I cannot help smiling.I am too excited to blink.To know that the avid reader in me, the not-at-all-choosy-reader has been sleeping in the cradle of my heart ever since I had rebuked her, not to be a hindrance in my AC-cool vanity-flooded world.The time when really, I enjoyed murky dingy colors, warm and humid, that smelled of rain , compared to the bright bubbly fun colors, that smelt of sickly sweet fragrant air freshners.I had scared her to death.Or so I thought.She isn't dead.
I'm suddenly feeling the rush to get drenched in the rain of words, the kind that follow you wherever you go,like the Hutch pup.Even to your bath and bed.And cloth you in your dream.As your dream.
I'm glad she's awake now.And spontaneously so.Or not.May be stirred by the death.Not by grief, but because of a need.Because there is a void she needs to fill.One that did not exist before, like many other things she failed to notice.
The words are coming slow now.It might even have stopped.Is she hesitant to take the plunge?Oh!yes.But at times, she could take a swim.To build the inside of the thing, she calls Void.
(In memory of my dear friend Raghuram, who made an untimely exit from the world of words.For Him, who is the Godfather of the writer and reader in me.)
I'm suddenly feeling the rush to get drenched in the rain of words, the kind that follow you wherever you go,like the Hutch pup.Even to your bath and bed.And cloth you in your dream.As your dream.
I'm glad she's awake now.And spontaneously so.Or not.May be stirred by the death.Not by grief, but because of a need.Because there is a void she needs to fill.One that did not exist before, like many other things she failed to notice.
The words are coming slow now.It might even have stopped.Is she hesitant to take the plunge?Oh!yes.But at times, she could take a swim.To build the inside of the thing, she calls Void.
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