Friday, 8 March 2013

being tentative

I feel I must reconnect with this dead child of mine, this blog, an abject creature I turn to at times of fatigue. I have moved on considerably in the last year, or was it month? I don't know. I have learnt to live alone, to appreciate my alone-ness, instead of despising it and fearing it. Perhaps there is a charm to everything we see as a cross to bear, every albatross has its day.

I think the crucial moment comes when you know how to say goodbye to what, and if necessary to make it long, but the moment of short and sweetness, the moment of short and sweetness comes when you blow your nose long and loud (and yet efficiently) into a wilting tissue.

Somewhere in Calcutta, an old grandfather clock strikes 1 pm, one short and striking 1 pm, and I stare at the  contingency of the hour, of every hour that passes by, until the final hour, the final hour when we add up the odds, and make it even, even as the uneven hours slip by-beautiful, sometimes intimate, at others sordid, and at all times, covered with sweat, blood, grime or snot.

1 comment:

Monidipa said...

That first paragraph resonates with me so much. I have done too, since January this year. It's a sort of personal achievement, dear one. Celebrate it as such.

(Besides, I miss you a little.)