Undefined minutes in heaven

Run. There’s a small “lake to cross”. Beyond that lake is a mountain. And that mountain is the entrance to heaven. But you’ve got to run. Because there’s lot of explore

But turn back and see. There is a huge wave building up. Time is relative. But see, it’s building up. Storing the energy. It’s higher than a tree. It looks humungous, like a mountain. Rich emerald blue. With white tip of foam. Tiny ripples all over. It’s just never crashing down.

It’s like either time is still or slow.

So she runs. She crossed the “lake”. She reaches the mountains. She keeps running. The twists and turns. The ups and downs. The green and brown. It never seemed to end. She stops to take breath. She sees a small cave ahead. She sees small groove which would have made a big water puddle ahead. She stops in her track. Goosebumps spread around her arms then her chest to inside her heart. “Is that fear?” She wondered.

She decides to run again. But back to the other side. But the wave had crashed down. The time wasn’t slow either. The speed with which it flowed was like a stream flowing, gently. Yet, it gushed away.

She looked for a tree to climb.

She caught one. She climbed. It had comfortable ‘Vs’ to put her leg on and boost herself up. She wanted to climb more, but there were red spiders. A scream was caught in her throat which rang loud in her head. She stopped climbing higher. The water was here. Filling up all the downs, all the groves…all the spaces. But slower. Yet she couldn’t make the dash, because if she got back on the ground, the water was too deep.

The wave was in, but yet wasnt near her. Or the tree she was perched on. Yet, it was there. She had to wait. How long, she couldn’t tell. Time was different here vs on the other side.

She tried to relax. The bark of the tree felt mushy. Soft. Like it had too much water inside it. Or like it had spent too much time inside the water.

She gulped.


The Adventures of a Bluejay

The river flowed peacefully, reflecting the shimmering golden hues. The Bluejay spread it’s wings wide in joy as it glided over the vastness of the river, enjoying its crystal clear pureness. This was better than a dream. It felt like it is a free soul. A soul in a quest to explore. The vibration in its wings emaneted the power within.

It flew dangerously close, taking in everything the nature had to offer. Then suddenly, it saw something. At the corner of the river lay a crocodile with its mouth wide open. Resting. Minding its own business.

The Bluejay felt a feeling rise in it. That feeling was boosting its confidence, slowly tipping towards arrogance. The Bluejay scooped a stone in its break and threw in the crocodile’s mouth. The stone lodged itself in the crocodile’s throat, causing the poor beast to choke and choke. It chocked till it pushed the stone out of its throat with a powerful cough. The Bluejay snickered and flew away from the scene before the crocodile recovered and realised what hit it.

Was there a little bit of arrogance, the observer wondered. What had overcome the gentle Bluejay? Was the arrogance because of its smooth sailing success that caused it to belittle the crocodile on the shore?

But the questions had to wait.

The Bluejay kept flying, now with its eyes closed. Letting the wind take it wherever it blew. And soon enough, the Bluejay bumped into a wall and was on the other side of the world.

It was a world where it’s legs were chained in an invisible cage. It was a world where it was controlled at the whims of the unseen voices. The Bluejay was subjected to sadism by making it a playing of a boy who loved to beat up his toys.

Karma smiled.

The Bluejay wished for the other side of the wall, to see the river again. It flapped it’s wings, struggling to break the chain, desperate to breathe in the air of the world he was thrown away from. To feel the familiarity of success and ease of acceptance that came along with it.

The Bluejay promised to remember humility if it broke free and gave a powerful tug to loosen the links in the chain. But the chain wouldn’t budge. The lesson and its essence were being stubborn and insisted to live bounded to the Bluejay’s feet. Forever. A glaring reminder. Maybe that will keep it down, the observer thought.

The Bluejay felt the its energy ebb out. It felt the weight of its own past action beginning to sink in. It felt like a terrible dream.

