A Hundred Mosaics Make A Mural

Looking back, it is clear that what I consider my life is just a stringing together of incidents and memories.

As I look back, snippets of frozen time become fluid only when there is a 'me' to correlate to it. The whir of the seven colours makes white, the restless lines of the TV create the illusion of a steady image, the crawling minute hand creates an hour where there was only a moment and then another and then...

Memory plays tricks too. The favourite memories are endowed a rosy tinge, the nasty ones are abbreviated till they become insignificant. Some thrilling memories have become brassy by exaggeration and over-narration and other feel-good ones drip mushy syrup. But everything is sepia.

Well then, here are my sepia tales...chronicles of a life untold.

Comments

Whatsupwiththisshit said…
Dude u write really well i had my hair standing when i was reading ur blog on the suicide incident. Rock on.
1:31 pm
Unknown said…
It's wonderfull reading one's past!It embraces your tender memories.Wishing you gods speed.devesh.
5:55 pm
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