He sat there, unmoved by the rush of trains at Jamshedpur’s Tatanagar station. His craft lay at his feet, silent like him. His rustic look kept him company long after the train had left.
Our eyes met. His stare was vacant, words few.
But his hands had already spoken. In the carved stone pieces laid before him—each smoothed, shaped, and made to tell a tale. Stories etched in silence, held in the weight of his craft.
Some speak with words. Others let their hands do the talking.
It was evening.
The road from San Francisco to Las Vegas stretched endlessly—a ride that felt like it had started in another lifetime. Smooth, uneventful, devoid of the delightful chaos of an Indian highway.
No bulls appearing out of nowhere, no tractors playing chicken—just long, sweeping roads with scenery that tried its best to keep things interesting.
But ahead lay Las Vegas—a city of stories, possibilities, and whispered legends. Excitement pulsed through us, and for a moment, even the car engine seemed to hum in anticipation.
And then, I saw them—the cars leaving Vegas, heading home. Their passengers, wrapped in a quiet emptiness, faces drained of whatever the night had held.
That’s when a line from English, August floated back into my mind:
“The ecstasy of the arrival never compensates for the emptiness of the departure.”
I smiled. Because some truths, like the Vegas skyline, glow even in the dark.
(at Las Vegas, Nevada)
Of beginnings and ends. The Sun was a painting a new crimson on the snow clad canvas that Himalayas seemed to become . These trees stood firm and beautiful. Bereft of leaves but beautiful still. A new season was coming. This season was ending.
In the end, there is a beginning. Always. The end of one season heralds the beginning of another. The end of a day rustles up a new night. The end of night gets the Sun to wave in its crimson magic.
So what does death mean, if not a new beginning? For both the soul that’s departed and the families and friends that grapple with the departure. With nothing more than a legacy, woven together by a clutch of memories and collected artefacts.
Two years ago, to this date my dad went his way. It’s been a new beginning. To learn to live without his presence.
Some people’s presence outstrips their life. They cause a new beginning everyday. Even though their end came long ago. He was one of them.
But then, what is an end if not a new beginning?
Do share a thought if you have one. About ends and beginnings. It can be a new beginning to someone who is coping with an end.
Anyone.
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