dark rain, gothic enigma..

To-do

2011-12-07T08:07:00.000+05:30

There are things that I have been meaning to do since some time now. Things which are not the normal, ordinary, day-to-day stuff we do. They are ordinary, but they are not something I would put down in my to-do list and then tick off the items one by one with some sense of achievement. I need solitude, I need a sense of space to do them.

I want to cry. To weep bitterly (I am not sure why it has to be bitter - but the word that comes to my mind every time I think about it is this), to let the imprisoned tears be finally free - let them escape and through them somehow find my own sense of relief, of freedom. Free myself of this choking feeling, free myself of this burden which I feel I have been carrying around since forever. I have no apparent reason to cry but since when have tears asked for a reason? The agony of tears is a secret they guard well.

I wish I could say that one word which I can no longer say. I want to say it softly, reverently. To quietly scream it so my soul can break into a million scattered pieces - or perhaps its already broken and it may finally patch itself up. (I cringe every time I think of this soul-breaking crap - its too dramatic, too cliche. But it somehow feels right). Its strange how much power a mere word can hold over oneself. I still cannot comprehend why the fact that I cannot speak out this word annoys me so. Its like those thorns embedded in my skin. They are insignificant, small, pesky little things. They ought to be incapable of affecting me in any way whatsoever. And yet they hurt - a dot of pain which has to be removed. But still I wonder, will actually speaking out the word help?

And now that I have some time, some space, tears have betrayed me and the word has gone back to sleep. Ironies of life.

Silent Conversations

2011-08-27T17:18:00.002+05:30

After what felt like eons, he finally held her hand. Gently at first, just the tip of his fingers caressing her fingers. Gradually, with every puff of his cigarette, his hold on her hand became more assured. And they sat like that, for what seemed like hours...

She wished the evening would never end. To sit under the shade of a benevolent tree, letting their coffee go cold, and rain gently cascading from the leaves of the tree... Saying nothing, doing nothing. A beautiful, unbroken silence. As if the silence passed on a secret understanding between them. And they sat like that, holding hands, each afraid to let go. He wondered what she was thinking. That sublime, unfathomable pleasantness, which spread in his heart,did she feel it too? And all this while, she tried to read his eyes, read his heart. She saw a deep happiness there... and something else she could not understand.

And still it rained, and they sat where they were, cocooned in their world of unsurity and delight, of silent conversations and a feeling of nothingness...

The Perfect Senseless Poem

2011-08-14T17:17:00.001+05:30

Corrupted expectations
futile, wrong
I can see the end - or can I?
for I still can't stop

Morbidity shadows me
and I follow melancholy
or is it the other way around?

Life-
not just a cup of coffee you label too bitter
Wishes-
another spoon of sugar
how much is too little?

♥ ♥ ♥

Melancholic Musings

2011-07-26T14:23:00.001+05:30

Sometimes this life, as beautiful and as charming as it may be, becomes dreary and desolate for no one's fault but what lies in the heart and the head. Sometimes it takes all your courage, not to mention all the mesmerising memories of wonderful people who surprisingly love you, to not reach for the lustful steel and caress your wrists with it.

But I miss the steel. I miss the smoke. I miss the carelessness. I miss the surety that all this could end, if I wanted to. Not anymore. For I am tied too much to this world now, and love my loved ones too much to cause them any hurt, any pain. Love makes you free, perhaps, but it binds you too tight, too. Its nothing if not a paradox.

I still have the melancholy. It lingers around me, faithful as a shadow, as a servant of the old. Yet there are times when it becomes the master and I end up writing such lugubrious posts. So, let it be. It will pass. Like life does.

Untitled

2011-07-22T14:14:00.000+05:30

I love necks. No, not necklines, necks. The way a neck tapers down gently, erotically almost... the way the collar bone stands out in such a delicate, fragile way...its hypnotising, don't you think, to watch a delicate neck twirl and swirl... long, swan-like necks, tempting necks, dainty necks, thick necks like a bull, short necks, nearly invisible necks...

That is why I love sitting at cafes. God bless the coffee culture. You sit at your favourite cafe with your laptop, like I am sitting right now, and there are necks all around you, to observe, to ogle at as much as you want. No one pays any attention to someone like me. At times, I doodle the necks. Or I just look at them. And think.

Think about the measurements. How thick, how strong... how much strength will be required to break it... how much time it will take. And what would be the best... means, so to speak, to break it. I have done it so many times now that its like breathing now. Though not at all like it, if you know what I mean.

And today, I saw the most exquisite neck ever. Gorgeous, slim, fragile, a delicacy really. Something you don't come across often. So perfect, I can already see my hands on it, already feel how it would feel to press it...

Ah, excuse me now... I need to go. Its not everyday I can capture a swan...

Crap story I wrote long time back

2011-04-02T21:11:00.002+05:30

She didn’t want to go the party. Her mood was as jubilant as thunderous clouds and the last thing she wanted was to fake a smile and make polite talk when her very world was falling to pieces around her. But then, she didn’t want people to call her a coward, either. She wasn’t the one to hide, or the one to lick her wounds in private. Rather, she would rub salt on them, so as to keep the pain fresh. Pain made her more determined. He had hurt her. But she wouldn’t let him know that.

So she prepared to go. Clothes were never a hassle before but tonight she wanted to look perfect. Like nothing could touch her. Black was dispensed off as being the color of mourning, and red somehow seemed vampish enough to be worn by a C grade Bollywood starlet – and there will be plenty of them tonight. Yellow would be faking it too much and white was too demure. And so she picked purple, the elegant, regal, purple...mysterious like inky nights and as enigmatic as the royals who preferred it.

And when she arrived, one couldn’t help but notice her. She held her own among the glittering, titillating crowd. Her enchanting smile seemed even more enchanting tonight – if that was even possible...and the purple gown gave her a magical, ethereal aura...

He swallowed his scotch in one quick gulp and stole a glance at her. She looked even more invincible, still alive, enticing. After everything. Had he ever really known her?

Their eyes met and her smile turned mocking for a second, so brief that only he could see it...and suddenly he felt uncomfortable...

To Say Your Name

2011-02-03T23:11:00.000+05:30

She realised that this may well be the last time she would be able to say his name out loud. Maybe hidden in inane conversations. Perhaps, some rare solitary moment. But not as and when she wanted to. Not the way only a lover can say a lover's name. Like a sweet caress... No, she thought. It won't be possible anymore. It hurt her a bit. Which surprised her. She thought she was beyond all pain now. But then again, there is no such thing as comfortably numb, no?

Funny, if you think about it. For she normally didn't feel the need to say his name. But now that that right was to be denied to her, it suddenly seemed as important as breathing. She wanted to fight the world for this. For it seemed cruel that she couldn't even not say his name. He was not in her life anymore. But now, to pretend that he didn't even exist...

And so her soft voice carried out his name. Hesitant at first. Embarrassed at how childish it seemed. But she continued chanting it, and gradually it became a little melody. It made up its own tune. The hesitancy disappeared and an almost melancholic note seeped into her voice. Every letter of the word that was his name rang out clearly, and echoed back to her, filling her soul and heart with something she needed, something which she couldn't name. Her voice moved from nervous to giggly to thoughtful to husky to lugubrious... and then faded away softly.. sinking low till she wasn't sure anymore if she was speaking or simply thinking his name.

Speaking his name was like a soft, gentle touch, a balm to the unhealing wounds, a prayer - but to whom and for what - she had no idea ... but more than anything, it made her cry. After eons of barrenness, it felt strangely uplifting to let tears fall. And in that moment of sorrow - the only emotion which she considered real, after love - she felt at peace. As if he was with her. Finally.

The decade that was...

2011-01-05T05:42:00.002+05:30

Looking back at the past ten years of my life... the most eventful, the most life-altering years...its a long journey, and I have tried to remember the best moments, the memorable moments and the landmarks. But memory is always so unreliable. Side-effects of so many birthdays, I presume. So grab some popcorn or your favourite drink, settle down, and let's take a trip down the memory lane... but be warned, it may get exhausting!!

Studying Fine Arts & Psychology. Perspectives about people & life & art. Finally studying something I loved. It made a hell lot of difference to my grades, and hence, my confidence.

Moving to Delhi. The freedom, the struggle, the youth, the fears...

Hostel life. Bliss! Memories to cherish for life. Learnt a lot about relations here. And friendships. And my shortcomings. I still hate myself for how I behaved back then.

Chain-smoking... loving it, then hating it & hence quitting it.

Tasted alcohol. Hated it. Still can't understand its enigma, its importance.

Getting a job - and not getting fired from any job.

Living alone, loathing it, yet surviving it. Not recommended, though.

Doing a call centre job. Screwed me up for life.

Sunk too low... took me ages to crawl back up...

Falling in love...the pain, the hope...and the joy!! :D

Realising that nothing makes you as strong, or as vulnerable as being on love with someone.

Books, books, books... my sanity.

Blogging. I could finally write somewhere else other than my diary. And surprise! People liked reading it.

Making life lasting friendships.

Getting a degree.

Time when life was all about work, work, work and cutting corners to save, save, save. And time when I had the luxury to put my feet up and do - nothing!!!

No longer dependent on anyone's money. Its a great feeling!

Mobile phones. Internet. And free incoming calls. And Skype.

Learning that friends are not for life.

People who came into my life to guide me and then went away quietly. Forever indebted to them.

My brother - we became close once more. Am still amazed how can such a sweet guy be my brother.. one of us must have been adopted!

Finally understood that Family matters...

...and so does money.

Discovered HIMYM. Seriously. God bless Barney for legendary laughs ;)

My faith in God and his funny ways still unshattered. He knows best.

Did pretty much everything I never thought I would do. Found a reason for things I did...

