.a written note.

It’s been so many days. The thoughts you probably controlled back in that year, do they still trouble you when you’re the only one awake in the room? Is the scared monster still trying to not let those thoughts reappear? I suppose so. Photographs trigger such thoughts and I ponder over the possibilities of having at least one photograph with her. She is endless. I’m now more familiar with the phrase of trying to find someone in a bunch of crowd. Some people leave. They leave such impacts over us that cannot be wiped. Days pass by and I’m window and curtained by the fact that uncertainty is certain and cannot be avoided. I really envy those with less active minds. My mind doesn’t want to win this race. All it wants is to know why, in the first place, it entered this race.

Reading your own old writings could be so relaxing. It’s like you’re having a conversation with yourself. **As I come out of the shower, I see my granny sitting outside and actually enjoying the hot air specially after a cold Indian night, knitting a purple sweater, probably to gift someone. The way her wet shiny white hair form a coordination with one another, letting the fresh air dry it. The way she knits without her spectacles on. The way that Purple coloured something seems to be forming a new big shape every two minutes, having started from just a woolen thread and now turning into a cloth. A cloth that’ll provide someone with warmth and her love in cold, inspires me. Despite everything.** I read this prose as I go through my old writings. Automatically, my mind compared my granny back then and now. I miss her. She’s been one strong pillar in our lives, my life. I recall the times when she stood by me in the same bedroom when I studied for 10th grade board exams, how...

Summer afternoons are at times tough. They’re usually filled with idle sittings in your bedroom and if something really strikes your mind, a little bit of artwork. Apart from this, there are constant winds driving your mind to the good ole days when summer used to be an exciting thing. I really am not trying to sadden this post or the day for that matter by giving my thoughts a finishing touch of nostalgia. But you know what, they’re thoughts. They’re unplanned. They’re natural. At least one of the very few things that remain untouched by the manual work of a human being. Getting back to the topic, home, it’s quite fitting to one’s mind how the picture of your home is always there resting somewhere at the back of one’s mind. The walls, the familiarity of the wall-paint inside and outside and its warmth. Whenever I visit home, i.e. once every two months or sometimes more, I take along with myself the invisible shelter above my head that the home had gifted me when I left...

What are we if not a coincidence?

When will I recover from this longing that takes me to a third world which I never thought existed.. I am by now quite comfortable staying here in this in between road leading me towards God knows where. It must be your place, your own universe it is, in fact, yours. I know it now. Turning back is too harsh and unfathomable to this soul, for it’s always always wanted to reach here, feel the warmth of this playground to the heart, this presence of yours, up and above the rest of the world. And do you know honey? I no longer want to recover.

Dear Snehmoy, It’s been more than two months since I last received your letter and it’s starting to worry me now. Why is it taking you so much time to respond or is it some other problem which is prolonging it? For your information, I have come past the illness now and I have been healthy for a month now. I no longer visit the Doctor now. I am happy about the visits that I don’t have to pay any more. Japan, apart from some business crisis at brother’s end, is treating us well and life feels at peace these days. Snehmoy, how are you? Where are you? I long to hear your voice but I don’t receive calls with interrupted, often unclear sounds. I miss that. I wonder how, when something goes wrong, do we bounce back to the times when there was a boat floating neutrally, with balanced composure over water? Aren’t we actually awaiting tides and furious waves just to realize the value of a stable, harmless time? It is human nature and I sometimes feel bad that humans are mechanised ...

Dear Snehmoy, I wake up to a sunny morning to find your letter kept beside me. After years, it still doesn’t fail to excite me, your letter. Call it your willpower, I am getting better. The Doctor smiles when I visit him lately, because his medicines along with the ones you gave me are working. He very much praises Indian way of turning herbals into curing a human being, he says it would go a long way. I understand what you’re saying. After years that we’ve been together, it is very likely that we would want to meet. But don’t get in the idea that we have to meet even when it is not feasible. When you telephoned me the other day, I could sense your anxiety and it made me feel bad. We will meet, Snehmoy. You know that. I just feel we should wait more for things to fall in right places so we don’t have to regret later. It is due to your medicines that I’m getting better. Please be assured of that and I wouldn’t want you to discourage yourself just because of that.  How ...

My dearest Miyage, I hope this letter finds you well and feeling better than before. I have a confession to make today in this letter. Yesterday when I sat in the boat at the riverside, the winds were sounding furious, quite unusual for the village that I live in. The climate drastically changes when two seasons overlap each other. I seem to be taking comfort spending time in the boat even more than I used to before, because here I am not disturbed by anyone. Nature has its own way of calming one’s soul. Do not worry, I am not distracted by anything. My confession, the realization occurred to me in the same situation yesterday. Sitting there, I had this fear of failing to make you all right, to get you past your weak health phase. Miyage, am I failing? You can be honest. One thing I am so assured of is the honesty that we share. I almost cursed myself a thousand times for not being available at your place. I’ve only been there through the pictures you shared with me, and I...

I just randomly stumbled upon a question on the internet and I would really like to answer it. “Describe how you feel when you walk outside to a perfect day.” Ans.: At first, when I’m getting ready to go somewhere, I’m usually very speedy about the very activity of it and don’t really have anything in mind unless it’s a planned special day (meeting with someone, anyone; a plan to go somewhere, anywhere). I am usually more intrigued by the unplanned perfection of a day. Since I really have a hard time waking up in the morning, I’m not exactly happy about the start of the day. But when I’m all set and go downstairs, step outside residence, the sight of a sunny day makes me delighted. It wakes me up powerfully. There’s something about the natural clock and the way time changes with morning and its vibrant colours and a slight shower of daylight peeking through thick branches of trees up above, the road-the pathway looks so fresh and energetic, I’d keep walking to drench myself...

Sleep consisting of endless possibilities of illustrations and strokes of brushes of bruised thoughts and wishes. And then an alarm A wake-up call, hey it’s a new day. Waking up to an already awake world still rejoicing in the sunrise with toothpaste, a different brand from home’s. Time - travelling at the back of mind. Time - travelling, always. A reminder. Present Tense. Use grammar of life. When you are in present, live in the present. Mirror. Acknowledgement. Officially, the day starts.