I am hundred...

One more post and I will be hundred. I noticed it the other day, from the numbers in the archive section of the side bar. It was beyond my imagination, that I will be able to make it so far, when I started blogging back in the summer of 2005 inspired by Soumyadip. That was just as an experiment.

I had never tried writing anything more than the dry dead news reports before. The biggest question was 'Can I write?' I was a bit scared, a bit hesitant...but with time it evaporated and I slogged it to the century. Can this be a reason to celebrate? Is this an excuse big enough to gobble some bottles of beer and talk nonsense?

"Tum ladko ko peene ke alawa celebrate karneka koi achha tareeka nehi choojhta kya? Bus bahan chahiye..." ("Can’t you guys think of a better way to celebrate? Always looking for excuses to drink?")

No, hundred posts in a span of two years is not at all impressive. But, why these land marks? Why reaching hundred so important for you? Why do we run so much after numbers, big numbers? Why do we give so much of importance to these numbers? The researcher's (so called) mind started working again with its analysis, until the lines from ‘The Bridges of Madison County’ placed a big full stop in front of the queue of queries...

“Analysis destroys the wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces they go away.”

Yes, there are thousands of such things I tried to analyze, at some point of time, only to reach the conclusion that they were beyond explanation. That it was better let them be as they are without questioning why...

Just like the unexplainable seclusion I used to find myself in, every time I heard Keteki (that’s the local name of the bird, failed to get the English or scientific name) singing in some far corner of nearby hills, every silent summer night, "I am Keteki, it's me here, It's me Keteeeeki" . Her voice echoed, being bounced by hills on the other side, tearing apart the silences of the night reining in the valley. It appeared as if she was in search of someone, she have lost, in the wilderness. I struggled to cover my ears with pillows to stop the interminate solitude from creeping into me but never succeeded. "Why it’s so?" I would ask myself but never got the answer. Last time I was home in summers; I stayed awake to listen to her.But she did not turn up. Perhaps her search has come to an end. Perhaps she has found the one she has lost. Or, might be she has given up...

Just like unexplainable warmth you develop for some people you meet on the walks of life, let them rein on your life without asking the reason why and keep on struggling to keep the warmth alive...you do not know why...at times you try to figure it out, only to give it up later

Or, like the dreams that wake you up, with a smile on your face. You go back to sleep again with the idea of continue it, to feel the coyness again. You know it's just a dream, a dream that is miles away from the possibility of being a reality. Even then you nourish it and you do not know why...

"The old dreams were good dreams, they did not work out, but I am glad that I had them..."

PS:
It's drizzling out side. As usual an instinctive urge is pushing me hard to go out and walk in the rain.But, I am resisting. Do not know why!