My Book

Across Time

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CHAPTER 1

“but all  time  stopped for that one  moment

And the world stood still, waiting for me …”

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The first time it happened …was almost three years ago 

but I stopped counting that very moment.

My life moves along like an alarm clock …if you keep your ear really close you can hear the sound of my footsteps .But maybe not on that day .

Because I recall It was pouring outside,the sky was dripping …I only remember the blinding darkness and occasional  hazy patches of lights that blurred past me on my way…..i could see some others rushing towards the subway , eyes glued to their watches…..watches…useless toys .. a hindrance …to misinterpret the concept of time.

I remember how it seemed like that day had been wiped of colour, the grey skies, the grey suits , the umberellas .. hats. Coal tarred roads... grim ashen faces..how these people strive to live their lives in the greying future.

Grey…..grey shold be the lack of colour…its neither black nor white..but in between..somehow we are all like that…stuck in between..never completely falling ,never completely certain

If Grey is the colour of everything in between I understand it

. .

You should all know, that I am different. I didn’t live with these… people. Moscow at sunrise, lunch near Notre dame, Evenings with fujishima and venice by sundown.1866, 1605,2045,1101 ..years , hours , minutes , seconds have no meaning for me…time is merely an illusion………

Page 2

Date :unknown

Place-Great Briton

Its freezing in October..I have to pull my jacket closer as I reach the station ,the newspaper boys greets me with his yellow smile ,the exuberant grin that often adorns the faces of the young

 “Great Briton, 1846” 

I smile back  and toss him a penny…he thinks this is going to give him a start in life..a better chance…but I’ve seen him years later after the war at the same station, in the biggest island in Europe.

An old man half bent with age

“Great Briton, 1929.sir”

His sad eyes light up for a second as he hands me the paper, the flicker of envy that I remain untouched by time .somehow, I always felt like he knew my secret.

I wish he did….

I start scribbling the moment I’m seated…, my large sheets of paper strewn all around me.but for the first time I’m uncomfortable…for the first time I feel like I’m being watched 

I swivel in my seat only to find this little girl standing right next to me. She was clinging hard to her mother’s skirt, struggling for balance ..but all she sees is me.she watches my hands, the way my fingers move as if nothing else existed. For a moment fear grips my heart and I wince under her piercing gaze.

i wonder what will happen to her.

Who will she be? 

Out of all the people I see , big people in a bigger world leading big lives,

 This little thing threatens me.

I get down at the next stop…I have to clear my head of these thoughts…on my way I pass the st. Paul’s cathedral…Christopher wren…nice man..good architect. but I didn’t come here all the way to meet him.

The bell tower strikes tweleve times , a shrill annoying noise echoes  through those silent streets ..i know this silence…its the silence that follows a heavy downpour..and accompanies recuperation ..that short period of silence where everything slows down for a brief moment ..no fast cars, no crowded streets,no busy people hurrying somewhere,no anxiety, no  footsteps….except mine.

 I remember running faster , hoping I would’nt slip.i was never a good athlete .if I had a watch I would probably have timed myself…its funny how time plays these little tricks on me…I can imagine the world laughing , silently watching everything everywhere like all this was just a big joke…23,24,25 yes I was there!

I was heaving.. not because of the running..but because I was scared...actually scared is an understatement..i was frightened to death..like there was this heavy cold stone lodged in my chest and I couldn’t breathe hard enough to push it out. a few short moments is all I had left. I could already see the towering building coming into view in front of me….it had to be done now…

I could feel that crumbled piece of paper in my pocket…my only clue to who I was..they say some people keep photographs....i have a  page from a diray. everytime I’m confused I take out this piece of brown paper..this remainder so .even if I’m not sure of who I am now…at least I can depend on who I was a long time ago..