The Red-light

At the traffic signal, a man used to count the time in his mind along with the displayed countdown, waiting eagerly for it to turn Green again.

Read on to find out why he used to count the time along with the timer and why once he wanted the time to stop there.

… …

He turned the accelerator knob towards himself, and trying to turn it more and more, wishing the bike to run faster. But it didn’t. By the time he could cross the puzzle of other confused newbie drivers, the traffic signal had turned yellow and the traffic police had raised his hand signaling the vehicles to stop. He was diligent towards the law and so he slowed the bike to stop at the red-light.

He was the first one at the signal. All before him had somehow got past the police and had rushed past the cross roads, some even breaking the red-light. Slowly the empty spaces around his vehicle and the crossing in front of him started to fill up with more vehicles. He hated those drivers who went past the stopped vehicles, only to stop ahead of them, blocking the pedestrian crossing area.

He started whistling. It took him away from all the noise of horns (which made no sense as the signal was red, no one was gonna fly out of their way), heated engines of cars (which made no sense either, the signal was gonna stay red till a few minutes), the cries of the kids in someone’s lap, sitting pillion to the rider (which made no sense to him, the kids, they are just stupid to cry all the time without any cause, he thought).

His whistle soon took over his mind and him away from all these noise. He enjoyed the ups and downs, the variations on the scale of the song, the beautiful tune that several sounds made when joined together, the words that he spoke in his mind while whistling. It all was beautiful, the music was.

This was his routine. But that day, someone else was also listening to him at that time. He didn’t notice. But a girl on her bike, standing right next to him, was listening to him with her full attention. She had even removed her helmet to hear it clearly. She enjoyed music too. And this was something different, yet musical and amazingly beautiful. There was a smile on her face all the time she listened to him.

The countdown was still twenty more seconds, and people had already started inching past the yellow line. Only he waited till it actually turned zero before starting his bike. He ignored the people around him, punching their horns at him, giving him angry looks. He started moving and looked to his left in surprise, someone was staring at him. He gestured her to move and went on with his way. But in his mind he thought about her all day.

The next day, the scene was repeated. But this time, he saw her while whistling and had stopped instantly. The girl gestured him to continue whistling and he had continued. He loved whistling and she loved him doing it. They met every day at that same signal at the very same hour of the day, where for one-two whole minutes they would share a musical moment.

From watching the countdown, waiting to race away from the traffic signal, he started counting the timer in his head, wanting it to run slower, wanting the time to stop. He wanted to just whitle and watch that girl give him the most amazing smile he has ever seen in this world. There were people who loved his whistle, but he had never felt the way he felt for her and her love for him whistling.

As the timer in his head reached the last few seconds, he would gracefully end his song and bade goodbye with his eyes, to which the girl would reply similarly with her eyes. They spoke nothing, yet it felt to both of them that they had an amazing conversation with each other. They went on with their opposite paths from that signal, with a smile on their faces, a rare sight for that crossing.

From loathing the signals on that road, he started loving the red-light and the traffic. He wanted the rush to stay. He wanted it to be like this forever. And the day when they didn’t meet, he felt very bad that he didn’t whistle at all that day. Those two minutes at the red-light made or broke his day, all depending on if he meets her or not.

And a similar day came once when he couldn’t see her. He was late, and would surely miss her if he didn’t drive fast. So, he went past several shortcuts, didn’t wait for pedestrians and dodged his way past confused newbie drivers to reach there on time. He was just a crossroad away from that signal. But there was a lot of traffic at that signal. People were gathered on the middle of the road and there was total chaos of vehicles.

He took a detour, and reached his signal, ditching that jam-packed crossroad. He checked on his clock, for a hundredth time now, and sighed a breath of relief that he had reached on time. But she wasn’t there yet. So, he waited for another red-light, probably she was late too. But she didn’t come, probably had taken a day off. He left for his routine, restless to meet her tomorrow. He was finally gonna ask her out, tomorrow for sure.

The next day, it was raining. He reached the spot on time. The traffic was less, and signals were empty, but she was not there. Probably she would’ve gone early today due to the rains, he thought.

