Sunday, August 14, 2011

Prelude: Dew drops and dreams

As the man with a scar on the left side of his face, looked back down the dark alley, a salute more to habit than fear of any dark shadows following, he could no longer remember if that was a summer of love or a summer of hate. Not that under the bright shining sun the answer mattered any more, but the man never seemed to run out of amazement at another umpteenth realization that his opinions, interpretations and most of all his character had changed a little every time he checked back.

With a smirk playing on corners of his lips, the man turned his back to the alley and faced the sun; in the manner that he did this simple thing, there seemed to be a certain finality, a certain irreversible end.
The sun rays burned down the scar and rays seemed to jump all around reflecting from the jagged edges. As was his wont, the man ran the index of his right hand slowly down  the edge of his scar, the simple act seemed to enlarge the smirk on his lips. 
There is a certain magnetism, that has its genesis, in paying the dues for one's karma; the anonymous man seemed to possess plenty of it. Most men get worn out by the burden of this magnetism but not him or maybe the facade was too real to fool most casual onlookers.
The man sat down on the small parapet by the road, looking far into the hidden ends of the shimmering lake, his poise would have suggested a man deep in meditation with eyes glassed and fixed on a certain unknown hidden somewhere far beyond. 

Sitting by the shimmering lake, the man knew that it was time to begin, not necessarily at the beginning, but begin he must; to recount the tales, of the faraway lands, of forbidden canyons in his mind and the endless green meadows in his heart. 

To tell the tales of adventure and long boredom, of valor and abject surrender, of faith and betrayal, of hope and despair, of the things he knew and the things he thought he knew, of the things he  forgot and the things he wished he could forget.

Sitting motionless on that sunlit morning, as the wind picked up across the surface of the lake and tousled his hair, he knew that even though his journey had ended, a voyage had just begun, a voyage of self acknowledgement, of pearls found while rolling over nasty waves, a voyage of dreams, some fulfilled, some unfulfilled, some just standing by a corner with a smile on their lips, happy that there time was about to come.

Ek Sach

 Hum apne aap se bhi chup ke rote hain