Being…

by sunil on May 12, 2011

Two men stand facing each other.

Reality isn’t a concept. It is just being.
It has no meaning. Meaning, comes later, he says. “Far, far later”. In the scheme of universe, meaning is a toddler.

They silently nod at each other. One aged by the abundance of his experience. Other drained by the wealth of his understanding.

Everything is being. Light: bright little lolling of waves and particles. Earth: something we all are, came from and return to. Water: the eternal essence of everything. Fire: the passion that breakdowns and burns. Air: the invisible essentiality of the universe.

Inhale. Exhale.
Exhale. inhale.

This is Cosmos.

They gaze at each other. A benign look.

Then almost as an afterthought he softly says, “There is another type of asana. It is performed slowly; in fact very very slowly, the crests and troughs are weaved together, highs and lows are not punctuated but harmonised. As you go about practising it, you slowly start losing your likes and dislikes, your cravings and your regrets. Your pasts and your futures.

You own identity. That, which constitutes you.

You slowly denounce everything.

You inhale and you exhale. There will be no meaning.

You become the Cosmos”.

The man mutely nods. There is no more than an implied understanding.

Silence carries only meaning but no proofs.

They look at each other. They carry on as if nothing’s been said. Nothing’s been heard. As though it was not necessary, even irrelevant.

But somewhere, something has changed.

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Consequences of Marriage

by sunil on July 31, 2010

Old one – Brought a smile, hence posting here:

 So one such evening when you could be fairly sure it is going to rain, Harry, looking into her eyes, asked Linda if she would marry him. But it was the way he asked her.
”Linda, should you say no now, someday if by the turn of events I have to face a firing squad , I shall remember the distant afternoon I discovered you”.
Unfortunately for him she said yes .
Twenty nine months later, one winter morning, Harry woke from troubled dreams, to find himself transformed into a giant horrible vermin. A voice, perhaps Linda’s, called him Gregor Samsa and he reflexly turned towards its direction.

Pubtales: A Short write-up we usually do in a pub/hangout while waiting for beloveds to turn up. Mostly based on the interesting people seen around in the pub.Can also be seen in the movie ‘ Wonder Boys’.

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To D or not to D

June 22, 2010

“She hovered somewhere between the realest of realities and the most blatant of impersonations.”~ Crazy Sunday, Scott Fitzgerald She sat at the window table and watched the dusk invade the sky. Rains had stopped; people had started to move out in a sort of agitated celebration, a hustle, either to make up for the time […]

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a-uxoriousness

March 10, 2010

She returns home a day early and looks at him curiously, searching for signs of happiness on his face – the usual – lower jaw gently pushing up the lip into a tiny curve. Instead she finds it quivering in vague anxiety. He talks. Questions mostly. But he doesn’t wait for her answers. How did […]

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Three Studies of Love

February 24, 2009

Three studies of Love: Men! Well, they are simple. Their idea of love is a boat set afloat to reach the other side of the river. But women, ah! there, what complicated creatures they can be. They’ll dress themselves in all the sails and float away, without a compass at hand or a port in […]

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Bride of the Wind

January 26, 2009

Being is a fate of choice. Becoming, is a question of worth.Between the door ajar of being and becoming life trickles slowly.Your life like any others is a story of questions and answers.You blindly cling on to the answers for a while, only to let them go later: to fly away, free and far; to […]

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Conversations…

January 18, 2009

Old one, when the words and the interpretations of the experiences were more linear. Close your eyes, and think of this.. How many conversations you had in your life you still remember? Hmm…Hardly a few, and this one, a few summers back, on a silent night, was on a tiled terrace. I remember this almost […]

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On (be)longing…

January 18, 2009

While the train heaves to hasten on million nameless noises and scampering voices build upon, a cling, a clutter, a scurry, a mutter for this grand concert of the platform; this ceremonious bustle that waits for that one last whistle.   And dangling by the moving door, through the small space formed between your overcoat […]

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Water Memories

September 21, 2008

Of what memories such a feeling is made of? You wonder. When it has just stopped raining in the afternoon and a bright finger of sun pierces past the edge of scattering clouds and you hear a blackbird sing somewhere from the dripping leaves and you remember how once, in such an afternoon she stood […]

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Es muss sein

August 19, 2008

Clementine: This is it, Joel. It’s gonna be gone soon. Joel: I know. Clementine: What do we do? Joel: Enjoy it. Say good-bye. ~Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.   It is something like this , isn’t it? To fall in love- is to be invisible, to be able to vanish with one person while […]

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