I prefer

Letters dipped in affection as opposed to hurriedly sent emails. Tapes as opposed to ipods. Markets as opposed to malls. Greeting cards that are slipped in through the door. Fifty year old photo studios with framed photos of people posing awkwardly. Swinging by a tree hung tyre as opposed to screaming in a roller coaster. The canvas as opposed to the computer screen. Scrapbooks that double up as photo albums as opposed to pale yellow folders on desktops carrying something referred to as ‘pics’. Some change to put in a piggy bank made from powder box scrap as opposed to peanuts transferred directly to the bank account. Affection as opposed to acrimony. Books off the pavement with pages that have gracefully turned yellow as opposed to freshly stacked bestsellers in a newly constructed bookstore. Thinking on the register as opposed to thinking on the computer. Gum as opposed to glue stick. Long white envelopes as opposed to the sort made of handmade paper with rural motifs, found only in pseudo arty shops. Wind blown hair not brushed for eighteen days at a stretch. Playing knots and crosses on the last page of a notebook. Colourful glass bangles. Dark rum. Fountain pen. Cycle. Spectacles as opposed to contact lenses. Thumbs up in a bottle as opposed to Diet Coke in a can. Old jeans. Old Sneakers. Old table lamps. Anything old. Tea as opposed to coffee. Verandahs as opposed to driveways. Wrist watches as opposed to mobile phone clocks. Newspaper as opposed to e news. Spontaneous trips as opposed to appointments in leather planners. Manual as opposed to automatic. Old black and white movies as opposed to black and white movies now coloured. Dried leaves in books as opposed to food bills in books. Park as opposed to the gymnasium.

A life of discomfort

It’s perfectly alright to lie. But be uncomfortable if you do. Cheat, but never find peace with yourself after you have cheated. Steal like you have never stolen before, with the fear that someone is intently watching you. Each time you wrong someone, let sleep elude you. Feel guilty. Be restless. Carry the burden of discomfort with you. Give the deceit you indulged in, a sea of importance. Till you battle yourself after a deed deemed bad, you will remain alive. A few scratches here and there, alive nonetheless.

Ideally

I would like someone to pay me for my intense urge to return to the mountains every second Saturday. And for actually making it once in every two months. I want a hike for managing to unwind with a not so popular but a very fine author every third evening. Shouldn't I get a bonus for being able to go for a morning run five out of seven days? And I deserve a double promotion for spending time with family, soaking up music on weekends. I ought to get a salary for writing this blog, elaborating one word thoughts into huge paragraphs. Someone could also pat me for swirling and singing in the monsoon while the world keeps distance from the rain. I should get a huge increment for going to the movies alone. And for choosing to go on foot to faraway places where most prefer to get transported. I should also get paid for making small talk with strangers in buses, trains and on a particularly happy day, anywhere. I do deserve a mention for not suffering from the Monday mourning syndrome. And an award for cycling in the duststorm. Maybe a letter of appreciation for sitting by the road to sip hot tea on simmering June afternoons.

Take pride, because it’s not less than a talent to do things beyond the cocoon of cramped workstations. Go ahead, build a life beyond this life and the rewards will come. One way or the other.