6 Feb 2015

Free Write Friday #1

What makes a good conversationalist? I don't know. If I did, I probably wouldn't be writing this post. And I definitely wouldn't be cringing under the weight of ice that stands unbroken between my own self and every other new  person I meet.

But there come points in your life when you stop in your tracks and wonder over the words that are not spilling out onto an empty screen, nailed to their position, their fonts, their sounds, but are rather flying head-first into the unknown abyss teeming with other better, more articulate, more interesting and definitely more beautiful words. If they are lucky, they might just inch closer and deeper into a conversation, sail another notch up to the heights of syllables and maybe, just maybe, tag along a musical note with one foot straddling the perfect pitch.

Is this that point in my life? Yes, it is one more in the series of all those 'points' marked by silence that have come and gone, stopping slightly in their tracks beside me to catch a stray thought riding atop a stray word or maybe an isolated sentence that is desperately searching for a drop of conversation, the warmth of enunciation, the embrace of recognition and pronunciation and maybe, just maybe, one glorious repetition. But me and my words are here, in a desert where the ticks of the keyboards tick away at the syllables that resound within the confines of my mind. Here I stand, no, sit in a mood disinterested in everything save a few.

Would you care for some Tchaikovsky, his resonant melancholic notes that trigger all those dusty chords in your heart? Would you like to imagine yourself drifting under the watchful gaze of a lonely evening, where every unknown has a familiar tinge of gray. In slip-shod dreams, you might even catch some passing glimpses of crimson red, the blood that would have set you ablaze had it but a chance to get hold of your rusted life. Would you care to lose yourself in colourful notes and leave your mind to wander an endless road that flows between the cozy shadows of banyan trees and drops a hint or two of a sparrow or a cuckoo at every turn of your step? Would you shut out the grey and reach out to the green, where the buds offer themselves to sing you their last song of a their lover's scent that they wear to their grave. Would you care?

Or maybe I can amuse you with the miracles of a universe whose understanding flirts with my reason at being able to comprehend or even crudely visualize what it is, was or could be. Maybe you and I can seat ourselves in that shadowy corner of the terrace one late evening and look beyond the too-familiar clear sky, right into the unknown abyss of our world, and let us debate over whether, in fact, this world is really ours to begin with. Let's lose ourselves in the ethical nooks and crannies of owning all that we do and resign ourselves to the constantly seeping wonderment at what all we imagine, we little tiny organisms who speak and think funny, all floating through the space on a "pale blue dot". Everything you have, everything you have seen, everything and everyone you have known, would seep back into oblivion in less than three centuries. Your lovers, your hesitations, your assumptions, your questions, everything is significant, but not beyond an extent. Your body, this wonderfully adaptable, leaky, swarming with hormones and emotions alike - this is what you are, this is what you will, for ever, be. A kind of perfection unique in your own, inching closer and closer to completion.

Let it all finally end with a bang, not with a whimper.

Come, let's share a bit of Chai & Tchaikovsky.



  1. Replies
    1. Thank you so much for your kind words. :)

  2. You handle your words with such grace :) and the music is calming beyond words.

    1. I'm glad you liked them both. Thanks for stopping by! :)

  3. I think I can understand this.... conversations would be easier if we stuck to chai and tchaikovsky ( lovely wordplay). Nice touch with T S Elliot in the end.

    1. I merely penned my reality as it was at that time. I had been sipping tea and listening to Tchaikovsky and suddenly realized how beautifully these two words sounded together. And I'm so glad that you noticed the Eliot reference. :)

  4. You way with words is absolutely incredible!!

  5. I think I care more about the end itself than about how it ends. What is an ending anyway?



    1. You're playing it safe, I guess. ;)

      And yes, what is an ending if not another beginning? Thanks for stopping by.

  6. Very nice post .

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Unless my thoughts fickle turned your brain into pickle, I'd love to hear if my words found your funny bone to tickle.

Or sparked a chain of thoughts. Even if they did not, do stop by and say "Hi!". That would mean a lot.