Second last month of another year will be done soon. December knocks or not it has arrived. Many a times words feel weighty and probably this could be one thing for a writer which is nearly impossible to establish through his writing. A long Silence. Or the absence of presence. He may distract and not talk about a certain thing or may even carve out a poem. But silence is something that is personal to any breathing being. This November was that silent noise for me. It came as it is going. Like life, like age. It is not I who feels older still but only while observing my parents. streaks of hair, dehydrated skin, puffed eyes. Things are certainly moving towards a direction. It was a busy month. Filled with many memories that we as a family collected, and me in my own archival way. Away from expectations or even results. May be I have learnt the way of a writer. Yet still I am and will always be ‘in-practise’ an imagemaker first. Sharing …