Walking I fell but then I rose because I had to, there was no other way. I couldn’t manage to sit and lay in the dust and dirt.

Life is sometimes a hard game to play.

When life becomes difficult, it becomes difficult to swallow my own breath. The fresh air then chokes me. I try to gulp it in inches. It escapes me. It plays hide and seek with me.

I try to breathe, because I have to breathe. Because that’s life and it goes on till it has to.

For daily prompt:  Swallow


I didn’t like maths very much. I didn’t like geometry either, but I used to love shapes… triangles, squares, rectangles and circles.

My favourites were squares, circles and triangles. When I started loving shapes, I had started loving geometry as well. But that was it. That was the only part that I loved about maths.

Circle is not only a shape; it is the shape. It is the objective of life. To me it is the motion of life and death.  It is all that is within and without. It is binding and non-binding too.

A circle even if drawn clumsily by a kid still remains a circle. Strangely enough, it is circles and lines that we start drawing at an early age rather than squares, rhombus, diamonds or any other shapes. May be even as we are children we notice the shape of a circle easily in nature that surrounds us than any other shapes.

I therefore think, that circles are not just round shapes, but they are the meaning of life. It is the beginning and the end of life. It marks the continuity of any energy cycle.


The Perfect Time

I’ve never met a person who doesn’t wait for a perfect time to show up at their doorsteps. But we all know that doesn’t happen very often. I mean there could be — plenty of time,  good times even bad times, some unlucky moments and some surprisingly lucky times…  but to pick a perfect time amongst all these would be a little too difficult.

There had been instances in my life, where I had been waiting for that perfect time to pop up right in front of me, but it never showed up.

This cycle of waiting and wanting brought a new companion along — watching. So now it was me, waiting and wanting and watching… as others succeed in their plans of life. And then another new element was born — wonder. I kept wondering… did anyone wait for a perfect time like me or was it just me.

A closer look at my own life made me think. Can there be a perfect time ever?

And it was then, that I realized that time is anything but perfect. If you want to be a part of the time, you just have to go with it… without measuring its lengths as good or bad.

It was then that I realized that perfect time doesn’t exist, if you want to do something.

I realized that waiting for the perfect time is like never actually crossing the sea.

I realized that waiting for that perfect moment lead me nowhere, and I kept standing at the same place.

It’s then that I realized, that what had kept me at my doorsteps was not the wait for that perfect time but my own fear and hesitation of giving myself to the process.

It could be true that someone somewhere would have met that perfect time. But I can’t say that for myself, and I can’t keep hoping for it to show up at my doorsteps according to my desires. Perhaps in that case, I might just fly with time into the bounds of imperfection instead of waiting for that perfect time to arrive at my door.



dscn0127Water is the gift of life. But it would be unjust to say so, as water for all the living forms is not only a gift of life but a precious gift of life.


dscn0069Trying to find its source would be a magical journey.

A journey, that will lead to its end, and only when you’ll reach its end, you’ll realize that it’s only a new beginning.



I tried catching it once, as it ran along the shores but all I got was a slippery eel and wet clothes. So, the next time when it rained I closed it in a glass and froze it.

I liked its white crystal form. I felt proud, that I had tricked and caught some. But as the sun came hard on it, it smiled sparklingly at me and before I could do anything it ran away like a naughty child away from my grip.



Life and Art

Life in all its form is the best artist.


An artist, when left alone, can imitate life.


fruits on table

Perhaps, that’s why Pablo Picasso said:

The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web.

An artist to me is an aimless wanderer looking for things in plain sight and hidden as well. Who or what gives him that opportunity? The answer is – Life. An artist finds refugee at his home; home which is his mind; mind that takes him from here to there. In the process of travelling from here to there it cannot be certain if he imitates life or creates life or art or becomes one to show us both – life and art.
I’ll leave you with a painting that I did other than the fruit one from above.

Death, a question mark?

Nearly a month of moaning is over. It was only last month when things were going… as usual. One usual day the mobile rang. It brought the most sad and unpleasant news of the demise of a loved one.

Death, a disinterested topic of discussion, had knocked at my door after a long time. So, how was I to take this?

I moaned and cried and questioned as I imagined a dead body lying motionless on a bed. Normally, I had gulped down the topic of death like some bitter pill but today while gulping it down I chocked… and tears started streaming from my eyes. My heart became heavy and I could feel my body sinking to the ground.