The day after that, he reached the signal again on time. But he couldn’t meet her. And it was the same news the next day, and the day after that too. He felt sad and wanted to find her. But he didn’t even know her name or contact number. His days went sore and in distress, as he was helpless, unable to find the mystery girl whom he wanted to share his life with.

One such time, he was restlessly looking around at the red-light for a sign of her. He didn’t even count the timer in his mind this time. All he wanted was to see her again. An old man came riding a bike and stood right where she used to. He was bothered that now even if she comes, she won’t be able to stand right next to him. He looked at the old man in anger. He saw that the old man had a sad face and probably, tears out of his eyes. Or may be it was just due to the wind while driving.

He looked at his bike. And for a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was hers. May be he was mistaken. But that same rusty chocolate color, that lightning sticker on the side, that broken leg-guard and a golden cloth tied up at the mirror clamp. There was a newly formed dent on the front body and the side-light was broken, mirrors skewed. But it was definitely the same bike. He wished he could remember the license plate number.

He looked at the old man and couldn’t resist asking “Umm… Sir? Morning sir. If you don’t mind, may I ask if this is your bike or borrowed? A friend of mine owns a similar colored one and I am a little confused about it…” He couldn’t complete his sentence. The old man broke down and started crying right there at the signal.

The red-light had turned green and there were several horns blowing around them, telling them to move, but he was more interested in something else. He asked the old man “What happened, sir? Are you alright?” and slowly patted the old man’s shoulders.

The signal turned red again. And there were several curse-words being thrown at the pair from surrounding drivers.

“The… The bike is… was of my d… my daughter…” the old man uttered with great difficulty.

It was the old man crying, but he felt a choke in his throat. He couldn’t speak anything. He understood what had happened. He was stupid enough to not realize this earlier. The dents, the broken side light and the new scratches told him the story and reminded him of the day it happened. He knew what had happened, but he wished it hadn’t.

“It was my daughter’s. She recently met with an accident and she… she died. I am taking it to the broker… Brings too many painful memories. You knew her?” The old man asked him.

With some resistance at first, he shook his head, unable to speak anything.

The signal turned green and the old man slowly rode away. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He stood there, waiting for the red-light to turn back on, counting the timer in his head, and tears from his eyes…

Now he goes past the same traffic signal everyday, waits at the red-light, sees fellow riders around him, but doesn’t count the timer in his head anymore… Doesn’t whistle anymore.

The Perfect Fall

A man was admiring the beauty of nature while standing in the balcony of his house, thinking about his life, the world and the end of everything. Just when he is fully enliven, kinda, by various topics, he gets ready to do something, this time perfectly.

… …

He was in his balcony, watching the rain make spiral shapes on the water flowing on the ground, and the rain water again breaking them with more drops. He watched the water move, glide over the concrete floor, washing the impurities which there were lying since ages. At least this time, there would be a clean spot around him, he thought.

He saw some people gathered near the gate, talking in a peculiar loud tone, but unclear. He had never liked them. And after how they had handled him the last time, it made him hate them more. They weren’t even careful with the spatter that had spoiled his shirt.

He thought about the world and about the life and all that heavy stuff. He always would think about all this before trying on another attempt. He thought about how people are different in every way and how he could never understand them! In all of his interactions with other people, he always had behaved how they had expected him to behave. And when he thought about it, he always wanted to behave in the opposite manner. That explained it to him that he was totally unlike anyone else. Humanly feelings and care for others were a bit different in him. He would care for people but would never let them know. He would feel for others but would never express it to them. He thought that was the pure way of doing that. Because telling it to others what he feels or cares just corrodes the whole point of it.

How that turned out for you? He smiled a smirk. And then started laughing. He admired his minds sarcasm. He himself had to think a bit before he could get it. And his life probably loved it too. It gave him all the reasons that he didn’t have any second thoughts before doing it, even when he did it the first time. And since then, he had been doing this every year on the same date, and sometimes randomly just when he felt like doing it. And each time, he tried to do it better, more towards perfection.

He was obsessed with perfection. So much that he chose this life, attempting his imperfection, over a perfect rest. He stood there analyzing the wind direction, the altitude and the law of gravity, combining with other physics laws and the biological facts. It all made sense and his calculations were perfect, but then why could he never achieve a perfect fall so far!?

