The drama.

Retrospection is a mind-fucking reality. Its a realisation that's peeping in a bit too late. I cannot sit here, battling with fever, and try to recall the good, the bad and the ugly things that have hit me in the year that's ending in half an hour. There are times when the emo, daft child in me sat victimsed, crying and loathing every entity with a fucked up cynicism. And there were times, she chose to be a bitch. One question, does self happiness and peace count more than sympathy, care and concern?
This year was the first time I was in love and the first time I chose to be out of it. With misandry ruling, what could have been a peaceful and exciting tryst with newness, things just, well, went out of track. And there is a need, a very desperate, frantic need to run away from anything unstable. The feeling I cherish and like the most is constance. Stability, the works, that's my zone. I cannot dabble with drama, and if too much is offered to me, I make a quick exit.
I was in love once, and it hurts that THAT will never happen to me, ever again.
With the augmentation of drama in this space, I'm making a move.
Happy new year, world. Let there be peace.

So you understand less as the pages turn.

Like the eerie presence of erstwhile emotions, whose mere existence is often debatable, the occupancy of love, lust and the likes are questionable. At least in her head. She sifts through men, expecting the undelivered, losing herself in the beguiles of put up emotions. Ah, what a child! With her body giving away her daunt sexual desires which induces rage like passion even in the strong-hearted, in her heart, she was a child evaluating love. But love is such an idiosyncratic emotion. It strikes, least expectantly. For her, apparently, her body and heart were two different spheres. Could she love someone with whom she shared her body? Well, she could. Touch induces love. In the sauntering kisses gleaming through strange awakenings of lust, love is borne, and nurtured. The more natural the coming together of two bodies, separate in mind and soul, the more natural is the love induced. It leaves the child in her bewildered, and dazed. What were she to do of the growing fondness and the temporary moments of hurtful separation. Oh, what can we do about a weak-heart? And love, once borne stays. Love works that way, and everything else works around it. Even forced separation hurts the deepest pangs of love inside. Love is a betraying emotions. It hurts, and gets wounded, and yet, it chooses to stay. Oh, what do we do about love? And as she felt the stubborn emotion deep in her body, the emotion with no equaling synonyms, the emotion that could be expressed by the word, just, she sifted through life, like a baffled infant, battling infatuation, understanding the amour, and letting her body go. 

Tiptoeing.

Her monochrome thoughts are often infused with grieving tears of solitude. That forever shall be never again. Having come to terms with that, and made peace with the inner recesses that tear her minute self, she gives in to pleasures. Of company and love. But then, the shadows creep in, like the faint light of moonlight that refuses to leave that tiny crevice of your window. Did I just compare darkness to light? The closer she thinks she is to peace, the farther she is.
She tiptoes to the farthest corner of reconciliation, her feet barely intrusive, her presence largely ignored. She's often caught tiptoeing, especially, when in chaos. She tiptoes to love, and away from it. To pleasure, and to restraint. She's such a baby, she tiptoes to peace, and runs away from it too. "Oh what do we do about a problem like Maria".

P. S. Sorry, have been M.I.A for far too long. Weird-ness has been happening in life.
How is everyone in blogosphere doin'?

If I could summarise what's going through me in one word, its clueless.
I really think I need an objective right now, and you showed me one, A. Just that we don't talk anymore, so I'm back to being the old clueless self. It is important to have this one vision that takes you forward, irrespective of how badly you fare at everything else in your life, nay?
My life needs a lift-up, like you give it to them boobs, to make it more attractive and notice-worthy, if I may say so?
Blah.

Dully turning 19 in two hours. 

It doesn't feel great. 

Like blue-knickers in a garden full of butterflies.

I'm happy today. Beyond all that un-satisfaction that I'm dealing with, I'm genuinely happy.
Do you notice my new header?
Do you like it?
I absolutely love it. It is so me, and it has been designed by Kanika of Sensitive Chaos for me. I absolutely love, adore, envy [strictly for how talented she is] this girl. And now I love her even more. Thanks Kay, here's the GRAND-EST hug ever.

Also, Isha from Chaai, Paani, Etc. has just dropped the very prestigious Chai-Paani award on my lap.

I feel so special.
Thank you. I wish I could personally send you heart shaped chocolates.

P. S. “Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered. 

"Yes, Piglet?" 

"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."

Yes, I'm talking about you. You know, who. 

Mmmmm.

Quivering love.

