The Bengaluru Skyline

I love the clouds, but today they are in the way of an evening sky that could have left me paralyzed with its beauty.

And I’m not mad. Just disappointed.

I’ve always loved you. I still do. But you’re standing in the way of something I love just as much. And it digs a pit in my belly that won’t let me be in peace.

I’m not hurt. Just disappointed.

Maybe it’ll not be so tomorrow. But December is approaching. Clouds are probably going to roam the aerial playground all the time. No clear skies for a while, I guess. I am not obsessed with clear skies, but evening skies sans clouds are something I find a deep sense of comfort in.

Evenings have become rather chilly lately. I’ve been craving cold weather ever since I left home. I like November. And December. The Cold Months. The times when my toes and nose become frozen. It fills me with a metaphysical sense of warmth, ironically. It reminds me of my ability to feel. To feel the cold seeping through my skin layers. To feel the icy wind blow through my hair. To feel my frozen toes and nose. Or rather, my power to be. Winter brings gratitude and humility. It reminds me how human I am. Reminds me not to get too ahead of myself. It keeps me grounded, and that thought is so liberating; it takes an abstract burden off my shoulders to be more than what I can be. To be beyond human. To achieve extravagance. It crushes those spirits completely.

So, so liberating, that feeling.

I have all these thoughts floating around in my head space while sitting on a cement stump on the terrace. This is what gazing at the Bengaluru skyline can do to you: it drowns you in untold, shadowed thoughts you've never consciously encountered. It could leave you broken, nauseous, or maybe overwhelmed, but it leaves you feeling something nonetheless. It never leaves you feeling empty. Because even if your thoughts could overstimulate you until you go numb, the hue of the Bengaluru skies will unanesthetize you, and remind you of the gravity of all the little things you assumed were irrelevant. It enlightens you in a way no form of penance could.

That's why I love sitting on the terrace. Reminds me that home doesn't always mean a place. It could be a feeling, a person, or even something so abstract as the sky. Homesickness is a demon I fight every day. But on days like this, the demon and I are quiet. We're deluded that we have solved our differences. We're both at transient peace, which is better than no peace at all. And that's why I see the terrace overlooking the skyline as a haven.

I prefer to call it my cheap paradise.