I think that even while one may say that a picture embodies many layers of meanings open to varying interpretations, I think it is the word that rightly spills over its full stops and breaks; it is the word that expands through its frames; it is the word that always trolls in the park with its friends clashing and rioting, quietly, pensively, meditatively; it is a word that comes to our rescue when we see a picture, and wish to tell someone how much we like it; and it breaks my heart how our words are shrinking. How we cannot just go on and on and on; how we are saying sorry too often to others and ourselves for having talked more than ‘required’, and how our backspace key gets pressed more often when we type; how hour long cultural seminars and debates at literary events at colleges like Ramjas are violently pressed together from both sides and crushed to two lines of rhyming slogans, as if those placards could explain our hurt, our anger, and teach us what we could have learned by attending the debates and discussions that could not take place.
And now WhatsApp will not allow me to ‘write’ my state of mind.
Such is cruelty.
Bring back my words.