My impatient self

I've seriously begun to question my patience. And while a whole lot of people jumped at this opportunity to advise me as to how I should meditate, join a gym, do some yoga, take long walks etc, to calm my erratic mind down, I refuse to any of it.
What I really need is to go home, which I am in a while but it just seems so far away. I've been constantly missing things of the past - memories that can always be reenacted. I miss eating out with my friends, having long conversations, lapping up drops of rain and extremely nonsensical stuff that I am very good at.
Has it ever happened that you find life moving too fast but nothing really seems to happen?
I think i am at that bizarre stage where I am finding it hard to keep pace but am always wondering what is really going on. I have very little to account for... Damn it.
In 2 1/2 years, I will be 35 years old. And very little to show for.
Some of the kids from the past are coming back into my life. And they are doing so well for themselves. Sometimes I wish I never left that - should have perhaps continued working for some more children who could do with some help.
I miss those couple of years with Zana and Ross and the whole film-making process. I can never really relate the whole experience in words. It was rather fantastic.
I've been impatient since then.
Jobs have come and gone, and I am actually, finally, doing something I really enjoy. But even so, at the end of every day I wonder what have I really done for that day?
I miss true Bengali food - the stuff that's made at home. The ones we don't have to worry about because they might be doused in oil. I miss my grandmother's luchis, something I haven't ever been able to get out of my mind. I miss the aromas of mutton curry fluttering into the dining room from the kitchen and we'd know that something good was coming up.
I miss my cousins, my sister - things that people think of much later in life.
Is that God's way of telling me that I'm running out of time?

I can't put up with crass conversation anymore. Earlier I'd at least pretend to be polite. Now, I can't handle it. And I get that in some form or the other all the bloody time.

I miss meeting interesting people. I do meet them at times. But I can't really dare to pick up the phone and ask them if they'd like to meet up for coffee. Do I really have questionable social skills?

I am constantly walking back home and making up my mind that I don't want to go out that night. And eventually, when it's time to hit the sack, I'd think, "damn I wish I went and got Sushi today."
Life is bizarre and so freaking unpredictable that it's predictable.

Harima is on my list. I want to go there as soon as I can. I am missing it.

I need to figure out a way to channelise my energies. It's not happening. And yoga won't do it - so don't go there.

It's a small craving

Albeit the bleary eyes (when single squares look double)that come from reading too much content, I was tucking into a story on Menorca - a beach destination in Spain. The weather outside (in Bangalore, not Menorca because I am not there) is worth the long walks that I've been avoiding for a while. And despite all the lovely things that happened today, I was forced to think of things that ideally, I don't find very appealing.
Do you crave for fame?
I asked myself that. And while it's easy to wave my hand in the air, I do feel a bit of thrill when someone says they've read something I've written and more so if they've liked it.

Now I ask you: Do you crave for fame?
Every day I look at at least 20 photographs, all being scanned to put on the dreaded Page 6. Pretty faces, boring faces, repetitive faces and I wonder - Do they all want to be on that page?

What do you crave for? A midnight snack where you don't have to watch out for the calories? Or maybe a late night movie alone, coffee and cigarette in hand? Do you crave for silence when all you get is a conversation or do you crave for the neon lights as you walk down a dark alley.

I think my mother would crave for some closure. I can picture her staring out the balcony door, looking at her plants, wondering what her two daughters are up to.
I think the immense volume of pain in her heart has transformed into something so intangible that even I cannot reach out to.

I think my sister would crave for freedom. Ironically, she has it all. She is free from so many bonds that she doesn't really see it. She lives her fancy, Utopian life and perhaps never thinks of us - not unless she is forced to.

I think my father - whom I haven't seen in nearly 8 years - would crave for some closure too. A closure of a different kind. I can imagine him, stuck in some godforsaken city, doing something that he thought he was never meant to do, and praying for the eventual.

I think I crave for just one thing. Every day. And that craving won't end soon.

And yes, I crave for Menorca - among other places.