Hehe

I think, every once in a while, all of us can be excused to be a little... self congratulatory. No? ;)

Dessert.

Oh hell. I've just realised how at times I despise women. And how at others I adore 'em. Men are either boring or very very interesting. I think I'm going to attempt a blog where I'm a man. And nobody would know. Glee! Of course I'm not giving you the link. Potential Party Pooper. :P

Forgotten mirth

And ill gotten peace

Jumbled up anger

Mischief, mischief.

Mixed up fear

In Hateful lies

Claustrophobic nightmare

Little do you realise.

Hell Yeah.

I suffer from a very bad disease. Its called Irrationality with a capital EYE. I'm bosom friends with Irrationality, I play with Irrationality, I draw circles with Irrationality and I obsess with Irrationality. It is really driving me mad. EYE AM IRRATIONAL. And I hate it.

Oh, and read this. Everyone should've friends like these.

And... Oof

Life... Can be quite irritating at times. A bitch of a mood, clubbed with a super annoying birthday boy and a supremely selfish best friend and her super sad boyfriend clubbed together do NOT make for a good midnight conference. Plus if two out of the three of them be intellectually inordinately wanting, it can be quite exasperating to keep one's patience.


I felt like banging my head against the wall. Oh lord.


So today was Holi, and I did not play. Funny, probably the first one when I've declined all that glorious muck. Oh well. Someone's 'friend' (read sexually desperate bugger) sprayed her with a aerosol car paint. Black. Muhahahaha. The sight. Am I glad that I declined the invitation to go meet that friend.

Colours are lovely and I like multi-coloured bodies running around splaying water. What I don't get is how the colours don't come off! Scrub behind your ears, underneath your chin, the gaps of your fingers, shampoo your scalp. How hard is that? And all that tosh about it not coming off... Well, do something about it!! Okay now I sound like a grandma... But it is distinctly lurid to see people in brand new clothes and pink eyebrows walking around with no shame in their souls. Fie!

Its funny when you hear your parents giggling over not-so-whispered exchanges at three in the night. Slightly unsettling, but somewhere pleasing. Especially when you spent a sizeable chunk of your childhood acting referee for their fights and constantly dreading them deciding on a divorce. Of course, it is definitely not comforting when one of them tells you about how it'd have been possibly true if you hadn't been so actively involved in making peace. Leaves one to shudder to think what if you had actually let go, like your elder sibling chose to.

I wonder if this is how it would be, when you'd be dead.

Today is a strangely uphill day. Of course things like shammi kebab and snatched conversations make it happier, maybe its just my cynicism today thats making me throw away things I think should be amputated now. Probably the fact that I'm too much of an egotistic fool that I expect things a certain way make me shrug away the same things I get in a lesser way than I had assumed I'd get.

I can't take a little. Too much of a regal, well throw it away even if I'm a beggar. Stings, fallen scraps. Like a well fed pet who can't survive on the garbage dump as one after another stray pup finds their own jackpot there.

One day I think I'll be truly unhappy. Then I'll have no father to crawl next to, no friends to tell me I'm being silly, and one day, they'll all see that I was right, there is no reason to love me at all. And so begins my night. A Discourse on Satire tonight, how amusing. *clink*

Hee :)

"Holi Saturday ko nahi hai??"



"Haan..."



"Toh?!?" (eyes her drenched pink self amusedly)



"Woh teevee waale aayein hai na..."





*giggle*

Experience

Maybe thats what is it. Maybe its one of those things you put on a big glass jar and forget about it. To use it you see. Detached. Collect the colours of the rainbow and finger it later. Stone cold. Cut out a part of you and let it swirl in the misty drunkenness of a past thats a present now.

Cut to see if there's actually anything to feel. The ink runs over, from these blue lined veins. Splatter. Drip. Stop.

Nothingness.

I need a change

Red button green button blue button stop. Won't. Won't tell you that is. What did you expect? Bah.

Sometimes I wish I could be Nihilist

It came to me suddenly one day; I'm not what I thought I would be. I saw myself growing up differently, maybe I didn't know exactly how, but definitely not the way I am right now. I thought I'd always know what I wanted, I would have everything perfectly in control, I'd never let myself be unhappy, I'd stop myself if I knew I was doing something which would ruin me.

Funnily enough, I'm none of the things I thought I would be. I like being alone after being surrounded by a staggering number of friends, I like pushing people away who seem to love me, I like hurting those who come to me without apprehension, I like throwing things away and cling on to things that only make me unhappy. It's like building this whole world for yourself, always believing this is how you would like it best, this is how you were meant to live, this is how you should be happy. Except it isn't.

Someone said to me today, Your life is rocking yaar... people dream to live a life like this... shut up and be proud of yourself...


Strangely I don't feel a thing. It's like a dull, numb feeling, as if nothing really matters anymore... As if things I valued and gave importance to had suddenly faded into a background of greys and blues and colours I no longer seemed to care or know about. And I hum to myself and no sound comes out as a hollow silence seems to envelop me in its ruin. I still write in meaningless creative writing competitions about knives and lilac madnesses until my insides bleed in protest. I trudge past smiling faces, nodding as they greet the person they see everyday in me and I'm glad they see no change. I avoid closest friends as they quickly prod me for not talking as much as they usually would want me to, and I complain of a headache which is partly true and they ask me off hand questions and I dutifully answer them and they move off, satisfied. I'm glad to be of help, it takes my mind off over musing what the trouble is, and I hate it when someone asks what is it thats the matter and I come out with a helpless I don't know...

I'm a lot of things I don't want to be, and it hurts when people expect more of you and show their disappointment. I pretend to be indifferent at times but one day it builds up to this whole big ball of filth and unhappiness and hurt and discontentment and then I don't know what to do with it anymore so I hide it in me until one day it becomes too ancient to stink anymore and is stacked up as another dull remnant of 'temporary derangement' that doesn't immediately threaten attack once more.

And its not as if I want a clean, orderly life... I was never under the delusion that I could or would live like that. Its the other thing. The gnawing, pinching insidious thing that I cannot seem to rid myself of. But I will.

Tangle

She stumbled and fell. After she stopped retching, she wiped off spittle with the back of her hand and coughed. Her head heavy, she willed herself to get up. It was like a dark tunnel, and she was feeling her way about, uncertain where it ended but walking all the same. Atleast she was on her own.

aesuaN

It's eerie, living two lives.

DAV 870

The minute I stepped into the car, the familiar smell accosted me sending a whirl of memories rushing past my head. My hand automatically reached for the seatbelt as he revved up the engine— a mileage of 17, I’m told proudly—and I remember this is a vintage car, there are no seatbelts.

It’s been long, since I sat in this seat; there was a time I sat in it almost everyday, traversing all parts of this city I’ve grown to love and watched streets fly by as I was made to learn the names. The car stops, it’s a red light. I shift in the seat, have you grown fatter that you don’t fit in, two whacks while he ducks and we laugh as the signal turns green.

Looking out of the window, the world suddenly seems fresher. I think of times we laughed, not knowing where we would go, would we stay in touch if we left the school hours that forced us together, would we laugh at the same jokes that weren’t funny? We knew so much lesser of the world, we didn’t know we could choose ‘better’, would we choose better and glance indulgently backwards and shake our head?

We’re told we would find our own set of people once we grew older who we would ‘identify’ with more. Sure, we’ve all found people who’re closer to what we are, who’re possibly riding our wavelength as we burst into newer, freer individuals… I leave old memories willfully walking away, but this smell reminds me acutely of times I loved, times I didn’t ‘know better’; times I suddenly realize I miss.

