This week, it was time for all things American.
Skyscrapers that marvel your eyes, few bright, few others bright and a handful, charming as ever.
One of the most beautiful of stops, has to be the Prudential Towers. The port, the city, the vehicles, toy-like, appearing just a few centimeters in size, from where we were.
The chaos, of life, of neatly organized structures, of patterns, and? And of silence.
The clear blue of the sky, some scattered clouds, as though their separation from the sky was terrific and unimaginable, and what else? The cherry on top? The moon. My moon. My long distant lover, teaching me a little bit of everything. And how? By just BEing. Isn't that incredibly beautiful?
The alluring bridges. As though they were proud to be associated with the water body. Who wouldn't be? The subtle blend of one thing into another. As we circumscribed the tower, so many thoughts, views, descriptions, needs and cravings in that one moment. Was there someone to listen, to understand the amount of happiness, with all the undivided attention I adore? One of those rare moments, wherein - I am enough, doesn't hold good.
" I don't feel happy and nice."
I said, as we conversed over lunch.
I will give you 21 reasons why you should be absolutely happy, said my Brazilian lover.
Newbury Street, the chain of houses, gleaming with the beauty of ancient architecture. The brown and red of bricks winked at how in love we were with them, their colors and poetic brilliance.
The other street, with every X,Y,Z brand shopping stores that made us cringe at the prices.
The Boston Public Garden.
The frozen lake.
The nuances of the beautiful strangers.
The childlike curiosity and happiness.
The worn out leaves and the hue.
The thoughts and the words.
The warmth in the heart and
the chill in the weather.
We sit down for a while near the Frozen Lake, or rather, the lake that completed my incomplete childhood that day. Yet another stranger story, didn't you guess that?
Mother- Honey, use the twig to pick up the ice slab.
The baby girl follows as she says.
Mother- Now, level it against the sun and look through it.
The baby girl smiles and does a quick dance with happiness.
My lovers- Aw, how sweet.
Me- Slyly, following every little instruction that the mother gave. Why to miss an important part of a Boston childhood?
What the sun looked through the ice slab, is nothing short of magic. Stunning magic. I doubt if I would have enjoyed this, if it were any other time, any where else. The universe and its ways. :)
Brattle Book Store.
A neatly kept second hand bookstore.
The first book that lands in my hand? Ted Hughes's biography. To remind me of my favorite author. Of her love for Ted, of their time, their childhood, career and growth in Boston. They were here. Right here, where I was. Sylvia Plath was here. It has been 5 years since I fell in love with her writings, and now? I am here, where she was. At around the same time as me. With similar state of mind as me. Didn't I say? The universe and its ways. :)
"I feel happy and nice."
And my lovers had to drag me out of the Book Store before I ended up buying the entire rack.
It is that simple. Good food, alluring history, rather, a story to tell, little magical things (if perceived so) and books.
Super bowl.
In a cloud of hurry, I carry the expired passport as ID.
The passport with a 7 year old me. With a boy cut and flat cheeks.
And yet, with a possibility of getting in, with the possibility of being laughed at, after mustering a lot of courage, explained my loveliness to the guards. And, sometimes, for instance, this moment, it works. A story I shall always remember. A story of getting into a Sports Bar with an expired passport to watch the craze surrounding The Super Bowl.
Also, ending as the craze surrounding the South American, ever so charming, ever so incredibly, every positive adjective-ly beautiful humans. For all the short conversations, the frenzy in the atmosphere, the delicious pizza and the grand celebration of the game with people we barely knew and instantly fell in love with.
Woke up to rains.
Woke up to beautiful faces.
Woke up to letters, flowers and surprises.
But, waking up to snow? Nothing beats the snow.
Snow, an unexplained happiness.
Karaoke night, at home.
The songs ranging from - If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands to My heart will go on.
With the girls enjoying the funny videos to the boys making faces at our overly romantic song selections. A beautiful night, indeed.
Much thanks to the Television that didn't broadcast any channel, other than the one talking about crimes.
Fell sick incredibly, and why? Because of eating the snow right from the sky.
This is what we first warn kids here about,they said.
Well. Moving on, found out Sylvia Plath lived in a place that is 18 minutes away from Harvard Square. Terribly sick, yes. But how do I contain the humongous urge to visit her place. At a place she lived, laughed, made memories, pained, prayed, hoped, gave up, where she saw planes take off, her dream soar high and her love vanish and so on and so forth. Undying urge interrupted by a cancelled presentation which was now, in schedule.
Sickness prolongs, worsens, conquers.
How in sync are the mind and body, isn't it?
Longing, disgust, happiness, gratefulness and so much more. Remembered how I always wondered, how it would feel like to be sick, on your own, at a situation where no one would wake you up, for food, drinks or medicine. Like always, the universe said, Aye aye captain. Yet another, 'I have never -----' fulfilled.
A postcard.
A conversation.
Both unexpected, both much needed, both the reason for my happiness.
The third seven days, noons, evenings and nights were, in all its glory, wrapped into these words-
The gift of vulnerability; acceptance of the lack resulting in the advent of your cravings.
