World of Small Things

Dear Readers, Today I write to you in a more mundane state of mind than usual. Huddled in a corner of a bus amongst other ruffled inhabitants of the city, I feel grounded, yet entangled in the inexplicable threads that help this metropolis move. In my hand was a crumpled piece of paper on which I had penned down a few words in crooked handwriting. Seated in the sanctuary of a dilapidated bus stop, gazing out at the swarming street, my mind had wandered. I had written: The first gust of monsoon brushes gracefully through the wilted leaves, Her locks of sienna and hazel surrender to the frenzied breeze. The dusk serenades in orange and gold. Swarms of feet toil in the drizzle, Rhythmically they stomp and shove. The once dusty roads are now abstract paintings of the eerie sky above. The rain has granted reflections to all. All sans one. The dusk was slowly being invaded by the darkness of night. The faint moonlight filtered through the sm...

Panic. Confusion. Hysteria. I cannot fathom where I am headed nor where I am. The colours around me are blurred and blended into terrifying forms of a troubled artist's handiwork. Cold, menacing winds pierce into my bones. Slowly, I float. In the mortifying silence, I smile through gritted teeth. Somewhere in the freefall, I shifted focus. The persistent cold and the tumultuous colours seemed to fade away. And then in the hurricane, I found bliss.  Now I struggle to make it stay. I looked outside at the soil that was slowly cooling down after surviving the ferocity of the midday sun. Scalding streams of wind were kicking up dust and sprinkling it over the road. The world outside was bone dry, unaware of the tempests which had enraged the seas of thought in which I was struggling to stay afloat. Stationed at my table, looking over the dusty summer evening, I tried to ground myself to reality and plant the tree of thought back in its place again, afte...

Dear Reader, On this brisk November morning, I have gleefully succumbed to the urge of getting lost in my thoughts which were resonating, echoing and growing too big for the abode that they were birthed in. Ticking clocks, screaming voices ,bustling streets, pounding hearts and sleepless nights have conquered my cocoon and become a constant presence in my existence. Sometimes, I think of it as addictive madness , because I cannot live without it. So when these grotesque spirits of the modern world start toying with my mind and drowning out the voice of my own consciousness, I seek solitude , silence and the sounds of nature. As I sit on the verandah ,with the cold marble and the crisp breeze sending occasional chills down my spine, I stare out into the magnificent expanse of dark olive and green leaves of the wise old tree ,rooted strongly and proudly on the other side of the humble, dusty road which is quite under qualified to carry out it's role as a State Highw...

Dear  Readers, I'm waiting for an old friend. I've been waiting for a while. It seems that this comrade of mine doesn't reciprocate the fierce eagerness that I have to meet him. I don't remember his face too clearly.Like the radiant full moon disappearing behind enigmatic night clouds, my pal's face had faded from my memories. I think everyone's mind has an attic. Memories,like fresh,glistening photographs, Polaroids and films, flutter and settle in the attic ,until they turn into the sweet colour of sepia. Sometimes they float down clumsily from the lofty tops of sepia skyscrapers;like dried scarlet leaves from stiff autumn trees,making me fly into a furious,but silent and pleasant fit of nostalgia. I've compiled the most precious items from my 'attic' into this infinite book of  intangible pages.  Clouds whiz by me,reminding me that I was several thousand feet in the air,in a frugal,aquiline airplane. We duck and swerve below the cottony fl...

"I am too fond of the stars to be afraid of the darkness"..... Dear Readers. A warm feeling of homecoming overwhelms me when I address you. I was turning the non existent pages, that so appropriately arranges the random thoughts that rain down from the tempestous abysses of my mind.I rewind to my last post - 'Kaleidoscope'. I find it amusing how our minds are so much similar to the quaint device.We keep turning a kaleidoscope and when and stop only when we see an unusually attractive pattern ignites our fascination.Similar to that, we keep tossing and turning our mind our efforts give rise to a thought that sets our imagination ablaze. It is at moments like those when I come to my blog to spill these thoughts,to prevent them from diminishing into mere fading reminiscences. As I sit in the balcony,the dusk is slowly dying ,bleeding darkness.The last of the light was scattered in the sky. A scarlet and lilac hue now took over. I heard thunder in the distan...

Dear Readers, Here I return to dispense my thoughts into this pixelated pensieve. I return as the bud of a new year starts to bloom into a thorny,blood red rose. As I write,the Orion in the velvety night sky points his arrow at a target beyond the comprehension and perception of mortals. The beautifully arranged stars somehow beam hope. Gives me joy.Gives us all a mystery to ponder upon. Should we accept to do so. Just think about it. Those burning celestial bodies are millions of miles apart,they exist without the knowledge of the existence of each other. They exist, not knowing the fact that after the sun sinks below the horizon, they form a grand masterpiece on an endless canvas that departs hope to the insignificant beings below them. I think we humans are much like this constellation. Humans live far apart,strangers to each other. Unknown to them,they are knitted  together by the fabric of this universe,forming a truly beautiful pattern or creation. Focusing back t...

                 Dear Readers, When I return to my 'World of Small Things', I am accompanied by a stranger who visits me every year in strange and beautiful disguises. Though the 'stranger' seems cold hearted and ruthless, I enjoy his presence . Yes, winter has arrived. With the cold breezes of winter ,the crisp air and the dampened sunlight, I felt that the 'stranger' was conversing with me. I sunk into my chair and then....listened. The sunlight was now a mesmerising mix of lemon and mango yellow. When this yelclow fell graciously upon the luscious leaves, I thought- 'Déja vu'. I was thinking of my favourite tree. The Cherry blossom. Not any random cherry blossom. The magnificent cherry blossom that stood majestically bearing the cold British winds. The cherry blossom on whose branches , with the uncontrolled imagination of a child  had built up palaces of thought.  At the tips ,along with the baby pink flowers, my...