Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Keep calm and leap on



Things could have ended badly for her. They usually did. She hadn't spoken to them in months, may be even a couple of years. It was hard to keep track of these things when you were on the road.


It was hard to remember the smell of burned toast on a Sunday morning and the sudden start of the old taps sputtering blasts of cold water on your skin with no prior warning.


When she was on the road, hopping from one city to the next, flying to different countries every week, drinking precisely 3 cups of chamomile tea a day and singing exactly 8 songs every night (except when she got an encore), it seemed easy to treat it all like an unreal haze. Especially if you counted all the heroin.


She'd squirm, when out of nowhere, a pale, glowing evening sky would remind her of the creaky porch at home and their old blind dog who sat there in the evenings slobbering unceasingly.


Today, she turned 29 years old. Her phone rang and it was them. How could she not say yes? How could she not leave it all to go see that dog that slobbered, the porch that creaked (even when no one was sitting there), the taps that startled and the blackened toast you treasured more than any cheque?


She boarded the plane with shaky hands. In a less sane world in a big city, the bosses were furious. Her phone kept ringing. But she had already answered the most important call of all. Keep calm, she told herself, and leap on.


The plane crashed exactly 40 minutes after it took off. When they found her body, she had the faintest smile etched upon her face.


The traces of heroin in her body which actually killed her, they found several weeks later.


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Too morose? This is a part of Fantabulous February started by this talented blogger. Last day today, but waiting for more bloggerly awesomeness from Soumi.


Love


The Cyniqueen

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Like a drop of ink in a glass of crystal clear water

Set yourself free


Setting yourself free is more than just physical boundaries.


It's more than being able to buy what you want. More than the freedom of deciding that you want to watch a movie at one AM on a weeknight. More than getting the haircut you want because you don't care if he/she doesn't like it. More than saying yes to fun and no to homework. More than taking a cab one day because you had no patience to wait for the bus. Even more than trying something new. More than doing something because you can. 


Setting yourself free does not mean being free of love.


Setting yourself free means being unencumbered enough to look beyond yourself, to do something for someone because you want to. Because you can.


The Cyniqueen


Kanika says day seven of Fantabulous February is going to be a good one. I agree :)

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Epiphany



Because in the crisscross craziness of life, when one moment meets another, magic happens, sparks fly and everything comes together like a rainbow on a sunny day. Like yesterday, when the sun shone so prettily on the fresh, shining mounds and drapes of snow, nothing else mattered.


This is a part of Fantabulous February for Kanika's awesome blog. Go take a look!


The Cyniqueen

Friday, February 3, 2012

Snow big deal


I woke up to my first proper snow day today.The dry tree branches were drooping with it (as you can see in the picture) and the cars parked by the road were draped with an impeccably symmetrical white blanket. 

I stomped in the thick snow and stared wondrously at tiny snow flakes that settled on K.'s black coat. I clicked pictures of snow in heaps and snow on bushes and snow on tables and chairs (which had been left outside, for some reason). And snow mixed with mud and snow stuck between the tight, hexagonal spaces on a cobbled sidewalk.

Oooh, and yesterday I saw condensation on a window which cold wind had turned into big, shining, magnificently opulent looking crystals.

And I saw some soft, white snowfall, which danced and swayed gracefully to the ground like a performance.

I love my first European winter!

Soft ice and snowflakes,

The Cyniqueen