Literary theory has always been a terrain, unexplored for me, the more I want to know about it, the more secrets it reveals to me. Many strands of theory and theoretical discourses often make me think and ponder about so many facets of a single idea, or view. We have so many glasses on our eyes, and I think theory gives us a freedom to choose any one of the glasses, and thereby allow us to give our views and opinions. Truly, it is having the power to make us realise the timelessness of a work of art. As many angles, as many interpretations. We are free enough to choose more than one glass for our eyes to make us believe on various ideologies and interpretations at a single moment of time. Reading a text is the first step towards analysis, the second reading gives us an insight, and how a text is unfolding itself starts appearing to us on our mental horizon, a brief knowledge of theories, help us to locate the text on that level, which seems perfect to us. Theory gives us a freedom, to interpret. We don’t need any yardstick to prove our point, a singular text can have infinite observations, by a singular reader, and it also gives us a choice to stick to one or more than one ideas at the same time. The world of theories is unique in itself, it’s a path where one can tread for as long as one wants, no barriers are there, a freedom of spirit, to articulate and express oneself, as the way one wants.

So simple and delicate it was, fresh as the first ray of the morning and so beautiful that no image in the world can be compared to it. I was thrilled to have it in my bare palms, it was so very soft, and appeared to be alive with its own liveliness and spark. I was mesmerized by its beauty, and the moment for me appeared to freeze, when it landed on my palm, from somewhere above. I wanted to hold it, but its delicateness, held me from imprisoning it, even for a small while, I continuously looked at it, so pristine in appearance it was, slowly a gush of wind came and it took the small tiny feather with itself to a far unknown land. I was held back by the moment for a while, when the whole thing happened with me. I still remember the softness, the pristinity of the delicate small feather, which eventually gave me a moment worth cherishing forever.

The spirit left the body quietly, peacefully, when the body was relishing a sound sleep, after a night full of pain and turmoil. It saw, itself in the mirror, no form, just a formless presence, a bit weird, but still present. The body was lying lifeless. No movements, nothing…just lying… like a log of wood. The spirit, looked at it… the place where it existed for so many years. The frame has now made itself, so very pathetic, it thought. The body appears to be weak in appearance, because of the prolonged disease. The cravings, crying, moaning at nights, all are now silent… so strange, it appears, one moment back, everything was trying itself inside the body, to keep the spirit with itself, and one moment after everything is so very calmly silent, that this silence appears to be more soothing.


Suddenly, there is creaking of the door, a boy comes in, sees the body thinking it to be still alive, calling slowly, “Grandma, how are you feeling now?” The spirit is very much there, standing and staring, trying to figure out, what is happening? Since after the spirit has left the body, it is failing to recognize any bonds associated to the mortal frame. The boy is trying to decipher the silence of the body, but to no avail. He cries for the Doctor, a woman, along with a man, enters the cabin (the Doctor and a nurse). They examine the frame, and declare it to be dead. The boy starts weeping, holding the frame. The spirit is watching everything, but is not able to figure out the reason, probably because all bonds are lost after entering this new zone, DEATH; about which the spirit itself is unaware, it leaves the place in a confused state, but is unknowingly calm from within.

At times, what we feel is actually partially true, and we feel it to be the whole truth, the fact is that probably at times, we are only aware of one side of the coin, and are sure of the other half, but, we never know, that probably a twist lies on the other half. Many a time, situations in life, make us realize, how much we are required in a particular place, how much we are capable enough to accomplish any task, but if suddenly something happens and we are brought back to reality that it is not we, who are doing a particular task, but the tasks are unraveling themselves on their own, and we who claimed to be a part of the task, are actually not at all, a single element in the whole story, then we actually come across the whole idea of our existence.


So, is existence there, or its just a twist in the tale??