The fractal of what ifs

 

On one cloudy Saturday morning in the fall of 2024, I woke up with a strong desire to escape the stresses of the hectic weeks behind me. "Let's go on a little day out", I told to myself as I slowly dragged myself out of my bed, sleepily dressed up in warm layers and stepped out of my apartment. I took the bus up to the top of Queen Anne, then went to a cafe that Google recommended, woke myself with delicious coffee, raspberry croissant and din of people chatting away. After that I strolled into Queen Anne Farmers Market, watched my colleague performing music with his group, shopped around, checked out the PaperSource shop nearby.

I felt satisfied about my little day out so far. It was a dark, windy fall morning. Sun was peaking through the grayness of the sky, casting a silvery ambience. Dried leaves made a little dance every time a bus or a car zoomed on the road. Many trees were done with their shedding and were already hibernating with their bare branches... Some still had gorgeous yellow leaves dancing beautifully with the wind. It was as ethereal as a fall morning can be.

Content with the cozy experience so far, and after splurging on a lot of cute stuff, I decided to head back. The bus was gonna be late, so I decided to just walk downhill. On my way back I passed by a familiar apartment complex. It was one of the apartment complexes I came to check out when I first moved to Seattle. Even though I walked along that route many times before, this time it triggered me. I started wondering what if I decided to stay in this apartment instead. Queen Anne is a lovely neighborhood; very convenient too. I remember liking the apartment as well. I decided to not take this one because there was only one bus running through that route and that would have been inconvenient for going to work. I signed up for another apartment because it was pretty and i had better bus access and walk-ability to my work. But only after moving there I discovered the inconveniences of that place.

My mind went into a rabbit hole of how my life would have been different if I had chosen to stay in this apartment instead. I tried hard to pull myself out of my rabbit hole and tried my best not to get overwhelmed by my own emotions. As I climbed down hill, the looming Space Needle, and the majestic view of Puget Sound reminded me about how lucky I am to be living in this beautiful city. As someone who loves to live in nostalgia, I often find myself in the center of a fractal of possibilities, and scenarios and getting drowned in "what ifs". In that moment of clarity I realized that if I chose to stay in that apartment, life would have been better in many ways, but difficult in many other ways. I took the best decision I could at that time and lived its consequences.... and I tried to console the me who gets trapped in the fractal of possibilities, that other decisions that I didn't take could have taken me into different life paths, with their own share of blessings and struggles, just like the blessings and struggles that came with the decisions I took. It would not have been better or worse; just different. That comforted me a bit. In fact, I am feeling slightly more comforted even as I am writing it now. And I reluctantly took a leap out of those fractals and tried to ground myself.

I remembered a time when I was panicking about the whole adulting process and  I would think, "I don't want to be an adult! It is too scary! Too many responsibilities, too many decisions to make and it is overwhelming!!!" I think i have a long way to go to heal the young me that still feels scared and overwhelmed... may be one day, but it will need a lot of hard work. 

Coming back to my walk downhill, I kept cruising while drifting through my tangled thoughts, the beautiful view ahead of me, pretty primroses, and jumbled memories. Soon I arrived at the foot of the hill. I decided to take a bus for the remaining part of my journey. The cold autumn morning, which began with a few people on the streets slowly trying to wake up, led me to the coziness of family and friends huddled together, chatting away. It was a day filled with warm interactions with strangers and friends, and lovely aroma of coffee and pastries, delicious food, and the sound of music. And now that I headed back, I found people around me - the ones standing in the bus-stop, traveling in the bus, and walking along the sidewalks- looked much more alive and prepared for the day; and so was I. 

I came back home feeling proud of myself for my little day out and took a lovely restful nap as a reward. And the journey of healing will continue for many more years... (Can I just roll my eyes and lol at it yet?)

