menonkum
They have always been like that. Ripples of quantum energy beating the shore in all ferocity. The waves had a character that was so committed and mistake not, to the shore alone. But the latter never seemed to own it. The insensitiveness was intensely discernible as the waves struggled to linger.
Was it just a coincidence that I saw a parallel in life? Definitely, not without reasons. There may not be as prominent an element as the expansive sand and beaches that had exercised its influence so much. All the efforts at reconciling and establishing a grip, emotional bonding with life, had been like the waves and the shore it kept washing. The interaction every time was with trepidation, and a sense of loss could be felt overpowering as it refused to hold me each time. And now, with retirement, the tenor of which is inscrutable at this point of time approaching, it looks am at last coming to terms with a finality which seems to be asking, was it all a futile exercise? If waves had been falling silent at all the odd hours, contemplating and resuming efforts, here, I was being led to cogitating with moments of halt and hush.
'When Waves Fell Silent' is an account of the journey of a commoner. Of an unknown Indian, starting the hundredth day to retirement and until the day of reckoning. Can it be construed as a record of activities of the period?