story, he frowns. "Do I look like some evil 'hocus pocus' man to you?" I like the way he says 'hocus pocus' and he tells me that it was the name of the magic show he had gone to watch with his teenage son.

"That hocus pocus man stole my watch. He asked me for magic trick, and gave different one back," he complains, half impressed with the magic trick he had witnessed.

It is getting late and I have to head back. Mr Ghadiwala is disappointed to have to end the conversation abruptly. But I promise him I will visit again, next time with an actual reporter friend who'd be willing to do a piece on him. I buy the hourglass as a souvenir of our fascinating rendezvous and make my way from 'The time machine', the conversation etched in my mind.

Abdul Ghadiwala might not be the best salesperson in Chor Bazaar, but he sure as hell makes an excellent story teller!

#ShortStory: 'The final crossover'

She owned this blanket with cherry blossoms that she adored. You would think it had some sentimental value; maybe it was a gift from a loved one, or a prize perhaps, or perhaps a distant memory of a romantic liaison that got too close before it disappeared.

However, the truth was far from it. In actuality, this blanket helped her crossover from one world to another...from fact to fiction. She had first discovered its magic when the cherry blossoms on the fabric had teleported her to springtime in Japan. It had taken a few seconds to realize it had been just a dream. Never had she slept so soundly; it had almost felt like she was traveling through a different time frame.

Since then the blanket had become her favorite. It was a magic carpet and dream catcher rolled in one. As she lay in her bed, she would swaddle herself up head to toe in it...and never realize when the whole day’s exhaustion would sweep her away.
As she drifted off to sleep, the blanket would then start its job...of dream travel, take her to places she had only read about but never seen, show her things she could have only imagined.

Until one day, something unexpected happened. She was beside herself with grief. There was this huge tear in the center of the blanket. Something sharp had ripped a hole right across it.

As night fell, she became more and more distraught. No matter how she folded it, the rip in the blanket no longer allowed her to envelope herself in it.

“How could I have let this happen?” she wept herself to an adventure-less sleep, clutching a corner of the cherry blossom designed duvet.

She brought out her sewing kit and tried to approximate the edges of the rip, only to find her frustration grow exponentially with every pull and tug.
The rip had created a huge gap that was too large to be tacked. Her lovely blanket had been ruined. And she feared, so was the magic it had once possessed.
Heart broken, she stared at the huge hole mimicking the gaping wound she felt inside of her.

Soon enough, she confined herself to her home. She’d spend all day thinking how to mend the damaged 'cherry blossom' blanket. Her nights too went tense and sleepless. She missed the adventure the blanket provided.  The comfort, the security that she felt was now lost. And as time went by, she became increasingly convinced that they were never coming back.

The cherry blossoms were fading, drifting her away from the magical realm of her escapades, her rendezvous, her imaginings. Not allowing her to reach them from the confines of her bedroom window.

It was a cold wintry night, when an unusual sort of notion crept in her head. She could no longer bear to see the ripped off cherry blossoms on her blanket. She had to make sure they stayed intact in her mind forever. She picked up her sewing kit in one hand and clutched her blanket in the other, and for the first time in weeks made her way outside.

No sooner had she stepped out, a cold wind blew through her hair, raising a chill through her frail body. It was as if the world had changed while she was brooding.
As she dusted the blanket, she noticed in its upward motion, something she had never observed before. Her heart was no longer sulking at the hole in the blanket. Instead, it was beating faster at the breath taking sight through it...the mesmerizing canopy of a diamond studded sky.

Next morning, it was passing pedestrians who spotted her stiff and lifeless in the cold, her skin pale, her lips blue. She wasn't breathing.

“Who, in their right mind, sleeps under the stars in this kind of weather?” they scolded nobody in particular, like all witnesses to tragedies, who mean well and think they know better. “The woman should have been careful.”

Shocked bystanders speculated on her state of mind. But there weren’t many who could deny she looked happy.

As she lay there in peace, head resting on crossed palms, she appeared to be gazing at something she couldn’t tear her eyes away from. Rigor mortis had set in. But the smile on her face added to her otherwise tranquil countenance. The sewing box sat beside her, unopened.

