The movie is the same. But in a room of 10 people, each person has understood a different story, along with different perceptions of the characters in it. So when we take this to a macro level, innumerable perceptions arise about the same story. Each perception a gateway to a parallel universe. Incredible, isn’t it. How is it that we can define people then ? We cant. We can attach a certain number of tags, but never limit them with those tags. Each person is a whole universe by himself. Not just of thoughts, but of feelings, of dreams, of his definitions of morality. Every person has a different definition of greatness, of winning, of losing. And it is the same people, who also have unique reasons for what they fight for, or what is worth fighting for. Every human is a whole set of solar systems, galaxies, dying stars, stars being reborn, innumerable happenings of big bangs. Limitless.
Home is important. Like anybody and everybody, I have my own definition of home. Home for me is not just where my family lives, but also my past, my books, a couple of great beautiful moments, my spirituality, and some wonderful people. Home is where all that you love lives. Not just limited to people or living things, but also the non living. Its where you are the most relaxed – not necessarily a physical place, but more a mental state.
What is crucial ? Its the small grains of sand that sit between the big rocks in your jar. Those are the small things that make our lives different, special in its own strange way. The small things that make up a large part of our lives. The way you butter your toast, the way you prefer your eggs, the smell of your room, the yellowing of pages in your oldest books, the smell of monsoon, the smile of your best friend, the panting of your dog, the swift flight of a butterfly that stopped you in your tracks, the small daily achievements – doing those 50 push ups; running for 20 minutes; or perhaps working on your serve. Small things. Every day things. The smile of a stranger when you pass them by, the comfort of your bed, that early morning stretch, sea breeze, the space in your heart where you miss somebody, those puffy white clouds that promote a nice breeze on a hot day, the dew on grass, the first spray of a hot shower. All these tiny, tiny moments that make life perfect the way it is.
Life is made up of so much. There aren’t enough words to describe it all, and even if there were; there aren’t enough pages to write it all on. But I try to. Its a hell lot of fun to recount all that I enjoyed. The smallest ones, very importantly. For its rare that we get a chance to stop to smell the roses. And even more rare to be able to remember what made you happy enough to record them.
shrutikrishna 