The Time I Almost Got Frostbite

Innsbruck, Austria, 2017.

  Last week this time, I had boarded a train which would whisk me off from the hum-drum and into the throes of something magical. At least, that is what I'd hoped; you see, the weather had been terrible. So I ate my doughnut and drank my coffee, all before I reached Jenbach. And no, I did not expect Jenbach to provide me with my dose of 'something magical'.

  After a somewhat brief thirty-three minutes, the train glided into the train station and me, bundled in a multitude of layers of clothing, which I hoped would shield me from the biting frost, my camera bag, and my now empty cup of coffee, stepped out on to the assuring concrete. As I found my way to the bus stop, I thought, almost euphorically, I'm finally going to Achensee. After months of procrastination and shitty situations, I am finally going.

  Either if you personally know me or if you have been reading this blog long enough, you know that my luck is the most rotten thing you will ever come across - worse-than-bread-that-has-mould-growing-on-it-contaminating-everything-else-in-the-fridge rotten. So, there is no way that my moment of jubilation could have lasted. Now that we have that out of the way, allow me to narrate exactly what happened.

  As I mentioned, my brain was experiencing a simmering elation at finally having gotten my lazy ass out of bed and en route Achensee. Having found the right bus stop, I gratefully plonked myself down on an empty wooden bench, right next to a pair of lovesick teens, who giggled like there was no tomorrow. My glove clad hands - my body was finally au fait with the cold - scour my bag for the book I had brought along. Having found it, I open it to the dog-eared page. The book was alright; it was about a psychiatry resident and his various encounters, many of which were amusing enough.

  After reading a few pages, I look up at the digital screen which would tell me when my bus would come. I was not pleased by what I saw. There was a sadistic 54 next to 83328.

  Fifty four fucking minutes! 
  Why did I have to wake up at 6 a.m. again? 
  Oh, that's right, I picked the one place in all of Austria with bad public transport.

  I had already lost most of the feeling in my hands and the tittering next to me seemed to have gotten louder in the past - I looked at my watch - only five minutes had passed? I contemplated drinking another cup of coffee but, in the end, my snobbishness about coffee obviated this urge. So I sat there for the next  forty nine minutes, hoping - no, almost praying - that the bus would arrive before I got frostbite, which it obviously did. 

  NOT!

  The bus came a looooong time after I had lost all feeling in my hands, the cold had even become sort of pleasant. That is when you know you're in trouble. Although, gratefully, after a long ten minutes enshrouded in the warmth of the heated bus, I did regain some feeling in my hands, all the while being subjected to the unaffected giggling of teenagers, who for some fucking reason were immune to the cold. 

  That's it for now. This blogpost was my attempt at conserving my ever-positive outlook on life. Until next time. 

Love,
Teenagers are blood-sucking monsters.

Hues Of Blue

Amalfi, Italy, 2017.

  I just stumbled upon a few pictures of the magnificent Amalfi on my Instagram feed and they transported me back to my ephemeral visit there this summer. I am not quite sure when Amalfi made it to the list of places I absolutely wanted to go, but it did and I am glad it did. The funny thing is I did not even want to visit it - too many tourists milling about. Instead I wanted to go to Capri. Fortunately, we - Kevin and I - were running short on money in the last leg of our trip and the trip to Capri happened to be a "little" out of our budget. This is where the humble/gruelling six hour journey and eight euro tickets to Amalfi come save the day because there was no way that I was leaving southern Italy without lying on a warm beach with water the colour of sapphire.

  The beach was as amazing as I had pictured it to be with the exception of pebbles in place of sand, which scorched your feet the moment you stepped on them. Idiotically enough, we forgot to carry sunscreen with us. My excuse was that I expected Kevin to bring it since he was always uber prepared. Needless to say, my tan was epic! Or as the aunties back home would say, 'What happened to you? You've become a little dark.' I had to exercise major self-restraint every time one of them said this by not rolling my eyes. It was just a tan, for God's sake; it was temporary!

  Coming back to the point. The first thing we did upon our arrival in Amalfi was hop on over to the first public bathing spot we could find and strip down to our bathing suits. We spent many an hour there, me in the water and Kevin on the beach. Since the summer days are so gloriously long and warm, I seriously contemplated skipping visiting the actual town. In the end, the Indian guilt won and after much procrastination on my part, we wrapped up our things, donned on our regular clothes - me, my dress and him, his shirt and shorts - and we marched into the town. I am so glad that we did because the town was every bit as splendid as the beach. It possessed a certain charm that Naples lacked. It's streets and it's square with the church, which reflected in the late afternoon sun, and it's hidden passageways, which remained unchartered by the tourists appealed to a part of my conscious/unconscious mind; I'm not sure which it was.

  Their was a band playing at the foot of the grand staircase which led to the gleaming church. Or was it a parade? My memory fails me. Whichever it was, there was music. Music which was as sweet as the sea water, I had previously gulped, was salty. We strolled the streets with the music caressing our senses; every shop we passed was either showcasing Amalfi's plump citrous yield or its proud glasswork.

  When we were finally cramped in the one bus which was going back to Sorrento with an entire class of American college students and everyone else in Amalfi, I was lucky enough to find a seat; thus, avoiding sitting on the hard ground or, as the somewhat young boy did, lie under a seat for the one and a half hour ride. The sunset was beyond splendid; I watched it its entirety as our bus traversed the narrow road on the edge of many cliffs. I saw the soft but bright orange differentiate itself from the dark sea, I also saw it gradually transform into something softer - almost, tender - until it turned into a hue of blue and I could no longer tell where the sea ended and the sky began. There was something almost magical and  utterly hypnotising about it.

SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS NOT OKAY!

  It has been a hot minute since I wrote anything here, but over the past few days this topic has dominated my thoughts. The more information I gathered, the more I seethed at the barbarity. I had a presentation on Tuesday and we all decided that the #metoo was a relevant topic, one which, for some reason, no one else in the past weeks chose. I know this is an uncomfortable topic, which makes people slightly squirm in their seats, but I hope that you continue reading because this is important.

  Let me start by saying, 'This is not okay. Sexual harassment and sexual assault are NEVER okay." Hopefully, most of you must be thinking, "Well, is something this basic not apparent?" But numbers do not lie. Studies show that around 80% of women have, at some point or another, encountered sexual harassment or sexual assault at work; some cases being more severe than others.

  In the past few weeks, the Harvey Weinstein scandal has triggered massive outrage. But I distinctly remember thinking, when I first heard about this, "What's new?" Casting couch and salacious behaviour have always been synonymous with Hollywood. Some prominent names like those of Kevin Spacey, Brett Ratner and Dustin Hoffman have long been known, even outside the industry, when it comes to inappropriate lewd behaviour. It would have been bad enough, if this kind of feigning of ignorance had just been contained within one industry, but the truth is that this phenomenon is omnipresent. It seems to follow us into every industry. No matter how hard we try, we do not seem able to get rid of it.

  One example is Bill O'Reilly. It might seems like this happened an eternity ago, but Bill O'Reilly made the headlines not very long ago because of his constant lewd behaviour. One of the many woman, who accused him of sexual harassment, relayed in an interview as to how he preyed upon her, when she worked as a temp in Fox News. She said that it was a slow progression from "innocent" grunts and groans when he walked by her desk to one day, when they were in an elevator together and on the way out he let her go in front of him and then said and I quote her, "Looking good there, girl." This harassment continued in the following weeks as he carried on going to her desk, despite having no reason to be there, and leering at her: looking her up and down, and peering at her cleavage. One of the final straws was when he walked by her one day and said, "Hey, hot chocolate."

"I didn't respond. I was mortified - because not only did it go - was it sexual, I took that as a very plantational remark. Such a blatant person with such a high profile making me feel uncomfortable, but then not even acknowledging me," she said in an interview. 

Keep in mind this is only one of the many woman who suffered at his hands. One former Fox employee said that she remembered him (O'Reilly) having an aura of invincibility.

  One might ask, "Didn't he get ousted from Fox News?" The answer is yes, he did. But only after fifty sponsors threatened to leave the channel. The truth is that everyone around him feigned ignorance and brushed things under the rug for decades. Deplorably, he was eventually invited back on Sean Hannity's show to "promote" his new book, but spent most of the interview discussing how men in media were persecuted.

  A lot of the victims get flack for not coming forward and speaking up when these things happen. We conveniently forget that when they do, indeed, come forward, follow protocol and go to HR, they often either do not hear back or get a nonchalant "what can we do?" Critics also discount the fact that these victims are then turned into pariahs. Studies also prove that most of these women who speak out are either fired or their working conditions are made so unsustainable, where they need to leave, within the first year of having complained.

  This has existed for hundreds of years, then why are we just hearing about this? Why is this not a social issue that is given more importance? One of the reasons is because there are not enough women at the top. The top management positions are mostly dominated by males, who protect their own. There has to be a more resounding outcry, not just by women, but also by men. The simple "boys will be boys" is no longer a sufficient excuse for women to be treated as inferior objects. Sexual harassment is too prevalent for us to simply brush it off and forget about it; it permeates into our everyday lives and is something that most women have to live and deal with for the rest of their lives.

Autumn in Hall in Tirol

  It smells of earth that has recently had it's surface kissed by transparent pellets falling from the sky. The streets in Hall in Tirol protested Fall with their vibrant flowers to always keep one company. A gentle breeze caused the beautiful, parched leaves, clinging to their trees by nothing more than mere will, to fall and the already Fallen, strewn on the ground, to find a new home away from their former one.

  In my three ripe years spent in Europe, this was the first year when I appreciated the simple grace of Autumn. There was the faint chirping of a single bird, which seemed to originate from the tree in front of the olive green park bench, where my coffee and me were perched in our solitude. More brown leaves succumbed to the loving wind, while the healthy ones danced, as the church bells chimed. It was four o'clock. A window on my left reflected the vivid blue sky with no wisps of white to diminish it's vastness.

  I heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance, but, here, in my oasis, surrounded by the murmuring trees and the quiet of idle cobblestone streets of a small town, I feel partitioned from the plights of my fellow humans. It looks like more birds have joined; the chirping has increased in both - its frequency and its urgency.

  This town is a luxury for eyes that have been subjected to everything city: traffic signals, traffic, students, monotonous days and never-ending concrete. Hall in Tirol reminded me of Italy - Treviso, in particular. As I sat there, finally having sipped the last of my coffee - only the foam remained - the sun played Hide n Seek with the leaves, often procreating newer, darker patterns on them.

  I felt exhausted, despite having slept for a decent amount of time. Needless to say that the coffee had not done it's job. I'm going to stop writing now, I wrote in my journal. 

