Holding Still

A character initialled D..... thought these one January night in 2008 in his ephemeral 5 minutes life as an imaginary character.

'Flying, circling, cartwheeling atop the peaks, pitfalls and paralysis of fantasies I dipped into depression with buzzing malarial mosquito halos around my head. I was standing by a road under a sodium light. Buses passed by with long intervening gaps of silence. Sometimes I randomly lifted my hand and caught meaning and purpose, opened my palms, stared diffused as puropse slipped, slithered through my fingers. I was left only with memories: Why did Coldplay add blue-black beauty to solitary, late night train journeys on Mumbai locals? How did trance music notes become an elusive breeze which disappeared across a Goa sea before I opened my eyes to them? Why did late night literature add to my life, butressing my gooey brain with cloudy canvasses of pictures, characters, eras and thoughts. How could I never hold anything? Hold moments, thoughts, guitar notes, jobs. Here I was, standing knee deep in the sticky swamp of middle age with the smell of camphor-like, yellow, jaundiced death on the other shore, still looking for meaning and something to hold, to still the endless buzz of events in a dizzying, spinning, perplexing, death-ward life.