Life is all that is around. I find it swarming my lamps on a rainy evening. In decorative wings that flap around, colourful shells that roam the blades of grass, in unannounced bloom across the canopy as far as the eye can see. In chirps all night long, croaks and
There is haze that clouds an otherwise clear mirror on a clear winter day. My fixtures collect damage, my windows stay shut, for what would I do with all the dust they let in otherwise? I want to exhale. maybe gasp a bit. Let the room breathe, let the haze
I think I heard a thud last night. Incandescent facades of the apartments that overlook my bedroom reveal what ensued in the dark as they woke me the morning after. A slender, tall, seemingly flourishing tree had fallen. I yawn and wonder if it is a tree I recognised. I
It’s been a week of evenings with gusty winds. The trees sway! They come ever so close to my window, I want to let them in, shelter them from the wind. But they stay rooted afar. Held firm, as they bow, recline and shed leaves in decline. At times,
It is Sunday. The sky is shut early. The trees seem dimly lit, but the canopy has decided to accentuate its green to match the dense pale blanket. I remember this day. It was a Saturday, at times a Wednesday, but often, a Sunday. I have watched it from the
I pace around the house, like i always do, when Iam unsure of what to indulge in. My bland windows catch my eye. I realise, it rained and the rain has stained my glass windows. I closely watch the frame. A rectangle with a white frame that holds the glass
There is a bright crimson card that now adorns my white marble center table. Ma, ensured it reached me just in time for my birthday. It animates an otherwise lifeless, yet aesthetic living room. I have placed it partly open, so the writing on, and inside the card are readable
I am an impractical Man! Insolent, Often Incorrigible. Mostly easy. Meticulous, yet erratic. I have lived too long, yet have not lived at all. Tormented, yet, happy. The woods behind my apartment brace the wind as they embrace the sullen grey monsoon sky. I stand on guard, stupefied. I wish,
I often wonder if I am a lot different from how people exist. People chase goals, relational, academic, and more. Their goal posts shift often as there are comparisons and a sense of competitiveness. What drives their chase is immaterial. They chase something material. I chase this feeling of pristinity.
I like watching the rain. I hate the rain itself, but I like watching it as it pours. If it were to not touch anything and just landed on the ground, I would love it. One could say it is the gusty winds that accompany a storm that influence how
I sit weary and tired from directing AI to get various stuff that needs gotten done at work, obsessively cleaning and compulsively checking if my space is pristine and odour free. At times, it still feels like I simply cannot maintain it the way I need it to be. Why