Rusty, I think. The writing and not Brad Pitt.

After much resistance at penning down anything, a fear of being rusty has sprung up in the mind. And like a cancer, it seems to be growing. Fortunately, my cancer has a cure – writing. And so here I am. Juggling multiple cyclic thoughts, lost in the labyrinth of my musings, and reveling in the idea of solitude, assertion was being a bitch.

Many fictional characters attempted to inspire me, a few of them being Bourne, Sparrow, and Durden himself. After much pondering, I kept them under the lid and weathered the storm and through this process found a spark of my reflection sneaking through.

Even now, I refrain from being a chronicler and hence would be dealing in a code language, which even Langdon himself cannot decipher. One word that’s been consistent through every warped thought and each excited emotion is ‘juxtaposition’. And this freedom of choice created by my mind has led to a state of oblivion. To choose is not an option, a choice given is unacceptable, and so sleepwalking has come to the fore and is thriving in its new-found supremacy. While the body and surfaced mind is doing all that’s required to while away time , it rather seems to be reasonably satisfied at the same.

People have become important while some have earned their way to ignorance. There are some nagging tails that I’ve left behind, which are poking and expressing a longing to be a part of my body again. But the soul is enjoying an ego boost these days. The body thus sits grumpy and disappointed. I think it’s behaving like a chick, attention seeking behavior!

Books smell nice. And if you indulge, they taste sweet. And yes, I’ve become greedy. Under their spell, I have been depriving others the joy of reading. More importantly, it made me forget about my cooking skills. So I thought it’s time I serve a dish, if not delectable, at the least edible.

Audrey Hepburn made me smile during dinner. During a certain breakfast at a diamond store called Tiffany. I like a certain reflection of her 49 years later after that breakfast. Reflection is too close; I’d rather say a few pastels that I see in someone else. I like the old times. The 60s. The 70s. I wish I was born during those times. In those lands. The culture, the people, the life is what I yearn for right now. Even when times have evolved, the simple times leave you craving for more. Professionally too, I was accused of living in that era. It made logical sense. But I wasn’t heartbroken. I rather just manifested my romance for those days.

Rusty? Maybe. Maybe Not.

*Insert Brad Pitt’s Ocean Series Laughter*


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