But this time, he was so confident that this time his fall will be perfect. He will fall exactly how he had anticipated, exactly where he envisions, within that white border of foam forming in the polluted rain.

The main door opened and the owner to the house entered. The new owner. He watched the new owner throw his things on the sofa and loosen up like a child returning from school that never enjoyed going to the school. The owner turned on the TV and kept it loud. He hated the loud noise. But the new owner kept it and he couldn’t impose his wants on him, yet. It was only for sound. It made the new owner think that he wasn’t alone after-all. But he didn’t care. It was still time to get into his mind. He wasn’t miserable enough to influence. And till that time, he could just wait. And attempt his grand free-fall.

The last one was much much weaker and entertaining than this one. This one is just bored of his life. The last one loathed his life. He never cared for his life and felt miserable for everything that happened in his life. It was easy to get into his head. It was easy to play with him.

He reverted to his calculations and speculations about the jump. It was his 17th try at jumping off from his balcony, and 5th after he did it with the previous owner. He got himself ready, took some deep breaths and got on to the fence. But he slipped and fell off in the balcony itself.

The new owner heard a thud behind him. He got up to check what it was. He slid open the french door and went outside. The balcony was empty. But there was something peculiar about it. There was a different feeling in the balcony altogether, a saddening kind of feeling. The new owner never liked to go in the balcony. He avoided as much as he could. One more reason was that the previous owner had jumped off the same balcony a few years ago. And the new owner had also heard some weird stories about this house that many of its previous owners died in some strange way. But he stayed nevertheless. Better a weird home than none, he had thought.

The new owner went back inside and he took a great deep breath. He didn’t want them to meet that way, when he was lying there on the floor like a dead pigeon. He stood up and looked down from the balcony. The foam was gone. The rain had stopped. And the time for his jump had passed. He will have to wait for the next time now. Probably, by that time the new owner will be miserable enough to give him company in his suicide, he thought.

He climbed up on the ceiling of the balcony and slept there on the ceiling wall, upside down. He thought why he had failed at falling every time at the perfect spot. May be because he always wanted to go back while he was falling. May be because he did have second thoughts, but not quick enough before jumping off. Or may be he needed it done one more time. Probably this time, it will be better. This time it will be perfect.

The new owner went to his bed and thought about his life. How much more of it was still left? He immediately opened his eyes and shook off that thought from his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about such things! It was just a phase. It will go. Things will turn better for him. Definitely. This was no reason for taking such extreme steps! He shouldn’t be thinking about this…

In the balcony, he smiled in his sleep. It has finally started. Soon…. A few more months now.

After a long time since the new owner came in, he had a peaceful sleep that night. He dreamt of a perfect fall, finally he did it.

The Bird – Finding a nest

A series of stories of a bird who leaves his parents’ nest and moves on to live his life in his own way.


While finding a dwelling place, he missed his home and remembered how it was on the day he left that place, forever.


… …

The wind was gushing past his dark brown feathers while he had his strong, young wings fully spread in the sky. He was flying since several suns now. And he hadn’t been able to find a place to crash so far. He flew from forests to abandoned buildings to rural campsites to urban localities. But all the places were either occupied or weren’t free from human breech. At all the places, he was either shooed off by other birds or by mankind.

He was in constant upheaval since the time he moved out of his parents nest. He clearly remembered that day when his mother had told him that now he had grown into an adult bird and had to go on his own path, while Dad had looked at him from his usual watch-spot, doing his duty of precautionary lookout.

Dad had taught him all the survival and combat measures. And mother had taught him to fly, to stay full and everything else. He had looked into their faces for the one last time, a long moment before leaving that old house-top, forever.

He had flown up into the sky with his newly trained, strong, young wings. He had pictured mother and father watching him fly away from the ground below, but had not turned his head to look back. It was difficult to move on. It would be impossible to go if he looked back. A tear had escaped his eyes and had flown in the gushing wind past his feathers in the sky, then had started to descend down towards the ground.

