The Cheese No One is Looking For

For as long as I can remember, I have been inclined to visit museums and galleries over almost any other attraction. Whether traveling alone or with family, I always prioritize art galleries, museums, and local eateries. While the latter two categories typically enjoy high footfall, galleries are almost always devoid of a human presence. Although history museums, science centers, or specialized pop-up attractions attract considerable crowds, art museums remain sparsely visited, often hosting no more than ten people at any given time.

Generally, galleries are the least successful crowd-pullers. People do turn up for opening or closing events when a specific exhibition (by an individual artist or a curated group of artists) is launched. However, the days in between witness few visitors. In this beautiful (yet risky) calm, a profound silence resonates, shaped by the communication among the displayed art pieces and the dance of light and shadow on polished floors and textured walls.

Recently, I visited one such exhibition during peak hours on a holiday. It was saddening to see no one there — and mind you, the entry was free. I have never seen more than five people in any gallery I have visited, and I have been to many over the years. 

I usually spend anywhere from two to five hours in a gallery, depending on the scale of the space and breadth of the collection. Only twice have I been the lone person in a gallery during my time wandering the halls—once in India and once abroad—but those instances occurred when no active exhibition was running. This time, just three days into a new show, the silence was a first. While I am not suggesting that no one else ever visits, or visited this particular exhibition, the sparse nature of the audience is often deafening.

I wondered how the curator must be feeling, how the artist must be feeling. Standing there, I felt a wave of shame and found myself hesitant to make eye contact. I wanted to ask the curator if there was anything I could do to help pique interest in the exhibition, but I just couldn't find the words.

I rarely take photographs, but I did this time to help publicize the event, even though my reach on social media is extremely limited, laughable at best. Even friends and acquaintances are not particularly inclined toward visiting galleries and rarely accompany me, even when invited. I wish I could have done more, or at least had some idea of how to bridge this gap. Perhaps only then could I visit an art museum or gallery with a sense of happiness and pride, rather than guilt and shame.

Copyright © 2026 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Echoes of the Glimmering Slate

I would speak of things that matter,

And of the many that do not.

I would tell of moments worth preserving,

And those better left forgot. 

But the glistening hands

Of realms beyond us

Change and mutilate —

Worthy and unworthy alike...

Sometimes from the remnants,

Sometimes from a clean slate.

Time erodes both - 

Particles and essence,

The glimmering or flickering moments 

That have been,

Only to return the fragments 

When they are least expected, or seen. 

So what is precious and what is void? 

This dusk has drifted past at last,

Eagerness stirring in every heart...

Some awaiting a dreamy dawn,

Others, any light a beacon might impart.

And then there are those hearts

Where dusk and dawn were never apart.

Where what was and what could be,

Are cherished as one within the heart.

/ 25

: 135

Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Third Or First?

>>You may listen (and watch) it here.

When you are an observer, 

A third person in a world of two, 

You witness the story unfold,

You witness the things said,

And the things too,

That has been left to be sensed.

You see the love, the happiness, 

You see the wounds, the scratches,

You see the gaps too in dreams and souls,

You see what has been shown,

And that, which was has been left

To be felt in a land unknown.

You see the world that was created,

A world morphing into another...

You see the jigsaw slots fitting in

And those that could have fit,

If not for that unfitting stray bit,

Waiting to be cleared off

But stays on,

Seemingly invisible enough,

To be lifted off.

You witness the hands

That reached out,

And those too that stretched,

But had shackles on

That no one knew about.

You witness the world that was shown,

The one, that once under the sun shone,

You feel the one too, which existed

On the eclipsed phase,

Or dark end of moon.

You crave, you long, you pray,

"If only... " is all you can say...

But are you just the 3rd person,

With no more role,

But to observe,

Or is there more to it,

Perhaps any other purpose to serve?

Can it be an untold notion,

To let you know of the stray pieces,

That may have been in motion

In the world where you exist,

And your puzzle pieces too,

Have been trying to resist?

Are you the third person 

In that universe unknown,

Or is that universe

Just another piece

To let you explore 

The unseen in your own (universe)?

Letting you to make sense

Of what has been left

To be sensed, seen, heard, or felt...