Magnificent thoughts come to mind as I try to infuse meaning to a life that's been engulfed by your presence from all sides. And I haven't even started.
You're the lover, in awe of whom I am in those movements when you're too lustful for me to say anything, remotely important.
When we shall be sailing in dreams of pleasure, you may come lie next to me, take my hand in yours, and whisper the important-ness of life. How together is only with each other, and how pleasure can only be fathomed only in each other's arms and the realms of the bed-sheet. How love exists in the pleasure following thus. You may also tell me, how much you love me, occasionally. You see, my soul-wrenching-best-friend, I want to feel your love and touch it. My hearing shall be numb, either way. I want to feel your jealousy, not by how cold and distant it makes you feel, but how animalistic and wild it makes you. Not by how you slowly make your way to the door, but how strongly you tug at my skin. My skin. It lies dead in your absence. It occupies its space, waves out a high to strangers, but is dead in its deep recesses. It is your skin to mine that shall bring it to life. Your breath to mine that shall awaken that strange soul that does not bare itself to the common.
I have realised, miracles do not happen. They come in people. In lean people, with a weird gum to teeth ratio and addidas shoes.
You unravel the wild side in me like a mother, the hunger in her child. Carefully, with full of love. And as I quiver with rage and beguiling sexuality, you sit like a patient observer holding a baby in arms.
You've been doing great, my friend.
I suggest, we hug now. And a kiss shall follow.

How long is too long? And how little is too little?
I think I'll go grab myself happiness and save it in a sealed bottle.

P. S. Tomorrow shalt be the day that I write, a real post.

Simple things

On why childhood and Charlie Brown make more sense now, than they ever did. 

Of criss-crossed games,
and thwarting emotions.

I'd give my heart to subtle contentment.

How long can I lie aslant consumed by the chasm of emptiness?

Dear, not-so-content-lover-of-mine, will you accept me for my skewed up cynicism, and my need to be victimised? 

I need a distraction, as the very thoughts are consuming my head day in and day out.

Perhaps, the concept of forever is a myth, and I sit here, laughing out loud at my spirited naivety. Like the old aunty would say, "How innocent!".

"How true!"

And I can sift back and forth of real and unreal, of thoughts in my head and the real world sarcasm.

What a joke have you made of yourself?

Perfection is a disembodied feeling, you fool.

Laugh out loud, as perhaps, that's the only way your heartaches will be neglected.

The need for venting out has been quenched.

Suspiro ergo sum. 

I need to calm the fuck down. 

Happiness, much?

Blogger's an awesome place et al, but see, who just made it awesome-er?
Yes, S has a blog and its this- Xplicit Content. Parental Advisory. Not.
Yes he can be funny and sarcastic like that.
A tad bit irregular, too.
But, an amazing writer, somebody I respect, so he's good, see?
Awesome, yes, please.
And guess who his first post was about?
cough-cough-please-check-it-out-cough-cough.
For me, personally, the blogosphere just became a happier place.
Yussss!

P. S. Let's clear out a few things.
No, he hasn't paid me to write this.
Yes, he truly is an amazing writer.

Just thinking.

I've been wondering if I should make my other blog that is Tryst With Newness  [name subject to changes] a photo blog. Granted I'm not the least bit of a photographer, and I've barely started out, but I could write little snippets and stories in accord with my photos. What do you guys suggest?
Also, I've been trying to develop a series of stories regarding this theme called Complexistan. You can find the posts about it here.
Do let me know what you think about it.
I'm feeling random.
And this post was just that.
Okay, bye.
Also, enjoy your vacations.
kthnxbai.

Are you strong enough to see the lights?

She's a mystic soul, she meanders on her own, with her camera in tow.
She walks, stops, smiles to strange faces and unwelcoming facets.
She just stays, alone.
Her need for company is often unrequited.
Her grief, often unanswered.
With her doubts resting, and her trust dubious, she makes her way among the crowd, the mingling ones with put-up smiles.
She pretends to smile at a joke, she doesn't really understand it.
She silently makes her way out when they play their music. She doesn't appreciate the thumping sounds and the non-lyrical banter.
Music's that that's often playing in her head, with the lyrics buzzing like they do in them, cartoons.
She spots lights, the ones that catapult her to a sudden feeling of elation, the ones that give her a high without the need of nicotine-fills, the ones that make her eyes glimmer with happiness.
She clicks.
She feels.
She smiles.

P. S. That's a picture clicked by me. What do you guys think?

P. P. S. for people who'd know, that's a picture clicked across the oval maidan at churchgate at around 10pm in the night.

