DISCLAIMER : DO NOT READ THIS. And take me seriously when I warn you. Someone told me at one point of time, ‘Always indulge in what you love the most, because when in a state of crisis it is that passion that keeps you solvent’… I have been religiously practicing this philosophy for a long time now. And this philosophy has helped me in ways incredible and in ways unfathomable. The state of crisis today is that of apathy and sloth. But now has come a time when my passion, if ever there was one, is no longer alive. It no longer rekindles the flame. It no longer gives me that push to do something. To do something worthwhile (read: worthless for the rest of the world). Yeah , today words fail me and I (most miserably) fail them. (It’s entirely mutual, for a change). There is a yawning void staring at me. Not the void that would make you feel nostalgic or emotional or any of those things, but the void that will make you feel listless. Yes, listless. It’s one crazy void. And it’s not even that…
It is raining hard today,
very hard. It is raining copiously, shedding down unrestrained like a beautiful
recitation, seamless and impeccable, splattering in its exquisite splendour. It
is falling down like vociferously confessing its love for the earth, like
poignantly releasing its pain to the earth. Love and pain have always been
like the sound of its heavy patter, the way it douses in its sound all other
sounds, the way it deafens your ears and makes you listen to just itself, and
nothing else. It is overpowering, it is overwhelming, and it is beautiful.
A rendition it is. Bliss to those
who have been straining hard to listen to their own voice, to those who have
been floundering in a deluge of a lot of noise. It closes all your
doors and opens one. The one that leads you to yourself; to that untended
beauty lurking inside of you, to that beauty that had perhaps got down the lane
of oblivion. It holds you in a tight embrace as if devouring you in its
passion. It ma…
I hung out with you almost every day. People around talked about us. I didn’t care. I knew you didn’t care either. Life was good.
You took me to various places, you told me about various things, you bought me stuffs (against my strictest opposition) and you added motley of colours to my life. I liked talking to you, talking to you 24x7, day and night, in and out, talking like two desperate people, talking like maniacs; talking as if talking was our lifeline ;talking like giving vent to all that had been pent up inside , talking and talking and still it seemed the thirst was not satiated. People around smiled, sometimes smirked at us. I didn’t care; I knew you didn’t care either. Life was good.
You flaunted your write ups before me branding them as your original when you had borrowed it from your best friend. Anyway, I always knew the truth. I personally, liked your own, lucid style and straight from the heart jottings more than the much verbose verses of your friends. Yet, I kept …