I stay up and read a murder mystery to know the ending and then think I'll check my mail and realise it's early morning and it's afternoon half-way across the world at my home and that this time next week I'll be in Chennai and getting ready to leave by the night train to go back home.
It seems so long since I left home. And in the dark as it happens so often, I feel disembodied, detached, and wonder do I justify my existence.Do all sentient beings feel the need to justify their existence? What use am I in the scheme of things? And i think of the lines from the poem (never can remember which one, certainly not at this time of the night) 'They also serve who only stand and and wait', which I often use to justify to myself my existence and I think of Agatha Christie's novels and a thought that runs through many of them, that sometimes a person's whole existence maybe only for the moment when his or her presence alone can change the course of somebody else's life. And I try to see if there was a tapestry of life on the hill or of the life of my family am I there and what colours would the silks that portray my life be. And I know I am there--muted shades of blue and green--background shades.
But that is for the daylight. Now, in the early dawn darkness, I am only words.