On the old house-top, mother had been strong so far. She was watching his son fly high in the sky, not looking back, his strong boy. But then she felt it. She felt a pain in her heart, she knew her son was sad somehow. She flew in a blink, the father was too slow to stop her. He was in his own dilemma. Dad watched his son fly, tearing the wind. He wanted to say something to him before he left. He wanted to bite him over his head and cuddle him before he left for his long journey. He wanted to fly a few miles with him, making sure he remembers his lessons. But he couldn’t. He was Dad after-all. He has to maintain his strong composure. May be next time he sees him, he will say things, he will let himself break emotionally.

The mother flew, but not towards her son. She flew on the ground in the same direction as he did. He shouldn’t know how she felt. That would only make it more difficult for him. But she wanted to see the most of him before his son was gone out of her reach. She flew right below him, giving quick glances towards him in the sky, while dodging all the obstacles on the ground. She took a sudden bent in her path to duck a street light and did a barrel roll. While she was half-way through the barrel roll, with her wings open towards the sky, a drop of water had fallen on her chest. And she had stopped right there after completing the barrel roll. Her heart could make out what the drop of water was – the same make as the one that rushed out of her eyes at the moment.

They would be proud, but scared as well till the time he proves himself worthy by living out in the open world without their protection, he thought. And so he moved swiftly, but without watching the path. His mind wasn’t in the flying, his wings were doing it for him. He will move from one place to another, till the time he found a safe shelter. May be some day, he will have a place where he could invite them to stay with him, if he sees them again.

I’m an Addict

A speech by an addict, admitting his addiction in a self-help group.

… …

*An awkward moment of silence on stage before the speech*

“Hi, I’m … *Thinks of a name* … Bob. And I’m an addict. *Makes a gullible face*

I live upon, have always lived upon my addiction. I’ve never been able to successfully get rid of it. Although I’ve had convinced myself for a long time that I don’t have any addiction and am a perfectly normal human being. Misleading pretense.

The mornings are said to be the best time to start anything. So I’d start with my addiction. I’d wake up and fall for my dark urges, for doing them, for giving up other things against my addiction. It won’t even go away after the shower. Sometimes, its intensity increases after that!

I know what it does to me. I know that it’s doing me bad. That it will… *Thinks for the perfect word, but couldn’t remember any* stain my life, forever haunting me and to all those around me. I know these black urges, these sinister impulses will give me a hard time, but… It’s my addiction.

Till now, I couldn’t admit to anyone, not even to myself, of having an addiction. I would just shut up anyone pointing it out for me. This is the first time that I am actually professing this in front of y’all. I suppose it the first step to get over your addiction – accept that you have it.

We all have our addictions. Whatever it is, it takes over us. It comes slowly, urging us to fall into its trap. Then when it has a slight hold on to our minds, we start to lose our nous. We fall prey to the very thing we were fighting so hard to avoid. How many of we here have done this? Slowly giving up on our routine, just one time, just this time, one more time won’t hurt that much, and so on we yield to our addiction.

You know how it feels when our addiction takes over us, when that itch presses on us with its tempting endeavor giving us a cheering caprice. If we do not give in to it, it has various ways to persecute us. First it will strike on our concentration. That’s the base to all our determination and all our efforts. Without our power to concentrate in something, we won’t stand a chance against its malefic calls. It slyly hives off all our attention towards our addiction, by the time we know about it, it snipes on our will power. It makes us weak from inside and plants a false assurance in our minds that giving in to it will somehow make things better. That surrendering to it will burn all our suffering. And finally, when we are at our lowest, it strikes its final, but strongest blow on our body. We are already feeble from the inside. But it won’t stop till it is able to infirm us from the outside also.

*Sees others reaction. God! This is going good!*

But this time I have decided, earnestly, to stand against all my urges. To fight back each time it comes back with another excuse. To decline all of its enticing offers. With the help of this support group and a good sponsor, I think I will be able to achieve a sufficiently long period of sobriety.

I’ve joined this support group with a goal in my mind to averse to my impulses. I promise to all of you that I’ll fight back to my addiction and will not let it get any heavier on me. I will not fall for its trammel, no matter how elaborate its traps are.

But in doing that, I’m secretly inviting my addiction here. See, I’m doing it right now. I’m using it right now, I’m giving in to it while talking about fighting it… You see it?

