Words...

It is difficult to put down a book... any book! It's like you have made a pact, signed a contract or promised someone that you'll read their story, listen to it with patience; and you cannot betray your own words for that. How real is it!

A story unfolds as you turn the pages diffidently, not wanting to miss anything; to savour every word till the last stroke. People call you a fast reader, accuse you to insult the precious book because you haven't enjoyed it as much, you haven't taken three times the time it needed. But you cannot explain, why or how! You have savoured each alphabet, each word, dot by dot and it has meant so much more than it should have. You cannot explain, how you can live the words you read effortlessly without having to go through them twice, or thrice! You are living the words, it's a different world; this one, you enjoy, to your own surprise.

You close your eyes and there they are; people from that world, alive and breathing. Words metamorphose into reality as you converse with them, share the same space as they do. You try to understand them, their perspective about things, their story, their pain, their agony or merely the fact that they are real. You are in their world, you are them! An English man full of hatred and revenge is as real your reflection as an architect who's defying everything and everyone. You are the drunkard of Picaddily, you are the alien from the vicinity of Betelgeuse; you are the resilient comrade under a tyranny, you are the ex military doctor slash sidekick to a detective! You are so much, you are everyone and you are nothing! 

It is solace you find in the words written by  men unknown to you. You are trying to find a source of the reflections you have seen. You are looking for an identity, you are looking for reality in what they blatantly call fiction. Perhaps, someday you might. 

Someday you will! 

Utopia...

I wanted to write so much, about something so important; but then, it just slipped my mind, the very moment I decided to write, like it was waiting for the very exact moment. I remember someone told me 'if you cannot remember what you wanted to say, then it wasn't worth sharing'. I know it wouldn't have been so important to strike a difference anywhere, but then it is pretty irritating to know that there is something stuck inside your head and you just can't find a way to pull it out of its place. It is almost tragic that you don't have access to the internet in places you would have written the very thing you wanted to, now even if it comes back to your memory, it wouldn't be as good as the 'original thought'. 

You should have taken a laptop to the place where you had just done 'nothing' for the last three days; where you realized that even 'doing nothing' was achievable. Your head was whirling round and round about something so unimportant, and yet it didn't create a headache like it does now. When you were focused too much on the words inside the book you were reading, that you could see the words dancing and making weird moves in front of your eyes. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a hallucination, it was all so real, it all existed. You hadn't had a care in the world, about what day it was, what time of the day it was, or if you had missed a meal or had eaten too much, you just had to lie down on the hardwood bed staring at the book, deep inside the places it took you to. No, you cannot recreate the exact events, your memories are just a tweaked replication of them; it wouldn't be justifiable to recreate the past for present's convenience.

It was a break, a break well deserved. True, it wasn't the perfect place and you missed so many people you wanted to be with. But then again, such a break (the perfect place and the perfect company) is well... a perfection, and perfection isn't possible, it isn't human to be perfect. You had realized it long ago, and yet you make futile efforts to achieve perfection. Well, this break wasn't perfect, and you are relieved because that makes you feel that there could be 'more' and if this distorted perfection was such a relief, the actual perfection (or our illusion of what perfection is) would be heavenly. It makes you smile, reminiscing about the past few days and the hardwood bed..

The aim of the getaway wasn't the break that you needed, it was entirely orthodox; your future, your career, your life, et cetera, and to get something more out of it, was an unplanned success. You have 'almost' achieved everything, almost... If it weren't for the little glitch that occurred, you would have achieved humanly perfection. 

To live without a care in the world, is a utopian dream of every human, and to have lived inside that dream, even if for a few days, was well worth... 

It isn't fair when you cannot put the exact memory to words, when you fail to animate the words with the feelings you have for the events they describe. You are going to try, and never give up nevertheless, for if perfection is God-like then striving for it is purely human!

To have lived the perfect day

I would give my soul away

If you tell me perfection isn't a thing

I wouldn't mind even the present day!