Srividya Srinivasan

They prised open the door in the morning. The beatific expression on hisface was exactly what one would find in a temple deity or the just dead - anunsmiling smile. The absurdity and humour was there if one could just seeit, the question and answer staring one in the face.

The stories we pretend do not exist, are the stories that will haunt us till the end.

You know you have arrived when you have stopped caring about the destination

It is finally about the quality of the conversations and silences we share, isn't it? We become strangers when we have nothing to say to each other. We die to each other, when the conversations in us die. Sometimes, a little every day, until one day we go completely silent and we are simply left looking at a stranger whose habits we know

Most of the conversations we are ever likely to have with people are the things we do not and cannot say