World of Small Things

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...