What troubled me at this moment was that the physical body which had symbolized someone would no longer radiate energy. It had turned stiff and motionless and very soon will be reduced to dust and ashes. My mind started working on some images from the past – some, good time… spent together. He was like a father to me, and I had lost him forever. Although, I knew that the energy form would still be present somewhere, I moaned for the physical body which would be destroyed no matter what. I deeply prayed for that energy to be at peace.

Death always raises the question of existence but in a different manner – of the dead, and not of the living. It conjures images and ideas about life after death. Perhaps, that’s why so many fear death as we know so much about life and so little or nothing about death. Perhaps that’s why when we see death, we contemplate our actions, our behavior, our relationships with others and the journey of life itself taken so far.

Life happens… and so, does death. Everything could change in a quick second. In a quick second, when the warm breath of life is lured or hijacked to the valley of death… things change. Living is transformed into dead.

We might have progressed and advanced a great deal in scientific technology or curing of diseases or even have much knowledge about the functioning of the body, but there is only one question – What or who decides to let go or lead that warm breath of life back to its rightful body?

When a motionless body turning cold, regains its heartbeat it is no less than a miracle. Life so, is no less than a miracle as we exhale this warm breath of life each second. So, what is death? Death to me is that hard truth that is nicely covered in a glossy sheet of life. No matter what you do or how you do death will always be placed at the center of life.

Death happens because there is life; it happens because it has to happen. Life would not make sense without death and we would continue forever. Life, a giant wheel of warmth and activity, halts when death pulls the power plug of life. Everything comes to a stillness and in that stillness we try to make some sense of death. But, death is death – it generally doesn’t make any sense at first. We work it out the way it seems suitable to our human minds.

A death of a loved one always leaves a big hole in one’s life. Time, although a great healer, sometimes turns to be a failure at this job, and thus the vacuum created by a death is sated only by another death.

Life allows us to find answers but death retreats into silence. The cause of death can be known, but…death in itself remains a mystery. The questions about – souls, life after death (i.e. if, it is there), are we reborn, do our deeds really count after death or is it only till the time we are alive. We would never know about death while we are alive, and when dead we cannot experience life.


Life is all that I have

“Life is all that I have,” she said.

Spreading its colourful wings as it hovered into the sky.

A tiny body packed in vibrant colours;

She flew high to kiss the sun.

She came down to embrace the flowers.

“Life is all that I have,” she said.

And so, I shall live;

As she went up the hill,

and raced down the streams.

All colours she had seen;

All colours she had lived,

Except for one.

A day came as it tried to fly,

But there was no fun.

The sun became black.

butterflygarden2Darkness was all her sight,

But she was not afraid

For she said again,

“Life was all that I had”

And I have lived all the colours vibrant and gay

Now let the night cover me,

For it is in this night that I’ll find a new light.

MJ and a Life Chapter

MJ is my next door neighbor and he often storms into my house, unannounced.He is a great storyteller and is really good at it. I enjoy his ramblings. Plus he is an adorable six year old kid.

This time his story – spending time with his father on a Saturday, fishing by the river. He said, “Just me and dad, went fishing.”

“So how many fish did you catch?” I asked him.

“No! I didn’t catch fish. I got stones from there. Dad said that water is dangerous and cold and I should be sitting on the stool. I got bored and started collecting the stones.”

“So, Jake how many stones did you get?” I asked.

“I got a whole box. Come with me I’ll show them to you.”

On his request I went with him to his house.

There they are and he pointed towards his garden. He had painted the stones and placed them in the garden. Colourful stones – small, big, red, yellow, green, dotted, lines all placed in the garden. I was impressed with MJ’s talent and told him that one day he will be a great landscape artist. He gave me a big smile.

A few days after MJ came to my house again. I knew he had something to tell me. I asked him, “What’s the matter MJ? Where had you been?”

“Nowhere, I was busy shopping with mom and aunt. They took me to buy veggies and fruits.”

“What all did you buy?” I asked knowing that he would share it anyways.

“Do you know Mr.D this time I got to pick some tomatoes from there. Mom gets very angry when I touch things in the shop but Aunt Liz showed me how to pick them up. She got a basket and we filled it. She said that I picked some real good tomatoes and gave me some to eat as a reward for my work.” MJ was very happy with his experience and after some time went back home.

That day MJ taught me something. In life, when you get tomatoes eat them. And when you get stones paint them and use them rather than sulk in them. At any cost Jake just enjoyed and displayed his talent.