Life and death

The whole life is a preparation to meet death. How you lived life would decide how you'd face death or it's little friends...sorrow, despair, frustration, disappointment, failure. Time keeps playing practical jokes on you. But you got to have your sense of humour intact. Without these little antics of time, wouldn't the whole journey be so monotonous? All colour and fragrance would make you sick and weary. And it is a long journey. And in the end if you are the one who has the last laugh, you'd have lived your life well.

Some broken bits, snatched from sleep

How people start shifting uncomfortably in their seats, how their voices become a shade louder, as a guard raised in anticipation of a threat coming in. They even start making noises just to cut out any chance of a word falling into their ears. A threat, that might disrupt their convenient, comfortable, safe lives...It might not, but why take a chance?

...How has this become such a common and inseparable part of people's lives? Through what path must the society have evolved and to what torture must it had been subjected to be distorted so? What events must've brought about this struggle to evade, this violence and defiance, this rigid resistance to thought?

The past

It is strange to look at the past when it has not become a "distant" one yet. It's not believable, not convincing as "past"...but it seems more of an interrupted present...