Day before yesterday, on the 8th of November 2008, Avanti Desai would have turned 21. Instead 15 days before her birthday, as she hurried home to celebrate her grandmother's birthday, Avanti met with a train accident at Jogeshwari station.
Just like that. Gone from our lives forever. Leaving behind a huge void and the world a lot more gloomier.
And when I got the call first thing in the morning, I couldn't believe it. I thought it was a cruel sadistic joke, but as the calls kept coming in, I realised it was true. Even at the cemetary,, it still hadn't sunk in that Avanti was no longer here. The worst moment though was watching her disappear into the crematorium, it was horrible and I couldn't believe we were leaving her there, and through the next couple of hours all I could think of was of her going up in smoke while we stood there in the bright sunshine.
It seemed incomprehensible at first, to think of Avanti as dead, to talk about her in the past tense, to get used…
So here I am on the eve of my 30th birthday, my very last day of being 29, just about 4 hours left of being a twenty-something.
A couple of years ago, I remember snidely chuckling away to myself, when a favourite blogger of mine turned 30, believing that it was so far away, it could never touch me. I'm regretting that now.
And to be honest, I thought I would be okay, I really honestly truly believed that I would be greeting this new decade with a casual insouciance and indifference that would normally be characteristic for me, but I'm not. I'm terrified of how quickly my twenties have zoomed by and how little I've accomplished and perhaps that is what is upsetting me.
On the cusp of another decade on this planet, well, I feel like a bit of a failure. No, scratch that, I feel majorly like a failure. I'm drowning in self-pity and anguish at wasted opportunities, at thrown-away chances, at my inherent laziness and procrastination, at my never-ending ability to put of…
I came across this in a Danielle Steele book. Who said you can't get anything good out of those books? One of my favourite poems and one I read virtually every time I get the urge to travel.
Wander, wander, wandering meandering, the urge to roam, to dance, to fly, to be, the search for free, the need to see to go to find to search to do, my thirsts so easily quenched so close to home and yours so grand, so elegant, so marvelous, climbing mountaintops and elephants and tiger hunts and dancing bears and far off stars and trips to mars and all of it so wild, so vast, so free, as you go wander, wander, wandering, and then the best part of all when, satisfied, complete, and happy now, you wander slowly home to me.