Until next time.
Love,
Anmol

Caring Is Human

  

Bödele, Dornbirn, Austria, 2015. 

  I have been wondering, no matter how blasé or uncaring we believe or portray ourselves to be, there is always a part of us that concerns itself with how others perceive us. Needless to say, this happens in many variations; maybe, you care about what your parents say, or maybe it's your peers you care about. For me, it happens to be a certain set of people. No matter how unconcerned I am by everyone else's opinion, I always - and I mean, always - care about what they think. This tendency often irks/annoys me. I don't know why, because this is human.  
  
  We care. We try not to, but when all is said and done, we care. That's the truth. In today's world, it's almost blasphemous to admit that aloud. I think, it's alright to care as long as we keep reminding ourselves that someone else's opinion - regardless of how important he/she might be - does not dictate what we do and who we are. That is for us to decide. 

The Love Behind The Work

Napoli, Italy, 2017

  Happy Saturday, lovely people!
  We'll forget the corniness of it all. I've been reading On The Road by Jack Kerouac and to be honest, it just isn't my kind of a book. I appreciate the free-flowing, musical writing style that he has adopted, but the story, in itself, is lacking something - a certain depth. While reading I don't find myself rooting for any of the characters and that, I think, is a problem. A good book should make you root for someone; you should be invested in their lives, in their wins, in their losses. It should make you feel. This is what I've learned over the past decade or so of reading: the only books which are imprinted in our memories are the ones which made us feel the most; the characters were our very own friends. 
  I have also been quite conflicted about my love for Harry Potter. There is a certain reverence that J.K. Rowling has inspired in me; I mean, good God, a woman constructed all that - an entire world - in her mind, and then had craftily enough introduced us to her world. She did it with so much dexterity that it has become absurd to even imagine someone not knowing who Dumbledore or Snape is. I have an immense admiration for her, but recently while reading the books, it occurred to me that the writing in itself isn't that proficient, rather it is the movies and the fact that millions of us grew up with the books - with the characters - that has instilled this curious nostalgia in us about this enchanting world.  
  Regardless, what really strikes a chord within one is watching her interviews and one can clearly see that Harry is her baby, her life's constant - perhaps, her best friend in many ways. One sees the passion and the love when she speaks about the books. That is how everyone should feel about their life's work, no matter what it is. There has to be love behind the work; the work has to be the baby. 

A Part Of The Human Experience

St Gallen, Switzerland, 2017

  Recently, I started reading again. For a good year, I'd say, I had almost completely stopped reading. Every time I picked up a book, I immediately placed it back on the shelf because I realised that I no longer wanted to read all these stories that kept on getting repeated in one form or another. They almost always ended the same way, and then it hit me, human life can only end in so many ways. What's important is what comes before the end. This in itself is no great epiphany but I feel as though we all need to be reminded of the fact that there will, at some given point, be an end. We need to be reminded of our acute mortality.

  Death can induce two very extreme reactions in most of us: It is either a very nebulously distant thing or it is something that influences most of actions on a daily basis. I have been on both ends of this spectrum. Both of these things have allowed me certain luxuries. While I was keenly aware of death, I noticed, I did things that I normally would never do with the mantra "Who the fuck cares?"
Then, recently, when "the end" became this thing that only ever came up in deeply profound conversations, when although aware of this concept of death, it didn't really register that I might one day die (sooner or later, hopefully later), I was confronted with this sense of having time, which in itself is rare.

  There has been a very short period, if ever, when I have been able to balance these antithesis, and I'm guessing, I am not the only one. We, as a race, need to be able to accept our mortality in a way that is healthy. We need to stop being so scared of death. Here, too, are two contrasting people: One, who are absolutely terrified of death, and two, who either romanticise death or constantly use it as an excuse. Again, an equipoise needs to be attained. You must be thinking, "Easier said than done," and it is true. It is hard.

  Human beings wouldn't have survived for so long if not for their perpetual fear of going extinct. I mean, there is a reason that mating is the most primal instinct of ours. Yes, love, but people constantly cheat on people they love with others. I'm not saying it is alright, but monogamy was never part of our lives until some society in the past decided it was. So, yes, the thought of death scares the living lights out of most of us and that is okay, as long as a voice in the back of our minds keeps reminding us that it is part of the entire human experience. 

Work-In-Progress

Constance, Germany, 2017.

 
  I am currently reading "The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A Fuck" by Mark Manson, and I have to give it up to the man. I was never one for all those books in the self-help section and even though he argues that this book isn't one of those books, let me inform you: this book totally belongs in that section. At first, when my Dad passed this book along to me, and by that I mean, I took from him because I knew there was no way he was going to finish this book by the end of his trip, I was, although entertained, a bit dubious. Then, as I delved deeper into the book, shit started making sense and I got on board: I started asking myself questions, I reminded myself that it is alright to not have satisfactory/acceptable answers to all those questions. 

  These past months have been difficult. I have to accept this fact. Whatever the reason, I haven't had an easy time coping. More times than I care to count I shut myself in this little bubble from the world. Though it saved me from a lot of immediate bad experiences, in the long run this approach did not make me any happier. I am still trying to find a balance between my private life and what the rest of the world gets to see. It hasn't been easy to establish but, I think, like most things in life, this is always going to be a work-in-progress for me. 

