11:42.
I keep the door open, sit seven steps away from my house's entrance. The white curtain sways with the gentle wind, but does not reach me. When the world teaches you to keep pushing things inside, nothing reaches you, right? I let everything move out of the house, the plates, the bowls, even my favourite spoon. I do not stare at the utensils slightly touching the curtain, sometimes getting a little tangled, on their way out. I just sit seven steps away from the house's entrance, knowing I can still cook with my bare hands. The utensils, they leave stains on the white curtain, as they touch its frills while leaving. I will have to wash it, I think, but do not move. The curtain sways with the wind but fails to touch me; the wind, however, reaches my soul. I get up and decide to cook; the fire in my kitchen sometimes sways with the wind, but never burns out.

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10:59.
As the train starts, "agar tum saath ho" plays on the phone. The mind wanders, and you find yourself relating the song to time. "Pal bhar theher jao", you tell time, "dil ye sambhal jaaye". The train moves, across vast open fields, passes people, stations, passes trees. "Palke jhapakte hi din ye nikal jaaye..." Maybe time is the station, always still. It's the train that's moving, it is you that's moving. Time is still, yet waxing and waning at its own space. You, too, keep waxing and waning; yet, look at you, moving, at your own pace. Maybe time looks at you, and sings, "kaise tumhein roka karun"... maybe you cry a little, but still say, "tum saath ho, ya na ho, kya farq hai". And despite all that, look at you and time, talking! So you finally sing, "bin bole baatein tumse karun, agar tum saath ho"...."main dhal jaati hoon, teri aadaton mein"...agar tum saath ho. The song was always about time, don't you think?

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08:48.
It goes on and on and on. You would think it would stop, for once, this brain. But it goes on. So you build a tiny cat door, slip outside, listen. Leaves brushing against trees, birds chirping, the sun's rays making that noiseless warm noise; you listen. The brain keeps calling you back inside its box. But there's so much space to cover. So little time. You decide to run, how else can you manage? So you run, pant, huff and puff, and in the process, miss the sunset. You say, it's alright, I will embrace the darkness, keep running. But a star shoots across the night sky and makes you stop in your tracks. There's so much space to cover, with the brain-box calling you back and all that. Yet, the star, you decide, you cannot miss that breaking star. You decide you will shine like it did, despite the breakage. The brain tears down its box as you finally stop the running; it now erupts into a universe of space. You don't need a cat door now, to escape. You can just choose any center of gravity for any amount of time, circle around it, or just oscillate! Do you hear? The star is shooting towards your brain space. Sometimes darkness just means a clean slate.

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Sometimes, I wished you would just rip off the band-aid. It is torture, to think the day isn't far when we stop getting to see you play again. But then you come, and just give us your favourite, simple reminder, "One delivery at a time ma'am, do not borrow grief from the future." So, I watch you, and realise there is still so much to learn. It does not matter if it is a losing game, is it, dear Dhoni? It does not matter if things do not end well. We can always focus, hit some sixes here and there, make people smile, and walk out with our heads held high; we can always take our resilient singles, keep our confidence, and bow out with a game well played. Dhoni, I am so glad you did not rip off the band-aid.

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How do you become the earth? How do you sway, like leaves and trees in the wind, and yet, let your roots do all the holding? How do you gather, like birds, then watch children fall from nests and find yourself unable to pick them up? How do you then fly, like the birds keep doing, tell me, how do you become the earth? How do you let light get to you like the moon, yet have the pride of the sun? How do you wave, like the ocean does, and do not fret about gathering dust? How do you claim the delicate folds of the flower, let life take you out petal by petal, end up between the pages of a book, and yet, never actually lose your fragrance? How do you move, move and move, like the wind, and stay, stay,and stay, like the sun? Tell me, how do you become the earth?

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The tree or the bird,
tell me, which
do you want to be?
If you are the bird,
you get to see
the world, they say,
but you'll always
need to come back
to a tree; where else
would you rest?
If then, you become
the tree itself, grow
roots, crawl through,
tell me, then will you
keep looking up
with a sigh, waiting,
for a bird to land?

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23:16.
I watch the light from the table lamp spread on this book I am reading; evenly, yet missing some of its corners. Funny how light conforms to the shape of a room, isn't it? Scary how, you too, will one day have to conform to a thing, isn't it? Become a wheel of the machine, a part of a system of things, no matter how unique and non-conforming you'd want to be or think. Even the outcasts are conforming to some system outside of the systems, isn't it? I watch the light from the table lamp miss some corners of my book; lift my book and let the light engulf all of it. The book surrenders to the blinding light, yet, lets a few words escape, while keeping the essence of itself alive. I let the little throbbing hope in my heart smile. While you can't escape the pull of the systems, these systems too can't escape your heart's anomalies. And your essence, it is always, somehow, intact. Isn't it?
As long as you let it.

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17:08.
The weather had taken a definite direction, summer was here. Trees had readied themselves, even the birds had started to talk. But suddenly, the weather just decided to change! She called the clouds, made some quick arrangements, and just like that, the city was drenched in some sweet cold rain. Watching all this, for a day, I decided not to blame myself for all my indecisiveness. Look at the weather, embracing her changes! Weather doesn't fret; she knows summer will come, and so will the rain. The weather just lets them.
So, just for a day, I let them too. The heat, the dust, the cold, the rain: you know, I let them all.

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When lessons repeat themselves,
does it mean you never learnt,
or does the universe simply want
for you to score better marks?
But hear me out, what if all this
is a stupid game, and you, stupidly
play seriously always?

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I sat in a bus, and looked
outside; the moon had
decided to reign over the sky.
Nothing grand, to its reign,
just a calm, serene presence.
It is strange, don't you think,
to have the moon always?
On days, it isn't there, but you
just know the moon is never absent!
It might hide, take its space,
but the sky knows it can wait.
Tell me, how does one
not crumble, to a love like that?
Tell me, how does one
not build, with a love like that?

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