The Morning run


On a run. The road seemed vaguely familiar, the kind of nondescript, dusty stretch with uneven tarred surface you tread very often on one of those long-drives. Summer sun is still someway on its perch to the peak which is when tricks are played by the road beneath. For now I can feel the lushness around, even with the sparse evenly spaced tall trees lining the width as if forming an outer boundary. The canvas is laid straight as far as the eyes can see, and then some more. I pick up the pace. The weird thing was I could neither feel the breeze up my face, nor any pressure on my muscles.

Thinking about that now it seems weird. Other parts of the scene were all in their own true self, only this was unreal.

It was light. Someone was running along trailing me. Who I have not the slightest inkling of, only the surety of a presence – the kind you get halfway through a train journey, or on the walk through a deserted alley.

I stepped up the pace with minimal exertion almost as if there was an accelerator inside me which was being gently pushed forward, ever so lightly. The steady increase in pace seemed to do nothing but drive my heart-beats up. Still no flow of the wind around my body. The pedal kept being pushed. Slowly I could feel the momentum lifting me up, the road was still grazing beneath. There was a rush inside while I floated with an increasing pace off the road. All the while keeping within the track. Not the slightest change in direction or a wobble. Overwhelmed by the feeling or of an impending task I woke from the dream. If felt as if I gracefully glided onto the surface of the road. I woke up on the sofa. The heart and my arms still seemed to be reeling from the effect, possessed by an energy as if reaching a crescendo through the flight.

Five minutes had passed between me dozing off one late morning and waking up thus. It’s been almost 4 years to that run and the feeling still eludes me. Such is the way with profound experiences, they come to you in that fleeting instant. Moment you try to catch it must have passed on to an unreachable realm. Leaving behind the faint essence of what it was. What man can do, but to let himself be to other profundities. The key it appears to be to cease the chasing and surrender.


The Narrator


Tyler Durden just staring at your face from the wall poster – This is your Life and it’s ending One minute at a time. And you are never the wiser of it. But is this reminder of life’s frailty doing you any good. Well, why should everything have to? On goodness, I have blabbered before as well. This is nothing new. For better things we all crave and slave off; some hide behind the barb of passion, some enlightenment, and some more in pursuit of happiness. Fallacies; some body rightly said life’s a pursuit – damn right. Why not have some fun on the way? You’re going to regret this later – ah, judgement! Or collective wisdom?

Possession gives purpose to life. For one thing it makes you wiser to the way of world. You learn to hold on to it with the price of your life all the while possessing some more. To what extent? To the extent of securing your future – one percent effort put in extra behind the pursuit will earn you 1481 times the points than the loser at the other end wasting one percent effort doing nothing. Revelation from a Facebook post! Some years back my confused self would have said ‘..and they will take it to their grave!’. But I have wizened up from that. Got myself a couple of oak coloured couches and mahagony bed – next in line is a runner carpet. Should I get hold of a 40-inch flat-screen as well. See right there, purpose defined for sometime. The problem is the effort, rather the cost to it.

For the romantics who are feeling the angst I would recommend ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ – and so for the rationals. It beautifully immerses the reader into an ever looming tragedy and explores this chasm of the two worlds. Was one of the books which can take much more than it can give from you. But then, why else you seek those pages! I now stare hard into the darkness in the living room. Muffled breathing beside. Timer still clicking to remind the mortals. Tick Tock.

An Incomplete Wish


To the girl who hates her birthdays
From the boy who …………………….

Of all the tragedies losing a loved one must be the worst. Quite contradictory such a parting is. While one person gets hungover an extended grief, the other gets hungover an extended peace. Eventually we all come to peace; just the parted seem to get their faster. If dead ones go on to become stars, then he smiles down upon you from up there; on your birthday the widest beckoning to gain strength from his memory. To the person who defined love for you, grief should be the last offering. He would smile at a heart made of candles I am sure, lit up bright matching his brothers up there.

Of all things said and done, I might be just grazing at the boundaries. For you are at a plane that I can’t comprehend; drifting away each time I pass it. The expanse I am not able to gauge for I am blinded by my own. The gorges that are your scars are visible but with origins hidden. The rapids topsy-turvy like your memories, too fast to follow. The cold deserts give me the creeps as your fears. If the experiences wire up a person; then you may be wired just right. For the expanse I am not able to gauge for I am blinded by self.

This piece is best left here. For I don’t possess the tools to make it whole. Lost in translation, here’s a cheers to an incomplete wish.

To the girl who hates her birthdays
From the boy who …………………….