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.

Rising smoke.

This is something I randomly scribbled in my work diary, while travelling, and utterly bored. One of those days when a story gets formed in your head, and when the thoughts just flows, and sadness creeps in for an autonomous person, so deep, you need to pen it down.  

Are you the same person you pretended to be?

When we first met,

in a hoard full of strangers,

under clouds of uncertainty,

breathing the air of mystery,

taking in the warmth of the half hidden smiles.

Or did you pretend at all?

You were sane then,

through crazily in love

but sane, senile

and living. 

Are we the same?

Not anymore.

You seem to be lost,

in the haze of smoke,

that your doubts so release. 

Why do you lose yourself,

in the ten grams of smoking bliss?

Don't you see,

That heaven is right here, in actuality,

in reality, in sadness,

the heaven is here.

Why do you lose yourself,

in the ten grams of smoking bliss?

Don't you feel the life amiss?

Ah! You think you're happy now,

if only, I sigh!

You're numb,

from the care,

from sadness,

from reality,

from heaven.

And you believe happiness lies there.

How sad has the world come to be,

how sad!

The mornings.

On one of the days, when confusion sets in, and emotions seem bewildered, the sunlight makes its way through the narrow apertures of the mind. I do not know, if it clears the blankness out or pretends to, but it helps me, by bringing back the smile, that was long gone and forgotten. It's not all good though. It also brings in some extraneous heat, that just increases the wanton feelings, but the warmth brings in some comfort of another level. As the day recedes to the night, the warmth is transfixed, and its only in the mind to miss. The night brings in so much of loneliness and some unrequited passion. The night brings in sadness that cries for the distance, and the thankless love. I do not understand if the night comes in with its shares of uncertainty as well. I just cannot say. Because sometimes, as the night proceeds, and my tears of the unpleasant songs exchanged dry up on the yard they fall on, the morning will always welcome me with a smile. The smile, could be well, a sad or a happy one. But it will be a smile of surety. A smile, confident enough to make its decisions. The morning comes with its share of contentment. The sun rays lift my spirit up, to sometimes, an exalted height. The morning is lovely.



Image: From Google. :)

Six places..

I think I have a thing for detachedness. Be it anywhere, there's always this fleeting thought wherein I wish I was not here but elsewhere. Sometime, if ever, I want to be in a position wherein I'm into something, and there's no other place I'd rather want to be.

And the news reports on the radio

Said it was getting worse

As the ocean air fanned the flame.

But I couldn't think of anywhere I would have rather been

To watch it all burn away.

To burn away.

^Like that.

A small pre-read warning. When it comes to travelling, I've barely been to places. So, the first three places will be ones I love most. The remaining, will be the ones I'm dying to visit. Okay?

Mumbai

Hyderabad

Jaipur

Goa

Kerala

Delhi

Rains make love.

Like the quintessential smell of the mud, when it rains for the first time, I'm caught up in the essence of it all. The mood. Yes, the mood. The leaves, freshly wet, seem to be smiling too. I'm not a nature person, but you see, the love comes easily during the rains.

So does he.

We cannot call it a love-hate relationship. Absolutely not. It was only love. But it came when the skies turned a romantic grey. Yes, I associated love with the dark colours. Darkness signified the passion, the depth, the emotion, the maturity, that he and I shared. It was not for everyone to understand. And no one was supposed to. And no one did.

Not even mum, who nagged about it everyday. The first time she saw us talking, she was mighty pleased that I came out of my shell, and was mingling with him. When she saw us kiss, with him pressed against me, me against the coconut tree, she didn't raise a sound. She saw that I saw her, but she kept quiet, so I think she was okay. But we rarely met, and whenever we did, in places frequented by others too, we just looked at each other. No smiles exchanged, no nods. Just a glance. My mum demanded to know why I cold shouldered him. Silly woman! It was love, doesn't she see? But then, she wasn't supposed to. So it was all right.

So, he came.

At the same bench that we kissed on the last time it rained.

He walked towards me waiting to hide himself from the rest of the world. The kind he lived with. The kind he hated and loved equally.

He gently placed his hand on my wet cheek, felt my skin, came close to me, and just grasped my presence in. He always thought I was unreal. He looked beautiful when wet. His ivory coloured skin against my pale white one made it seem perfectly mismatched. Such love. Almost complete.
His lips felt my face, and caressed it smoothly. And then, they stopped, on my lips. And remained there.

Some unreal love happened.

7 wants

A DSLR

A mac book.

His hug

Some brand new clothes.

a new bag

a trip to Kerala

A nose piercing

Sorry if I seemed largely materialistic on this one, I'm just in the phase right now.