You would.

After all the love we share, there shall come a time when decisiveness must be achieved. That is when we might take the plunge. The wait for that moment is killing me from the insides. You know, now, do you?

Of moral uprightness and all that jazz.

In other things, my exams are over.
And so is my first semester.
And so is my busy, insomnia-inducing monotonous college.

Coming back to the topic, I can be morally and ethically upright. So much so that everybody's business becomes mine, thereafter. Yes, even your's. Do not look at me like that.
I'm all [not] for fake prestige of any kind. To put it bluntly, if you deserve the praises coming to you, nobody would be more happy than me, but if you don't, then I'm sorry, I do not appreciate your awesomeness, or whatever it is, beneath those confident, fake smiles you put up.
Enough said.

Also, this signals the start of my active blogging phase. Yay-ness, much?

Soapy dreams.

GIRL, TO BE WITH YOU IS MY FAV'RITE THING

UH HUH

AND I CAN'T WAIT TIL I SEE YOU AGAIN

YEAH, YEAH

I WANT TO PUT ON MY MY MY MY MY

BOOGIE SHOES

JUST TO BOOGIE WITH YOU, YEAH


She started her day with disco.
With the Bee Gees, The Sunshine Band and the likes.
And all the while, she'd be running around the house naked, save for her shorts. That was her idea of dancing, whilst waiting for the soap to be unraveled from its cover.
And as her mum scrubbed her fat arms, and her face, which shriveled into multiple frowns, she heard Kool and the Gang, singing their heart out.
But it wasn't the music that filled the mornings with delight. 
Though, they did play a part. It was the smell.
The familiar eerie smell of childhood, she now missed.


And today, as she was told that it wasn't available in the market anymore, her mind turned child-like again. They returned, the faint smells of childhood. Mysore sandal soap smells, when running as dancing was forgiven. When the world was happy, and there was less of black, and more of  blue. The music, remained, the smells, were slowly dying.



P. S. The song stated above, one of my all time favourite tracks. 

Yep.

I took a picture. And I liked it.

UPDATE : The camera that the picture was taken from is a canon 1100D. The picture was not edited the least bit, and it was taken it program mode, wherein I could modify the shutter speed and the blahs. :)

And then?

It  was a blurry motion,
of immense passion,
and aching desire.
And as they lay,
engrossed, entwined in the protective longing,
called arms,
she called out his name,
in a whisper,
the way she did, with miles in-between,
the love-doers,
the silent-whisperers,
ached with doting emotion,
called love.

Must. Update.

Have been away on a college trip to Udaipur. Frankly, the trip was a disappointment, maybe 'cause I expected so much more, and considering my last outing to Rajasthan [read: Jaipur and Ranthambore with my school] was beautiful to say the least. But nevertheless, hauled up with your college folks for a week can not be bad.


Also, I indulged in some candid photography in monochrome shades of my favourite people.
Some of my favourite images of the lot are here.

Also, must tell you about this visit, where we were taken to the office of Rajasthan's Dainik Bhaskar. Over there, they had a yellow room, which was used to print the sheets.
We grabbed a couple of photos there, and they looked so pretty in that light.

^That's me in the extreme left. God hasn't given me a pretty face. Whattodo?
Now, must leave.

Tristesse.

Grief.
That silently resides in every corner of her.
Smiles,
that she feigns thus,
to hide the reality,
to guard her vulnerable zest.
Frustration,
at having been misunderstood.
The thoughts flutter,
to those fleeting kisses,
that were the last remnants of
the only happy days.
Embraces of yore,
lead her on to forget,
the anger, the sadness,
but, for a momentary while.
Unless, the smiles cease to exist
yet again.
As she sighs into the emptiness,
she hugs herself tight,
protecting herself.
from the cold that resides in hearts.

Let There Be Light.

Everything's so blurry
and everyone's so fake
and everybody's empty
and everything is so messed up
pre-occupied without you
I cannot live at all
My whole world surrounds you
I stumble then I crawl




P. S. The images have been taken by me.
The words are lyrics of the song, Blurry, by Puddle of mud. :)

Not much.

When you see my life through your glasses of scrutiny, do you see any hints of perfection?
Maybe yes, maybe not.
And as I sit here, trying to state, in no uncertain terms, how hollow I feel inside of me, my words fail me, one more time.
I can't not talk as well as I did a few years back, anymore.
Its just been a gradual, downward spiraling progression, that just happened.