To water the flowers,

That might seem parched,

Even if some parts have been drenched,

The others might need to be watched?

That universe might have been an assisting piece

For the universe of your version,

To let your senses bloom,

And thrive in the world,

Where you have always been

The first person.

>>Listen/Watch:

Copyright © 2025 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

525600

Another Year Another Sunset

And a bouquet of varied moments

That stay strewn in my thoughts

And as pages

In my memory laced books

But it was not just another moment

It was like that year 

Yet nothing like that year

And I reminisce every 31536000 of it.

Copyright © 2023 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Is Earth Flat?

Of the many photographs

that I never posted

and some that were never clicked

Of the many drafts

that I never published

and some that are still unfinished

Of the many stories

that I never told

and anecdotes that have never been recounted

And

Of the many travel diaries

that I never disclosed

and some lands that are still unexplored

Should any be unveiled

When the dawn shines

Even when

There are clouds still in the sky

Holding the immenseness of the ocean

Some day they may let go

But then

Where should it start

And where should it stop

For there's never been

An absolute end

Or beginning 

That was ever there

The earth has never been flat.

Copyright © 2023 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

If...

If there was a time for this and that

And a space where we could meet at

If the day began and the night set

In unvarying moments like a clock preset...

Will it be any different

Than what it is now

And if that is to be,

Would the emotions avow!

If a dawn blooms with glory of the dream

The night hums and the stars beam

If the moonlight danced on the silver brook

And the pages liven up in my reverie laced book...

Will the zephyr sing

Of those tales and more

And if it does, would the

Concealed thoughts come to the fore!

Copyright © 2021 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved

Why is imagining difficult?

Do you feel washed-out during a long lecture

which doesn’t involve any visual media (like slides, black/white boards, or any activity, for that matter)? Have you ever thought that sitting (while doing no work, as per the definitions of physics) for a very long time is just plain boring? Do you feel doing something an utter waste of your time, because you just do not see the reason of doing it? Or, do you need a reason for doing something?

If any of the above questions has an affirmative answer (when answered honestly), however remote it might be, then you know that imagining is difficult. I have, however, never understood why. Why people lose the patience or the excitement to visualize something only their minds can create. Is imagining really so difficult that some just cannot do it or is it just the lack of curiosity that leads to this.

Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one.
--Terry Pratchett

It takes no time for some otherwise interesting content to be a humdrum if the visual medium is taken away and people were expected to imagine. In a similar way, rarely anybody likes to read a piece of writeup which elucidates the experience of a sunset. Some may also find it gloomy to read a long poem which entails the story of a flower. Visual aids, mostly videos, however content-starved, receives more interest. Most like the aid of a visual and physical medium to interpret things or assess the surroundings. That is possibly why, people prefer movies as compared to reading a book. The number of such people, I daresay, is terribly increasing day by day.

Of course, it goes without saying that books are, in fact, more interesting than movies. This, however, is applicable for people who love imagination. I have always felt that imagination is an inherent art which we humans are gifted with. Some, probably, never harvest it out, because … well, I really do not know the reason. I can imagine the reasons, though… but I am not sure whether they are, in fact, true.

I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.

 --Albert Einstein  

Some might find it as just plain unnecessary. But, then again, it is imagination that lets one use knowledge for amalgamating the two beautiful worlds of learning and experiencing. So, thinking it as unnecessary should never be the reason, because it is not. Imagination brings out the inherent creativity, the feeling of desire: desire of experiencing a new world, of devising unique solutions, and of lot more. It also leads to self-discovery, in a way. So, it is definitely viable.

Or, is it that everyday life has become so busy, logical and fast that people just cannot afford to give enough time and reason to do mere contemplation.What happened to pondering over a reason of your own for something that seems to have no reason (for the logical world, atleast)? How many actually take time out to wonder that the splitter-splatter of the rain drops can actually be a form of conversation? How many would love to, and have, picturized a very well-defined world from the mere pages of any text? What happened to contemplating why flowers smile? Or just some mere beautiful and serene contemplation?

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

--Oscar Wilde

What could be the reason? What do you feel/think? Let’s ruminate on it. Then, let’s share our thoughts on this in the comment section.

Please post your comments to express your views.

Copyright © 2018 One Life To Live. All Rights Reserved