The Dimension Of The Being

Heart wants what it wants and there is no two ways about it. You can fear this want, loathe it with all your brute force, drive it away with the incessant noise that fills your room ever flowing from your window from the pandemonium of the outside world- but it still comes back to you. A moment of silence and the simmering of desires returns to scorch your soul, burn it and leave marks on it. Solitude is therefore the most blessed and the most loathed drug for the soul. A masochistic soul will always crave for solitude. There is a certain pleasure in the pain of desires, a certain thrill in reliving the hopelessness of the truth in scratching out those pink tinted lenses and seeing the world in its true naked form, free from all the sugar coated, filtered realities. Truth be told we all evolve and evolution, just like birth is a painful process. We writhe our way out of the womb and then into this world - the writhing, the floating into oblivion, the struggle to breathe, t...

It is a busy day, just as all the weekdays are. The running tap indicates that its been a while Sia has left the bed. The room is a mess, her work clothes lying in a pile, laundry undone, utensils drying away in the sink. Sia taps impatiently on the basin with her left hand, in rapid tap dancing motions, while with right hand she brushes her teeth. She scans her face, neck and turns to side to give her waistline a quick look. As she spits out the paste and opens the tap to wash her mouth, there is a mental calculation of how her day will look like. Its work as usual, then she has to meet a guy on a date. Online date prospect will be the precise answer. She decides to invest more time than usual in shower today as you can never be sure and you always hope the date goes well. She shaves, showers, uses the special body wash, shampoos. As she dries herself, she is selecting the right shade of lipstick, not too loud, she does not want to give out all the wrong signals. A mascara, ko...

"If you are not a bit broken then may be you are of no use to me and my attention." I was fiddling with these line in my head, eager to place it somewhere or at some place. It was 7 o'clock in the morning and I was lying down funny in my room. My old man, would be the go to person for this creative urge, but it is too personal. He will gauge the intensity and then things will not be that good for me. The commotion at the living area, got my attention and a sprang to action to meddle into "family matters". I saw Mother and Father staring at the lush bouquet of white lilies lying suspiciously at your door step. My mother was giving an eye full to my father and he sheepishly said, "We have a young lady at home and anonymous admirer at the door steps, Go figure."

"These are just old stairs." I mumbled under my breath, half disappointed at my misadventure. This man has once again tricked me into following him in his vagabond wanderings. "Did you say something?" He looked at me and smiled. I timidly shook my head quickly to indicate a no. Yes, I am a bit scared of him, may be I am scared that he should not feel that I am not his little kid anymore and I have grown up. That is my Father, ever enthusiast, the eternal nomad and an avid walker. I guess it is like an addiction for him, he just keeps on walking through streets and alleys. As a kid he would take me with him and I had to run, gallop and skip to catch up with him. With time the addiction passed into me. Winding through those streets, with a half fear and half thrill of getting lost, only to find a new way back home. It is a funny thing, in the end, you always return back to home; a bit grown up, a bit broken, a bit tired, but then you are home. "We c...

There was a mark on my right hand just near the elbow, underside, where my skin is hairless. I sit on the cafe table at the bookshop and roll over my sleeves, to check whether, it is still there or long lost? I heal fast.