The Mundane Artist

We decided to meet at the beach. He was a few minutes late so I thought to set everything up. I called out to the sea. No reply. I was baffled. It usually answers my first call. I called to it again. No response. I was just about to call out again. But this time I was responded to. A sprinkle of water on my face. And I smiled. I asked it to rise by saying that one magical word: rise. That simple, isn't it? Communication. It is so important to communicate in any relationship. My relationship with water, therefore, was... simple. I call out to it in the easiest manner possible. And it shows. I walked closer to the water. I was rather slow to walk because I was zoned out thinking about what this majestic body would show me today. I reached the edge of the shore; where the water teases you but doesn't touch you. Finally, I had reached my destination. I took another step like the men on the moon. Lo and behold! The sea parted for me. It doesn't say much. But ...

When I opened my Facebook memories notification dated July 2 nd , I did not expect to find a memory that was of one of my best friends posting about how we were always out on this date, from two years ago. I took a screenshot of it and forwarded it to my best friends. Both of them showcased a desire for that status to still hold true. My best friends and I have been in a long-distance friendship for more than a decade. Yet, we have been best friends for more than a decade too. I shifted to another country ten years ago. Then when I shifted to India for higher studies, I was finally in the same state as them, but alas, not the same city. It was the closest I had been with them for a while, and honestly, I would take this than being in a completely different country, again. Long-distance friendships are hard. I know how dreadful I feel when I leave for college, knowing I will not be able to see these two homo sapiens who fill my life with so much joy for days, weeks or months. ...

"There is one benefit, though, that outshines all others. It's 'bonding', a transcendent emotional experience that is uniquely a woman's. When an infant suckles, when it feels the nourishment—life, itself—flowing from you, and associates it with your closeness, your warmth, the perfume of your body, your touch, the light in your eyes, the embracing and the cuddling, a bond is forged that can enrich your life, and the life of your child, all your lives. It's the bond of love." -Feed Your Kids Bright by Francine Prince and Harold Prince, PhD. 

I think of you as I stand here; The flow of a river has never been this serene. I remember looking at Beas river when I visited Manali. I looked from the balcony of my hotel window, a good distance away and yet, The ferocity of the river frightened me. Now I stand at the edge of the river And I have never been at peace as I am now. Is this some magic that you have cast through your words? Or is it my bias that is dictating my feelings? We will let it be. I hold it in my hand; The thing that is your solace. I wish you were here today. It is real, this day. The Jhelum looks “so clean, so ultramarine”. The day I came to know you, I promised you that I will take you home, Didn’t I? I promised you I will not let Kashmir be abandoned in the mailbox, And here we are, I fulfilled my promise. Now here we are, This is YOUR home! This is where you belong. I hold your solace, the postcard from Kashmir. I know your soul is buried dee...

"...and while there may not be a book in every one of us, there is so often a damned good short story." - Jeffrey Archer, And Thereby Hangs a Tale by Jeffrey Archer. 

"Ghazal The only language of loss left in the world is Arabic- These words were said to me in a language not Arabic. Ancestors, you've left me a plot in the family graveyard- Why must I look, in your eyes, for prayers in Arabic? Majnoon, his clothes ripped, still weeps for Laila. O, this is the madness of the desert, his crazy Arabic. Who listens to Ishmael? Even now he cries out: Abraham, throw away your knives, recite a psalm in Arabic. From exile Mahmoud Darwish writes to the world: You'll all pass between the fleeting words of Arabic. The sky is stunned, it's become a ceiling of stone. I tell you it must weep. So kneel, pray for rain in Arabic. At an exhibition of miniatures, such delicate calligraphy: Kashmiri paisleys tied into the golden hair of Arabic! The Koran prophesied a fire of men and stones. Well, it's all now come true, as it was said in the Arabic. When Lorca died, they left the balconies open and saw: his qasidas  braide...

Hyperbole  West opened  East ran to South.  East-West left timidly; they could have done well.  but  South chances  the king of hearts.  this is no exaggeration one declarer in a thousand would succeed  West neither led nor shifted  to  East.