 

Angel on a rainy night

 Dear Reader,

Today I am going to share the story that inspired me to start writing and to share stories. I wanted this to be my first story. For some reason I kept dragging it until I wrote my first post of this blog. I guess, I wanted to get started and write something quick instead of procrastinating for another bunch of years. It's been about fourteen years since then. The memory keeps popping in every now n then, I make a note of  doing justice to the story, but I keep getting distracted.  It feels strange to me  how long the story stayed with me.

Any way, here it goes. 

I think it was the year of 2008. I was new in Chennai with my first job, figuring out my ways in the big metro city and its rough-n-tough life, particularly the metro bus system. I would travel to work from Ponni Amman Koil, an area in the city outskirts, to Guindy, the central industrial area via Sholinganallur. I would mostly ride a bus number 575. It was a long, hectic and often jerky ride. The bus would arrive at my bus stop at unpredictable times. But for a long period that was my best option. In the crowded and overloaded bus with all the yelling, push-n-shove, shouts for tickets and coin exchange, I would often notice a conductor. He would be managing the whole thing beautifully, with a super quiet and calm attitude, something I can now call "zen-like". I would wonder, "Being a bus conductor is such a hard job! How does he manage it so well?" 

At night, I would return home on 575 as well. Gradually, responsibilities at work kept increasing, and I started leaving work at later and later hours. On one of these nights, the bus did not stop at Ponni Amman Koil on my way back. I had to shout at the driver in order to alert them. Even though the driver stopped the bus to let me out, they warned me that this bus is an express bus and hence is not supposed to stop at a small bus stop like Ponni Amman Koil, and that I should get down at Shollinganallur and take a shared auto-rickshaw (auto rickshaws for multiple passengers). My attempts to argue about the fact that I used to get down at Ponni Amman Koil all the time until then, did not work at all. Any way, after that night, I begrudgingly rode on a shared auto rickshaw between Sholinganallur and Ponni Amman Koil on most nights.

Soon it was winter in Chennai, and time for late monsoon rains. It was annoying how a city that had a few tiny rivers which were converted into sewage channels, would get flooded with just one shower of rain. The rapid road constructions would leave no room for rain water to escape due to lack of planning for drainage. Water would  remain logged for long time once it started raining. One night when it was pouring cats and dogs, I got into 575.  I was worried about having to get down at Shollinganallur and ride in the uncomfortable shared auto-rickshaws. When the bus reached at Sholinganallur though, the conductor quietly instructed me to wait until the next stop, that is, Ponni Amman Koil. When the bus approached Ponni Amman Koil, he blew a soft whistle indicating the driver to stop the bus. I got down after thanking the conductor. This was the same zen-like man, by the way. He did not have to do it. None of the other conductors did it. But he saved me from lot of trouble and fear that night. It seemed as if he was an angel sent to watch over me that night.

Even though I continued riding on that bus for many more months after that, I never got to see him again. Now, I don't remember many details of his features any more. But I remember a silhouette of him, an essence of cool air surrounding him instilling a sense of calmness. Even though I did not finish writing this story for a long time, the memory did not fade away completely. Some day, some where, some how, some thing would happen and it would trigger this memory and I would thank the conductor and hope that the Universe will send my gratitude towards him.

One night, I was scrolling through Instagram and came across this post from the Instagram handle @wordporm:

Some stranger somewhere 

still remembers you because 

you were kind to them

 when no one else was.

 

It reminded me of him, the conductor. Since then, the thought stubbornly stayed with me, so much so that one night I got out of bed even after a long tiring journey and stayed up to jot it all down and my first draft was ready. But procrastination hit again, and it took me another two years to get back to it and share it.

Even though fourteen years late, I am happy and grateful that the story stayed with me until now, and that it trusted in my heart to give it a shape and share it out there one day. I hope Universe is conveying my thanks to him and giving him back in many-folds what he has given to me.

Thank you, my angel in the rainy night!

