12th November, 2011
I read some good number of pages from someone’s diary today.
Reading through someone’s mind written down in the most personal manner has always intrigued me since ever. The fact remains that I strongly believed that only the soft in their heads write diary- my mom included. Before I go on to share what I read or concluded reading his words, let me share about what I read about my own self. I believe; I have begun to understand myself better, ever since I went into being in that recluse mode that lasted from December 2007 to April 2010. For once, I thought I was out of that phase. Now, as I write this; I feel the phase is very much growing back on me. I typically feel I would end up in that self- imposed exile once again. The only few things that I would let near me would be the words.
The irony of my life (till now) is: my love to communicate with people while I have no one around me to do so actively. This is one of the other not so interesting reasons why I started to write and young. Reading through the personal scribbling makes me see that someone living his life, giving me beyond a spectator’s view. I feel I’m living with him in that very moment- in a time zone that passed by long back, where my future presence could have never been guessed. The very experience of going through someone’s diary makes me believe I was so meant to be. When the words are being written, I strongly believe that those create a different dimension inside our minds when they are read. While it’s being written, each book writes down its own destiny of what dimension it would create when it would be read. In that destiny to strike, several other people and instances get bound together. Hands that would pick it up to only flip through its pages, to someone who would buy it to perhaps gift it to his beloved, to how the words read by someone would feel influenced by those, to exactly whose book- shelf it would sit in to what love- stories it would be a part of.. These words- written and/or printed are The Destiny Creators. They live to generate that same magic throughout the Universe across all timelines.
Like time, the words witness life stances, time zones and yet remain constant; the characters in its words get immortalized.
As if to echo my thoughts, the movie I’m watching also runs on the same thought pattern. There are always Signs for you to recognize- something I would write about separately (read: another post). There are no co-incidences. Incidentally, I have something to share about this movie too. While working with hutch (now Vodaphone), the movie I went to watch in team outing was Minority Report. My manager’s manager Sanjana had freaked out since I had kept telling her my version of the science fiction thriller. She believed I had watched that earlier- which I had not. It’s only my hobby to analyze- the fictitious, the better. Well, the rest half of my team went out to watch Signs. Could it be only a co-incidence that yesterday I missed Minority Report because I felt freaked out and watched Signs this evening without any scare when watching such things actually make me nervous?
My getting to lay my hands on this diary says as much. It’s been with me for a month or so, he has asked about what all I read if at all I did and what I think of him after reading his written words. Come to think of it, this diary while was being scribbled by someone was creating its own destiny that one day, it shall sit at my home becoming a part of my life- style, making me believe I know that someone beyond just a casual acquaintanceship. Why else would someone want to give it to me upon my asking for it only once when he only wanted to show me only a small part of what he had written?
The typicality doesn’t end here..