Skip to main content

Write or Pass

Chill

Dialogue Between Two Minds
Mind 1 (The Writer):
"Come on, let’s write today. There’s something waiting to be said, some thoughts that want to breathe. Even if it’s just a few lines, it matters."

Mind 2 (The Skeptic):
"Why bother? Life goes on just fine without writing. The same old stories, the same routines. What’s the point of adding more words to the pile?"

Mind 1:
"It’s not about piling words. It’s about making sense of the noise inside. Writing helps me see clearly, even if no one else reads it."

Mind 2:
"But sometimes it feels like a chore, like a weight. Wouldn’t it be easier to just live without the pressure to create?"

Mind 1:
"Maybe. But creation is freedom too. It’s the mind’s way of playing, exploring, and healing. Without it, I feel incomplete."

Mind 2:
"Still, there are days when silence feels better. When the mind just wants to rest, not perform."

Mind 1:
"And that’s okay. Let the mind debate itself. Two voices, two truths. Sometimes writing, sometimes resting. Both are part of the journey."

Mind 2:
"Two hoots to that, indeed. Maybe the dance between us is what keeps the mind alive."

Mind 1:
"Exactly. So, shall we write a little today? No pressure, just a gentle flow."

Mind 2:
"Alright, a little. But only if it feels right."

Mind 1:
"Agreed. Together, we’ll find the rhythm."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Big Bang Theory.

He is robbed including his pants. He can’t fix himself to change in life. He calls Leonard. — Girmit (^‿^) (@cgBalu)   ЁЯЪЖ → ЁЯЪЙ → ЁЯЪЖ → ЁЯЪЙ A funny moment from  The Big Bang Theory  (Season 8, Episode 1). Sheldon decides to tour American cities by train. New York. Arizona. A few others. But there is a Sheldon twist. He never actually goes into the cities. He remains inside trains and railway stations, orbiting them like a cautious satellite. Then disaster strikes. He is robbed. Everything goes. Even his pants. And Sheldon being Sheldon, he cannot recalibrate his personality. So he does the only logical thing in his universe: he calls Leonard. ❤ЁЯШО  

Gunshot Piercing

Chill Gunshot Piercing It began, as all life-altering decisions do, with someone else’s fashion. My younger cousin walked in wearing purple ear studs—confident, casual, as if he had always been this stylish creature. I looked at him. He looked at me. The studs looked back at me and whispered, “Upgrade pending…” My wife sealed the matter in one line: “You will look good.” That was it. Proposal passed. No further discussion. A few days later, we went to the jeweller’s shop to buy a chain for our daughter. A normal, respectable outing. But destiny had other plans… and a small device that makes a sound like a stapler with attitude. My five-year-old grandson came along, purely for moral support—his own, not mine. The jeweller inspected my ears like an archaeologist discovering ancient ruins. “Ah! Old holes are there,” he declared, as if announcing hidden treasure. My wife took charge. She marked the exact spot on my earlobes with the seriousness of a surgeon and the confidence of ...

Same ease. Same certainty. No performance.

We went to the community departmental store, my grandson and I. I like walking with him. I’m quietly proud of it. Long ago, when I was young, I travelled in a car with a prominent man from our small town. My uncle sat beside him; I sat in front with the driver. He wasn’t loud. Didn’t instruct much. Authority sat on him like it had always belonged there. We had gone to a bigger town for Deepavali shopping. At one stop, my uncle got down, ran into a shop, and brought back two veshtis. The man didn’t touch them. Didn’t examine. Just glanced and said, almost lazily, “Take the one with the green border.” That was it. Decision made. No noise, no effort. Now I’m in a store again. Different time. Different company. My wife has given me a list. My grandson walks beside me, scanning shelves. At the biscuit aisle, he doesn’t fumble through brands. No debate. His eyes settle on a purple pa...