Ruchira's Ramblings

And just like that, summer ends, and winter creeps in, stealthily, and the air around you is suddenly a little heavier, making breathing difficult as the clock-hands hammer away their way to yet another tired planet’s weary turn around a star. Quite an average-sized star in the sidelines of just another weary galaxy. And all you want is to be somewhere else, be someone else, be some non-sentient being that doesn’t mind being devoured as the monster of silence parts the thinning air in its gaping yawn and leaves you just whole enough to know your own deadness. And you want to turn on the television, even that inanity could fill up some space, perhaps shatter the silent screaming inside your head, but you have no energy left for all that malicious slander seeping even more poison into your soul. And the airwaves, tired of being unused just leave you to gasp on your own.  Take me somewhere else on the wings of nightingale song. Let the magic casements open and the faery be redis

Original Song Lyrics ©Ruchira Mandal ~ Once upon a death When the sun has set for the final time The stars will long be gone The moon will be a vacant husk But my light will still be on For us to find each other Though the road be long And in the twilight of the world I’ll sing to you my song. And though the light be dying The birds they still be flying In search of another sky where the sun will still be warm. And we will wish, you and I That we had our wings as well But we lost them in our youth When we flew too high and fell. But I remember the wind and light And won’t have it any other way Every tale must come to an end And we’ve had our day. And though the light be dying The birds they still be flying In search of a galaxy where love will still be true. And perhaps they will take our song Somewhere the sun still shines And it matters not that we breathe our last For each love is yours and mine. And when the

These days, more and more, I oscillate between the need for solitude, and the longing for companionship, searching for a place where happiness truly resides. On some days, the silence in a crowded room fills me with an odd tension, a fear, if you like, and I want to fill it up with laughter, with kisses, with the sound of television, with words. On other days, the sound of other voices push against the walls of my invisible bubble, demanding that I listen, interpret, understand. And sometimes, I don’t want to understand. Sometimes, I don’t want to listen. And my castle of happiness, built of the thinnest, brightest cards of glass topples before the winds of life. I don’t claim to be an unhappy person. I smile at friends, laugh at their jokes, love my family, savour my food, marvel at the beauty the world has to offer and enjoy the everyday platter of joy that makes our one constant, inescapable journey bearable. But sometimes on a bright, carefree day, a sudden thought like a serpe

Hiking in the mountains is a strange feeling. You are absolutely focused on moving onward, reaching the destination, and so all your energy and all your concentration is spent on putting one step after the other. And then suddenly you stop to catch a breath and you realize how quiet everything is. And you are blown away by the beauty of the world and the stark loneliness of your place in it. It is not such a bad thing, this discovery that you are alone on your hike, for you feel suddenly, acutely- a connection with the world, and the marvel that is your existence in it. And you have this profound realization of being detached from the everyday familiarities of regular living. You breathe. You let the beauty sink in. You listen to the silence as you search for words and find none are needed. But then you notice the sky, and it is about to rain, and you have forgotten your umbrella. And you need to get back to shelter. It’s a bit like life, really. Somehow, heights always remi

Give me a little world to win.  That’s all I ask. One world to be applauded in, one world to be loved and adored and admired and feared. Just a little world that falls at my feet and stares at me with awe. And maybe then I shall have my answers. The Answer. To whatever question we are all supposed to be asking. There has to be some kind of purpose to all this, right? And when I have had my world and found it empty and when I have had all the applause and it’s all the same and I want more more more more of what I have no idea, give me a little world to smash and break. And may be who I think I am is not really me but an imposter and the things I hide in the dark even from the incoherence of slumber are the truths and maybe someday if I go mad the shadow will take control and there will be no more needs and no more questions and no more search for purpose. What if we all let the Shadow take over? Then there would be no more anguish. But love is our great weakness, our great downf

The portal system broke down at 37 Hours Oneirian Standard Time. The robotic repair team had gone down years ago. Only MXNL8, his assistant robot that he named Manolin stirred feebly at times. His battery was way below optimum, and the charging consoles didn’t work anymore.   The old man logged into the catalogue- the one that he had painstakingly prepared over three decades, with only Manolin by his side. The catalogue listed  137996487500 books, searchable by  planet, year, subject, author, title and genre.  The screen flickered and went blank. The old man sighed. They were only machines, after all. There were supposed to be technical servicing teams and auditing teams and supply ships from the Galactic Capital every fifty years. There was supposed to be a team of sentient staff working under him once the catalogue once done. He was to have vacations while they took charge. That was eighty-four years ago. No one came. No one visited. No readers, no government officials. Wel