Saying it at the risk of sounding utterly presumptuous - it's not easy as the very thought that 'deep down we know everything' is kinda self-placating. We have all the pieces scattered and just need to put them in an order-less order to get the picture out. 

The very delusion of adequacy takes us farther from the 'thing'. Are we looking for gratification or answer. 

Gratification will be there till a distance, answer will be there forever. Don't get into the gratification seeking cycle...you deserve the immutable. 

Wish you 'the answer'...enjoy the ride!

I'm decidedly not one of those who would seek salvation in obscurity or disparage limpidity as humdrum. But a chance parley with Dr Anil Abraham raked some points I should have heeded while posting on social sites...and they all pertain to my style of writing. I deliberately kept from defending myself...what pleased me was his interest in knowing the unknowable!

Thoughts split me within. Thoughts wage wars routinely. Thoughts make me bad. Thoughts make me lusty. Thoughts keep me from divinity. Thoughts baffle me. Thoughts contaminate me...and offer cure thereafter. 

The other one watches and laughs aloud!

There is only one unrelenting poem and 'they' all keep on adding their bits to it. A poem is treated just when left untitled letting the reader find his peace or war and love in it...a poem is ought to be seriously indulgent, unabashedly loving and most importantly uncompromisingly empathetic.

A certain degree of association with books and language allows the liberty to dispense words to one's inner rhythm and not mere advantage. 'Readerhood' is a word that perhaps lexicons don't ratify yet, to me, connotes something far beyond the defined scope of 'Readership'. Readerhood is an empowerment earned over ages through an imprecise process...quite unlike Priesthood.

He first showed me the sparkling droplet on lotus leaf... 

He as much filled me with the reasons to be liked as disliked. He pampered me with Mont Blanc yet taught me to adore the wooden pencil. He taught me to draw faces with it. He took me to the world without letting me loose sight of what lay next. He taught me to speak on Nandalal and Dali in the same breath...to adore creativity. He showered me with books, brush and colour. He taught me to confront…and to stoop to conquer too. He made me fall in love with Vilayat Khan and Beethoven…and Swiss watches. He prepared me to wonder. And acquainted me with both Plato and the Platypus. He offered me the key to the exalting world of literature – where I later found many of my immortal friends. 

He bequeathed me an infinitely interesting life. Thanks Baba…

Thoughts pick its language and civility cannot tamper with it. Sophisticating it would amount to robbing it of its innocence and vigour..

The altitude dictates the attitude...As you rise and slowly zoom out of all trifles letting the eyes savor a humbling vastness rimmed by the vanishing horizon, the restlessness leaves giving way to an overwhelming bliss...you feel like staying there even after your body retires to ground...

Wish all a blue sky, exciting take-offs and safe landings!