Tag Archives: Loss

Not Arbitrary

I’m in a pain-induced haze. No, no pain killers. Just this nagging, blinding, tearing, searing feeling that’s making me type out this random post. My eyes burn and weigh.. a.. well, they weigh ten times what they’re supposed to. Wow, I can’t even decide if I want this post to be funny or intense or arbitrary. Who decides what is arbitrary anyway? One woman’s arbitrary is another’s authority.

Oh. Epiphany!


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So Long, and Thanks For All the Fantastic Times!


Yesterday would’ve been Douglas Noel Adams’ 61st birthday, had he still been with us. However, he stays alive in the hearts of millions of hitchhikers-of-the-galaxy, and in the hearts of those who still practice the art of Zen driving (you never ask for directions; you simply choose a car that seems to know where it’s going and follow it. You may not go where you intended to, but you’ll reach where you’re supposed to).

So, in honour of my favourite author, I’m wearing my favourite H2G2 T-shirt today.

Note: I’ve wrongly attributed the quote is to Zaphod, it was actually said by Ford Prefect.

Also, if you haven’t read any Douglas Adams yet, I strongly urge you to get your hands on one asap. You don’t know what you’ve been missing! And a further motivation if you like Doctor Who: Douglas Adams actually wrote a couple of  episodes for the fourth Doctor (played by Tom Baker).


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Bridges of Madison County Revisited

‘The Bridges of Madison County’, written by Robert James Waller, has always been one of my favourite books. Some time back, I started reading it again (actually, re-reading it again). But this time as I turned the pages, just one thought kept running in my head–this is not extraordinary! I wondered what had made me feel this book was so special. Probably I had become a cynic. Probably, as Robert Kincaid says, analysis had destroyed the magic.

Then came the day–in the story–when Robert Kincaid parted ways with Francesca Johnson, but in a geographical sense only. That was when my tears started to flow, and did not stop till the last letter of the last word of the last chapter. And I realized that the romantic in me is still alive.

It’s not really the story that holds us, not even the characters by themselves. It’s the words. The book is almost a poem in prose. The descriptions, the dialogues are beautifully poignant. In the end, they are what stayed with me and will compel me to read the book again, and I will once again forget about the disappointing beginning and the mediocre portions.

My favorite phrases from this book:

“I am the highway and a peregrine and all the sails that ever went to sea.”

“I live with dust on my heart”

“The old dreams were good dreams; they didn’t work out, but I’m glad I had them”

“Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole.”

“The reality is not exactly what the song started out to be, but it’s not a bad song.”

“I don’t like feeling sorry for myself”

“I love you, profoundly and completely. And I always will.”

‘There are songs that come free from the blue-eyed grass, from the dust of a thousand country roads’

“To ancient evenings and distant music”

“In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live.”

“Complex things are easy to do. Simplicity is the real challenge.”

“.. and I play that tune for a man named Robert Kincaid and a woman he called Francesca.”

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“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”
–Alice, in ‘Alice in wonderland’

I love this quote, but I wish I wouldn’t forget it during those alluring rainy mornings or those paralytic twilight hours. Times when I walk down the memory lane: look back and miss what I had been, see faces and miss the friends who were.

I wish I could stop fearing the future.


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The Unknown Father

‘Don’t think about it’, you said.
‘Don’t cry’.
But how can I forget?
I don’t even wanna try.

His name meant nothing to me,
I didn’t know him in life.
Whether he played golf, or smoked a cigar,
or if he loved his wife.

But that day in the graveyard
Full of gravestones old and new,
I saw a bunch of daisies on his grave
and a card that said “Daddy, I love you.”


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Old Dreams

Of all the terrible things in this world, I’m sure losing a dream is the most painful.

Its nothing tangible; not painful like a physical injury. Not like when you lose something material, e.g. your favorite silver ear rings or your passport or even a loved one. Because all these things are separate from you, outside of you. Your dream on the other hand had started out as an errant thought, maybe one to which you had paid no attention at first. And then you saw it grow and expand and occupy your whole being as though you were the dream and the dream was you.

It  doesn’t matter if you knew from the start that the chances of this dream coming true are as remote as the chances of the cricket team winning the World Cup three times in a row. It doesn’t matter that you kept telling yourself not to hope, not to nurture it so much. It doesn’t even matter that this was one in a line of many dreams you’ve already seen shattered.

For a few hours or days or weeks or months, it had been your whole world; the reason that you hummed happy songs all the time and stared off into space more than usual, had been the only thing that mattered. When this one dream that had been growing in your subconscious, that kept nudging you at odd times–like a toothache that just wouldn’t go away, only a million times pleasanter–comes crashing down, you feel like the world doesn’t make sense anymore. It is like tearing away a part of your soul.

For a brief period of time in your decades of existence on the Earth, you feel cheated out of something precious. As though the whole Universe is working against you: you wonder why were you even born.

Thankfully however, the soul is more resilient than a torn sheet of paper that can never really be put back together exactly the same way again. The soul has been given the ability to regenerate; to heal all its hurts and pains, given time.

And so you realize you’d been running after a mirage in a desert, chasing your own shadow all this time. Pining after what was just fool’s gold.

But you’re only human, and to hope and to dream is your lot however much you may admonish yourself not to.

And so you dream again.

“The old dreams were good dreams. They didn’t always work out but I’m glad I had them”

-Robert Kincaid in ‘Bridges of Madison County’


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