A Random Piece of Paper...

I am a random piece of paper, flying with the wind, fluttering at times like butterfly and at times gliding like a bird. Sometimes I am lonely and at times I am buzzing with emotions, and friends. I learnt to make friends, to listen and to understand them- the wayward plastic, the concrete roads, the uneven broken down paths, the enigmatic cotton seeds. The leaves are my closest friends; the dried ones they fly with me soar with me give me company most of the times. 

Sometimes things seem like a dream and at times a nightmare wakes me up from idyllic slumber. Peace comes to me at the strangest of places, but mostly it comes to me when I look inside myself. I have been greased and crumpled, stamped upon and put in the gutter. I have been written upon and I have been used as a packing material. Life goes on and so do I losing myself in pieces slowly with passing time. 

Sometimes I wonder which part of mine will survive, the one that keeps the life as other parts break away. Once I was part of a school child’s holiday assignment, a child so sincere he believed that every paper he worked upon would be deterministic to his future. Later I was recycled to be a part of a girl’s diary a girl who believed that every beat of her heart was pain or laughter, tears or love and there were no other emotions in between. I was used again to be a part of newspaper with news printed on me, news that made me sad and ashamed for the fact that I was displaying it. I have always wondered why are human beings so fascinated by news that is bad and why do they want to discuss it the most. When will they realize that the illusion that ‘it can’t happen to me’ is just an illusion and not a reality embedded in concrete. 

Reality changes and illusions shatter but human beings never seem to wake up. Anyways I guess I should leave them to their lives and their perceived illusions of freedom.

Speaking of freedom I once felt free when I got stuck to a train, the gust of wind blowing me, the ever accelerating gust purging my soul and when I finally felt as if I was on the verge of achieving salvation the train started to slow down and I hit the ground and my dreams once again crash landed into ground realities. I learnt to smile, whenever I cried it would start making me weaker and my tissues would come under immense strain so I learnt to smile even when my heart questioned me. I learnt it was not that hard to smile at whatever life throws at you once you decide, it seems unfair at times but does it matter. 

Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better had I been bound with my family as a part of a book, or this life that I chose as a wanderer, as a nomad is what I yearned for. Was it better to stay together safe and secure or to venture out into the unknown, hoping and looking for things I didn’t know existed but trusting my creator. You tell me, how would I know? I am just a random piece of paper.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Temporary Gift..

Image
It rained against the panes of my window, Little eager drops hitting on the glass, Smiling, laughing these drops of tears go, And in time their fleeting lives would pass. The momentary illusion that is existence, Filling up every sense of ours, purging, Blurring the lines between real and pretense, Brimming with ourselves the ego is surging. I held my hand outside, to hold a few, Drops whose existence I'd interfere with, And deep inside somewhere my ego knew, That all this life was just a temporary gift. DROPS of FIRST LIFE Photo courtesy: Neel Srivastava 
Read more

THIRTY !!

Cold sweat broke on my forehead. The time was less than an hour away, and the hands of clock refused to let up on their internal perpetual race with each other. I did not know what to do, my head started to swirl I felt high, dizzy and for one of the few times I could actually feel the earth rotating. Funny how life can show you what science has always told you. My hands were trembling and my hollow gaze followed the clocks with hands still racing. 50 minutes:  That is all I had before I turned thirty. How did this happen, who got me here, and more importantly when? I must have been kidnapped and put in a time free zone because I certainly did not age but everyone around me seemed to be aging. Why then did I not remember being kidnapped? Thirty would be three decades and that was a long time. In today’s fast paced world of T20 cricket, thirty is the new century. I shuddered at the blasphemous thought. What would go first my hair, health or lifestyle? Would I lose my friends, wou
Read more

THE YELLOW BUTTERFLY...

The yellow butterflies flittered from one flower to another. The flowers had dressed themselves up in simple, monochromatic shades of yellow, bluntly refusing to wear the multi-coloured dress that Madam spring had strewn for them. Madam spring would have to visit other gardens and convince the flowers in those gardens, to try out the colourful ware she had prepared specifically for this time of the year. The butterflies themselves were attired in random black spots jumping into a sea of yellow. I have always believed that colour was nature’s way of bestowing beauty on these winged plunderers of pollens and consumers of nectar. Sometimes it would make me wonder if there are there certain conceptions of beauty which are universal in nature and that go beyond ‘the eyes of beholder’. I kept layering my thoughts one over other in an attempt to build a coherent structure and the butterflies kept moving from one pale flower to another, occasionally resting on the bright green leaves.
Read more