Voices

If you ignore for a moment the tension in your calves, the creaking from your knees and the aching in your feet, you can imagine that the world is flowing around you when you walk. The colors of life tumbling and gushing, you a small pebble in the middle of an unstoppable and iridescent torrent; that is if you can conveniently ignore the existence of half of your body. That is how I felt when we walked, held in a bubble of words exchanged without a care, scattered in the wind like lilies, not meaningless nevertheless. She was an old friend, a young soul who talked, for that matter so did I, two pebbles in an ocean masquerading as a river, meeting by chance. Occasionally there would be a spectacular ripple like a young couple in love or a few beggars washing over us, pulling and tugging our conversation along, a random bump on the conversation bubble. Often we would sit on benches skirting the road, observing the din and bustle around us. Somehow the noise rendered itself nois...

As I sit in the eerie glow of my laptop screen , night dripping down from the sky and the hushed wind playing bagpipes on my window, I wonder. I wonder about many a thing, as far from each other as a fruit fly hovering over an apple from a supernova in the depths of the galaxy (poetically speaking!) but somehow my brain mixes them all up, like the green and orange and brown sundaes which used to fascinate me to no end when I was smaller. Now I've moved on to alluringly spiral softies. Surprisingly sometimes I wonder about music, even though I never understood music very technically and wouldn't ever survive singing, even as a street singer desperately trying to cobble up a living.  There are some songs, lyrical and exquisite, like a hidden brook or moonlit meadow. They flow by and touch your soul, bringing a moment of clarity to the raging and windswept waters. Letting the subtle and unseen, beautiful and tender things underneath come up for a moment. Letting ...

Letting go. Sounds so simple doesn't it ? Just two words that neither rhymes nor gives an impression that they are anything more than mundane. Yet those two innocent words kept me away from this familiar song of my keyboard for a while. The first time I seriously thought about the idea of letting go was when I read an article in one of ancient editions of Reader's Digest from my dad's collection, back in the days when the magazine held some serious content (if you were willing to overlook the unabashed admiration of capitalism). It was about two people who met in New York and made each other immeasurably happy. They loved each other yet due to some twist of fate (I cannot exactly remember what), they got separated. Fast forward ten years, they are happily married with children and by chance, meet each other at the place where they used to meet in their youth. Then it goes on describing how they meet occasionally, now close friends. At that time I felt the...

Sometimes after you experience a colossal loss, so swift that it cut through your being like a laser-beam in a matter of few minutes, leaving a scar is so deep as to split you but so thin that you can't even see it, it is quite hard to accept reality. It takes time for you to digest ; you can't believe that your reality just did a double flip on you. You reject reality like a miserable liver transplant. Like when someone I loved a lot died. It just happened in a fucking minute. Despite the irrelevance of feeling in this context, it doesn't really feel fair when a life that was so much, so full of people who were loved and hated, loved even more again, of so much effort and struggle, of so many achievements and dreams just ended in a single tick of the clock. Sometimes you feel quite strongly that you shouldn't be feeling this way (makes you wonder what exactly 'feeling' is). Maybe because it wasn't fair, because people played all their cards ...

Life is like many things, as many have said before me A ball, a fly, a Peregrine falcon and a rolling baby! For me its something different; a weave on a creaking mill Of infinitely many colorful threads, Of never ending fractals and dancing tigers! It creeps upon you, not one thread at a time but a multitude. A pattern is born each moment Not looking back, not looking forward but then and there, Painted by drops of blood and softened by beads of sweat. That is perhaps what we should do; Stop for a moment : pause And feel the infinite threads that are you move along, Dance with ever forming patterns and don't look back. P.S I kind of cheated but happy to write my first ever poem(If it stands scrutiny).

All of us have gone through tough times in life; times when you feel like you don’t matter anymore, when you’re gasping for a hand to hold on to as you’re drowning and all that glides through your fingers is water. I’m currently 10 feet under and can see the sun receding and feel the chill of the water. So it is in this state that a random thought crossed my mind: ‘There has to be a silver lining to this’. This was profound, among all this suffering, among all the endless hours before falling asleep, among the mornings too heavy to get up, among all the hands, texts and calls that never materialized to pull you up and among the ones that did, there was something good, apart from the obvious “What doesn't kill you makes you stronger”. As you might have guessed, rather obviously, I wanted to find that damn silver lining to this dark cloud and finally be able to say ‘Ah there you are you little bugger; the outlier, the anomaly, the aberration that changes everything! Now you’re goin...