Lost in Thoughts

I grew up in a little two storey building with purple walls and white grills, overlooking the sprawling temple complex. Our small, square windows opened out to a sparkling pond with painted steps on one side and the precisely sculpted grey stone murals on the other.  Myths and legends to me came straight off the temple tower.  An authentic luxury.  Early mornings were marked with a large cup of steaming milk and s lokas slipping from within altars, streaming into the air. Our balcony was tiny and could accomodate not more than two. Further inconvenience was caused by the dozen young tulsi plants in their plastic tubs. I watered them graciously every morning and evening. A little too graciously. But it wasn't a problem. Father's shoulders were always free for his princess of five years. We would stand there, grazing the peeling pink walls and look down at the road.  The old vegetable vendor would come first pushing  his rusty green cart heaped with fr...

~A take on depression~ I can't write. No, I can't. It is there where my pen staggers. My pen. My trusting friend. Truest and beloved. He that never failed me. Never failed my heart. Staggers here. He pauses, confused. At the tumult. He, that has translated worlds unheard of, from within the depths of my mind, stammers here. Is it a void that sucks in all the color and clamor from the world outside? My pen, that had advanced onto the paper, stops and looks up questioningly. Or is it a gray bubble that holds you within, sealing you air-tight from the nice world outside. Frail and floating, sluggish and slippery, with nothing to hold on to? No. I don't think so. One can still let the colors blind him. He can still belong and feel snug as a cat on her favorite couch, when outside, yet somehow feel alien. Not any of this fancy void or bubble business. My pen frowns, radiating keen disappointment. Two very strong imageries to be put down on paper. But a comprehens...