Yes, I’ve an addiction. And now I admit it. I’m addicted to being in my comfort zone. I’m addicted to procrastination. And I’ll try to be sober from tomorrow…”

A Much Needed Stupor

When I was enjoying my swim in the well of self-admiration and fulfillment, when I was the frog in the well and perceived that the well only was the whole world and I was the prodigy of this world, a fish tortoise came and informed me about my inadvertence.

… …

I am proud and egoistic. No, I haven’t done anything prodigious, yet, but still I was working in a particular confinement for so long that I stopped learning and considered myself to be a boy wonder.

Social media, online soaps, prejudiced observations and casual vagabondage was all that was left in my life. Occasionally I’d wake up from my sleep and try to learn new things, but the life of a corporate marionette had its roots deep inside me.

I had no growth in the foreseeable future and I had no happiness in my current situation. Yet for years, I spent my time prodigally, earning me no real return.

Whenever I encountered this situation of mine, I had always responded to it with a casual procrastination, that things will turn better for me in time, that all is well and as per God’s plans. There must be a reason for my current situation, that I must see the good in my situation and that future beholds a better life for me. But those were all excuses and prevarication combined in a enticing package of doldrums.

I needed a jolt, a heartbreak or an insulting incident to wake me up and show me that I’m no good against my otherwise nobel fabricated self-image. And I received it, like a spear in my stomach.

I met a person in the same profession as I am, accidentally. And a few conversations with him moved me in every way possible. I came to know that I have so much to learn and that I must not let the deceitful distractions take a prey on me.

I came to know about my true worth and that I shouldn’t waste the invaluable time life has given me.

We shan’t ever stop learning. The day we stop learning is the day we start depreciating. And our learning could be stagnant due to various reasons – self-inflicted or thrust upon us by others. But we must fight against it and break the chains of our comforts. We must act and move forward, even when it involves leaving a fully fulfilling work behind. Because we are no rhetorical devices that benefit from repetitive cycles.

When we slowly turn to become the Frog in the well, we all need a Fish / Tortoise to come tell us the truth about the world. If you get that eye-opener blow in time that lets you bring you back on track, you have a good luck…

Temporary Happiness

Life is a journey with many destinations. Some destinations make us happy while others don’t. And there’s always a cycle of happy and sad destinations. It is for us to decide where to stay a little longer. But one thing is for sure, we will have to leave every destination in some time.

Then why does the time happiness stays in our life look very small compared to the time sadness creeps in?

… …

On a particular morning, I woke up filled with boredom, resistance to wake-up and live another day of nothingness at office, and self-loath for this melancholic feeling. Then I decided to get ready a little quickly and go for a ride. With the turning off of the engine, the silence marks way for the sadness to crawl in again.

A long, lone, silent drive lifted up my spirit and I was willing again to fight the day, no matter how hard it might become.

Another morning, I woke up with similar somber tone of my mind. The tedium was like spikes growing up on insides of my mind, hurting every time I thought. I decided to cover it with freshness through watching some episodes of Friends, any random season. That series always lifted up my spirit, helped me turn happy, momentarily. Pressing the button to switch off the TV also turns open the door for sadness to come in, almost instantly.

Similar series of events happen just another night when I returned from a long boring day at home. I was unable to sleep as that meant waking up again the next morning and going over all of this again. But then I had to sleep, eventually. To make it more promising, I thought of listening to my favorite playlist. That always turned on the ‘happy switch’ in me. I slept peacefully, for almost few minutes of that night.

So then I thought about it, ‘bout happiness. It feels that happiness is momentary, temporary. It is fugitive, fleeting right out of us when we least expect it to. All the reasons for us to be happy, be them small or big enough to throw a party, they eventually turn sore and we tend to get sad again.

Sadness on the other hand is steady, unwavering. It has to come, it will come and we know it. It doesn’t scatter away due to a few moments of happiness, it stays – calm, patient, waiting – for happiness to pass, and then showing it’s slimy face again. We feel more sad after feeling a happiness, as now we miss it even more.

Sadness knows it that happiness makes us envy sadness more. And it takes all the gain our of happiness in our life by getting stronger and bolder.

