Why & How


“With the afterglow of sunset, I decided it’s time I return home. The vast blanket of tarmac lay before me. I strode as the night grew upon me. I was as helpless with my thoughts just as when a writer pens down his first page. So much time and such a little yarn of thoughts I reckoned.

The mind was on the edge like the wilderness of the ocean shores; bleak and empty, yet disturbed.

Walking a few miles with uneasy feet, I was facing the crossroads. One of the tracks divulged for grave diggers of recent past; the other was carved for the desolated and the broken. No so difficult choice to make, Eh! Yet, I decided to rather camp at the crossroads. The inner world was in turmoil and i was falling out. Seeking a refuge in limbo seemed the apt choice.

The ramblings monologue came to an abrupt halt with silent footsteps approaching. It was getting boldly dark now and my feet were still sore. I ought to confront the mindless chatter of dry leaves and broken twigs. When i stood up to it, I was facing a midnight rider. He came to drop by a few melodies which i earned during my day. i bid him goodbye and sat to break bread with them in company.

Melodies; gentle and warm as they are, with a nuance they melted on my dry lips. Every bit of it was laced with distant, yet a radical persona of nostalgia. I felt my cheeks burning in the cold of my camp. I felt cheated by melodies. They stole the heat of numb and threw me back on the waves beating off the wild ocean shore.

To-&-Fro with many moons, I came to life. Like a new-born, I had memories afresh to make; a whole good lot of work to do, a new path to walk on. Somehow, my midnight travel had changed something inside of me. As a chiselled mark of honour on my skin, I wore my face as a scar. Without blame or grand betrayal, I managed somehow to become a stranger yet again (Ever heard of Déjà-Vu? That)

Probably with every pocket of light entering the empty pores of skin, there was a certain amount of kindness filling me in measured tones. In that moment, the world as a whole seemed a landscape of distraction. It dawned on me what I supposedly have been doing. I was to search for my home. (Before I forget to remind myself that home was not a physical place, it was the feeling I was longed for. I was one of those million searchers, yes.) I wanted all my attempts to escape, cease. I wanted to see someone who was whatever the bright moon has always meant and Sun has always sung of. I wanted the company of my woman to face the sunshine.

But this was a long time ago. I am yet as forlorn as a child lost in the woods, casting shadows on mythical beings. The search has become a lost vocabulary which could have expressed what I no longer can. Cut me open I say and let me bleed to see how beautiful I was from the inside;. You say you cut me open and see a dead man walking. And you stand here in front of me with a terrible guilt and ache to show for it.”

– N