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Tap. Clear. Compute.

By Shalini Singh

PROMPT — The way I see it ...

In Kullu: I discovered Mahavatar Babaji’s caves from travelers and Aghoris and pined to go there. Always failing.

Every time I failed, I wrote a poem and burned it.

In Kochi: I decided that I belonged to the mountains. Maths was a poem becoming exact—differentiating a hill and a mountain. I have surrendered myself to the extremities that touch and kiss the sky, veiling with a thousand questions that fail to strive or stride

In Koba: I fell in love with the undergrounds; I belonged to the dirt. The ick. The brown slithers and screams. Tap. Clear. Compute.

Here, I found out about hyper-real numbers when I was still learning about surreal numbers. And while I was never going to know real numbers in their entirety, I must try, a voice said, and I tried.

Within the vast depths of my intellectual odyssey, a serendipitous encounter with the enigmatic realm of hyper-real numbers unfolded before me, a profound revelation that transpired while traversing the intricate corridors of my exploration into surreal numbers. As the intricate tapestry of mathematical wisdom unfurled, I found myself acutely aware of the daunting reality that comprehending the boundless expanse of real numbers in their entirety would forever elude my grasp. However, like a resolute clarion call resonating through the hallowed halls of my consciousness, a voice, imbued with unwavering determination, implored me to make an audacious attempt, to strive against insurmountable odds and embrace the ineffable complexity of this numerical domain. Driven by an indomitable spirit, I embarked upon this intellectual odyssey, resolute in my quest to unravel the enigmatic tapestry of real numbers.

Tap. Clear. Compute.

Narrow measures. Real computations. Passive dreaming. Solid sales. Thievery.

The narrow opening to drop cash or coins in a makeshift container is so much like the mouth of a den or a cave.

A mouth open for service or disservice.

Service would constitute to be guaranteed composites, and my life is tapping numbers.

Tap. Clear. Compute.

 

Shalini Singh writes and lives to write in Iowa. She was born in a small village in Bihar, India, the state that she names often in her works now. She is a multi-genre writer and an interdisciplinary artist. Her meditations are often pursuing varied community engagements in combination with works on the human experience in its multiplicity and depth, Eco Expressionism, Jungian archetype, worldwide indigenous art, eco-histories, natural infallibilities, ancient and medieval history, and mysterious events, to name a few themes.

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