(For Harry, 28/12/13) Two, three, four…actually five story ideas race through his mind as his day starts. Today is actually a good day, he says to himself. And the sky agrees with him: the sun is shy, the clouds not so pursuing and they are as if they are some October clouds – the modern October, not the old one which vomited out rains en masse. Today is the day for writing, he assures himself. Out of the five stories he had, one remains in his mind. The others, in some miraculous way, have taken out a graceful exit. The story flows with a rare and admirable vividness. Who can stop it? He is happy, for the first time in weeks. Finally, he will get back to his trade. Once again, he will sit behind his laptop and not just watch it but write. It is writing he previously enjoyed, it is writing that held his sanity, it is writing he stopped, it is writing he is getting back to. And now, he is confident, he will write with maturity and expertise. Time has altere
...writings and recollections; thoughts too.