Urban city sprawl, they call it, miles and miles of offshoots of a once great systematic plan
Meant to structure and ease and separate and gently/ungently nudge — push — those deemed not gentle enough
So you start with that, big roads, big heads, large buildings — the built, nascent grand urban city
But then it wakes, slowly, pulled shoulders, taut back, it crawls
Inching wider, wider, a low deep rumble, a siren call
Pulling closer, pushing against until finally it’s constant roadwork on NH-5 and streets that were never meant to exist
Oh you have the urban city malls and city town halls and governors and policies who talk talks move hands and say WE’LL TAKE AWAY YOUR…
‘I…It’s not like there’s a place I have to start with this, it all happened in that one moment — a snapshot captured in the sliding window of time, if you will. Could be the cumulative effect of all the actions and events before led up it, you know? Or maybe not, because who are we to tell correlation and causation from one another? We try to find order and pattern in a chaotic world and do the best with what we can.
Uh, anyhow, I’m not here to muse on the nature of reality, I’m here to deliver the facts and give an account of what transpired today: Jay Lennox, 54, was going on his usual early morning walk when at 7.17AM, he hears a yell and shriek from an apartment above him, looks up, and his final view is that of a large potted chrysanthemum hurtling towards his upturned face….’, …
It was a dark, stormy night, and I sat shivering on the cold hardwood chair in my room sending off yet another pointless job application for a position that required atleast 5 years more work experience than I had, not to mention a minimum of 300 skillsets that I most definitely did not understand, forget possessing.
What is life but a series of zero expectation actions?
WELL THAT WAS THE OLD ME, as Taylor Swift would say annoyingly: if she wears high heels and used to wear sneakers, I wear chappal and she’s most definitely getting a thappad (look what you made me do, Taylor!). …
Do you ever feel that a part of your soul is tied to a city? That somewhere, in the moss that grows in its meandering roads, in the nooks and crannies of its deserted buildings, its populous “joints” and jam-packed streets — you have deposited bits and pieces of your heart?
I find myself feeling that way often, these days.
I have moved many, many times in my 23-ish years of existence, and while I feel a certain affinity towards the cities I have stayed in, I have only ever really loved two.
I find myself daydreaming sometimes about Bangalore — not about my life there, or what I would be doing if I were there — but about the city as a whole. …
It’s not for nothing that she moved in shadows, away from the sound, the light, the walkers. And we use the word moving because no other adjective exists in our language to describe how her physical form displaced itself from one geolocation and settled into another.
So, we shall say that she moved, in the shadows, in that world that humans think they inhabit but never come to fully own.
In the shadowlands there is memory and rememberance. To move within the shadows you have to dwell in the past. …
It may have been around the time my dad’s voice started cracking when he sang Mohd. Rafi. Or when my friend told me he was moving back to Delhi. “But why, Madhur? You have a job here, your band, connections and everything.”
“Dude, it’s not that man, I want to spend time with my parents. They’re growing old, and, well, I don’t know when they’re going to — you know. Die.”
“Your Dad is only 51.”
“My friend’s dad died of a heart attack at that age.”
And so I called my mom.
“Hi Amma, are you okay?”
“Just going to buy groceries.” …