I trotted the endless steppes like a Mongolian horse without a master Khan riding it. There was a start of spring cold in the air and vast blue sky watching over the equally vast green landscape. I kept dotting the vastness with my minute steps appearing at random locations in the frame. If you stopped for a moment and tried to just be in there, there is no escaping the loneliness, which is ironic, pleasant and yet vacant. Solitude does not shrink you in such cases, it expands to fill the infinite space around you.

Then you wonder, is the wanderlust dying out? Why to go outside when all you find is your insides spread all across. Vagrant thoughts finally give way to apparent, noticeable ones. The mindless brush strokes of leaves on canvas of air becomes still, like a sculpted clay artifact. Where there was randomness, a pattern appears with a mosaic of symbols and connections. You stumble upon the fundamental particle and...after a fleeting look at it, throw it away.

Why is it that you never get a signal or an intimation or even a slightest hint that this is it? This is the moment, the person, the impression that you have been looking for, sometimes earnestly or unconsciously. It makes you question, deliberate, is there really something like providence, a game plan, a correlation that is working underneath the intricate and complex mesh of unknowns. Or is it just an incoherent buzz of activities? Once a wise student of history candidly mentioned that history is just one fucking thing after another. Isn’t he right? Did the creators or inventors of history work according to some pre-cognized strategy? I believe not. It was just a series of random events where one lead to another. It’s the historian who provides or manifests the coherence, adds a meaning or purpose to things that happened. If history in actuality has its fair share of incoherence so should the present.

You understand that there is no such thing called the fundamental particle. Even if your inward, outward searches lead to it, it is just a vagary of perception. Mongolian horses are supposed to keep running till their legs fall apart.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.