It was a terribly windy morning. As people held on tightly to their billowing hats and coats, they found it impossible to fathom how a tattered fabric could hang still from a nearby branch..as if offended at being discarded just before the final crossover!


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

Winning post for the weekend of 8 - 10 Feb 2019

Moment of clarity

She looked out of the window of the moving car. A simple gesture, and yet it made her feel liberated. As she inhaled the fresh air of the mountains, she felt a strange sort of happiness rushing into her lungs. 

She had almost thought she was incapable of experiencing this feeling. But here it was, embracing her with open arms, traveling as if part of the breathtaking scenery that was traveling alongside her, racing with the wind, the trees, and people.

She found herself smiling at complete strangers. And found them returning the gesture. Away from the hustle of mundane city life, the air here felt pure and the warmth in people genuine. 

All of a sudden, a thought crossed her mind. She retrieved her Nikon SLR from her bag and started clicking random shots from the car window.

But all she could manage from a moving car were blurred images. Preserving the moment would mean slowing down to capture it. And slowing down meant to risk lowering the adrenaline rush.

And that made her think about life, about all the times she had traded those little moments of happiness for something more solid, more promising, more permanent.

But wasn’t happiness a fluid concept, she wondered. One fleeting moment after another. Maybe sometimes she tried too hard to make a memory out of them. Perhaps these moments weren’t meant to be preserved, but lived in there and then...exactly like the beauty she was experiencing around her.

The emotional freedom she felt was a state of mind. And trying to freeze it merely distracted from the here and now. 

Like every authentic emotion in the world, happiness too had to be perceived, first, with the heart...before it was lived, loved, and let gone of. 

Packing her camera back into her knapsack, she smiled to herself.

From now on, there was just one thing to do...enjoy the moment! 

#TheBlindList: For the love of Paris

 "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." 

- Ernest Hemingway

I recall standing at the window in my hotel room, a huge glass facade separating me and the city I loved the most. The city I was visiting for the first time, but which had ironically visited me in my dreams ever so often. 

The wonderful sight of the Champs-Elysées, stared back at me, in all its glory.

Gai Paris!!!

It was just minutes since we had reached (after a two and a half journey via Eurostar from our last stop at London), but the cheerful nature of the beautiful city had already started warming the cockles of my heart. 

There is this whole different vibe to Paris, something you will find in no other country in the world.

Those who have visited it will testify for the overwhelming feeling one experiences while watching the city especially in the night time. It can make a romantic out of anybody.

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from the mesmerizing lights outside my window and jotted down a quick list of all the things I had wanted to see, a travel itinerary (very similar to #TheBlindList ---a concept now introduced by Lufthansa and Indiblogger.)

My mind was trembling with excitement, trying to visualize all I had seen in Hollywood movies and travel magazines (the only source of information on Paris I had had until now). 

"Patience," I told myself. "It's real. It's happening."

I couldn't wait to know the city of (my) dreams up close and personal. It felt so much like a blind date.Here was a part of the world I had long since admired from afar but never met for real.

A little backdrop for this memory: Until a few days before, I had absolutely no idea about this surprise trip that my family had planned for me. So you can imagine my surprise when my folks, at the end of our stay in London, enthusiastically announced that our holiday wasn't over. It took me a moment to realize that London was just the first half of the two part journey they had planned. 

The surprise on my face that had turned to elation quickly escalated to ecstasy when they revealed to me our next destination. 

"Paris," they grinned, and I jumped to hug them. It was almost the same kind of excitement that a child feels when she is told she is being taken to Disney land.

So cut to a few hours later, I was recollecting this beautiful turn of events in my hotel room in Paris.

Next morning, I woke up even before my phone snooze alarm was set for. We had planned to make an early start, so that we could make the most of our three-day staycation. 

It was my idea to visit the Champs first. It had already tempted me with a sneak peek, and also was the central point to all the other attractions we wanted to visit. 