Like getting married.

Understanding life. And the importance of sacrifices and adjustments.

My own home! After years of being uprooted relentlessly - a place called home.

Becoming the part of a new family. And getting so much love I don't think I ever deserved.

Getting valuable lessons. And forgetting them too.

Experienced Bombay Rains. Happiness drizzling on earth.

Faced the fact that some truths were no longer true for me.

Still struggling to be a better person...

These people came into my life - Pranshu (ha ha), Jaya, Divya, Minakshi & Rishi. There are others too. But I cannot live without these. Nopes. They are my lifeline, my everything. They give meaning to the word life.

This list could go and on and on... and perhaps, I may add to it occasionally... but it seems complete as of now. So tell me, what do you think? Did I miss something? And how was your decade?

Some things are too personal to be put in here. So even though they were turning points of my life, I simply cannot write them down here.

Never alone

2010-12-12T05:20:00.000+05:30

One can never forget.

Those who tell you otherwise, are lying through their teeth.

For how can you escape your own thoughts? They become your personal demons - haunting you forever, taunting you incessantly. Laughing inside your head and dragging you deep down into a never-ending abyss whenever you slip even a little bit. There is no escape. Never will be. Temporarily? Perhaps. But before you have even managed to breathe that sigh of relief, they will be back, stronger and darker than before.

Its such a funny shit. For after a while - eons or seconds maybe, you can pause, tilt your head and laugh at the injustice of the whole situation. You pay for your sins. And for the sins of others too. Year after year. Night after night.

Sometimes, you forget.

But they always come back. And you are never alone.

image: unknown

Love is the feeling I have for you

2010-11-22T11:03:00.003+05:30

Craving to write something. Since ages now. But there's nothing clear inside - as of now. Everything is jumbled up. Or not. Perhaps I have unraveled everything there is to unravel and hence, nothing is left to talk about, to take out. I have numerous drafts now saved by dutiful Blogger, yet none is complete. For when I am happy, its difficult to write here.

But I try.

♥ ♥ ♥

The bravest thing in this world is to fall in love.

And she did it too. We all fall in love, so how could she be any different? Not once, not twice, but thrice. Her first love was the love of youth, that beautiful intoxicating time, when you yearn all day long for a glance. She would wait all day just for his one glimpse, and sometimes, he would smile.

That innocent love, unrequited love. That naivety, when she believed that nothing was impossible and he will come for her one day, take her away and they will live happily ever after.

Yet he never came. She cried for hours in front of the idol she worshipped, begging for him, promising endless fasts and prayers. But her God just smiled down at her. And in the end, she consoled herself with the thought that it was perhaps penance for some sins she committed in her past birth.

Her second love was the one her parents married her off to. It was like a duty, something you subconsciously know since your birth. Love thy husband, worship thy husband. And so she did, dutifully trying to erase all the memories of her first love. He became her first lover, her God and her first child.

He brought breakfast in bed for her. Sometimes with a flower from the garden. She slaved over cooking his meals, looked after the house and made sure the kids were always polite, always presentable.

It went on well for a while. But for her. And him, too. She put him on a pedestal, and he tried hard to hold ground. She wished for more romance and love, soft whispered nothings, that look in his eyes, and praise for a favourite meal. He tried. But it was never enough. Never could be. Love and expectations. Such a silly combination.

Never try to love someone.

Bitterness filled her heart as years flew by. He stopped trying, and its always easier to hate than love. Easier to see the mistakes, the wrinkles, the over cooked food, the disarranged furniture. Easier to see the lost youth, the constant grumblings, the lack of finesse. Easier. And bitter.

It had to happen. She fell in love again.

He wasn't soft-spoken. He never told her she was pretty. But he sang ghazals and recited poetry comfortably in the middle of a conversation. He criticised her. Yet advised her. And she listened. Yet fought with him. It was good - the constant verbal duels - a way to all that was pent up inside. She never spoke sweetly with him, but always made tea the way he liked it - without milk, always made sure his favourite egg-curry was prepared whenever he came for dinner. And he in return, looked at her everytime he sang that line from her favourite ghazal...

She wanted to bottle such moments, like perfume. To be opened up when life is in its autumn and nothing seems more beautiful, more cherishable than a bottle full of untarnished memories. For memories are so gullible, so unreliable.

...and now, when autumn was glided away softly, and winter has wrapped her in a cold embrace, all those memories crowded around her, warming her heart like golden fireflies...

This is what I write when I stay up too late

2010-10-02T22:43:00.000+05:30

Emptiness and desolation
melancholy and angry passion
a Mahabharata between them
inside me
they all want a piece
a piece is all I have

I know it will end
one day, for sure
but today is difficult
today hurts
and tomorrow
always remains tomorrow

To catch a butterfly

2010-09-06T03:27:00.005+05:30

trying to make sense of my thoughts...

like catching butterflies...

♥ ♥ ♥

Remember when you were poor? No, not the "out-of-allowance" period. The out of money forever period. Time when you could either eat or recharge your phone and you went for the latter. Time when you skipped numerous parties - even of dear friends because you had no money for clothes or gifts or sometimes, even for the travel. Time when you longed to buy one new book - oh, but one, every month. Time when you wished you had a better pair of shoes. Time when it was your best friend's birthday and you wished her empty handed and even though she said she didn't care you felt dirty, ragged, rotten - and poor.

Time when you went to a parlour, haphazardly, mostly when you had no other choice - you went to a filthy hole of a place, where you were undressed unceremoniously and you suspected that the sheets, the strips, everything was recycled - and you hoped silently that a day would come when you would never need to come to such a place. Time when you look at the fortunate others with hungry, naked eyes.

Time when you would stay hungry for days and it almost became a new form of mediation ... and only you knew the secret of your smirk when people asked "oh, but you are so slim.. what diet do you follow?" Time when you would shamelessly time your arrival at someone's house around a meal time so you could have one decent meal that week. Time when you would work overtime in your call center job - not even taking those weekends off - so desperate was the need for money. Time when you felt your soul slipping away but there was nothing you could do about it.

Time changes.

And I am scared of that. I am scared that I will get used to it and then, it will change again. For worse. I have a problem with imagining things to be permanent. In my mind, people I love are forever leaving me or laughing at me or worse, dying, and other such horrible things. In my mind, I am back to where it started. Only its worse. because then I had nothing to lose. It was better then, really. And now that I have so much to lose, everything, in fact, I am scared. I end up doubting my best friends, get insecure of my husband - and money, I can never trust money.

I am afraid that this time when it leaves - I won't be as strong or as I brave as when I was when I was young. For I may get accustomed to the comfort, the luxury. So I refuse to own a car. I refuse to buy every luxury considered a necessity nowadays. (of course I succumb every now and then. I am but human). I try very hard not to take people I cherish for granted. And I panic when I realise that I am doing just that. This constant threat, this constant uneasiness... its like an ache which no one can cure. I sometimes laugh at myself and think that I am too fanciful ... but sometimes... I just wish I could stop worrying.. that childish as it seems, someone could tell me that this life has come with a guarantee. Immature, I know. But I can wistfully wish so, no?

Don't give me advise, please. If you can, share your fears, your stories. Show me how brave you are.

Image via here.

Wanted

2010-08-17T21:45:00.002+05:30

All I want is to sit with you and have tea or coffee. Whatever is your cup of tea. To talk, really, really talk with you. Tell you my dreams and fears..but more importantly listen to yours. And I want to be able to hug you and hold your hand at all the right moments. Or just nod. and I want to see love in your eyes, curiosty even. But not boredom. And no, I don't want to see a wait in your eyes -a wait for me to finish talking so you can make appropriate noises and move on. I want to see pride in your eyes when I tell you what did with my day - what I painted, what I thought of... I want an awww and a kiss if I am not feeling well, even if its 10 days in a row.

All I really want is to feel that there is no need to be insecure.

...

2010-08-13T21:26:00.002+05:30

Bad. Me. Evil. Me.

I wish I could undo time, undo all the relations I ever had and set everyone free from the mess called me. It would be such a relief. And really, I would rather be alone for this self-loathing.

Title? Who cares!

2010-08-06T18:05:00.000+05:30

never I asked of you
and never I gave
but you gave me your emptiness
that I'll take to my grave...

so let this heart be still...

Sometimes I wish that I had a battery within me. Or an on/off button. Something like coma, like almost-death, like hibernation. It would have helped pass those days when my emptiness becomes too much for me to handle and overflows. Overflows and drowns everyone around. It gives me enough guilt to last 9 lifetimes.

If you're leaving close the door,
I'm not expecting people anymore...

I am craving for solitude. Not complete solitude though. And that's the catch. The attachment is too much. And so I am craving for something I don't really want. For even when I am alone, you will rule my mind. You will invade my soul and perfume my breathe and dance to my heartbeat, and make me dance to yours. Solitude? Me? Ha!

A Loser of a Poem

2010-08-01T14:46:00.000+05:30

chaotic thoughts
again
bitter bitter
disappointment,
oh, so bitter

no matter what you say
and you...
no matter what you do
I always fail
Like I always do

am no field of flowers
after a spring rain
try hailstorm on a rainbow
and a failure's bitter pain

assumptions, and then rejections
useless, hopeless, heartless?
and my guts are gone for a long walk
"Its raining.." they said.

Tower of Tissues

2010-07-19T15:00:00.000+05:30

And then there was this girl who was locked up, up in a high tower. And the tower and its mast and its moat and the rooms inside and the windows - everything was made of tissues. She was trapped in a tower of tissues, because all she did was cry. If she was happy, she would shed endless happy tears. If she was sad, sad, beautiful tears came tumbling out... Everything and nothing had a profound effect on her and all she could do was shed those tears.

