Jayachandran

“A message was like a stone shattering the stillness of a pond, disturbing his mind. A different train of thoughts rolls in his mind. An instant weariness took possession of him. It made him wonder if he ever did any thing right in his life! Rationality behind his statement – seems like it was not looked at. Reasons should not sought, explanations should not be asked for – message also carried these instructions. Nothing can be said of happenings in life, for sure, to be either good or bad, whether beneficial or otherwise. How true!”

In the mean time, here is something I listened… It is about Krishna Lila, where a gopi is expressing her inability in going out for water, since Krishna the “stalker” won’t let her do that!. Beautiful song. I feel it could have been even better had they not used some instruments which are played at the later part of the song. I checked the video clip. In the context of the movie, the introduction of few instruments is not oddly placed and is in sync with situation and script.

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Wait. Didn’t I criticize about instruments? I also justified it. That is exactly he was accused of in the message and subsequently as a person reluctant to upset the applecart – if my recollections are correct. Strange!

Finally, the winter is drawing to an end. Tomorrow is the first day of Spring. He was still holding his glass, but it is almost empty. He had enough for this night. But I didn’t help him refill. Suddenly, he said: “this has to be written“. I did not know what to tell him. He asked me to write. He started narrating. I started writing… Winter. It was unusually long. And uncharacteristically wild too. Weather, of course, is predictable. But certain events are unpredictable. Randomness has got nothing to do with this unpredictability. Or may be it does. Who knows? Does that make me random? I want to write about it. To someone, these may be writings in the sands of time, to be erased by the winds of change. But not to me. He paused for a while. Few days ago, an event happened in my life.. “When did it happen?” – I asked to ensure I am still alert and want to capture his thoughts mapped to the day it occurred. Does it matter? He continued … For her, the sun light was fading and it was the limbo between day and night, an uncertain state of mind. The crimson sun was sinking in the distant horizon for her. She watched specks of dust caught by the sun light, scintillate for a moment and vanish. They were like the countless desires fleeting through her heart. To me, the night has already stepped out and the morning is at my doorstep. With much weariness, I begged to morning to wait. Moments passed by. … I wonder whether the life I lived during those moments were for real. Some precious thoughts entered in each others mind and leaped into our conversation. How long did those moments last? I wished for it to be interminable. Thoughts flowed like water. Both felt the need for thoughts to be encouraged to flow. And we did. Water’s flow should not be disrupted by any force – we thought. Our thoughts’ flow should not be stopped – we wished. They flowed. It formed a stream and flowed through a dry river bed with a wish to turn the bed fertile. And the river bed wished for the stream to spread and feel deep inside her. I tried to make sense of his thoughts. He was trying to say something profound. But did he falter, for fear the meaning would not be the same? I wish he had the easy manner of a natural conversationalist. Perhaps that would have freed him from his inhibitions to narrate. I interrupted him and asked: “Can you provide little more background to what you said so far?”. He looked straight into my eyes. The self assurance he had till then, that would let me write without editing his words, are gone. He seems to be cautious now, increasingly aware of his own defects. He suddenly turned reluctant. The beginning of paranoia? He filled his glass. He walked out and stood at the balcony. He looked at a distant. He remained thoughtful. I remained clueless. After a while, it was time for me to leave. I closed the book and walked towards him. He said: I see the seasons change, I see myself changing. I see change around me, everywhere. I close my eyes and hope the snapshot will last for ever, not being blistered out of recognition by the acid called “Time”. A long pause. He walked with me to the door. This time, I gathered the courage and asked: “Who is she?”. She is a butterfly. I would be heartless if I wanted to confine her to my heart. There is happiness in freedom. So be it., he smiled and closed the door. I wanted to wish him “good night”.