Ambedo  n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

I have always loved the classic sense of being, with old-fashioned songs streaming in the background, and cream coloured walls, claiming your awed attention. The way parcels were wrapped in delicate brown papers, tied up with dainty strings. I particularly love the smell and sound of rain, the kind between heavy pour and a light drizzle, and the incense stick slowly dissipating into its exquisite smelling smoke.

I find myself mildly entranced by soft, sweet words uttered by a very eloquent voice and I absolutely love to get lost in my reflection of the car window, specifically when it’s drizzling. I am blown away by beautiful white dresses, because somehow the essence of purity is magnified.

Howsoever abstract this may seem, it may be relatable, or somehow convincing deep down because you would have felt too, the abstractness of your forlorn, otherwise delightful heart. Abstractness is reason divorced from experience. Abstractness becomes a sense of ambedo, the secrets of a melancholic, rather imaginative heart. And so it’s okay, to be vague, just as this piece of writing, and to enjoy that. Beauty resides in those melancholic trances. There is a devised plan actually, in placing random string or words in a place, because everyone begins to lend their own meaning to it; its revelation of an aspect of yours that you weren’t aware of. It arises from your experience of melancholy, at some point or some distinct feeling that you might have encountered once upon a time.

“For myself, I favored the abstract. I collected not just obsolete terms and words, but ideas.”
― Jasper FfordeShades of Grey

Read this, and lend your meaning to it, or derive something from it,

A scarlet splattered drape followed,

Her fair feet just out of its reach,

While white dazzled on herself,

And gold lying on her periphery.


Ambedo has been edited by Nidhi Shah

Prishanti Pathak

Prishanti Pathak - An Oxonian in making, with immense love for classic and feminist literature, and a true potter head.