Nights are like long stretches of darkness, like shades of grey scattered against the white, like silent caves hidden in the wilderness. "What are nights for?", I asked? Do they mean something? Do they say something?
On Christmas Night
Category: Childhood, Memoir, Short Story
Waiting for Rampal: A Leaf from the Past
Sitting in a coffee house, waiting for a business client, I was finding it difficult to stay calm. I was forced to meditate on the nature of 'wait' and how 'waiting' impacts the human mind. As I kept ruminating, my thoughts unconsciously led me to the time when I was still a young child. I traversed back in time, dived into my past and became completely oblivious of my present 'wait'.