  This too is something that I often forget: life is a constant work-in-progress. As long as one is alive, it will always remain a work-in-progress. There are no constants because we are not constant. We perpetually change, evolve even, and that is why our desires and needs keep, one might say, fluctuating. And that is okay. It is okay to want one thing today and want something else tomorrow. It signifies growth, whether good or bad, it signifies growth. 
  

MAKE OR BREAK MOMENTS

Paris, 2015.

 
I was reading Damon and Jo's blog, and there was this post about how Damon saw Lilly Singh's vlog, who had two auditions that day and she said:

I have this new mentality going to auditions where I’m nervous but I have just decided in my life that very few things are the make or break of my life. Back in the day, I used to think that, you know, a collab with someone, or meeting someone, or an opportunity would be the make or break. I just decided that I don’t ever want to be in that position that one thing could be the make or break of my life, or my career, or my happiness – whether it’s a relationship, whether it’s an audition, whether it’s a movie role, whether it’s anything, no one thing should be the make or break. So when I go in, I’m like, if I get this, it’d be great, but if I don’t though, on to the next one because nothing is a make or break, and I think that’s a good mentality to have, especially when you think about relationships. Like, I love this person so much, but you know if they leave me, I’m going to be sad, but it’s not going to destroy my life. I just don’t want anything to ever be the make or break. Hug yourself every time I said “make or break.”

As I read this, everything made sense. These past few weeks, I had been preparing for an exam, which I knew was very important. Although, technically I understood this fact, I found that I was not as stressed out about it as I would have been two years earlier. At first, my thought were, "Get it together. You cannot be flippant. This is important. You need to take this seriously."

The thing was I understood the importance of this exam, but because I did not experience any soul-crushing fear of failing, a voice in my head told me that I was playing with fire. When I read these above word, shit just made sense to me. When I was younger, I lived for these "make or break" moments, but as a result I was so scared of missing out on these because I thought that if I wasn't present for these then I would be left out while someone else took the chance. As I've grown older, I have had to realise that there isn't any one make or break moment, or partner, or exam, or career. As long as you are alive, you will always possess the ability to forge ahead. There will be a lot of important moments in life, no doubt about that, but that is the thing to remember: there will be a LOT OF IMPORTANT MOMENTS in life. 

Seven Thousand Miles Of Wisdom

I watched a video today about a man whose adventure started in California and took him all the way to South America on his bicycle. He said as kids we are astonished by everything, but as we grow older, after we take our first steps into adulthood , we tend to stick to routines, i.e., taking the same road to work, picking up a coffee on the way, going to the same bar with the same people after work; so after a point when we more or less know everything that is going to happen, our brains shut off. He said as adults we have to make a conscious choice of doing things that scare or surprise us, something that would have occured naturally in our childhoods.

The man biked seven thousand miles! That means he lived on his bicycle for eleven thousand two hundred and sixty-five kilometres. Sue me for thinking that he might know what he is talking about. 

The adventure doesn't have to be a bike or a huge trip through Chile and Colombia. It could be anything that excites and scares you at the same time. Something that pushes you to live rather than just exist. I know not every day can be lived like that but I hope that we strive to live every day like this because when we are eighty, feeling like one day we were twenty with our entire lives in front of us and the next thing we knew, we were eighty with aching joints and an acute sense of time lost existing rather than really living. 

A Little Throwback To 2016

  This is something I found in my drafts, something I wrote almost an entire year ago. To think how fast time flies. 

Amalfi, Italy, 2017

 I am going to be moving soon. I can visualise one of my best friends going, "You are moving..AGAIN?''. Yes, I am. After trying to reacquaint myself with the city life in my two months here in Mumbai, I feel, I am finally starting to see why it is great to live in a city again.

In my time in the quaint little town where the better half of my two years in Austria were spent, I could not imagine losing the serendipity of a little town, but now I do not mind returning to my status of a born and bred city girl.

  There is a lot more to city life than what the movies would like you to believe. City life is not only about the unrelenting numbers of new bars and discos in town, it is much more. It is about the stories that get played out within it. Stories that virtually repeat themselves with small changes included. You  only have to stick around long enough to observe it happen. I did. A few years back when I was riding a train, heading to my German class, I overheard these two women talking about one of their nephews; how he has been engaged to the girl he had been in a relationship for six years with, and how after things did not work out, he decided to have an arranged marriage at the young age of 26 (which is obviously very young) after one heartbreak. You might think, 'Why is this important?'.
Well, a few months ago someone, a former friend, told me that he and his girlfriend of six years had broken up, and that he planned on having an arranged marriage because he had washed his hands of relationships. 
  As I said, you just have to stick around long enough.

  A city is as good as the people living within its boundaries. It is the citizens that make any city worth living in. You could have the most beautiful city in the world but if its people were drab and uninspiring, would it still be worth living in?

   One could say that this post is kind of my way to say that I am going to accept the changes about to barrel into my life. So, here's to all new experiences and new people. 

Naples: A Hostile City?

  

Naples, Italy, 2017.

  Naples ...
  It was at odds with what I had expected it to be. It sounds weird when I say it like that when I did not have any real expectations from this trip because of the chaos of finals week. 

  I was not rendered speechless by its beauty but I did understand its appeal. In my opinion, it quite similar to Vienna, in the aspect of one needing time to discover its magic; its bounty too varied and extensive to be comprehended in a day or two of hastily walking through its streets, praying to God that you don't get robbed. 
  
