Of caves, windows and colors

My windows are brimming with fall colors. 

But I'm sad I couldn't make the best of use of fall, this year. No cannon beach trips, no peek at the silver falls or the latourell, no trips to our neighborhood park that we used to frequent a few months ago. Something has changed - we moved to a new home! A spacious and vibrant single residence home - a dream we purchased for ourselves. I wouldn't be wrong calling this home, our 'cave'. But a cave with large windows that open up to beautiful colors and greenery, everything is just a window-peek away.

But nothing beautiful lasts forever. Come November, the colors are all gone. My 'i-gotta-document-this-before-it's-too-late' instinct kicks in. I hop window to window with my iphone. From bright yellow to red to burnt orange, these windows are painted with all shades of fall spectrum. 

Here's a little peek:

the dilemma of an immigrant

We visit our friends often. We adore them. We cook and share meals with each other, we play boardgames, we laugh, make fun and discuss a LOT! I’m extremely happy that Vibu and I nurtured new and wonderful friendships, here in Hillsboro. Thanks to them, we miss India a bit lesser than we had initially anticipated, except for great food and family (you guessed it right.. in that order ;))

A year ago, we weren’t quite sure of our decision to relocate to the US, and a big reason behind that was “we don’t know anyone in Portland, how would we manage? what if we feel terribly lonely?” Despite being introverts ourselves, we were worried. We made up our minds when we boarded our one-way (50-hr!) flight to Portland. Thankfully, it turned out to be quite the opposite! Now, I wish for some “me” time :D (good problem to have, no?)

Oormi, Aravind and Laya (their 2 yo daughter) were the first ones to meet us, in Hillsboro. Thanks to instagram, that’s how oormi came to know I relocated to Portland. Fast forward a year, we grew very close to each other (and with a few more friends, of whom I’ll talk more later). Laya papa is our most favourite, she is such a doll. Her naughty, mesmerising smile is sure to melt your heart. 

Today evening, after work, I made some pori (an Indian snack made with puffed rice). A long pending plan to have them visit us after work and chat over some pori and tea. But they couldn’t make it. Instead, we visited them. We want to meet them anyway, to shred some mid-week work fatigue and have  refreshing conversations. 

As usual, we discussed a lot - office work, lifestyle talks, debates and discussions over quality of life in India vs US (a topic that’s never tiring to discuss, but guess what? the verdict is the same. always. either there is no verdict or both are better, in their own way). 

Life is full of choices and compromises. But when you make a decision, you also try to make it work, no? Somehow. There is dilemma, yes. But there is hope too. And the burden is not for us to carry but for time. I believe time makes way for certainty. 

Just right after Aravind was paged (duty calls!), we bid goodbye to oormi, followed by a few departing talks at the doorstep, I told her that I love her kurthi. Without missing a beat, she enthusiastically responded  “I’ll get you one, jeevi..this time when I go to India. It’s from reliance trends.” Her reply lit me up. Sweet gestures like these, that often go unacknowledged, are precious nevertheless. It’s what makes a relationship beautiful, I thought. 

 

 

 

“if at eighty...” , a measure of life well-lived

You could read the full quote in Brain pickings here, on a measure of life well-lived.

I am forever thankful to Brain pickings for making me discover gems like this.  

Do the work and let it go

My fav quote, from Lao Tzu. This got registered in my mind the first time I read it. 

Learn to let it go. 

From the Medinas of Morocco

 "Meow".

Our conversation had been interrupted in a slightly startling fashion by a feline voice coming from somewhere under our table. It was a feeble looking street cat (with a voice that was far from feeble) hugging my legs. It was clear what she wanted. A few ear scratches and a lion's share of our lunch. You cannot ignore her. You cannot continue your conversation. You cannot even get back to your train of thought after being interjected so strongly (and so charmingly) by one of Chefchaouen's very own heroines.

And this is the essence of our time at Morocco.

There were interjections & interesting sights around every corner and when they have presented themselves, you had little choice but to devote your undivided attention to it until another sight/sound/smell threw your thoughts and emotions into complete disarray. In this photo-essay, I hope to be able to have a similar effect on you - to disturb your senses with the colorful madness that is Morocco.

 

A Desert Symphony: Thar Desert

 Geography, all this while has fed me intellectually. I never felt so physically observant to a land's topography  as I did at the Thar desert that winter night. Living in the hustle of Bangalore, as traffic and smog sprawls across the city, wherein the difference between four seasons are beginning to blur, a sensual awareness of a land's geo is either numbed or perplexed. It requires one to stay throughout the year, all four seasons, to perceive the nature of people in a community—to comprehend why they are, the way they are.

At the Thar desert, inhabitants are seemingly as enduring as desert plants, experiencing the wildly unstable monsoons and the extremes of temperature, 6°C to 50° C. The muddy water we drank, a modest variety of food we ate, a herd of goats that traveled with us in a local bus, the surrounding air that carried a distant sound of  a rajasthani folklore—I consider them all as blissful aberrations to our usual trips, taking in the spirit of the place one-stop deeper.

December 23rd, 2015. Night. Thar Desert:

Twilight. The Sun was beginning to set. The cold wind was blustering all about us. We sat down on a dune for a desert-wine brewed out of cashews and roses. Occasional sip sent a warmth down the spine. The temperature fell close to 10°C. Our camel drivers were making rotis for dinner and the burning firewood was the only source of heat. The utensils and bowls were all washed in sand, as water was used only to drink. I could taste grains of sand in everything, probably a desert flavour. After dinner, a bed was made beside a thorny bush. I strongly felt that I will be spending the longest night of my life on a rusty dune with no tent or roof. A sheet of mist, lightened up by an upcoming full-moon, was slowly blanketing the entire landscape. I could hear the lingering sound of our camel's bell. I was freezing to the bone, the chill was getting bitter. A next-day sun-rise was the only prayer and hope. The intake of too much wine pushed me to a state of trance. In the middle of the night, I woke up. Mustered up courage to pull down the blanket. I saw no mist. The sky was seemingly at an arm's distance. The night sky was dense with constellations, big and bright. The moon and the stars were slowly traversing from one horizon to the other. A splendid sight. The temperature fell close to 6°C. The cold turned my fingers numb. I knew that I will have no proof of that fantabulous sight except for a memory.  I hid myself underneath the blanket and woke up to a scarlet sky, the next day. The steam from the hot tea was an elixir. The Sun caught the copper in our hairs and wrapped the mist into a golden shroud.  The moon at the opposite  horizon began to wane. The temperature gradually rose up to 14°C. I felt revived with energy. That chilly winter night taught me what it takes to physically endure a climate change. It was my first instance of having both a physical and emotional response to a land's geography.