life, poetry, soul


And as we sat there looking at each other but never quite seeing, I asked what had been in my mind for centuries. I have always believed, and I have believed what I read, that questions are always more important than answers; so in this tête-a-tête I had an upper hand, I was stronger. It is always important to have an edge in a duel, and here I was prepared and excited, excited to give a fight to that one person whom I could never look into the eye.

I had a quiver full of questions and I could see that Kashiv was unarmed.

I asked him, even before he was settled in his tool, what was time to him?

I saw him take the question calmly and he sat on the tool and breathed heavily, like an old man sitting down after a long walk. His face was bright, brighter than any face I had ever seen, but his manners were that of a septuagenarian living in penury. He closed his eyes with every breath and ran his hands over his forehead wiping off the invisible perspiration. He frowned and looked at me and said, “Oh friend of mine, time is an illusion we calculate our life by. Time doesn’t travel, and hours, days, months, years and ages are but a respite to the panicking head. But this is a paradox. If time was what we think it is, then tell me mate, why do some moments seem to fly and some just refuses to pass? The idea is absurd, but time is thought and I have discovered that a device to calculate thought’s cadency cannot be invented.”

I couldn’t let the mysterious Kashiv win with this. He hadn’t actually answered. But my bow was ready with the next arrow, “What are dreams, tell me oh wise?”

He was prompt like in a rapid fire round, “it is the fear to see with open eyes.”

And I was firing like a heartless warrior. “But we see dreams with wide open eyes.”

“Where are you present, It is a simple disguise.”

“So tell me sage, what is fear?”

“It is holding the future very dear.”

“Now, tell me what should be dear?”

“It should be you, but it is those things that are not near.”

I could see and sense that I was asking what he wanted me to ask, I was losing this battle and I couldn’t save myself. His replies were making my questions sound silly, and his composure and pride made me swell with hatred. Was he proud? I do not know and I have no desire to know. I will not let this slip by so easily, I will be what I had set out to be.

I hated the look in his eyes it’s hard to say, they looked so wise.

“So enlightened one, tell me what is future?”

“It is a mirage that makes your present rupture.”

This was not the man I wanted to battle with. I realized, I did not know this man. Who was this Kashiv? My quiver as I said earlier was full but I could not and did not pull any arrow. All that escaped from my lips were, “now that you’ve said it all, who you are?”

And all that left his lips were, “I am the chauffer of your car” and a smile.

Kashiv stood up and walked lazily through me and out of the door, into the sunlight.

Image courtesy : Pinterest


89 thoughts on “THE CONVERSATiONS”

  1. Kashiv seemed to me like the alter-ego, a self that resides within. The wise self. It constantly talks, advises, rebukes – like a voice in our brains guiding, showing the path from darkness to light. Whether to listen and follow or to ignore and disregard, is subjective decision.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. You said it, Prismatic.. it’s is the wise one that resides in each one of us. It has a brain that doesn’t scheme, and a heart that knows no drama. But it is there, poking always and trying to bring us to the actual reality, which we believe doesn’t exist.
      Thanks for stopping by and writing your views down…☺️😊

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I have read 100 years, love in the time of cholera, memories of my melancholy whores, the autumn of the patriarch, chronicles of death foretold and yes, I have read love and other demons…
        I am in love with Marqueez… I want to read him again.. all his works…


      2. Yeah Chinua Achebe is amazing… But I have only read things fall apart, and I must say it’s awesome… I haven’t read Steinbeck though… Well, Haruki Murakami and Orhan Pamuk are getting me hooked…


      3. Eh me too. Just Things Fall Apart and it sent me into thinking mode. So light a story yet such a deep meaning. You must read Steinbeck. Esp his monumental work The Grapes of Wrath. It’s classic and it’s brilliant. So is The Idiot – Dostoyevsky. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      4. Another one into the TBR…
        You’re a voracious reader!
        Dostoyevsky, yeah, notes from the underground and BK and crime and punishment… The Idiot is my next Dostoyevsky read…
        And yes, I think I will read the sequel to things fall apart..


  2. What can be said that wasn’t said. The wise one, that we get tired of being right. His wisdom we don’t want to follow. We are rebellious by nature. We want it to be our truth. We don’t like to be told what to do. We set out to prove that inner-voice wrong. This is unique how you stage it. Your word selection was excellent. I could the two sides coming from one. I will read this several more times.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. You’ve said it all.. this is perhaps an amazing insight. You’ve got a way with words and thoughts unlike anyone else. And thanks a lot for such a beautiful comment, a grand comment rather…. 😊

      Liked by 1 person

  3. When i started to read your words it immediately put me into a certain kind of mood, one that I like very much, don’t know if it is thoughtful or not, one thing I do know – it makes me feel very much alive and I love it.

    Thanks for passing by on my blog too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks a lot, Emmanuel but I am busy with stuffs at the moment that is the reason I haven’t posted anything in a long time.. so, may be later when I am in my true colors we can work together.. for now, sorry…


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