It was the first day. Or it was supposed to be the first day.
It did not conclude any phase. It did not add to the momentum per se.
But it did come to stay, to make the beginning a supplement to the paths that were to be converged.
Though a first day, according to some calendar of the different calendars of a life, it was not seen as the first day.
Rather, the day, somehow, toed the line it had been, and not what it was supposed to be.
The reflection that the first step here had was not of an experience known, yet, there wasn’t the charm that a ‘newness’ carried.
The buzz it generated was rather of a gateway to a possible value addition to an extension of the already existing thought process, the part of ‘being’, a paradigm of living that had always been a continuous process, nourished for developing a life, free of expectations, free of inhibitions.
Experiences – the reflections erred. And it was human – doing so – being so.
But every such moment of realisation was a leaning to undo, do and redo the themes of life so honestly worked on.
The step taken on that day added to the elements of living, introducing some that were new, reflecting on some that were well entrenched, intending to make a bridge between what had been and what could be.
©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/