Champs-Elysées is a beautiful promenade, known for its architectural symmetry and style, surrounded by rows of Elm trees and flower beds in a symmetrical fashion, this street has been rightly described as 'heaven on Earth'. It further leads to Arc De Triomphe. At its western end, there is a bevy of cinema halls, designer stores, and cafes. After a little shopping (that included lots of window shopping), we proceeded to our next destination, promising to come back here again before leaving.

Arc de Triomphe

A close-up of the Arc

Next on the list was the Louvre.

Visiting the Louvre was an experience in itself. It was fascinating to experience the works of Renaissance artists and sculptures. Although I got a far view of the Mona Lisa, the thrill of being in the throng of so many besotted lovers of art takes the experience to a whole different level. While standing there admiring the famous works of famous men, a powerful realization hit me. The only reward of true art is its immortality. I was struck by the magnanimity of the sculptures and paintings. The age old adage, 'A picture speaks a thousand words' was definitely created with these paintings in mind. Art was indeed ageless. 

Unfortunately, due to the teeming crowd, I could not capture pics of good quality (sharing the best ones here). But nevertheless, they are imprinted on the mind.  

The Louvre

Add caption

The Mona Lisa

Aphodite also known as 'Venus de Milo'

By the time we left the Louvre, it was already afternoon. My stomach was rumbling with hunger. So we made a quick break away. Lunch consisted of a delectable meal at a small little French restaurant. While my folks feasted on Normandy pancakes, I ordered Chestnut crepes and instantly fell in love with the taste of Chestnuts. 

Later in the evening, we visited the 'Shakespeare & Company' bookshop, a quaint book store that was once the haunt of luminaries like Voltaire, Rousseau and Verlaine. 

As I touched the walls adorned with author-signed title pages, I could actually feel their palpable presence, an experience I wouldn't have wanted to miss for anything. As I inhaled the air infused with the smell of books, I wished I could save it all in a bottle and take it back home. In that one moment, I felt as if the whole world had shrunk to fit itself in that one room. After all, isn't that what books are supposed to do?

I literally had to drag myself away from that place, consoling myself with the fact that I could revisit it every  any time I wanted; all i had to do was pick up Hemingway's book titled, 'A moveable feast'.

On the way back to our hotel, on the suggestion of a local I met at the book shop, I bought myself some freshly roasted chestnuts, a quick evening snack that I enjoyed very much. So far, my taste buds were happy. So were my eyes. There was so much in Paris, to be devoured by both. 

The next morning, after a delectable breakfast of some wonderful French toast, and pancakes, 

we headed to see the Notre-Dame Cathedral. Representative of gothic architecture, this is a magnificent masterpiece that is a sight to sore eyes. There is a long spiral stairway that leads to the Cathedrals most scary gargoyles, the thirteen tonne 'Emmanuel' bell and a breath taking view of Paris. The three rose windows of the Notre-Dame Cathedral is one of the greatest masterpieces of Christendom known to mankind, and a sight to behold. Somewhere in between, I stopped clicking pictures because clicking too many photographs meant a distraction from the spell binding effect of the Basilica...an overwhelming and enlightening experience. 

Notre-Dame Cathedral

Stained glass windows  

If you have been to Paris and not seen the Eiffel Tower, then you haven't been to Paris. We had specially reserved an evening for the visit. 

I had always imagined standing in front of the Eiffel and getting clicked in a thousand different poses. (Yeah, I was young and impressionable back then.) .But when I actually reached the Eiffel, I was so mesmerized by its beauty, that I forgot all about the poses I had practiced. I just stood there, awestruck, devouring the beauty of the illuminated tower. It's majestic framework, its magnificent architecture. There it stood towering over me in all its 300 m tall monumental glory, gleaming and glittering with pride. 

Overview of the city from the tower terrace

Such is the magnific glory of this city of love, this city of dreams, this city of fashion. We had only one more day here, and there was so much to do, so much more to see. So we did the next best thing. We wined and dined...the French way. On cheeses of every kind, especially Camembert, Chèvre and Roquefort. I ate so much cheese on that trip, my family jokes that I had gained 5 pounds of cheese weight.

