Shades of sunset in a cup

Nostalgia hits me – the enigmatic notes of Chopin playing in the background, the creek that ran through the garden somehow resounding them while keeping with the time, the last song of the black bird as it was heading home – the music was all around in perfect harmonious symphony. All you had to do was tune in, listen.

There I was, perched on the window seat, lost deep in thought, with that steaming heavenly cup of coffee that did positively up my spirits on that quiet spring evening, as were the last few that did follow.

Life, as I had known it, wouldn’t be the same again. The time had come and I was heading out, away from home, out into that enthralling enchanted land beyond as I had always pictured it, anxious and excited, all at once, in search of greener pastures for sustenance. Why was home disregarded? Weren’t our folks happy enough? – I couldn’t conceive why. Oblivious to all, I have been – a picture that was charmingly picturesque; that is all that I had seen, or been shown rather. Reality was not something I had come across. It had probably dawned on someone to say, “Let go!” And so, there I was, going – leaving behind the only world I knew, the only people I loved. Right or wrong, for good or for bad – I didn’t know then as I do now.

To say goodbye, I couldn’t. The assurance that I would return was not good enough to refrain from the exercise. It was tearful but the drive to discover, to traverse paths untrodden held me through. With time and distance, I’ve finally moved on.

Even now, I’m here, perched on the window seat enjoying my cup of coffee, though in a setting much different, seeing things in a different light; change it seems has come. I shall, however, never hope to be anybody but me. Change for the better, maybe. Home is where the heart lies. The sights and sounds, the laughter and love that then seemed transient, and yet still remain etched in my memory, truly remind me of the shades of sunset captured in a cup.

Suburbs of our secrets

Life, they say, is not a bed of roses. For the longest time, I have dismissed this as pure nonsense. But with time and age, I guess, we realize that everything, in its own respect, has some implication, significance and purpose. I’d still, nevertheless, hold on to say that ‘life is in fact, a bed of roses’ – for after all, we must understand that roses too, have thorns.

This element called ‘profundity’ is somehow unconsciously installed in us, though not of our own accord or free will. All of a sudden, distant, disconnected and independent, it seems particularly wrong.

It is the heart, longing to liberate itself from the burden of having to be the soul secret keeper and the frustration and chagrin of the rest of our person from the general course of life.

A perfect avenue, I've found in this, to express, communicate and convey whatever little bouts of random profoundness that comes my way and to lead your minds through the suburbs of many secrets.

Take my hand, lead me on...

An existence, much normal, that’s what it was. There seemed like there was nothing that would beckon to this quiet humble soul that would indeed lead it to pause.

To think, I thought, why? – take my hand, lead me on. The path was clear, unmarred – nothing to lead me astray. Clear it was, indeed, but where was real life in that? My heart, it longed for adventure, to breakaway and run free on the golden sands of what lay beyond. But that iron hand, as it always did, pulled me back yet once again.

Much time has passed and I can no longer drift on with this soft wind that in its passing promises no harm – soothing it is, but to bare it all and embrace one much harsher, more real, and longing to be carefree, to wander through mindless meanderings rather than the idealism of the cocoon that surrounds us. There yonder it sits, tantalizing the soul – “Come hither, come take my hand, lead me on.” It was, but, monotonous, though life went on.

And then one day, amidst my much-accustomed surroundings that by then seemed so morose, a little knock, I heard. Though feeble it seemed, internal instinct said that that was the one that would make a difference. Overwhelmed, filled with hope, I tried, I reached out, and yet again, there was that something to hold me back. For years of a custom-made existence, to breakaway and embark on a journey filled with adventure is a touch too hard for the mind to correlate with the heart.

Follow your heart, they say and so I did. I reached out yet again, this time paying no heed to that iron hand, for I wanted you to take mine in yours – take my hand, lead me on.

My life, it was an empty page, before you came along - flawless, serene, dispassionate, peaceful - perfection personified. Somehow, somewhere deep inside, I knew you would unleash what was, even to myself, invisible, perplexing and profound.

There were times when the tide rose high and others when it fell low, but you, though not omnipresent, for you seem so near and yet are so far, touched my heart and took my hand to lead me on. Lead me on; indeed, you did, showed me what life really is, what it should be, what it could be.

Now, what remains is the question – will you be there to prolong this brief sojourn, to still hold my hand and lead me on?