So, maybe, perhaps, I could just type with no pre-conceived notions of how this blog post shall be.
Yes, I have an empty feeling bothering my insides, and I absolutely do not like it.
Maybe its just how I feel for us, that brings about these tumultuous changes. How, in spite of the fact that we are annoyingly similar, we can be poles apart. How, you're the person I want to talk yet not want to talk to at the same time. How my emotions for you are as apparent and as real as heart-beats.
Damn. I've said enough.

Can I take your palm, and relate our future?

And then, she smiled.
As they walked, hand in hand, oblivious to the stares around, she did, thus.
For every question he'd demand, she'd smile in retort.
For all the things unsaid.

When the blue caterpillar moved.

My earliest memory of travelling in a train would be the annual vacations to Hyderabad and Vizag. I've been going there since forever, and the mere reflections of them, make me feel happy and child-like, and slightly, for some unknown reason, obscure. I am assuming, based on carefully woven conversations, that I was quite the spirited kid, who would never settle down. Never mind the fact, that I initially imagined the train to be a blue caterpillar, on the move.
Yes, I think it was the seats. Yes, I indeed loved them the most about the journey, and the window, and the many entertaining images on the way, that this country successfully presented. Also, prior to the journey, I'd coax my father to buy me a lot of chocolates for the ride, which, obviously never lasted for more than a couple of hours. The sugar intake played an important role in my hyperactivity in the train. But then, there are these blurred images that you interacted with during those journeys. They present no emotion, no melancholy whatsoever, but these blurred images present an aspect of your past, that you cannot go back to.
And somewhere in the distance, trains evoke a small story in my head today.

She called out to Nina, who ran to her balcony, to catch the glimpse of the afternoon train scurrying by.
"Its high time you got your studies wrapped up Nina, the trains would come and go", so said the ignoramus.
"Lauren, have you even thought about the people who traveled in those trains, covering endless regions. Do you think that they think about us, as they pass these landscapes?"
"Nina, I haven't thought about all of that. But then there are these tales of yore that my senses have been often subjected to. Stories often arise out of simple journeys. The journeys, would not be categorically such, but more in the metaphorical sense. Each relationship is a journey in the true sense of the word. The physical presence of each other, would just be an additional frosting. As you stand here, wondering of those very mystical faces, you might actually end up knowing one of them someday. And he might grow to be very special to you. And during one of the many casual conversations that you'd share, he'd mention he's been through this part of the country, and then, you'd have a common thread to reflect and laugh about."
Suddenly, she didn't seem so ignorant any more. 

Lights don't beam like they should.

I wouldn't mind letting go of things.

How and why materialism is always given a lot of importance, I understand, but for me, personally, the world would have been a lot better, if I didn't care.

I'm slowly changing into the woman I want to be. I'm gaining a lot more closure, and my priorities are changing for the better. 

I think it was a mistake not to drink today.

Because the world needs to be seen with a more careless light.

I wish attainment was as easy as it seems to the idle mind. 

When the dreamy eyes, are slowly loosing consciousness, happiness seems closer than it actually is. But then of course, morning comes with its share of harsh realities. But when you're just about to go to sleep, there is this awkward moment, when happiness seems close enough for you to hug it.

Similar patterns happens when you cry yourself to sleep. Your insides hurt so much, that grief seems to be sleeping next to you. 

I want genuine happiness, the kind that makes your eyes smile.

I just want to pour my heart out. 

When "all you need is love"

I've been wondering about it for far too long.
If possibly, love could be such, with no holds barred, with rules being damned, and people being ignored.
When the only thing that mattered was your love itself.
When one is oblivious to the other feelings that cramped the cerebrum.
When the passion for craving was so deep, and so intense, that you had to have that person, and no one else. 
Its just a thought.


And as she blushed, the adornment swayed to make way for the hidden smiles.
That love and love alone could perhaps infuse,
and as she strained to be contemplative,
he called.

The time poetry ran dry.

It is often that I do not care,

but that night presented a grim picture,

when assumptions were apprehended,

and distastes were spelled out.

While I bore the brunt of the animosity,

and I was slightly shriveled,

at how clear misunderstandings can be.

I smiled, and sobbed.

Clear, gurgled sobs.

Not unhappy.

Just misunderstood.

Presented as the picture of abhorrence,

I chose to stay mum.

And as I question the unfairness of it all,

the words that you so unleashed,

come back to me, like a gust of wind would,

and the sobs choose to appear,

and I'm left weak and insecure.

