Déjà vu

It seemed so much familiar. A life re-lived, a dream revisited, another second, a minute, an hour, an entire lifetime wasted on thoughts.

I have been walking for the last one hour. The day started without any goal, I started doing things for which failure was sure. Daryagunj visit at an hour when the pavement book market was sure to have been closed. To try to find something when I knew I would not get it. A hope when there was none. Walking along the road, I felt coming out of that place, walking to some other place, but for no reason. Probably my fear to live another past, a past which had everything, but for which I felt nothing. A dread to the fear.

Another visit to Chandni chauk, again a market which should have been closed on Sundays, which I knew beforehand. Purchases that I didn’t need were my reason to visit this place, and to have this reason to gather another disappointment. But viola! Universe again created a magic, and I have to buy a few camera accessories, without which I could have been wealthier!!

A thought was tied to me; it kept me on the edge. On edge of sanity, a boundary of truth and fiction. Where the line that divides them is very thin. As thin and as blurred as the bubble floating in front of my face, as false a the man selling the toy, the toy as true as the bubbles it was creating, as false as that child’s wish to own that toy, and as false as that child’s parent denial to that child’s dream. And then suddenly the floating bubble burst.

And then there was the walk along the memory lane, a narrow lane, another dread, another fear, and my helplessness to walk along this road. Another fear to walk, time and again. Since this has to be me, and this life has to be so.