Of all things, bright and sad, profound and shallow, clear and muddled, it is our negative experiences that drive our lives, our decision making. We try harder, to avoid such confrontations, such affairs. On a bright, sad afternoon, lying in an airy unoccupied room, I lay on clean white sheets, sighing from pain and fever, full of delusions, dreams gone wrong, friends lost and forgotten. I wanted to write. After a long time, I write. I want to write of profound beautiful things, but they escape me. So I woke up and sat myself straight. In my mind was a friend, an unspeakably good soul, as troubled as was beautiful. I saw her standing next to any of the decrepit, rundown lanes of Bombay, speaking to a man, I had never seen before. I could tell from their faces and the way they shuffled their feet, that their lives were full of woe. And I am not guessing, I know. Life is an endless string of miseries, if one came to an end of one, there would be another waiting around the corner, and of ...
formulating infinity within zero