What is White Matter

White matter is the brain tissue through which messages pass between different areas of grey matter within the nervous system. Using a computer network as an analogy, the grey matter can be thought of as the actual computers themselves, whereas the white matter represents the network cables connecting the computers together.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

What goes around...

Smriti was depressed today. It was certainly not a good day for her. One of his leads, Mahesh had dumped a great deal of his work, for her. That was not all, he had escalated the issue, with a blunt mail to his manager, copying her. That too, without discussing issues and ground reasons with her. 

She skipped her breakfast and entered into CafĂ© Coffee Day around quarter to Eleven. She ordered a latte and sat on a corner table. Her sad face and weak mannerism seemed pretty evident to CCD staff.

As usual, she was expecting latte art as a leaf or a heart, but more than that she was desperately in the need of a cup of coffee.

A waiter with a happy face presented her latte, with performing a little swirl along the way.

The design art on her latte was a beautiful smiley. She almost cried with happiness and overwhelmed by this thoughtful act. She thanked him for making her day.

Her mood was now elevated. She was smiling all along the way towards her cubicle.


With shoulders down and buried in deep thinking, Nimish was inching towards FC. He’d glanced at same menu at the board and ordered same snacks again. Yeah, we are a creature of habit. Sometimes forced habit too. 

The box of spoons was little far on the other side and his hand was unable to reach. Suddenly a hand with a cute bracelet watch, taken two spoons out of it and handed over one to him. A gorgeous lady with a cute smile was standing there in black dress, handing over spoon to him. He was dumbfounded, speechless and amazed. Though he mumbled thank you, but it was too late. 


While coming back to his building, Nimish observed a fellow. 

Mahesh had an animated false step on the staircase and resulted in twisting his toe in turn. He was now limping and sat down on the step. Nimish stopped by and asked him to wait there. He asked the security to call for an ambulance. He waited there until Mahesh stepped into the ambulance for visiting Doctor inside the campus. Mahesh was grateful and conveyed sincere thanks to him. 

Nimish had a smile on the face and whistle of a favorite song throughout, along the walk towards his cubicle.


“Hey Smriti, Very Sorry, I didn’t know about your situation. I’d sent that mail in haste. Actually, you were on top of the issue from your side and waiting for information from Michelle.”

“Let me take over some of your work items, so that you can act on this important issue. Anyway, I cannot walk much due to sprain in the ankle. I can draw it to a close in one sitting.” – Mahesh told her in a humble tone.

“Oh, it is okay, Mahesh!!! Thank you very much:)”

In some cubicle nearby, a song was playing – “What goes around, comes around."

***The End***

P.S. It is a very simple and quick story, written few days back, in just 15 minutes over a thought/phrase of the song with weaving some true-to-life like situations. Your feedback is always welcome, be it bouquets or brickbats.

Winner Entry for "A random act of Kindness : Sambeet Kumar Ray"

Thursday, May 22, 2014

PTP - Paint the Painter!!!

You rest your hands on your waist and stare at an empty canvas. 

I know a story awaits to be painted, first in your mind and then in your eyes. Finally, it gets an outline by a pencil dancing between your index finger and thumb.

Your lips press firmly, while rendering even the mildest of lines and shades. Your lips quiver at every bend of the road your pencil takes. You gasp for a moment, when your pencil stops. You take a deep breath before starting again.

At times, your pencil does not listen to your heart and move towards some unwanted turns. Your heart scolds her by taking short cycles of inhale and exhale. A heavy breath like a sage calms you down and you take an eraser in your hand. You park that pencil between the petals of your pink lips. You erase some lines and clean the dust using your long fingers and the side-palm. Sometimes you form a pout and blow the dust away.

You smile, when the sketch approaches near the end. You stroke your chin while scanning the rough draft. You scratch behind the ear and play with your earlobe before glancing it for the last time. [Many times though:)]

You bring a palette, a cup of water, a pack of color tubes and brushes with a firm and graceful stance.

As you mix the colors in the palette with water, you moisten your lips too. Your eyes do a rock-n-roll while the brush enjoys the dips into one color and transformation into another one on the palette. You twist the corner of your lips when you think the color is not yet perfect and the brush takes another dive into the color.

You widen your eyes and press your lips together in excitement. It is a sign you’d discovered the color you want to paint. The brush relaxes and takes a plunge into the water to create ripples in multiple. Finally, it leaves a beautiful mix of colors and a whirlpool in that small cup of water. You set your eyes on it, without a blink. While a bright sparkle in your eyes applauds the natural act of the colors, you wait for the whirlpool to settle down, to begin your performance. 

You hold a round brush (dry) to hover it above the outline and not to touch the canvas. It looks like a young bird flapping the wings hard, to keep her in the air.