People had theories about her. Perhaps she had sinned in her previous life and hence was forbidden to smile. Or perhaps, she had tears instead of blood coursing through her veins...

Every year, when the moon was full and high in the night sky, and one could see the constellations of Hera and Erebos become one, the layers of tissues were taken off, thrown away and replaced with new ones. Because even tissues can bear only so much tears...

Tagged after so long!

2010-07-07T08:57:00.002+05:30

So here we are... it has been ages since I was last tagged... there was a time we would happily take on tag posts because it meant not struggling over what to post next.

I was tagged by the sweet Calvy, and I took almost a month to rspond.. am so, so sorry :(

Without further ado, here's more information for the voyeur in you ;)

1. Asked someone to marry you? Guilty. Took some time and persuasion, and finally... a happy beginning ;)

2. Ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes darling! Twice. But the details go with me to the grave :P

3. Danced on a table in a bar? No, no :O would be fun but am too scared of being embarrassed.

4. Ever told a lie? Ha ha. Who hasn't? ;)

5. Kissed a picture? Millions of zillions of time... sigh!

6. Slept in until 5 PM? Only when I was very, very sick.

7. Fallen asleep at work/school? Guilty. Having a heavy lunch is so catastrophic!

8. Held a snake? Am actually not sure about this. Will have to consult Rainboy.

9. Been suspended from school? Nah. but now I wish I had been ;)

10. Worked at a fast food restaurant? No. Would have been an experience though.

11. Stolen from a store? Yes. I still regret it...

12. Been fired from a job? Nah, never :)

13. Done something you regret? Guilty. Again, who hasn't? And many many times.

14. Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? No.. I just choke :P

15. Caught a snowflake on your tongue? I wish!!

16. Kissed in the rain? Yes... its divine...

17. Sat on a roof top? Totally!

18. Kissed someone you shouldn’t? The same sex people I guess ;)

19. Sang in the shower? Guilty.

20. Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? No one will dare to. They know I will bury them alive. Plus I always considered it kinda offensive, never fun.

21. Shaved your head? One day, I will.

22. Had a boxing membership? No, but I practise daily ;)

23. Made a girlfriend cry? I will presume it is for my friends who are girls hehe. Yes I have, and then I have handed over tissues and begged forgiveness till eternity.. I can be such a jerk sometimes.. :(

24. Been in a band? Shaadi wala band? Yes! :P Just kidding...

25. Shot a gun? Nopes

26. Donated Blood? They say am underweight... :|

27. Eaten alligator meat? Am a vegetarian...and I doubt that even if I was a non-vegetarian, would have experimented so much.

28. Eaten cheesecake? Nopes.

29. Still love someone you shouldn’t? I have never loved anyone I shouldn't...

30. Have/had a tattoo? Innocent.

31. Liked someone, but will never tell who? If we are talking about crushes, then yes it has happened. Otherwise, no. I believe in spreading love and joy ;)

32. Been too honest? Oh yes. And it hurts.

33. Ruined a surprise? Many. All the surprises were for me. They never take in my superior IQ while planning a surprise, ha! ;)

34. Ate in a restaurant and got really bloated that you couldn’t walk afterward? Yup.

35. Erased someone in your friends list? Guilty. Some things come with an expiration date. Some things do not come under "Friends for Life."

36. Dressed in a woman’s clothes (if you’re a guy) or man’s clothes (if you’re a girl)? Of course. Girls wear men's clothes all the time :P

37. Joined a pageant? He he. No.

38. Been told that you’re handsome or beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? I am never sure about these things.. so, no idea

39. Had communication with your ex? Don't have an ex. :)

40. Got totally drunk on the night before exam? No! Oh god, no. I hadn't tasted alcohol in those days :P

41. Got totally angry that you cried so hard? Millions of times. Yesterday in fact. Mostly, the anger is at myself.

Sex and the... education

2010-06-19T23:17:00.002+05:30

Sex.

Think about it.

When did you first knew this three letter word was dirty? That you were not supposed to use it in polite conversation? That you did not know, till after a long time (or short time, perhaps) what it means, really means? And how much it changed things? Changed how you viewed girls / boys, marriage, births etc.?

That you talked with friends about it...you tried to read all you could about it? And not a single word was from your school syllabus?

Why is it, that in a country like ours, who is known as land of Kamasutra and the second most populous country in the world, sex is a taboo? Why is it that sex education is still not compulsory for children?

And worried parents will think that perhaps we are encouraging kids to think about sex and do it. Yeah right! They will do it anyway, now or later. Sooner or later, they have to do it! Its better they know what they are getting into and how to go about it. The precautions, the risks, pregnancy, birth control etc. And what safer place to learn this than in a classroom, by a well-informed, knowledgeable teacher?

Better than asking people who have hardly any clue themselves. I have heard educated people (graduates, working) saying that a girl can become a virgin again if she doesn't have sex for 2-3 months or more. Ye-sss...

♥ ♥ ♥

Our education system is anyways going down the drain. Now kids are being told they no longer have to work hard, because hey, we won't fail you. No matter what your marks are, we will give a grade, even if you are merit-listed, so don't sweat so much! Life isn't so difficult you see. Why, there be will a reservation for your sex/caste/religion somewhere in some industry/field, so don't stress kid!

♥ ♥ ♥

Among other things, I have just added another page to my blog. It will be about my all other blogs, in case you already can't get enough of me haha :P

Baarish...

2010-05-07T03:35:00.000+05:30

तरस रहे हैं हम
एक बूँद के लिए
बारिश के लिए
बूंदों से भीगी एक खिड़की के लिए...

छोटे से शहर में एक छोटा सा घर
छोटे से घर में एक छोटा सा कमरा
छोटे से कमरे में एक छोटी सी खिड़की,
नीली दीवारें
और बाहर नीला आसमान

खिड़की से सटा एक बिस्तर
और बैठ कर वहां, तकते रहना बस यूँ ही घंटों तक
इंतज़ार करना उस नीले आसमान का बादलों में छुपने का
चमकती बूंदों के आने का
समां बदल जाने का

और फिर
बरसती है बूँदें
और तरसता मन
उड़ जाता है दीवारों के पार
करने बातें बूदों के साथ

सब कुछ, नया सा
प्यारा सा, अपना सा
भीग जाती है खिड़की बारिश से
और एक एक बूँद अटक जाती है उसकी सलांखों पे
जिन में झिलमिलाते है सातों रंग
इन्द्रधनुष बनकर

बस यही चाहिए मुझे
एक नीला कमरा
एक भीगी हुई खिड़की
और बाहर बादलों में सिमटा आसमान...

Craving for rain. So wrote this poem. Its 3:33 am, and I am drowsy and tired. Just lousy excuses for the poem. Just want it to rain and rain and rain...

The Orange Girl

2010-05-04T03:54:00.007+05:30

And I heart this. This is my new blog ( a month old actually). About things I see and like. Like design. fine Art. Fashion. Intelligent ideas. Anything that makes me happy. And kick-fires the grey cells :)

♥ ♥ ♥

"When the head is full of weighty thoughts, you can either say a few words, or keep silent. Mum kept silent."
-from The Orange Girl

How do you write a review about a book which isn't melodramatic, isn't harsh, yet touches your heart and makes you believe in fairytales? This isn't actually a review. Just what I feel every time I read this book.

The Orange Girl

This book is about a riddle from the past. Riddle about love, oranges, and yes, The Orange Girl. About a guy rediscovering his dead father through his letters. Its about the two voices of the son and the father, the past and the present, coming together in perfect harmony. His father writes in the most beautifully simple manner about his illness, about the Hubble telescope, about The Orange Girl, and the riddle called life.

"Sometimes I have to sleep a bit at this time of the day too, not because I'm feeling ill, but because I can't sleep at night; all the thoughts crowd in on me then, that's when they trouble me the most. Just as I'm about to drop off I get such a deep glimpse into all the unpleasant mysteries, into that huge and horrible fairytale that has no good fairies, but only black omens, dark spirits and evil elves. So it's better to forget about sleeping at night and drop off on the sofa during the morning when it's light."

I so understand this. Because I do this almost daily.

♥ ♥ ♥

The father meets her, The Orange Girl, a girl holding a bag full of juicy looking oranges, for the first time on a tram and realises immediately that there was something "unaccountably magical & enchanting" about her. And after heart-stopping moments of looking in her teasing and mischievous eyes, he somehow loses her. She goes away, just like she suddenly came. Like magic. Like a fairy.

And so begins a crazy hunt all over the city; in big supermarkets which sold luscious oranges in brown paper bags; among trams and among cafes... he stupidly, cutely, totally like someone in love - comes up with ridiculously sweet fables of why she needed that big bag of oranges, and how those oranges tied up with the greater scheme of life and most importantly, who was The Orange Girl?

Was she a part of an expedition to Greenland and needed those oranges so she doesn't die of scurvy out in the wilds? Was she part of a large family, the eldest of her four sisters and two brothers, and those oranges were for her little brother and sisters to take to school with them? Or was she "the mother of a little family that consisted of her and a Mr Nice Guy who had just graduated from the School of Management, and their little four or five-month-old daughter, whose name he imagined, for some reason, must be Ranveig?"

The story transforms more and more into a beautiful lesson on love and life and everything in between. Yet never becomes overbearing. And by the time the riddle is solved, the world suddenly seems freshly rain-drenched. Of course, it won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it is has very delicious, different aroma and a wonderful, lingering after taste. Try it once.

The Orange Girl by Jostein Gaarder
ISBN Code: 978-0-7538-1992-0

You can buy it here.

♥ ♥ ♥

Happy Birthday to Me...

