There's this thing about places. They hold memories. Days, weeks, months, years, even decades go by, but the place remains freshly etched in your head. It gleams like a newly forged sword (not that I've held or seen a sword in my life; okay freshly polished brass ware should do.) Every detail, every conversation, every thought, the touch, the smells and sights and sounds. They stay forever. They do so only because they were special solely for you. And some of these places aren't even exotic locales. It's just that particular moment, that person or just that oneness you might have experienced, however brief or long, that makes it special. Some of these places, you'd never go back to - but never say never, eh? - and as time goes by, these places change. That nondescript building by the thoroughfare, that lone tree, that lake, that wall with bawdy graffiti on it; whatever it was, everything will have gone the next time you visit it, if you are fortunate enough to go back to it. But in your album of memories, the place remains just the way you'd last seen it. And cherished it.
There's that view of the runway at Mumbai airport, with its landing lights on, staring straight into our apartment in Santacruz. My friend and I used to sit on the water tank on the rooftop of my apartment building and gawk at the Boeings that landed late at night from the West.
There's that 'flashlight' dance we guys did at that Scouts and Guides campsite near Vihar lake. We switched off the lights, put on some Bollywood songs on a cassette player, took off our t-shirts and danced in shorts and underwear with our flashlights (torches) swarming like disco lights.
That moment in a hotel room in Kodaikanal, when the rest of my schoolmates had gone 'sightseeing' in the cold rain and I chose to sit in the room and watch "Saajan" on Cable TV, remembering Dana.
The song of the "banjaras" or gypsies in the night at Badnawar; the freshly baked "bhaati" and "dal"; watching the Venkatesh-horse-like Karishma Kapoor starrer "Anari" in a decrepit movie theatre, front bench, on the outskirts of Ujjain.
That marshy inlet in Agashi, Virar, a sleepy village north of Mumbai where I lived for 12 years. Where I kissed a girl for the first time in my life. I was seventeen then.
Cloud Nine cafe in Colaba. The seaside promenade in Navy Nagar at Cuffe Parade. International Fleet Review in 2001. Enough said.
The surf at the black Arnala beach. That forested hill crest overlooking the Vaitarna river in the middle of the afternoon. With her sitting next to me. A glint of anticipation in her eyes. Our hearts pounding louder than our vacuous conversations.
The point at Baga beach where the river meets the sea, especially after sunset when the lights in the beach shacks and restaurants come on. And UB40 croons Red Red Wine.
The mellow sun of Juhu Beach on a balmy January afternoon, when I went down on a knee and proposed.
Lying on a mattress in her apartment in 'Chandragupta' building, Raheja Township, Malad East. Long after midnight. With "Out of the Blue" by MLTR playing softly in the background. The midnight conversations, those sweet nothings.
Morning mist in Gangtok drifting into our room in Hotel Asian Heights. And watching her sleep peacefully, buried in white sheets. While I listened to the sound prayer bells and drums from a monastery nearby.
The view from the Kisli gate at sunset. When the mating call of the Chital deer or the baying of the red dogs at night filled the air. And later, after dinner, sitting outside the canteen under a black velvet sky studded with stars.
The fluttering Stars and Stripes outside the Marriott near my apartment in 300 Oakwood, 15th Street South, Crystal City, Arlington VA.
The little aircraft taking off at a nondescript Chesapeake Bay airstrip; the flurries in Maryland and in Corning, NY on our way to Niagara; the arresting, breathtaking unravelling of NYC as we emerged from the Lincoln tunnel on a lovely night in March.
That one bike ride home from work in Pune, from Hinjewadi to Kothrud. When the world around us was awash in tender orange. When we rode on my 'Bluecephalus' the Avenger, in silence. With only her tingling sensation of her breath on my neck.
Snowfall at Gulmarg; those cups of steaming hot Kahwa.
Those morning Bluecephalus rides back and forth between Mumbai and Pune; the 'poha aani chai' stops at Khandala.
Standing in front of India Gate at sunset, with an army band rehearsing for the Republic Day celebrations.
Sunset at Bamhni Dadar, Kanha National Park. The local bus stop at Bamhni village outside Mandla; the smouldering lake near the dormitory; the view of the meadows from the Forest Officers' guest house; the open-air amphitheatre at Khatia Gate; the first time an adult male tiger crossed our path while descending the ghats in Kanha in the evening.
The croaking of frogs at Vembanad lake, Kumarakom at night.
That lone tea stall near Pykara dam, Ooty, with the tea gardens around us.
