"Good writing takes more than just time; it wants your best moments and the best of you."SILENCECameras clicked. People were moving around; they could not help but be restless. Each clicked brought the motion to pause. A silence attempting to rule, was soon defeated by some turmoil, either arising from my insides finding its way out through the eyes, or rippling centripetally and finding its way through my eyes to the other senses. People kept leaving the room time and again. They were, sometimes, mingling into each other, yet remaining themselves. The walls were smothering me; I felt drowning, with flotsam all around me; fighting hard to breathe. The decibel level was high still the voices were weak.
It was so unpractical and futile to try to imagine their voices speaking to me. I could feel that the pace of the events had slowed down. I felt it couldn?t be any more dramatic; my eyes were clear now. A bright shore lay before me. I heard him asking me why I was silent. His hands were near to my shoulders. He could have shaken me any moment. Shocked on seeing him so, and by the sudden silence around, I slipped. His hands held me. I finally smiled at him. His eyes were observing the drastic change of my lip movements, as if also measuring the effort of the molecules that had pulled the cheeks inside. Flowing between us was an unwelcome breeze, breaking randomly at the folds on my forehead, and fluttering into my eyelashes.
I took my eyes away from him, not accustomed of being stared by him, when neither of us was talking. My feet were bare; I slipped them into slippers lying at hand. There were no thoughts then. Engulfed into a silence, we walked abreast. ?Hi! What?s the matter?, he softly said into my ears. A little louder ?Hi?, I was walking the horizon where another silence seemed to mingle. There was seriously a matter. I had called him to meet. Our group of friends had all separated, to try their luck at different places. I had been living life with them. The silence, the vacuum, was making it difficult to live without them. They had livened my soul, just as he had livened few years back.
He was an active entity, enjoying every moment, never conscious of any thing around him, spreading a jovial ambience around. I felt then that it was the best thing to happen to me, during that crisis when I have lost many ? destiny had brought him to my thoughts. And he was doing his best by remaining silent, till when I actually needed words. Meanwhile I was rediscovering him, gaining confidence in him as never before. The process, though, was not new to me. When we had had a basic familiarity, I had seen him with his charismatic fun-loving ambience injected into the reluctant atmosphere. It was much later that I chanced by real him. He was neither his real skin, nor his everyday-assumed eyes, nor his plain words. I developed an understanding that skin is in fact mundane; words may unfold to various realms of substance; and eyes can speak more than mere ears can afford to listen. He seemed to have mingled with everything around him - they seemed to affect him; he had an opinion about them. It was difficult to see him in single, afterwards. His ambience had enlarged infinitely. It seemed that he didn?t have a zenith or not even a nadir. The nadir might have collapsed deep within him, and what would have been his zenith, had shrouded him at an infinite distance.
Now he was observing the waters, probably comprehending that the horizon is what I appeared to be, but shores is what actually my thoughts were. Though I cannot always be sure about the aftermath resulting in his gray matters. Sometimes I felt entering into his world, though, purely my creation (I will never ever deform that!), and dancing to melodious tunes, which appeared to be created in a mutually understood philosophy, that of the creator and of the creation. His world is not concrete, but a cosmic charm - plasmatic flakes abounding around him, each one in accord with the others. They never bother about their destiny or their end. It seemed they have discovered that this is their infinite end. They are in fact his creations, not shackled, but charmed by the bliss of being philosophized.
He certainly grew concerned over my lot. I had again gone silent, but bar any thought, as parched lips, that on having sensed the overflowing of flakes in the sky and foreseen the drops that had left the clouds, awaited to be drenched, pervaded and sieved off the bushels. It indeed rained heavily.
It was another day. I relaxed on the bed, still not complete with the sleep. The last night incident wallowed in my thoughts. I was not able to recollect the exact events. But it certainly rained heavily, and I had to drop her home. The events and the roles seemed entangled. As a chanced thought it appeared as if I were dreaming, or had been into somebody else?s dream, or maybe was ostracized from the whole episode. In spite of, I hoped she had a nice sleep.
We were accustomed to each other after a long time. Neither she nor me would like anything pushed for the purpose of attaining. We believed in achieving, winning it over. The contrast, too, was notable. My world comprised most of inanimate and abstract things. I made them spin in my discoveries. Humans have a lesser portion of me. Those who have me are kept ignorant of their possession. I relish analyzing things that are always lost in backgrounds. And when I infer to some of their aspect, I include them in my world. I also have dreams. They are touched, weaved and assured of their completion. Sincerely unaware of such elements is her world, characterized by many a characters that are human, whose company is treasured, with whom the chemistry is tried, or there is a wish to create one. I see in her eyes zeal to explore all souls with a beating heart. With all these cravings she still adheres to her principles of relishing them in a practical manner.
