The Old City

I look around. There are no high rises. The city is denuded of landmarks. There used to be an eerie silence, now its reduced to the dull drone of the air conditioner. There is noise but its so unlike the brain numbing acoustics of a metro-politan setting. These sounds of the old city don’t seem noise to me. It’s a blissful state of sound, swaying between the frequencies of noise and silence. A state of sound that ensures harmony within thyself. A harmony that I had left behind, but kept on searching for it, miles away from its origin. I’m back to where I belong, and it is this harmony which comes with the sense of belonging that shapes our personalities and it has shooted up my quotient of job satisfaction. Three months in the old city has given success, contentment, and above all, an assurance that there are people around me, who care for me, and are forever willing to shroud me from the gusts of ill wind.









For me Bagalore was nothing, but an incessant fumbling with clothes and breasts, and a constant effort on my part to first avert and then offer a pair of parched lips to make up for a character chosen according to others’ whims and fancies. Strangely I felt like that Keating fella of The Fountainhead. The only respite was that there was no Roark in the vicinity, and I continued to fuck life in the hole. Period.


However, things are so settled in the old city. Away from pretensions and the “ I, Me, Myself ” syndrome that bugs most of the inhabitants of the metros, and this life, where I can flaunt my actual character without faking is enough for a healthy sustenance. To be able to wake up every day with the sunlight streaming in through the windows and the bliss of leaving for office before fifteen minutes and not worrying about snarl ups can only happen in the old city.


Couldn’t have asked for a more welcome change. I’m in love with this new and slow pace of life.


Current music. Hotel California ( Eagles )
Current mood. Tranquil.