I am remembering something.
At first it comes to me as a feeling. It is comforting. It is a place I want to be. It is home.
Is it the memory of a dream? It is indistinct, but real. I am holding only a thread. And I do not want to let go.
Maybe it is a movie I saw, a book I once read or a piece of conversation, the clarity of an idea that is so simple that it is beauty. It is the comfort I want, the protection that embraces.
Then it comes back all at once: a woman on a beach, a tree, a wind that calms, a rain that cleanses, but does not wet.
My memories are nothing but looped reruns I cannot change. But this one memory is different. There is no regret, no disappointment. I do not want to adjust it, fix the focus or rewrite the script. I return to its shores because this one memory is my comfort. It is not the past. It is not the future. It is my home beyond my home. It will always be the present.
Stop me if you have heard this all before. It might sound familiar. It might have happened to you.
Remember this: my name. It is Vishesh. Vishesh Darshane. Can you remember that? You can call me Vishesh or Vijay, Raj or even Jimmy if you wish, if it is easier. I have been many things, but none had to do with my name. And, if I am to admit the truth, none of them had anything to do with me as a person.
Be still. Remember my name. It is the label that is attached to me. It is the one thread that is sewn through this entire story. Your story or my story — it is only the stitching that changes.
The want is the thing that drives us.
Trust me: I have a story to tell.