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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Aniruddha: Knowing too much might overturn you, completely. Do you even know that? Revati: Then perhaps, it is better not to know too much..right? Aniruddha: Knowing this way is quite irrational. It is quite impossible as well. You may say. If you have to know, know the whole truth. So that you may decipher the logical and the illogical too. Know them both. Revati: Started knowing all about that, gradually. Started knowing you. Knowing your reasons. Your debates and unfolding stories of life. (Empty teacup, left alone with stains of leftovers. Leaving behind the unended resonance of spoken words, stories foretold.) Aniruddha: I am almost finished here. Now, it’s your turn to speak... About you. As you truly are. Intrepid, genuine and unambiguous. Revati: Your words seem so familiar! Exactly fitting and perfectly making sense! Aniruddha: Is it so? How is it so familiar? Could you be a little clearer? Revati: Those psychiatrists also treat almost all patients this way. Exactly the same way! Aniruddha: Wait a minute! What makes you say so? Why are you so prejudiced with complex? Not everything rests on the food plate of that tasty potato smash, you know that, right? Revati: Yes, indeed. I know that for sure! As long as there is a possibility of landing at the posh airport, is it not? Higher-end dedication, humming with a wise thought of placid height! Aniruddha: Okay! Quite a word there. Are those your own words? Revati: Exactly, what else do you think? Could you also be a little clearer? Yesterday, Aniruddha posted his last mail. His mails are glimpses of the heavens. A cherished rainbow in dreams. Killer cancer did not spare his body. He had to return, one last time. His last words were exactly this. Even after reading for a thousand times, Revati felt those words. Those words were exactly this! “How many death penalties are there in one lifetime you and I are not sure about that… Perhaps one day I will meet at heaven's gate To pick up the answer.” Where there is a will, there is a way. (Empty teacup, left alone with stains of leftovers. Leaving behind the unended resonance of spoken words, stories foretold.)
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