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Showing posts from June, 2013

5 things I do to kill time creatively.

Play with light. Shadows are paint that wont need a brush.Lie down in the back of a car and watch the world go by in reverse. Convex is concave too. Look at your fingerprints and imagine them to be highways. Can you figure the end of the road?Look at rain drops as though they are para troopers in war. Descending fast and fading into terra firma below.Look at ants at work. Especially when they walk in a line and then fill dialogues each time they meet each other as though they are talking to one another. What do you do, to kill time?

And if we could float away

Sometimes the wind in your hair, can simply blow your mind away.

May such winds blow ever after.


Runaway train

The distant whistling of an engine rattled my fears of hiding safe in a field of wheat whose carpet like texture was scarred by shrapnel fired by the mob that paraded by last night. Far and fast its wheels belted a beat across the metallic tracks that led to a direction while they stood stationary just like the war had since the last 3 years. Peace was an oft repeated word that they claimed was close to being brokered. The tracks knew better.
Holding onto the last remaining pieces of bread smuggled from the storehouse I waited till night to fall again. In its shroud tattered with stars that reminded me of my mothers Sunday church gown, I hoped to see her again. 
(Inspired by The Diary of Anne Frank)

Second chances.

I saw life pass me by in slow motion today.

Kind of like rain falling in layers across a green mountain in the monsoons. This one experience, quite exactly the opposite in the beauty of it all. Not that it has happened for the first time. This one being the second, made me pause and think about hope that past promises and dreams can be fulfilled in the time called tomorrow. Not all of us live second lives.

Hoping the rain falls tomorrow and its prettier that what it was today - for real.

Summer days.

Summer days.  April, July may be.  Pokhran, 96
Vacation days that saw afternoons stretch longer than the entire period itself and all I did was look out at the heat blaze past the tar surface of the roads outside. When nothing would move or dare to, these sparrows like school kids after the days final bell would dart between these slabs of stone placed on the boundary wall. The gateway although not aerial would always see them dive down and pass through it. Reminding me of planes in the sky while I trudged along indoors with my set of GI-Joe's wishful that I could have joined them.
Summer days.  June. Gurgaon, India
Days of hard labor when everything has changed from fantasy to non-fiction. The heat is unrelenting and the tar roads barely seem to be a challenge. As I dive through sometimes meaningless tasks trying to find a vent between the melancholy chores that stand on the boundary wall like those slabs of stone, I often hope...  Are those sparrows still flying like they did? Will I …

Again.

A little while ago, I walked away from what I created.
I am about to do so again.
Back then, I was not acknowledged, not appreciated and taken for granted.
I am doing the former again. I hope the latter does not repeat itself.