The car turns around a bend, we are talking about the play I watched and he missed. Jam packed, I wish I’d reached in time. We talk of other things, there are things that seemed to need more time, more time, more time. We take longer routes, we ignore commitments, we pretend to be free; we feign ignorance of the late hour. Parked outside the gate, unwilling to be the first to acknowledge the hundred screaming phone calls that beckon us, finally we shift, I should be going… Yeah me too. An impulsive hug, and I hop out. He revs up the engine, I remember something and tap at the window. Puzzled grin, and he rolls the window down. Drive safely, you. Tongue out, I’m happy today.

Fiction.

"Things were not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to be like this. Why? Why...
The goddamn world was watching and laughing. While she blundered on, confidently; unharmed."

Closing the book, she bitterly smiled.

End point.

Bulging, breaking, wonderful joy.
Panting, shoving, thirsting decoy.

Red lines, blue lines, purple, once green;
What joy? Where joy? Dying sheen.

Blue black black blue blending blip
Hopscotch, red frock, neatly clip;
Once red, now blue, cold and clean
Step back, heigh ho! no longer glean.

One day end day unbridled relief
Checkmate haha twist and mischief

Ploughing, paving, careful and proud
Full throttle full circle now look who's caught.

I wonder. I wonder. I need to stop. :grim smile:

Disconnect

A white stone bench, a strategically positioned tree trunk. A scrap of pink cloth, dust to be brushed as it falls like a moon shower. The day is wrong, there are things one must do, proposals to write "We are going to marry the college." Gay laughter. I trace my foot on the ground, distracted. "Here, speak to her, we need to finish this." But I want to sit with a book, the sun refuses to glare, we must trudge to a clean office with messy timings and wait for a clerk who will grunt in answer to everything. I look back, the bench still looks the same, indifferent to me as I walk away. There's a hush as we walk between trees; a path created as gravel crunches beneath our feet and I catch my breath. No one else seems to notice. We need to hurry to the office. I will come back, when the day is right.

This one's really just only about me.

Bitter coffee with no sugar and a good back massage can do wonders to your body. Coupled with jesting with the black sheep of your family makes it quite… interesting. So talking to this particular cousin of mine while feeling the relatively new taste of strong, black coffee touch my tongue and go down my pipe, I discovered a lot of things about myself which I must’ve always known but never spoken out aloud. I never did want to go to school. Till fifth it was happy; school was just an excuse to do whatever you wanted, you just needed to learn the rudiments of geography and evs and those horrendous practical things one has to learn in order to ‘develop’. And then you could do whatever you wanted; you could paint, or read or dance or act or write or just enjoy eating. I liked mimicking Kathakali dancers when Thakurma would switch on the tv and ma saw how much I enjoyed it and decided that I should be trained. I remember thakurma arguing how I should be learning how to sing instead and how everyone in her family had turned out to be brilliant singers, how it was in my genes… and how maybe the fact that I was my mother’s child I had somehow unfairly lost the genes in the process. I remember ma asking me very gently if I wanted to learn how to dance; thankfully there was no pressure to nod a yes just because her eyes shined when she asked me; and I remember grinning from ear to ear and doing another Kathakali eye thing to show that it was an affirmative. I did Bharatnatyam for a month; somehow that’s the first dance form that comes to most people’s minds when they think of classical dance. Then I caught the loo and by the time I was well again I’d forgotten I had joined in the first place. I never went back to the aunty’s place to learn ta-hit-hit-ta.

Then one day I was waiting for another cousin of mine in the place he was supposed to ‘learn’ how to draw when I started scribbling on paper. I don’t remember what I drew but I loved it and since that day our evenings would be spent in drawing while the adults laughed and talked in the other room. We drew Tintin covers, wacky monsters, places we wanted to go to that didn’t exist anywhere except in our heads, action figures, big monster racing cars. Then one day—I don’t even remember when, I started learning Odissi. I loved every minute of it; I don’t know if it was because I loved to dance or because I was good at it or was it simply because I received a lot of attention as a result. But I loved each class and I would be eager to prove how I could outdo myself every new day. I remember the adrenalin rush on the first day we performed; how I loved the lights, the big stage, the audience’s eyes focused on us, clapping, watching, admiring. I was probably eight or maybe nine and my sari came loose while I danced and all I did was bunch it together and stick it somewhere and continue dancing; I would not let anything interfere with this. There were many performances later where saris were perfectly in position, spotlights were on me and I wasn’t dancing in a group anymore, but nothing ever quite beat that first time. I enrolled into a ‘proper’ dance-training school—a choice I’ve always regretted—got degrees, learnt a whole lot of ‘technical’ things… But somehow lost the happy feeling dancing gave me somewhere in between. I dropped out of dance school right when things were gathering pace, right when a New York tour was supposed to come up, right when we were told we’d been promoted to the elite class. I’ve never been more relieved, and I’ve never looked back since and regretted it for a day. Six years of dance school and not even a flinch while I calmly told my teacher I would be not dancing anymore.

I did not like school; going there was the most mechanical thing that I did. Day after day, month after month, and I never questioned it all; I just thought it a routine one is supposed to follow and you couldn’t possibly have a choice in. I remember sitting in classes not listening to a word the teacher said unless it was literature, and then I was all pricked ears and ready mouth. I remember loving PT periods where we would play kho kho or dodgeball or when the stupid boys would allow us, football. Which was rare, and the fact that nobody else was much interested in playing football in any case made me shy away from asking to be ‘allowed’ in the game. The only time they did want to play was when they thought they’d look ‘cute’ and it’d be a perfect way of getting a guy’s (and in some cases numerous guys’) attention. It was all very cumbersome. By the twelfth I’d worked out a perfect system to survive school. I’d calculated exactly how many marks I needed to be a ‘good’ student in subjects I did not like studying any longer and then devoted all my energies towards things that made me happier, and I was content.

I loved choosing to do English, I loved knowing I could choose my college, I loved the people around me, even though I was doubtful the first month if this was how college was supposed to be like. I loved the freedom; I had never known how much I had always wanted it. I loved knowing new things, and I’ve changed a lot, since those first days of walking into college in half pants and a black slogan screaming shirt. I’ve learnt to welcome change, I’ve learnt that inertia did no one ever any good. I’ve learnt getting bruised isn’t that bad; and that safeguarding yourself always is just plain cowardly. I’ve discovered unlimited potential in things that I never knew could have any depth. And I’ve learnt to know that things can be grey, and that it was actually me who believed in binary more than anyone else.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Maybe I just need a change. Oh, check this out. Tremendous fun :)

Ugh, the prospect of everyone doing a project on Uncle Tom's Cabin is just dreadful. The :horror:

Sometimes I wonder if fooling people is really this easy.

My Playlist

Dream On – Aerosmith

I’ve always loved the song. It’s got such an honest, humble feel to it, zero pretence. No preaching, everyone’s at the same level. It’s a together song.

Brighter Than Sunshine – Aqualung

It reminds me of cold mornings with the sun warming your nose and there’s a chill in the air but parts of you are warm enough to enjoy the sting. It reminds me of being given an unexpected present which you hadn’t dared to hope for.

Times They Are A Changing – Bob Dylan

It’s such a forward looking song. My idea of a timeless classic.

Keep On Singing My Song – Christina Aguilera

This is by far the most celebratory song I’ve ever heard. My respect for her went up about a hundred notches. It’s honest and as defiant as it could be. Calm, and resolute.

