Often I have random thoughts which makes me see life in a different light. These are realizations which doom me...makes me wander more...makes me understand the implications of life...
So here I wander-
"I hate nostalgia. It is the proof that there are so many beautiful moments that someone's missing. How we are slaves to time. It passes so fast that it is so difficult to catch up on it. It is like sand in the hand which slips however you want to hold it."
Which place do I belong? The place where I have spent the most of my life...or...The place where I was born and presently living...or...The place which has given me the space to indulge in my interests. Where do I belong?
Alas, I belong to my own world...My own utopia which has been there all my life...Which has no topographical or physical boundaries...Where my thoughts are accepted...Where I am not questioned the way I am...I am the queen of this world...This world defines all my notions and beliefs even if they are baseless...This is the world I belong to...
I wander if I ever have to frame a character sketch of myself, how would it be? What would I write about myself? How would I define myself? Its quite surprising that how we have opinions and views about others but when it comes to ourselves, we are clueless. We become judgemental, try to come to terms with our weaknesses and conceal our shortcomings.
We are scared of the 'I am' quotient, scared to confront the dualities of our lives, scared to be asked "Who am I?"
Its always difficult for me to describe myself.I have mutating moods. Sometimes serious, some times funny; sometimes thoughtful, sometimes careless; mostly calm, at times irritated; some days happy, some days low.
Sometimes a writer, other times a reader.
" Books and reality and art are the same kind of thing to me."
- Vincent Van Gogh
"In the name of God, the compassionate, the Merciful
Here lies Saadat Hasan Manto and with him lie buried all the secrets and mysteries of the art of short-story writing...Under tons of earth lies, still wondering who among the two is greater short-story writer:God or He."
- His own epitaph, Saadat Hasan Manto
" A beautiful thing deteriorates; an ugly thing stays more or less the same."
- Zohra Sehgal
The search for fresh carrots, small bureaucratic victories, wandering if it's going to rain, and allowing, even if briefly, the thought of new underwear to lift your soul.
It's enough to fill the kind of book that life is too short to read.
My heart beat fast or did not beat at all;
I could not say all that I thought and thought
Till words deserted me. I loved too abstractly.
I dreaded how all there was to give was me-
Like water, this biography. I unravelled far too easily.
Then fled to selfish deserts and slept on the hard rocks.
I couldn't make what others made and broke and broke
and made, that sweet choreography. I went alone
And missed the world continually. I misread smiles
I stuttered before open arms, but times passed too fast
for dissappointments imprint on the glass of memory
I sought the future even when the blood swirled now.
I let the past decide too greedily. I kept searching out.
The window, I tried to say half-hidden by the light.
Frida Kahlo Self Portrait
"I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best."