Just when she thought that the world wasn't being articulate, did he come and sweep her off her feet, to the Arcadia of dreams, that she only thought about. All this while, the permanent figurine in her life was a void. He just filled it up. 

He wouldn't leave her for anyone else. He owned her, now, even more so.  

Just saying!

I'm silently reeling under the impressions that so many people have on me. 

Some are fun to talk to. Long after the conversations cease to exist, I silently go back to them. I like that feeling.

The kind of feeling that only N and S used to give me.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Boy, you've been kind of stubborn lately, also a bit immature.

But there are reasons, beyond normal comprehension, as to why we exist.

I think, I make enough sense now.

Kthnxbai!

Conversation perils.

It starts, without much ado. 

Like the silence that seeps into awkward conversations, 

when there's nothing more to ramble upon.

'Cause goodness, as a virtue ceases to exist.

And you and I perform, to the tunes of our opinionated rhythms.

Diplomacy, well maintained.

As you and I smile, trying to scrape through the cloddishness. 

If I would have been the spectator, and not the actor,

how heartily would I have laughed, oh how heartily! 

And one day, the blurred instances of childhood, will just fade away, without as much a moment's notice.

...And all that will remain will be a few mis-leading questions.

And then, it all boiled down to nothing.

How often, if not always, have you taken decisions, that affected your very being?
I think, the wine that I sip, oh so slowly, is taking all over me.
The pain, is a little too much, but I dilute it with the whiskey, that follows soon after.
And as the drop of blood red numbness trickles down the side of my lips, my mind pursues nothingness of another kind.
If only, I'd held your hand a bit too tight.
I finally know how it feels when pain engulfs your heart.
I think, I'd rather wait for the apathy to seep in, and slowly transform to death.

"Now let's dance a while"

I'm not so good at giving titles to my posts. Thus, I look to songs for the necessary inspiration. 
Also, thesaurus.com is my favourite website. I just type in random words, to look for synonyms. I believe that it slightly helps my vocabulary, which is not good enough, for me to boast about. But, no, remove that look off your face, I genuinely do not open thesaurus, when writing a new post. We're cool on that, yeah?
I wish, and by that I mean, really wish that I'd be exchanged in a foreign exchange program, that should be fun.
Right, now, I'm failing to make the distinction between the two existing blogs of mine, one, is this of course, the other is Tryst With Newness. I'm open to suggestions for another blog name. 
So, the confusion is, which post goes where. Before writing, I have to spend crucial minutes of my life trying to gauge where I can write, what. Don't ask me why I made another blog in the first place. You ask me no questions, I give you no answers.
Also, I've been enough rude lately. I'm not replying to comments on this blog. And tonight, I will be doing just that, replying, that is.
Also, since I've been suggesting you songs every random post, so here it goes. Do not leave without giving a ear [or hear, is it?] to this one, which, by the way, inspired my post title, which, incidentally, has nothing to do with the post. 

I'm sorry, but serious love was a-happenin'

I don't remember the last time, i was so happy.
Love happened, no really.
*drum roll please*
My new camera. Yikes!
I finally have the canon EOS1100D, and I can't stop gushing about it.

Okay, I have funny hands, now what?

Also, something really happened. Poulomi from The Girl Next Door, is my classmate. Ain't that weird?
You can read her blog post about it here. 
Its cute to know your blogger friends, nice to meet them at blog-meet-ups. But crazy and awesome to be their classmate for the next three years, nay? 
And Formspring is crazy, I get asked weird questions. :/
Okay, now run along, you. 
Oh, and please, listen to this song. 

And then, the inevitable happened.

If you expect me to come up on twitter, put up a hash tag, and say how much I condemn the attacks, then you're wrong.
For once, and for the first time, yesterday changed tomorrow, that which would have been the happiest day of my life.
All, I can say, fuckers, behind it, and the ones on television [read: in white] condemning it, I wish you all go die.

update.

College has begun.
[honestlyIexpectedmore, butipromisedmyselfIwouldn'twhine]
But, yes, that means, long college hours, coupled with french classes, leaving me, quite wasted for the day.
I, honestly do not have the inclination to type any further, so I guess, I'll leave you guys with two absolute favourite songs of mine.

And just like that, she shrugged.

She analyses, with a thinking prowess of a lion on its prey. She lusts, from the corner of her eye, but she chooses her prey well. They always seem to belong to the same breed. The chauvinistic, egoistic, with an over-rated self-esteem, and well, exceptionally beautiful.

