It has been a long time, almost like an entire life that I couldn’t pen down anything. Well this is nothing new, it is even sad. I have been quiet, mostly non existent I would like to say. Sometimes being silent on some matters or on all the matters makes you invisible. You stop existing in your mind’s eye and perhaps for other people too. It is sad and a little scary as well.
There are frequent periods in my life when I turn towards silence and quietness. Not the kind of quietness that is peaceful and relaxing but the dark, lonely, even terrifying kind of ‘quiet’.
These spells of quietness grow on me day after day. With every passing day, with every growing night, I remain stagnant like a water body that is losing its water. I’m like the River Ravi in Punjab.
I have never been to a desert but in my mind, quietness that often engulfs me ever so lovingly is like a lot of sand seeping all around me. A lot of sand gathering near me until I m in the middle of a no man’s land with nothing but the desert. The tiny golden sand particles start filling in between my toes until my feet disappear.
It is terrible I tell you my dear readers. It is awfully sad to let yourself into the strangling arms of quietness. For after a while you tend to relax yourself into the isolation that quietness and silence of that nature offers. You are there out in the world, observing everything around you but unable to talk or say or write or share.
Along with the numbness, the indifference, the quietness that offers fake serenity you do want to release and unleash your inhibitions. But you fail. In other words I fail. I stop. I step back further into the realms of quietness. It is like the evil step mother from the fairy tales that keeps the naive heroine from all the good that the world holds for her. Except that my life is no fairy tale and I’m not naive. I know, I know. And that is what makes it tragic.
I wander, but only in my mind, for that is the territory that the evil quietness never occupies. My thoughts are always free like fluttering butterflies. They are perhaps always too complicated and twisted for quietness to creep in and take control.
I think I like that.
BOOM. When that happens, boom I mean to say, the avalanche will brutally wash away the million dusty specks of quietness.
This I like to think.