About the Book
Every time I chance upon a fun fair and whiff of cotton candy greets my nose, I follow its enticing aroma through the whirlpool of food and game stalls, eagerly tip-toe my way up to the spinning crystals of sugar on that familiar, almost spherical machine, waiting for the cobwebby texture of the sweet treat to appear, before it is adroitly wound around long sticks, to coax it into a semblance of compact coherence. As I wait with increasing anticipation for that melt-in-the-mouth, smear-all-over-the -face sensation to end up in my hands, my mind begins to spin much like the machine itself. Caught up in its centrifugal force, an analogy draws itself around me. How life, with its myriad events, have spun around me, adding layers, weaving disparate dreams, each incident wrapping itself around another, to endow me with some sort of an identity. The spin of development, physical, emotional, cognitive, and perhaps even spiritual, weave around the corners of my mind, and in the midst of this sudden reverie, the tangible and edible cotton candy was ready for me to devour. I realised that the moisture of the air was causing the wispy delight to shrink, to diminish...how akin is our existence to a cotton candy? As we spin through it, or rather it spins around us, we keep growing, not just physically, but in all aspects of our existence and once we stop that motion, and are exposed to a lull, a stagnant pause (repesented by the water vapour in air) do we become rather flaccid, shrink, almost diminish? What does this spinning motion imply? That we have to lead excessively hectic, frenetic paced lives, in order to grow and 'prosper?' Or rather, as I would hope earnestly, does it mean that we shouldn't stop spinning our dreams, cultivating our hopes and nurturing our aspirations, making friends, entering meaningful, multi-dimensional relationships, and motivating our passions, egging on our wills, until the crystals of all such thoughts take on a tangible shape, are woven into an attainable, if fleetingly temporary reality? The sugar crystals, to me, seem to represent all the people I've known, all the incidents I've encountered, all the houses I've moved to, all the pillows I've slept on, all the books I've read, the characters I've met, the places I've loved, all the mistakes I've made, the faults I've tried and try every day to rectify, the fears I've harboured, the hopes I've treasured, the stories I've created, the truths I've taught myself to believe, the faces for which I longingly yearn, the passing emotions which I try to chronicle...and these are the ingredients of our lives, with which our identities are spun, and just as moisture almost deflates the pink mass, time will eat away at most of the superfluous layers around us, until we are left with only the sugar crystals which mean the most to us, which we value and prize the most, ranging from an unforgettable memory, the inexplicable satisfaction of a job sincerely done, a goose-bump inducing touch, a faint smell from the cupboards of the past, the sensation of a re-visited emotion, the stirring sentiment behind a forgotten tear, the beauty of vulnerability, the assurance of strength, the lessons of disillusionment, and the magnificent hope of a new, slowly unfurling dream, the varied texture of diverse bonds. Through this book of verse, I hope to spin together the varied experiences which have crossed my path.