I believe they can take anything from me
But they can't succeed in taking my inner peace
They can say all they wanna say about me

But I'm gonna carry on
Keep on singing my song

Whoa, & everytime I tried to be what they wanted from me
It never came naturally
So I ended up in misery, wasn't able to see
All the good around me
They wasted so much energy on what they thought of me
Simply just remembering to breathe

Clocks – Coldplay

Come out upon my seas, curse missed opportunities
A part of the cure, or am I part of the disease
You are
And nothing else compares
Oh no nothing else compares
And nothing else compares

You are
Home, home, where I wanted to go

I love the intro to this, even though it’s short. It keeps playing at the intervals between the stanzas, and it gives a lovely, wholesome feel. There’s a lot left pregnant in the song, and the constant repetition towards the end re-asserts it.

Iris – Goo Goo Dolls

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

The urgent, almost desperate need in the song comes with the repetition of the last line. Sigh.

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams – Greenday

It’s a lonesome song. It’s a self-accusing song. It’s also extremely conceited. I love it all the same.

November Rain – Guns N’ Roses

'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain

It’s sung in a melancholy strain, but somehow empty. Practical, maybe. But empty all the same. Carpe Diem. Dangerous philosophy, with it’s almost straightforward doctrine. Sung beautifully though.

Lips Of An Angel – Hinder

Well, my girls in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you

It’s the worst kind of deception. Because you deceive yourself into believing that you aren’t in the wrong, really. I hate the use of “my girl” in these particular lines. The audacity.

Collide – Howie Day

I'm quiet, you know
You make a first impression
I found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometime
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I Somehow find
You and I collide

Fuck. This song scares the shit outta me. It’s so brutally honest.

She’s Always A Woman – Billy Joel

I love the description of the woman here. There’s gentle complaining mixed with love for her, despite the faults he finds with her, perhaps more so, because of the flaws.

She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you,
She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you,
And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free,
Yeah she steals like a thief but she's always a woman to me.

And she'll promise you more than the garden of Eden
then she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding,
But she brings out the best and the worst you can be.
Blame it all on yourself cause she's always a woman to me.

Afterglow – INXS

The beginning reminds me of an old Hindi song which I can’t recall now.

Here I am, lost in the ashes of time, but who wants tomorrow?
In between the longing to hold you again
I'm caught in your shadow, I'm losing control
My mind drifts away, we only have today

It’s a sad song. Something hits inside.

Leaving On A Jet Plane – Janis Joplin

Janis Joplin because I like the cover better than the original. I can’t help it, her voice does this to me. John Denver must be turning in his grave, but then my knowledge about music is extremely limited.

There’re so many times I’ve let you down
So many times I’ve played around
I tell you now, they don’t mean a thing
Every place I go, Ill think of you
Every song I sing, Ill sing for you

Somehow this song makes me cynical.

Somewhere Only We Know – Keane

Even though I love the song, these lines irk me.

Oh simple thing where have you gone
I'm getting old and i need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and i need somewhere to begin

It’s selfish. You need to remember things when you’re high, not just when you’re low. No one waits around.

It was just the kind of day. The lane was empty, and I ran. I ran waiting for the rain to beat down and wash away everything that was on my face. Wipe it clean. The sun shone, and I ran. It still smelt of angry wet earth. It was that kind of day.

Buzz.

Pretend. To want it, like it, fight for it. Pretend that it hurts. Pretend that things matter, pretend that the pretense is essential. Pretend not to see it, pretend that you are happy, because aren't these things the ones you always wanted and should be content? Pretend that words mean things. Pretend wonder, pretend enjoyment, pretend things that ought to be there, but just aren't. And stare at puddles of mud that always glinted all the colours of the rainbow for you.

And soft echoes of an Elvis song play in the broken gramophone of my muddled puddled mind.

And home is where we earn our grace

Lets not begin new things today, things that need to end one day.
Lets make resolutions to break new ones we made yesterday.
Lets draw circles in the air so that nothing seems to begin or end.
Lets not forget things are not that difficult to fend.
Lets pretend smoothness where all there left is to grab air.
Lets force us to test if there are more things we can bear.
Lets not follow routines that we willingly make a part of us.
Lets pray for our sanity when we cant escape our thoughts.
Lets close tired eyes which can't hide lies anymore.
Lets seek out pleasures long forgotten in the cold.

Lets breathe out smoke circles that blow in strange new winds again.
Lets not begin something when we know it leads nowhere.

It.

It was monumentally ugly, the monster. The sly yellow eyes with red pupils, the black gaping mouth with the snake like sticky tongue that slid in and out of the inside of thick swollen purple lips that spread over the expanse of his lower jaw in a sloppy, misshappen mess lent a grotesqueness to it. The head was huge and spread more horizontally than vertically, with a few sparse, straw-like strands which lay flat and fuzzy on the blotched skin. The ears were tiny and delicate-looking, like an artist had drawn them most carefully, intending it for another face. The bits of thick fuzz that stuck out from these ears seemed to restore the demonic stamp back to this characteristic of its body. Thick folds of grey green skin formed the neck and the thick stubby arms were joined to the body by bulky shoulders that rose so high that the neck seemed to be sunk in it. The rest of his body was lost in the darkness that surrounded him. The darkness that he commanded to be his.

An anarchy of alliances

There is a strange sense of disconnect at times. As if I've been living someone else's life, as if things have bounced off me without leaving even a semblance of a dent. Looking back at things that have happened, that must have happened because I have memories of them, they suddenly seem so unreal. I have to read diary entries, look for tangible objects that signify that events really took place and remind myself of the very existence of thoughts to convince me that it isn't mere hallucination, but an actual real truth. Its strange... It's not as if I cant feel or sense or touch or respond; its just that its like a smooth surface momentarily disturbed by a hurtling objects, causing violent tension at the surface for a minute that seems to agonise terribly... And then its absorbed and the surface is smooth again, unaffected, as if nothing ever really happened. Its disturbing to find that years go by and things fade into a background where nothing seems to hold any importance anymore. Its as if its not a life at all, but a mechanical assortment of events where only the present seems to be of any consequence and everything else is shoved into the past as a dream like haze that might or might not have happened, but its really unimportant, as it doesnt matter anyway. Its strange to live like this, its not living at all, but a numb existence where what is warm and sparkling and real in a sense of the word is just transient. Because isnt what is real what would affect one for all time to come? Things may not be important anymore, but wouldnt events be as real as they were say three years ago? Remembering becomes strange, and I want to get out of the memories which hold no significance anymore. Its horrible to know that you're incapable of feelings that you proudly paraded around with, calling them your own.

Its like you're life is scattered on the roadside, swirling around you like when a gust of wind picks up, and you cant really hold on to any part of it; the only thing you see is sparkling bits of cyanide droplets that cant hurt you anymore, because they dont seem to touch you.

India mein muft ki advice bahaut milti hai :)

#1. Individual growth should never be neglected, irrespective of the fact whether you're growing in other ways or not.

#2. Happiness is of supreme importance. Ultimately, that is what every single one of us is constantly trying to achieve. Through the choices we make, the friends we make, the decisions that we call correct.

#3. There are things you wish for. And then, there are places where you want those things to materialise from. If that doesn't happen, something is fucked. Maybe its time to question whether you're suffering from a delusion or not.

#4. Neglecting others around you is the stupidest thing one can do. You will never know when those people cease to be around you anymore. Until its too late.

#5. Reciprocation is almost as important as the act of giving itself. Without reciprocation, things cannot sustain for very long, however ardent the giving is.

#6. Never let go of things that come your way. Be worthy of them; thats the only way to hold on to them.

#7. Always listen. No matter how busy you are. There are things that are important which have too faint a voice at times.

