Eight months have passed since I last took a breath in serenity. I wonder if this can be termed serenity. My principal activities are eating and sleeping. No worries, no hurries. A far cry from what my life was like, hardly two weeks ago.

Back then, I was a staunch supporter of the belief, my own, that I had too many strings attached in the city of hurries, and leaving it would cause too many complications, the least of which would be a blinding confusion in my own mind.

So much time at hand. So much to do, so little to do. Izhiguro’s floating world got me more swamped. The world was floating around me. I too, was in a floating world. Unlike Ono, I was no artist. My mind is getting blown. Why do I get this feeling that I am scripting this for the second time? Maybe I did jot it down in some scribbling pad in Mumbai. No, I didn’t have Izhiguro then. Déjà vu, nonetheless.

I once was in a state of being in which I was a speck, an atom which went with the winds. Floating to wherever the world and its ways took it. That state is what I crave for now. Mentally, I am ready, but the physical self can hardly make it from one room to the next without huffing and puffing, at least, right now.

Full stop. Turn around. Look back. There’s nothing holding you down in that city. You did all that you wanted to do, saw all that you wanted to see. There’s very little else left to do which would be of some interest to you. Be the atom. Be insignificant, yet powerful, in fusion, fission and other unmentionables.