Thanks to some absurd cosmogenic conundrum,
my late grandpa blessed me with an outlandish name:
Born and brought up in the foothills of the Himalayas,
in a small hamlet-turned-business-hub lying in the serenely divine lap of North Bengal,
a city named Siliguri (read about my place here), near the ‘Queen of Hills’, Darjeeling.
A curious, docile kid who grew up in the ’90s,
then took the form of a wallflower in the adolescent ages,
and finally with adulthood came the flurries of musings and obsessions.
A Computer Engineer by degree,
but a Civil Service aspirant by choice.
An unruffled yet unhinged explorer,
who at times can be a total nuisance,
between lunacy and sobriety,
between sensual and sensible,
between romantic and realistic.
A silent observer, but a smooth operator.
Presently residing in the microcosm of India,
the place where dreams are made of desires and fears,
where discourse is secret, rules are absurd, and perspectives are deceitful,
and everything conceals something else.
Yeah right, Delhi it is.
Well, more about me…
I’m no master of words; nor do I have a powerful name.
I just pen down my thoughts, my visions, my reflections.
Sometimes they end up being soliloquies of a curious mind.
And sometimes, they are nothing but ramifications of a nomad.
“Words are pale shadows of forgotten names.
As names have power, words have power.
Words can light fires in the minds of men.
Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.”