Works of RK

I was all of twenty four then. There was this girl who lived in a house with a very big Tamarind tree. In the monsoons of Kerala, the house always looked wet and the gates always brown and leaky. There was moss on the driveway and the flowerpots looked as if they would crumble at the slightest touch. There was a grandpa chair that used to look desolate and abandoned. The old man who used to sit there passed away some years ago. They did not know what to do with the chair. She was one of the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes upon. And on Sundays, on her way to the church, she wore the whitest Churidar  and Chunni that I have seen. She looked like an angel walking among the clouds. The skies would stop the showers and rainbows would spring across the horizon. Small kids will be playing with cycle tires and the cars on the roads will look freshly painted. Strife has a way of making ordinary memories extraordinary.

How long is life? Can we actually stretch the minute into years where required? Is there a remote that slows down a day that I don't want to end? Is there a repeat mode into which I can forever live in endless loops? Why do long journeys make me sad? Why is that the best memories are from times that are past? Is there no software that would help me predict the next best patch in my otherwise short and dreary life? How do I count blessings? Can I remember the smiles of all those wonderful people I might have helped in my own way? Can I store their joy and consume it little by little? Can I use it as my emergency energy bank? Where is everybody? Why do we, like the ever expanding universe, keep continuously moving away from each other? What happens between birth and death? I have been on this journey a million time before. My friends and my lovers have had the same faces. Even my grandma has come back as one of my neice. So there is a loop right? A longer one than the one I wanted. B

Its 2.40 am. The cab driver calls in to check on the address. His wife and kids will be sleeping next to him in his small one room shack. They would have overheard our call. I walk down to our guard's room and knock on the door. His wife hears the knock and I can hear her waking the watchman up. "Sir is calling, please open the gates. Seems like he is traveling again", says she. It is 3.30am. The young man at the check-in counter has a smile on his face. You have already been checked in sir, says he. I thank him. He had been at work since 10.30 pm last night. The smile on his face surprises me. He is a good human being. By the time I begin my meeting today at 4.00 in the afternoon, I will have traveled about 1500 miles and directly and indirectly impacted the lives of at least 50 fellow travelers in time.  Our lives are intrinsically intertwined with those of others. Any omission or commission affects the balance of things. My life is not just mine to live. I need to acco

The Sun is a little shy All it does is glow and stare But I know its secret And he wants you to know That for you is his sunshine. This life won't let you know For its too busy living on its own That the one thing that makes it all happen And allows it go that long extra mile Is something that begins within you And comes alive with your every smile. Happy Birthday Sunshine Embrace life, All will be fine.

I lost an umbrella of mine the day before. It had been with me for many years now and I miss it terribly. I ordered another one quite like the one I lost. They should be delivering it any one of these days. I know how I will feel when it finally gets delivered. I will love this one just as much but miss the one that I lost forever more. I pray that it is discovered by someone who would love it just like I did and care and polish its burnished wooden handle year on year. Not many people care for their umbrella the way I do. An umbrella has a personality you know. I had lost a blue Cross pen years ago. It took me three years to find a replacement. I keep the new one very guarded. It reminds me of the one I lost. There is something wonderful about the first of many. They all remind me of what was once with me and is now no more. Sigh!

To the provider of those in need, I pray That should there be another soul in need Whose need is more desperate than mine Attend Thee first to my fellow being And you would have attended to me. To the protector of those in fear Kindly lend courage to the meek For from fear comes failure And failures, misery. Lend courage to my friend. For where a friend fails There is little success for me O! Bhairava, I know That I am but a little commah In the Epic called life. Place me in places where I shall make sense, Let there be a greater meaning to my life And that meaning be far greater than I. Bhairava is the Lord of Time

Borrowed from: etsystatic.com What your golden glow  Does to a backless Cameo,  Is how i define Red.  Ah!