*I awoke at 4.40 am, when night had turned to day but day still looked like night.
*Had my cup of tea; in warm weather the steam curling from the mug seemed strangely comforting.
*Heard a pigeon talking to itself; it made a moaning sound. Was it hurt? I tried looking for it, but there was no sign. Just the sound.
*There was a lot of silence. I breathed hard to confirm I was alive.
*Drew open the curtains; the sun was painting the sky, pink-peach splashes that looked like dupattas flying.
*Sat down to write; the pain in the arm is considerably less at that hour; pain too needs time to settle down and claim you as its own.
*Felt sweat trickling down my back; realised I had forgotten to switch on the fan. The breeze hits my back, strands of hair fly over my eyes. I see my words through a haze.
*It is over three hours. Today is still today. Some things stay with you…
I hum, “Aaj phir jeene ki tamanna hai”, then wait. The next line is irrelevant.
I desire Life itself; I ache for its form and its warm embrace. Does Life have a face? A body? A soul?
Does it matter? Desire has a face, a body, a soul. And desire can give shape to anything. It can give life to Life.