I’ve been light and happy for way too long. It is beginning to get a little unnerving. It is almost like I’ve deserted my life’s script and got into somebody else’s. From being a grey bearded entity who takes off on long vacations and unplanned solo trips, I’ve transformed into someone who’d wear an ironed purple shirt with khakhis, and drive with his wife for a distant relative’s shashtiapthapoorthi. Thankfully, the ironed purple shirt is still from Khadi. And a reasonable chunk of what I used to be, I still am.
So, between the last post and this, I fell for someone, pursued her, and got married in July '11. And i am discovering that married life isn't as scary as I imagined it to be. It’s nice to have someone to hang wet clothes with. Someone to hold your bag when you fiddle with your keys to open your house’s door. Someone to share vodka, darkness, life and secrets with (if this sounds familiar, thanks for being around this blog for so many years ).
And life outside marriage continues to exist. I still get my weekend games of ultimate. I still get to drink at GP with friends of 12 years. And get lost in Nagalapuram and swim in the accidentally discovered waterfall/stream with friends I used to get lost in Tada with.
But amidst all this being light and happy, I miss the intensity of emptiness at times. I miss this urge to stand at a precipice and shout like Tarzan. I miss this thing that drove me to write innumerable weird drunken posts past 3 am, most of which never saw the light of the day. I know I ought to say ‘good riddance’ and be thankful for the place in life I am at. For most parts I do just that. But there is this masochistic part per million that refuses to fall in line…
Here’s to the mothers.
1 week ago