FADE OUT FADE IN

The script seems ready for a brand new arrival. Isn’t it? Is it then not the time to look back at the almost yellowed pages of a year, some of which were turned, bookmarked, folded on corners, ignored at times, re-read on different occasions, shed tears upon, a secret message hidden in, highlighted and sometimes forgotten, torn? Yes it is definitely the time to witness the fading out of 2014.

Eventful, exciting, enigmatic, euphoric, euthanizing; 2014 was a mixed package of sorts. A common man was chosen to lead the country; we braved the sun, we dared the storms to bring him to power. The moment he pledged to serve the country, cynics instantly jumped in to strip him of the goodness he deserved. All he wished and still continues to is to give this nation a stable government. After a corruption prone decade of prejudice, these greed driven cynics still want to eat into our nation.

When we are not shedding political sweat, we were taking keen interest in social causes. We were running marathons to save the girl child. At the same time and at the same speed that we were running, the girl child was vanishing from the confines of her own home. They were either found dead in the bush or slaughtered in a worse manner than beasts. We were shouting slogans against atrocities committed against women. But from behind those pure white banners, we were also training our impure, lust filled eyes on women. We were performing the most important duty of shielding women against crimes. The next moment we were locking the doors of a cab and taking turns to rape her.

Our generosity extended across various spheres of genders. We chose to be free but were in no mood to allow others to be what they are. We broke into their homes, we vandalised their underground parties, and we ignored those three digits, which could have brought some hope to them. They seek nothing more than their own share of rainbow colours. If at all granted they might have their own families, own voice, own life.

Till yesterday we thought chits were an insignificant piece of informational dope, we tried to smuggle in during our toughest exams. But adulthood taught us to generate funds out of these chits and the fun that we imbibed by getting embroiled in the greatest ever financial scandal of our times.

Someone chose to question the existence of God. Ramkrishna Paramhans had once let go all his clothes to embrace the Almighty in its purest form. What we did was, we came across this poster of an actor standing with an audio system in his hand, trying to hide his private parts and we yelled of how obscene the supposed art was. But we loved swaying to the obscene moves of item songs, performed by porn stars of yesteryear.

But then we have to let go many things that we keep doing every year. The old man has to be burnt. There is no country for old men. Setting the hay-stacked, already dead dull doll will liberate us of all our vices. We will be new again. All the time that this old man will continue to burn, we will see the now bygone year fade out and once again allow the New Year to come fading in, ready to rule the roost for the next 365 days.

So here we are sitting eagerly, for the next five minutes to disappear and the new set of infinite hours to appear.

-vociferous

THIS TEACHER’S DAY

When does a teacher walk into our lives?

Please accept my apologies, being a student and a teacher myself; I have started on a wrong note. Let me put it the other way round.

When do we walk to a teacher?

This question was born in my mind, when I decided to create a post for this blog of mine; to simply pay tribute to all my teachers on Teacher’s Day. The question was inspired from what Annu Kapoor shared on his radio show ‘Suhana Safar’, relayed everyday on Big 92.7 FM (do tune in, whenever time is on your side). On account of Teacher’s Day he was anchoring a special episode as a part of the ‘Suhana Safar’ series. During his conversation with awe-eared listeners like us, he listed examples of some amazing Teacher-Student relationships. Three stories stayed with me, and left me motivated to write this piece. At this moment, three minutes into writing; I’ve not yet thought of a title. But this is definitely my tribute to Teacher’s Day. I am unaware about the length of this post. But I might take the liberty of keeping it lengthy by making the same excuse that I am going to release this on my own personal blog.

The three stories, he shared about were of Lord Ram and his brother, Mirabai and her cobbler guru, Amir Khusro and his master Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. As I write this piece, I remain fixated to the story of Lord Ram and his younger brother Laxman. Emperor Dashrath sent his two sons to the ashram of Vashishthamuni to seek education and knowledge. Both brothers quietly landed in the ashram. They found the door closed. Lord Ram took the first step and knocked. From within Vashishthamuni’s voice resonated, “Who is it?”

Lord Ram replied, “That is what, we are here for teacher. Please let us in to help us know, who we are”. Pleased by their reply, Vashishthamuni welcomed them into his ashram and the rest as they say is ‘mythology’. 

Going back to the question I asked, when do we walk to a teacher? The reply is – before we start walking, the teacher could have possibly arrived in our lives. 

