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.