And it always ends the same way.

With hurt, and the ego going bust.

No pompous and narcissistic individual likes being over powered in the one place, where he, otherwise feels the most powerful. 

With the immense satisfaction, comes a great deal of resentment.

And she, with content in her mind, and expletives in her heart, shrugs and leaves.

That was some time, well spent. 

The issues will cease to exist, some day.

Some day, I'd be more comfortable to voice my displeasure. That could well be the day when I'd be supremely sure of myself.
Also, I want to try pulling off the ditsy, bimbo-ettish  look, someday, notwithstanding that I'd suck at it.
On a side note, I've often marveled, if not smirked, at the lack of *basic general knowledge* among my peers these days. Not meaning to say, I'm way smarter, or something along those lines, but then there are a few basic things that I believe everyone should know, if not more.
Also, I wish to know a person, a remarkable one, a kind of person, that would make me want to be like him/her/the other kind. 'Cause its been a long time, I've been duly impressed by a person, so astoundingly original.
I hope college doesn't disappoint me.
Most I know, seem to be having a very good time. I hope, I do too. Some like-minded people, will do.
Also, a day will be come, when the world will not suffer from very low self-esteem. I'd like that very much.
I think I'll leave you with a amazing song, or so I think.

The quota system royally humped me.

Yes, it did.
But I at least landed up in the second best college in the city.
So, I think, I'll quit whining now.
Also, a hot vada-pav will do, right now.
Kthnxbai!

Whining. true story.

I don't know, if crying over missed opportunities will help.
Yes, there will be talks of how awesome you are, and how you will ace it in the end. That's what they all say, that its the end that matters, but ask me, the interim does too.
Yes, ask me.

You might defy them notions, but what can you do about it?

People may have their own reasons to keep to themselves.

Reasons that they will never divulge, least of all to me, and trust me, I'm fine with that.

The real deal starts when their so called isolation [strictly from me] begins almost suddenly. It creates many an awkward moment. Its almost like, at this one moment, you were close, and the next moment, he/she doesn't even choose to say "hie" to you on facebook chat. It leaves a small part of your brain trying to analyse the now-crept-in awkwardness forever, unless, you forget about his/her mere existence, whose chances are second to never. 'Cause, science plays a huge role in it, you see.

The proton, will never attract a proton.

The electron always will. 

Its all about the whole notion of positive and negative, my friend.

And I'm the sexy proton.

Which of course, you didn't have to know.

Also, there will always be some, who have been consistently close to you, but will always make use of some little white lies, only to not let out what or who their real priorities are.

And, I will always be on the other side of the rules.

So, does that make you think that I'm intentionally letting myself feel victimized. Hell, no! I'm choosing to just go with the flow.

As clichéd as it may seem, I'm getting used to the number of changes around me. People, emotions, and priorities alike.

So I realized, over time, that going with whatever life seems to throw at you is the best bet. There will be a thousand complaints in the interim, but there will be no frustration, the lack of which, makes it a fairly  nice deal.

Clearly, I've never stood by the rules I've made. Rules like not calling someone up, not confronting someone, not seeming desperate enough, have been duly taken and passed under the table. 

My power of language notwithstanding, its an earnest effort for me to be awkward with anyone. The relationship, that always was, will always be, or so I think, only to be caught off guard [read: to be put off].

I'm apparently friendly, they say, but its just me, I'm awkwardly personal, weirdly interfering, and I don't remember the last time I treated two regular people in my life any differently.

I have my own notions, only that they are defied.

Contrary, much?

P. S. Also, pray for me, my admissions scare me sometime.

Noisy happy people crossing streets from side to side.........

..........And you stay, right where you stay.

Perhaps, the longing will gain numbness,

so will the sadness.

That heavy feeling in your heart,

will defy notions of forever,

but you stay,

right where you've always been. 

You'll stay,

in all your numbness,

with the similar whiff of emotions around you.

You will stay. 

'Cause crossing the street,

might bring back the pain, of being different, of being alone,

so, you..

Stay where you must.

Do not move, my love,

let the numbness be.

P. S. The title of the post has been credited to the song above. Pray, listen to it. 

'Cause voices will talk, and seem silent too.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains.

Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone, neath the halo of a street lamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp. When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of, a neon light, that split the night.

And touched the sound of silence.

