Wednesday, June 5, 2013

A day for my muse

It was in the late 90's, I was a small kid who knew a little about the world. A senior in my school handed me a book. It was a thick, old one written by a celebrated author of the time ( Little did I know at the time). I spent many study hours reading about a character, "Kumari Shova", a life of a living Goddess after she left the Kumari house ( a residence of a Kumari). The book had a huge influence on me. It gave a little boy figments of imagination.

I spent my school days writing about her. She took birth in the cuddles of my cursive writings and mersmerised the thoughts of many. She grew up through her puberty and she left me( in my childish writings). I therefore declared her death in one of my poems in front of the class. Everyone must have thought how stupid I looked. I must have been a block-headed guy for many. But let me tell you,  I was not. I was searching for my muse. The character no more fascinated me. I saw my friends dating other girls; the real ones. I wrote hell lot of love letters for so many of them. Therefore,  I declared her death to seek my real girl, my fascination for whom I could write tirelessly. My search came to an end on the last day of May. 

Her name comes from "Nakshatra", which means a measurement of solar distances between stars in Hindu astronomy. A search through the Sanskrit literature suggested that her name forms from the word which means a raga or a song.Songs are creative and so is she. She is like the glitter of a diamond that I could follow among the lotus flowers in a pond and seek for her till my body would give up on me. My soul would rise from its ashes and pursue for her. She is eccentric and eternal. She is my muse.

My journey has been a hazy one. The different phases of my life sublimely carved out its definitions on life, love, relationships, success, failures etc; the figurative shape of these artifacts resembles her. I do not know how my perceptions would change in the future, I wish for a time machine. I am astounded by my sheer observation over a period of time which shows that the change in me bluntly resembles the change in her. It does sound like one fucking crazy stuff for many but it's true.

Yes, it was the last day of May when I met her. May, a month of possibilities. With the end of the month, the possibilities to be with her seem to end as well. But my mind does not agree. My words penetrate beyond the possible and search for her in every pages. I have seen people become disrespectful towards their past, I have heard them regret, I have listened to their indignation and have been astonished by how they subdue the voice inside their head. But I fail to do so. I love her the more.

As we sat in the courtyard of the restaurant, she kept staring at the unknown. She was time and again lost in thoughts.As I kept looking at her in awe; I was wondering about the unknown space that existed between us.I do not know if we would meet again but what I know is that till the time I keep writing, my words will pursue her; my instinct would follow her and with her death will my love die. My stories will declare their death and those untold stories would be buried deep inside the grave and be sweetly sang by the knights of the darkness.









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