And here we are,

in the midst of everything,

contemplating where would we be,

if not here.


The sleeping of experience.

As I sit in the train, which is full of people, some look happy, some perturbed, some look at me while I am writing, some don’t know that I am shamelessly and silently observing them. I see this small boy, looking at everyone and everything with a giant surprise in his eyes. I see him looking at me at some moments, I wonder what he might be thinking of me and as he is sitting beside a window, I wonder what he is thinking when he looks outside those iron bars. Such innocent face he has, and I think innocent mind too. I believe he doesn’t carry hatred in his heart for anyone and I am more than sure, he is not familiar with the ways of the world. For him, the world is all sweet and salt with some chocolates and ice-creams and toys. I see a mixture of both curiosity and surprise in his eyes, that he wants to know as much as he can, but not able to comprehend the vastness the world has to offer. In front of this small boy, sleeping is one old man. What a contrast! curiosity looking dead into the eyes of experience only to find them deep asleep. This old man was also a child once like you and me and the child in front of him.

What if he is dreaming of his childhood and witnessing that his childhood self is sitting in front of him on the train. What will he say to the child, to never grow old? to keep his innocence like one keeps his treasures? that the world is not sweet and salt and chocolates and ice-creams and toys? that the world is not what it seems from these windows? that you have to get down to know and feel it, that our assumptions of the things are always almost wrong until we experience them through our own senses.

Or maybe he will tell him to keep sitting on this corner window for a series of eternities because if he goes outside and grows old, he will get burdened with the weights and during the nights when he would try to catch some sleep, sleep would elude him in all forms. Perhaps he will tell him to be surprised and curious and then sleep will catch him in the moments he was too curious about the world so he can’t know more about it, perhaps because the less you know, the more you sleep.

Now I see both the old man and the child sleeping, with both their head and hands being supported by these rusty iron bars of the windows, the flow of experience has stopped. Maybe sleep is more important than experience, at least for this small boy and the old man has so much experience that he can’t compromise sleep for experience anymore.


As I started this day today, I have been thinking of this new blog which I made yesterday and for the major part of the day  I have been thinking about what I am going to write today. Should I write about the world or life or love or hate or should I write about what happened in class today, albeit the class is still continuing and there is still a high chance of something good or bad happening. As of now, I see some editing work being shown in the projector, major part of which is invisible to my small, weak eyes. Or should I go back to my obsessive themes again, I think if I go back to them now, I will do justice to them. I may go back to them at some point of time because I can’t deny they offer me comfort but very clearly, today is not that day.

From the windows of my class, I see many trees outside, their silence makes me turbulent; Even if they are standing tall, from this place they seem lifeless. There are a bunch of leaves which come back to life now and then when a fresh burst of air surprises them in their deep slumber. I want to imagine the silence among these trees which is only occasionally disturbed by birds which fly from one tree to another, to another, to another as if searching their long-lost home but may be their homes are not among these trees; Maybe they reside at some faraway place. Then why do they come here? Perhaps they too are uneasy at their homes, maybe they also want to explore the world like us, one tree at a time, one cloud at a time, one place at a time. I wonder how the world would be for these birds; they have known the brutal freedom of nature, they have experienced silences and storms which no human being is and will be capable of experiencing.

Or perhaps I am wrong, they indeed are trying to find their long-lost homes which they left when they went to war against mighty dragons and returned victoriously. Perhaps some day, in some continent, under the shade of some tall, beautiful tree, they might find their home and families and their joy would be unparalleled in entire history.

I can see the reflections of my classmates on the dark screen of bright Apple desktops and I wonder how much they know about their shadows. Have they even tried to talk to it? Some of them might have, some might have not. I myself think that at some moments I have tried to establish a rapport with my shadow, though I can’t comment on how successful I have been. Do I want to establish that rapport again? yes, I want to, but what would I tell it. Would I thank it for being there to comfort me in the moments I had no comfort or would I tell it how fearful I was of it during my childhood when I could see my own shadow become a giant monster due to candle or lamp; sometimes I was frightened of the grotesque figure, sometimes I was just curious how big this monster would become. But I have always seen shadows in absolute astonishment; I wonder if any of my classmates would have the same feeling too.

 I feel our shadows are much more beautiful and elegant than our best-dressed selves. I believe shadows are not capable of prejudices. In the world of shadows, there would be greater equality. I wonder, whether the darkness of these shadows represent the darkness inside us and perhaps this is the reason why many of us are not able to make peace with them in the course of our entire lives. I don’t know about my case either; the life is too much of a dilemma, too much of uncertainty. Will I ever come out of this uncertainity; perhaps when I am dead.


A new beginning

So today I start again after 6 months of voluntary retirement from writing. The reason I stopped writing then is I thought I was getting stuck at a particular stage and not moving beyond that. I became prejudiced over certain themes and became too obsessed to get over them. But I didn’t do justice with those themes too. The themes over which I am obsessed are themes like darkness, reality, illusion, memory which even an average reader would acknowledge are the most beautiful themes of the universe. I played with the same content again and again and made a shell out of which I was not willing to come out. Now after 6 months, I think that I am a lot more receptive to the themes and content I could write. I don’t know whether I could be a good writer or not. To tell the truth, the thought of writing has always intimidated me a little, but this doesn’t belittle the fact that I love writing. There are a lot of days when I think I am not good enough a writer, especially when I see works which are much better than mine but I have convinced myself, from now on, I don’t want to feel insecure after witnessing good stuff but to take inspiration from the same and try to create better works than what I have created till now. I think I am going to experiment with the form of writing on the blog and I am pretty much still confused whether I should keep this as a private or public blog. As of now, I am going to keep it public but who knows what comes to my mind tomorrow. There is a specific reason why I have named this new blog wispelturigme. Wispelturig is a Dutch word which when translated in English means a capricious, volatile person and in my entire life, I haven’t got a better word than this to define me. At least the search for a perfect blog name is over because I understand now, there can be no perfect blog name, that there can be nothing absolutely perfect, that our visions of perfection constantly alter their symmetries but I can take pride in that I understood this and if after some months my mind brainstorms a better blog name, I would be more than willing to replace it with this one. I have always preached this cliche to my friends, relatives, seniors, juniors and students alike that “change is the only constant in this world” but I don’t know how much I practiced it. Yes, everyone likes change but change many a times dwells upon probability, the chance, the risk and individual under these circumstances is intimidated. I won’t deny that I would be intimidated by the prospects of change but I would not allow this trepidation to affect me. I would try to best of my abilities to keep my mind open to the infinite possibilities of this beautiful universe. Yes, there is war in this world, there is poverty, hunger, violence, greed, jealousy but there is love too, there is peace, there is beauty. In this world and this life only there will be moments which will leave us speechless, between the millions and trillions of superficial acts, there will be authentic acts of love and kindness too, let’s live for those moments, let’s write for those moments. All said, this doesn’t mean I will turn my face away from all the ugliness of this world. I will speak about it, I will fight for the rights of my fellow citizen and I will write about it. At times, I may be a part of that ugliness too, being greedy, jealous and hostile but in spite of everything I will try to stand tall against myself.