Settled and well positioned in front of my laptop, I wish to recollect every soul; whom I regard as my teacher apart from the teachers I met in my academic institutions and of course in this life.

Part 1 – My Parents, My Teachers

I remember my father had a flat tummy and his six packs intact, till he breathed his last. He hit me only twice in my lifetime. His eyes and his silence were two lethal weapons to make me put all my mischievous intent to rest. He taught me discipline. Right from my kindergarten days, I lived by his rules and till date am unable to tolerate indiscipline. There were no lessons in discipline. But simple steps to keep our own selves uplifted. I don’t remember a single day that I might have walked back home from school, college, workplace and thrown my things away carelessly. The bag went back to its place. The clothes were deposited in a bucket. The books were in the shelf. The utensils were washed after meals. The electrical appliances were switched off, when not needed. Guests were to be respected. Speaking in loud voice (this is the only case, where I’ve grown into a serious offender of sorts) was never entertained. Intervening or interrupting adult discussions always remained classified behavior. I was not scared of him, for being strict. I was scare of him, out of the fear that what if I end up breaking any of those rules. These rules suffocated me. But somewhere they also shaped my mind. My mother on the other hand, kept growing friendlier. I didn’t realize when this mother-child relationship transformed into friendship. Being a teacher herself, my mother could have easily turned me into a guinea pig of sorts. Till date, I don’t remember her telling me to do anything. But I only remember her of telling me to do anything that I wish was right for my growth and development. The hardships, from which my parents had liberated from, remained shrouded till I started earning on my own. I remember my parents never shying away from meeting any of my demands. From them I learnt life had to be managed on all terms. This Teacher’s Day I thank them.

Part 2 – My Grannies, My Teachers

I was always amused by her energy levels, which today stands in dark contrast of her having grown so immobile. My maternal grandmother, we still don’t know her actual birth date, which she still calculates and recollects as per proceedings of Bengali/Hindu calendar. She might have not gone to a conventional school. She might have never sought luxuries. She might have never gone on a shopping spree. All she did was to love us and bring us up. She asked us to follow only one adage in our life – Pora Shona Kore Je, Gaari Ghora Chore Shey (The one who studies, enjoys all the joyrides of life). The best of my academic years were spent in her pampering company. The year, I truly regret not getting to spend much time with her, was my graduation year. I had to suffice with a second class. But since I studied, I definitely am enjoying the joyrides of my life. My paternal grandmother supposedly succumbed to skin cancer. I couldn’t be by her side, when she was counting the last hours of her struggle to survive. I have fond memories of her taking me to the banks of Mother Ganges and telling me, “The one who swims through her tides, may someday rise from her banks being immortal”. From both my grandmothers, I learnt life has its own challenges and we shouldn’t shy away. This Teacher’s Day I thank them.

Part 3 – My Schoolteachers, My Teachers

I was not at the luxury of trying my hands generously at any kind of mischief. Before I could shield my wrongdoings, my mother had already known a lot of me. My schoolteachers kept a keen eye on me, to not only report every big/small action of mine to my mother. But they also continued to groom my skills. The best teachers of my life have been my mother, Shaila teacher, Shikta teacher, Sachidevi teacher, Majali teacher, Chari teacher and more. After my academic association with my school came to an end, it was time to be in the company of lecturers. All of them were wonderful. My teacher from my computer class, Mrs Anjali Gangal spoilt me with her motherly treatment. But she always made it sure that I never compromised on discipline. This Teacher’s Day I thank every teacher of mine from my school, college and computer education institutes. 

