Breaking the sequences

It began in 2003 when I failed to attend the third consecutive Jahan-e-Khusrau concert. Ever since it first started in 2001, my friends and I always got ourselves the Rs 200 worth second last row passes. As college students, that’s all that our pocket money could afford. Nevertheless, the experience of soaking to the tunes of Abida Parveen and other Sufi artists from across the globe was divine.

Girls dressed in salwar kameez with adequate silver jewellery and boys in their best kurtas, Jahan-e-Khusrau was the perfect evening to be mesmerised into a bygone epoch. The venue, Humayun’s Tomb was not just a stage where musicians sat and recited their masterpieces, but the remnant of a grand old monument that pulled you into its history and beauty at the same instance.

After the show began, we would slyly creep into the first row and make ourselves inconspicuous to ticket checkers. But to tell you frankly, I don’t think after Abida began singing her verses anyone was worried about who was breaking the queue. Such was the magic of the entire ambience and the chants of Amir Khusro’s lyrics that everyone slipped into a trance, to recover only hours after the next dawn.

When I left Dilli for Mumbai, I had promised myself to be back for the next Jahan-e-Khusrau. February 2003, I was going to be sitting in the second last row and listening to my favourite musician. But as Mumbai would have it being lost in a lifeless world was more of a priority now. The rut of competition and work pressure had taken over the small pleasures in life.
It has been three years ever since I became Okay with chasing a story to just sitting jobless and enjoying myself.

Another sequence broken…..

“Run, Mumbai, Run.” The slogan is enough to keep me running for an entire day. Again 2007 could have been the third year; I’d be running the Mumbai marathon. Matching steps with thousands of Mumbaikars and exhilarate in the moment of the confluence.

The marathon is significant to me, for it’s not just another run. It’s the spirit of Mumbai…not the spirit to rise from the ignominious blasts or the floods, but just the spirit of taking time out for oneself and for other who would benefit from it.
I’ve ran the marathon with two different boyfriends in each, but I’ve retained the same set of friends. (Oh I promise to retain this boyfriend too!!!)
I’ve ran the marathon once in track pants and once in shorts. I’ve written a first person account on it for Mid-Day, woken up to swollen bones the morning after and still reminiscing the thrill of running alongside the ocean. And I’ve also managed to run alongside Salman Khan.
These might be innocuous details, not figuring in anyone’s wishlist….but what the heck? There really ain’t no bigger pleasure than living on these small pleasures.

A good friend would take the responsibility of reminding us to fill up our forms before the deadline and we would wait for his call every December. This December, he didn’t make that call.
So much for small pleasures and sequences.