© Deekshita
amazingly hungry, mindfully content.
22:23 pm, Bangalore
12:53 pm, Boston
Skyscrapers that marvel your eyes, few bright, few others bright and a handful, charming as ever.
One of the most beautiful of stops, has to be the Prudential Towers. The port, the city, the vehicles, toy-like, appearing just a few centimeters in size, from where we were.
The chaos, of life, of neatly organized structures, of patterns, and? And of silence.
The clear blue of the sky, some scattered clouds, as though their separation from the sky was terrific and unimaginable, and what else? The cherry on top? The moon. My moon. My long distant lover, teaching me a little bit of everything. And how? By just BEing. Isn't that incredibly beautiful?
" I don't feel happy and nice."
I said, as we conversed over lunch.
I will give you 21 reasons why you should be absolutely happy, said my Brazilian lover.
Newbury Street, the chain of houses, gleaming with the beauty of ancient architecture. The brown and red of bricks winked at how in love we were with them, their colors and poetic brilliance.
The other street, with every X,Y,Z brand shopping stores that made us cringe at the prices.
The Boston Public Garden.
The frozen lake.
The nuances of the beautiful strangers.
The childlike curiosity and happiness.
The worn out leaves and the hue.
The thoughts and the words.
The warmth in the heart and
the chill in the weather.
We sit down for a while near the Frozen Lake, or rather, the lake that completed my incomplete childhood that day. Yet another stranger story, didn't you guess that?
Mother- Honey, use the twig to pick up the ice slab.
The baby girl follows as she says.
Mother- Now, level it against the sun and look through it.
The baby girl smiles and does a quick dance with happiness.
My lovers- Aw, how sweet.
Me- Slyly, following every little instruction that the mother gave. Why to miss an important part of a Boston childhood?
What the sun looked through the ice slab, is nothing short of magic. Stunning magic. I doubt if I would have enjoyed this, if it were any other time, any where else. The universe and its ways. :)
Brattle Book Store.
A neatly kept second hand bookstore.
The first book that lands in my hand? Ted Hughes's biography. To remind me of my favorite author. Of her love for Ted, of their time, their childhood, career and growth in Boston. They were here. Right here, where I was. Sylvia Plath was here. It has been 5 years since I fell in love with her writings, and now? I am here, where she was. At around the same time as me. With similar state of mind as me. Didn't I say? The universe and its ways. :)
"I feel happy and nice."
And my lovers had to drag me out of the Book Store before I ended up buying the entire rack.
It is that simple. Good food, alluring history, rather, a story to tell, little magical things (if perceived so) and books.
Super bowl.
In a cloud of hurry, I carry the expired passport as ID.
The passport with a 7 year old me. With a boy cut and flat cheeks.
And yet, with a possibility of getting in, with the possibility of being laughed at, after mustering a lot of courage, explained my loveliness to the guards. And, sometimes, for instance, this moment, it works. A story I shall always remember. A story of getting into a Sports Bar with an expired passport to watch the craze surrounding The Super Bowl.
Also, ending as the craze surrounding the South American, ever so charming, ever so incredibly, every positive adjective-ly beautiful humans. For all the short conversations, the frenzy in the atmosphere, the delicious pizza and the grand celebration of the game with people we barely knew and instantly fell in love with.
Woke up to rains.
Woke up to beautiful faces.
Woke up to letters, flowers and surprises.
But, waking up to snow? Nothing beats the snow.
Snow, an unexplained happiness.
Karaoke night, at home.
The songs ranging from - If you are happy and you know it, clap your hands to My heart will go on.
With the girls enjoying the funny videos to the boys making faces at our overly romantic song selections. A beautiful night, indeed.
Much thanks to the Television that didn't broadcast any channel, other than the one talking about crimes.
Fell sick incredibly, and why? Because of eating the snow right from the sky.
This is what we first warn kids here about,they said.
Well. Moving on, found out Sylvia Plath lived in a place that is 18 minutes away from Harvard Square. Terribly sick, yes. But how do I contain the humongous urge to visit her place. At a place she lived, laughed, made memories, pained, prayed, hoped, gave up, where she saw planes take off, her dream soar high and her love vanish and so on and so forth. Undying urge interrupted by a cancelled presentation which was now, in schedule.
Sickness prolongs, worsens, conquers.
How in sync are the mind and body, isn't it?
Longing, disgust, happiness, gratefulness and so much more. Remembered how I always wondered, how it would feel like to be sick, on your own, at a situation where no one would wake you up, for food, drinks or medicine. Like always, the universe said, Aye aye captain. Yet another, 'I have never -----' fulfilled.
A postcard.
A conversation.
Both unexpected, both much needed, both the reason for my happiness.
The third seven days, noons, evenings and nights were, in all its glory, wrapped into these words-
The gift of vulnerability; acceptance of the lack resulting in the advent of your cravings.
© Deekshita
amazingly hungry, mindfully content.
22:23 pm, Bangalore
12:53 pm, Boston