2010-04-25T13:57:00.004+05:30

So I turn 27 today - something I am trying not to think about. Mainly because it means that I will be 30 in 3 years from now, which, frankly makes me want to get mummified and wake up after, say a 100 years or so. I realised that there are so many things I wanted to do but haven't done, because, well, one just keeps procrastinating. So I've finally decided to make a list of stuff that I have to do - no matter what - by the time I turn 30.. so at least, I won't feel so bad.. won't feel that I didn't accomplish anything even at this age.

But before the list, here are a few pictures of the surprise He had planned for me :D

Yes. The cake. I know. I loved it too. And yes, it was delicious.

He knows I love the tiny stuff. And the bicycle is a gift by my best friend who gave me a sweet surprise.
(Psst! He wanted me to write "nasty shock" instead of "sweet surprise".)

He made this sofa...

These were the guests...

Sigh!

♥ ♥ ♥

Anyway, the list:

Sell my paintings.

Join a dance class.

Go to Ladakh / or an awesome road trip like it.

Night out

Get drunk - wasted.

Try tequila.(just so I can crib that I have no idea why people have something so bitter - also - it may help me fulfill the aforementioned wish).

Create an awesome poster.

Stay in a cabin in the hills.

Color my hair.

Learn how to make awesome coffee.

Cook my mom a dinner - n give her an awesome gift.

Start writing poems again - this is tricky.

Join kickboxing classes.

Grow a beard and leave it for at least a month. Kiddin!

Sleep under the stars. Oh please. And we can make wild guesses about the constellations.

Learn to drive.

Have my own library.

Picnic by the riverside.

Spend one day lying in bed and not feel guilty about it. Just do nothing but read great books. Laze about. Ok, cut out the books too. Just be so lazy that laziness gets an entirely new definition.

Meet Ruskin Bond.

White water rafting.

Go on a photo-vacation.

Dance in the rain - done that - wanna do again.

Skinny dipping.

Master one dish which will be handed down generations :P

Get that book published.

Memorize the lines of my fav movie - all the lines.

Scuba diving / snorkeling.

Get over my fear(s).

Relearn maths.

Dance on top of a table. In heels.

♥ scrambled love ♥

2010-04-10T22:36:00.001+05:30

my silence begs you for your voice
say something, please
ordinary becomes enchanting
when you speak...
but you don't!
such a tease, no?
and haunting, haunting dreams
of your voice
whispering, cajoling
tantalising...
you don't let me sleep...

so much love in my heart
it overflows and drowns me
am floating in your love
yet very soon I will choke
come soon
and take your share
least i die
waiting for you
and your love kills me
...a beautiful death

♥ ♥ ♥

"पहले आती थी हाल-ऐ-दिल पे हसी
अब नहीं आती..."
-ghalib

♥ ♥ ♥

p.s.: did this make sense? writing poetry after ages.. feel all wooden and unsure...

I ♥ You

2010-04-05T22:57:00.002+05:30

I miss you. And the rain.

It felt so magical then. You know, ever since the beginning.

♥ ♥ ♥

I still remember when I first held your hand. Your hands, sun-kissed, rough, harsh...I fell in love at first sight. They felt new and strange and fresh underneath my fingers. Tracing your life-line in the palm of your hand - coarse, deeply etched, and thankfully, long. And when we interlinked our fingers, it was how it was meant to be. Since life began, this was what I had been waiting for. To hold a hand which called out to mine, which felt safe and heavenly, like coming home.

And like the work of a magic spell, you became my favourite person. I have no idea when, where, how, why. These how's and whys don't even matter.

♥ ♥ ♥

Do you remember, the silent walks, the whispered confessions, when feelings overwhelmed our tiny little hearts and tumbled out the way rainbow colored butterflies struggle out of their coccon? And beautiful, life-altering moments when I kept drowning in your eyes, pretending to myself it was just a game, another silly game we were playing.

Sweet, savoured, cherished moments.

It was so difficult, yet somehow so easy to bare my heart to you, strip my soul infront of you....after all, it was you.

♥ ♥ ♥

jism ki baat nahi thi,
unke dil tak jaana tha...

♥ ♥ ♥

You make me feel beautiful every time you look at me. You make me realise that live is short ,but wonderfully beautiful and full of happy surprises. Your love makes everything else fade away, yet somehow, it also enhances everything, like I am looking at everything with eyes full of wonder.

If I were a poem, trust me, I will dedicate myself to you.

image via here.

lil something...

2010-04-01T22:11:00.002+05:30

Clicks while travelling on a train from Punjab to Delhi

It was heavenly...watching sunrise and then gazing amazingly at the sun-drenched foggy land of my beautiful Punjab.

♥ ♥ ♥

I want to paint all the communication towers pink or purple or white or any color which looks lovely against the evening sky or morning sky. Which soothes the heart in blistering heat and warms it in arctic winter. Let them be more feminine, or more raw, and not an awkward red and white striped pajama.Wonder what Freud will think of this national obsession of sprinkling these phallus symbols all over the landscape?

Of Books, Art & Finding Treasures

2010-02-22T14:34:00.002+05:30

The Road to Yesterday - can something sound more nostalgic, more romantic? I discovered this beautiful book, crushed under a huge stack of books at Connaught Place, Delhi. Its cover made me dream - of long forgotten, honey drenched stories, of love stories blossoming in summer, and love growing through generations... It turned out better. Full of delightful different stories about different people from the same quaint little town, it fills the heart with endless joy.

My favourite story from the other marvels in its 402 pages is this cute lil, dear darling happy story about a pair of crazy twins who, like children all over the world, are always pretending silly and funny things. One fine summer day they meet this bored, haunted millionaire and somehow end up yapping about their one totally crazy wish - to restore an old, forgotten house they call Orchard Knob - don't you just love the name?? Orchard Knob - so silly and cute and childish - fragrant like forgotten summer holidays... they love the house because its lonely and looks like it could do with some company. Don't we all?

The millionaire - like it happens only in books - fulfills their wish- and the twins go wild with their crazy imagination decorating the house...

"a dear little blue china cabinet with bouqets painted on its doors, and wonderful brocade curtains for the living room that were between spring-green and pale gold."

Sigh! The sweetness, the happiness, spilling from the pages, the impractical and bizaree imagination only a child can have and how it all ends happily after all... I have no idea why I loved this particular story so much...but then, do we ever know why we love those we love?

Made me nostalgic for my childhood dreams, "ice cream colored" dreams - dreams of a perfect book of fairy tales, so big I couldn't pick it with one hand - so perfect it had a beautiful fairy tale for each day of the year; dreams of having my own room, full of books and Archies and comics and all the time in the world to read them; dreams of a jar full of chewing gum, resplendent in all its unwrapped glory; ...of those days when secrets really did mean secrets only you knew - or you and your sibling :) when promises were sacred stuff never to be broken, and words once said, were honored; when one wrote with a fountain pen and bought stamps from carefully collected pocket money to send letters and birthday cards to dear ones far away...

♥ ♥ ♥

And a lovely, foggy day found us at The National Museum of Fine Arts in Delhi - could never go there during my 9 year long relationship with the city.. and during a recent weekend fling with the city, I finally went there... lucky for me, the ongoing exhibition focused on Indian paintings from the 18th century till the recent times.

Soaked in the skill of miniature paintings, the strokes of Kalighat Patas, the timelessness of a Raja Ravi Verma, the vibrancy of an Amrita Shergill (she was so young and talented - why did she die so soon?), the boldness of Jatin Kumar Dass, the colors of a Hussain, the weirdness of a Tagore (some of his work were masterpieces, but some..??)...

...and yearned for those lost days of brush and turpentine oil and colors and thick sheets...

♥ ♥ ♥

Among other things, discovered this beautiful painting lying on the floor of an unused kitchen at a distant relative's place...love at first sight. Like finding a hidden treasure...

I didn't have my camera, had to use mobile.

♥ ♥ ♥

after years of struggle, queuing up in queues and filling endless forms with borrowed pens, having thelle ke cholle kulche, numerous trips to South Campus - dragging my unselfish sweet friends and Him along, near heart attacks and endless tears when I thought I had lost all my documents....Delhi University finally granted me my degree. Graduate in English Honors.. . something to smile about ... finally :)

♥ In love ♥

2010-02-01T09:33:00.006+05:30

I am in love with so many things ♥ I am in love with finding surprisingly nice book in a lil bookstore tucked away in a crowded street pinched between a butcher and a Chinese food dhabha ♥ I am in love with looking longingly, endlessly at beautiful pictures online ♥ I am in love with the fact that I wanted to own an old piece of furniture so I could paint it - and God left it at my door months before I even wished for it ♥ I am in love with the dull quietness of afternoons and how sleep tugs you into her arms ♥ I am in love with the oppressive silence of lonely nights when poems are scribbled, doodles become sketches and thoughts and dreams and reality do a threesome and make rainbow colored babies ♥ I am in love with my blue duppatta - it gives comfort and warmth and dances with me in the wind ♥ I am in love with the perfect cup of coffee which suddenly comes your way, calling your name when you had given up all hope of ever meeting the one ♥ I am in love with smiles - beautiful, happy, heart-to-heart smiles because they make me feel welcome in a strange city ♥ I am in love with early morning eyes and the first smile of the day ♥ I am in love with writing all this down ♥

Footloose in Bombay

2010-01-25T15:30:00.006+05:30

I always get nervous before travelling in local. Local = train in Bombay. Its scary even before I climb in. The crowd, the fatal casualties, the rush, the confusion and the chaos.