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her thats where I belong
Yet Im running to her like a rivers song

She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love
She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love

Shes got a fine sense of humor when Im feeling low down
And when I come to her when the sun goes down
Take away my trouble, take away my grief
Take away my heart ache, in the night like a thief

They don't write like them anymore...

'Cause sometimes, I can be over the moon, also under the blues.

So, some love has just poured in, and I feel good, again.
Shambhobi  from Somewhere over the rainbow, Sam B lies [ quite a spirited writer this girl, good words, throw in some photography, and also a footballer!] and Shreya from Baawra Mann [lovely photos, some really nice words, all in all, a very pretty blog] just dropped an award on my lap.
This one...

Much love, people, much love. (:

I'm just experiencing some conflicting emotions of late, I'm just trying to understand some changing dimensions, that are going all mumble-shumble in my head. I think this is a part of having turned 18. Also admissions for graduation are on in full swing. I'l try posting some real thing soon.
Also, DSLR is happening, soon. (:
Stay happy, awesome people.

I need to play hide and seek with bliss.

Perhaps a vacation would do.
In the sweltering heat of the afternoons, when one often goes to discover the new conversions. 
Of the streets and of the discovering of routes on partly torn, tried and tested maps. 
Of crowded buses, and crying children.
Perhaps a vacation would do.
Of late night train rides, and falling off to sleep with a book under your arm.
Of the evening bliss after the afternoon perceptions.
Perhaps, a vacation would do just fine.

The 100th post.

"Sometimes, certain emotions will be triggered, that will make you happy for the time that's been lived. Certain incidents will be recollected, that will make you break into a smile, when you're all by yourself in a crowded bus, or an empty street. And then these are the moments, that you will quickly pen down in your pages, the ones you call life, only that they will be written on the happy side of the book."- Me [with all humility]


So, after about 10 years, when this blog could exist as a .com/ .in or not exist at all, I will be reminded of this 100th post of mine, and i might just break into a smile in the weirdest of situations.
So blogging wasn't started on an impulse, or something. I don't remember myself when I didn't write. Its like, I've always been writing, and we're not talking school essays here. Its just this thing that I have with words.
So, talking about ten years down the line..
I might or might not remember the bloggers who's blogs i so love to read, so I do not want to leave any thing unsaid.
Alright, so there are many creative people out there, some write way better than I do. And who's blogs I genuinely like, 'cause they're all awesome like that.
So I just thought I'll bestow upon you guys a very small, humble award.

I ain't awarding you thus, 'cause I'm good enough to give you one. This image might just let you know, how much awesome I think your blogs are. Enough written, the blogs I so love..

Artemisia D. - The Elastic Chaddi Chronicles 

Kuhu's blog, so identifiable- A place for my head.

Mehak- Sempiternal Scribbles

Shreya- Such A Cow

Ujjwal- Sour Canvas

Shambhobi- Somewhere over the rainbow, Sam B lies

Kanika- Sensitive Chaos

Abdullah- Cogito, Ergo Sum.

Dishari- Who? What, nails! Ooo! Squirrel! OMGGG

Kaylia- The Many Colours Of Happiness 

Amy- Defining Amy

Zh. - Random Indie Artistic Love Child

Eon- The Silhouette 

Anshul- Aesthetic Blasphemy

Aakash- Moody Mocktails

Priyanka Banerjee- The Voice In My Head

Ice Maiden

So keep radiating your awesomeness. (:

An open letter to Mr/Miss Anonymous

Dear [Not] Anonymous,
                                    You're quite a spirited person out there, looking for a chance to vent out your frustration, concerning your lack of creativity on my blog space here. Let me make a few things very clear to you. This is my blog. What I write, and what I express is completely my look out here. I don't write here to please commenting retards like you. I've made it quite apparent that I will not tolerate anybody using any sort of profanity out here towards anybody, and you come around, trying to prove you can. Seriously? Are you trying to test my knowledge of the same? Please don't try. It's a losing battle. Concerning your comment, yes it has been deleted for your usage of words, but I might as well reply to you, still. Regarding to what you've said, how there are more serious issues than me not being understood, perfectly reasonable, I say, but, let me just point this out to you- this blog does not concern trade analysis, or world politics, or pop culture or environmental issues. This is a personal blog, with the words, all original, penned by me, about things that concern me on a daily basis. It is a creative space for me to list down words that affect my basic thinking process. If it does not matter to you, stay away from it. If you have healthy criticism to offer, do so, that perhaps being the only reason that I haven't moderated the comments, so that people will be free to point out the good and the not so good points, but you make me re-think that. Trying to put your point across by using expletives, dude, even a fucktard can do that. If you think I write crap, say it, albeit, in a civilized manner. Be a man, and own up to your words. Hiding behind the facade of an unknown person, seriously, what kind of a loser are you? Might as well, reveal your identity and make it seem a fair discussion, nay? Seriously, i wish I could ask you to use your brains, where they are needed. Much sympathies for your lack of vocabulary.  Tata now. 