Also the crepes and pancakes were not very polite and proudly flaunted themselves in the extra inches around my waist. 

I was baffled. How on earth do the French keep themselves so well maintained when there is so much good food around? All around me were floating (they seemed so light) bewitchingly attractive Parisians, with their perfect patrician noses, delicately carved (although stiff upper) lips, and slender bodies  Was the 'wining and dining' only limited to the tourists I wondered. Did the fine wine and champagne; the Bordeaux, and the Burgundy, the gateaux, the black truffles, beckon only us guests? 

However, it was a bit challenging to find vegetarian options, but we did find our way around it. We also visited a local farmers market and armed ourselves with lots of fruits to snack on during our day trips. 

Healthy options

Eventually, I gave up wondering and blamed it on my metabolism. The brasseries and cafes around the Montmartre neighborhood were too good to resist. Every macaron tasted different from the next. 

Paris Macarons from 'Pierre Herme'

While we were at Montmartre, we stopped at Place Du Tertre---abound with painters, artists and art aspirants were showcasing their talent. Surrounded by easels, canvasses, paints, and other paraphernalia, they sketched portraits of eager tourists in the medium of their choice. 

Mom and the sibling was busy buying some souvenirs from the trip. Dad had found some friendly Parisian who was could speak a few words of English. And I...I was standing there soaking in the joy of that random moment with my favorite people in my favorite city in the world. 

Bustling with creativity, beauty, passion; a melange of myriad emotions coming from all directions, Paris was making me fall in love with life...with the world. 

Montmartre

With my heart bursting with an incomprehensible kind of happiness, I checked my list again. There were so many things still left to be seen. But I was happy. Satisfied that I was soaking in all the joy each moment here brought me. 

We gave the Catacombs of Paris a miss, because...err...I freaked out a little. It takes a lot of courage to walk in dark tunnels lined up with heaps of bones and skulls of six million dead Parisians. "Next time, maybe?" I told my amused folks. 

The sibling was a tad disappointed but all was forgotten and forgiven when my Dad brandished tickets for the night show of Paris's most famous attraction...a lovely evening of music and dance.

The last day was spent visiting the Palace of Versailles and the Place De La Concorde. We also visited the Paris Opera House, Opera Garnier, where 'The Phantom of the Opera' (movie) was filmed. On our way back Mom and we (my sibling and I) had a little last minute shopping to be done, and so we stopped at Le Marais, one of Paris's famous shopping precincts, while Dad rolled his eyes and passed some of his favorite one liners about how the three women in his life were still not done exploiting his emotions and emptying his wallet. We ignored him and continued shopping.

Opera Garnier

A lovely French Cafe

We had an early flight next morning. Our brief stay in Paris had ended, but we had created loads of wonderful memories of new sights, new tastes, new experiences. 

There is something about this place. The air itself is infused with so much of beauty. Everywhere you go, you will witness beauty and art in some form or another...in the monuments, places, architecture, people. Paris makes sure you take with you memories to reminisce about and stories to regale. 

That night, I made notes in my diary about all the things Paris taught me---

1) Take risks. Explore. Sail away from the harbour.

2) Every moment is an enriching experience. A learning experience. Go with the flow.

3) You will find beauty everywhere if you look for it.

4) Be open minded about accepting other people, their culture and habits even if they are different from yours.

5) Last but not the leart, always #SayYesToTheWorld

While on the flight back home, the sagacious sibling suddenly remarked, as if she was sudden making a poignant revelation.

"We are going home," she sighed, mixed feelings in her voice. The disappointment of a holiday ending, evident on her face.

Putting one arm around her neck, I tugged at her gently, knowing exactly how she was feeling.

Then looking outside the airplane window, I thought of the famous lines from my favorite movie. Humphrey Bogart to Ingrid Bergman; Rick Blaine to Ilsa Lazlow.

"We'll always Paris..."  

I smiled, as the plane took off homeward.

This post was written for #TheBlindList - A blind date with the world, a contest by Lufthansa and Indiblogger. All pics used in this post are courtesy yours truly.
If you liked what you read, please vote for it here.