But then, every time I travel by local, I get down from it happier. I like the woman's only compartment, the "thank god no one will grope me here" feeling. Standing by the door, watching stations pass idly by, observing the women around, their chit-chat, the hawkers who jump in to sell clips and chips and hankies and makeup and toys and notebooks and pencils and what not. Life here is very fast, it just goes on and on. And people try to jam everything in those meager twenty-four hours. And this fact is most visible in the women's compartment. There are three women sitting opposite to me and all three are talking on phone - and their tone show they are talking with a loved one. Husband, boyfriend? They keep talking till their station arrives, and then they put the caller on hold, push their way through the crowd and get off the train..and I can see them walking past my window - they have resumed the phone conversations. Yes, all three of them.

In a corner, two friends are gossiping and giggling. One of them rummages in her bag and tugs out a brand new suit (I can see the tag) and shows off it to her friend, who makes all the appropriate noises and comments. Another woman is arranging -on her phone -for someone to pick up her son from school, while someone else is looking for jobs.

I like to observe them, imagine their life, the constant running about, the struggles, the pain, the love, the laughter...and its as if life is a kaleidoscope in front of my eyes...

♥ ♥

Bombay. I like Bombay. Not Mumbai. Nopes.

♥ Walking walking walking. Aimlessly on Bombay's streets. Stopping whenever something catches my fancy. Evening at Marine Drive and a wonderful breeze - feel like living again.

♥ Eating at a roadside eating joint. Clicking photos through its bay windows. Looking wistfully at balloons and a balloon covered taanga :P

♥ That feeling you get in a new city - discovering it, loving its freshness...

Bombay. I think I will like you. Though I am trying not too. Because you, too, are not permanent.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

verbal doodles @ dawn

2010-01-14T05:08:00.002+05:30

Home. A word. Holding so much inside. Security, peace, contentment. That feeling of belonging. And how exactly do you define home? Especially when the place you were brought up in is far, far away and every time you visit it, its like nauseatic nostalgia all over again.

These walls around me nowadays - are just walls. This is just a box, a house. A temporary arrangement in the things of life. Permanency was lost like the innocence of childhood. Forever.

No place like home. No place called home.

So if I want to run away today, where am I supposed to go?

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

wish -

the perfect cup of coffee

to paint something that doesn't make me feel useless, doesn't let me tear the page apart

read a nice, comfortable, soothing and thoughtful book

talk with someone without any pretensions, without an ulterior motive, without helplessness wrenching my guts out, without over analysing every word, every thought

stop thinking. please.

Black Hole

2010-01-11T12:09:00.004+05:30

Thoughts have been black holed - whatever that means. Why care. What's the point anyway. Whatever is done today, will be undone tomorrow.

And its time to button up, too. Not that I blame anyone. Just the price of being me.

Just need a room with no window and a bed where I can lay in peace and pull the sheets over my head. And disappear.

heart to heart

2010-01-07T04:00:00.008+05:30

image via :: here
quote via :: here

merged here

♥

Every action has a equal and opposite reaction?

2009-12-24T09:08:00.007+05:30

A case of molestation which led to victim's suicide... and the molester gets 6 months imprisonment and Rs 1000 fine - after 19 years

A 16 year old girl raped by 11 men, held captive for 3 days

A Phd student raped by her guide, who took pictures and made videos of her

Raped girl offered money to withdraw case

...and there's nothing we can do about all this?

Sweet November

2009-12-21T09:50:00.005+05:30

Life has changed... for good.

As you can see, I have been a bit busy. But hopefully, in a few weeks, life will get back to its normal pace and my blog will not feel so neglected.

Love you all.

xoxo

Laws of life

2009-10-20T11:34:00.004+05:30

"When I was a kid, the worst of all days was the last day of summer vacation, and we were in the school yard playing baseball, and the sun was down and it was getting dark. But I did not want it to get dark. I did not want the game to end. It was too good, too much fun. I wanted it to stay light forever, so we could keep playing forever, so the game would go on and on. That's how I feel now. Come on, come on. Let's play one more inning. One more time at bat. One more pitch. Just one. Stick around, guys. We can't break up this team. It's too much fun.

But the sun always went down. And now it's almost dark again."

- Mike Royko

Changes in life. Good changes. Bad changes. Pleasant changes. Unexpected changes. Looking-forward-to changes. Please-make-it-go-away changes. It-happens-for-a-good-reason changes.

That's life's story. Change. Mine is going to change. For good. I am happy. I am packing away a new life, a new me, new joy and fresh hopes in a cute lil suitcase for a new journey. But am unhappy about what is getting left behind - what can no longer fit in the brand new suitcase. Roommates who became friends, confidantes. Friends who became what fills up an empty evening. The comfort of knowing a city - knowing the medicine shop open even on a Sunday, the correct auto fare from point A to B, the perfect shop to bargain at for the perfect dress. The cup of tea offered when I am sick. The hug given, unasked for, when needed the most. The hand which slips inside my palm when am scared. The surprise gifts. The happy faces. The sunshine-filled laughter. The inside-jokes. The "I know exactly how you are feeling" look.

Somehow, its difficult to focus on the gain right now.

Something & Nothing

2009-07-08T13:19:00.004+05:30

“I took my morning walk, I took my evening walk, I ate something, I thought about something, I wrote, I napped and dreamed something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of something has always been and always will be you.”

- Mark Danielewski

image via::ffffound

Lucky day

2009-06-23T20:12:00.004+05:30

It’s been three years today. Three years of knowing someone I have known almost all of my life (go figure!). I met him, my best friend, this day, precisely three years ago. I wasn’t too keen on meeting him – the chief reason being that he was a he. But still we met and talked and somehow or the other, because of, or irrespective of those couple of hours, we stayed in touch.

We’ve fought with each other, cried with each other (ummm…actually I did), laughed and laughed (of course), shared stuff we really shouldn’t have, tore apart theories of life and made up our own, talked over endless cups of coffee and hot chocolates, shared profound silence in cafes all over the city, created our own secret jokes, hit each other where it hurts the most, drove each other to desperation, gave silly yet meaningful gifts, seen each other at our worst (atleast I hope so), became each other’s misery and each other’s solace, peeked into our souls, exorcised our demons together (or tried to), disagreed on almost everything and survived it, known what the other is going to say before they even utter a word…

And in doing all this and so, so much more, sweetheart, you have altered my very definition of “Life with friends”.

Hugs and kisses… (yes, today is your lucky day).

image via:: gettyimages.com

I have been doing things...

2009-06-17T10:56:00.006+05:30

like clicking random people on random streets
discovering Costa in CP
meeting new people in the oldest part of the city
traveling in autos
and buses bursting to the seams

browsed through bookstores
waiting for a miracle
sipped delicious lassi
and found a pink monkey

ate kulfi after ages-
raindrops sprinkled on my glasses
had samosas and tea
enjoyed a "me" moment in my balcony
and listened to a poet while rain tapped on my window

met my dearest brother
and discovered nostalgia in youtube
craved for coffee and life-changing conversations
hugs and blueberry muffins

life...
has been beautiful off late...

how to reduce heartache in 3 easy steps

2009-06-06T19:07:00.009+05:30

Dusk flickered through the sheer curtains, dancing on the floor. She sat in the shadows, her heart shying away from light; least everything inside became visible, vulnerable. Fingers clenched and unclenched around something. Something shiny, glinting, twinkling, sharp, smooth...

And she wondered, not for the first time, how will it feel to plunge it into her breast, beneath which lay the reason of all her sorrows? To hit the problem at its roots. Steel cutting neatly through flesh, oozing blood... maybe it will pain...but then, isn't the only cure of pain is pain? Her heart ached so much that she wish she could wrench it out with her fingers and throw it somewhere, far, far away... to finish off this throbbing pain...

Still thinking, and without realising it, she drew a crimson streak on her arm, followed by another. The knife burnt its way through her flesh. Warm, sticky blood rushed out to cool off the heat. And it was as if something eased inside her. As if an ache subdued.

Samandar lehron ki,

lehron ki

chadar odh ke so raha hai...

par main jagun

ek khumari, ek nasha sa

ho raha hai...

tu magar hai bekhabar...

hai bekhabar...

(OST: Delhi6)

Guilty as charged

2009-06-04T15:42:00.003+05:30

The worst part is not when someone has hurt you, crushed your heart and walked all over you. It will pain, you'll be hurt, yes.

But that's not the the worst part.

Its when you realise that you have hurt someone you wouldn't dream of hurting. What one feels then, is worse than what they call hell.

yes. yes. yes.

2009-05-18T11:34:00.002+05:30

The results are out.
And I really like them.

Just hope our brand-new govt. doesn't disappoint us.

how did my yesterday go...

2009-05-13T17:55:00.004+05:30

why does an unreturned hug hurt so much?

and I thought hugs were the best way to say "I am sorry".

hell is an emptiness inside

2009-05-08T14:52:00.004+05:30

Posted on my other blog today. after eons I guess. but it wasn't enough. I think I still need to vent. Tried writing in my diary yesterday. Didn't help. Just a bit which wasn't really much. And the full moon. And the song.

The funny, sad part is, that I am totally unable to write what is really choking me. That which is like an empty ache inside. Even the sun, even the occasional rain doesn't help.

I so, so wish love, that you were tiny enough and I could keep you in my pocket. And on full moon nights and every other night and those beautifully quiet days, too, I could take you out and breathe your scent in.

P.P.S.: comments are off. you are all very sweet but I really can't handle "oh what happened" "take care" kind of thing right now. Sorry if I've offend any of you. But I don't want it to be like an attention-seeking post.

Dreams do come true....

2009-04-21T10:01:00.002+05:30

give, and take?

2009-02-28T16:22:00.003+05:30

She gives up

her name (to take his own)
her wishes (maybe a career, maybe a choice of veg-non-veg food)
her body (something she has learnt to hide since the day since she was born, sth precious, sth holy)
her parents (not altogether, but in so many cases, it still is true)
her freedom (yes, it also happens..)

