A Spatial Affair

Have I ever told you how much I love space?

Outer space.

The first time I ever managed to foster an ambition, I was 10 years old fashioning a blunt hair cut, dirty brown hoodie and eyes that weren’t blind without glasses. Hopping up and down with the kind of earnestness you expect from a kid who believes he’s just found his purpose in life, I announced with as much resolve as I could, “Mum, when I grow up, I will be an astronaut.”

In return I was thrust with a bag full of clothes that needed dry cleaning.

But my passion never snuffed. I went ahead and made a fat, exhaustingly detailed project on ‘The Solar System’ for my yearly submissions and ended up getting full marks.
“If I can get full marks here, I can surely become an astronaut”, my ten year old brain schemed eagerly.

But then I grew up. And slowly with each passing year and with the arrival of Physics, Chemistry and Math died my dream of ever stepping into space. Later arrived teenage angst, thick glasses and youthful indiscretion and my love for stars and planets was unwillingly buried under copious amounts of schoolwork.

After a decade when I unearthed that passion again and held it in my hand it seemed to throb with life; it was old but stronger and fiercer. And now when I look at it with grown up prudence I understand that my love for space has always been solely from an artists perspective.

I love the stars for being stars. I see space as a vast painting, I see it as a gigantic portal of beauty and wonder. I feel a life in the cosmos. When the universe takes deep breaths our sky shakes a little. Meteors are sparkling messages from one galaxy to another. When the sky is pink, someone’s wish has been answered, when it is grey, somewhere someone’s heart is heavy. The universe is a huge, magnificent work of art, one that we’re too small and too puny to comprehend but too nosy to not be part of. It is for this reason that when you gaze at the night sky dotted with silver stars, your problems don’t seem so big.

This is how the artist in me has romanticized space and this is how it shall always be.

On December 13th after midnight, I lay on my terrace alone and watched the night sky slowly emblazoned with a dozen meteors. There was complete stillness except for an occasional brush of cold, frigid wind.  First there was a small, thin streak of silver light slowly piercing the velvety dark and I gulped and shivered a little.

And before I even blinked, the night was embellished with a splendid meteor shower and I soaked it in with bated breath and gaping eyes. It was an ethereal scenery painted by some strange, elusive artist.

Reader, it was the most beautiful and heart warming feeling I ever experienced.

While the night before me swirled and danced with a thousand shades of gold, a strange, subdued part of me whispered and tugged at my sleeve. It made me turn my head and stare at the empty space next to me. Subconsciously I wondered how it’d be to experience something this miraculous next to someone. It’d be comforting to look sideways and smile in between, no?

The Geminid meteor shower arrives every December. I close my eyes and make a wish.

Maybe years from now on some December evening, the universe would be considerate and the sky will be pink, for me.

 

Love always,

Your blogger.


Close your eyes.
Turn off the lights.
Listen to it alone.


P.s- I hope everyone realizes the above piece is purely fictional. There’s no way I could’ve watched the Geminid Meteor Shower from my terrace in the heart of a bustling city. But since I yearned to experience it, I chose to live the event by wondering and writing about how it would feel like.
That’s all I could do, couldn’t I?

Brimful of Thoughts

star-gazing-1149228_960_720

Do you ever, somewhere in your deep subconscious mind, feel the heat of tumult and conflict to such an extraordinary level that you long for nothing but a cool, silent wind; wind to blow softly through your mind and ease the burns arising from the constant conflict of thoughts?

To, only for a while, feel nothing but intense cold and then the comfort of a soft, cool rain extinguishing any remaining embers in the parched, torrid land. Have you ever, even briefly, longed for a moment of absolute placidity? Closing your eyes to make thoughts halt and opening them only to be revived again.

That the burden of wonder and curiosity at times becomes too much to bear. For you cannot afford to question everything alone? And answers are only found in stories, here in your mind, there is only a dispute. Constant debate, incessant squabble, shocking revelations, unnerving deductions mixed with a love for stars, nature, seasons and happy endings.

What do you do when there is no particular truth, but only a galaxy of perspectives? The scenery changing with every different camera angle. What do you do with these perspectives-for aren’t they a little selfish? Only acknowledging the mind from where they emanated?

Do you juggle with these flames of unsolved riddles? Or do you spend your life solving it piece by piece?

More importantly, in the process of figuring out this puzzle, do you ever stop and long for peace? If yes, then how do you find those gray showers of rain?

Love always,
Your blogger.

Highway

The wind is frantic tonight and the stars are unusually luminescent. I wish I had packed sincerely. But it’s not my fault, I didn’t plan for this to happen.
I stand amidst gushing noise of cars speeding past me, my hair flowing in their direction as I stare at their red tail-lights, until they drive off down the road.

I scramble through my bag and I only find a sweatshirt, my notebook and some useless currency. I wish I’d kept my iPod. At least I’d have a musical companion on my way.
I sigh as I glare at the night again, ‘What do I do?’ I ask the silver stars.

Disappointed I look down, half expecting a twinkle.

I feel oddly cool. My chest isn’t burning with uninvited anxiety, nobody’s around to question me, I’m not trying to find peace any more, probably because I’ve found it.
Right here.

On this highway.

Humanity has retired to slumber, but the magic has awoken. And I can feel it in the midnight mist.

I have tried and tried to understand all that is wrong in our massively sinister and decadent society. I even resorted to finding answers, answers to questions that trouble us till our deathbed and I have failed. I hinged on the universe to give me answers, but all I ever received were instructions to stop trying to fix things.

I guess not everything can be healed. The roots are too deep to exhume, understand, obliterate or mend. I tried to seek answers from pages of books. For pages are far too patient than anything I’ve known. But they hesitated, giving a sad smile as I stared at them blankly. They too, didn’t have the answers.

The past evening, I rummaged through my drawers in search of everything I could take with me. Sadly, nothing was important enough.

So I ran. I ran as fast as I could. My lips trembling, my heart beating through my chest and cold air piercing through my lungs. But it felt good. Dear God it felt good. The wind blew through every strand of my hair, untangling it, playing with it. Warm tears rolled down my cool cheeks, for the wind was too fierce to run against.
The city was sinking out of view and when I came to a halt, I could only see distant, yellow lights scintillating below the city’s skyline.

And now I stand alone on this endless road. With nothing but the low hum of cars rushing past me.

I wish I could say more and confide in you about my journey ahead. But I’m afraid you will come looking for me. And as much as I love you for it, I don’t want to be found.

For now, this highway is my home.

I turn around and take a wistful glance at the city that raised me. I  tighten my grip around my notebook. After all, it is the one who will tell my story.