Heart Complex

     T he prior of the Santa Maria delle Grazie monastery was visibly irritated as he saw Leonardo, without a paintbrush, standing and staring at his partly drawn painting on the wall of the dining hall of the monastery. For the whole day, Leonardo hadn't touched the wall. He seemed to be living in a different world. There was no other sight or sound that could draw his attention than the painting in the making.  It wasn't the first time. Some times, Leonardo wouldn't turn up at the monastery for weeks. Those days, he would be found somewhere outside the city, looking at a bird with searing intensity, or somewhere near a pool, looking at the water and scribbling something in a notebook that he always carried with him. Some other times, he would come early in the morning to the monastery, mount the scaffolding, and start painting without a minute's rest, not speaking to anyone and not even stopping for food or drink, till the curtain of dusk is drawn for the day. Ther...

     H e was drilling a small hole in the panel. For the past few weeks he had painted the panel with utmost concentration. The painting was of the Florence Baptistry and its surrounding, as it looked when seen from the Cathedral. There was something special in this painting when compared to all other paintings of that time.  Once done, he set the panel to face the view that inspired it. Now he stood behind the panel and leaned forward to peep through the hole. For an onlooker, all this might have looked crazy, or even worse he or she would have accused this painter of plotting something shady. As he was peeping through the hole, Brunelleschi picks up a mirror and holds the mirror at arm's length, in front of the panel. Now he was able to see the reflection of the painting in the mirror. As he continued to view through the hole, he moved the mirror in and out of his line of sight. It was now clear that he was trying to compare his painting to the real Baptistery. But...

     E ight days and not a soul in sight. But it wasn't unusual. A young driver was catching some sleep in his broken down truck, stranded in the middle of the Sahara desert. Luckily, eight days ago another vehicle had passed by, in which his companion had hitched a ride back to Algiers to get spare parts for the truck. Now all he could do was to somehow push the days, eagerly waiting, and eagerly hoping, for the return of his companion. For several days, a sandstorm was raging outside. So, he was forced to snug in his truck's cabin. Even if there was no sandstorm, all he could have done is to take a walk in a sea of sand, laid out in all directions. One would wish only to keep his sanity amidst such gigantic silence and boredom. As a Land Rover pulls up in front of him, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and climbs out of his truck. He was happy to see a human being after that long wait. In fact there were two people. He went up to them and briefed them of his situation. Th...

A poem that inspires us to face the difficulties of life. William Ernest Henley lost his father when he was barely a teenager. He suffered from arthritis, and had to get one of his legs amputated (Thanks to Joseph Lister, his other leg was saved miraculously!). These sufferings at such a young age, gave material to his poems. Invictus is one masterpiece that is worth reading again and again when life lets us down.     Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul                     In the fell clutch of circumstance                     I have not winced nor cried aloud.                     Under the bludg...

T o start with! Here is one of my favorite poems by Aleksandr Pushkin. A poem written almost 200 hundred years ago, but yet resonates in this age with such tenderness! To... I just recall this wondrous instant: You have arrived before my face -- A vision, fleeting in a distance, A spirit of the pure grace. In pine of sorrow unfair, In worldly harassment and noise I dreamed of your beloved air And heard your quiet, gentle voice. Years passed. The tempests' rebel senders Have scattered this delightful dream, And I forgot this sound tender And how heavenly you seemed. In gloomy dark of isolation, My days were gradually moved, Without faith and inspiration, Without tears, life, and love. My soul awoke with decision: And you again came as a blest, Like an enchanting fleeting vision, A spirit of the pure grace. My heart beats on in resurrection -- It has again for what to strive: Divinity and inspiration, Life, tears, and eternal love. -- Aleksandr Pushk...

W ell, I am back! Like a bolt from the blue. At this hour on this random, uneventful day, I am back. Remembrance of the past is still with me. Sometimes it weighs my heart. But other times it lifts me up too. And with all that childish ramblings, I am back. How long I would stay, I don't know. But for now, I am back. :)