Hey Jude!

Work, earn, push, reach and when you are finished repeat the whole cycle all over again!!! Someone shouted. She looked up her desk, desperate, because she couldn't find a file that her boss had asked for about an hour back. Only yesterday she broke up with the boy who walked away to live in the glory of a far-away glittering town amidst chic women that he said she had nothing in common with. She said, " Mr. Ryan, I will be right with you in a minute." Ryan barked " A minute you said ? That was an hour back! If you haven't done it yet, then just say it. You don't have to bluff. That's what I precisely hate about you middle class working women. You are just so disgustingly desperate."

Sometimes words do not deliver. They float and hang in the air; un-accepted. That's the magic of human will, wish and hope.

His arms around her were whispering a warmth into her heart. He said, " I am not a rich father. You are not pretty." He chuckled " So many things just imperfect, isn't it? Amidst all this, you are a perfect daughter and I love you. The only two things that still make me go to the church on a sunday". She looked at him with tear soaked eyes. They lost their house to the bank today. She had tried. Knocked every door. Like everything else it failed. Sitting in the rented roof-top attic, she was looking at him in a twilight. His fine features, which she always complained why she does not have, the grace of the age on his face, his palms! He was right, it was perfect. She still has him.Everything will be alright. He shook her. Through her blurred vision she simled, "It feels like dawn".

No luck today either. But it was just an interview. She just needs to talk to dad right now. She needs a little support. It will be OK. She was repeating these lines to get some nerve. They can go out and walk along the river. He will tell her about his new painting. He has been hiding it from her like a little boy. He will ask her to sing a song and they can laugh on a silly joke. And if she drops her head, he will jerk and say " Come on, Princess! Move on" and everything will be just fine.

"Dad, why are you sitting in the cold?" He turned to face her. She can hardly see him . Has he been crying? "What's it dad?". "Your mom wrote to me", he said. She stood there waiting. She has not seen her mother since her parents split 12 yrs back. She never came and Dad was enough for her. He stood up and said "I am leaving". She asked, surprised, "where?" He said "You don't have to know. You have no right to know." She was bewildered, "I need to know. You are not well and you are not going anywhere at this hour. It is cold outside. Come, let me put you to bed." He jerked her hands off him and said " I don't belong here. And you don't belong to me. I will stay if you say, but i won't be long." He stormed out of the room. A paper drifted in the air and fell on the floor. She picked it up. "... What you pride in and what you flaunt is any way not yours. Now that makes you wretched, does it not? I am her mother and I swear on her that she is not yours. Did you never notice the absence of any resemblance that you everyday imagined on her face? I lied to..." She couldn't go on. Hour later, she walked on to the roof. He stood motionless. He said without looking, " Not your fault. I know. But I can not take it. I have lost what it takes. Can't be faithless and promise to be by your side. I loved you, saw life in your tiny feet and twinkling eyes when you were born. I won't live to feel disgust for them. Now on, you are on your own."

She turned around, dragged her bag behind her and barely whispered, " I just came to ask if you can rock me to sleep tonight."

I am definitely growing old. Never in my life did I save any of my writings or even bothered to put them down on something worth saving. I mean, all those restaurant napkins, scribbled news paper pieces, chocolate wrappers would not have exactly formed a personal literary collection anyway. So the decision to write, rather ruminate in public exhibits the audacity (I would like to call it confidence if you don't object) and the "inclination to preserve" that comes with age.

Even then, I am quite certain that my postings will be rather intermittent. I write only on two occasions - 1. when I am extremely affected (both positive or negatively) by some event, situation or just thoughts and ideas, 2. when I feel the need to express and many a times i don't want to do that to any individual. Such occassions can sometimes occur very regularly and in other times, it may completely phase out for a while.

As a beginning note, let me put down few of my beliefs that I consider define with maximum precision the kind of person that I am and the nature of postings that are to come. I think BLACK is the most attractive colour because it is not intimidatingly beautiful like WHITE. I also think, Financial Markets are the closest examples of Love-Affairs. In some cases, prevention is as unnecessary as cure. Most smart guys are already married. I have never figured out the reason behind everyone's obsession with being "different". Nirvana and Einstein are the only two extraordinary phenomena of 20th century. And why the hell everything that is fun and likable considered wild and madness? But, what's wrong with wildness and insanity anyway!!.
So, at the end of it all, as the night falls, it's a wide open sky. Flight begins. A smoldering neucleus of untouched thoughts finally unfolds...