  Naples' hostile history and reputation often discourages most people to really discover the city as a city should be. It was on my very last night in the city, as I stumbled its streets to find food after a gruelling day, did I stumble upon the realisation that Naples was, for all purposes, just another city with places you should go and places you shouldn't frequent. 

Until next time!

Earning Money For The Sake Of Earning Money?

St.Gallen, Switzerland, 2017

I feel like I haven't written something substantial in a while, so, here goes. 

During one of my many mental soliloquies, I reflected on what I often ask people, 'There is so much of this Earth that till date remains unchartered -' Did you know that we know more about outer space than we know about our oceans? 'How can one be satisfied living in the same ten block radius one's entire life?'

Now, before anyone says, ''money is important'', I know money is important; my question is: What are you earning that much for? What are you clocking all those hours in a nine to five job that no longer excites you for?

Is there a reason for striving to earn so much money that you never need to work again? Do you want to help people with it? Do you want to travel the world with that money? Experience things most people will never be able to fathom? 

My next question is: Do you see yourself doing any of those things, realistically speaking? 

Maybe, it was alright, twenty years ago, to earn for the sake of earning money ... to become a doctor because you didn't think you had any other option ... to get married because that's just the sort of thing one does. In today's day and age, when the entire world is at the mercy of your fingertips, when it is possible to make a sustainable living uploading videos online doing something you love, it is no longer okay to waste away your life in a race, where the goal leads to all these things you never really wanted, to do things you do not full-heartedly want to achieve. 

I say it is downright disrespectful to have all this information before you, ripe for the taking, for you to be deterred by things not being what you are accustomed to. It is no longer okay to be content with going with the heard, when you know that is not what you desire. 

It might be hard, this thing, but so are the things you'll end up settling for. So, although it might arrantly petrify you, you need to stand up for something that you believe you are meant to do. 

It's time we as a generation decided to stop being content, to realise the world's potential,
to step out of our comfort zones and leave behind our sheltered lives because no matter what the setbacks, it's a lovely time to be alive. 

Growing Up

  

Somewhere high above Innsbruck, Austria, 2017

  I remember my mother often telling me, 'Enjoy your childhood; it won't come back.' I also remember thinking of it as preachy every time she said this.

  I spent most of my teenage years trying to be older. It was paradoxical, really; this yearning to be able to reap the benefits of being older while being absolutely terrified of growing old. The seventeenth and, most of the, eighteenth years of my life were spent in a perpetual fear of not having enough time. Thankfully, I no longer have this fear gnawing my insides, but the truth is: time is passing.

  As I was making my way back home, after having spent an hour of my life with a cup of coffee and one of the Harry Potter books, I tried pinpointing the exact moment or instance when I grew up.

Was is it failing, falling in love, having my heart broken, coming to Austria alone or a death in my family? 

  I don't know. What I do know is that I have not been unable to walk because I was laughing so damn hard in such a long time. This used to be a guaranteed occurrence every time I had a (frozen) mango Tropicana in school. I have spent countless lunch breaks on the staircases of Jamnabai, because my body seemed to be overwhelmed by all the laughing. 

  The notion that I may never laugh that hard again for no reason breaks my heart. I guess, growing up really is a tragedy ... an inevitable one at that.

All The Difference In The World

Lustenau, Austria, 2016

  
  I feel, in today’s day and age, when anything is possible, it is so important to have passion. What is the point of having these magnificent opportunities in life if you don’t have enough heart or courage to follow through? 

  Growing up, most of us were told we could be anything we wished, but what no one told us is how it wouldn’t be easy achieving that what our hearts longed for… or how to stand up for our dreams, when no believes in us. 

  Have you ever had someone laugh when you told them what you actually wanted to do? I know, I have. I am not saying that they meant any harm, but they did harm. Didn’t they? 

  You shared something that was sacred to you, and watched as it became something mundane right in front of your eyes as a result of that good-natured snort. 

  The worst thing? It stays with you, this fear of loosing a dream because you dared to share it with someone. 

  The other side of this coin is when you find someone, who believes in you. It makes all the difference in the world. Doesn’t it? It gives you the confidence to acknowledge that you dream is not just a pipe dream you are pining after, that you might actually make it. 

  I feel, what should actually be told, to children and adults alike, is to have a little faith in themselves and the people around them because it makes all the difference in the world. 

Perhaps a better day

  

Dornbirn, Austria, 2015
Right before I left for Milan

  I have to admit that for a while I did wonder what it was that made me travel. I read some of the things that I wrote last year, and I remember thinking to myself, 'Wow, I haven't felt like that in a while.' My trip to Budapest couldn't have come any sooner.
  I came back ready to take on the world, but not even a week had gone by before I started craving my next fix - I ached for an escape. There was this incessant feeling, in the back of my head, telling me that I was stuck in the wrong place. It felt like I was being denied oxygen. The thought of having to endure feeling like this for the next three years was maddening. 
  I don't know when it exactly happened - I stopped drowning. I stopped finding the throngs of tourists pesky, the students that took up every inch of the streets annoying. I stopped needing a fix. 
I don't know what the next few months will bring, but I know I am not going to be trapped in this mental cage I had built for myself and I am going to start living my new life. 
  There will be good days and bad days. All I hope for is to remember, on those bad days, how I felt on those good days, and that tomorrow will be a new day. Perhaps a better day. 