“But I’m not that person!”, the Bluejay cried and it finally opened its eyes. The Bluejay found itself perched on a branch of a tree on the riverside. The river still flowed peacefully, now reflecting a subdued orange hue of the setting sunlight.

A dream had opened its eyes. It was a much needed humbling fall after an aggressive rise. Saving the Bluejay from falling into its worst fears of turning into something that it couldn’t itself recognise at all.

Him, Her and Her Journey

He stood with his legs apart, his hands on his hips. He stood there in the middle of no where. Maybe he was in the middle of a desert. Maybe in he was in the middle of a national highway. Maybe. Right there in the middle, he stood on her way, patiently. Waiting to greet her.

She saw him. Panic gripped her heart. The space within the confines of her car seemed to suffocate her. She wanted to burst out of the door and at the same time wanted to stay in the pretense security of the four metallic doors. Her hands tightened on the wheels and she pressed the accelerator to keep moving.

But, he stood there, wordlessly demanding her to slow down.

“Do I have a choice?”, she asked herself as she slowly brought her car to halt. He was there on the other side of the door. Her hands still on the wheels, she slowly turned her head and looked at him. His face bore no signs of emotions. His eyes, yellow in colour with a small dot for pupil, spoke loud and clear. The black soot that he had spread around his eyes with his fingers added to the ferocity of his steady, cold gaze.

She was trapped in the confines of her fear. Her mind drew a blank. The flight response seemed to start kicking into her. Yet, she sat there, facing her storm.

“Would he cease to exist if I close my eyes?”, she wondered.

“Would he disappear if I breathe in slowly and deeply?”

“Would he ever go away?”

Her heart raced. He had managed to control her. He was successful in making her forget about her journey.

Her head started spinning. A bead of sweat broke on her forehead.

“Breathe!” she reminded herself.

She started begging for him to go away as panic gripped the core of her soul.  At that moment, an agnostic prayed for things to be fine again.

Her eyes remained tightly shut. She knew now she had two choices, as usual. One – to let him, her fear, crush her to nothingness and let him hold her hand and take her into depression. Two – face him head on, confront him, accept him and fight him, and continue with her journey.


What would you do?

And then, she opened her eyes and…

Pining After Long Shots

That’s the thing about hope – it makes us dream and get ahead of ourselves. We give our best, putting in every last bit of our will, fully aware that it’s a long shot. Aware that there is a fair chance of that something not working out. But we anyways give our everything in because we believe we have got nothing to lose. Slowly gambling on the our fragile heart’s naivety and letting it get ahead of itself. So we dream and inadvertantly start hoping, pining and praying asking, “God! I hope it works out.” Making it seem more like our ticket out of the current​ misery and our ultimate happy spot. Suddenly, there is so much to lose: A trail of dreams and the whispered promises on the dependencies… Forgetting that there is a fair chance that it might not work out. Maybe, it was the audacity of our confidence which made us forget about different scenarios. Maybe it was something else. 

Then there is a slip. Your gut picks on the vibes, and we begin to pray, “God! I hope I’m wrong about that!” But then, hey earth to… reality is the ultimate truth. This is life. In mum’s wise words, “You won’t always get what you want. However bad you want it. However desperate you are about it. But don’t forget to live. Don’t forget to be happy. Give your sincere shot. And don’t forget to nurture your patience.”

And then, there comes the wait. The wait to let it pass, the news to sink in and the final acceptance of reality. Till something else comes along and the cycle repeats.Maybe the next time, pining, hoping and dreaming about it would not be so bad. Maybe this time, it would be right time to receive.

Till then, don’t give up.

Everything will be ok.

That Boy With A White Book

He seemed as real as the sunlight that kissed her cheeks with warmth. He stood in front of her with his signature smile, that reached all the way to his eyes. He stood waiting for her to move. He stood waiting, with a white book in his hands.