Evasive logic.

For me, its quite a task to hide my feelings. Whether its sadness, displeasure or happiness, its quite a task to conceal the way I feel. Many a times, in anger, I tend to be the nagging bitch that I try hard not to be, unsuccessfully of course, 'cause i feel it important for the other person to know how i feel, and for him/her to make amends about the same. And you know what totally turns me off. When the other person doesn't try. Had it been the other way round, I wouldn't have done the same. I know that. True. Story. 

So, I think I'l just sit here, listen to the Beatles, and rant about imperfect my life is. About how, there are barely any people who can understand how i feel like, how there is not a single body who'd care much about my hidden emotions, I'd sit and rant and rave like that, and silently hope if I could strum the guitar as awesomely as John Lennon does. 

Crying
Waiting
Hoping
You'll come back
I just can't seem to get you off my mind

Crying
Waiting
Hoping
You're the one I love
I think about you all the time

Crying
Tears keep a-falling all night long
Waiting
It seems so useless, I know it's wrong

Keep on crying Crying
Waiting
Hoping
You'll come back
Baby, some day soon
The things will change and then you'll be mine

Crying
Tears keep a-falling all night long
Waiting
It seems so useless, I know it's wrong

Keep on crying Crying
Waiting
Hoping
You'll come back
Maybe some day soon
The things will change and then you'll be mine

Crying
Waiting
Hoping 

Incidental togetherness.

Perhaps as incidentally,

as the stars peep in the twilight.

We happened.

Not by plan,

Oh! They were broken long back, 

and put to rest.

Like I said, 

without the slightest disposition.

Putting thoughts into the abandoned mind,

and leading into a crazy purpose,

we happened,

not my plan,

but by the mere accident of it all.

It was timed oh so perfectly,

that I'd like to believe,

it was meant to be.

Its afore-math hardly matters,

not anymore.

It seems so distant, so blurry,

All I know,

is the last one year,

and the love it has shown to be.

The emotion that is sporadically spoken about, but always existent underneath.

That is what you are to me.

P.S. The image is taken from a very cute website www.cardboardlove.com with the images as personal and as real they can be. The images, put ideas into my head, like this image just did. Stop, now! 

Battle Of The Strings

So, I've been absent and how? No posts since a week, whatsoever. Well, me and my friends had organised an event last sunday. It was a rock band competition, and it was looking to promote Indian rock. Five amazing and emerging rock bands namely Bhramm, Natural Volume, Astravidh, Qafia and Sparsh were the shortlisted few to perform. And the event had one of the most respected bass guitarists Rahul Ram of Indian Ocean as the judge. The event went crazy awesome, though the last few minutes, gave us, the organisers, some crazy jitters. But the music was simply the most eclectic part of the event, also Rahul Ram's presence.

Bhramm-the Winning band

Bhramm with Rahul Ram and Nirdosh Sobti

Qafia

Sparsh, the band that kick-started it.

Natural Volume

Rahul Ram and Nirdosh Sobti

So Bhramm were the winners, and Natural Volume and Qafia were the first and second runners-up respectively. But I tell you what the highlights of the event were, for me.


1. Kushagra and Winith, the vocalists of Bhramm-their voices were crazy awesome. They gave me goosebumps, and together, they are deadly.
2. Aamir, drummer of Sparsh- He was crazy, it was almost like he was playing in trance.
3. Chaitanya, the lead guitarist for Natural Volume- All of 17, this guy walked away with a Marshall guitar for being the best guitarist of the lot, and a lot of praise from the man, Rahul Ram, himself.
4. Piyush, the keyboard player for Qafia- This guy is just 13! The youngest of the lot, he was so good with the keys.
5. The music- You know what the best part of the event was? Not one band disappointed us the least bit. Everybody exhibited sheer excellence on stage, so much so, that the crowd went crazy.


Thank you guys, for the event you made it out to be.


P.S. I fished out all the pics from wherever I could find them. I'l try get some more.