#8. Riding a high wave can be dangerous. Especially if you lose touch with ground reality. The inevitable crash will hurt.

#9. Conceit is okay, as long as you know that its conceit and dont actually believe in it. If that happens, :yelp:

#10. Lies have a sneaky way of catching up with you.

Someday

Change comes slowly. At its own pace, and sometimes its hard to identify until bang! its there. There have been things that have always been taught to us. In thin textbooks, pencil drawings, moral stories. We've been taught to be patient, to be selfless, be humble. We've been warned against greed and explained how to be truly happy we have to give more. We've been told to curb desires, to help others, to be kind and never to hate, but only forgive. Love, friendship, goodness, worth... These are the things that make any man... or woman 'truly' happy, content. Life has been charted out to us a simple way of gentle care, hard work, constant responsibility. Emulate the good and do away with the bad.

We've all begun as idealists haven't we? Learnt to be human, wanted and given love, expected laughter. Most of us have become bitter with constant disappointment. Some of us have become cynical and laughed at the naive optimism of some untouched soul. Some of us have lost the hope of ever getting what we want, and looked enviously at the ones who still laughed, who still seemed to get everything, 'perfectly'. Most of us are more or less lucky about certain things we seldom recognise. We all have something going for us and human nature makes us want the things we haven't or cannot get. Discontent is normal, some people deal with it and push the thought away and some brood and make it worse for themselves.

Everyone has flaws. I've learnt to identify mine and found them to be too many. Comparing people/things is horrible. Sometimes people think too much. They puzzle and agonise, and frustration comes when the thing is belittled to nothingness and the earlier constant perusal seems stupid, if not unnecessary and redundant. Carpe Diem is something that I've always found worrying. It is somehow... so irresponsible. Moments do need to be seized, but we've to be careful that it hurts no one else in the process. Being a little selfish is fine. Being cruel in this selfishness is immature, and brutal.

Stick to your guns and believe what you believe firmly. Not rigidly, being hardened is not necessarily courageous. Things change, but sometimes you're not an individual anymore. If you're a tree with a hundred birds and animals living in your boughs and trunk, you've to think before you decide to uproot yourself and go off to Siberia. The animals might die. Provide winter care first.

Explosive effusions

Sometimes theres this huge ball of fury that rises within you that just wont remain down. It steadily rises and every passing minute it reaches a new level of violence. Your ears turn warm and the red in your face can almost emanate heat. Its as if your chest might almost burst with the effort of remaining calm as you try to keep your voice neutral, trying to understand, to reason with yourself that now is not the time, later later. But then you reach a point where you can either clam up and bury your nose in your work while talking to people with amazing alacrity, forgetting that you're seething within... or snap.

Let's call him M. No one knew him really, he was the kind who melted into the background, the kind of figure you saw everyday-- in the cinema, at red lights, in grocery stores, in the parks. His suit was always carefully brushed, his worn boots polished, his tie a thin knot and just a bit crooked. He walked at a medium pace, while the bustling, busy city hurried past him, footsteps that chanted hurry, hurry, hurry. No one gave him a second glance; he was any man, everyman. No one would know what he did all day; let's just pretend he worked for a company that specialised in lead pipes, no one really cared. I am sure he cared though, he spent a third of his day inspecting and testing lead pipes; I am sure he knew his job well.

He would sometimes go to the bar across his office and three paces to the left. The barman said he would always order single malt; dutifully pay his bill with a modest tip and leave. But he might be confusing him with the man from the insurance agency or the clerk from the bank two streets away.

He seemed to have no friends; and no relatives seemed to remember of his existence or vice-versa. No one invited him for Thanksgiving, and he received no presents on Christmas. His post consisted mainly of bills and advertisements sent by companies who sent numerous such letters everyday, to names they associated with addresses and not human faces.

So was M unhappy? There is really no way to tell, what was it that he wanted, what was it that he yearned for; was there really anything that he desired but did not get? We might assume that he wanted friends; he did not want to be overlooked when strangers' eyes glanced his way perchance. Maybe he wanted a dog; maybe he was too afraid of dogs to want one. Maybe a dog had bitten him in childhood and left him frightened of them ever since?

Psychologists declared that all men craved company, and the most solitary of loners had some living being or the other for solace, for company. Everyone needs something, did he listen to music? Maybe he'd learnt the violin as a youth and played the instrument every evening, with the lights out, alone in his room. But say all he did was come home to stare off in space, or worse still, go through a regular routine of odd jobs-- clean the laundry, take out the garbage, wash the solitary plate and scrape the oven which was still surprisingly clean after years of use. What of it then? Did he put off his lights at precisely ten thirty and fall asleep, the alarm set for six a.m.? Did he fall to sleep immediately, did he dream, and if he dreamt what did he dream about?

The evenings did see him sit in the parks at times, he would always sit alone, he would always walk back home alone. Children screeched as they ran after one another, and sometimes a child would stop to look at him, maybe expecting a toffee but run off immediately, because his smile would not change his face, and no one looked closely enough to notice the smile.

Maybe he wanted to be noticed; maybe he wanted to fly, just once, to see how it felt. Maybe he wanted nothing of the above, but if so, he could have remained in his room and 'accidentally' have taken an overdose of the unused sleeping pills in his room, to die a quiet, insignificant death, like the life he led?

Someone said he giggled before he jumped; the woman across the building in her twenty-fourth floor office said he looked strangely exuberant while he squatted before leaping. But the woman could be lying, the building was too far away, and her optician was frustrated with her refusal to wear the glasses she so required? But he jumped, and he died, and the midday traffic stopped for an hour as police personnel took note of the incident. The evening tabloid printed a piece on it, but they couldn’t include a picture, for the pop princess had a new scandal that needed to be written furiously about.

The Random Nishant and his Random Tag :P

Random Humour

I hate those moments when every joke you've ever known deserts you. =S

Random Book

To Kill A Mockingbird-- It's been three months, I hate knowing I STILL haven't read it.


Random Boredom

I bark at cats. Not that it's really out of boredom.


Random Worries

Deaths. Not nice.


Random Memories

Unthinking act remembered years later to redeem against later hurt inflicted.
A race run with the fastest bully and winning it.
Delirious joy at receiving first glass bangles that broke as I fell while prancing about.
Euphoria when Tushar let go of the back of my cycle as I learnt to ride it.
The first ride in Pari's scooty.
Most comfortable nap curled up against a chest.
Sudden messages, out of nowhere.
Random walk in the darkest of alleys with the unlikeliest person.


Random Realizations

I'm not fourteen anymore.
People might die.
I might be wrong about too many things.
Someone may know better.
Maybe its been too long.
It might be not as easy as I think.
Maybe I'm too careful for my own good.


I tag Sporadicblogger, Hanedin, Hershie :)

To the birthday boy

There are all kinds of people around you. Some who you love to laugh with, some who you spend almost all your day with and promptly forget about until you meet them again the next day, some who you hardly meet and miss terribly at sudden instances, and some who're just... there. It doesn't matter if you see them everyday, if you don't talk to them for days on end, if they live hundreds of kilometres away in a city you've only visited once for a day and had the most brilliant time of your life. They're the kind you call at 1 in the night and talk till the wee hours of the morning, just because you could not sleep, just because they're the only ones who'd listen and understand when you're at your unhappiest and don't know what to feel anymore. They're the kind who'd order you to call at 2 am on a fucking weekday when you've a paper presentation the next morning and are working crazily to get it done. And you'd call, and you wouldn't care about anything else much.

