We came back from our native and vacation last Sunday. I have not resumed writing. A strange inertia has held me. It feels more like an inability. It’s like I have never known how to write. Like I am a different person now. I was not ver well when we left for Hyderabad. The illness has re-calibrated me, it seems. This, when I am sitting down and writing, doesn’t seem familiar. My room is closed. Like before. There is a sound. A sound of the silence. The kind you hear when you go to a new place and encounter an unknown empty space. Or, like that room which hasn’t had any visitors since long. And, none of its objects have been moved since a long time. It’s like you have encroached that space, which was occupied by silence and emptiness and now, you can hear its dense existence.
#62 Not everything is lost
#62 Not everything is lost
#62 Not everything is lost
We came back from our native and vacation last Sunday. I have not resumed writing. A strange inertia has held me. It feels more like an inability. It’s like I have never known how to write. Like I am a different person now. I was not ver well when we left for Hyderabad. The illness has re-calibrated me, it seems. This, when I am sitting down and writing, doesn’t seem familiar. My room is closed. Like before. There is a sound. A sound of the silence. The kind you hear when you go to a new place and encounter an unknown empty space. Or, like that room which hasn’t had any visitors since long. And, none of its objects have been moved since a long time. It’s like you have encroached that space, which was occupied by silence and emptiness and now, you can hear its dense existence.