Contradictions or Similarity

Almost everywhere the eyes can see, they are met by a plethora of roads, freeways and highways that snake around and above the too tall towers, the too small blue-topped shacks and the occasional clump of green, all shadowed by an unending rainy haze. There are little drops of water, along the edges of the window railing, waiting to lose the fight to gravity. Sometimes I like those little drops of water more than I like rain. I sit down to compress everything that I am feeling into words in ink and paper with a trembling hand. It is only then that I realise that I don’t feel different, that I don’t care about a city or all things (pertaining to a prosperous, degenerate human civilisation) that mar the said city. Is this what ‘shapeless’ feels like – that leaving home evokes no sense of nostalgia, that finding (or losing?) your own place in the world evokes no sense of apprehension?

Hello, world.

Is it a mirage or an oasis?

You are trying to do a thing in your way. You are unique. I am trying to do the thing in some way. I am unique. Yet we are connected and similar and same by the Grand thing. That is the fucking beauty. When I see smoke rising up from my hand it reminds me of the ice that sublimates. I am responsible too for the loss in ice.

We still like filling up the gas balloon and disperse ourselves praying ‘May the balloon fly away to infinity’. We light the balloon and with the final prayer let it go. And then someday the magic indeed starts happening. You meet the still flying balloon. It holds. Breathes. Springs you up. Hopes.

We are not saints in this old mars world. Geometry relocates us we relocate ourselves for ‘  ‘. We see bare spaces and get excited but once we become familiar to that space we lose interest and move on. We see that the space is not bare or that it is barest to the extremity. We move on to understand a new form of the same geometry misguided by the sounds of the atom bomb the light from the sun the water from the Ganges the touch of the fire and get tempted that there might be something new. We chose some newer curves as and when it comes in our eyes. We try to recreate that same fucking thing over and over again inside our skin in the hope of finding some new pattern but we get bored even faster than the last research space. Then after a hundred research spaces we calm ourselves down. We take another route ‘en route to Paris’. We take a cleverer decision. Human needs education in every field he tries to put his hands in. Some degrees some formal courses to see what are they trying to say. And then one bright morning after having taken a few million courses wakes up. Extremely confident starts writing his own paper. His new paper which will be read by someone like him 10 million years later and get motivated to write his own.  In the process 10 million trees will get wasted to create some prize. The prize called ‘Nirvana’. Never mind.

Hello, World.

Scribble: Just throw it. That’s all we can do.

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