Life is dense. Life is intense.
It makes you happy in small matters.
It teases you without reason. It prompts you to long for love picked up effortlessly, unbought, unearned. It tempts you to pour out your love and talk about all and sundry.
It makes you a sleepless, expectant dreamer, creating problems and sorrowing sympathetically for one another.
The earth, of course, goes its merry-go-round, creating minutes and hours and pulling all along with it.
And time is pre-occupied with itself, instrumentally.
Dedeepya took out her mobile and made a call. Signals were flowing out.
The caller tone touched the depths of her heart like the liquid noise of River Godavari, like the songs of birds, and like to gentle wind around her whispering “Shall I wipe off your tears?”, as Dedeepya heard it.