Thursday, February 15, 2007

And the show goes on.

Unrequited. Less of a word, more of a philosophy. The idea of incomplete is in fact very appealing. An unfinished conversation, a question that was repeatedly asked but for some reason never got answered, a message that has not been reciprocated, and a glance that awaits another. A trickle of rain leaves behind hope that maybe next time the sky will pour its heart out. Letters at least keep you waiting for the postman. Something will come. Or may be not. What you certainly gain is uncertainty. And that remains. Why seek complete? It means the end.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

I was wrong.

And I thought I would never lie. And I thought I would always hope. And I thought I was very patient. And I thought I would never compromise. And I thought I would only make friends. And I thought I would always be on time. And I thought I would let go. And I thought I would never repeat myself. And I also thought nothing would replace my old note pad and fountain pen.

Then.

Looking back always has more romance than looking forward. That’s why none of my conversations are complete without anecdotes of my childhood. Of the downhill run to school with many kilos of bag, a burden I never felt. Of plucking wild flowers on my way back and lovingly leaving them to dry in my notebook. Of the fact that I had dry red cheeks. Of my home knit sweater often getting stuck in bushes that ran parallel to narrow trails. Of my many narrow escapes with nature. Of roaming around aimlessly for hours, with leaves, flowers, pebbles for company. Of being free.

The other way round.

Winter is thick with memories of incidents that never took place. It reminds me of moments I have never known. Amid avenues with trees that wilt and welcome, I have relived what I have not lived. In the whiff of cardamom I have wistfully smiled. And in the first hint of fog and untimely rain, bouts of nostalgia have overcome me. Will experience now follow the memory?