Reflections - A Journey Through Life

There are two types of writers—potter kind and spider kind. The spider kind of writers can spin a web out of their own saliva so to say, while the potter kinds are more dependent on their earthly experiences. One can’t say who are superior. A potter writer can very well transform her own experiences into a timeless saga while a spider kind may lose her way into an infertile land of imagination devoid of the life-juice of reality. On the other hand, a spider writer with a fair amount of research, may bring alive a forgotten era with her fertile imagination whereas the potter writer would stand helpless. In any case, to write a successful piece of literature you don’t have any other way than to bring alive the characters forcefully. Interestingly, if a writer paints a bygone era in all its lively colours, in spite of being set in the long past, the creation may surpass the time barrier and continue enchanting readers through ages. I suppose the reason lies in the success of depi...

A Passing Evolutionary Novelty All cockroaches have an oval and flattened body shape, a thorax covered by a large plate that extends over part of the head, chewing mouthparts, compound eyes and prominent long antennae. Two spikes extending from the rear of the abdomen, known as the cerci, can sense minute air movements and send signals directly to the leg muscles, enabling the cockroach to rapidly detect and flee from potential danger. Nina is the new member of our household. On the first day she declared, “I must organize. Everybody please cooperate with me.” I was happy. This house spills over with books, papers, clothes, shoes and all else. Decades ago my lady tried to keep things in order while I and my sons went about our own ways not only undoing her work but also taking back the degree of disarrangement further. Later she gave up and now she lives happily ignoring the surrounding chaos. Nina is young and fresh with hopes. She also has a lot of energy. In the evening ...

When I kissed her I felt her melt, with me. A bubble of pleasure enclosed us, separated us from the world. Through the touch of skin on soft skin blood flows talked to each other. I felt an all-encompassing love for this lovely diminutive creature in my arms. And there was great peace and joy in having her so close. Love and trust seemed to make the moments last forever. Communion of two loving bodies apparently joins their souls—so people say. People talk to express themselves; sometimes to hide themselves also. You never know what goes on in another mind. In fact you can never know what you yourself think, what you are, what you want, let alone express it. But at least I knew that I wanted her. Much later, sitting high above the ground, floating through the clouds on the way to another city, I asked myself, why did I want her? What did I expect from her? Pleasure? Companionship? Or was I driven by plain primitive instinct of racial continuity and self-preservation! I ...

  Would you find the words again? Three of us friends were in very good mood. After the day’s work we were happy, relaxed and isolated. Words flowed into sentences, sentences smoothly crystallized into thoughts, thoughts formed linkages in all directions. My two friends were five years younger to me. Both of them were talented and good talkers carrying abundant store of stories with them. Some part of their younger years was filled with adventures of medium kind. Stories and remembrances flowed. Past merged into present. New ideas formed, evaluated and lobbed back and forth. We felt no pressure of time or concern for anything. Sometimes isolation and right kind of company creates this condition. Suddenly one of my friends halted and addressed me, “Let me have your number. Going back home I will speak to you.” We exchanged our numbers. I remarked, “Do you know, I now live in a zone of silence.” Suddenly a pause took birth. Both of them looked at me askance. “It is like th...