I had given my best to help her tackle her emotional crest. I had delivered her my analytically derived experiences, so that she can cope with the loss, the change that had come into her routine, some faces removed, new ones would replace them in her view. Personally I accept that change is the only constant thing in this world. Psychologically, people are not as much emotional disturbed or affected by the changes in past, as by the changes at hand. Time heals up things. If people can learn from the changes of the past days and ages gone in their life, then they would be wiser in tackling them in present. People perceive change as a process, but fail to perceive that there are intermittent stable states. They would have accepted the states had they not been a part of the process of some change. Happiness is the ultimate one should seek for. And happiness is never a process, but a state. Only in this state can life be relished. One keeps comparing the present state with that of past and anticipating what future would destiny bring to them.
All lectures are useless to persons reluctant to give to alien perceptions; due to whatever reason they hold. I think she too failed in imbibing from my understandings. Yet I wished that she be stable. She was not stable when she was reading my eyes. I think she was loosing faith in my sensibility. She was plain afterwards. No reaction held her face. There was this silence, that for the first time was difficult to bear. Maybe then she cascaded back to from where she had begun. The violent shores, though this time not loud. It had become impossible to communicate any logic to her. Though she never said it, yet I felt her shrugging off entirely from the stuff. She then walked aimlessly on the sands.
On a practical front, I would then have accepted, that unprecedented turn of events, as had her life, do shock and depress people. It?s just human. Greatness, then, lies in killing the hangover at the earliest. All may not be great ? Sensibility lies in adjusting to the new environment. Mediocrity may elongate the healing, and foolishness, make one commit suicide. One cannot control the turn of circumstances. Maybe I could have done better last night, living that moment with her depression rather than attempting to eradicate it. Philosophies and practicality cripple down before enigmatic heart and mind (read Mann, not Dil and Dimaag). It?s the most abstract and uncontrollable thing. It?s the decision-maker, happiness-relisher and the only threshold thinking from where one can feel. It seemed that her sorrow had touched me too. I prayed to God that she has a bright morning; it was still dark outside. I got down the bed. The chill floor troubled my bare feet. I covered them into slippers at hand.
It was a bright morning, then cool AC and an uneasy evening. Yet riding back home was a relief from the stagnant air. I was about a kilometer away from my home when a person gestured for lift. I generally do not, to strangers. But that time I was letting go my fear and reluctance, as I stuck to his eyes. Those eyes were neither pleading nor were in relief. It seemed they knew something would stop. I asked him where to go. He again gestured straight. He turned out to be deaf and maybe dumb too. Straight and a little further, maybe, I wasn?t sure what to interpret.
There was a memorable pause. He awaited for me to continue, while I waited for nothing. Everything had gone silent and still. The whole world seemed to me unified in the silence. In the vacuum I felt just like him, devoid of the essential things. It could be the worst that could happen to somebody, but surprisingly I loved the state. I do not remember how long I was still at the crossing, or how many horns would have been tried at me. I could finally get my sight back to the world, seeing him walking away, his back fading in the dust. I took the right towards my home.
It was yet another day. I knew that the alarm would be ringing. It was. I set it off. Every morning I admired and thanked God that my biological clock has been with me every morning. I was digging up my last week. Last night some good person had dropped me at some junction, I remembered, though I cannot ever figure out the junction. A few moments before that junction, was a shore, where I had met yet another person. I am accustomed to ignore things that I think would do me no practical good. But not the abstract things, they are a good past time to philosophize on, and increase ones understanding. My senses do give me surprises many a times; there?s not one with whom I can share these. I would never reach any position in society where my biography would interest the public. It?s no use trying to speak when I know I cannot. Silence and Expressions are all what people around me would expect to get from me. Apart, life moves on. There has never been a reason why I should stop at some moments in life. Finding the shore or the junction would only stop me. But yes there was a chemistry going on at the shore. This chemistry between people is another thing that fascinates me the most. There are times when I can understand what the people are telling. It?s because of the chemistry we have built during the days of companionship. The silence inside me has made me more contemplative. Thoughts seem to be my only companion; random thoughts keep coming to me, daydreaming. And whenever I am lost into my thoughts, there?s always a pause when I come back to the world, to my work, and just wait till another thought unknowingly creep into me. This time I needed to check how bright the day would have gone. I got up towards the window. Took to slippers to cover my bare feet.
The day seemed special or maybe enigmatic. I felt an unusual feeling of alieness, as if the world had suddenly gone different. The air current was strong; I could not hear anything. I had put on a tight helmet. My eyes were hid behind, yet sparkling. It was raining and I felt fortunate that my feet were not naked. Instigated by the turmoil inside me, I wondered if the rhythm of the rain drops falling, and that of the silence would be similar.
