Monologue #2: Why I write

I open my eyes to a world that through everything powerful-big or small, speaks to me in some language unequal to any that ‘speech’ comprises. But, am i to record them all? I’m not to write the words of the God like Moses. No- because my faith is very close to me and  instead I feel strong force  pushing me  from inside vigorously, to respond to everything that whispers into my ear the subtlety of their existence. Uncanny. That’s my faith. I write, to inform myself that I exist.

I write,

I write because ocean’s vastness is ineluctable, and so irresistibly overpowering that my surfing board and I need to think twice before we touch the waves or the bed, or even both.

I write because something of this ocean makes me fearless. I can sense how mysteriously it moves, settles and yet that its current can break my body into crumbles by the force unimaginable. Not sharks, or venomous creatures in the darkness of the inky Prussian Blue, but the enigma of the matter of that infinity that excites me. The sunset kisses its surface, a new kind of silhouette appears before my eyes.

I write because I want to see how far my imagination can stretch.

Did I mention that I’ve not lived near any water body, literally, geographically, ever, for that matter??

I have heard a lot of people discussing the unpredictability of life, which I agree is true by all length and breadth, but is it ultimately a viable topic of research? I wonder. I wonder how callous our approaches become- just because life is unpredictable. The man who sends roses in the day, makes smoke rings fly up in the air at night- because, his love runs away with his friend and life is so unpredictable. The question is: why to malign the support of your lungs because of heart ache that is, let’s come straight, exaggerated by both the parties..? I might sound mean, which I do, but does it not amount to trivialising and overlooking the profundity that our lives come packed with?

I tried to remember her face from the memories fading through a screen, after I learnt that her body had given up in the hospital. I tried, very hard, very exhaustively to pull back the riverine memories which is flowing to a mysterious nowhere, forever. I blankly stared at the wall, trying to recall the last year Annual Day Function in the college, where she had draped a beautiful blue silk and was to ensure that the lamps near the stage are always alight. I could remember everything but her face. I felt as miserable as an amnesiac, until a goodhearted junior sent me a prompt, a meticulously edited photo of hers that simplified her existence, at least now, after that she is gone. I went to the college today to collect few document. A tenuously hung down air began to surround me as soon as I entered the gate. I got to know about her active participation in the college theatre group and her brilliant brainwork in mechanising the team. It hurt me more because I love theatre so much, and we shared common interest, and she was just a dreamer like I was.


I glanced at her monochromatic photograph that rests in my phone- she looks behind her right ear, arms resting on the wedge that supports her body firmly upon the wall. There, there she smiles. That smile is now closely braided with numerous laughs, giggles, shines that her family and classmates had had with her. Her smile is an adornment of V’s Farewell Party posts; her smile is the last thing left for her roommates.