Digging for Meaning

my tavel to gokarna 2 weekends back, was fraught with long distances, delays and switch overs. the travel was made amusing thanks to jean paul sartre. well, amusing isn't the right word. hmm, can't put what i felt in a word. may be a para would help.. :P His book 'intimacy' is very truely a very up-close study of us. us humans. our relationships. our emotions. by the time i read the third story, i actually was feeling a weird sensation... a mixture of hints of suffocation, paranoia and languid stillness. the kind of feeling one has when after having slept 14 hours continuously and being awake half wishing to be in dream, staring at the ceiling, one becomes so comfortable in the sheets that the idea of slightest movement is repelled by body itself. you can't will to lift your arms. the body in its languor decidedly becomes heavy. sartre's words become the sheet on which we are lying. it knows us well. very well. in the little confines of the self, the sheet gets ...

while traveling. while sitting idle alone. while walking on the road in the middle of night. the crowd of thoughts vanish and what remains are the loose ends of life that need resolved. its beautiful the way thoughts starts untangling the commotion and living behind a crisp reflection of the chiseled self. it requires no efforts from me. they are like strong waves on the beach, which takes away the everyday trivial thoughts (to which we are wedded, beyond our control.), and uplift me into the simple domain of life (as in 'alive'). hence these days i relish the long local train travel, the road back home to Nasik, the walk on city streets after work. The tired body is not a good home for mundane thoughts. As it expels them, the nourishing self-reflecting thoughts swim in and comforts the soul. __________________________________ The excellent trip to Leh has spoiled me. i so thoroughly enjoyed the chance meetings with people, the absolute no planning, being alone at times, that...

I have always lead sleepless nights. Relished in its stillness. Its beauty, the beauty of shapes and sounds that come to fore that are hidden at other times. The still coolness, so unassuming and comforting. The smell of wet leaves and dew damp soil. Where the individual becomes so prominent. The lone leaf waving to you, comrade in the dark rhythm of night. But these days these sleepless nights are finding a shape in loneliness. Maybe I have always been lonely. It might be so, that I never had the courage to confront it. Weird thought, isn't it? My own emotions alien to me. Turning human, slowly. I don't know if its an ascent or a descent.