You move a bit away from the canvas. You wave the brush as if you are directing the imaginary fellow musicians to sync with harmony. You keep your hand on your chest and take a bow when your imaginary audience applauds. 

You dip the brush into the color. You remove the excess color carefully, by wiping it over the edges of the palette. As you apply the color along the outline, you hold your tip of the tongue around the upper lip. You take short breaths while giving it finishing touches.   

Now you take a flat brush for detailing the landscape in natural colors of green, gray and brown.

There are trees, grass, wild flowers near a long winding road and a cloud-covered sky.

You apply lighter shades on the first layer of colors. Now your hands, arms, hair and cheeks are flaunting the tinges of multiple colors. I wonder you are a kid painting for the first time or maybe you are on high.

You create the natural textures for the road and the trees using stencils. You sign your name below.

There is a handsome guy sitting on a cedar wood bench, with legs crossed. He is feeling anxious and the lines on his forehead fail to keep secrets. A blank canvas, a color palette and a set of brushes are placed near the bench. He is waiting for the painter and gestures his arms to welcome. His loving eyes are following you.

You smile ear to ear when you give finishing touches to his face. Your hands tremble when your brush lingers over his eyes. You forget to blink for a moment. For a moment, you sense that he came alive. For a moment, you feel his tender gaze on your face and the curve of lips. For a moment, you try to look away.

Are you falling for him? You know when you decide not to fall in love, you already did. You feel dizzy and doze off on the chair.


Is it real? He is standing near my chair and scanning me with his eyes filled with love. He slips his one hand behind my neck and the other under my knees. He lifts me up and carries me towards the bench. I rest on the bench, with my eyes partly open. I could feel his eyes on my face and his warm breath so close to my skin.

He kisses my earlobe and whispers:-

“Oh my painter, I am in love with you and your beautiful smile:) I am your story, your fantasy and your thought, waited for so long to come alive.”

He cups my face in his hands. He gently tucks my swinging hairline, behind my ear. He presses his lips against mine. He traces the curvature of my smile, which he loved most. While kissing my smile, he snaps his fingers as if to cast a spell on the canvas nearby. The pencils and the brushes start working on the canvas.


The Art Exhibition, Connaught Place, Delhi

“Wow!!! What a beautiful and unconventional series of the paintings, capturing painters’ expressions from the start to the finish.”
“Especially the last and the different one, where the finished painting is within the painting, near that couple kissing on the bench. Whoa! Is she the painter? Is he the guy from the painting inside? OMG, that bench is empty!!!”
“I want to meet her.”
“No one knows about her. She had vanished into thin air, after creating this magnum-opus.”

***The End***   

P.S. – Hereby I'd attempted to expand my thoughts on painting the painter like:-
  • I want to see you, while you paint, how your face twists and your fingers do a rock- n-roll with every stroke of your brush."~~~@anandtambey 
  • "It is not your paintings I like, I like you, when you are painting."~~~@anandtambey

Saturday, May 3, 2014

Punctuation Matters!!!

“Woman: without her, man is nothing.”
“Woman, without her man, is nothing.”
While I was reading tweets about punctuation and reflecting about it, I felt a connection of it with our life, love and relationships.
I’d posted a series of tweets about it. However, I sensed the limit of 140 characters was stopping me from discovering them, in a better way. Hence, I’d thought of expanding and experimenting it with my thoughts here. Corrections, bouquets and brickbats, are always welcome.

  • The spaces between these words, when I miss you and the words, when I miss you more and verbalize it.
  • The spaces between these words are the heartbeats skipped when I think about you and lift my pen up. The words are nothing but the highs and lows of my heartbeats, when I think of you and me, together, while pen enjoys warm touches and secret encounters with the paper.   
  • The spaces between these words are the frequent silences between us, when our lips are muted and our eyes talk.

  • The commas and semicolons within these words are an effort to extend the time with you on a beautiful trail of thoughts, no matter how long the sentence may become.

  • What about putting an unwanted end to an ecstatic meeting with words and to part again until the next encounter with words begins.

  •  The words I confine inside brackets are the words, to whispering something more into your ears, while forming a curve with my hands.
Ellipsis (…):-

  • Why our meetings are always unfinished much like an ellipsis, always having something more to talk, but less time.

  • How easily you belong to me and I belong to you, without having to use an apostrophe at all?
  • How about coming close to you, more, by omitting few letters and replacing them with an apostrophe between or much better, putting an apostrophe at the end of the word. 

  • How the two words turn into one word over a hyphen? It is much like our souls passing across a bridge, bumping into each other, to finally dissolve into one.
  • No matter how far we are, an invisible thread bond us together, just like two words connected with a hyphen, but reckoned as a single word. That explains how our two souls became one.