Part 4 – My Colleagues, My Teachers

The monsoons of 1998 brought across big news – I got a job, I graduated. But before I would graduate, broke the news of I having bagged a job. I still remember the interview. At the very entrance of my so called first office, stood a huge bulldozer clawing red mud away from a piece of land that was to give way to one of architectural splendors in Thane. A hugely built Parsi gentleman Shahrukh interviewed me and instantly rejected me. A week later, I was recalled to meet my first boss P. Laxman Rao. He looked at my CV and asked me, “Can you tolerate me?” I don’t recollect as to what was my reply. But I joined him as his Office Assistant. He taught me all. From maintaining files in cupboards to folders in PC; Raosaab (as I fondly called him) became more of an elder brother to me and less of a boss. He used to yell at me by calling me a ‘Pucca Idiot’. The next moment, he would calm down and tell me that he only wished for my success. He was the one who made me realize that I belonged to advertising. Otherwise which boss would willingly send you to an interview and bear the cost of your travel? He left for Kuwait. Before leaving, he left behind a note, which said – I am asking you for the last time. If you are willing to accompany, I will be more than happy to have you as my partner, my brother. But I declined and today I am not in touch with him anymore. The only successor to Raosaab could have been Sunil Gwalani. Had he not been provoked against me, today we could have possibly been business partners. I still hold nothing against him for the simple fact that he was misled and misguided to start hating me. He taught me two vital things in professional life – Believe and Achieve. His idea was simple, if you believe in something; there is hardly any obstacle that might stop you from achieving it. Many years faded away. But my respect for him remains intact. Yashraj Vakil is the third boss I admired and simply loved to respect. Before the agency could sell itself to an ordinary agency and bring down its fragile shutters; Yash had given me a clear indication that my future needs to be mapped or I will be left with no choice at all. Of course I followed his advice and I still have no regrets except the fact that we are not working together any more. Speaking of other colleagues, I would like to mention names as per the order they arrived in my life. Sanjay Mukherjee made me realize that in any kind of business, ‘charm’ works. Akshadha Rasal made me understand the nuances of being sweet and subtle. Trupti redefined my perception towards artists. Ulka changed my life forever. Then came Swarnali Dutta. However unusual it may sound, but she chose to make me her Guru.  On the contrary I learnt an important lesson from her – Never stop being a rebel. Today she prefers to be called Sheeshya and I am her Gurudev. But I am equally a Sheeshya to her for the way she made a name for herself. I would like to specially mention Wiless Dmello, my fellow writer in one of my recent agencies. He conferred on me the esteemed honor of 'Chief'. I got to learn about 'Energetic Thinking' from you. Apart from them I would also like to thank Vaijayanti Karande and Aditi Bakshi for being my amazing guiders. And how could I forget Kavita who titled me ‘Poo’ that she made me learn the power of being a free soul from her! This Teacher’s Day I thank them all. 

Part 5 – My Friends, My Teachers

The list might exhaust this document altogether or make it immensely heavy. All of them have been remarkable teachers. But I wish to mention two names – Prashant and Nikhil. The former being my chaddi buddy and the later being my college partner. Prashant and I share a friendship of now more than three decades. I don’t remember a single day of my school, not having him as my bench buddy. From him I learnt to be a good human being and overcoming a situation with sufficient amount of calm. Nikhil and I started off being staunch enemies, yet silent admirers of each other. We were infatuated with the same girl; we were sure of never winning over. And then after she left the college for good, Nikhil and I became the best of friends. So best of friends that even today if we don’t speak to each other for two weeks in a row, either of us will call the other to discuss life. From Nikhil I learnt to be an honest person with an honest perception of life. Nikhil and I are big-time fans of Rhonda Byrne’s THE SECRET. Our lives bear an uncanny resemblance too. Maybe I will write a book someday on these two friends of mine! Also worth mentioning about are Rohini, Shankari and Mansha who made me look at a life in a much more different way. Mansha asked me to go bindaast. Shankari taught me to be dedicated to relationships. And anything that I wish to share about Rohini, will always fall short of her prominence of having taught me many values of our lives together as friends and mentors of each other. This Teacher’s Day I thank them both.

Part 6 – My Love, My Teacher

The day I met her, I had no idea of getting to share the sunshine side of my life with her. My rebellious mind had resigned from the desire to marry. My bitter heart had chosen to walk on the path of fire. My ambitions had grown fierce. As she arrived in my life with greater patience on her side, I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. Before meeting her and even after having met her, marrying her; I still continue to be a difficult person. But to the love of my life, on this Teacher’s Day I thank my better half for choosing me over all odds and teach me to believe in the idea of being dedicated to the art of ‘Being Patient’. 

Part 7 – My Uncle, My Teacher

Mathematics and I were never on good terms. It was my younger maternal uncle, who took the onus on his shoulders to help me sail through shallow waters of examinations. Young at heart and always keeping me motivated to never fail once in mathematics, he became my guru. On this Teacher’s Day I thank him for being such a lovely guru of my life.

Apart from the above, I wish to thank every soul, from whom I learnt and continue to learn. Because the day I stop learning, I will be left in great pain of not being an honest follower of the Teacher’s Day celebrations. 

