We are perfect  

Posted by Nitu

Our uniqueness lies in our contradictory character forces and truths. We are creators, we are destroyers. We are seekers, we are relinquishers. Our fineness is not the smoothness of our character carpets, but the aligned and accommodating patterns of ups and downs, ridges and grooves. We are both -flawed and beautiful, ordinary and incredible. We are human.

We are not a smooth ride with the warning boards signalling a bump on our character road. We can't handover each other a dossier of cracks and bumps upfront because we have none ourselves. We are not metro city streets with its DNA and structural blue-print affixed in every corner and turn. We are dirt terrain roads, rugged and lugged. We explore things while on the run.

Our egos are Himalayan. But there is snow and it melts. Our peripheral proclivities are polar opposite, but there is a core and it hinges them well. Our debates are never ending, but there is a mind and it can reason. Our complaints are monumental. But there is an ear and it can listen.

We are perfect with our imperfections, our flaws are our polka dots, our differences are our orchestra.

The sounds of a night  

Posted by Nitu

It is amazing to surprise others, intriguing to surprise self. I am not a guy of surprises. Too predictable like the sun and the moon or the birth and death, too conventional like mom doing her cooking or school children's homework. Yes, the analogies suck. But so do I in this matter.

It is a quarter to 4.00 am now. And I am wide awake- consciously and actively- eyes, nose, ears, skins and tongue - all sprung alive. My mind fox sharped( I can recall all the five at least). Last time when I was awake at this time was three years back I guess, before catching a flight to Delhi.

The neighborhood is mechanic silent. It is that kind of silence one experiences when a big roaring machine comes to an end. A cricket is incessantly chirping. A lone yell commanding the night. No bark. The pampered pet dogs are deep asleep. And the stray dogs are busy digging either the fox holes by the lake side or the dustbins on the main road. No honk on the nearby street. Truck drivers are away with wives or prostitutes.

Someone is dropping water from an upper floor on a neighboring building. It is still dark outside with a dim bulb hung to a corner of the small room on the parking plot where the watchman lives fighting hard for its way out. Before I could locate the source and know that someone is not enjoying an adventurous late-night peeing, the dropping sound stopped.

Attention back to the room and bed. An envious stare on my desktop wallpaper picture. A baby girl sleeping innocent. One can quake the earth. But she will die with her little smile on her lips - I think. Innocence, your name is happiness.

Wondering what might have triggered this nocturnal sojourn. I went to a big shopping mall yesterday. It dearly cost me. But that's not the reason. I saw lots happy people (or at least they pretended happy). No I don't think that is a reason too. Talked to someone earlier and bragged myself- "I need only six hours sleep. That's it." Got to know that that someone sleeps only a little more than four hours! Damn it. Nocturnals are contagious.

Am enjoying the night though. A silent night has its own charm like a lady in a dark veil. It adds richness to your thoughts and calmness to existence and seduces imagination. I always maintained I can't do anything during this time other than sleeping or cursing if someone break my sleep. But when the world stops throwing surprises to me, I surprise myself. I prove myself wrong. There are humility and consternation when one does it self.

Am hungry. Late night waking has an uncanny habit of stomach craving(I am not married yet. So not sure of other dimension of nocturnal appetites). Bread, butter and a few other stuffs. A cadbary chocolate too. Mid-night butter spreading doesn't sound inspiring, others need to be tossed in the burner or a little more than hand doing. I didn't keep the chocolate. But taking anyway.

A crow has started cawing. Someone is reciprocating with a cough. Poor old men. They always get awake at the slightest provocation of a sound and always the first one to wake up in the family.

Lights beaming through my window grills. It is dawn. A day ahead. And I have things to do.

PS- the writing is looking like a motley of candid tweets. Is this because people bear no makeup when they wake up, leaving only the view of raw and natural self?