Someday I want to travel so much that I get tired of it. I want to soak in all that is there in the world, seek new experiences, and live to tell fantastic tales of and about the people in them. I want to visit all those temples that hold meaning for me, about the legends that shape them, take amazing photographs of them and write about them into a coffee table book that highlights their pristine and serene beauty. I want to climb a mountain and watch the sunrise in the distance. I want to take sips of tea from the thermos, sit, and revel in the beauty. I want to leave a small indication on top that I have been there. I want to shout out to the world from the high and feel the wind on my face.
Someday I want a place that I can call MY HOME. With the name etched on a wooden board outside, a little bell hanging by its side. A small cozy two-storied haven. Wild flowers growing around it. A small stream gushing by the side. At the foothills of a mountain maybe. Idyllic. Plenty of windows that let the fresh air flow in. A sky roof that lets the sunlight filter in and on which the pitter-patter of rains can be heard. Plenty of woodwork, and wrought-iron work. A well-quipped kitchenette and pantry. Cookbooks lining the island in the kitchen. . Plenty of nooks and corners. Minimalistic designs.
Someday I want to be with a person whom I can cozy up to near the fireplace on cold winter nights, maybe with a glass of steaming hot chocolate by the side. Someone whom I can just lie with my head on his shoulders watching the embers in the fire die down, talking about small things that may or may not matter. Maybe take in a movie together with fingers entwined, or just cuddle up within one blanket and fall asleep in front of the stonewalled fireplace.
Someday I want to have kids, who will scribble on the walls, make me yell at them, or cajole me into joining them on that. With whom I can work on school projects with, make clay models, have them potter around behind my back, asking me a zillion questions about the what and why of everything.
Someday I want to have a dog. A Lab that gambols around and answers to Sargent. One that wakes me in the morning. One that never leaves my side and sticks onto me like glue. One that I can snuggle up to days that I feel alone and miserable. One that begs me with those puppy dog eyes to take him out for a stroll on those balmy evenings after the sun has set.
Some day in my haven, I want to have a studio, with a mural of Lord Shiva on one wall. Shelves filled with books, knick-knacks from travels, curios one-of-a-kind, and Amma’s paintings. Hued colored walls, muted shades that throw shadows and patterns during twilight. My dance anklets. A small music system. Multi-colored throws and rugs and cushions that brighten up the place.
Someday I want to write about the things that make me ME. The smell of old books. 4am conversations, which are peppered with lots of laughter and sober moments of realization. Windswept hair during fast bike rides. Drizzles on the face while taking long walks. A glass of rum on cold nights with people who matter to me. Military prints. Sarees. Ethnic jewelry. Adventure sports. Writing. Mythology. Temples. Tea at the roadside stalls. Hot molaga bhajjis. Vatthakozhambu. Filter Kaapi. Sunsets on beaches. Smoky eyes. Dance. Music. FRIENDSHIPS that make or break the world for me. Early morning quiet. Easy conversations. Surprises. Random hugs. Long drives. Card games. The very first sip of tea or coffee in the mornings. A good movie. Songs that touch the heart. Cycling. Traditions. Slokams. Roadtrips.
Someday I want to turn these dreams into reality and write a book that I can pour down all my life’s worth into, one that I can read in my old age, look back, and reminisce about a life well lived.