Happiness is a kid. It doesn’t understand the schemes of sadness. It falls prey to the plots of trickery by sadness. It doesn’t keep relation with different lots of it and thus is weaker compared to sadness. It is able to drive away sadness almost instantly, but it is not able to mark a permanent place in our mind like that of sadness.

And whether we like it or not, happiness doesn’t care. It is too happy to think about sadness that follows happiness.

We, on the other hand, care. We think about it, sometimes too much, this post might be evident of it. We let sadness get stronger by thinking about it even in the moments of happiness. This we should avoid, debar strongly.

Although we know that sadness is going to come, now or in some time, we must not spoil our moments of happiness with it. When we are happy, we should only be happy and ignore the sadness just the way happiness does it.

But what can we do about the temporary nature of happiness? Can we do something about the sadness that always shows up like a rainbow after a rain? Can we do something to not let it in our lives once the happiness quotient drains out? Can we fight against it with the memories of happiness that we stash up in discreet corners of our mind? Can we make the temporary happiness to last a little longer, if not make it permanent?

Why does it feel like the sand in the hourglass runs faster on one side compared to the other upside down side…?

Chronicles of a 25 something Man

An essay on the life of a 25+ boy, who juggles through his changing life between almost similar choices, taking tough decisions, living up to weird and new expectations thrust onto him and trading his dreams for buying time for other things…

… …

He is sitting in his big office chamber. There are clients waiting outside for just 5 minutes of meeting with him, for which he would charge them ample sum of money, while they are willing to pay that as his advice really makes them a great deal. He has found his love of life and is happily married to her. It was life-changing for him to marry her, yet she somehow manages to keep his life as casual and fun-filled as it was before their marriage. Surely, they are great together. His parents are proud of him of achieving so much and settling down happily in his life. They are currently on a world tour, which he gifted them as a surprise for their Silver Jubilee together. He is planning yet another trip to a new country, planning to expand his services beyond borders. But right now, he has to give an inspiring speech to young minds over the web. Surely he loves to pass on his wisdom to young and aspiring students. He couldn’t ask for anything more from God, as he loves his life and his job and his family. A Pigeon comes flying from the balcony and hits hard on his glass window, breaking a crack on it…

He wakes up to find a pigeon making mess in his balcony. He lazily lifts up his leg and falls it hard on the bed again, making a huge thud sound that scares away the bird. He knows it is dawn, and that he should wake up and run the race, but he prefers to dream that dream, so he goes back to sleep. Just when he could recreate that scene again in his mind, the door bell rings. The maid’s here.

He walks to the door, opens it and pays not even a fraction of time to look who’s standing at the door. He comes back, dragging his feet back to his bed. And looks at the wall against his bed for all the time the maid cleans the house. When it is time for the maid to go, he gets up and quality-checks the whole house to find flaws, if any, in maid’s work.

As soon as the maid leaves, his daily routine starts… While brushing his teeth, he thinks of all the decisions he has to make, of all the pending tasks on his plate and of all the big habits that he has to adhere to. It gets more than mouthful, and he has to spit them all out. Both lather and tasks.

While bathing, he thinks about changing his current consuming and growth-free job and choosing something else. But he’s unable to decide onto a particular “something else” on which he can focus. The whole time while bathing, his mind is occupied with various career options available to him and also considers an option to study further, which opens up some more career options…

It’s Friday, but that doesn’t lift up his spirit like it used to a few years back; as he could wear his favorite t-shirts and jeans. Now, formals felt him safer as he had to choose from only a few (one or two) washed and ironed pair of clothes from the wardrobe, or just grab something he had worn earlier and spray it with an ounce of deo. Looking good is no longer his priority, as it doesn’t make him feel good about himself, not any longer.

He goes to the mirror and looks at his messed up hair. If it was a few years back, he would have spent a few minutes, or may be more than a few, to make his hair kempt. But he no longer had anyone to look good for, neither he have that much time now. He had start working on his task list he had prepared in the morning.

He has to choose from several totally similar looking investment opportunities to earn a better returns on his savings. He has to choose between buying a new house or postponing that idea to future. He has to take decisions about his life… big decisions, that required quite an introspection to find out what he wants from his life – something he was no longer sure since a few years now.