#FlashFiction: Emotional atyachaar

She gazed in his eyes a little too long, her face inches away from his.
The tension in the air was thick. A million thoughts were creating havoc in his mind. There was anxiety writ on her face as well.

It took hardly a minute. But the solace it brought would last a while.

"Fundus normal. No evidence of macular or retinal changes," she smiled, scribbling down his latest report.

The diabetic heaved a sigh of relief. He wouldn't need to visit the Ophthalmology department for the next six months at least.

#MicroFiction - 'Besotted'

“She’s the most selfish creature I’ve ever seen. I don’t know why you love her so much.”

He laughed. His friend was trying to stuff sense into him again.

But that’s not the way love functioned. What he felt for her was unconditional.

“If I were you, I’d have thrown her out of the house already,” his friend frowned. “She does a fine job keeping you on your toes. And for what?” he paused for effect. “Does she even acknowledge the attention? No! Always acting high and mighty, the queen that she is.”

It was true. She literally owned him and there were times he felt she didn’t care at all.

“But just because they don’t love you the way you want, doesn’t mean it’s not love, no?” he reminded himself.

Even now he could feel her eyes on him from the other side of the room.  The expression on her face was smug, reserved only for those who had the liberty of living life, nine times over.

Stretching on the davenport, she stifled a bored yawn and resumed to lick her majestic Persian fur.

“Quit trying,” she hissed at the friend. “He is not going anywhere.”

Then meowing sweetly at her besotted human, she jumped in his lap for her daily dose of belly rubs, and purred authoritatively.
“Not without my permission.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 I am taking my Alexa rank to the next level with Blogchatter

'Always & forever' (a short story)

Miles away, living in a different city, Ajay missed her terribly...sometimes even more than family. His family would often tease him about it; that he spent more time with her than with them. But what was presumed to be puppy love had blossomed into a symbiotic dependency over the years.

Now in a new city, lonliness felt like a visceral pain every time he entered his empty apartment. He had promised he'd come back for her as as soon as he had settled in at his workplace. Until then, they'd have to make do with webcam and phone.

She'd always been a patient girl. Confident of her love, she was sure he'd never leave her in the lurch. Ajay still remembered the look in her beautiful brown eyes when he told her he had to leave for another city. It had pained him as much as it had saddened her...the moment of separation outside the airport.

The silence in his empty apartment made him miss her even more. He missed every moment of the time spent with her---those lovely walks they took together, the wordless understanding they would sometimes share, the comfort of her cozy hugs. Two weeks here and he'd realised why they say absence made the heart grow fonder.

His nostalgic pinings were interrupted by the chime of his computer.  8 pm; it was time for the daily rendezvous with his sweetheart. Enthusiastically, he switched on his webcam.

"Yo bro! Ready for your date?" said his brother, grinning on the other side of the computer screen.

"Dude, don't waste my time. Where is she?" Ajay frowned, straining his neck looking for his beloved.

He could hear her now. Music to his ears. Excited yelps reached their crescendo as the webcam was shifted and an enthusiastic golden retriever came slowly into focus, wagging her soft furry tail in excitement.
Ajay's joy knew no bounds, as his little darling climbed up his brother's lap and smothered the computer screen with wet sloppy kisses.

"I miss you too, old girl," he cried, almost hugging his laptop.  "I miss you too..."

***

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This post is published for #OpenNTalk Blogger's League hosted by Dipika Singh of Gleefulblogger
Ruchie Verma - Wigglingpen in association with SummerBarn, Vedantika Herbals, Nyassa, Explore Kids World.

#OpenNTalk is a bloggers league wherein forty selected bloggers are divided into eight teams. Each team has five members, who will blog on varied topics during the month of June. Each blogger will post a series of four posts, one post every week. 

My team for the Bloggers League is #CrossBorderSisters, and blogging with me are my four other team mates namely
1: Aditi:  Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

2: Manisha: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
3. Anagha: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
4: Bhawna: Blog| Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

So do hop on this bandwagon, and cheer us during our journey. Your views on the posts are most welcome.

Cheers and love!