The Timeless Castle Hill

The funicular taking people to Castle Hill
We walked like MVPs do :P

  It's been a while, hasn't it? A little over two weeks ago I embarked on a journey to see a city I have wanted to visit for a while - Budapest. The great city of Budapest presented a ton of surprises for me. It was nothing like I expected, in all the right ways. Then again, it occurs to me, for most Indians, we don't know much about Eastern Europe. Imagine my surprise when I stepped out of the metro station at Oktogon and was confronted by a magnificent square. I like to think of it as Budapest's Times Square. But this post is particularly about the Castle Hill.
  As any tourist worth his/her iota would, we, too, trudged up the hill to Castle Hill, expecting breath-taking views of Pest. I, for one, was adamant on seeing the sun set from the Fisherman's Bastion. More on that later.
  Once we reached up, we decided to walk in the general direction of the Castle Buda, which although we did not end up seeing the interior of, the exterior, I can vouch for. It was this architectural phenomenon for me. The intricate detailing that seemed to cover every little crack, although not really decipherable from a distance, was like the rest of Budapest. One might not grasp all of its history, but one is always in the midst of it.
  After we had clicked all the pictures we could - none of which did any justice to what we saw with our naked eyes - we turned to go to the other side of the Castle Hill, which comprised some of Budapest's most celebrated monuments/structures. Before we could make it far, my fickle nature got us to the once glorious, now desecrated labyrinth, a part of which led to a narrow path, which overlooked the old city of Buda instead of Pest. We sat on one of the few benches standing there, and we talked about culture, travelling, language and life, itself. It was the first time on the trip that I really felt connected to someone.
  Eventually, we did get up to visit the other 'attractions', and we kept strolling along the narrow trail that we decided would, at some point, lead up to Matthias Church. After walking a short way, we came to a  promenade, also, overlooking Buda, with trees in mid-bloom providing us shade from the late afternoon sun, and a pretty road littered with pink flower petals.

  It took me a hot minute to realise that not only were there no tourists there, but that the people around us were locals that lived on Castle Hill. You see, I had automatically assumed that the hill was  an array of attractions for tourists and just that. It never occurred to me that people actually lived here. Then, after a moments consideration, I noticed the house that were to my right.
  This was when my outlook on Castle Hill changed. Instead of seeing noisy tourists, I saw children on tricycles, old ladies gossiping about their days, couples taking romantic strolls, old men whiling away time, chatting, sitting on benches.
  Time bore absolutely no meaning in that promenade. That timeless promenade is what I remember from the hill and am nostalgic about.

A Beaver Attack, Really?

  
  Another Friday morning spent sitting in class and writing a new blog post. You know what? This could be my new thing - tuning out my Eco Professor and writing a blog post every Friday. 

  Who knew you could actually do something productive while being bored? Is this the point where a normal person would pray to God that their parents don't read this? 
  I'm here with absolutely zero fucks given.

  Anyway, this post is about something that transpired yesterday in my English class. A little back story: every week one student must report current events/news taking place globally. This guy, let's call him Derek, so Derek started out pretty strong with the terror attack in St. Petersburg. Terror attack is a classic, I must say. He had our attention as he presented, and then a few minutes later my man, Derek, lost all his cred as he presented a news clip about the terror two beavers had been causing in the land of Liechtenstein.

  This is when you know you are living in a first world country; they think that something as inconsequential like two beavers in a river could cause havoc. He spoke about this particular topic for a while and the entire time I was thinking, "Boy, only if these people lived in India." I mean think about it,  a few years ago, when the leopard attacks started taking place, it was all over the fucking covers of the newspapers, right? But then after a few weeks, the newspapers stopped reporting it, not because they stopped happening, there was still a farmer somewhere that was being dragged away in the middle of the night by a leopard; but rather because after a while we became so desensitised to this that every time the reporters heard about an attack, they were like, "Fuck these leopards, let's cover something new. Eh, what about that building that fell down out of nowhere?"

  In India, we have serious problems like famines, poverty, illiteracy, let's not forget, leopards eating people, and so on and so forth. Imagine coming from a country, where these problems and many more exist and even if you don't personally suffer from them, you see people these problems affect everywhere around you day-in and day-out, and listening to people talking passionately about the traffic caused by the population growth in a country, where now forty-five thousand people live, without thinking that probably double the amount of people live in a one mile radius in Mumbai. 
  Lastly, try visualising Derek driving a car from Bandra to Andheri at the peak hour in a city, which twenty-one million people call home. 

Until next time!

Too Much To Handle?

Innsbruck, Austria, 2017

 

Of late I have been in a constant state of frustration for several weeks now, and sometimes, it's just too much to handle. In times like these, I have certain 'traditions' or hacks that always help. So, I thought, let's write about this and spread some wisdom around.

(Did anyone else snort as they read the word 'wisdom'?)

  My very first tip for the times when the water's reached above your neck: remove yourself from that particular situation. Sounds like common sense. Right? You would be surprised as to how many times I have refused to say 'That's enough', even when I knew that I needed to get away. 

  Tip number two: Be alone for a while. This helps for two reasons: One, there is no chance that someone else might annoy you; and two, you avoid the very high possibility of spewing venom over an innocent human being, who did you no wrong.

