Just. Now


Today for no particular reason has been a complete sunshine day!
More so, after a night of sleep which was like trapeze artist hovering on semi-conscious, a melange of dreams – cute and scary. Every few hours I felt like I was almost awake, and, for a moment upon waking after in the morning, I was sure I had not slept at all. Well, I had. Insomnia has been a friend for a while.  Last 8 weeks or so things have been moving with alarming dynamism on event horizon. Everything collided and fused with everything else, feeling rutted and no-tears in sight, no let out - most of the times, I was exhausted both in body and spirit.

What exactly is the colour of pain? Why do we write? Does narrative help? Can all experiences can be distilled into a few extraordinary moments? Closed, undetected in some handy corner of the heart? And, are some moments in life not so priceless that they are worth those other zillion of wasted moments when we ghost walk our existence? The moments that are timeless…

Like the first kiss that stole your heart or the first wail of your baby or the moment they gave you first paycheck or when you were proposed or the moment you see death… Some moments definitely are timeless.

Why do we write? To collect these timelessness, which the “dailiness” of life at times begins dissolving into haziness.

With bad throat triggered by autumn hay fever - i stayed home, tried to be tucked in - ended up taking a hot shower and well books and this space here.The unhurried silence that hung snugly on the whole place. One of those sublimely autumn days, where the breeze is just pleasantly cool, the sun just graciously warm and the sky the color of rich undisturbed blue with occasional wispy white clouds.
I pick up one of the books from my rising tower of un-read pile and settle down for a slow leisurely read. A perfect treat on a quietly perfect day. The whole place just ringing with that bonhomie silence interspersed with voice of domesticity.
The sleepy warmth of sun, I sink into the delicate folds of my beanbag, face upturned drinking up the sun slowly but hungrily. The air cool and filled with fragrance of fall: of falling leaves and welcoming winter


My only companion my book and the flight of those winged creatures… the ones I have envied for their unassuming freedom, forever. I have not a had day like this, witnessing and revelling in the glory of now.

And just like that I snap out of despondency. And, for sure I haven't lost my capacity for joy. My capacity for diving into these exquisite moments, dripping with love, with the unchallenged certainty!

Copyright © Neerja Yadav

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