Aesthetics. What Are Yours?
So hello all!
Farees is our Canadian-Pakistani friend who writes incredible stuff and complains about engineering a tad too much. She’s Zin’s companion in distress and dislikes Nathan a little. (A very little, k!) Nevertheless, she’s our bff and lately she wrote an aesthetic series and the next thing she did was, “ZZzzzzz, Zinara what are your aesthetics?”
So instead of writing this on Zin’s own blog (that’s a lot of prose and poetry about gray times), we decided to write it here. So here, a list of things we find aesthetic. Our aesthetics!
Coffee. Mankind’s greatest companion of all times. The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. Half-finished coffee mugs in a 2am study session. The morning latte with your favorite person and cuddles in cozy duvets. A quick mocha down the café next door admiring busy streets. Zin loves them all. The coffee stained papers. Old, rustic and vintage-ish. Nathan loves his coffee in rainy afternoons. Admiring the beauty of downtowns. A cup of hot coffee with a cold tinted glass. The cafes. With people wee-chatting and gossiping about everyday things. Coffee marks new beginnings and coffee shares happiness. Coffee is your silent companion in sadness and hidden third wheel between every two people who share a touch of romance. Have you ever felt the happiness, the chemistry coffee brings to two people? For one who loves his coffee black and for another, her coffee with milk. The morning coffee moustaches and happy times.
- Buildings and Downtowns
Cities. The good, bad and all in one. To N, cities are where his heart lies. The busy Chennai evenings, sitting in a corner admiring the beauty of common lives. People passing by as if they were shadows underneath a myriad of city lights. Chai. Piping hot jalebi and dosai with mutton and butter chicken. A meal for twenty something rupees. The alleys of Bangalore. Buildings of Al-Khobar and sand dunes. Pretty sunsets over the desserts in an unloved city. A city where he poured his heart out. The highways where he shed a tear or two. Sydney. The busy life. The beauty of ignorance and fancies of first world. Where wonders happen and fireworks bright the skies in every New Year. Where you find yourself lost. Where you come back to your lost soul, to find love, to find life, to start all over again. To live. To love and to shine bright! Colombo, where he lives. Chennai. Where it is home.
Trains are Zin’s treasures. The busy 6am commuters. People with only two hours of sleep. Working ten hours for a few pennies to survive a life. Kids with big grins and lost teeth. Trains. The oldies. The vintage queens and modern Chinese. The rustic trains with half-broken seats and dust on their faces. The Yaal-Devis, Ruhunu Kumaris, and Udarata Menikes. Trains with messages of peace at war. The vadai vendors and plethora of street food. Trains. The beautiful journeys to up country. Sunrise over the mountains and beautiful nothingness. The sea along the coastal line. The railway tracks with years of stories to tell. Stories of slavery and of lives he took to heaven. Trains, where happiness meets a few rupees.
What is love in a picture? The happy eyes of her. The tears. The freckles makeup couldn’t hide. The hurt. Snuggles in blankets where mist layers up the lush green hills. Morning chai in cozy linens. Weekend hikes to see the sunrise. Eskimo kisses. The fights. The cries. The smiles. The everything. Cookies for breakfast. Making her coffee. Her favorite way. Drawing him pretty kittens and pooches who are nutters. Helping each other live. Together. Happy. Together. Love!
Zin loves rain. It’s her reminder to forget the world and cozy up in bed with a good book. With coffee crackers and chocolate. Pamper lazy cats and watch movies with him. The rain. The stories of sky. The pouring down of a tired sky. The stories of weariness. Fret. And depression. Frogs adding beats to the sky song. The music of nature. Cascades singing songs of happy. Of still life and living it tiny. Thunder and lightning. As if it is to show you that everything silent can one day roar.
Serendipitously placed bicycles in tiny alleys are what makes us happy. The colors of bicycles belong to people we’ve never met. Of strangers and of people dear to us. Bicycles of cashew nut sellers and of fishermen. Tiny wheels and ones a little larger. The journeys spoken. Old days of cycling with dad. The happy hours of sharing moments. Listening to him speak about his broken dreams. Paddling into the jungle. To live. To forget. To remember.
Now that’s done. But that’s not all. Maybe one day in a cold Toronto evening where mist dims the city lights, with one cup of coffee and two cups of chai. One day where we meet Farees and camp outside watching the stars. Where we laugh about Shahid Afridis and Kumar Sangakkaras, we’ll pen down all that’s left in ink so black in an old coffee stained journal. Until then, write down your aesthetics and let us know!