"Houston, we have a problem!"

Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. I always liked this quote. Everyone has a unique quality that they possess and not everybody sees it. It always comes to the other person how they perceive and interpret things. I do that almost all the time. I perceive the things as they are and in my mind I interpret what I have seen. Do I stop there? No, I take a step forward and try to connect the dots, only that there are no dots to connect. And what do I do, I create the dots. A story for each dot and what is left for me to do is to just join then. Eventually, after a lot of creating and joining the dots, I end up intermingling them. Like the one you find in your pocket, yes, the earphones. And in the process of setting those intermingled lines, I end up messing it up. Eventually, after to much hard work and whatnot, I wake up. " Wow, that was a beautiful dream", I react to the morning light preventing me to open my eyes. A moment later, that dream just fades like the million other dreams that faded away. Or darn, I hate that feeling. 

What I hate more is when I am in that spot where I want to do something and I am just not able to. The reason, you ask? If I had known, I would be trying to battle it, wouldn't I? To escape all this melodrama, I turn to fiction. Lets's write some fiction, let me just create stuff out of thin air, or may be break?, or may be I will fly or, perhaps die. But I will live, in words, for eternity.The pen is refilled with new ink and it beams with uber freshness to let the beholder exploit it. The hourglass is turned upside down. A few moments passes by, the pen firmly between the fingers wait patiently in silence. The hourglass is turned over a hundred times now. The ink feels disappointed, drying in the thoughts that never made a move, the pages left hungry for the precious touch. Progressively, or perhaps with no progress, the sky loses the crimson red only to be followed by the dazzling starry night who lay in the soft clouds in anticipation to be etched, or be an inspiration. Like a kid eagerly waiting for a story to be told, they wait with hands on their cheeks. Patiently. Slowly it also fades as the slim streak of light make its presence over the horizon. I rub my eyes to the soft awakening from the beautiful dream, to be crafted on the eagerly waiting pages. 

As a last resort, I bury myself in the pages of a book, the world of the written word.Fascinated is too little of a word to be able to comprehend that feeling. It is much more than that. Though it doesn't take long, when I want to be a creator of a tale that lingers in the sub conscious. I try to find words in everything. Everything I see, I feel needs to be put down, put on paper. Every walk I take becomes a narration of the story that was thus far imprinted, only to be faded in the misty wind that blew. But that side of the mind which speaks inside describing in words, striking, rewriting whatever is seen never leaves me. Admiration takes a front seat when the eye catches a beauty followed by the words that silently try to tell a tale. But then " staring" is not advisable. They don't understand that I was admiringrather than staring. As the only remedy for it being "keeping it to myself", I am bound to withdraw myself to something called imagination. I let it drive its course. But the fuel, the fuel of inspiration is empty desolate.

I still try to let the thoughts take the shape of the vessel of imagination. Usually, I'm an addicted to the motion pictures. I claim myself to be a photographer, but the world- karma-whatever-whoever says otherwise. Anyway, there is a fascination in the those pictures as they capture the moment in a frozen version. A moment which has a story to tell. Well, being the inquisitive creature that I am, I am bound to learn the stories they sing. So, don't mind me pondering over those stories in the confinement of my mind. And like I said, the motion pictures, they have a different view. When the books are adapted into movies, or even if it their original adaptation, someone has to bring those words into life, drag into their world and let the people see things the way they see. Isn't that great. And what do I do? In my sub conscious mind, I re-write the story in my own words and I look for the details to be put in alphabets and words. I observe the details. I create new stories, I try to find that inspiration that I have been missing. And by the end of the movie, I don't really know the story of the movie as I was more into the screenplay, the characters, their voices, the background score, the dress, the expression of the people, almost everything but the story. And what am I left with? You see those casualties that get caught up in the crossfire, what is their story? The main lead, the hero takes the revenge or puts an end to (almost ) all evil. He stays happily ever after, unless of course there is a sequel. But those nameless people who are caught in the between, what about them? What happens if they die for no reason, what goes around in their family, what course of action they will take? No body really thinks about them. "That's the price they have to pay". "A war has casualties". "There is nothing that can be done!" The just fade away, don't they? Forgotten! Thats' exactly what would happen if we are the by-standers in our story! 

I think too much, don't I? Leaving all the necessary things that need attention. I run after the things out of my reach and I get tired real easy, may be its the breakfast routine that I don't follow daily. But, this is a problem, right? Houston, we do have a problem! A real one.