I don’t feel good.
That’s the very first feeling this morning.
Everything is fine.
Nothing to complain.
I woke up with ten toes and ten fingers
No fever, No cough or heart attack.
I am good. But I don’t feel good.
With giant effort I stand up.
I need some more sleep. ( tsk tsk tsk , actually I need to sleep on time)
I go over the window and see the workers in the nearby construction.
It takes a while to get real.
I realise that I am living on my own - different window, different apartment, different people, and different country! (Oh Pete’s sake, did I take this long to realise that?)
Why am I here? Nothing here even remotely qualifies as my home.
Yet I am living here.
I missed so many things in the last one and half years.
Birthdays, festivals, home food , friends, cousins, temples, beach, Landmark, Sathyam theatre, Spencer plaza, umpteen cable channels, Aquarium, birds, lovely kids in the apartment and.. (Chances of me ending this list is close to zero) I miss all of them, I still do.
I walk to the toilet and wash my face,
Cool water embraced my skin.
It feels so good against my swollen eyes.
I keep washing my face,
Like an automated robot I brush.
More splashing on the face.
Some more , some more..
Am I growing up?
Or is it "growing numb at heart"
Few sit-ups (duh. I do exercise .Any physical action more than required is qualified as one)
Am I independent?
or is it feeling of "lost your own self inside"
Another check in the mirror (do I still look young and good?)
Am I getting matured?
Or is it living likes "nothing excites me"
I miss the bus, (damm it, every time)
I walk to the train station. (yes some more exercise)
Everytime I walk is think time
No matter what the Ipod blares in my ears
No matter what the traffic is
No matter whether it rains or shines,
Walk time is think time.
Too many questions pops up
What happen to me today?
What I have become?
What happen to dreams I dreamt?
What about the unconditional love?
What happen to hopes of finding fulfilling job?
Where I am going? (Isn’t it suppose to be 6 letter word called "office")
No logical answer interests me.
No one to talk to.
I say a small prayer
I look up to the skies,
May be someone is watching me over.
I fasten my pace,
It’s getting late.
Am I psychotic?
(Given the fact that I write such crazy stuff, may be I am)
I find a comfortable seat in the train
I am on my own world
Cooler shielding my swollen eyes
"Paulo Coelho” in hands
May be I am living in parallel Universe. ( may be moron's galaxy)
I felt a touch,
It’s that of an angel.
I saw a smile,
It’s the smile of innocence
The angel in the white frock.
It made sounds pointing tiny finger at me.
I removed the headphone.
Eyes wide open it looked at me with amazement ( may be I resemble something from storybook)
I removed the cooler.
It picked my page marker, turned my book.
It started conversing in heavenly language.
I swear I couldn’t understand anything.
But my soul felt it; it’s the language of souls.
Produced and deciphered only by the hearts.
The train stopped, Angel has to go,
I waved my hand to say bye
(ok I did a crazy facial expression and a funny sound)
It’s the most comforting conversation I had.
I picked up the book, the random page read
"The noblest thing a human being can experience is acceptance of the mystery"