Thank you, Pablo...

Been a long time, isn't it? How long has it been? Well if I put dates, it becomes rather a pedantic documentation like the history books of our school.
Numbers really don't matter. What does is the living inbetween numbers, the long sighs inbetween the process of inhaling and exhaling that says, we are alive.
A gap of a galaxy exists between exisiting and living. The sighs fall somewhere within.
What is it Manini, that you are seeking to know? The name that has been made famous by the ancient Sanskrit poets lurks somewhere deep. The meaning actually.
It is one of those nights when I want to write the saddest lines, but with joy.
Somewhere down the road, I have come across Neruda. And after a long, long haul found his Memoirs too.
What makes a work of art endearing to one's own self, or shall we say soul? Involvement perhaps. Things that one wants to say, do, paint, sing has already been done by someone most beautifully and they don't even want a price for it when we endlessly share their room.
It is one hotel that gives free hospitality. And thankfully, there are so many hotels like that. Where you can just check in even unannounced and still the manager will greet you with a smile. He knows what you want and without even ordering, you will be offered the best of facilities.
Rick's cafe was one of those places. People just walked in knowing there is solace and happiness. Knowing when the world is crumbling around you, it is one place that will offer you a place to sit, a someone to talk to, a someone to share your trepidations, innermost ones, even though they may not be your family.
Did Rick have a family? We don't know. He wanted one, that we know for sure. But he got only friends, lifelong ones, at his cafe.
When Rick is troubled, there is Sam, who has pledged his life for him. The attachment is completely mutual. No raging storm could tear them apart. Sam was surely not part of Rick's family.
Neither was Ilsa or Renault. They are the ones we meet on our walk down the road. And they become family. They stay together and sometimes are ready to die together.
There is something about this word, friend, Manini that confuses me most.
At times when I was asked to choose between the two, I never had second thoughts. Now I do have second thoughts, but I think I will choose what I am used to choosing.
Even though I have to write the saddest lines, night after night till there will be no dawn for me.
“Lines fall on the soul, like dew on grass…”