Geometry of a Sugar Cube

There is a certain degree of tranquility in acceptance – the relief of a phase of transformation coming to an end, the end of a misfit moulding gradually – taking shape.

Have you ever seen a perfectly structured cube of sugar? How you can make out the individual granules and how you marvel at the way they hold on to one another in such strict discipline! They can reflect the beam of sunlight and they can fuse into absolutely tasteless liquids and transform them into something worthwhile.

When you pour boiling liquid over their near-euphoric dimensions, they do not crumble immediately. Maybe even they test their limits. Then, slowly – very gradually, you see the molecules dissociating. Their melting – almost a phenomena. And very rapidly, in the same disciplined way that they had been holding on to each other, they separate. They separate until you can no longer make out a definite structure; they separate until each part of it dissolves into a larger entirety. And suddenly, there is no distinction, no difference, no phase changes – because suddenly, everything is one.

Some mornings when I sip my coffee, I wish I was a sugar cube.

Your ink-stained fingertips

This ink that I bleed on this paper
had smeared your skin, seconds back;
I can't take my eyes off the stain
on your fingertips,
wishing - it does not dissolve
in the sweat of your hard-working hands.

You ask for the jar
on that far shelf,
and I'm making sure if
you are talking to me.
But when I look at you,
your hands are already extended -
towards me.

I give you whatever it is
that you wanted,
and in that brief span of time
while the transaction is still in progress,
your indigo stained fingertips
brush against mine,
and your warmth hangs on to me
long after you have turned away
with your charming smile.

You resume your work,
and I resume staring
at your ink-stained fingertips.

Thinking on the surface

Sometimes I am too tired to think
and there are times I am too tired from thinking.
There is such a subtle difference,
that even I hardly notice it.
All I see is the tiredness because
that's what is on the surface.
Or because that's what we have
been habituated to -
to see things that's just on the surface.
No one has the time to dig deep,
to know more,
to explore.
We're not curious anymore,
Too much judging has made our senses sore.
You will only see my tired eyes
or notice my quite demeanor
or maybe you will catch me cry -
but you will never ask me why.
You are busy running your rat race,
maybe even you don't know
what it is that you chase.
So you walk away thinking I'm just tired,
Because you only see what's on the surface,

Episode

Good things come in small packets -
Hazelnut cookies in tiny little sachets;
A box of scented crayons or
maybe a fancy flame of a tealight
or maybe one episode in your Life.

Episodes that come and go
like the breeze, but
the breeze whose fragrance
continues to linger on.
Of people you had met
and places you had gone,
you will find their traces - holding on.

Keep them close to your heart
and remember them time and again,
let them know you miss them,
that without them - it's not the same.
Spread love and warmth,
reinstall the lost faith in humanity -
all the good that you do
will, one day, find its way back to you.

Good things take time,
but great things happen in the blink of an eye.
You never know if your miracle
is just at the bend of the road -
Keep walking, get up when you fall -
Sometimes it takes all
that you have.

Emo - The Fighter Fish

She looks up at me
with eyes full of hope -
Hope that I will switch on the bulb
and cut the darkness engulfing her
Hope that I will give her the three tablets
each night that she needs
to stay alive
Hope that we'll be there for each other till another sunrise.

She comes running
every time I knock her door
Cutting through the water
With all that she has,
hoping that her hopes will find light.

She reminds me of a story I had heard long back :
To punish the King of Greece, Zeus - The Greek God,
had sent Pandora  on Earth with a forbidden box.
But curiosity got the better of her and she
opened the box - out came plague and misery and diseases.
Pandora shut the box just in time,
and Hope couldn't escape.
That's all that we have, that's all that we are left with - Hope.

So how do I tell my little Blue Fighter Fish
that I am also sitting back hoping
that one day my hopes will find their light, too.
How do I tell her that I am so similar to her -
only our fishbowls are different.

My dearest Tan Chilly

Writing letters to you

comes to me as easy as breathing -

to know there is one person who

chooses to keep me in her heart - beating.

Every evening as the incense sticks

burn to their death

and your smell fills the

room by its breadth,

I think of your untimely hugs

and big doe eyes - the biggest I have ever seen;

I want to run to you,

go back to who we were and how we had been.

I flew away in search for another nest,

where I could, at last, put my anxieties to rest

But peace I never found, my friend..
I don't know how to tell you ,
I thought I was as good as the best,

but I have failed the test.

My heart yearns to come back

but you won't be there too long,

the nest where I no longer belong.

Know that you are in my prayers.

Know that I love you

more than my words can get through.

A Second Chance

Chocolates, flowers and unexpected missed calls make you happy, but you know what makes you happiest? Knowing that you  are missed, loved and most importantly, even though it has been years, you are still remembered. You might be miles away from that place, those people and there are less than zero chances of returning to that world once again, and then right in the middle of an ordinary day you get this feeling.. and Life feels like a fairytale. That is what makes you the happiest.

When I was asked to write for the school magazine years after I had passed out, a thousand thoughts played across my mind and I could not understand how to compile my experiences, my memories and my gratitude in one article. So I shut my eyes and tried to find some calmness in the dark. Slowly, the dark faded into pictures that rolled past by mind like a camera roll.. pictures of those half-empty classrooms, scribbled desks, chalks drawing timetable on the green boards, devoured tiffin-boxes, restless legs in the assembly, sun-lit corridors,  weary March-past practices, green sashes, muted laughter, silly grudges, parking area, the grotto, the farewell.. and then I open my eyes.
My eyes see the present, but my mind is static on that last thought... Farewell. I see myself standing on the stage, the entire high-school hall before my eyes, flooded in that blinding spotlight. I cannot hear a sound in that crowd, except my own heartbeat. I cannot spot a thing in that light except that chit in my hand that says, "My most beautiful moment in School?". My mind goes blank because memories from all spectrums rush to focus on one spot and it becomes white. So I mumble something I do not even remember. It was only after I handed over the mic to the next nominee did I realize that I did not justify the question. So, after all these years, if there is anything I want to go back and change, it is that one answer. Second chances are rare in Life and I am grateful for this one.
So this would be my modified version : 

"Eight years in this paradise have given me eight million memories - each of them beautiful, memorable and unique in their own amazing way. Choosing one out of those millions, would be unjust to the others. And yet, since being diplomatic would not be accepted here and I have to pick that moon among the stars, I would say it is THIS moment. This moment that I get to stand before all of you and have the honour of acknowledging my gratitude towards every single soul present here for being there in the making-years of my Life. I want to thank you because no matter how minute our interaction might have been, but your appreciation or your complaints, your attention or your ignorance, your friendship or your grudges, your words or your silence had its own individual role to play in making me the person I am today. This moment is MY CHANCE  to bid farewell to friends, to teachers, to every brick of this school, to this town. This might be a long interval before I see you again, so I want each one of you to know that you will always be remembered, no matter where I go or who I become. This is MY MOMENT.
Thank You!"

I told you what makes you happiest.  Take down one more secret : Nothing satisfies your soul more than the completion of a task that has remained incomplete for years.