Dusk at Shivaji Park

When I come and sit or stand here, in front of you, a deity, having improbable and superhuman features, a statue which blends the affection of a mother, the sensuality of a lover and the darkness of a wizard, do I really come to pay you obeisance, expecting that there is somebody on the other side, who may, if pleased, will solve my problems, will ease my troubles, will unwrinkle the path in front of me? Perhaps. Because sometimes despondency sends us to depths of irrationality. But most of the time I come to you, because of the silence around you. Because of the gentleness of the air in your presence. The gentleness that is the decimation of all egos, because when we genuflect in front of you, when we stand with our hands folded in front of your tongue-out visage, we submit to the truth that we aren't in control. Our illusion of control evaporates at your gate. In that atmosphere, a lot of weight suddenly lifts off my shoulders. And I can become a bit of myself and talk; to myself. I sit, away from you, in my shoes, looking at people, at the deepening blue of the evening sky through the trees, the empty cricket nets, at droves of runners, walkers, joggers, talkers surrounding this brownish green patch of urban open space. I sit there and watch as silence and noise battle within. Occasionally it's the silence that triumphs. I sit there and watch. In my thoughts there may be a prayer, may be a puzzle that needs to be solved. But as I sit and watch, I feel it's me to whom the prayer is and it's me who has to solve the puzzle. And then slowly I realize that like you, even I don't exist. This sweet ephemerality, like the memory of dusks of my childhood, like the sounds of conch in each household and the melancholy of the hour captured in the footsteps of the children returning home, becomes the only reality. It's time to go home.

the incessant weight of staying awake

Waking up at the middle of the night, to be confronted by all your fear, indignation and negative thoughts. You know nothing lasts forever, not even this darkness. But for those moments, the pall feels like an impenetrable, interminable and inevitable destiny. All you can do is to accept it and grow tired under the unbearable burden of being, and hope sleep will come to ferry you to another morning.