"Does those leaves got wet?"

The wind was blowing. Like mad.

But I wonder why the leaves in those trees were unshaken?

"Can that happen?"

"No. It can’t." I said to myself.

I asked my Grandma.

She showed me Colocasia leaves.

She carefully poured water all over it.

"Does those leaves got wet?" She asked me.

She smiled at my speechlessness and walked away...

Reeling through the reels of life.

Its been one year since I wrote something here. I was destitute of imagination/need/encouragement? Don’t know. I believe I was just lazy. Do I have anything in my mind to write? Nopes.. nothing as of now. May be I have a lot of things inside me which I don’t want to write. Between those white patches of clouds I see outside reminds me of reverberating proclamation of peace. And the fog, its just the reflection of those clouds. Why I am talking about peace? What is peace to me? Ok, let me make it clear, its just another word which just echoed around me. Just like that.

Again, I stumbled at one point. I realized at the next. Slithering back to me, the earlier position. Why am i writing? Because I am expected to? Because I want to? Because I am forced to? None of above, Because I love to & Because I am more expressive while writing. Everyone need to let out their emotions, feelings in one way or another. Its not necessary that what you write is your life but its always necessary that it has you in it, in one way or another.. at least as a spectator. Hmm… mostly as a spectator. Reeling through the reels of life, these writings are just the tip of the iceberg. Alas, if I could show the submersed part. Yes, a shit load of happiness and inaccurately flowing river of sorrows.

Right now bowing in front of amazingly undefinable voice of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi. Now his voice will spread peace in heaven.

Dont know, when next.

You... Complete me!

"So I never felt her absence."

In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop, grass grew on sidewalks. The life too busy. My stiff collors wilted by nine in the morning. Thats what life demands. A day was 24hours long but seemed much longer. Hurry hours, for there was no where to go. "Jeena Yehaan, Marna Yehaan iske siwa jaana kahaa!!" Sung this song n-number of times.

Nothing to buy, nothing to see outside the boundaries. Nothing to fear, but fear itself. Enjoying life secretly, without even letting life know about it. The most revolutionary act one can commit - To be happy. Yes I'm happy, though I miss lot which life knowingly kept hiding. Life said 'Mutual feelings'

Home, Occasionally. Friends, Never. Coffee, Being a life saver, no way. School/college, thats my own nostalgia. Love, I love 'milkmaid'. Travel, I know good travelers are not planners. Alas, nothing of this sort is a miss to me.

I keep denying the truth that I don't know that what is it that gnaws at me all time.

Searched. Explored. Checked. Didn't find. Failed.

Out of the blue, in a dream the other night, I found out. Yes it was You.

Along the road of truth "I miss her absence." Realized, you are the meanest and loveliest person God has ever blown air into.

Yes, You... Complete me, and I miss You.

Something that is Remembered.

Some body just hit me with a memory pillow. I'm quite scared now. I'm shattered. Yes yet again.

I was wrong. Thought I came out of everything. Not yet, feel atleast in this lff I can't. I'm sure. The heart that truly love never forgets. I love being positive. When someone you love become a memory, that memory become a treasure. *Sigh*

An Antique love story

I was busy cleaning a dusty shelf on grandma's room. This is one thing I love to do once I reach home on every vaccation. It's damm interesting. I always get some treassure to cherish when I do that. It may be some old coins, stamps, some wonderful inland letters filled with love sent by her brothers in some late '80s or some very old family photos. Whatever they be, I treassure them to future. I love doing that.

Between the numerous dusty books on the shelf, a photo tumbled to the floor through my eyes. It was an old photograph. Black and white, slowly yellowing on the edges. I took the photograph but couldn't recoganise the man in it. It was already a wounded photo. The 'Man' had a turban over his head and no mustach. You can say he posed like Swami Vivekanada, with folded hands. He looks very young, may be 25 years. I was sure, this man is not from my family. Aggh....I felt so!!