 

Nostalgia of the mother land

After a busy work week and gloomy days of Seattle winter, Sun finally peeked out of the clouds on a Saturday afternoon. I was people-starved and experiencing cabin fever. This was my chance to get out of my slumber and get going. I got dressed up, picked my sketching bag and left my apartment. My Uber was quick to arrive and I hopped onto it, full of excitement to finally leave my apartment after a whole week. The driver was a friendly man  and in a minute we started chit-chatting and I soon learned that he was in his fifties, and of Kenyan descent. 

Soon we hit Mercer Street. The traffic was kinda big, somewhat unusual for a Saturday afternoon. I wondered if there was a game going on that night in Seattle. He casually replied, "No, just people moving around, because they have a car." And that's how the whole conversation started about his dissatisfaction with American lifestyle in general. He did not approve of how people are always busy, overwork during weekdays and are busy doing high intensity activities in the weekend, only to return to the busy life the next day. Because of overworking, they tend to age quicker and look older than their age, he observed. Cultural norms such as kids leaving to be on their own at teenage, old people being left at old age care, people paying for themselves when having family dinners at restaurants, bothered him. He went on to tell fond memories of him and his family, how he and his brothers regularly meetup for dinner and have a great time bonding and sharing, how everybody is eager to pay and treat others, how parents nurture kids till they are self-sustaining, and kids care for parents in their old age. He had smile on his face and excitement in his voice while talking about this.

After a week of starving in-person conversation, I just devoured in all he had to say. I did have some opinions that were against his, but after a few unconvincing attempts, I decided to stop and learn his perspective. Once my journey ended, I wished him a good time with his family and a nice weekend, and walked into the park that was a magnificent panorama of lush green hills, glowing downtown and glorious evening. Everything was so dramatic and colors were changing so quickly! After walking around the park for a bit, I found a dry corner, and got into painting the panoramic view in front of me. It was already night by the time I was done. I headed back and requested for another Uber. This time the driver had an interesting and unfamiliar name.

Turns out, I was not the only one. The driver was curious about my name too. After exchanging meanings of our names, I learned that the driver's doctor had given him this name after his birth. He was born in Albania and moved with his parents to USA later. He has close relatives in Albania, and he goes back and forth often. He wanted to know if I have good friends here and if I like it here. As the conversations got rolling, I asked him, "What do you miss about Albania?" And he promptly said, "Food. The meat here is not as rich in taste as there. So the dishes are not as delicious. Everything is prepackaged and preprocessed, that it loses its freshness." I agreed. I find the vegetables in USA to be much bigger in size and diluted in taste. He said his dad has his own garden and the produce from it tastes so good; much better than the supermarket food. I asked him if he likes to do gardening and then we got diverted into his life in Seattle and Seattle in general. When he dropped me off near my apartment, I showed my painting to him and he was happy to see it. After getting off the car on a happy note, I came back home with a sense of "I had a good day today!".

Now that I sat down to write after a long gap, I thought to myself, both these conversations had a nostalgia about one's motherland. We leave our homeland to another place to seek for something that is missing at home. But a faint scent of longing remains. There is always something that brings up nostalgia, that instantly transports to our homeland in our head, a childlike wish that the things we loved about our homeland were with us.

 What is your nostalgia about your motherland?

Old trails

It was a beautiful Sunday morning for a nice day out..
the wandering hearts wandered about streets,
taking random turns.
sometimes left, sometimes right.
sometimes up and sometimes down.

there was banter, complaints, worries, sharing and caring.
and before long, the unknown paths led to a path familiar.

a path that was part of everyday,  once upon a time not so long ago.
Or..
has it been long, actually?

Memories keep playing tricks, don't they?
Some feel like yesterday,
and some get buried somewhere decades ago.
And there are some that come back as surprise gift, making one wonder as if it happened at all...
all while sprouting at the same time, in the same place...

