It is not an often felt feeling, but I am feeling it today. It’s like I am walking through the dull grey roads of Mumbai, stepping on nothing but concrete and looking at the unfinished mess, that is my city. It has always disturbed me knowing that I am bound somewhere or that I am stuck or that I belong to a single place. The fear of belonging to only one sphere disrupts me greater than anything in life. But at the same time, I feel obligated to know myself, to know what I want, and to know where I want to be. This life holds no interest in me anymore, or maybe it is just me who denies the fact that I belong to it. Even if I don’t belong somewhere, I will always belong to myself. And what if I am not who think I am. I might be able to run away from everything in life and everyone but how does one accept the fact that he or she is to remain with themselves forever?
I am grateful for the sun but that does not in any manner indicate that I am not in love with the night. I am happy to be warm but isn’t the cold something that we all want? At every point that I reach upon this road, every person, every dog, ever gutter tells a different story altogether. And I want to stop, I want to listen and feel what they are feeling. I want to stop and smell the world from where they are, but again, as I keep walking, I am reminded that it is unwise to stop and look at anything. This road that I am following may have no end. And the thrill of having no end and fearfulness of having no end are two of the opposite emotions but they are in some fraction the same thing.
It makes me weak to think of fear and somehow makes me feel strong when I think of thrill. The thrill is like falling with the force of water, when I am flowing with it. it and I are not two different things, but I dissolve in the water and somehow it is flowing through me with the same force as I am with it. My hands will then no longer be able to work and my heart will be liquid. I really feel that all hearts must be liquid. Hearts that flow through the universe, acknowledging what is left unacknowledged and feeling what is unfelt. This feeling of having a liquid heart does not bring to mind the warm summer days but instead compel me to think of the cold snowy mountains. Mountains where god and his wife got married, and when I shiver it is not because my nerves are cold and dry but because the holiness of the mountains produces in my skin the warmth of love.
It is again inhuman to think of love as pure. But which love is pure, if it is not the love that dissolves one into itself and not even makes you feel the slightest bit of regret. And maybe one day death could be a form of love. Like dissolving in the very soil that I was born from. These feelings maybe are left unfelt but maybe it also because some fear them and some fear the thrill that they find. At this point, the reader must think of this as a senseless argument to make with anyone, but again, does anything in this universe make sense? Every bit is speculation, the birth of life is speculation, the universe is a prediction and the very ground we stand on is fiction