It's queer to know that somethings would never change. People come and go, crises rise and ebb, and you put out your lights and grin when the phone rings. Some people can't help being cinnamon in your coffee. I'm just glad I have mine. Exclusively :)

My cup runneth over

I wonder what it is that is in each one of us that makes us choose the way we live. Is it what we see around us, is it how we are taught to think, is it past experiences that monitor our choices, or is it just plain old common sense?? We all do what makes us happy. Ultimately, that's all we want, and like a friend very wisely stated, "It is against basic human instinct to not be selfish."

Pitty pitty pat pitty pat pitty pat and I almost believe it. How happy are you? How happy can you be, when you do something that makes another unhappy, but you secure? Beast, I declare.


Smack. Another sip of this delicious thing you call life. Today it swirled with mint leaves. I will go there again, just for the tangy aftertaste.

Remember, Remember
The fifth of November,
The gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

The calm before the storm.

Today is long rambling post day. Not just because Nishant seems to almost be readying himself to throw death radars my way, but just because there's a strange sense of disquiet about me. College fest has just ended, tomorrow classes will be subdued and corridors filled with whisphered exchanges of what happened in the three days of the year that some relive again and again till they come again next year. We will trudge towards the cafe, there will be a hurried scramble for incomplete notes, posters will be pulled down to be replaced by new, roughly sketched ones. The corridors will be wiped clean, removing all traces of the rangoli competition, hurrying footsteps will head to respective classes. Soon things will be back to normal, college will be filled with it's infinite activities and other, new events will occupy everyone's minds.

I'd like college quiet again. I had tremendous fun having people come. I liked seeing new faces in a familiar place, familiar faces in a new place. Tomorrow I want to buy a customary cup of coffee and sit in a bench that has been covered by a stall on all the days of the fest. Probably the only thing I don't like about my fest is that all the places that would never be occupied are suddenly hotspots. The campus is suddenly smaller, more crowded. Everyone is extra friendly, extra affectionate. Walking alone means you don't have company and someone inevitably supplements, considering it their moral duty. I love company, but a sudden overdose leaves one slightly fatigued, if not irritable.

But stuff being forced on you isn't always too bad. Sometimes temporary analgesics give you an immense high that leave you giggling for hours. Whats inevitable though, is a crash. There has to come a time when you have to stop to catch your breath. The headrush is brilliant, but not when you achieve it only by trampling down anything that threatens to weigh you down. It inevitably comes back. Lighthearted comedy is easy while it lasts.

I am suddenly hungry, I dont like this post. I received the nicest compliment today. It's surprising how you know what you want only after you get it. And kind of saddening when you wish they'd come from quarters you most want them from. Maybe its time I realised I don't deserve some of these things I constantly hanker for.

Disgruntled. Mmpf. The things you make me do Nimmy :P

List five things that you want to say to people but never will. Don't say who they are.

1. I wish you'd start looking me in the eye.
2. Thank you.
3. You'd have been much happier if you'd have wanted to be. It's really no one else's fault but your own.
4. I miss you, at times. We laughed so much.
5. You'd be amazed to know how much you wish about me is true.


Five things I’d love to do before I die.

1. Learn how to play the drums.
2. Swim in an ocean.
3. Act.
4. Ride a bike on the highway.
5. Go to jail.


Five things I will not do even if it kills me.

1. Give up and start pretending too.
2. Willfully hurt someone by acting selfish.
3. Eat something that's still alive.
4. Dance naked.
5. Give up on friends.


Five things I do when I'm away from the public.

1. Dance funnily.
2. Pretend-sing.
3. Giggle.
4. Talk to myself.
5. Pick my nose.


Five fave sentences/quotes.

1. “You look hot for the first week. Then you come back to looking like yourself... Oh. That came out wrong.”
2. “Dude did you check if the person I'm meeting tomorrow is likely to kidnap me or not?.”
3. “But we musn't be in a huff. It isn't polite, you see!”
4. “Abbe? Abhi red light pe the auto guy just turned around and said, 'Mujhse shaadi karogi?'”
5. “Yaaaaaaaaar. Take some plimpies and boil them in alcohol. When it bubbles put some salt and your plimpy soup is ready. Do you want? No one in class wants :(”


Five things I'll make you wish you didn't do if you did.

1. Bluff your way through.
2. Bitch about my friends.
3. Ask me for directions.
4. Wag your fingers in front of my face.
5. Not believe in Yeti.


Five people to tag-

1. Koyel
2. Nishant
3. Hanedin
4. Hershie
5. Subu

Unfaithful

I probably am,

In a million different ways

That you forgot to define

Thinking them pre-defined facts

That I took so long to acknowledge.



You were worried

That I'd be one of them

You warned me against it

I took matters in a different head

I lied and cheated

My way out of things

I thought you saw me walk

Through every one of those thorns.



Believe me, I never knew,

That I would cheat you so.

I thought there were other things

That one had to be wary of

I didnt know things existed in me

That things would grow inborn.

Hurtling.

The cold glass is smooth. Black, liquid. I peer at it, there's someone standing on the other side, behind it. The figure slouches, and I see the choices the figure makes. Like a horrible nightmare, it is strangely unearthly. I can't scream.


***

Metal balls, melt into the surface, things morph smoothly. Is it possible to be this disconnected and create a facade convincing enough to fool the best? To feel intensely and not feel at all??


***

How does one know? What will ever make oneself completely sure? I've taken these things forever for granted, never known the instability? Maybe cut off the outgrowth? Blood spurts, does it hurt? Strange, I might not feel a thing. Or maybe feel and not know. So that they manifest years later, hasn't it happened already.


***

The muted background suddenly comes alive again. Jerked back into motion. Thoughts shoved back, where they belong.

The Man Who Wanted A Longer Nose

Hanedin
Did you know about the guy who wanted his nose to be longer?

Ylva
:D
Who??

Hanedin
the guy, oh you don't know the guy? He wears a tweed coat, listens to the blues in the afternoon, middle-aged, feeds pigeons at dawn, has a strange breakfast of diet coke and idli..
oh you don't know the man?
He is the man who wanted his nose to be longer?

Ylva
Did anyone know his name ??
Or what he did when he wasnt feeding pigeons ?

Hanedin
He was content, lived alone, rich..except whenever he looked at someone he always compared his nose to people
of course? Name everybody knew his name, but it's not part of the story? And he did normal people things-walk talk eat, you know the drill. Except that when he ate, he thought about how his nose would twitch a little more had it been longer while chewing..
similar thoughts entered his head, when he talked to people, and he kept staring at people nose's while talking to them...so they got creeped out...but after a point of time..
they let him be
..

Ylva
did they know too ?

Hanedin
he tried everything to make his nose longer, he asked around for adivice, he tried tectonic tonics, he listened to magic charmers, even contemplated plastic surgery..

Ylva
Merely contemplated?

Hanedin
now most of his friends, were short sighted, so did not know that he was talking to their noses..however good advice, or any advice is abundant as you know.
ahh.
yes..merely contemplated..
you see, he was a stickler for original things! the thought of synthetically enhanced nose, made him balmy and clammy.

Ylva
but he wated his nose to be longer ? What did he do ?

Hanedin
So one day, he decided that come what may, he would make his nose longer..
yes...
You see, he had a brilliant plan..
he realized that he had about another 10-15 years after which he would probably fall sick or something..

Ylva
arey ? Why ?

Hanedin
He bought a lot of supplies, which would last him a few years.....
a lot and stored them all in his room, his basement, his entire house was sprawling with boxes neatly assembled and categorized

Ylva
supplies?

Hanedin
and finally after telling people about his master-plan, he locked himself in, ignoring their discouraging shrugs...