...all this... and more for three silly words....

image:via::ffffound.com

yes. really. let's.

2009-02-18T17:54:00.001+05:30

via:: ffffound.com

Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T00:00:00.005+05:30

A day of love. To celebrate. To be happy. To realise how lucky we are to be able to share it with someone. A day to bask in the sun, kiss in the rain and huddle closer in the cold.

A day to celebrate your singlehood too (and why not?). Shower your friends with flowers and thoughtful gifts. Your mother would love to receive a bunch of roses and your Dad won't mind a hug. A day to gift yourself that one thing you have been eyeing for a long time. A day to gift your friends something they have always wanted - your time.

A day to release balloons high in the air. A day to buy heart-shape pillows and wear red. A day for a cup of hot chocolate. A day of chocolate-dipped strawberries. A day to read poetry.

A day to let the wind play with your hair.

A day to dress-up, even if you are only making tea of yourself in the kitchen.

A day beautiful like life. A day to celebrate just because you are lucky enough to be alive and kicking.

A day not to sulk over being single. A day to enjoy your solitude - you may lose it soon.

images via:: Lolita

I don't know my own country

2009-02-13T11:37:00.004+05:30

What is this?

Seriously. For the first time ever I believe, I am sick of the so-called culture of this country. Drive a girl to commit suicide, harass a Muslim guy, all in the name of defending this stupid culture.

देहलीज़

2009-02-12T13:59:00.002+05:30

तुम्हारे मेरे कमरे के बीच का दरवाज़ा
इसे खुला ही रखना
तुम्हारी खुशबू मुझ तक आती रहे
रात भर मेरे सपनो को मह्काती रहे।

जो यह दिवार सी है दरमयान
बेशक गिराना मत इसको
मगर इस दरवाज़े को खुला ही रखना
मैं सीख लूँगी एक दिन, यह देहलीज पार करना।

- result of reading too much of Amrita Pritam's and Gulzar's poetry

precisely so!

2009-02-05T17:40:00.001+05:30

"Perhaps I'm old and tired," he continued, "but I always think that the chances of finding out what really is going on are so absurdly remote that the only thing to do is to say hang the sense of it and just keep yourself occupied."

—Slartibartfast, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

sweet november

2009-01-28T10:48:00.001+05:30

This November. Me and Him.
Together. Forever.

:)

sigh!

2009-01-16T13:32:00.002+05:30

isn't this so darn cliche, nostalgic, sweet and funny and romantic? i will watch this again on valentine's lolz...

and i agree...

2009-01-14T13:07:00.002+05:30

damp, salty pillows

2009-01-12T12:09:00.002+05:30

He had come in her dreams.
And when she woke up, the dampness of her pillow paled in front of her smile.

सुलझे अनसुलझे ख्याल

2009-01-07T09:39:00.004+05:30

पलकों की कपकपाहट
रातों को सोने नही देती
तुम्हारी आखों की उदासी
हमें रोने नही देती

आधी रात के बाद, और सुबह से पहले का वो वक्त, हमेशा उसे उसकी याद दिलाता था। उसकी बातें, जैसे ओस की बूंदों सी ज़हन में चमकती थी। उसकी बातें, जैसे धुप की चादर। उसकी बातें, जैसे बारिश का पैगाम। उसकी बातें, जैसे सूनेपन में एक दरार। उसकी बातें, जैसे जिंदा होने का एहसास।

उसकी बातें...

these days

2008-12-29T15:47:00.002+05:30

sharp tongue. damp pillows. hazy vision. surreal life. clouds in my room. a place to hide. a place to run away to. bleeding feet. unspoken words. torturous silence. beautiful dreams. morbid nightmares. scratches on heart. salty cheeks. cold comfort. a distant death. a faraway life. chaos of thoughts...

khamoshiyaan...

2008-12-16T17:06:00.006+05:30

कुछ पलों के बाद, उस बरसों की खामोशी को उसी ने तोड़ा। पता नही क्या बोला उसने , लेकिन वो बोली थी, ताकि वो खामोशी खत्म हो जाए, जो उसको जाने क्यूँ इतना डरा रही था। वो ऐसे चुपचाप था, जैसे कभी बोलेगा ही नही। की जैसे कुछ सोच कर चुप रहना ही बेहतर समझा उसने।

अपने हाथों में उसका हाथ लेकर, उसकी आंखों में देखा उसने। पर आज नज़रें तक खामोश थी। "नाराज़ हो?" उसने डरते हुए पूछा, मानो जवाब से घबरा रही हो। वो हलके से मुस्कुराया, उसके हाथों से अपना हाथ छुड़ाकर उसके चेहरे को बहुत ही प्यार से थपथपाया।

"ऐसा क्यूँ लगा तुम्हे?"
"तुम कुछ बोलते ही नही."
"ज़रूरी है, की कुछ बोलूं" कहकर उसकी आंखों में एक शरारत सी चमक उठी, जिसकी रोशनी में एकाएक सब अच्छा सा लगने लगा, हर डर मानो कहीं खो गया।

Dear diary,

2008-12-16T16:35:00.006+05:30

I'm left wondering again, what makes me happy. Yesterday, I was gazing longingly at a bright yellow coat and wondering if I could stretch my budget and buy it? But of course I could not. It was from a very expensive brand, and hence unaffordable. But if I could afford, will buying it have made a difference? I really don't know. Maybe, maybe not. Being able to buy it, to wear it, and stay cozy in its warmth would have meant a final goodbye to those days of the past when I was just surviving, hardly able to eat out of my meager salary. Let alone buy some woolens. Of course I have a lot of clothes of the knitted variety. But not the smart ones. Not the kind which make heads turn. Am I too kiddish to yearn for such clothes, even when I know that their charm wont last for long?

Haunting images of my childhood - of those days when my NRI cousins would drop-in, dressed in GAP and Reebok, scented by Marks and Spencer creams and lotions, and be the apple of everyone's eyes - continue to play somewhere in the back of my mind. My own pretty pink frocks faded into oblivion among the crowds of silks and chiffons and herringbones. Cotton, humble enough, melted into the background. The till then dear blue socks felt like an old mumbling bumbling country cousin; lil white mary-janes paled infront of shiny patent ballerinas. My comic books felt dusty and ragged and their Peter Pan with its lovely colors and imported paper glittered with its own magic. They were patted and pecked, their witty lines laughed at, their beauty charming, their manners perfect. Whatever little I had till then, was lost forever.

The yearning of the past was the reason why my heart is still hungry. But can a yellow coat soothe the ache?

p.s.: it's fiction, guys. but whether its based on facts...

your feet...

2008-12-11T15:22:00.001+05:30

But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

-Your feet by Pablo Neruda

Image Credit: Accretion

will you come with me...

2008-12-05T12:06:00.002+05:30

I am feeling a bit whimsical today. Like I'm walking in a dream. So will you come with me?

To the land of fall leaves and golden sunshine, the cold wind and crunchy footsteps... we will sit on a fallen log and talk about cupcakes and pearls, about dreams and red coats, about feathers and tiaras, about snow and fall, about beauty and inspiration, about sunshine and smiles, about life and mundane, about words and silence...

or we could sit quietly, hearing the wind play with the leaves.

come...

Images: The Cherry Blossom Girl. She's awesome.

thoughts on war and soldiers...

2008-12-04T15:13:00.001+05:30

"On Thursday evening there were lots of soldiers on my train home from London.
When there are soldiers riding with you on your train, you feel extremely small.
It made me wish I were brave.
Bravery isn't something I can hold inside myself very well.
Sometimes I want to be a Lyra and I want it and want it, incredibly badly.
But you can't be brave just from wanting.
It's an impossibility. Like snow in July."

-J.M. Barrie

An email...

2008-12-01T09:34:00.003+05:30

..written by a person don't know, but have started to respect immensely. It's long, but do read on:

My two cents..

Imagine one of your near and dear ones rapped in the Taj Mumbai hotelon the fateful
day and you getting frantic SMS's updating you on the situation.. One says 'I am hiding under the bed'.. 'I could hear the explosion',another 'I am scared'.. and another 'They are in the bathroom!!'. and
then no contact whatsoever.. Will sure send shivers down your spine..this is what happened and continues to happen in Mumbai..

The city will never be the same again..
Never before has anyone, anytime, anywhere experienced a catastrophe and mayhem this
terrible in proportions.. For sure the terrorists are rejoicing in their moment of glory.. for 3 daring, top-notch officials fell who where the pride of our nation - ATS Chief Karkare, Mumbai ACP Ashok Kampte and encounter specialist Vijay salaskar... They are the heroes of our nation and my head bows both in pride and sadness at their transient lives which would have taken care
of many more terrorists, gangsters and corrupt politicians had they lived to see another day..

The city will never be the same again. Not the first time this has happened.. Mumbai
is famous for getting back on tracks quickly in the event of any crisis.. BSE is open
today.. Bollywood as well getting on with their work.. I came to know through one of my colleagues whos friend is in Mumbai that even as the shooting was going on, a little further away, the hustle and bustle was on as usual...people getting on with their work.. as if it were just another day..

What is the Mumbaikar trying to prove????? That no matter what happens they are not
bothered?? That they will carry on with their work even if the world gets upside down
???? THIS HAS TO STOP !!! It just shows the attitude of people towards others lives.. To take an example, when the Kingfisher glides through and picks up a fish from the
pond, the rest of them disperse for a moment and then come together at the same spot
in a few minutes giving the bird the chance to attack just as he did earlier.. I can
see Mumbai in that pond.. For gods sake, we are better than fish-in-a-pond.. People
have to STOP.. may be for a day, 2 days, even a week to THINK over what happened, how to prevent it and stand united in this moment of adversity.. but hell no, the Mumbaikar is busy with his own work.. what are they trying to prove ?