-vociferous

IN PREPARATION

So far so good, the first nineteen days of 2014 kept me hooked at the pace of a Sidney Sheldon novel. When the heart felt a bit burdened, I flipped through some works of Jeffrey Archer, Haruki Murakami, Salman Rushdie and Jhumpa Lahiri. My thoughts were also interrupted by Amitav Kumar, Vikram Chandra and Shashi Tharoor. Sometimes social and sometimes detached, I chose to continue in preparation of making 2014; my mentor, my guide, my knowledge partner, my fellow traveler, my colleague and my confidant.

First thing first, I am presently staring at my passport. The undisturbed pages of my freshly issued passport seem to be bouncing some questions at me. I am unsure if I am in a position to reply them all. The freshly purchased sky bags, suitcases, backpacks and hand bags seem to be eager to know about my plans of packing or dumping something deep into them. The bookmarked travel sites, the liked pages on social media of exotic destinations around the globe, the referred articles in popular news dailies, old & new copies of Lonely Planet, unsubscribed editions of Outlook Traveler, a bit of National Geographic and a forgotten link on StumbleUpon; still many questions answered for me, being in preparation.

Some read books and most of them unread, a few highlighted paragraphs in them, bracketed sentences, comparisons and references; all for the sake of gathering inspiration and words. I wonder if at all the books start taking human forms and start questioning me over the insane motives I associate with my habit of reading. Will I be able to explain to them that I am busy being in preparation to make a dream come true! Or will I choose to ignore that moment by terming it as a fake fantasy, born in an insane mind.

As I continue being in preparation, I think I am happy to meet some people who understand their jobs pretty well. They aren’t arrogant of the knowledge they possess and neither did they make me feel alienated. Some are helpful in nature, courteous in their demeanor and foresighted in their mission. In the company of such people, I too am somewhere enjoying the opportunity of discovering myself.

Discovery of ideas, discovery of imaginations, discovery of incredibility and a less travelled road; yet no clear signs of a beginning. Therefore the need of carrying out a research, by wanting to be in a particular state of mind. This research might take me back to those first years of being a confused wanderer.  Or it might pin me to the confines of my home. When in preparation, researches seem to possess a never discovered secret, which might help us in imagining new roads, imagining new journeys and taking up new projects.

There is restlessness and hope, while being in preparation of a pleasant tomorrow. There is thirst and hunger, while being in preparation of fame. There are approvals and disapprovals, while being in preparation of a new morning. Little did I realize that being in preparation is all about being in competition with me and also about creating a new identity in the next 345 days!

-vociferous

357 DAYS MORE TO DO A LOT MORE

Some days ago while writing about the first five days of 2014, I decided to turn this into a habit. The habit that helps me to remain indulged with my everyday life. Thus arrived next three days of 2014; as expected they were unpredictable. From meeting new people to new conversations and from imagining a deal to be finalized to seeing it go bust. Everything within a span of three days (72 hours). But the grit to do a lot more doesn’t cease. My body language says that I am restless. That is for the world to make an opinion about. I believe I am just a curious seeker of creative solace. Even though I laugh about the many oddities of what half of the uncreative populous talk about, I am not authorized to insult or criticize them. They have done their bit of climbing ladders; honestly or dishonestly.

All these three days have been very important with context to the yarn of personal growth. The mind that was held captive by cobwebs of unfair thinking, finds itself a bit enlightened now. The excess baggage of not wanting to go against heart seems to have lightened a bit. All that remains with me are conversations. These conversations comprised words like – Tell me something about yourself, how good are you at doing xyz, what is your opinion about its future, would you like to know anything more about us, we will keep in touch, there is lots happening around us and we might have skipped that. It was left to my imagination to either believe or disbelieve them. On most occasions, I disbelieved them but didn’t express what was on my mind.

But such encounters are necessary for the process of life to continue smoothly. Disruptions challenge the way our minds might want to think. Or else our minds tend to grow lazy. Our minds start feeling petrified by the prospect of facing a potential challenge lurking around us. The last three days have been filled with disruptions. These disruptions ranged from an erratic internet connection to an unplanned discussion. From a missed call to attended calls of the unwanted and one such call was from the so called Customer Service Centre of Hypercity.