Ylva
what was his master plan ? what supplies ??
What ?
What ??

Hanedin
You see he figured, if you can't change something, you create an illusion...he changed all his mirrors in his house, and made them strange concave/convex mirrors that would reflect a contorted image of himself and make his nose look longer..

Ylva
but his face ?

Hanedin
The thing is he had told his friends not to open the door, until the three years ended..
they had barricaded it from outside..
and left him alone

Ylva
but why ?
Why three years ??

Hanedin
the supplies were only enough for three years
now, however when he looked at himself in the mirror he saw bloated himself..
long nose, was next to droopy lips, drippy eyes and a flattened chappati face
the more he looked, the more disgusted he became..

Ylva
why did he need to lock himself away?

Hanedin
his friends had doubted his independence..
they had taunted him and said he would not last, long nose or not
and his rage which was already brimming within him, just exploded like a volcano..
he raged and raved in the house..
kicking boxes that came in his way..

Ylva
boxes ?
Of the supplies ?

Hanedin
uh huh
until one burst and little forks came out..
..
while he was picking up the fork he looked one last time at the mirror, and that was indeed the last straw..
he took the fork
and shoved the first one into his left eyeball
..
he took another, and shoved that one right next to the other
one
..

Ylva
and he was happy ?

Hanedin
and as the blood and aqueous fluids fell down his face..
and across the blunt insufficient nose
..
he grinned
a wide toothy smile.

Ylva
:)

Hanedin
:D

Jaded

How do you decide what's worth a fight? What determines worth? You could be gritting your teeth and fighting day in and day out for an end thats hollow in it's existence. What if you fight for an illusion, that alternates between visible and invisible and becomes a shimmering golden light that leaves you blind, clutching thin air? What if you remain pumped and enthusiatic for something that cackles at your eagerness, while you smile at the world in that benign way that you seem to have mastered by now?? What if you're outnumbered, like you've always been, except this time you're fighting yourself too? What if you slipped?

Shrivelling

Maybe it's just me trying to explain my insecurities through others. I'll lash out, accuse, scorn, dismiss. I'll be brutal because I'll be scared. Scared to let lose the hatred that stays, ready to spring forth, desperately restrained. There's a sick feeling in my stomach that wants me to throw up. It's venomous, it shouldn't be there, it screams out. It's not you, it's the thing you drink religiously, everyday, with chemist like precision. Its what that tastes almost sickly sweet in it's quality. It's slowly poisoning you, smoke filling up would be better. This is sly, it creeps up on you. You're shrivelling up, every day, your eyes hollowing, your breath shorter, as you rasp out nursery rhymes. Can't you feel your hair grow rough underneath your touch?

Concentric Circles

Balconies aren't given their due. Someone's ac drips and the steady drumming on the green roof that covers windows that hide their own secrets is almost black and the yellow light light up patches that are nondescript in the day. A stream of water makes its way lazily to my toe while someone's shoulders shake. It is chilly here, someone wraps a blanket around our bare legs where the mosquitos have left their mark several times in the last hour. Strange, we never noticed. Silence comforts, minds drift in different directions while someone absently hums a familiar tune. The air is colder than usual, but inside they want the ac. A stool in the most inappropriate of places seems to be the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes things consume us. Balconies always need a railing.

Will wonders never cease??

Ma bought a laptop. For herself. I never really believed that she'd actually buy herself an expensive piece of equipment until I actually saw her writing out the check. Then not until we were walking out of the electronic showroom and hailing an auto did I realise she's taking it home with her! Okay, backtrack. My mother is a hard-worker-who-struggled-her-way-to-raise-her-seven-younger-siblings-on-her-own-passed-her-MA-with-a-first-class-first-and-refuses-to-take-an-auto-when-there's-a-bus-refuses-to-travel-in-a-rickshaw-when-she-can-walk-it-okay-you-get-the-general-idea. She once reprimanded me for going to GK everytime I had a free period and when I asked her what I'm supposed to do, she suggested the library as if it was the only sane place one could ever think of. She refuses to let me buy her a cord for her glasses and makes me make them out of wool for her. I've never thrown away a piece of crust because it's blasphemous to even want to do so. She will make me get her shoes mended and re-mended until they're held together only by the thread and nails the cobbler uses and then grudgingly buy new ones. She'll swear by her ancient floaters and wear them to the university, the local market, the party at the five star hotel her authoress friend shall throw and give you an extremely surprised look if you gently ask her if she wants a new pair. She will sew and darn her apron but not use the brand new one that has been forcefully bought for her. She will hum and haw a million times before getting a haircut just because it means spending a hundred bucks on herself. Meanwhile she'll buy me new clothes, new shoes, new memberships and increase my pocket money with only an appeal to spend it wisely. She'll exclaim how worn my brother's trackpants have become and secretly hand me money to go buy him new ones which he'll never wear. She'll suddenly buy my father new sweaters and explain to a very surprised baba, you dont have many. She'll exasperate everyone around and go on with her ideas about right and wrong and never, NEVER deem it necessary to buy herself anything. So now do you see the gravity of the matter?? She bought herself a laptop! Of her own accord!!

Sigh. Now she's working on it, typing nonsensically to 'increase her typing speed'. I was just called to explain to her the complex workings of the shift and caps lock keys. An excited ma wanted to show thakurma the new laptop. An apprehensive me waited for the anticipated digs at how much she had spent on herself and how things used to be different in thakurma's time. A very delighted me witnessed something completely different. Readying myself to start speaking vehemently on ma's defence about how she needs a laptop, and how she earns more than enough to deserve one, and so on, I came on a complete stop and had to take a double take when thakurma very timidly asked, Nandita, aamayo iktu dekhiye debe, aikdeen? (Would you teach me how to too, one day?). Ma grinned and thakurma grinned and now a Microsoft Word intermediate is teaching a computer-barely-beginner how to work the machine. Life is good.

Midnight blue

Up and down. Every reason to be down, and we buzz. Time to bob up, a deep plunge down. Hurried steps, a promise to come back. The promise vapourises, something missing, something we left behind. Sudden remonstrances, the skies don't cover you today. Belafonte and rain, throw in a few analgesics. Retch a little, hold back what you can.

Split second

Live for the moment. I am unafraid. Not a coward, these rare moments. At that moment, i feel. Forget consistency. For I feel. Consistency can be a lie. A prolonged moment, don't hurt, don't promise. Hush.

A proud toss of the head
Unafraid
The stride is surer
Unafraid
The truth, easily asserted
Unafraid.
I live. I breathe. I exhale.


Triumphance is usually short lived. Enough. Carpe Diem. As long as it's only you. Otherwise you don't have the right. Responsibilty, selfish ain't good.

To the nearest extreme.

I wish you a thousand nasty things. I hope you burn and twist in pain. I hope your skin peels away slowly. I hope it hurts. I want you to bow down and scream in anguish. I hope your scream pierces the air to resonate clearly across the sky. I hope no one listens to your cries. I hope you honestly do despair.

I wish you a lot more spiteful things, too profane to pen down here. I hope the blades pierce your body and you scream with every drop of blood that shed like my tears. I hope it hurts. I hope I see it all, and manage to laugh. I wish I could laugh, but it hurts.

The weirdest things

Good angel. Bad angel. It's cool to be evil. You have all the fun. Good always wins in the end. Scale dips this way, and that way. We're back to good angel, bad angel. What will you choose? Dippity dip. What do you want badly enough? Everyone else as a choice too. Good angel. Bad angel. Throw up the dice. Sly.

Which colour you wa-ant??