Tentative steps were taken till they were facing each other. She looked at him with all the cynicism in her eyes, and he with all the answers that seemed to stay still at his lips. But all that didn’t matter, for now. Right now what stood between them were the gaps that the years of separation had brought between them. Time had treated him well. There he stood, calm and gay. Exactly how she had found him the first time they had met.

Finally, he moved. He held out the white book with a knowing look in his eyes. No words spoken. She opened it. There it was, the comfort of his handwriting in it. Something that she had grown fond of when they were together. That is how she would touch him when he would be away for months. Her happy place. But that was ages ago. Now, it was a familiar tug at her heart which tried hard to respond.

She read them as he watched her face. There were answers. Answers he had denied her all those years. He knew he would have her attention with this white book. As she turned pages,  she saw how he had detailed out all the work he was immersed in all those years they were not together: equations, theorems, theories; all a part of him. An art that was derived out of him and thrown out to the world, in that book, in her hands for her to see.

He stood there, waiting as she read. Watching her run her hands over the pages trying to feel the pressure of the pen indenting out his handwriting. A small smile played on her lips. The years didn’t matter anymore. The answers didn’t matter anymore.

She looked up at him, as she gently closed the book and held it close to her heart.

He stood there, waiting for her to answer his unasked question. A question that had lingered in time. He waited for her to lock her eyes with him.

She finally looked up, watching all the lines on his face, all the ink in his fingernails. She finally met his eyes. And there, he found her answer. He had found his way back home.

Her Ringing Ears

She walked barefoot. The sand was warm and there was no sign of shade anywhere. She walked and she walked. She walked away from a past she had long buried out of her soul. She walked till she suddenly found one bench in the middle of the her journey. She sat down, her invisible luggage sitting next to her, and she let her mind race.

It seemed like just a while ago that she was lying on her bed with blue bedspread. A phone lying next to her heart while she wondered how he must be doing today, after all these years. She closed her eyes, just for a moment it seemed, when she heard his voice. She seemed to have dialed his number and pretend that it was an innocent mistake.

He said, “Hello?” She heard his familiar voice from distance. She pretended to be asleep. “Hello”, he said again. A small pause. “Is this you?”, he asked. She panicked at his recognition and she let the line go dead.

And now, sitting on the bench, she wondered – was this really over in her heart? There was a strong “Yes” resounding in her head and that made things clear.

She got up again and walked along the shadowy path. Her boots in her hand, sand in her toes. She walked away from her home, hoping this action will leave the incident behind. Every step that she took, made her heart race with panic. She wanted to turn back and head home, bury herself in the comfort of her blanket. But some strange emotion in her made her keep walking ahead in the unknown.

She missed him. She missed his comfort. She missed his smell. “But this is momentary”, she tried telling herself.

Her heart raced again. Rebelling at every step that she would take.

She turned. She looked back. Giving in to the comfort. Acknowledging the madness of the situation. The baggage seemed lighter.

Then, she felt a jerk. Like she was falling from a cliff suddenly. She opened her eyes. There she was, buried, still in the comfort of her blanket. Lying on the bed with the blue bedspread. No sign of phone that she had thought was next to her.

A thought lingered in her head. The sound of his voice resounded in her head. The faint familiarity tugged at her heart.

But then again, it was over as soon as it has started.

She was free.

My Wheels in Motion

The birth of an idea – the reason behind a beginning and the reason behind an end. How it formulated and how it is encouraged to take a form, no one knows. At least I don’t.

But, I guess an idea starts because of some random trigger when we are on an aimless path. Upon its birth, it is beautifully crafted and cradled in the depths of our mind, till it gets promoted to a dream.

Dreams. Beautiful, beautiful dreams, which then gives birth to an ambition. Ambition, which makes us believe that we are born to do something great, that greatness itself awaits us, and that we are born to be great and make an impact on the humanity. This is what dreams are capable of.

Ambition then gives birth to a want. A want to succeed. A want to make it big. A want of power. A want to climb. Ambition gives us a direction to our aimless path. It makes the cogs of motion move in our minds again and thus formulates a plan. A game plan.

