Sunday, January 26, 2014

Grows on you


Does it happen to you too that when you hear some song for the first time, you disregard it, don't pay much attention. But overtime, when you hear this song some more times, you begin to like it. Then you find yourself humming it in the shower. The next thing you know, you have downloaded it on your phone and are listening to it, on loop, for days together. Does that happen to you? It happens to me a lot! The song grows on me.

Well, I believe people are quite similar to music. There are so many genres of people. You prefer different companies in different moods. There are a couple of people who are your all time favourites. And some who you try and try and try to like to just fit in or because they are considered cool, liked by everyone else or are popular. But can never comprehend them. Like Hard Rock for me.

Similarly, there are people whom you don't like the first time you meet them. But overtime, they grow on you. You might have disregarded them at first or you might have found them easy to ignore or jarring for the first couple of instances, but when you interact with them more, you begin to find layers in them which are interesting, intellectual and beautifully woven.

It happens a lot to me at work. It is that dormant animal instinct which gets alert when you feel there is danger in your territory. Any new colleague, new team member, new senior is looked at with distaste and negative opinions are formed without much solid base. Just like a previously unsuccessful music director's new music. You already have formed a not so good opinion about it. And might make forced jokes about the lyrics or weird choice of music instruments. I know I do. And that is denial.

But it should be considered natural, I guess. And it is ok. If you eventually realise the real nature of the music. Or the person. Give them the appreciation they deserve. Let them grow on you. So I make it a point to never dismiss any song or person in the first instant. I might form opinions. But I try and not to engrave them on a stone tablet or anything. I leave scope to alter it. And I am often pleasantly surprised.

All we need to do is listen carefully. To both music and people. And we'll be surprised by our acquired eclectic and amazing collection of music and friends. 

Monday, January 13, 2014

Used to

It is white outside. Unnaturally bright. It had snowed heavily last night, conveniently covering the yellow in the trees, the peeling paint of the window ledge, dents on the old Maruti 800 parked in the driveway. All the flaws hidden behind a curtain of fresh white snow.

It is not a sight I am used to. But there have been a lot of things happening that I am not used to of late. Like the man lying beside me in the bed, sleeping peacefully, with an arm over his eyes, blocking the brightness streaming through the window. I am not used to his mustard yellow pyjamas. I am not used to his loud laugh. I am not used to his too cheerfulness. How can anyone be this cheerful all the time? Isn't it exhausting? What was I thinking when I agreed to marry him? He is not him. I know I and him couldn't be together. And I had gotten very used to him. Him with the frown lines dotting his forehead when he concentrated, his wardrobe full of grays and blacks, his waking me up before sunrise. Yes, I had gotten very used to him. But now I am on my honeymoon with a man who is a stranger to me in every sense.


 I hurriedly wipe the tears as he stirs, rubs his eyes and yawns loudly. And now he is looking at me, smiling his smile, the smile that I am not used to. I get busy pretending to look for something in my suitcase as he gets up and stretches. I am not used to the presence of another man in my room. I don't know what to do and run to the bathroom, in search of refuge. But I can't hide in here forever. After some time, which I hope isn't too long, I step in the room again. He smiles brightly as he sees me. He has made me tea. He reminds me that it's my parents' anniversary as he dials their number.


I smile involuntarily. I am not used to all this. But maybe, I can be.


As I look outside the window again, I see the deep green of the pine tree, the cheerful red of the old Maruti and the old world charm of the window ledge, peeking from under the sheet of snow.