Works of RK

I look back and I cannot see beyond a couple of days of the time that has passed by. A good memory here, a bad one there. A moment of shame, some moments of sorrow and many moments of love. If I were to count all the moments that I remember, It will still not fill the 48 years I have lived. Where did all that time go? Is it hiding in secret places in me. Are there memories in me that have stolen time from me and are now themselves lost to me? Time, so much time, and I cannot figure out where it all went! I now think I know more closely what Einstein meant when he said that time is a human experience. It is an illusion of our befuddled minds to make sense of the chaos of everyday life. When I stare at the crumpled paper on which the innings of my life is written, I see how the dots on the last line converge with the white spaces on the first line. All that is past and all that is yet to come is all enmeshed into one tapestry of intricate stories, mostly out of sequence, but ...

On a video call with Mom, I told her that I am making Sambhar, something that never really turns out the way I wish it would. I am accustomed to having Mom's version of the Sambhar since childhood. It's taste is imprinted in places where I have no access to. The tongue knows when something is off. Sambhar is a complex dish. It is not like a plum cake or a bread, or even Avial, where, eventually, the grated coconut and coconut oil evens out all the other tastes and brings them to a consensus. Sambhar is complex. The ladies fingers have to be slightly sauteed, else they disintegrate into the ocean that is Sambhar, and you can see that they existed once in the little seeds twinkling here and there. The Drum Sticks have to be just right, else they stand out. Drum sticks have to bend to the will of the greater cause that is Sambhar, but not break. Then there is the coriander powder and the Fenugreek Powder, and the asafoetida chunks that should melt entirely, else they raise hell in...

A thought that died in you Died in me too Only, Separated in time It took much longer For mine to die. 

All this time  That has now gone by Is all in here All at once Together   Einstein says That time lives on Eternally in the present Scattered about Across a universe of memories We We are not meant to live in the shadows We are Stardust We burn bright as Stars And then we are dust ...

I caught up with another one of her hairs while sweeping today.  It has been a month since she was last here And here she was again As if she was always right here Living with me In fractal moments Of mesmerizing memories. ( Image )

There are experiences that get encoded into your being. Later,  much later,  when it is time for one last curtain call,  I will look at the faces of nameless strangers in my audience,  and smile as I bow for one last time. credits I know that I will not find you in the crowd.  I know that I will not be looking for you outside of me anymore. I will smile in the fond memory of your lips on mine.  I will tear up with the lingering warmth of your breasts on my being. I will,  for one last time,  run my hands on my body,  and try to redraw the maps you drew on me once. I will look at myself reflected on these screens for one last time,  and find you smiling through the twinkle in my eyes. Out of the multitude of ships at sea, one,  for a little longitude in the time,  sailed so lovingly close to me.

The life we wish to live is often not the life that we eventually get to live.  Time passes by really fast. While the days may each groan and creak, the years themselves would hurtle by like vandals. Before we realize, we find ourselves as old as our parents once were. Friends become rarer and the shadows from the waning sun stay longer.  We recede into ourselves and find new places to hide,  new reasons to be un-found. We become sad in strange places in us,  places that we now don't know how to reach.  We become afraid of silences and try to fill it with noises. And then we slowly hate the noises in our minds.  Slowly,  very slowly,  we become screen saver versions of ourselves.  The Insta Posts of our broken versions, the hurting laughing aching versions of our whatsapp statutes.