?

It is christmas.But there is no snow and no snowman. There are lights everywhere.The small lamps burning in the buildings. So high. Beyond what the eyes can see..but can fathom. She looked up. She saw the stars.Very few of them. It is still dusk.They will probably become visible later...later...She resumed walking.She knew where she was headed. But she walked more on impulse and less on purpose. There was no sense of hurry.There was a dead body. She knew she had to burry it. She had seen it being killed. Had been a part of it...she did not know what happened in the afternoon that justified the death. Nonetheless it was dead. Is she sad?

A little. Maybe. But her eyes were red. As she thought of the softness which it embodied. It had fought with all it had. But forces were too strong. It died...the eyes were not afraid..merely sad and confused. She burried it. She had long ago stopped thinking about it. But those eyes...they kept asking...

Photograph by Ritayan Mitra

The within and the without

Lights. A lighted room. A lighted stage. A moonlit porch. She is on the porch…walks in. From a distance eyes the door, ajar. Hears music. Someone in the room? Walks cautiously towards the door. Peeps into the lighted room. Sees a lighted podium…and a shadow on the wall…playing. The shadow of the piano is on the wall…a shadow again…a shadow playing with a shadow; creating an illusion. A reality? She starts to dance …starts with a foot…and then another. And then stops. Places another hesitant step. Swirls. Slow. Faster. Faster. Faster. Faster……she dances….swirls…pauses…and swirls. She no longer exists…she is a shadow on the wall….part of the shadowy world. A shadow in the madness of the reality within her. Surrounding her. He peers in trying to understand the reality of the music, he hears the music in the hall…He sees it. He looks at the shadows. Playing. Being played on…and dancing beckoning him…and he is in the twilight… a part of the reality he know he comes from. Besotted with the reality in the shadowy world within the room. The within and the without loses distinction and he walks in.
Music stops. The swirls stop. The magic stops and he stops. Why did he come in?
For the reality? Imagined? Real?Imagined reality?
He turns back. And the only thing that walks away is his silhoute from the room.The shadows watch on… still … an intruder?

Photograph by Atreyee Bhattacharya

Life is beautiful?

Life is beautiful ...I have heard it..have even believed in it.For...A long time. A really long time.Never asked questions(?).Never stopped to ask(?) How many of us do?Things which give me pleasure ..is not be questioned.
I made the attempt to ask questions.It was a mistake?Not sure ..but things certainly dont ssem as beautiful anymore(?)so what was this.A faith in a few intelligently construed assemblage of letters(?).A philosophical questions peeps in and out..and gets pushed(?)to the edge of my existing reality.I have no answers(?).Or have I no questions."Life" is not just a word.Its not just a mush of everything (?).Or is it.Is it a mush of everything achived or is it a mush of desires of ahieving things yet not achieved.In either case,what is so beautiful about it(?)

Begining of an end

...Here I come..setting out to do what I had set out never to do.Amen.