If silence could form gorges, then we did form one. A wide impenetrable gorge. Yet, you tried to bridge the gap with your few sentences. I responded to none. Your words died after crashing the indomitable wall of my rigidity.
Gradually, your few sentences got reduced to a handful of words. I took note of none. Your words eventually reduced to ashes.
Yet, you tried. I pitied your unrewarding endeavors. I was entrapped and suffocating in the gossamer of my own rigid ego.
You placed your forced intermittent coughs to drive my attention to you. My mouth didn’t even make the slightest quivering to acknowledge it. It stood motionless.
With your every failed attempt to bridge the gorge, my ego inflated. It swelled to a gigantic size. Seeing my frozen being , you gave in too, thus allowing the sepulchral silence to engulf us both.
Thursday, 17 May 2012
A conversation
He asks , “Why do you write? There must be something that drives you to write! You say you do not want to be read and yet you write. Every thing is written for a prospective reader, no? If the reader is not your motivator, then what makes you write?”
I smile mysteriously.
“No silly! Answer.” He says flummoxed not being able to make out what exactly drives me to write.
“ There are times when the mind weighs with thoughts. What do you do with a pregnant mind? You need to bring the thoughts out because they are so willing to be born, to be manifested on paper. There’s an inner driving force. The egg hatches on its own after incubation. The mind is like the egg shell. The thoughts break out on their own after they attain a certain size. They need to be inked else thoughts are evanescent. They vanish! They need to be fettered with the shackles of ink else they fly.” I said , surprised at my own eloquence.
“Let them fly, why do you care? Who cares about them anyway when you never share them with a reader?” He was still unresolved.
“The writer in me writes them for the reader in me! I don’t need anyone else to read them, okay? I am writing and reading simultaneously! Why should I write for anyone else?” I give my final remark.
He had nothing more to ask.
I smile mysteriously.
“No silly! Answer.” He says flummoxed not being able to make out what exactly drives me to write.
“ There are times when the mind weighs with thoughts. What do you do with a pregnant mind? You need to bring the thoughts out because they are so willing to be born, to be manifested on paper. There’s an inner driving force. The egg hatches on its own after incubation. The mind is like the egg shell. The thoughts break out on their own after they attain a certain size. They need to be inked else thoughts are evanescent. They vanish! They need to be fettered with the shackles of ink else they fly.” I said , surprised at my own eloquence.
“Let them fly, why do you care? Who cares about them anyway when you never share them with a reader?” He was still unresolved.
“The writer in me writes them for the reader in me! I don’t need anyone else to read them, okay? I am writing and reading simultaneously! Why should I write for anyone else?” I give my final remark.
He had nothing more to ask.
On a Sunny day
Ever seen the rising sun? It comes out of the womb of the horizon like a ruddy infant. With its glowing face and an infantile innocence, a cherub in the sky. You feel like loving it. You know it shall never burn you. It leaves you enthralled with a beauty like that of a newborn.
The sun ascends the sky as the day breaks further. The child now approaches its Youth. A smoldering sun reveling in the pride of its adolescence. It never knows that there shall come a time when it shall have to descend the ladder that it now used to ascend. The face no more glows, it glowers. A raging teenager.
Eventually, it attains its mid life when it feels exhausted yet it continues to burn. It thinks that his Youth is forever. It thinks its indefatigable.
And when it ages further, it sets down. It seeks Samadhi in the same horizon from which it had emerged. It knows all about Life! It knows that life is not about burning but about shining. The setting Sun is the most Enlightened one.
The sun ascends the sky as the day breaks further. The child now approaches its Youth. A smoldering sun reveling in the pride of its adolescence. It never knows that there shall come a time when it shall have to descend the ladder that it now used to ascend. The face no more glows, it glowers. A raging teenager.
Eventually, it attains its mid life when it feels exhausted yet it continues to burn. It thinks that his Youth is forever. It thinks its indefatigable.
And when it ages further, it sets down. It seeks Samadhi in the same horizon from which it had emerged. It knows all about Life! It knows that life is not about burning but about shining. The setting Sun is the most Enlightened one.
She who loved the Sky
She talked to the sky. She heard the Azure confiding in her its secrets. Whenever she would be sad, she would look up to the sky, her confidante. The sky made her smile. She intently watched its clouds. Not the birds but the clouds, the cloudy formations that sometimes resembled a face, a bird, a cat and sometimes nothing.
She read those faces that the sky, through its clouds, made. She would see how clouds disappeared like vapors and so did her sadness. As the sky would clear, the frown of her brows would clear away too. Sometimes, it was almost impossible to differentiate between the sky and her face. They behaved identical.
Once she asked the sky why it lent its blueness to the water. She didn’t want Sky to share its blueness with anyone. She wanted it to stay unique. The sky murmured to her that it had lent its blueness to her eyes as well. To which she emphatically retorted that its blueness belonged to no one but her eyes and that she was not willing to share it with anyone. She was the sole owner of the Cerulean, the apple of her Eyes!
The Sky broke into a thundering laughter and said that no one could possess it. She shouted at the sky and asked it to stop making fun of her. The Sky too was at its notorious best. It drained away its clouds on her. She was drenched.
‘I am going to settle my accounts with you, Sky’, she said pretending an exasperation but she was actually happy.
Later, when the Sky realized that it should now console her, it became quiet, asked its clouds to maintain a pin drop silence. The sky like a little child, peeped through her window and woke her up. She knew the sky had come to console her. She was pretending that she was angry and hard to console. The sky relentlessly tried.
It pleaded her. It cajoled her. It begged for forgiveness . She was too stubborn to simmer down. The sky, later, stopped pleading her and wore a rainbow on its vault.
She looked at the rainbow spellbound.
She knew this is how the sky doodled her name on itself. Her happiness knew no bounds. She stood at her porch with her arms wide open to enwrap the Sky in her bosom.
Perhaps, at that very moment, they were one!
She read those faces that the sky, through its clouds, made. She would see how clouds disappeared like vapors and so did her sadness. As the sky would clear, the frown of her brows would clear away too. Sometimes, it was almost impossible to differentiate between the sky and her face. They behaved identical.
Once she asked the sky why it lent its blueness to the water. She didn’t want Sky to share its blueness with anyone. She wanted it to stay unique. The sky murmured to her that it had lent its blueness to her eyes as well. To which she emphatically retorted that its blueness belonged to no one but her eyes and that she was not willing to share it with anyone. She was the sole owner of the Cerulean, the apple of her Eyes!
The Sky broke into a thundering laughter and said that no one could possess it. She shouted at the sky and asked it to stop making fun of her. The Sky too was at its notorious best. It drained away its clouds on her. She was drenched.
‘I am going to settle my accounts with you, Sky’, she said pretending an exasperation but she was actually happy.
Later, when the Sky realized that it should now console her, it became quiet, asked its clouds to maintain a pin drop silence. The sky like a little child, peeped through her window and woke her up. She knew the sky had come to console her. She was pretending that she was angry and hard to console. The sky relentlessly tried.
It pleaded her. It cajoled her. It begged for forgiveness . She was too stubborn to simmer down. The sky, later, stopped pleading her and wore a rainbow on its vault.
She looked at the rainbow spellbound.
She knew this is how the sky doodled her name on itself. Her happiness knew no bounds. She stood at her porch with her arms wide open to enwrap the Sky in her bosom.
Perhaps, at that very moment, they were one!
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