Saturday, July 16, 2011


I am going to tell something here. Most of it wouldn’t make sense to me either. But I have to do this.

I want to tell ten stories, I don’t know how I arrived at that number, but it could have been ninety-nine also, but for now I want to set my expectations low.

If there ever was something I couldn’t say, it is this. It is this end of the dead end that I seem to reach. Unfortunately others reached here before me and I cant seem to find the words. Discipline was a word I hated, from as long as I can remember. And I wonder how sure I was of it all. And then it was all gone.

This is the story of how all is gone and it takes quite a stretch of time to be standing at the end. It is the end of a line, the end of an era, the end of a dream, the end of a futile lifetime.


A great sorrow once struck a great man. All the other great men of the world felt that sorrow deep within, except they didn’t. A young boy set out of the limits of the city, to find the plague that had struck his kin.

The boy was a frail, little creature who had grown up with a milky white horse. The horse himself had come from far away, and found the boy walking down a dusty road, picking up every pebble, red, green and blue. The boy saw him and asked him, “ I want to find out, how big the world is, but it never seems to end”.

The horse stood there, majestic and sure, and the boy looked at the clouds above him pass. They passed endlessly and time seemed to be everything he could observe. He decided to take the horse with him and sleep for as long as he could. When he woke up it was five years hence, and all the men and all the women, all the horses and the mongoose called him a great man.

He woke up in a silk robe, with a big nose and long limbs. He looked around and found everyone except his horse. He knew now the world is as big as he wants it to be. He stretched his back and turned over to sleep again, for as long as he slept, his milky white horse could run beyond his dreams.