Life is no Palindrome...

This book cannot be read backward.

The reader cannot flip pages back. Ripping a page off may just suspend the possibility to flip back yet will not take the longing away. Perhaps the weaving 'words' just disappear once read and lived...what are left then are just disarrayed dry 'letters'.

Perhaps that's the only similarity between a word and life...none would make sense when spelled backward...Life is no palindrome.

Over the years endured I've grown fond more of the people who confounded me than those who comforted. I am made to maintain that life is all about discovering one's vulnerability often sweetly 'misspelled' as 'strength'. Strength, as it appears to me, has two kinds. The strengths we are born with make the first kind. The other kind has those we cultivate along the journey...

We are always born more than once. It is not a choice to be exercised but a phenomenon to be endured or rejoiced...it is ordained.

the magic of leitmotifs...

Though 'leitmotif' owes it origin to Wagnerian opera, over the years it has grown to be one of the most lovingly used words across the imaginative brotherhood - signifying a recurring theme or object relatable to the reappearance of a person, situation...or fancy. Kolkata is a city where leitmotifs abound...some momentarily and some forever. I hail from that city making it agreeably obvious to carry a bit of it in me wherever I go...recurring themes!

what I impose...

Perhaps I am by choice absent in everything that I do or pursue. But they are all essentially there in me, though in bits and pieces, little by little building a haze that only lifts to descend again...the impositions I make,if at all I do, speak more of them than of me...fortunately!

Reflections are verily as impermanent as chicken tandoori...hardly are they served to a drooling lot than are shovelled in. They just come and go. Yet unlike tandoori, reflections change hue with time, age, company...or the lack of it!

To know...or not to know...

Hardly we get to renounce the eloquent trappings of overwhelming quotations and their imposing influence on life. Until an age I used to keep buried in quotations for hours fascinated by their sheer charm, brevity and ingenuity - struggling to appreciate the emotional accidence of each on the original utterer. They are more often quoted than understood.

With time I began searching for relevance, connections, subjectivity. Unsure of the exact state I am in, I have lately started succumbing to and, to my surprise, empowering the quotations to unfurl further to give away the meaning I otherwise wouldn't have discovered having approached them with a 'reason'.