The media on the other hand is busy covering the event to the best extent they can.They are all for the TRP's of course, trying to get the best spot in front of the Taj to cover the events.. Gawd... Shouldn't the area be cordoned off completely and media not allowed anywhere near(some of them received gun shots as well, having gone so
close near the assailants !!).. The masterminds are having a field day.. their men are inside the hotel and all the news that they would like to know of is at their fingertips which they can easily pass off to their men inside the buidlings over a cellphone...

It is high time we shake ourselves out of this lethargy...this state of complacency
has to end.. Mumbai (and the rest of us)... we have to react, be alert all the time.
Showing indifference to the events isn't exactly making a statement..
The solution(s) for this cannot be chalked out by a single person in a single day over
a message like this.. Collective initiative is what we need to grab the nations and
global attention otherwise it would just be a message written, read and forgotten on the spur of the moment !!

As and ending note, I would say hats off to the Taj hotel General Manager who's wife
and 2 kids died in the suite even as he was helping the guests evacuate the place. A
lesson or two we can sure learn from him..

MUMBAI.. WE ARE WITH YOU !! Hope this ends soon.. Have held my breath for long now... Waiting to exhale !!

-RS

if it was my job...

2008-11-27T10:05:00.001+05:30

...to look after people's life in Mumbai, I would have committed suicide by now. Or made an action plan with the motto: do or die.

High time the govt. woke up, stopped fighting over silly and petty issues and did something serious. i wonder why people in mumbai even go to offices and not be on road demanding peace and security? why do we always sit at home under curfew becuase theose damn idiots cannot provide us the basic right to live?

Introspection

2008-11-18T11:11:00.001+05:30

cups of coffee
speckled with drops of tears
rainbow of dreams
splattered with charcoal inkiness

patchwork self-respect
ripping apart at seams
if i'm not for myself
then who is?
if i won't speak
then who will

tired of pointed fingers
tired of words, words and words
my heart won't speak anymore

contemplating silence
brooding realities

condemned loneliness
forced solitude
a day?
a week?
a month?
perhaps...

the lonely corner beckons...

5 years bitten away

2008-11-14T10:28:00.003+05:30

It all started innocently enough.

A surprise holiday from office, and Diva (my roommate) and I decided to do some pre-winter cleaning and then maybe go to Dilli-haat. We hauled off the bags from top of our almirahs. So out came the tumbling bundles of soft, cozy woolens and shawls, and all that is needed to survive winters in Delhi. Diva set about sorting them, and I thought of having a look at my portfolio, my HUGE file - containing my college work.

Clearing away the rest of the mess, I reached out towards the file, and my heart stopped beating. One side of it, the bottom right corner was bitten off. Gnawed at by sharp teeth. The mouse hadn't stopped at the thick cardboard casing, but had bitten all the way to the other side.

5 years of my sweat, my toil, of staying awake and screwing my eyes over intricate designs, of perfecting and re-perfecting a sheet, of sketches made in the peak of summers, my wrists staining the rough texture of the paper...work spanning over 5 years, two colleges and 6 teachers...

My favorite sheets - a girl standing inside an open door, hesitant, curious, rendered in oil pastels.
Another sheet, not something which was beautiful, but memorable, now eaten away because of those idiot mice's insatiable hunger.

I can still feel, in my bones, how it felt to take a brush and paint a canvas; dip it in colors of my dreams, and see my imagination come to life. I still remember the grainy texture of the handmade sheets, purchased by not having an ice-cream, that teddy bear...then using the almost broken oil pastels to paint, to draw. And wait for the next day, to show it to the teacher..to wait, with bated breath for her to reject or accept it.

I didn't learn from the past, I guess.

truth

2008-11-12T10:40:00.001+05:30

good catch

2008-11-06T19:42:00.003+05:30

She frowned. And then some more.

Tucking a fly-away wisp of silky hair behind her ear with her hands, she adjusted the phone, cradling it in her neck, while using her free hand to mark on her checklist. She was on phone with her aunt, giving her the news of her unofficial engagement. Her aunt was, predictably, excited. A bit too much. But she soothed her and comforted her. She told her about the guy, about how he had proposed, and promised to email his pictures to everyone asap.

And called the next number.

It had been two days now, and her phone was ringing off the hook. Congratulations were pouring from every side.

"He's so handsome!"

"What a catch!"

"Lucky bitch, hid it well from us.."

Her frown was etched deeply now. Their remarks made her feel like a gold-digger, and she was tired of every one's repeated questions about marriage. The reason that she didn't want to marry right now, just because they both didn't feel like, wasn't acceptable to anyone. They called her day-in, day out.

"...But beta, why not now? You have got such a good guy. Marry before it's too late..."

"...But why wait for another year...?

"...He'll be snatched by another...and then you'll repent. A year is too long..."

Her protests that he had been with her since the past 3 years now, fell to deaf ears. All they cared for was that the boy was a good catch and they both should marry quickly, the sooner the better.

She was now on phone with her cousin.

"Look, mummy is saying you two should fix up a date now.."

"What's the hurry guys?" she was irritated now. Angry even.

"You really shouldn't have sent his picture, you know..."

"...why..."she was puzzled now. His picture?

"They say he's too good-looking, and, well, they think you are...." he paused, embarrassed...

She disconnected the call angrily, her nail digging into the plasticated button of the mobile, half wounding it. Her flicks flickered about, but she didn't notice...

now this..

2008-11-05T08:45:00.003+05:30

That's why I don't like reading news.

Now marriage can be broken even on the ground of pimples.

No, really. not joking.

fine. Maybe pimples are repulsive to some poeple. But to break a marrigae? What are you? some perfect piece of human being that you want a goddess? Didn't that guy ever hear about acne treatment. Maybe it's just a dumb excuse he thought of for some other reason.

More than him, am angry at the court. What in the world is justice coming to?

News courstsey here.

2008-10-22T12:35:00.003+05:30

memories are made of milk cakes...

morbidities...

2008-10-17T15:33:00.003+05:30

I had nightmares this morning. Again. Nothing new. But sometimes I get so disturbed...

Today, in my dream, I was in J&K.

Bullets.
Dead bodies.
Blood.

A group of army men laughing, drinking tea, suddenly shot at by terrorists. They die, their bodies neither falling nor toppling, but freezing at the very spot, with their once exuberant smiles chillingly pasted on their faces, their hands still holding the tin mugs...

Then haziness. A door. Teak. I pushed it open, and distinctively felt the wooden surface under my skin. The door opened suddenly, into a white room. Bare. Just a young man lying on the floor, sprawled eerily. His hands were raised above his body, and his palms were smeared with his own blood, like heena on a bride's hand. The blood dripped onto his chest, his grey cotton t-shirt unable to soak up so much of it...

Again a red haziness...and I woke up...

Musing over my muse...

2008-10-16T12:32:00.003+05:30

My muse makes me crave to write. This itch to write, to express...what? I do not know. Somehow, there's no extreme emotion as yet. Not yet. So I cannot write a poem or a story. However, I can tell you what I was thinking.

My muse, as I said, makes me crave to write. And sometimes, when I have read too much of his poetry, I feel intoxicated. He merges emotions and words like Neruda, expressing simple-ordinary stuff in uncommon metaphors. He weaves a tapestry so beautiful, like Gabriel, that I feel as if I'm under a moon-lit indigo sky, and the breeze is a caress, a message from a beloved. I feel this when I am sitting in my cubicle, in the underground office from where I cannot even see the sky.

And then I feel like calling him, meeting him. And wondering how someone, who has magic in his words, be in person?

Very human, I believe. And so, I don't meet him. Sometimes, we shouldn't face what's real. Sometimes, it's good to have a mystery in our mundane life. A bit of fairy tale mystique. To dwell upon his actuality, rather than meeting him in reality.

And so I dream on in this exotic world, created with a tinge of him, and a dash of his poems.

serial killer...?

2008-09-18T12:19:00.004+05:30

i am a serial killer

i murder myself everyday

words, innocent words

are like daggers to me

I hold them with bloodstained hands

and plunge somewhere inside

ah! Better

let those tears pour

call me a cry-baby, now…

i dare you!

i’m stronger than you all..

yet unable to fight my own self.

i sink to the floor

cold, barren

but I like it

it’s as welcome as death right now

words never said to me

words never meant for me

and words which were only for me

they assault

they aim, and hit again and again

hard

fine. so be it.

i am alone now.

lonely, perhaps?

yes, maybe..

for friends are my foes

or is it the other way round?

but it doesn’t matter.

not any more…

pretentions

2008-09-16T10:03:00.000+05:30

so tired
of pretending to be happy
why don't you come
and make me cry
why don't you come
and erase this smile?

am melancholy's favorite child
and she's hugging me tight
making me breathless
and am slowly sinking
am screaming your name
muffled echoes bounce
in crimson walls of my heart...

tears lurk impatiently for their turn
behind these lost lids
wanting to breathe outside
and dying a painless death...

I've cried before
tears have lost their value
will cry no more
just come please
just come, once
so i can die peacefully
a painless death
soaking in your breath
drowning in your eyes
your eyes
my world
my heaven
have never known something so pure
have never felt like this

i will melt
i will mold
however you say
but don't let me go
piece by piece...
don't ask me to pretend anymore

The Delhi Blasts - again

2008-09-15T09:38:00.005+05:30

What do I say here? I don't know. All I know is that I'm trying to be normal. But it isn't easy.
They hit Delhi again. And this time, the places where I go. Where you must have gone. Where our families, our friends go on weekends. GK, CP, Gaffar...