After a good homely bath, I sat next to grandma, showed her the photograph. She took it and gazed carefully. I couldn't trace out the emotions on her wringled face. I heard some whisper from her. It sounds like a name "Mahan Nambuthiri".

"Mahan Nambuthiri?? What is that?" I wonder. (Later I read 'Mahan Nambuthiri' is a title or some thing similar given to the son of a Nambuthiri family, ummh... quiet interesting.)

Without answering my question she continued "He was the most brilliant in the class. A great student who always top the college. He was the apple in eyes of teachers. He was known for his instant poems. He always get the first prize for poem writing..,blah blah blah...."

I could find exitment in my granny's face as she gone praising him non-stop. I was getting a fire from her. An unknown spark was getting to her eyes that she was not hiding, rather she couldn't hide. It was just like a glint of sunlight through the clouds.

Without giving me any chance to speak she walked away from me with that photo. As she walked I noticed her eyes was still on that photograph. I knew what I saw a few seconds before in her eyes was the true passion of love. Yes, probably 'Mahan Nambuthiri' was her first love! Very often we cherish this memories alot, sometimes idealise them, remember first love as something innocent and fragile.

What goes around, comes around!Like an old photograph, time can make the feeling fade, but the memory of the first love never fades away. She may have forget how she used to feel about him, but the memory of that first love is like an eternal sunshine.

As a sighed myself with a stretch, I thought to myself- 'This may probably be an argument for a life that never really was, but if such a life was there, probably my grandma got the nostalgia she would never lose-touched by an antique love of her life!'

Rough Draft

Sitting alone in room. By chance. It makes me happy! Being a slave of my own solitude. These are the very few moments I live as myself. Otherwise uh.... I'm expert in pretending...

I am not too sure!! Opened my laptop. I love the sound my fingers make on these keyboards. Beat of the heart and the *thug thug* on keyboard makes it a par superior song than any. I fear writing with inky pens on lucent white papers. My tears may wipe down my life in them. I don’t want that to happen. That's why I like the concept of typing. I bet on my tear, dare you wipe this out!

And to make it a perfect solitude, this is what I on the botton wanted. It was raining cats & dogs. Heaven pour down under. The rains of night are out of the ordinary. Along with the rejuvenation, it brings a lot of doting memories. Just closed my eyes in complete serene till a thunderbolt clout my ears. Loud roared the dreadful thunder. Under this window in stormy weather, reminds me of a night which was very much analogous to this one.

Have you ever had to talk to the person you loved most...tell them it's gonna be all right, when you know it's not? “Don't worry I'm always yours – touch wood” Even though she knew the end was closer; these were the words she rendered in my ears.

“Don’t worry my eyes only see you everywhere even if they are closed... – touch wood. You know, you are the best thing God has done to me ever in my life – touch wood!!!”

She continued. Holding my mouth with her hands not allowing me to utter anything.

“Don’t say that we are not meant for each other. It is just that we are not meant for anyone else. I don’t think I need to worry being happy as long as you are there with me. You are my dream. Without you there is no existence for me. Parting away from you is my death – touchhh…woo…”

She couldn't complete her much trusty omen, intended to reverse any bad luck that might come our way. She wept. I didn't stop her. She exploded.

First time in her I saw an incensed face of love. I saw all the hidden expressions of love that Wordsworth, Coleridge, Blake, Shelley, and Keats has immortalized.

I hold her closer. I wished to bring a little tranquil to her then effervescent mind.

I said “Oh dear, between us there is no you & me. Is there anything called your death & my death. It’s all ours. Even in death we will be together…”

The soft susurrus of conversation over her ears then was like this pouring rain outside my window tonight. I could calm down her tempest by those words.

“I will hear you even I have gone away from you…” That was her promise.

‘Perhaps tonight she is hearing me. May be this rain is propelled by her to calm down the storm in me…’ I am hoping.

Lff called a trump. I lost. I often question: Suppose we could begin life over again, knowing what we were doing? Suppose we could use one life, already ended, as a sort of rough draft for another??? *Sigh*