Life Itself

It was a thought that just passed me by. It was a reason that suddenly caught my eye. It was a sensation that randomly startled me. It was a glance that one day jostled me. It was a hope that triggered me. It was honesty. It was gravity. It was insanity. It was desire. It was dreams. It was belief. It was lies. It was a disguise. It was deceit.

There was silence. There was hope. There was want.  There was desire. There was pleading. There was need. There was hurt. There was numbness. There was pain. There was blame. Then there was indifference.

Going round and round in endless circles. No end, no conclusion. Just constant eccentricity.  I have thought about full stops, but those are just too risky. So instead, I leave one more comma, one more trace of my stupidity and hope that you haven't judged me for it. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know what I really want. I get to a dead end and don't see why I walked all the way in the first place. Perhaps it is just momentum that takes me from one level to another. Perhaps it is as always about the chase. Perhaps I really do want this to work out. Perhaps this time too my paranoia will get the best of me.  Reminds me of one of my favorite songs..... Who can say where the road goes.......only time!

Earlier I wrote about places and feelings and this post is almost like a follow up to that one. Places and feelings do go together. Especially those of safety and security. Whilst one place can seem so unsafe and impossible to live in, just 15 mins away you can feel the most secure you ever have. And as always, it really is about the people. Cities by themselves are hollow caricatures, not too different from one another. Perhaps geographically and historically distinct, but history and geography don't bring you back to a place too often. What keeps you connected to any place is those that stay there.  Take for instance Ludhiana, a perfectly non remarkable town from the perspective of travel interest. Yet people like me feel a strange sense of completion and familiarity when they go there. Simply because there are people that matter that still stay there. Or then there are memories with other people that keep pulling us back. Once again I am amazed at how social man is. How in

There's something about nostalgia that makes it so irresistible.  Today I was crossing an old familiar area and it brought back memories, so sweet and sour at the same time.  Interestingly I cross this area almost everyday but it only rarely evokes emotions from the past. Partly because I am too engaged with the present and partly because it is exhausting to deal with the past everyday. Each time I think of all that's gone by, I invest a little more of myself in things that don't exist anymore. Now don't get me wrong, I am not advocating moving away from the past. It would be very hypocritical if I did. I am the most nostalgic person I know. I draw my passion from all that's happened, I laugh at jokes from ten years ago and occasionally cry over things that happened fifteen years ago. I hold and never let go. Having said that, nostalgia is a guilty pleasure and I don't I let myself indulge in it everyday. Simply because I can't afford to. My life has

There are two types of people in the world. Those that look at black and white as separate, concrete, simple colors. And then others that see them as grey. The latter see things from the perspective of what they could be. They are never satisfied with things at their face value. They interpret and reinterpret to such an extent that the original words don't even matter. To them, black and white are irrelevant. What matters is where black merges into white. Lately, I have been intrigued by the contrast between those that see things as they are and those that like to complicate and analyze even the most basic facts. In the words of someone I know, the first category of people is simple and direct. They don't perceive a grey. They don't feel the need to dwell deeper. They understand logic and require straight talk.  The second category is the diametric opposite. They will find a mystery where there is none, question for so long that the answer stops mattering, they will alw

A lot of people ask me who I refer to in all my posts. They want to know if "you" have a name. They want me to describe you. They want me to put you in a box and label you. They want to be able to grasp everything I feel for you. They want to be able to understand you, define you, stereotype you. They want to put a face to my words. They want to make you small, tiny and tangible. They want to make you finite and complete.  But, what if...there is no you? What if you are stronger than their scope of comprehension and more omnipotent than their imagination? What if you exist, only as a figment in my parallel universe? What if you are colored in more shades than they have names for? What if you are too immense to capture in one single word?  What if, you are, who YOU think you are.