There’s something always very warm and special about a quiet night and memories. If you close your eyes and let yourself fly in the air for a moment – stop worrying, forget all queries that have clouded your mind for long and shed away the emptiness that tie you down every time you try to stand erect – just resign yourself reign over yourself…do you feel the life you want a little more vividly?
I’ve been counting back every step I’ve taken down the by-lanes all these 27 years. I say by-lanes because they never completely occupied my interest; they continued to be whimsical outgrowths, ruled by impulse – here now, fading a second later – like snowflakes melting the moment they make contact with skin. Singing dreams. A voice to enthrall the crowd, a sketch hurriedly drawn, a pair of eyes so perfectly shaped, anklets and dancing feet thumping on the floor, a cake whisked up in a moment of joy, words brought to life with the purl of an ink pen, a drop or two blotting the paper. An essay pining to pour out, a tear shot to a moment in sepia. Yet my heart aches swing off its shivers outstretched into rain.
Isn’t there something so beautiful and so much more attractive about an idea than the thing itself? For me its like the idea of being an artist. Sitting in an open field, surrounded by hills with casuarina, pine and spruce in the distance, listening to the wind whistling through their fine leaves…Dylan singing blowing in the wind…everything around you sunk in shades of mustard, brown and deep green… an empty canvas awaiting to be filled with bold strokes of vibrant colors…there’s a fire of desires in my eyes.