The female on the other side of the phone opened the conversation with a courteous question – Excuse me sir, I would first like to seek your permission to ask, if this is the right time to talk to you? She added more by extending it with another sentence – Sir, will you be willing to share your marital status and the number of kids you have? I was impressed. She spoke very well. Her voice was controlled. Seemed to be in her early twenties and didn’t come across as a threat to my mind, while being in the middle of heavy duty thinking. After having shared all the details, she asked me as to why I wasn’t shopping too often at Hypercity? She wanted to know if I was unhappy with their services. Did the staff not cooperate with me? Or did I want to see a change that Hypercity could introduce with respect to my feedback? Voila. I was bowled over. I conveyed to her my satisfying replies. Her gratitude seemed like an announcement in an airplane. Thank you so much sir for having spared your precious time to answer our questions. We assure you of better services and a pleasant shopping experience during your next visit to Hypercity.

But such communication is very rare. The executive I spoke to was well trained and respected the significance of time, the communication, the seriousness and possibly the temperament of a rigid customer like me. The next moment was that of shock. I was coordinating with a disorganized courier service agent. For a second, I thought they had misplaced the cheque that I was expecting from someone. As I started tracing the courier and talking to the guys involved, I encountered disruptions and thereby lay the challenge. These disruptions where in the form of humans, with whom I hate to communicate on an everyday basis. But luck was in my favor and the shenanigans ended with the courier company sending across a person to personally deliver my documents aka cheque.

In all these three days, I think somewhere there was less of effort involved and the perception to do more was missing. I sat across a table staring at the calendar and felt there was still an unfinished task to be accomplished. Excusing myself for a half day from the task in hand, I landed up at one of the offices of a Government of India undertaken Insurance Company. Somehow I followed my intuition of they haven’t acknowledged a document, sent across by my mom to adjust a claim. Initially I was shocked by the tactical location of this office. The office was located in a State Transport Bus owned complex. I took an over abused staircase that helped me arrive at the first floor of the office. The walls were plastered with spit (definitely a byproduct of endless gutka gossips). The security guard sitting at the entrance preferred to busy himself with his personal dose of powdered tobacco than wanting to attend my query. I still mustered the courage to be vociferous.

Who will help me solve this problem? Open the door, go straight, turn to your left and he might be of some help to you. Followed by an ignorant round of laughter, I was directed towards the official who held the fate of my mother’s insurance claim. A discussion between him and me, made me realize how easily he had not even bothered to read through the details; we had couriered across centuries ago. It was upsetting to realize that my mother and I had invested a total of Rs.15 in simplifying the task-on-hand of these unkind species. But looking at my outraged form, this gentleman somewhere between his mid 40s sprung into action. Kalji karu naka, hey don mintacha kaam aahey, fukatcha dag dag karoon gheoo naka (No need to worry, this task will take just two minutes to be taken care of and please don’t stress yourself). The result of this proactive action will be released only after ten days. That is when I will come to know if I have fared well in my effort. For no reason, I think that our Government offices are a symbol of colossal chaos. The number of pillars in these offices stands outnumbered. Or else, how will they do justice to the phrase of ‘made to run from pillar to pillar’!

Last but not the least, I wish to speak about a lady who expressed her desire to have a prolonged conversation with me regarding some prospects of future. But the conversation got scattered between her paying more attention to her laptop than me. The conversation got scattered between two gentlemen who were sitting around her paying more attention to her continuous exit and entry into the room than the points, I was stressing upon. To be frank, I don’t care about the outcome of this flawed discussion.

From all the above actions that I spoke about, I think the fault was mine to have limited myself somewhere from not wanting to do more. That means in the last eight days; I haven’t done much to achieve the ‘more’ that I perceive from 2014. But great men said ‘better late than never’ and as agreed, I am looking ahead to the next 357 days of the year. If I am good at calculations that stands for next eleven months of the year and I can’t care a damn less about the prospect of getting to do so much more in these coming days.

No matter where I am. No matter what I might be planning of doing next. The objective is clear – think and write more for 357 more days to do a lot more.

-vociferous 

THE FIRST HIGH FIVE DAYS OF 2014

Writing never ages. Even if it seems to be ageing, it seems to get better like well seasoned wine. The layers of experiences or the series of events, keep adding on to the passion or rather habit of writing. It was with the first fresh sunrise of January 1, 2014 that I decided to start writing for myself. But that should not be confused of being my resolution for the year 2014. As announced publicly, my resolution for 2014 will continue to remain a secret till the time I realize it. Writing pumps undefeatable confidence in my faith in life and dreams. Writing either adds wings to my desires or takes them to an all new high. And thereby began 2014.

