Last time when I took my pen, it was to write on the little pauses, but it was indeed followed by a great pause. Busy with work and few midnight madness, I often forgot the tiny notepads I carried all the way.I was being washed way by the gushing white water stream of time . It took me to the land of wild dreams, by the bed of yellow chrysanthemums, through the marshy lands, the poppy gardens. Thrashed to the soft rocks I nearly screamed. Gasped. Sighed. I saw my destiny flowing ahead. (Smile) You kept me moving.
Thank Lord, there were always someone to nudge me, pull me and and prompt me.
It was Thursday, the last working day of the week. I had enough work at office, though I skimmed through a couple of blogs and the news on 'Svanubhava' arts festival in Hindu.
My room was unusually calm. Brooding over insane thoughts, welcomed the depression with a smile. I was being infected by unknown viruses of passion. I slipped into those pampered depressions. It was after long that I stood awake till the dawn with this notepad and pen. I am on the journey to my mind.
I realized, i'm restricting myself to a small circle where I'm comfortable. I have started enjoying this life in exile.
The day started with a Masala Dosa and Coffee from the Uduppi Hotel at the corner of the lane. This was a place where you could only find a few Mangalorean families spending their weekend outside to taste delicacies of their native. Calm and cool, not like the rest of cafeterias where the waiters shouted to the kitchen, ek porotta-keema, dow chay usme ek pani kum.
I walked out to that small lending library. The library was run by a malayali. It had many children's books and a few malayalam novels. Probably this was established for a minor communist intellectuals who left to Dubai in the late nineties. I see them at bedspaces with a grown hair and a few old book by their pillow. I walked by...I am on the journey to my mind..