So again it happened. Again people died. News channels have something to scream about for the rest of the fortnight. People have another reason to crib about the government. Editorials will talk about how life is so sasti in India. And I will read all that, hear all that, see all that. And move on.... again.

Just how many times are we suppose to do that? Till one of us dies..till a friend or a family member dies... till our very homes are hit. Politicians will come and say "They can't kill the spirit of the poeple." Yeah, right. They are killing people, in case they didn't notice. So what use is the spirit then?

But you know what's the worst part....that I don't know what to do about it...I wonder if there is something which can be done.. or are we supposed to feel helpless and impotent everytime they blast away a part of my country??

roses are still smelling like roses
it's raining somewhere
and over there, look-
the sun is out, wearing its vulgar brilliance
unaffected
like the rest of us...

rediff sucks!

2008-09-11T10:14:00.001+05:30

grrrr...am so pissed off at rediff. It always does some locha.. that's what you get for loyalty. Usually, it just doesn't show the comments or eats them up for some time. Now it seems that it has gobbled up my entire blog! It's just not showing... :( :( :(

darkness abounds

2008-09-09T12:49:00.001+05:30

comments are off here. again.
i don't like moderating them. so will not show them here. people who know me, as a person, have other ways of telling me what they feel about a post.
As for the rest, am too darn sensitive for criticism or sympathy right now.

Ciao, till next time.. till a better mood...

memories

2008-09-03T16:07:00.005+05:30

Nobody warns you against books. Nobody tells you that reading them may hit you where it hurts the most.

It happened again with her. It was an innocent story, as usual. In one scene, a little girl ran towards her father, hugged his knees and asked him to pick her up.

She threw the book away...and prepared herself for the onslaught of memories.

handle with care

2008-08-28T10:51:00.003+05:30

gently
i place my head on your chest
snuggle - at peace
wrap your arms around-
there, now
handle with care
coz all's fragile here

i'm a falling teardrop
hold me
and i will still die
hold me
perhaps your warmth will kill the coldness inside...

i can't close my eyes
they show the blackness inside
stay here, sunshine
let me soak in your light
maybe you will melt those cobwebs away...

p.s.: "let me soak in your light".. this line was suggested by Aakash... he was sweet enough to help me edit this...and for mah dearest love - "don't worry..." :)

unsure

2008-08-26T11:14:00.003+05:30

why am I so unsure about my own thoughts...my own views? All people do is raise a question and everything comes crumbling down.
And why, I wonder, my friends still can't understand me? They may not like my ideas...but they should ask themselves whether they like me or not...
And if they don't... it's for the better.

smell of memories

2008-08-22T16:15:00.002+05:30

She sighed. And then stared at the pile of clothes dumped on the floor. She still had to sort it out. Another sigh escaped her lips.

She padded over to the pile, bare foot. The pile of clothes. His clothes. In a moment of madness, she had thrown out all his clothes from the wardrobe. Now she sat down on the cold floor, her thin, long cotton t-shirt doing little to keep her warm. The one he loved...

Pushing away the thought, she delved into the depths of the pile, her white, almost translucent hand looking lost in the vastness of the dump. Her bony fingers sought a black fabric and tugged it out. It was a shirt, worn and faded over the years.

Without any preamble, memories came floating by, in front of her eyes. It was in the kitchen, when she was cooking their first dinner together, that he had wrapped his arms around her…wearing this very shirt. She had turned around, forgetting the open window, the burning dinner, everything - in the desire shining in his eyes…succumbing herself to him… and how he had laughed softly when she had got irritated at one of the buttons refusing to budge..

Wasn’t it in that very corner, where she had fallen, sobbing, and he had gathered her in his arms, consoling her softly, whispering words said only to a child, patting her head gently and rocking her till she wept her heart out…

He had held her then… she wished he will hold her now, and she could break down again…

She closed her eyes shut… tightly, as if doing that would hold the memories at bay… but then she saw his face, smiling at her, floating in the blackness… black like those nights she would hold him against her, and he would sleep like a little lost child, looking so vulnerable… ...

those lazy Sunday mornings, when he would give her a goofy smile, kiss her and pick her up, place her like a doll on the dinning table and proceed to feed her a scrumptious breakfast with his hands…

She got up suddenly, forcing herself to stop thinking, the black shirt still clutched in her hands. She unbuttoned it and wrapped it around her…

And it felt as if he was holding her again… his smell enveloping her, getting under each layer of her skin, warm and cozy, safe like home…

p.s. i wrote this post long time back on another of my blogs. so no, don't worry. all's ok in my world.

i feel alone

2008-08-17T12:35:00.004+05:30

in this world
all of a sudden
i feel alone
lonely
like
i belong to noone
and noone belongs to me
i have no friends
i lost them all
they were good, oh yes
too good for me...

and so I walk alone again
this lonely path called life
no one to tell me
"careful, there are thorns ahead"
no one to hold onto
least i stumble
no one to look upto
no one to say, it'll be ok

my arms entwine around myself
i need a hug so bad
and these tears drain my soul every night
i know not what ails me
there's noone to ask
no one to care
no one concerned
..so i hope
i stumble and fall
and never rise again...

quote-I

2008-08-14T09:53:00.003+05:30

“A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself.”- Abraham masalo

and so we try again...

adhurapan

2008-08-11T12:47:00.002+05:30

thoughts-
trickle down in my mind
like lazy drops of rain
on a lazy sunday
hazy, unclear
merging into one-another
about to fall,
about to be perfect
as they reaches it's zenith
but alas,
they die before that.

abrupt end to a short journey
unfinished work
interrupted dreams

...
चलें थे हम बारिश को थामने
हाथ में आई नही
की पानी हो गई
कतरा कतरा बिखर गया हर तरफ़
जैसे इस जिंदगी की कहानी हो गयी

Love...

2008-07-31T17:56:00.001+05:30

Sometimes, it felt strange. Out of this world. And yet, it felt beautiful too. Like she had finally learnt how to live. What to live for, actually.

It had been a few weeks since the weird sensation arose it’s head in her heart. Like a flower was blooming. Slowly. One petal at a time. Every petal gently caressing her insides, like thousand butterflies had taken flight. Like a golden ball of fire was growing larger by the moment.

Neha didn’t ignore the feeling, but couldn’t even acknowledge it. After all, it was her end-of-semester exams. There were books to be read, notes to be made, read and re-read. She was too worried about finishing her syllabus on time, and getting it all right to fret over something which seemed so trivial that one could easily pretend it wasn’t there.

But she couldn’t do that anymore. Not after yesterday, at least.

She sighed, threw her book, “Abnormal Psychology: Case Studies” aside and let the thoughts consume her.

It was yesterday that Ruchi was lying beside her, fast asleep. And she had started observing her, first out of sheer boredom, then, more and more out of interest. All of a sudden, Ruchi looked so beautiful. The way her hair gently fell around her face, like a halo – it made her want to sink her face in it. Her hands looked so soft and delicate… and her lips….pink, and brown at the edges, dried, chapped, yet so inviting…

With a shudder, Neha snapped out...what was she thinking? She hurriedly got up, grabbed her duppatta, her books and ran all the way to her room…

It had been a long time, since she had felt the little stir of attraction towards Ruchi. Ruchi, the girl who became her friend first day in college, with whom she shared her notes, her books, her dreams, her hopes, her life…
There wasn’t a day they didn’t spend in each other’s company. Perhaps it was also because of the fact that they had same subjects. They weren’t roommates, but one would find them together all the time.

It was during those grilling study sessions – Ruchi was very strict when it came to studies – that Neha had realized her feelings for her. She felt aghast, and thought that a combination of excess study, lack of boys and too much of Ruchi was screwing her brains. She thought she was straight!

What followed were a few days in which Neha tried every trick in the book to spend as little time with Ruchi as possible, without offending her. But after numerous excuses, headaches, sleepiness and ‘really important work’, she couldn’t take it anymore. Being away from her, that is.

It was Ruchi who made sure that Neha never skipped a meal, no matter what. If Neha had fever, it would be Ruchi running to get some OTC medicine, not her roommates. It was Ruchi with whom she chatted and gossiped about boyfriends late into the night. It was Ruchi who understood her need for solitude, never pestered her with personal questions and let her be.

And so she couldn’t love her because both of them were girls?
Suddenly, it felt unfair. Love is love, irrespective of age or sex. So what was she feeling guilty about! No, she should stop feeling that she was doing something immoral, she decided.

She couldn’t hide this from Ruchi, could she? But how would Ruchi react? Will she understand her, or, god forbid, stop being her friend?

There was a knock on her door. Neha arranged her duppatta and said, “Come in..”
The door opened and Ruchi walked in…
“You look tensed, all ok?”
Neha smiled. “Yes. All is ok now.”….

2008-07-23T10:18:00.002+05:30

Man propses. God disposes.
Why do I even plan anyting... at all..
Especially something which depends on other people to be fulfilled?
I have taught myself so many times - so, so many times, not to have any expectations from anyone. And still I do. Still expect. Woes of the human heart. The bloody conditioning of this godforsaken society. Makes me crave, wish, hope, dream, want...
Why? Why can't I become cold to all this? Not to have any expectations, any wishes, any desires...

random aggression

2008-07-18T17:10:00.002+05:30

don't take it away from me..
my right to be sad...
am melancholy's own daughter
and it will show
in my angst
in my tears
in the frown etched on my temple
in the scratches on my arm
in the bleakness of the eyes
and the darkness of my soul
let me live it
it's my moment
don't ask me to smile
coz i really cannot
you really want me to fake it, do you?

as you will have it...

The begining...

2008-07-03T13:18:00.001+05:30

So I am starting here now. What I left behind...
My new blog.
Welcome.... :)