Not just a stop, it’s a full story

Yuvika Grewal

Flup! Flup! Flup! The free end of a page put in momentum by the air thrown by the three blades of an air-cooler beats at the back of my hand, as I read a philosophical composition that has taken me on many worldly day-trips. During this time, there is nothing that has caught my attention more than the black dot — the superior punctuation mark known as a full stop. 

My mind attempts to fit its existence into the physical reality of time and space. If the dimensions of this dot could be expanded into units of time, it would stretch to a full second. I gaze at it for long, marvelling at the ability of the dot that stands at the end of a row of words; words that stand at its command. 

There is something attractive about the dot — a pull that takes me into the dark chambers of secrets, a hollow earthen pitcher that hoards all that which is known only to few. It leads to the unknown. But isn’t it is a full stop? A full stop that terminates a sentence and all thought; that brings everything to an end. A signal to the mind to cease action. Like there is no inhale after the final exhale. Everything stops there. In order to elevate my understanding I rummage other pages of the book. There is a sprinkle of dots on every page waiting to be discovered, like dust motes concealed until a slant beam through a chink reveals them.

Hello! I am an abbreviation, I hear. A dwarf-like word catches my attention. I pause to wonder whether I really heard someone. A tiny word like a closed fist stared back at me with a dot at its foot. The charming dot stood with certitude, making up for the missing letters. 

A full stop is a reminder of our deceptive past, a frozen dot that we carry in the womb of our memory to give it a spare life. It also reminds us of the approaching night when everything cowers into a dot. The time which denotes the passing of a phase, a halt when the impoverished night, like a bird of prey feeds on fears, insecurities and pains dwelling in our vulnerable nooks and crannies. It reminds us of everything frozen in time. A constant flame, a stiff wall, a tree on a windless day. 

On the other hand, the therapeutic dot is also a healer, for it is often ensued by voluminous explanation of a daunting truth. The succeeding words lend comfort and solace, marking the beginning of hope. Often, it comes together with few others—the ellipses, like a band of young lads hinting that there is much more to life. So much more to say and do. There is much more to unravel and unfold. 

The little dot encompasses the essence of life. So, the next time when you read, do pause to gaze at its magnificence, for it’s much more than a mere dot.