Too perfect. Sugary sweet. Funny how people thirst for something desperately, knowing that they're not worthy of it. And then, if by some bizarre twist of fate do get them, they forget. How desperate they were. So many ways of ruining things. Let's take this for granted too.

Expecto Patronum. Poof.

Do I dare hope? You press it in a little more, does it hurt? Trickle trickle, black, almost. Someone hits the nail on the head, but she's crazy, she says stuff, who'd actually take her seriously *they roll their eyes and laugh*. But she's still right, I cant laugh, I pretend to look busy so that so one notices that I don't join in. The most observant one catches my eye and I give her a thin smile. My patronus ain't working today.

Coming undone

She watched, fascinated, as the tightly wound plait slowly loosened. The ribbon that had been so firmly holding the strict matron like hairdo together had slowly begun to unfurl. The slender thread was delicate, but had seemed strong enough while tied around the thick clump of her hair. It was strange, watching the hitherto average head of hair to become undone. The strands of hair quietly blew sideways, slipping out of the vice-like hold of the plait one by one. And then suddenly, a gust of wind blew her hair wildly, and with a start she suddenly realised she was undone. Hastily she pulled it back and ran for cover, as the rain began like it sometimes suddenly did.

Swirling around, round and round.

Cynical me finds cynical you. Two mirrors, opposite each other. Endless reflecting, where did it really begin? 24 hours, 1440 minutes, 86400 seconds. 86400 seconds, 1440 minutes, 24 hours, the day. Wind up the alarm clock to fall into slumber that the mind needs, and the body snatches. I paint today, and snip with scissors bits of red and green. Bits of cotton fly in the air, innocent weapons that make it unable to breathe. Cynical me finds another cynical you.

Travesty, today; forever.

Oh you can pretend to fill a room
With three great artists’ paintings,

Straighten the plush Turkish carpet
On your marble topped floor

You can stroke the red mahogany desk
And arrange your Mesopotamian relics
Stack Kurosawa films
In your brand new DVD floor
Decorate your wall covering bookshelf
With hard bound names
Live a finer life
Away from the mundane.

But you cannot take me in
Where puddles have no names.

Push the right buttons
Hum the right tune
Beat in steady rhythm
Assembly products fume

But you cannot envelop me
In this endless ruin.
But you cannot expect me
To believe the farce soon.

Ice, Spice and everything nice

I ate raindrops today. Frozen drops, each a different flavour. The sparkle in the air was diamond dust today. We flew with the glass pixies and smelled freshly cut grass when the gnomes threw it in the air. Blue was my colour, our colour. Gentle realisation that it would rain. Wild laughter and today was green again. Why do I see double today? Maybe seeing double is good. Double fun. What's life without a little make-believe.

Forever

So many things. So many things. Deep within this whirlwind, there is always this central calm. They worship this thing. This thing they cannot name, cannot feel, and cannot touch. This thing that is too pure for them to approach and they shield their weak eyes against its blinding glare. Its happy, this thing. The naked ones play with it, jumping around it for it is their home. They're unaware of the lookers-on, for they're surrounded by the light and gurgle at each other happily everytime one of them shows off another trick. The raw ones keep catching glimpses of them dancing inside, and they grin at their glee and weave the whirlpool closely around. They extend their hands to the timid ones further away; they're afraid, and need encouragement. Some of the timid ones suddenly turn weak and greedily shove their hands into the light. They're immediately thrown back, they cry in agony and join the wretched ones who cry unhappily at what they've lost. The fair ones keep walking impatiently in concentric circles waiting for a chance. They perform complicated calculations, rub vigorously at the one error that seems to undo all their previous maneouvres and put their heads together to come up with new and fast ways to work towards an end they cannot want. A few lie unaware; the wind is a constant occurence, and they don't seem to notice it too much. They're happy; they've learnt to play poker well and laugh at each other every time one of them fouls up. They're well in their own world now to notice when the wind picks up or dies down, when the light shines brighter than it ever did before and beckons them in a momentary glimmer. They play poker well, and they're happy, and it is good. Because they're satisfied, and isn't that ultimately what all of us are striving for? Today there are newer ones, they dance with timid ones, yet look down at them with the strongest of contempt the minute their backs are turned. They drink to the health of the poker players, lech at the timid ones and encourage the futile attempts of the fair ones while bating their breath everytime they shade their eyes towards the light. Sometimes the whirlwind stops, everything gets rattled; the fair ones seem to slide towards one end, along with their chalk dusters and slates. They cling on to the surprisingly stationary timid ones, and the moment the wind sets to normal, they shudder when they see who they've been clutching and let go and abruptly scramble to collect their scattered pencils. The poker players, momentarily disturbed, look up, and then go back to their game. Very rarely one of them get up to ask for a light from one of the raw ones, and don't come back. The raw ones are proud and also somewhere scared. Scared to become one of them. And they ultimately do become one of them if they're weak enough to tremble at the possibility. The wind goes on howling and sometimes things change. But its rare when the wind actually stops. A hush falls then, and depending on what happens, the wind howls or moans.

Vicious Circle

People believe what they want to believe. She suddenly went cold. She needed to go back home. The wind was strong and she'd forgotten her muffler again.

Over coffee they talked about things. Things were calmer inside and if you concentrated on your cup, you couldn't hear the windowpanes rattle. The water was seeping in from the verandah. Strange, she had always thought the house being on the second floor would prevent this danger. They quickly stuffed rags underneath the doorways, which were instantly soaked. They would do for now, anyway. It had been a pleasant day, before the storm began. They had giggled at the first fat drops of water that splotched neatly on top of their noses. The skies had warned them before they set out, but they'd ignored the clouds and proudly declared it sunny. It's strange how people believe what they want to believe.

Button A Button B

Things happen. One minute you're up, and the sun shines and the next you dive into a cloud, and everything’s dark and wet. The sun's still shining for someone else and you're struggling to get out of the cloud, but you can't see anything. Then as suddenly as before, you're out, it's hot, the sun is in your face. Everything's perfectly panned out for you; the going is good, you're lucky. It's the swinging sixties for you and you're too deaf in the music to stop. Brakes screech and you've hit the car you didn't see coming. It starts raining suddenly and the angry driver is forced to retreat hastily to his car. Reverse, reverse left reverse, first gear, reverse, reverse, first gear. And the moment you step out you're drenched. To the skin. And you run with the six year olds in the rain, pretending to look for shelter when you actually aren't. Sometimes I wish I could multitask again. Sometimes I feel freer this way.

There comes times when you need to clam up. There are times when you need to do your own thing. It’s unfair to people around you. But they seem to understand. There are times when the right thing to do and the thing you want seem to be as far away from each other as possible. There is no compromise, and you have you choose this way or that. Is it okay to lie if it’s for the good? If telling the truth would just complicate matters for others and make them more miserable? If things you say cannot have a consequence and it’s better to lie resolutely to make things better?

Sometimes, while walking back from a game, there are people standing silently in corners. You pass by them, deep in your own world, and they quietly look on. When you were scoring a goal, they screamed the loudest, except you didn't hear their shouts. When you high fived the jumping figure in the stands, all you heard were their words and all you saw was their smile. Everything else was blocked out. You're tired, and they come forward to smile at you, except you look through them. Their smiles falter, and they relapse back to standing alone, near the same bin that you carefully aimed your used towel to. You fumble with a bag, they run towards you to help, but you're already up and sprinting towards home, and they're left back to walk alone, again. They call out softly to you sometimes, but you're listening to the cd that was just burnt for you and can't hear. You sleep, you're exhausted, but you still run out eagerly when you hear the honk you've been waiting for. You spritz on your favourite cologne and look self consciously into your mirror before meeting your love, and yap excitedly about everything that you did to one of your team mates. You walk out groggily in that shirt you slept in and brush past the silent figures. You look up, you have nothing to do, you recognise them, you say hello. They talk about things you never knew existed and when you walk back, you wonder. And then you remember that you have to finish a friend's work and hurry back home. And you forget them, again. Why do they still stand there, when you walk out next? Why do they still care? Why don't they find their own pool, and make you miss them instead? Why do they still stand, those silent 'friends'?

