Friends

The most important relation

Bestowed on humans !

These are people

Who match and reflect

Our own selves!

They are the pillars

Of support

And strength !

I am grateful

To their existence

In my life !

Expression in visual words

It’s not speaking, but it’s not writing either. Now we type, on our screens, with our thumbs! So an entirely different neural network, different areas of the brain. I remember reading in my rambled manner, an essay on ‘Why the novel matters’ by D H Lawrence (http://www.ncert.nic.in/ncerts/l/lekl124.pdf). And I was mesmerised as a teenager, to read his detailed evaluation of what happens when he writes, how his hand is involved as deeply in the act as his mind and brain.

What must be happening now, I wonder, as I type the words that appear on my brains screen, which is the magical app, my mind! It seems to send messages to both my thumbs and they are alive as they type out letter after letter to construct words in orchestrated unison. The messages travel at lightening speed and the thumbs mice like ballet dancers, set to a rhythm dictated by my rapidly flowing thoughts. They pause as my mind pauses, sometimes, for inspiration. They hover on the qwerty keyboard on my mobile as a breathe actively sometimes, scanning the hard drives of my mind to look for a special word. Yes, my thumbs are as much me as my mind. Especially when I am expressing through the visual word on my smart phone. It is one natural smart device connecting with a man-made one.

Stories

My life

My mind

Is full of stories

Struggling to get out

And run free

In the open spaces

Of the world.

They yearn to catch attention

Of random travellers

And fill them

With wonder

Of possibilities.

The last lesson from Sunshine

Shit happens‘,

Your life said.

And it has to be borne,

You said with your eyes-

Everyday.

It has to be borne

With

Inner strength,

Never questioning,

‘Why me?’

It has to be borne

With

Calmness and patience,

Learning to wait eternally,

Never asking,

‘When?’

It has to be borne

With

Faith,

Never loosing the vision

Of possibilities.

Sunshine

To you, Sunshine,

Who unlocked levels of care and mothering within me,

Who brought out love and kindness within me

Of an extent I never knew was locked up inside.

You began my journey of self discovery and were my milestone of growth.

To you, Sunshine,

My silent companion in my car journeys

As I went from one place to another to see ICU patients.

To you, Sunshine,

My supporter and friend

As I sat in my clinic, seeing my patients.

And you would wait for it to be 2:30 pm.

And would pester me to leave for home.

And I would wonder what brand of clock you had inside your head.

To you, Sunshine,

For whom the little kid patients would come to visit me.

You were their chocolate and toy.

And you were really nice to them.

I wondered how you knew.

To you, Sunshine,

Who saw us through those ups and downs

In all your silence.

To you, Sunshine,

Who loved Ellie and became her playmate

Only to go into silent shadows and she took over your realm.

And you never complained.

To you, Sunshine,

Who loved the water and swims so much.

To you, Sunshine,

Who came to me for your ticks and troubles, and we spent hours of silent togetherness, solving your little issues.

To you, Sunshine,

Who gave us all so much pleasure,

Through your little gestures and mere presence!

To you, Sunshine,

Who were a sibling to M as he grew up!

To you, Sunshine,

With your best behaviour you raised the bar for what to expect!

To you, Sunshine,

I ask for forgiveness if I have left anything undone by you!

To you, Sunshine,

Who will reach the state before me!

To you, Sunshine,

You, of pure soul,

My first dog,

I bid goodbye!

But only for some time,

As we will meet again

In that place far beyond far far away.

Book ends

Book-ends are devices that keep books from falling off shelves. But some books must fall. And some must end.

And a book ends today. Not just a chapter. But an entire book.

A book that began like a normal story but twisted through random plots, clueless twists and roller coaster turns.

Perhaps no life was full of such extreme fantasies or haphazard dreams. Perhaps no story had such an absent hero. Perhaps no narrative was so eminently Self written.

Though he had his moments of self perceived glories. He had his moments of passionate intellectual discoveries. What he never had was a biological family.

But he had the skill, the Bol-bacchanism of a con man- strong enough to create temporary fleeting families around him.

I wonder rather detachedly how his last days were- whether he thought of any of us in a realistic emotional way!? Or was he forever cursed to be emotionally immune to relations of blood? Did he know what he had lost at the altars of his stubborn irrationality? Did he realise that his children were living their lives with black holes inside? Was he ever even momentarily aware that we – his children – were people?

At least there is solace in knowing that he was looked after in his last days. And that he did not breathe his last in the corner of some street.

Hopefully he has reached a world where every irrational dream comes true and every deep philosophy has meaning.

A book ends. And as I turn the last page, the blurb stares back at me, offering me a brief summary of what’s written inside. It isn’t much. But it’s different. Like Maggi hot and sour.