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क्षणात मन हे

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पुनश्च मन हे

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-कायांप्रि

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What Are You?

A person is like a photograph. When we alter that photo with some photographic effects , the perception of looking at that photo changes, though it’s the same photograph. Every photo contains the same basic colors. We intensify some of the colors from some of the points, and we get a different look. We take it in a black and white form , we can’t see the colors of the picture. Take it in a colorful form, and barely can see the simplicity. Then what makes the difference? Lights, camera, mood, situation, angles, depth, focus, colors, photographer’s viewpoint , viewer’s point of view , and so on… A person is like a dish. It’s made up of various ingredients and sometimes forms a totally different taste. Every dish, too, has some of the same basic ingredients. With these same ingredients, a number of dishes could be made. So if every dish is made up of the same ingredients, why does it taste different? The way of making it, cooking style , process, sequence of adding ingredients,...

कंटाळा

कधी कधी कंटाळा येतो . मग खूप कंटाळा येतो . मग इतका कंटाळा येतो की कंटाळा यायचासुद्धा कंटाळा येतो . अशावेळी काहीतरी लिहावंसं वाटतं . पण उठून पेन - कागद घ्यायचा कंटाळा येतो . मग विचारांची भेंडोळी सोडवत बसते मी मनातल्या मनात . त्या भेंडोळ्यांमध्ये सापडतात अनेक विचार , माणसं , प्रसंग , गोष्टी , आठवणी आणि बरंच काही . बरंच काही जे त्या भेंडोळ्यांमध्ये कायमचं हरवून जावंसं वाटतं . बरंच काही जे कधीच कुणाला कळू नये असं वाटतं . बरंच काही जे पुन्हा कधी नजरेला पडू नये असं वाटतं . असं बरंच काही आहे जे बऱ्याचदा वाटतं. पण कितीही वाटलं तरी मन कुठे ऐकतं ? ते पुन्हा शिरतं त्या भेंडोळ्यांच्या गुंतागुंतीत . मन गुंतवायचा तसा हा एक चांगला मार्ग आहे . पण गुंतण्याऐवजी कधी कधी नुसतीच गुंतागुंत वाढत राहते . त्या गुंत्याची गर्दी वाढत जाते . आजूबाजूला पसारा वाढत जातो आणि मग तो पसारा आवरायचा जाम कंटाळा येतो . मग तो पसारा तसाच टाकून उठते मी . मन तर शांत झालेलंच नसतं . पण आता ...

He is My Mother

Yeah. You read that right. HE is my mother. I never saw my mother. In fact, she never had any existence in my world. I was 2 days old when DaDa & I met. From that day, he became my world. The moment I started talking, my first word was DaDa . I don’t call him Dad or Papa . I just call him DaDa . Ahh! I wish I could remember that moment. My uncle told me he never saw Dada that excited. I wish I remembered how excited he looked when I said DaDa for the first time. He & I live together, and I have no intention of changing that even after crossing my 35 next month. Never . He was around this age at that time when he got me. I don’t know if he ever tried to become my mother. With him beside me, I never needed one. I always saw him the way he is. He never changed. He did everything to make me a good, independent person. He never forced me for anything, but he never agreed to my everything either. He is such a balanced person, even at this age. When I started looking around, ...

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