   Tip number three: Take a walk outside. As clichéd as it is, fresh air REALLY does help!! I cannot even begin to count the number of times my mood has improved by just exiting an indoor setting. It's the simplest thing ever!

  Tip number four: Eat, preferably something sweet. I swear to God, there is no better mood-maker than food in this whole wide world. Eat a piece of chocolate cake dunked in good coffee and watch as every situation turns manageable. 

  Tip number five: This is for those days when you feel like you'll skin the next person you meet. Order a pizza, get under your sheets and watch some good old-fashioned Harry Potter movies. 

  Here you have it; my fool proof hacks to not kill the very next person you see, or if you're the glass half-full kind of a person, to improve your mood.

Sandcastles And Adulting.

  I was looking up a few articles written by people about turning twenty, and all I came across mentioned the youth that has passed them by, and the innocent days filled by building sand castles on beaches. I have two objections: One, when was the last time any one of us had built a sand castle? Two, none of us have been innocent for a very, very, very long time. 
  This entire notion of reminiscing on your 'youth' seems absolutely absurd to me. Tomorrow morning, when I wake up, I am still not going to clean my room, even though I know I should have done it a month ago. My clothes are still going to be lying on the floor at the end of a long day, instead of the laundry basket, that I walked right by before throwing my clothes on the floor!
  Today is the eve of my twentieth birthday, and I feel no more an adult than I did a year or two ago. There is no way this state of things is going to change just because I was born tomorrow, twenty years ago. This blog post is kind of an anti-adult post. I am tired of hearing every one of my friends whining about how old they feel. We just entered our twenties!! These are probably going to be the most entertaining years of our lives. We aren't doing them justice by being daunted by them. 
  Unlike all other years, this year, I refuse to freak out about turning older, because I probably might live to build another sand castle someday and because I hate cleaning.  

Don't Do It!

Parma, Italy, 2016.

  "Der Lagrange-Parameter λ, den Sie berechnen müssen, gibt a...," This is the point where I tuned out. I said, I would post more. So, this is me, writing this post during my economics class, which, by the way, could not get anymore boring. When the class first started, a ray of hope awoke in me and I wistfully thought, 'This might not be that bad." Needless to say that hope didn't stay long; it abandoned me somewhere between the Cobb-Douglas and the Lagrange Theorem. Now, I have not been able to verify which of these two are the cause of my ever-diminishing interest in Business: Math or German. It might as well be both of them. 

  I love theory. I really do. Now before anyone starts blaming the Indian education system, let me just say, I love anything that I can bullshit my way out of. Plus, I really do not have a affinity for Math. Nevertheless, it always seems to sneak up on me.

Now, let's get to the second problem - German. While it is feels cool to speak a foreign language fluently, German's drabness cannot be neglected. For anyone who is mulling wanting to undertake a German curriculum, DON'T DO IT!

One, it isn't worth the headache. Two, even if you love the subjects you are going to study, within the very first week you'll be left wondering exactly why you chose these courses/subjects. Look at me for example, I cannot tell you how much I loved business and economics. I was so excited to get a more detailed insight in those subjects that I loved. Turns out my excitement was not a monotone concave curve that always slopes upwards! 

  Anyway, the highlight of my week was receiving two coupons for free waffles at this one restaurant that I have wanted to visit for the past four months. FREE WAFFLES, PEOPLE! Could life get any better? 

Eh, probably not.

Until next time!

An Eternal Struggle: Math

  I have one word for the last two weeks: HECTIC! University finally started (all my friends are secretly gloating at misery, after months of me doing absolutely nothing as they gave their Boards), and things have been...interesting. 

  Somehow, I have Math...AGAIN! When I say somehow, I mean that my stupid, stupid ass ended up taking it voluntarily in the very first semester, instead of procrastinating. Why would I do that, you ask. I'll tell you why; my seriously retarded brain seemed to think that I could handle it. Remember that ski fall I suffered in Brand a month ago - the falling on my face, rolling over with my skis on and almost dislocating my shoulder? Yeah, I wouldn't mind a few more falls like that if only I could get rid of Math. For all you lucky bastards that don't feel this way, let me just say - mazel tov. To say I'm struggling would be the understatement of the year. Most of you might be thinking, 'why is she whining about Math over here?'. The truth is I have been whining about it to every single person I know. 

  You know what? Fuck Math. Well, at least for now. Now that I'm done sharing my grievances, let me get to the good parts. My A2 French course started. For the first two classes I felt like a deer caught in headlights. Soon after that class, things started looking better. Thank God. 

  Plus, I finally bought a ticket to go to, *dramatic drumroll, please*, Budapest! I have wanted to visit Budapest for the past one year, and I am finally going to go. I have not travelled in a hot minute now, and I  can't wait to feel that rush, which I equate with seeing a new place. 

  I know this post isn't very long, but I will be writing more frequently from now on. 

  Until next time!

Almost Dislocated My Shoulder, But Who Cares?

Hello!

