One Year and Twelve Moons Ago

One year and twelve moons ago, a boy met a girl. She loved maggi, he loved coffee. It was an uncertain beginning. They had been in love. They had been alone. They had learned that being with people is sometimes lonelier than being alone. Both were searching for the simple things - simple love, simple laughter, simple warmth. These had been the hardest to find. But they had found it with it each other, many years ago. Maybe they could find it once again ? It was far from certain, but it was by far the best thing in their lives.

So they lived their lives together. In the beginning, they lived in different cities. But the warmth of the times behind them help light up the way ahead of them. Sometimes she visited him. Sometimes he visited her. They loved and laughed. Everything was perfect.

Then, one wintery evening, they got married. She had dreams. He had hopes. A simple ceremony, close friends and a warm welcoming family. The ritual was beautiful. The friends were warm. And then, without warning, tradition descended on the wise. Their hopes for warmth, laughter and light was turned to dust. Families played their part in an elaborate play. Warmth was hidden behind clouds of mindless rituals, which no one understood and no one would destroy. They escaped to a simpler place for a few days just to feel again. The signs foretold difficult days.

And they came. First in the form of whispering voices - encouraging them so make themselves in the images of others, disfigure themselves to fit in. Adjust, compromise, understand. They tried it for a while. But the clouds grew darker. Then came the demons from unknown worlds. They fed on words. They were looking to feed on the anger and pain of the boy and girl. They cast a spell : All spoken words would be poisoned. Everything said in care would be understood in doubt. Soon they would forget what the other was like, deep inside. How long could they hold on now ? The demons laughed while the girl loved and slept in a bed of tears, while the boy prayed and walked on floors of crushed glass. The boy and the girl forgot what it was like one year and 12 moons ago. Anytime now.

But something inside the boy and the girl would not let go. They could not create the words, that could explain why. But they knew that it was pure. And powerful. They decided to look at themselves instead of the other. They decided to use their heart to talk to each other instead of their tongues. Suddenly, the spell broke! Having no words to poison, the demons screamed in agony. All at once they flew away, to poison other lovers.


The storm was over. Slowly, morning arrived. The boy and the girl expected to see scars and wounds. There were none ! The deep magic within them had healed all wounds. The boy made the girl a cup of maggi. He remembered she loved them, one year and twelve moons ago. She made him a cup of coffee. She remembered he loved them. One year and twelve moons ago. They spent the first day of their life together, doing simple things - loving, laughing. As the day turned to night - they sat up around a fire looking at the moon. It looked bigger and brighter than they remembered. Time flew. In a wink, a year went by. Maybe it was a sign of times to come.

Driving back with dreams in my head

On the drive back from a close friends restaurant (65 in case you live in Koramangla - they completed 6 months - well done Vijesh and friends), I started a conversation with the friend I was dropping home. Any dreams ? Hasn't work run its course for you ? Immediate response: yes. Earlier this morning, I land up late ( again ) for Start Up Saturdays at IIMB - The average age of someone looking to do their own thing - 28. Now am I imagining it, or does everyone want to do their own thing ? I read somewhere that we are in the Age of Aquarius, where creativity rules. From what I see, it seems its already here.

Have I any dreams ? Absolutely. Working upto the point where I can switch my passion and day job around. For now I'm learning that unlearning the engineering mind learning the product designer's is hard for one reason alone : rusted imagination. Its a muscle that I've not had to use for a while. At least not in the right way: to create.

But starting now, as the song goes I "get back, get back, get back to where you belong".

G'night world