Fourteen hours in London

June the first, two thousand and thirteen.

Here I’m.

A year away from those fourteen hours spent amid that fervent city – shored along The Thames. Every-time and every other time; whenever, I gathered words to fill those lost-time, they simply waned to a nowhere.

Perhaps, this is how words fail.

Perhaps, this is how a beauty strives.

Last few hours before my ticket back home. There I was with my iced-coffee, all baffled and lost lurking those majestic towers lying amid that gentle; yet majestic river.

The moment, that wasn’t destined for mere words.

The moment, that I always wanted to write.

Breathing in the cold morning breeze of the midlands, I left for the ride.

It was a beautiful midsummer morning, lodged with a mild winter cold that pleasantly hustled around. A cold that gently puts a sense of warmth – a cold that always reminds me of a home.

The station clock chimed at seven, when I finally found myself settled in. To my surprise, the compartment was quite empty; except for those couple of formally dressed who were deluged in their daily, here and there. However, in-spite of the warmth found within the compartment; a sense of instinctive bleak crept around – and lodged all along the journey.

The train slowly shunted away from the platforms of the New-Street, and speeded off over the iron rails ahead – breaking through the just born lights of that fine morning.

Moments passed.

The mousy compartment broke in with chatters of voices – filling the desolate silence of the compartment; once and for all. If it were any other day; I would have been already lost tuned in with some Billy Joel and a hot mug of the local brew. With already missing my morning cup of the brew – it wasn’t quite any other day, after all.

In spite of, exactly, knowing when would the ride be racing the tracks of The Euston – I kept checking my wrist-watch every five minutes and every other five, with a sense of boredom growing every other second.

Among all those hustling; to my surprise, I found myself suddenly engulfed by the fast moving western civilisation – leaning over a windward sense. The midland summer slowly shattered into a winter fog; leaving brittles of cold wrapping the glass outside the window.

Moments passed.

The winter slowly purged away, and the cold bristled windows slowly gave into a view of distant heaths and shires – filled with a morning lit cloudy skyline. Without a nudge; everything ravelled into an indefinite slow – for a moment. The indefinite moment that could have stood; deluged – deluged for its very beginning. Minutes later, along with the leaving cold; those distant farms and those nearby smiles dwindled into the shades of a mirage – casting off a deep puerile sense of a solitude; to be remembered.

Five minutes to ten.

The ride arrived at The Euston; opening into a busy London morning – within that busy rustlings of that Euston morning; there dwelled a melodious silence to be never noticed. Lost in the very silence, I stood there waiting for the ride to The King’s Cross station to arrive – with no clue; that those few minutes of stay would never sail off my thoughts.The few minutes wait had had already grown longer and longer with every minute that faded away – leaving a void.

Those fast seconds grew into slow minutes.

Suddenly; a minute froze.

Like an uncalled voice from a distance; the clatters of the rails swept through the platform – breaking every calm that lingered around; with a swift of hushing cold breeze. The moment meant to fade; froze. Stood. Stood for an ever.

Ten past thirty.

The city had quite already deluged me inside a chaos – a sweet and a beauty held chaos. This odd sense of chaos; left my shoes, empty without those ever wanted sense of an exuberance – a sense that failed to strive from the very first sight. The day gently strolled into the city of The Thames; streets after street, chimes of a distant clock, red buses and bluish skies.

Moments passed.

The beauty held morning gently broke into a calm and a tranquil afternoon on the streets around The Trafalgar; lurching into a beauty – an unheard serene beauty.

The clock swept to those last few hours of the fourteen – with a farewell to that fervent morning.

The strolling journey around those desolate weekend streets; finally fenced into a crowded shore portrait with those majestic towers upon The Thames. The solitude void gathered from those streets; at once, filled in with the clamours of smiles and peace – leaving a memory.

The last hour.

The once stood blue of the sky deluged into a phantom of grey clouds – cradling the lone evening stars. The clamours crowd and the distant rustling slowly faded into a unison – with every last hour. The warmth shelved by the hot brew gently shifted away with the evening cold.

Loosing myself within that baffling moment; I stayed – held captive by the very moment, before me.

I stayed.

The very moment that quenched more than a frigid photograph – the very moment that quenched more than the moment itself.

The moment, that wasn’t destined for mere words.

The moment, that I always wanted to write.

Floating Island

Sundown. The fervent sky melodiously fell gleaming with an auburn smile, mauve cloud, and warm shower of the brittle monsoon. With roses, as red as blood, spilled with the tears of the sky, and her favourite dessert, from the patisserie where they had met first,… Read more

The Traveller

The solitary candle fervently seeding a distant dwell near; below the moonlit street. Winter kissed cold wind caressing the flame lingering amid that candlelight dwell casting a dancing shadow of an open letter written with ink yet to dry out the wet maple window into… Read more


The Water, the Sea, and the Window

July the twenty fifth, two thousand and fifteen. Two days after writings made of no words amid the alluring city witnessed through an unclamped window silently breathing the salty air of the subtle Arabian Sea; I left – I left for a water that broke… Read more

The Howrah Mail

February the seventh, two thousand and fourteen. Two hours ahead the banks of Howrah. A sense of nowhere ravelled inside the train. Much familiar sense, I would say, the nowhere that always puts me back to the home. A typical morning of the state of… Read more


The Yellow Light

In the distance, from a window, along a silence baffled in front. A solitude yellow dim and bright, now and forever. Shimmering all night, below the stars of the shire. Down the white star above a heath, stood there a portrait, faded. Lurking the dark… Read more

A walk along the Thames

June the first, two thousand and thirteen. The day, closing aside, with blue shadows shattering away from those long stood sails. There I stood watching those shatters ravelling a sense of timelessness. The distant chime of a distant memory parched along side those rain kissed… Read more