As the feet trod the the leaf strewn sideways,
eyes could not help looking at the other shore of the road,
ears could not help tuning out the banter around,
and tuning in to the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds and the heavy rumble of traffic... searching for the familiar memories...

there was me walking along the path on the other shore,
sometimes to south and ...
sometimes to north.
in the warm sunny days,
in the cool cloudy days,
in the cold winter nights,
and the nights with pink skies.
among the wet leaves,
and on the snowy grass.

she climbed onto these very steps I am climbing on.
she was right here in this spot in another time.

memories kept playing hide and seek like the shadows in the woods,
familiar at one moment and, distant and surreal in the very next...

The place had gone through little change,
sounds did not change much...
the scent was the same.
How was her heart though?

a little heavy, a little sad, a little hopeful, and a little determined.
filled with a sense of discovery, and a lot of rumination.

She stared back at me.
... with a gaze piercing through me even from far!
with a stone-like face determined not to reveal the storm within...
perhaps asking me, "How is your heart now?"

well, the heart was not sad anymore, I wished to tell her...
the trails are the same old,
but my heart is lighter,
my eyes shine a little brighter,
and the smile is broader.
with roads getting a little smoother...

the wandering minds wanted to take a different turn ...
and the feet started treading on different path...
and eyes discovered on the different views

...my thoughts left the old trail,
and the old me, 
and the old memories,

so familiar yet so distant.

The bird man

 

If you are local to Seattle, you know Denny Way is one of the busiest roads in Seattle. For a long time, I would frequent one of the high traffic areas along Denny Way; the cross-road between Denny Way and Aurora Avenue. It was a weird arrangement of roads. As you head north from Denny Way, you would see a tunnel (I99) emerging from underground. The normal traffic entering from the south along 5th Avenue North would skirt around the tunnel entrance and eventually all the three roads would merge into Aurora Avenue North. The spot on Denny Way right above the tunnel opening had a little of pavement like space acting as a boundary from the road traffic. On a typical weekday morning, you would see a lot of buses and cars moving past the cross road, and a crowd consisting mostly of Amazon employees scuttling with their hoodies and backpacks. For a while, I was a regular part of that morning crowd too. There was another person in the crowd too. But, he was not in any hurry to go anywhere. In that environment of busyness, hurry, and rush that breathed an anxious air, a general intention of doing something, or reaching somewhere, he was relaxed and content. He had no intention of doing anything and no worry about reaching anywhere. In fact, that little pavement seemed to be his very home. Day in, day out, I never failed to see this person. He would be there with his typical cardboard asking for donation along with all his belongings stashed in a corner. But he would be very busy doing something else... that is feeding birds. There would always be a frenzy of pigeons and sea-gulls feeding on food scrapes he threw for them.

This man, was an anomaly to his surroundings, as if solely taking the responsibility of balancing out the energy of the place.

I would never fail to notice him; however I would just feel amused and move on as I got immersed in the ongoing crowd, trying to reach somewhere, worried about doing something. This write-up is collection of memories of him and the emotions they evoke rather than a recollections of my feelings at that time. Frankly, I don't recall how I felt at that time.

Any way, after sometime, my typical route to work changed and I did not pass by Denny and Aurora as regularly. I would nevertheless find him whenever I would pass by that junction.

Sometime later, in 2019, the tunnel got demolished along with the famous and ugly Seattle viaduct evoking much nostalgia among the people of Seattle. The weird tunnel opening at Denny was now demolished and construction work continued for most of the year.

Now a year later in 2020, you would find a changed landscape and ... for the better. The awkward arrangement of the two narrow roads and tunnel opening is completely gone. In its place now runs a nice and wide highway giving a sense of openness. I still visit that place only occasionally. And a few times, the thought of this man has crossed my mind. Not much though, just for a fleeting second. 'What happened that man? I hope he went somewhere nice and is doing OK. I won't be able to see the frenzy of birds again.' And my mind would move on to some other pressing thought.

Until...

....one day, when I took a bus going from downtown to up north. As the bus approached Denny Way, I saw a frenzy of sea gulls at a junction slightly to the south of Denny Way. I was surprised. 'Sea gulls? In the middle of downtown? What's going on?', and peeked from the window. And what do I see? A homeless man, holding a bag of food, grinning ear to ear while feeding the sea gulls.

