A Personal Note from the Writer's Block

It has almost been a year and I have not written anything substantial, relevant, or worthy enough to post on my blog. I am turning 22 in two days and life has come to a sudden pause where time only crawls. Every time I dip a brush in the paint, type a letter on my laptop or set up the camera to record another music cover, life seems pretty futile. The purpose is lost.

My college days have ended and although I keep myself busy with Insta scrolling and nit bits of PDFs and papers here and there, the unfazed pause seems too long to pass. I could owe my lack of blog posting to my busy graduating schedule, exams, co-curricular, assignments, and whatnot, but my journal would say otherwise. When each month started in the last year and this, the reminder list had on the top of it “Post at least once each month”. I failed.

One good thing happened thought recently. I went on this trip to North Bengal with family friends - a group of 23 people who somehow managed to miss the train on the way back home. It is typical of a Bengali to miss buses and trains, to always show up late at a party, to never spare anybody who parked their car in their usual spot, and to blame it all on the post-lunch nap that went on for too long and killed their mood. I was angered yet not surprised when we missed the train from NJP because what else could come out of a group of 23 such Bengalis? 

However, the good part is that the trip made me break out of my cage after a long time and I did realize quite a few things that almost gave me a fresh breath of life. Contemplating life on the edge of a cliff, with the sound of a distant bell in a Buddhist monastery floating through the air does not happen a lot in life and I had to make sure I took my moments seriously. I found wildflowers scattered all around my feet, little children dressed in uniforms dragging themselves uphill on the way back from school, I saw single mothers running entire restaurants and cooking egg-Maggi that I could never, I saw dogs so fluffy that they looked like teddy bears left unwashed for weeks, I saw young men, old women, small children so enthusiastic about music that they joined us in dancing and singing, I saw Buddhist flags hung everywhere that spread prayers through the wind and remembered the deceased, and I saw vast stretches of hills lighting up in the evening and then vanishing into darkness every night. Every morning brought something new. I saw every morning a new hill range appeared from behind the clouds that would remain missing just the previous evening. The hills echoed ringing bells from monasteries till the last day and the people at our homestay bid us goodbye with warm food cooked with the greatest love and care. We missed the train but we came home safe. 

June has passed by quickly and I am once again another step deep into corporate adulthood. This year has had its own rounds of pauses and plays but this year sure as hell has a lot more to bring than the last.