I know it now. I have lived in this bubble. Always a foot above the ground. Floating along at my own pace. Stopping once in a while to escort another bubble. Maybe. But I will not say that I am entirely oblivious to things and people around me. I would be lying then. But really. I cannot help but look at my reflection in the moving transparency and feel ashamed. I cannot help feeling grossly misunderstood at times. I cannot help looking down at my green slippers and feel... nothing. All these years of living and... nothing.

There is a difference between grabbing a pen and holding one. When you are grabbing a pen, you are not even familiar with the contours of the object, let alone trying to understand it. But when you are holding a pen, you know what is in your hand and you know how to use it. I don't kow how to hold a pen. And I so wish I did.

I so wish for the sun to set when I want to. For the sun to rise when I am awake to see it. I wish for the moon to be red. For spring in December. For wild flowers outside my house. For that hug. That kiss. I so wish for 15 degrees in Chennai. For that smile on that little girl's face. For that frown to vanish. For that applause. For that praise. For that kindness to knock unlock my heart. I so wish to see that generous soul standing beside me, praying for me...

There is a huge difference between writing and essaying. I write. I always did. I don't think I ever learnt to essay. You write out a shopping list, a things-to-do list, notes in the class, telephone numbers...

You essay letters, love letters, cooking instructions, notes in your diary at odd hours, a journey, a dream, a thought an ambition...


There is a wall of a difference between grabbing a pen and holding it... between writing a note an essaying the same........




I take a sip of watermelon juice and sit back in my chair... When will the pen be held. When will the note be essayed. When will the moon turn red. When will the faces smile and the frowns recede..