Musings on Monday Mornings

There is that scene from Forest Gump where the movie closes on a note of strange contentedness. Where the feather is seen floating into the final credits. In the film it evokes the perfect essence of peace. But in real life I think maybe things are different. Sometimes I wonder if being feather-like is good or bad. Can one just glide or float through things, through life? How unbearable is just 'Being'? Living in mediocrity without the additional responsibility of wisdom...the greater picture? There is that feeling of being light as a feather where one can glide. How consciously Insight (The Truth) brings us to willingly shoulder responsibility. Feel the weight of a thing greater than our comprehension. Or is it different. That in realising and acknowledging the Truth with our heart and mind we are lifting the weight of the world? Weights that bind us. I can't decide. Am faced with two sides of the coin and each one has an equal chance of being the right/winning side. Am fa...

I think the fans must be running now. Not on the higher speeds but rather on a slow churn that grinds the rims on every round and makes a noise that after a few minutes has its own relaxing rhythm. Where, very often the fan's breeze leaves one feeling hotter than cool for the air is disproportionately distributed in our houses. That's Lahore. Its more a feeling than something tangible. Its like a small gland at the back of your throat that salivates in the same way as some one hungering for a meal. The sun would be setting later now. And had I been still in college, younger, the shadows of the trees lining the canal would some in hues of darkness and light as I would have made my way home. The birds in the afternoon sun--a time when college is quieter--would chirp in a manner that only memory holds now. I forget the sound or perhaps I colour it too sweet to be the real thing. But that, is Lahore. Maybe at home the windows are open for longer. And the greenery in the patio is n...

I haven't been writing of late. Maybe I have been writing, but not on paper. My brain is looking like an ugly doodle now with no clean space for new words. It made sense some time ago, now it looks like lots of ants gone nutsy . So I had to turn to paper...Internet. Whatever. It rained in my desert and there came a rising tide that flooded all the sand dunes. For many days the waters poured down from the sky like Heavens dam was avenging itself on the world. Like a huge sigh that would not drawn air in until its previous burdens were lifted. And so the raindrops came thrashing down with mighty winds. And unperceptive bastards we are, we thought it was nice weather. Who knew that some small angel had had his wings broken and had fallen to earth in a mighty heap. And as it rained, God stirred the sands much like an old woman does with her wheat, sifting the clean, finer bits from the rough. God sifted the desert made a trough that filled with water for a lake that ran into the sea. A...