A plan to mold our direction and give it a goal. A plan to fulfill the wants, to fulfill a wish. A wish that might be mine, might be yours, might be someone who we used to love that is no more. The game plan gives a sense of purpose. A sense of motivation. A sense of confidence. The mind starts a raging battle with the doubting self arguing:

I can do it.

I will do it.

I will fight for it.

This is created out of a purpose. Purpose in our lives. Purpose of our existence.

The path is still not clear. The path is still aimless, but lesser than before.

I can see 10 steps ahead of me. I have decided, I will work on those 10 steps. Then maybe, when I am on my 8th step, I will be able to see the next 10 steps and work on it.

Thus, hope takes birth along with determination. Hope that there is something great waiting for us and the determination to make it till the end.

I do not know what gets beyond this. I think we will get to know it once there is action to all this.

This are my wheels of action in motion.

A Dream of the Boy

It was a chase. The skies were white with a hint of gray clouds on the verge of bursting into a drizzle. She looked at the skies as she ran, not at the person in her pursuit. It was a wordless silent chase. He wouldn’t hurt her physically, she knew that. But that wasn’t the kind of hurt she was scared of.  And so she ran.

She ran and ran till she stumbled on the big rocks splayed randomly. She was on a beach. She looked down in surprise and stopped just before a beam. The beam was high, so high that it seemed like a beam that supported a path that lead to the port. And there she stopped.

She stopped because he was there, caging her in the circle of his arms. He had finally caught her. She stood there immobilized, refusing to look at his face, summoning all the indifference her heart could muster.

In midst of that randomness, there was another randomness that had taken birth and demanded her attention. She looked up at the skies and there were dark black colored birds flying in symphony making spiral shapes in the skies.

He looked in the direction of her gaze. The randomness of the birds caused his grip on the beam slip a bit. The last thing she could remember feeling was the the warmth of his chest crushing her softly back to the beam as he spiraled around in surprise losing his balance.

The last thing she remembered seeing was his face as she accepted his embrace, her arms resting on his back before she closed her eyes and slipped back to reality.

Finding Buddha

This is one of those unrealistic dream of mine. Or maybe it is just a wish born out of current obsession. This is it: Right now, I would give away my world just to hear how Buddha would have sounded like.

How would he look at me when I asked all these questions: What inside him snapped that made him think of all the ideas that he shared with the world? How did he really work on his detachment? One cannot just snap it all, right?

And if he agrees to answer me all that and the rest of my questions, I wonder how he would talk – his tone, his pitch, his expressions.

Would he argue with me wherever there is conflict in our ideas? Would he try reason with me? I wonder if he will do all this with a constant smile on his lips.

Right now, it feels like all the answers to my confusions lies in his voice. Listening to his thoughts and ideas in his own voice. Looking at his serene half closed eyes as he answers it all.

If, hypothetically, it actually happens, I think I would be blank and have nothing to ask him. I think my mind would be clear and empty to absorb whatever he would have to say. There will be peace in whatever voice he would possess.

I cannot even imagine a voice that would sound like him in my head where he is as alive and breathing like me right now.

Maybe, one day I’ll really find Buddha.

A girl can always dream. 🙂

My Woven Dreams

Carefully picked some silver threads and made an embroidery of the picture in my head. Imagination ran wild with limitless possibilities, where I saw a picture of you and me: our hands entwined and watching the sunset.

Then I took a pen, and captured my daydreams. Building them slowly, till there was a story. And this is how my dreams were painted out in the world, holding my hands and smiling at the world.

Some dreams took birth and was nearing reality. Some dream made me fall hopelessly in love.

Some dreams were shared announced to the world. Some dreams were shy wishing it will come true whenever a shooting star zoomed by.

Dreams. Pushes the best out of me. Challenges till I conquer the dream. Makes me smile and my cheeks don’t even hurt.

And that is how, just like that I fell in love.