While Walking Towards The Platform

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GmDeIS87mU&list=PLTchWiHrNnizOwdZtspfFWDEnr7mSPnCJ&index=2&t=0shttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBJ1ebbNGUw&list=PLTchWiHrNnizOwdZtspfFWDEnr7mSPnCJ&index=2https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELz4cruIXPc&list=PLTchWiHrNnizOwdZtspfFWDEnr7mSPnCJ&index=3

हूँ टूट रही, अब रहने को इक बिल चाहिए

हो कुछ भी, पर न हो वो दिल, चाहिए ।

~ Ishika Aggarwal

While walking towards the platform today, I mistakenly walked towards the opposite opposite side. What was it that kept me engrossed as much that I was unaware of the choice I was making subconsciously?

Nothing much!

Knitting a Phrase or Two …

They were my notes! I was writing a reply for a poetry someone shared with me. I usually knit up another poetry in reply to one that anyone shares with me. This has been a task I had been taking since a while now. But it is something that consumes so much of my attention as is required for me to meditate upon something, without much effort. I am not a writer by profession. But a writer by choice, I write as a hobby. But I don’t feel any itch on my head or an ache on my back no matter how much I write. And I love reading whatever I write. Whenever I read what I write, it’s hard to believe that I wrote the text. Instead, while reading, I discover phrases that I find my mind incapable of producing. Sometimes, there are no traces of evidence in my mind of the words that have been used by me, itself in the near past. 

When I Write …

When I write, what comes in my mind are actually hues and not letters! And, these hues have a meaning that I am somehow related to. But, I get the meaning only once the hues get spilt on the paper. They form a pattern similar to the one within the threads of my mind which in turn dries up to become a string of alphabets with some meaning. 

Honestly, I feel light after I write. I feel my view being enhanced after I write just the way one feels when some oily thing leaves the eyes that had been blurring the vision for a while. While I write, the surroundings begin to blur, silently. The sounds become feeble in the ears, no matter how loud they actually are. As I stop typing, the world begins to return to its original shape and size. The sounds begin to amplify as the ink comes to dry. I don’t know what exactly it is like but I enter into a sort of trance when I write. The world of imagination and reality seem to meet at a point as I begin to type and eventually I leave this world and enter the one on the other side. The imagination becomes reality and reality subsides. The world runs the way you want it to, there. Therefore I lose directions in this world when I write.

 So, that is why I got to the opposite platform this morning.