My Thoughts Keyboarded

Someone told me that writer’s block is basically the imaginary friend not willing to talk to the writer. If this is the case I think I lost mine, or perhaps he wandered off to a land where writing is as effortless as a waterfall or a sunrise.  And this post is my call, my ode and my plea for his mercy to come back to me. Every morning I take a 30-minute bus drive to work, through a freeway which is mostly surrounded by trees with little or no buildings of any sort. It is very calming journey. Except the humming sound of the bus, there is no other noise. In fact, it is kind of soothing to travel with that sound, it makes no sense and forms a background music to my thoughts. Morning sun plays with shadows on the floor and people are usually quiet, either scrolling through their phone or sleeping.  On these journeys, I either meditate, read or simply gaze through the window on the passing by sight with contemplation. I also make mental notes on the chang...

One of the earliest memories I had of my dad is sleeping next to him on the terrace during summer nights. We slept in the open air with just a mat and mom’s old sari was our bed sheet. My brother and I had our own spots in the nooks of his shoulder which we never traded, mine was always on his right. Mostly he wrapped his arms around us and tapped gently on the shoulder. If the story gets interesting he made hand gestures in the air, drawing pictures with vast dark sky as background.  We would watch his dancing hands that moved in rhythm bringing each words to life. Sometimes it appeared as if he was strong enough to gather a handful of twinkling stars and release them back into the sky. This golden period with my dad ended sooner than I wanted it to be. As I grew up, we grew apart. He hardly took part in family responsibilities. It was always my mom who deliberated from the little things to major decisions in our lives.  She soon became my model, the...

Remember the time someone said something to you and you couldn't get it out of your head. Probably you will end up all night thinking about why he/she said that in the first place. Like a old gramophone record it goes on and on, and every time you would try to come up with better answers or insults you could have possibly given to the other party. Yeah thats exactly I am talking about! Understanding : I remember this story from a teacher who taught me meditation. A old man accompanied by two children was sitting in the railway station. The kids were making noises, jumping around, and fighting with each other. A disturbed commuter asked the old man to keep the kids silent. To which he replied, I dont know how to control them , they lost their mother this morning.  What seemed like a pure angry and irritation turned into sympathy and love for the kids. Thats the power of understanding. As much as we want to put ourselves first and declare what a pri...

Last night, I remembered the time I did the reverse bungee in Singapore. I was sitting in this open capsule, all strapped up to be shot to 700 meters up in the air. I looked at the crowed gathered around and many of them cheered me while the count down began. I asked myself why they would cheer me. It’s not like I am helping humanity or giving them a free beer. Then I realized for many it’s something they wish, but never do. They are applauding me for facing the fear, the one they too poses. They can empathise the fight within and cheering me for victory over it. At the last minute, I heard my heart beating faster and saw a blurred image (partly owing to the fancy smoke beneath the capsule). Then I told myself “I let go”, for there is nothing I can control about it. Within seconds I was in the air, fear reached its maximum threshold and adrenaline rush took over. While the excitement can be explained in many ways, I believe it was because of the internal shift. I crossed the boundary...