On the first day of 2014, I woke up at ease. No matter how hard I had tried to get a new pair of sports shoes to go jogging from the first ever morning of the New Year, my luck had different plans for me.  A brand new pair of sports shoes did catch my attention at a local Bata outlet. The single sexy shade of grey gave out a very silvery feel to my determination to slip my feet into them at the soonest. Belonging to the POWER clan of sports shoes, neither did it cost princely nor did it end up setting my pocket ablaze. Alongside mom, I walked out with a broad smile on my face. The next day was going to be amazing. But before the next day arrived, I had different plans to begin with 2014.

I was lucky to have booked three tickets to Chander Pahar (The Mountain of Moon) in advance. This was also my first visit to yet another mall (Phoenix Market City) in an otherwise not so likable suburb (Kurla). As a first impression, the mall engulfed my mediocre imaginations about it. The opinions I held about it stood banished. My apprehensions vanished. Here we were facing the mall; a monster of a mall. We walked towards the seven screens multiplex. After collecting the tickets we treated ourselves to donuts at M.O.D and then spent a good amount of time at Hamleys. Stepping inside we were on a joyride. Mom pointed towards the section that comprised almost all the toy cars, one can think of. At the same time, Mrs.Right busied herself with a flurry of soft toys. And then arrived the time to set out on a cinematic adventure. Chander Pahar turned out to be a Bengali movie with Hollywood finesse. Combining all the elements of edge-of-the-seat adventure tales, Chander Pahar pulled us in. Reviewing it would seem very average. The greatest of greats in Bengali cinema and the best of all the bests from Indian cinema have lauded the formula defying effort. It was nothing less than a Spielberg experience in Indian context. Two hours thirty minutes seeped away. The first ever African Safari, filmed in Bengali carried us to a tough terrain and then rapidly flung us back to the strange experience of being in the maddening surrounds of Mumbai. The first day of the New Year ended with an applauding round of dinner – home cooked Misal Pav (a Maharashtrian delicacy that is still best-served at Mamledar, Thane).

The alarm went off at sharp 6 am on the second day of 2014. The new pair of sports shoes seemed to be waiting anxiously to meet their first ever owner. Slipping my feet into them, I jogged, I skipped, I jumped and I walked. The overall experience was extremely sporty. It was that lovely feeling of having achieved something. What did I achieve? My sports shoes know it better. Work wise everything remained calm. The stage seemed set to welcome the third day.

We forgot attending a wedding of a family friend. But I remembered to get my android phone back. This was for the longest time that it had rested at the forgettable LG Service Center, located at a disinteresting location in one of the oldest alleys of Dadar. The little amount of charge that was left in the battery made the mobile spring back to life. The engineers had done something amazing to it. My LG P970 Optimus Black was breathing again. The software had been upgraded. The internal circuit went through a revamp. Right now I am celebrating the fact that I didn’t have to spend a bomb on acquiring another smartphone. But thanks to the Micromax phone that kept me connected to the world. Happiness made a comeback.

Then arrived the fourth day of 2014. It was not the day but the evening that made it much more special. I met my best friend Nikhil. The 40 km bike ride made us turn into bachelors again. Nikhil is still a bachelor. The crazy bike ride without helmets protecting our heads ended at a lakeside restaurant in Thane. Nikhil and I realized that this was our 20^th year of being friends. To celebrate the moment, we ordered for delicious food. And then began a long round of conversation. From the first day of our college to present day complications and simplicities, we spoke all. And then Nikhil commented – From 1998 I have been waiting for my friend to start writing the book that he had always been talking about. I suggest you start now. Nikhil ignited the long lazy desire to pursue personal writing. He shook the heart that had somewhere mildly stopped responding to the calls of my pen and paper. He made me think again. Before him Mrs.Right has been urging me to make a start. Before her many other friends and well-wishers have been advising me to do so. Maybe the journey of writing has to begin now! But I have been travelling for long. Maybe it is time to stop procrastinating.  

The fifth day being a Sunday could have turned out to be yet another lazy day. But I am still reeling with excitement. I finally succeeded in defying routine. I read, I imagined. I laughed, I smiled. Above all, I opened the long closed gates of my mind to accept and welcome the change that has been trying to keep me inspired and motivated. At the turning point of life, looking ahead to the rest of 360 days of 2014!

-vociferous