Gravity (No, not the movie)

I wanted to feel gravity. One last time. Just once, I wanted to feel my feet firm on the ground. Some ground, any ground. 

The black hole had a gravity of its own. This region was slowly engulfing me in it. It wouldn't even let my light escape. It was slowly consuming me. I felt my pulse go down. I was giving up in body and soul. Naive and unquestioning, I believed that there was a whole new world inside the black hole, away from the miseries the world bestowed every day. I was truly elated by the dreams of this world in the black hole, full of love, hope, peace and smiles. Each dream it showed, each desire it sowed would lift my feet a little above the ground and take me a step closer towards it. Each day I felt closer to the bright light of the sun and the burning stars. The black hole had taken over me. It had alienated me from my world. My world's gravity could not hold me. No force could for that matter. It was just so powerful. It was definitely an 'out of this world' feeling. It suffocated me, dragged me towards it, took a piece of my mind and a piece of my soul, and did it again and again. But the black hole, it also healed me, gave me dreams to dream, hopes to hope, a different world and a different me. I never realized. Was it a friend or a foe? I never understood. I let space and time decide. I felt wrong and right. I felt low and bright. I felt bad. I felt good. I could never know my mood. The world in the black hole was bizarre yet beautiful. I couldn't stay. I couldn't move. I let space and time decide. I did not want to reason or fight, I let it lift me off my feet. I let it take me closer to its heat. 

There was no world of love and peace. There was no warmth or life. The black hole had cheated me into its cold dark space. Nothing could escape it now, not my voice, not me.

Not knowing if I was staring into nothing or everything, I closed my eyes to the deep darkness. 

I wanted to feel gravity. One last time. Just once, I wanted to feel my feet firm on the ground. Some ground, any ground. 

It shook me inside out. This bright beam of light. Like an answer to an unsaid prayer, it came to me to stay with me. The light was now stuck with me. Light cannot escape the black hole either.
It kept me company and spoke about the world it came from. It spoke about it's world's monotony and miseries, sorrows and griefs. As it spoke about the rare rainbows and the gravity, I realized it had come from the same world as me. It did not give me dreams to dream and hopes to hope. It lit me silently and touched my soul. It did not promise to take me away, a single word it did not say. It wanted to give me ground and grip, wanted me to be better and not crib. Slowly I felt the light move into me, it was no more out there, it was within me. I felt it in my head, I could now see better. My vision was clear and my heart felt lighter. My pulse went up and my spirit rose higher. Determined now to leave that space that wasn't mine, I dared to fight it's gravity to reach mine. How much I traveled, I cannot say. Was it my speed or that of the light in me?
How long I traveled, I do not know. the distance seemed nothing with the light in me. Through the dark and cold, the light wouldn't leave my hold.
 The black hole was once a star, a star I knew. It burst into this dark nothing that slowly took with it everything. 

I wanted my feet back on the ground. I started my journey home bound. 

I am not home yet, but I will be soon. As long as I have that light in me, I wont stop and someday not too away, I will be home, catching that rare rainbow and feeling the gravity. :)

Moral- Light can escape the black hole if it finds its medium. And the medium probably never knows it is one, until a light makes it believe it is one :P

p.s. Needless to mention, this is non-fiction. 

The story teller

I was 10 and little. Half way through my story, I went blank on stage. It was a story of a wife who was extremely scared of her husband. So much that, when the dinner hen flew out of the basket and escaped, she cooked dog meat for him instead of chicken meat.

I grew up listening to bedtime stories and family gossip. As much as I enjoy listening, I enjoy playing story teller today. I tell a lot. And I cook a lot. I find a connection between these two forms of art. I think its important that both have the right ingredients in the right amount. Order is essential, but creativity and imagination can sure stir out a nice dish. You cant over heat it or let it cool for too long. And yes, they both come straight from the heart.

Coming back to the story, it set my grey thinking. The man used to cane his wife and that was why she was terrified of him. He was a bad bad man. Then why did she tolerate him? She was just being the good wife I suppose. But which good wife cooks dog meat for her husband? So maybe, she was not all that good. I cannot help but think that she probably left the hen escape on purpose and cooked dog meat to teach him a lesson or take revenge. But in the story, the man eats the meat happily without realizing that he is feasting on a dog. She is relieved and then they live happily ever after. That was how it was supposed to end.

I wonder if the man's temper took over his ability to tell dog meat from chicken meat. I wonder how the wife was relieved that he did not find out the truth. I wonder why the story had no mention of her guilt. I wonder how the story went against all odds and ended with a cliche happily ever after instead of a happily never after. I wonder what moral the story had to tell. I knew the story to the end. I wasn't scared of the stage or audience. Yet I stood there, blank and frozen. I couldn't say a word. I did not believe in the story. I did not trust its end. But ever since, I've been a story teller and I tell from my soul. Take you to all those different worlds.