Skip to main content

The Option to Fast Forward

I have been increasingly thinking wishfully about this remote control. A remote control that would allow me to fast forward my life to two or maybe three months ahead of today. I am still in love with my life, I want to live it until the last day, however, there is something about this season in my life which wants me to earnestly “not live in these times.” Thinking aloud about this, I asked my cubicle colleague, Sharon, what option she would choose if I were to give her one such remote; a remote that had stop, pause, forward and play on options. Surprisingly, she opted for the fast forward option too.

I wish this could happen.

But then something happened today that made me feel very good about living this day. Today was Priyanka’s birthday. Priyanka works with me and I consider her as a friend, not sure whether it is the same the other way round :)

So we had two sessions of cake cuttings, lunch at the pizza hut and the complimentary song from those lovely folks who make the Pizza Hut experience unique. I guess Priyanka did feel special, and that was what made today a “non fast forward day.”

For tomorrow and the days to come, I would love to have someone send me that remote.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.