He gets a series of notifications from his father. They are all about prospective life partners for him. His father is hasty about getting him married, and he isn’t sure about that manner of marrige. He had always thought he would eventually know whom from his known circle he wants to marry. Choosing from a bunch of strangers haunts him, let alone his disbelief in the concept of marriage. But he has to check those profile anyway, he’s getting older and has no serious friends, no relationship prospects and no life, for that sake. He is already late, like everyday, for his 9 to 7 desk job.

He starts his bike and it gives out a groaning cry, asking for relief from its services. It has been 10 years now. He thinks about buying another bike for him, or a car as his family wants (to show to others and prospective bride’s family, and of course, for his comfort too). Another choice, which invites several series of choices, one after other. He has several brochures and options bookmarked in his wishlist. But choosing one is a task he’s been working on since several months now.

It isn’t easy to drive while your mind is pre-occupied with several things at once and you’re not concentrated on the road. But he has driven on this road for so many years now, that he knows the potholes and even other fellow drivers on the road and makes his way smoothly even without looking around on the road. More so as he couldn’t care much about meeting with an accident. He needed a break anyway, from everything.

He reaches the office and shuffles through his backpack to find that darn ID to prove his belongingness to that building, even when those walls knew him in and out. His bag had never been this messed up before, but now, he didn’t care. He had bigger things to work out in his life. Bigger mess to clean…

His phone started ringing and he woke up from his daydreaming at his desk. It was time for another meeting. He got up and rushed towards the conference room, without anything in his hands, or even mind. He had many years’ worth of experience for those meetings, they yielded nothing. All the while in the meeting, he thought about why he couldn’t remember anything from the point he was searching for ID downstairs at the gate and to the time he was daydreaming at his desk. That was 3 hours worth of time, memory, lost.

He shuffled through different notifications on his phone while sipping that sugerless coffee. There were several overdue reminders, cleaning the cupboard, a blog idea, buying the kindle in the next sale, checking out a website for new ideas… Some of them were overdue for weeks now. He crossed out the reminder about working on a new product for his start-up. No, he hadn’t completed that. He crossed it out as that product was already launched by someone else and ran successfully in the market.

He fixed that last spreadsheet for the day and sent it to his manager, replied to another list of queries from client that made no sense at all, filled up a survey about employee satisfaction conducted by the company in which he chose mostly random options as the options like ‘not aware about it’, ‘do not like it’, ‘dissatisfied’, ‘no career helps available’, or option to write your own answer to a yes/no question weren’t t available to those set of questions.

It was weekend the next day. That was supposed to cheer him up, but he was working on Saturday. Anyway, it didn’t matter as if he had not been working, he still wouldn’t have had any plans anyway. He hardly had people he could call friend, or to better put it, he hardly befriended anyone and gave them opportunity to get closer to him and his life. Sunday went without any smile on his face and he completed a few of the tasks from his long to-do list. But that added several other new to-dos in his list…

Sunset was always beautiful to him. That would give him ideas for his blog. And night was the best time to let his creativity out. And by the time he would wake up, he would have created a masterpiece of a story or a discussion or just an observation narrative. But this time, sunset reminded him of another choice he had to make today – dinner options. He stayed alone and had to eat outside everyday, alone. He skipped the decision and assumed he wasn’t hungry. The real reason was he was just bored of eating the same things everyday without any company. That night he slept bad, empty stomach does feel bad, but he knew that already.

While watching the fan above his head, he thought of a few lines and a poem formed on its own in his mind. He immediately got up and started scribbling it on the piece of paper he kept besides his bed. The start was good, but in the middle, he got lost of his idea and the words that had earlier popped up on their own. And by the time he reached its end, he had already creased up the paper to throw it in the garbage can. His mind hardly supported him nowadays.

He started thinking about the pros and cons of various choices that were available for some big decisions he had to take. The thinking continued for a long time, making an elaborate and detailed list of pros and cons, but not giving out a winner… Soon exhaustion took over him and he was lost again in his dreams, probably the only place he loves being at, but can’t. He has a life to live…