When the sea saw into my soul

There is something about the turbulent sea waters, crashing and breaking in waves on the multitude of rocks lining the shore. The ebb and flow of the water, albeit choppy, has quite the opposite effect on me – it calms me and soothes my frayed nerves. The salt in the air acts like a sponge, absorbing the grime of drudgery from myself, leaving my pores empty yet alive. With the sea spread out in the front, it asks me nothing as it lets me be. I am a mere being, watching, unable to fathom this unfathomable being, simply a spectator of no consequence.

It accepts me as my mediocre self, the average person, not expecting anything in return. The camaraderie we share is unique yet commonly common. The sea holds no prisoners and frees me from my derelict soul.

It gives me no direction, only hope that change is meant to be. That I cannot stop its flow nor the flow of life. I am to be as it is to be. It tells me no tales, makes no promises. But it takes from me what I must give in order to relive, rethink and to rejuvenate my mortal self.

There is something about the sea, dangerously uncertain, yet uplifting.

I can't say the sea is my friend. No, it's definitely not my friend yet it is very accepting. I head out to the seafront every chance I get. I find it very alive, different each time and yet, its rhythmic routine lets me collect my thoughts and brings calm to my chaotic life.

Do you visit the sea too? What is your reason to do so? Tell me all.

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#Sorry not sorry

I feel sorry for ‘Sorry’ – such an abused term. When you come to think of it, it is just a word, right? It holds significance in some instance and at times, it is a mere excuse. But we humans absolutely love it as an excuse, don’t we? I use this term a lot; I mean a lot! I think of myself as a kind being, and hence, if I happen to push or ignore (deliberate), I say ‘sorry’. I say sorry for things that may not need a ‘sorry’. I say ‘sorry’ to people I am not really feeling sorry for (don’t read this the wrong way). In short, I say ‘sorry’ a lot like I have already admitted. It is my ticket to moving on, a ticket to redeem myself for mistakes and sometimes, tinged with slight sadness (maybe).

But is ‘Sorry’ the right word? Mean, is it even appropriate? Like they say, first you commit the murder and then say sorry. What is the point of it? I would say nothing. Sorry – the term originated from the West Germanic term Sore that evolved to Sarig, meaning pained or distressed. It is also known…

Celebrating Navratri? Stop now as we have no right to worship the female form...

Today my mom asked me to go get fall bidding done for her new saree. Navratri has begun and Durga Pujo is just around the corner. This year we are planning to go Pandal hopping on a Saptami instead of an Ashtami or Navmi to avoid the jams and the crowds. I will wear a saree too and my Punjabi husband will tag along for the delicious food.
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I Wonder What Ants do on Rainy Days…

Source: Google Images
On days when the sun has abandoned us, hiding behind the grey, moody clouds. Do they sit inside their hills and wonder out loud? Do they stare outside at the rain, measuring the raindrops, letting thoughts splotch all over? Does the earthy petrichor take them down the memory lane? Or are they content with what nature has to offer? It is a part of their lives, isn’t it? They dredge up foods daily, diligently build their hills, even if it is to serve their queen, only to enjoy it on days like this, no? Maybe they do take stock of things, of their bearings. They ought to sleep it off, take a day to rest or do they lament on the lost time?
Unlike me.
When I gaze out, a gazillion thoughts fly by; some worthy of the pen, some so disturbing that I often question my sanity. I like the grey skies though. They seem like textured canvases waiting for me to scribble something. The lazy raindrops wetting the streets below and casting a temporary stain on window ledges bring a…

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