  It has been a while, hasn't it? I had recently gone back to Vorarlberg for the weekend to ski. It was quite an experience. I think I had my very worst fall this time, almost dislocating my shoulder and breaking my nose. Okay, *rolls eyes* I might be exaggerating a bit, maybe, but I did fall face first, on my nose, and roll over, with my skis on, at a tremendous speed. My friend later pointed out that it was quite a spectacular fall. Well, that makes everything better, never mind the fact I couldn't hold my own food-laden tray. An atrocity! Pfft, this is the best part of my day - holding my own tray.
  The good news is, after that very formidable fall, the Gods of Humiliation thought I had gone through my fair share of "humbling" moments, and let me breathe for the rest of my time in Brand. 
  *Phew*
  I am back home in my room, finished with my day's chores, ready to cuddle up on my bed and resume ravaging my current read, 'David and Goliath' by Max Gladwell, which, I have to admit, turned out to be much more interesting than I could have ever imagined. If I am being completely honest, I feel like I have to tell you that I only bought it with the faintest hope of actually finishing it, and in the process increasing my IQ a little bit. I feel I can be honest with you peeps. 
  I can hear my inner voice telling me in a disdainful tone, "There is such a thing as being a little too honest."
  "What happened to no judgement, inner voice?"
  "Pfft, where do you think you are? In a rom-com?"

  And people wonder why I'm so bad at giving pep-talks. Have you seen what I have to deal with on a daily basis?

  Anyway, here are a few pictures from my weekend. 
  Hope everyone is enjoying their semester break. Until next time!

Fuchsbau, Brand, Vorarlberg.

Somewhere between Glattjoch and Gulma, Brand, Vorarlberg. 

Rattenberg And My First Snowman!

  Two absolutely amazing things happened today. First, for the first time ever I saw Europe in all its wintery glory. For the first time ever I had to trudge in freshly fallen virgin snow on my way to any place. Second, I think I saw my first ever snowman right here in the middle of a sidewalk. All the snow around it had been removed. Only the merry little snowman remained. The best part? It was the cutest little thing ever. 

  I also went to Rattenberg, Austria's smallest town, with a population of a 'whopping' four hundred people. It was a colourful little town. The kind which normally sees hoards of honeymooners, sipping on Spritz or coffees, in the summer months. It gave me the impression of an incredibly romantic town. At least that is what I gathered from the under all that snow. This little summer town also has a church, which is well worth a visit. On the way to the church you may notice a lift. Ride it up to the terrace, which offers you a view of the entire city, and which also leads you to the Schlossberg. 

  I do admit that on a day like this, where the snow was falling in abundance, accompanied by wind, the town - although beautiful - did give me the creeps. There was hardly a soul in sight. Yes, the weather was the guilty party. But in all fairness, with a population of four hundred how much busier can it really get?

  Anyway, my last tip for anyone interested to pay this little town a visit is to take a right after Postgasse and walk straight, until you see a few steps, which on climbing lead you to a view of the river and the houses dotting alongside the river. This really does make up for the tedious trundling because of the snow. After what seemed like an eternity to me, I walked back, furious shivering and on the verge of loosing one of my limbs to frostbite, towards the station, bidding Rattenberg adieu.

Is This Enough?

Zurich Airport, Switzerland.

  A new year. A new beginning, and I find myself sitting at yet another airport, drinking coffee and writing. A year ago, it would have been unfathomable for me to even begin to assume all the wonderful ways my life has changed in. Don't get me wrong - there were things I struggled to get through, and not everything went according to plan, but I have long since learned: the good very often outweighs the bad. 
  Anyway, sitting here, at the Zurich Airport, at 7 am with a sore throat I feel content, something I had not felt in India. India is home, where my friends and family, who I grew up with live, always ready to embrace me when things don't go right, but the more time I spend away from them, the more I realise - I was never the kind to stay at home. 
  Even as a child I remember wanting to move out and live on my own, and do my own thing. I remember having this fire in my belly in my early teens - this fire to do something. I didn't know what it was I wanted to do, but I wanted to leave my mark on the world. For a while there I was not sure if I would ever find my way... if I was one of those lucky people to love something that much they would risk everything for their passion.
  I sometimes wonder if I would have ever found the courage to do things on my own terms... if I would have learned these same lessons without living alone... if I would have idled my life away and woken up at 30 to have absolutely no idea as to what it was that I was doing at a job I hate.
Then, a rational voice in my head tells me that I would have found my way, at least eventually.
  I talk to people and most of the times I am think, "What are you doing? Is this enough? Do you sleep at night with a contented smile on your face?" I once read that not everyone needs to have a greater purpose or a burning passion, and I guess, that's fine. But I think that it is our absolute duty to doggedly try and find out. 

A Toast To The New Year.

  

Khajiar, India, 2016.

  2016 has officially come to an end as of day before yesterday, and we are presented with that time of the year, when we often find ourselves reflecting upon the previous year's joys, grievances and hilarious misdemeanours. This past year has, for me, been a beautiful rollercoaster of ups and downs. 
  Alterations have been a big part of this past year, as they rightly should be. There were a few things I had jotted down in my journal in the beginning of 2016, things I had often neglected in 2015. The gist of my list was me trying to be a better person for my loved ones and to undertake more things that I love and make me happy.
  Sounds easy. Right?
  One might be surprised - something as mundane as this should be an innate part of all our routines and lives, we often need a kick in the ass, as a reminder to actively work towards our own happiness. 
2016 often served as a teacher and, sometimes, as a shrink.
  To say I figured out what I wanted this year would be a lie. So, let me put it this way, I finally did something with my passions. I realised they are priorities in my life; they should not come second to anything or anyone.
  What do I want to do in the coming year? I want to continue what I started in 2016; I want a greater chunk of that goodness and passion in my life, surrounded by the warmth of the people I love.