Memory, tonight. Sometimes.

Everything comes back now. That evening, when you wore that dress. You sparkled, every time you laughed. We played that song over and over, while everyone around us laughed. You dazzled that night. You laughed while I whispered words only meant for you. You punched me on my chest, and I held your hand there, until you self consciously snatched it away. We pledged forever that evening, even as you walked away with him on your arm. I knew you, I loved you. You blew me a kiss while he started the engine. I was left wistful as my guests walked away, throwing me secret smiles. They all knew, they all saw. But you chose to walk away. Now I shiver. My forever was you.

I hum the same tune now, except it’s for someone else. I still think of that evening, until she screams from the waves and asks me to come to her. I shake my head, and jog to where she stands. She taught me to love the water, and now it laps up to my ankles while another wave sprays me with the fresh fragrance that I have come to love. The rocks are slippery, and we hold each other’s hands and gaze at the miles of water in front of us. It is getting late, and we should get back, but I can’t leave now. We stand silently, until she turns to me and asks softly, what were you thinking right then, back there? I’m confused for a moment to be found out like this. Like a guilty child, I try covering up with awkward explanations. She shushes me with a gentle stroke. She looks towards the water again, and I look at her. She knows nothing. And yet she does. I lose her, eventually. Now I come to the water alone. And think of nothing.

Rarely

Some things are more important than anything else. Some things are worth fighting for. Some things change the way you decide to live. Some things need to be believed in and no amount of rationale can really rattle your determination. Nothing that you have said, or done, or thought can be compared to these things. They exist on their own, and drawing a comparison kills these things. Some things are too independent and important to work on them with old tried and tested methods. They slip out and you're left clutching air. These things come suddenly, without warning and stay only long enough for you to recognize them. They disappear if you try to allot a room to them or chew it like you always have. These things don't stay. Unless you embrace them without caution. These things are risky, but every bit worth it.

Green

Look around today. You went to the amusement park. You met your friends. You met them. You didn't expect them, but on the spur of the moment you decided to go say hi. They looked at you, half quizzically. And smiled. A delirious group screamed as their roller coaster suddenly plunged downwards. The spectators laughed, some anxious parents looked up with tight nervous smiles and waved to their twelve year old. As you talked, you discovered something had changed. You spotted Barny and clicked pictures together. Instinct made you climb onto the new ride you hadn't wanted to try. You were with them, and you chattered on. You laughed and held on to each other as your hair blew wildly. You held on to each other as you walked off, groggily. They bought you ice cream, and you commented on how thin they have grown. You remembered a foolish inside joke but kept silent. And heard them crack the same joke a few seconds later. You looked up, and looked away. As you walked back home, you were silent. They talked, and you nodded. Then it rained. Just like it should have. You smiled.

You still have the picture framed, alongside the other pictures. You decided to put it in the new wooden frame he had given you. You are laughing at the camera, and Barny looks silly now. But they changed the picture for you. Things change.

It’s raining here. Come out, if you won't catch a cold. Don't come if you shiver at the thought of the sheets of rain slapping your skin. Each time it hits you, you can’t wince. The wind has whipped up and come if you can survive. Come if you won’t be blown away, or if you don’t have to bow your head against the wind in order to pass. You can’t run for shelter, you can’t cover your head with your hands and shrink within yourself in apprehension. If you come, come with your head uncovered, with your heart light and your senses awakened. You can’t come here if you whimper when the hails fall. The skies have opened up today and the gods test us. We need the bravest and the strongest. You all, who are weak, you know. Stay away, and let us win this.

:D

Yay !! I did all the tests in Nishant's blog and lookie !! Fun !!!!!!



Wow. I'm evil.

You Are 40% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

I hated this one. Stupid questions

How You Are In Love

You take a while to fall in love with someone. Trust takes time. You tend to take more than give in relationships. You tend to get very attached when you're with someone. You want to see your love all the time. You love your partner unconditionally and don't try to make them change. You stay in love for a long time, even if you aren't loved back. When you fall, you fall hard.

How Are You In Love?

That sounds so cool !! Yay ! I'm a tortured genius !! Yay !

You Are 91% Tortured Genius

You totally fit the profile of a tortured genius. You're uniquely brilliant - and completely misunderstood.Not like you really want anyone to understand you anyway. You're pretty happy being an island.

Are You a Tortured Genius?

This is bloody fake ! It changed everytime !! Outrage !! Nishant, you were Capatain Winky when I tried yours. You like it better ?

Your Porn Star Name Is...

Venus Vegas

What's" Your Porn Star Name?

Apparently, I can. Muhahahaha *evil Mojo Jojo laughter*

You Can Make 88% of Your Crushes Fall in Love With You

Admit it, you can seduce practically anyone. And sometimes you try just for fun.You're a total heartbreaker that knows when to play it cool. You are the type of person people go completely lovesick over. Just use your powers for good, okay?

Can You Make Anyone Fall in Love With You?

This kind of... sucks. *tortured expression*

Your Famous Movie Kiss is from Romeo + Juliet

"Has my heart loved 'till now? Forswear it, sight! For I never saw a true beauty 'till this night."

What Famous Movie Kiss Are You?

Kyaa baat. Sixer.

Your Personality Is Like Heroin

You're capable of the highest highs and the lowest lows.Addicted to feeling good, you'll do almost anything to avoid pain.People seek you out, even though you can be quite moody. They're hooked on you!

What Drug Is Your Personality Like?

Umm. I've tasted alcohol twice. Does that count as serious drinking? Baap re. I'm a connoisseur and all. Bow down, ye all :P

You Are a Bloody Mary

You're a fairly serious drinker, who's experimented a lot with different drinks.You're a drunk, but a stable drunk. You don't ever let your drinking get out of control.

What Mixed Drink Are You?

This one kept changing too. Sucks. The coolest one was Lady of Whores though. Though Lucia of the Night wasn't too bad either. Or Concubine of the Vile, Antionette the Bloodthirsty, Violet of the Devil's Spawn, Seductress of New Orleans and High Priestess the Demented. :D

Your Vampire Name Is...

Veronique of New Orleans

What's" Your Vampire Name?

This was fun. I want more :) :)

What if it all is an illusion? What if everything is a figment of my imagination, a precarious card house, trembling lest a gust of wind should come and blow it all away? Maybe none of it actually does exist. Maybe its just words that I scrabble to string together to convince myself that the sequence that forms is what you meant them to form. Maybe I read too much into things; things that don't exist, things that never will exist.
I could forge ahead and pretend to see it all, to gather together strands and weave them together to form a shimmering patchwork. I could run with all my might, keeping aside all uncertainties of the dirt road. I could not bother about slipping and sliding in the mud strewn all over the path. I could pretend to be confident. And then fall flat on my face.
Something keeps telling me that it’s not only me who sees it, that you see it too, except you cover it clumsily with half hearted lies and cruel euphemisms. That you are too careful, too unsure and so unwilling to risk something important to you. That you're too used to being wary to actually jeopardize things. As for me, I'm just afraid. Maybe because you lie too often.