.a written note.

Sitting here, I wonder if it's about seeing in the mirror and liking what I see. 'Your eyes speak', they say. With every look of myself I get everytime I see, they, my eyes, seem to want to confront me. With all my honesty, I say, I run away from them. I try to. But the next time, everytime, it's a sensation of their coming toward me more hurriedly. They must be knowing the truth behind all the lies under the Sun I may have happened to tell myself in order to keep going. It's what I am used to do. To keep going, not knowing how far but far still. I am not used to the comfort there is in stopping for a moment or two. The comfort doesn't comfort me enough, although the view of it I get is inviting and tempting. I do not like the idea of walking the carpet that could take me somewhere I may be told I could dream. It doesn't completely satisfy me, being somewhere for a long time where there is everything I like. Going somewhere for a while where they may ...

Its like a glass half filled with satisfaction. Despite the feeling of loss I'm reminded by the smallest, sometimes nonexistent of things, of the path I no longer walk. The pebbles along the way must have stuck where I'd last seen 'em for they're still there, blurry, but visible despite my standing on the edge here, very much away. Time flies, they say. It should've had taken us, the slaves of it along as it flew. But we are, somehow, still where we'd been. Still there enough to pretend the time is our companion and that we'd never do it injustice. Of cheating it and ourselves. This is now a new path I walk. Getting used to it will soon make it old. I'll again step out of the way. And I'll continue looking back at the pebbles I believe I own at this moment. I look in the mirror more often lately. And I like what I see. I'm growing up. The clothes I wear have a different scent than before. In fact, they do  have a scent over them. I open the ...

I wake up as I feel vibrations and the alarm I'd set last night. I am alone here. It awakens and freshens me up within first two seconds. Its 2AM and its only been three hours of sleep but when I step on the floor, I don't feel I'm compromising anything. I drink a glass of chilled water and I know I want to make this last until the Sun rises. I get my things together and sit down on the floor. Without any mattress. I look at these four walls and I am now reminded of the same mood I used to be in over here a couple of years ago. Of books. And knowledge. The walls that seem nothing more than just walls now, would feel like my companions back then. With this pleasingly idle, breezy midnight and one of the best sounds of winds and leaves of the Palm tree together, I have the whole house to myself. As the sweat starts fading away, I again know I want to make this last until the morning. And I know it is going to be like this every night from now on. Its time. I've known. ...

Maybe this is because life currently has become steadily non-happening and so I walk in circles these days, without coming to a halt. I find myself sleeping for more hours than I usually do and probably need. I must be going to sleep feeling longing for something or nothing at all for I feel even number when I wake up. I have things to do but I've kept most of them away for a while. I have friends to meet but I don't go out lately. When I do, its with my cousin brother. The fresh street and head lights add a specific feel to the pretty, happy and busy faces I see on my way and I am just shown another side of my mood that doesn't last long; a feeling as I reach home, knowing I'll again be the same person enjoying solitude. The time spent playing old games with the ones I have blood relations with put me at ease somehow and I suddenly miss my family. My own people. They're there in front of me but I end up missing them more than ever. I remember how I was brough...

Its Summer, but though irregularly enough, its been raining since last week. Its cold outside and inside, its more like a storm that I can't figure if feels cold, deadly cold or hot. Its a feeling that sleep won't come to me tonight. If anyone asks me what I want to do, I'd say I want to shut the door, remove the curtains and open the window. I want to turn the lights off and light a candle beside the window and stare at it until my eyes close. And suddenly I am woken up out of these thoughts by the shouts and cries I hear in my neighbourhood. Its strange how I've never failed physically though I feel like a storm emotionally. I get up, walk up to the balcony and I now regret coming here. The cries are so unbearable to ears that I can almost have an idea of how it must be paining the lady shouting a block next to where I live. I can hear people trying to stop her doing all that publicly but I can see them failing. I believe she's alive. I believe she's s...

I step outside barefoot this breezy early morning and when the breeze runs over me like some waterfall does over those stones washing away their roughness, all that covered me until now goes away somehow. Its a rainy smell. Cold and purely cold. I smell it and just as the cold floor kisses my feet, I wish to keep walking. To keep walking down the streets. Through the lanes. By the Palm trees seeming to be reaching higher and higher every time I see. The usual Blue sky covering itself with the shades of Grey that appears to me as one of the few mesmerizing things and that I secretly love, meet a shade of light lavender only to strike a chord of realization somewhere in me. Echoing that this is what it   stands for. Revolution. That this is the moment I was meant to witness after everything I stepped out of and before anything I may sneak into. The moon looks at its best showing off itself among the clear lavender sky that makes it look brightest like never before and say...

And now do I realize what they, the whispers, the sensations seem to do with me. By introducing themselves to me, suddenly disappearing yet promising to return, making me wait and then giving me hints that they're on their way to my door, they're making me vulnerable. In a way I never was before. A new vulnerability I'll live my life with henceforth. They're making me vulnerable despite knowing, given the past circumstances, that I have every reason not to be so ever again. They found their ways to me, no matter how unbelievable it seemed. They want me to listen to my inner self more than ever. They want me to stand up despite the obstacles I went through, despite the storms I'll continue to swim through. They want to see me being tough for the world is rough. Standing tough like a lighthouse. Away but still accompanying the water. Rough and tough yet having an elegance when the Sun sets and the water needs to be highlighted.

Whispers. The whispers created by the unknown, making me believe some promises aren't meant to be broken turned their arrival into an intention of disappearing a couple of nights ago. And here I am tonight. The bed I lie in makes the saudade, the longing feel less no matter how it feels really. Painful, chaotic or simply unknown. As my body hesitatingly rests on this bed, my internal self hesitates openly for the belief lays inside that I can come out from there..for there are locked doors ahead that I can open. I begin to hear that specific sound of typical midnight as the clock ticks 3am and I fail to understand whether both, the little chirping and the sound of silence, make any difference to the sensations I initially feel as I wait for the same whispers to get back to me. I still believe they'll come back but as the night continues to pass every moment, it becomes more chaotic to know the wait makes my heart sink deeper in an unusual way. This isn't what I thoug...

and tonight, the person, thousands of people are talking about at this moment, became almost someone who made me let go of some things over again. Ansh Agarwal , the one I never knew but tears rolled down my eyes for. Optimism and hope, for a while, means nothing when things happen and you happen to believe that the bad will never stop coming your way.  Its a pity to see someone else can always decide the end of one's life. Its a shame that humanity is a smaller and less important concept for people, perhaps. Its disgusting that I can't do anything about it. And its immeasurably sad that once one is gone, its all over. There's no coming back. There's no making new memories and there's definitely no more happiness that one could get if one lived a little bit longer. There are memories. Memories filled with past tense. Used-to-be's. There is a missing factor. There's courage and humanity for the rest of the world with the dead person being the...

In my head, it feels heavy today. The feeling of heaviness disappears and suddenly I feel nothing. As I stand here not knowing what's going on, the winds since morning blow the same way they usually do but seem to have a kind of warmth they rarely do. Its summer but the clouds tell me that it'll rain today. Its evening and I'm walking alone at this garden having no one around. When it pours, I feel sadder. Sadder than I felt in the afternoon. I don't understand why, when it rains, do I feel so lost. Lost or perhaps, I feel most comfortable when it rains. It contradicts. Like I've come home. Not where I belong, but somewhere I can stay for a while. Until I  recognize the next clear path that seemed foggy some time ago. Is it always about keeping up with our pathways and not about pausing for a moment because we've come a long way? Is it always about knowing everything and not about being real and admitting we're still learning? I am on my way ...