The copious tears I shed in the Figo on the second morning of my drive from Mumbai to Kerala, outside Malpe by the sea.T
The vast expanse of nothingness somewhere near Rannebennur, when I rode my Avenger, the Bluecephalus, from Bangalore to Mumbai, and the battle that raged in my head.
The many runs over the Bandra-Worli sea link; I've run at least four times on this bridge and driven in a vehicle only once :)
So, so many more, but these have stayed with me. Fresh, untarnished. Don't know who I'm saying this to, but the thought just occurred out of nowhere:
There's that view of the runway at Mumbai airport, with its landing lights on, staring straight into our apartment in Santacruz. My friend and I used to sit on the water tank on the rooftop of my apartment building and gawk at the Boeings that landed late at night from the West.
There's that 'flashlight' dance we guys did at that Scouts and Guides campsite near Vihar lake. We switched off the lights, put on some Bollywood songs on a cassette player, took off our t-shirts and danced in shorts and underwear with our flashlights (torches) swarming like disco lights.
That moment in a hotel room in Kodaikanal, when the rest of my schoolmates had gone 'sightseeing' in the cold rain and I chose to sit in the room and watch "Saajan" on Cable TV, remembering Dana.
The song of the "banjaras" or gypsies in the night at Badnawar; the freshly baked "bhaati" and "dal"; watching the Venkatesh-horse-like Karishma Kapoor starrer "Anari" in a decrepit movie theatre, front bench, on the outskirts of Ujjain.
That marshy inlet in Agashi, Virar, a sleepy village north of Mumbai where I lived for 12 years. Where I kissed a girl for the first time in my life. I was seventeen then.
Cloud Nine cafe in Colaba. The seaside promenade in Navy Nagar at Cuffe Parade. International Fleet Review in 2001. Enough said.
The surf at the black Arnala beach. That forested hill crest overlooking the Vaitarna river in the middle of the afternoon. With her sitting next to me. A glint of anticipation in her eyes. Our hearts pounding louder than our vacuous conversations.
The point at Baga beach where the river meets the sea, especially after sunset when the lights in the beach shacks and restaurants come on. And UB40 croons Red Red Wine.
The mellow sun of Juhu Beach on a balmy January afternoon, when I went down on a knee and proposed.
Lying on a mattress in her apartment in 'Chandragupta' building, Raheja Township, Malad East. Long after midnight. With "Out of the Blue" by MLTR playing softly in the background. The midnight conversations, those sweet nothings.
Morning mist in Gangtok drifting into our room in Hotel Asian Heights. And watching her sleep peacefully, buried in white sheets. While I listened to the sound prayer bells and drums from a monastery nearby.
The view from the Kisli gate at sunset. When the mating call of the Chital deer or the baying of the red dogs at night filled the air. And later, after dinner, sitting outside the canteen under a black velvet sky studded with stars.
The fluttering Stars and Stripes outside the Marriott near my apartment in 300 Oakwood, 15th Street South, Crystal City, Arlington VA.
The little aircraft taking off at a nondescript Chesapeake Bay airstrip; the flurries in Maryland and in Corning, NY on our way to Niagara; the arresting, breathtaking unravelling of NYC as we emerged from the Lincoln tunnel on a lovely night in March.
That one bike ride home from work in Pune, from Hinjewadi to Kothrud. When the world around us was awash in tender orange. When we rode on my 'Bluecephalus' the Avenger, in silence. With only her tingling sensation of her breath on my neck.
Snowfall at Gulmarg; those cups of steaming hot Kahwa.
Those morning Bluecephalus rides back and forth between Mumbai and Pune; the 'poha aani chai' stops at Khandala.
Standing in front of India Gate at sunset, with an army band rehearsing for the Republic Day celebrations.
Sunset at Bamhni Dadar, Kanha National Park. The local bus stop at Bamhni village outside Mandla; the smouldering lake near the dormitory; the view of the meadows from the Forest Officers' guest house; the open-air amphitheatre at Khatia Gate; the first time an adult male tiger crossed our path while descending the ghats in Kanha in the evening.
The croaking of frogs at Vembanad lake, Kumarakom at night.
That lone tea stall near Pykara dam, Ooty, with the tea gardens around us.
The copious tears I shed in the Figo on the second morning of my drive from Mumbai to Kerala, outside Malpe by the sea.T
The vast expanse of nothingness somewhere near Rannebennur, when I rode my Avenger, the Bluecephalus, from Bangalore to Mumbai, and the battle that raged in my head.
The many runs over the Bandra-Worli sea link; I've run at least four times on this bridge and driven in a vehicle only once :)
So, so many more, but these have stayed with me. Fresh, untarnished. Don't know who I'm saying this to, but the thought just occurred out of nowhere:
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