Like a filmy soap bubble, her smile reached me leisurely and got busted on my face to liberate all the pressure it wombed through its way.

There is a tempo that life follows, there is a rate your heart beats with, there is a rhythm that the nature functions in, that is what we seek in everything.

When we grow conscious of patterns, we crave for the randomness and when we are hounded by the randomness of our life, we seek pattern in it.

If there’s anything that frightens me the most is a nightmare. It makes me feel primitive, a too bodily and embryonic being.

It still remains special as it’s forgotten, the more I tried to recollect, the more elusive it grew — like the golden deer that enchanted Sita.

The hall looked bleak in her absence, like a moonless sky, like the forehead of a Hindu widow.

I am like a feather floating in the air, neither driven by a purpose nor bound by an ambition.

In the later part of life, I learned that there are few thoughts in everyone’s mind, that are supposed to be preserved like a family heirloom, though they are obsolete, though they aren’t of much use or the significance, just to be placed in a dark corner not to erase their existence.

Though it sounds part serendipitous, part enigmatic, part in control, part intractable, it seems like a game to be played void of the knowledge of rules.