Of late...

Of late I've started loving December.
Of late I've started loving 2013.
And just now I'm realizing that both these new loves shall go away 'forever' in a few hours.

Isn't this the same about all mine's and all your's in life! :) Is 'worth' not the missing element in the lives of most of us?

And just now I'm realizing that my love for December has made me wiser! :P
Of late I've started talking sensical. :P
Of late I've started talking non-sensical. ;)

:- Timsy Mehta

A shower of life...

It's 8th of December here, and a few more minutes to go for a date-change. Here I'm disclosing something that I've been keeping in my heart since ever. I have never liked winters. My cheeks may turn pink in winters but my heart goes all pale. At times I wish if I could trap the soul of winters inside a glass-bottle somehow, and throw that away into the sea, so that the winters could never come back to my life.

But that's just one of those weird thoughts. I keep thinking on the reason behind my dislike for the winters.

'I might have expired of shivering in any of my last births', I wonder :) . But that's again another weird thing to think. When my friends go busy with all their plans of going to hills, enjoying snowfall, and making snowmen, I prefer to stay snoring inside my quilt. Okay let me think seriously now. :D 

Well, I think and I see, winters approach when a year is about to collapse. And this reminds me of another year gone without any fruit. Deep in my thoughts I keep asking myself what am I gaining in my life. Work, money, and all that all are collecting.. 

Does this all really matter?

And what does really matter? I keep realizing that the roll of years takes really no big time in getting all spent.

I keep realizing that this year started like a few days ago only! And in a mere few more days, one long year shall say goodbye for ever. Another year, and the same roll of seasons and months, shall come to begin and go to end in another few days.

I don't know how long shall my play be in this world. I don't know the purpose of my life; forget of the accomplishment of the same! The spring of days and years shall keep flowing. Shall I stay like a mere observer and so a mere loser of this flow only? Or shall I ever be able to get a shower of life through this? 

So I'm guilty-conscious actually. I'm not doing what I ought to. So it's not for the winters, but for the time that I've not been utilizing in the way it ought to actually. Years don't take a longer time than a day to get spent, I keep thinking this way. And see, in the meanwhile the date has got changed. Time to sleep now, and I see if the new dawn gives me a new reason to like this season. 

Good night world! :)

Weird writing things...

As a writer I quite like myself. Well with this I don't mean that I'm a good writer, I want to say that I like to write. And when I think over it, I see that being a writer is quite not easy. While doing public-writing, you don't really know at times, who your readers are. So now your readers can't listen you. They can't observe your face-expressions & your body-language. And they can't guess it through your voice modulations either. All you have got is a mere pen to transform your bag of emotions into words. Many a times, you try to say a thing in a very humble manner, but the readers may not catch it in the way you threw it. This makes writing quite a weird thing. 

Another weird thing is that, no matter how many miles my pen may go covering on the paper-sheet, the emotions somehow stay untold. You keep saying the same thing using different sets of words again and again simply because of the thing that huge volumes of those emotions keep filling your heart despite being puked out on paper.

The episode on weirdness doesn't end up here, one more weird thing that I find more often than not is that I speak slow but my thoughts are so loud. My spoken words are considered quite sweet among my fraternity, but the impressions of my writing are seen as rather harsh. I wonder upon this ambiguity. I realize soon that I speak to please you. But I write to please me only. And this keeps maintaining this difference in internal and external personality. But with this, an idea of my personality in the minds of my readers may get quite misleading, if they haven't ever met me in person. 

Don't such things make writing a weird thing! Well definitely yes, but see that is the fun in it. Observing the otherwise ignored or unobserved things is such a fun. Finding new angles in the plots designed by you only is such a fun. This weirdness with all this fun keeps giving all new and unimagined dimensions to writing, and hence keeps watering the creative seedlings in the heartlands of the writers. When I think over it, I get all the reasons to say it that I like writing, and I love to repeat that as a writer I quite like myself.