To those who have gone before me and to those who are yet to come...

The first drop of rain fell on my face as if it had been born just to shatter on my cheeks and break into a million beautiful artworks crafted to perfection by almighty. Then came the next and then came the rain, pouring down on my face like a vengeful spirit bent on soaking me. They fell on my face like a lover's touch. This is my moment. Here I become one with the universe. These raindrops float around m and lift me up to the heavens for a mute conversation with those who have gone before me.

I am not one who has secured my second mind. I am not someone who has taken the pilgrimage to discover boundless knowledge and glory. I am just a guy who likes to walk barefoot in the rain.

Then again, who said that conversing to those above should be hard? They were with us before we came here. Those who walked with us before this life and those who will walk with us after this life. Friends. And to speak to friends you don't need ceremonial parades or preparations. You need to have a mind and the eye to see them. I see them in the rain.

This sounds crazy to anyone sane. But to each man, what is more precious and the most well kept secret than his personal insanity? Isn’t the drop of madness as essential to life as air to life? Without that madness we would be logical beings still living in the stone age. It is said that there are two percent of the population on earth who have somewhat higher levels of madness. One percent is locked up in various asylums and the other one percent is responsible for every major breakthrough in history. Imagine a sane man saying “Let’s collide two atoms and see what happens!”

But I’m straying. This is about my madness. Rain. When it pours I walk. The world is mine when it rains. I watch the normal people crowd under shelter to escape the water. Fools! I exclaim. They do not know what they are missing. But then again this is my personal pleasure. And in this walk I crave loneliness.

Loneliness. That’s the wrong word there. Alone is better. For I do not walk with men but I am anything but lonely. Every drop that shatters before my eyes have come all this way to give me company on this special occasion. How can I be alone?

Barefoot is how I prefer it but usually that isn’t possible. I still remember the day at the beach. Me, my ride and a true storm around me. The sea soared sky high and crashed before my eyes just as the rain made even my bones soaked wet. But in the streets I dare not walk barefoot. But nothing can keep me from being out there. I do not know or care what you will say when I tell you that when the wind blows the rain to my face, its like kissing my one true love. A breath of passion and pure love, only soft lips of my love can give. How incredible it is that one can see passion, love, hope and tenderness in something as simple as a raindrop.

It has stopped pouring, for now. I can already see my house at the distance. There will be other days if God permits me life, to soak in the rain as if I could melt away. People will leave and people will come. Life will move on and take me far and wide. But I pray to my gods to be merciful. And let me walk this ground with those who have gone before me and those who are yet to come again and again till I truly are by their side…

My heart breathes Adios...

It was a beautiful spring day. A cool, soothing breeze was in the air and joy was palpable around me on this beautiful day. The age old banyan tree swayed its heavy branches as if to bid farewell to an invisible someone it had known a long time. I sat alone on the park bench and smiled. The irony of my situation was strange. I was expected by all to be sad. To wander the earth with a broken heart searching for a long lost love which was ripped from my heart. The world expected me to be so. Then why was i so happy and, in its true sense, light?

My heart was ripped apart hours ago by the one i loved. The cuts were a long time in the making but the preparation proved futile. There are some things you simply can't prepare for. One is losing someone you love. The other perhaps is death. But even when every preparation was in vain and every effort not to feel the loss was a line on the water surface, here Iwas moments later feeling happy and at one with the joy flooding around me.

I am sure that a passerby would think I am mad, for my actions were curious. Save a few seconds of thought, I was smiling perhaps like an idiot in love. Like an idiot in love, what a way to feel when love was what I had lost moments before.

But the more I thought about it the moreIi realized that the last couple of months showed me a relationship I could not complement. What was dear to me was a bit of care. If i'm not entitled to that, then is there a use in such a relationship? My feeling did count, whatever anyone else thought about it. And now one person was short from the list of people who didn't give a damn.

Love is about being there for someone and getting that back from your loved one. In the absence of this security, love can't survive. Lust could. But love most certainly can't. i am 22 years old. I have just one relationship which lasted 3 years. And now i am alone again. To wander this heath of lost love? Or to explore the world with a better understanding, a more widened approach and a hell of a will to survive. But I don't want to survive. I want to live, live free on my own terms.

This is my promise to a new life and a lesson learnt from a love gone sour. My life offered me joy for the past three years, not it offers me much pain. But anything that life throws at me, I can take. And anything that doesn't kill me makes me stronger. So with a stronger heart, a heart scarred, but thirsting to beat with the vigour of fresh expectation, I set out to find what life throws my way next.

Hope. I hold it close to my heart. And dreams are with me while my soul lives on..............

Dedicated to every person who was, is or wants to be in love!