Calling it a Day

I sat and stared into space, somewhere far away- viewing a site where there was neither monotony nor impossible love, in fact their rivals were all seated in perfection. Happy stories always make it easier to conclude that some scenes are dreams. How quickly it had all happened- the knocking on the door, opening to wilderness, some harsh breeze shutting it abruptly, the sound of the key turning in the key-hole, the discomfort in the confines… 


As absurd as it can get, internal decibels died within the walls but a faint call from the space was beginning to get clearer. Was it a wrapping in a philanthropic quilt? Or the sound of little children guffawing? May be the pride in one’s eyes? I dismissed it to be just a tight calendar. Keeping it all busy was essential indeed- a complete justification for dreams about world awesomeness and never-failing love stories. It’s not been easy, but when has it ever been? A larger purpose is always hidden- a pat on the back, a voice overwhelming with pride for you, perhaps a drive to dream big.

Opening Doors to Exoticism

I 

The air was panic-stricken- people hurrying directionless routes, immense chaos, trees burning down, agonised cries piercing the air, weapon-clicks in the background, fearful shrieks, every face smeared with mud and sweat, devoid of colour. I looked around in terror at the gory sight that surrounded me- shock, anxiety, fear, restlessness, all bottled up deep down, making it hard for me to breathe. I frantically searched for a drink but all the water had evaporated because of the cruel heat... while life was draining out gradually and I fell to the ground, suddenly the sun was eclipsed by a figure pouring soothing water. I grabbed the jar and the hand and dragged myself on a path, far, far away, where lay… a Door. I walked into nothingness. 

II 

The mahal was magnificent, made of glass with each corner lighting up when the sun rays fell obliquely at the surface… there was something unexplainably beautiful about the mirrors and the orifices that rhythmically alternated the pillars. I wandered around, watching the mahal in awe… it was a beauty of a sight! Walking in the light-and-shade effects of the insides was strangely comforting, but so full of glass that each step instilled a gash, and the tour through the mahal went on till the wounds numbed me- the beauty was intoxicating and so was the pain… I basked in both and finally collapsed when my strength slowly depleted. The next thing I felt was my wounds being nursed… just as a Door fell in sight. It led me to clear space. 

III 

In those crowded market-places where people fight for most fond things, in eateries where favourite food is siphoned off, in movies which deal with heartbreak, in maps which do not show paths travelled… when tears fight their way out, through days of feeling selfish or let down, during introspective times, the Door was in sight. A plain, wooden door to sooth every ill-feeling, to iron creases of unease, to nullify negativity. How it had reached there, how it had miraculously erased melancholy, how it had instilled peace since the very first time, I marvelled at. Passing through the Door to its hospitable nothingness, felt increasingly sensational every time. The path to the unfamiliar exterior, felt even more desired.