DIARY

I don’t know what to do with my life. Should I also get into the queue with other madmen in the chase of endless wealth? Or run away to some unknown mountain like a Sufi saint or sage in search of redemption? Or end my life and finish this restless drama of countless breathing? Whatever, but I will not leave before writing down the story of my life. But I often think, What is so special in my life to pen down? I am not even a writer, for God’s sake. Is it even worth scribbling? Will anyone spend time reading it? I don’t know! Maybe it will hit the chord with some other soul, same frequency people (as she used to call them). Or maybe I want to memorialize her in my words. Or while writing, I’ll get to live that life once again, at least in my thoughts, perhaps. Here I am. Glued to my desk, in a dark room with just an electric lamp illuminating the pages of my diary. While I try to kill the hours of my life by burning my lungs with the smoke of cigarettes, I close my eyes thinking about, what went wrong. Was it my destiny, my fate, my foolishness, or just a prank by God? Today, as I look back towards my life journey, all that I can remember is… those years!!! The years full of life. Moments filled with music, dance, dreams, and lots of dreams & Those eyes, the eyes which had every possible expression in them & that love caused her death!