 

I too, smiled ear to ear. 'Hope he is doing well.'

A tale of perfumes

I was excited about going to the Saturday meetup today. I had not been to the meetup in a long time and was looking forward to it. As a result, I got up early, freshened up, packed up my stuff, and was all ready to go out instead of sleeping in and having a dull start to  the weekend. I hurried down to the entrance of the apartment building as I had only 1 minute before my cab arrived.

Luckily, the car just pulled over right in front of the gate I just came out of the building. Talk about perfect timing! I opened the cab door while feeling happy about the timing. And Bam! My nose was flooded with a strong sweet scent of a kind. It was nice though. I complimented the driver, "Your cab smells nice, what scent is it?" expecting him to tell some flower's name. But he said, "Oh, it is the perfume of the passenger I dropped off right before picking you up!" We both laughed. That was unexpected!

I wondered, "Did he tell what perfume it was?" The driver said, "Yes, he said it was Chanel. And I was like, damn.... I just finished my bottle a few days ago, and why didn't mine smell so good! I only recently changed into Giorgio Armani." Then he showed me a tiny perfume bottle and asked me to smell it. I sprayed a little on my wrist. The smell was too strong, and I immediately pulled my face away from my wrist. As I handed the bottle back to him I said, "It is pretty strong!" Then he joked, "Don't go home with this, otherwise your husband will suspect you , why you are wearing a male perfume!" and laughed. I was amused thinking to myself, "Oh! interesting. I never thought like that. I can't believe I am having this weird conversation!". I told him, "Oh, so I need to wipe it off before I go home?" He was concerned, "When will you be back home?" I said, "Don't worry. I won't be back till late in the day." He seemed to relax a little bit. 

He perked up immediately though and told me, "Well, you should wear perfume every now and then, you know, to feel ..." and jiggled up to imply "to feel nice/cool/sexy". "...but not these ones, they are male perfumes, and pretty strong." I asked, "Do you recommend any to me?" He said something like "Chloe" (confirmed after further research). I thought, "Point noted, Sir."

Then I went on saying how I don't like perfumes because of the loud smell, and he went on how perfumes should smell, and how they should make you feel, and did the jiggling again. The dude surely was really really passionate about perfumes. He mentioned different price ranges, and kinds of perfumes. He also mentioned how some perfumes like Burberry give him headache and he does not like them.

Soon, my destination came. My driver told me, "See you again" as I left the perfumed car out into ordinary mundane world. I giggled and smiled at myself for having this weird and amusing experience. I can't believe I learned so much about perfumes in mere 15 minutes than I had learned in my entire life.

I am still smiling ear to ear and I will always remember this experience every time I talk about perfume, buy a perfume, or walk through an isle of perfume in any shop.

Well,

Dear Cab Driver,

thanks for perfuming up my morning. I am up for a happy long weekend for sure.

 

A poetic day

Some days fly by just like that without you even taking notice what's going on. And then there are some days, that are just like poems; everything looks fuzzy and glossy and bright, everything smells nice; there is nice soft music playing in the background; there is a rhythm in your body; you feel like floating. That day was one of those rare days... poetic.

6 March 2019

the dog that could not take its eyes off its reflection as it climbed up the stairs...

the toddler running towards its Mom fearing that it will be left behind, and the  Mom and the Aunt waiting for it with a knowing smile...

the sweet warmth received from two strangers that are more familiar than acquaintances... 

the happiness in two pairs of shining eyes on meeting after long time...

the simmering city lights in the lake water...

the ecstacy of a flock of geese flying over head before quickly landing in water...

the ride in a fun car with the mood of a disco...

the box of chocolates that my day gifted me with these beautiful memories as I huddled up in my blanket at night....

smiling to myself... and thinking, "I had a poetic day today... When will I have one again?"