Skip to main content

Another Day Passes Away

I wish my days were packed. The last two days passed away in a blur. Or so it seemed... Maybe it's because I don't remember them. Maybe because I wished to forget. They were the worst kind of days because I didn't have to make any effort to forget them. Because they were born to be obscure and insignificant.

Oscar Wilde has rightly said, that boredom is the only true death.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Companion

A gray-walled room with a window. That's how he remembers it. It looks the same now: a large window in a small room. It makes the room look even smaller. The window-sill is thick with dust. Beams of sunlight stream in singly, their path illuminated by many-sided dust particles spinning. Or seeming to spin. Is the room this dusty everywhere? He wonders to himself, trying not to breathe it in. The sunbeams merely illuminate what's already there.

Slowly, as his eyes adjust, more details of the room start revealing themselves. The room is bare. Devoid of anything except walls and tiny patches of plaster embedded in the cobwebs at corners. The effect is almost artistic. He wonders if rooms could feel. If they could, what would this room be feeling. Do they remember the people who lived in them? It's almost impossible to believe that people would have lived here once. The walls would have been new and shining with paint and resonant with echoes of laughter or tears or screams. …

Yet Another Party

Party to conversation, party to experience. See what I did there? Of course you didn't. Or maybe you did. It doesn't matter either way does it? Because, the pleasure lies in the experience and not the description. That always struck me as rather odd. Because the description, or rather the action: narration or reading, are both experiences.

Enter valuation. Valuation. Value. Values. Odd aren't they? These words that are mere abstractions of one of the oldest experiences: prioritization. Oldest? Hmmm.... Rather odd isn't it? Let me explain:

The First Birth
The act of physically coming into existence. Droll isn't it?

The Second Birth: Awakening
You now realize that you are alive. Being alive NOW automatically means (not so automatically, if you get what I mean; *cough* Egyptians *cough*) that you'll be dead at some point in time. Note that I don't use point of time. Such a coarse expression isn't it? Point of time. As if Time could own or claim ownership of…

The Stranger

She is sitting for her usual cup of coffee in the evening, at the usual place; B____'s; and at the usual time 6pm sharp. However there is something different about her usual place: the desolate corner she is used to occupying is filled with a strangers presence on the adjacent booth. He is a an...unusual man. She watches his face hungrily, surreptitiously, furtively, but she struggles to remember details of what he LOOKS like. She sees the sharply angular, high cheek-boned face and the angular jaw. She thinks he is all angles and edges. Then she sees his eyes. She remembered very little about them afterwards. Almost nothing except that they hold her gaze for an infinitesimal shard of eternity. It is an instant that spells oblivion. He gets up, wipes his mouth with his napkin and walks off. He is unaware of what he has caused.
She finishes her coffee and for the first time, in the strict routine she has followed for the past 5 years, she sits idly in the coffee booth with her empty …