tl;dr

I do not mean this to be a maudlin or heart wrenching account of anything. Writing makes me feel better is all. The month before I was due to move to b’lore for 6 months, it was all dreamy. When I think of that I feel a little repulsed by the innocent naïveté of a freshly done with college 21 year old. The first day I came was marred a little, but only a little because of the dull morning that followed and ambiguity in one very important sphere of being here. The next day began and it was still just alright, nothing too great or too bad. That ambiguity that I ambiguously pointed out persisted and bothered my neatly organized mind. It was a thorn in my side and it annoyed me so. Still I seemingly held out, for that’s what “held out” meant to me then. Another day at office, I started accepting things and well, took them in my stride and tried to move on. Make new friends, talk to new people, you know, the supposed usual. Turns out lots of subtle and minor conniving went on, perhaps conniving is overstating it. It was a little twisted but well, isn’t everything, I guess. A little bit of hope arose only to be smashed down in a billion gazillion pieces, repeat, repeat the repeat. This went on for a lot of days and one of the major things I could feel was utter and complete loneliness. At that time, it seemed like a pitch black abyss where you’re scared of the monster but deep down inside you know even the monster has taken a hike and would not like to grace you with its fearful and terrible company. Little things reminded me of home; my mother’s ringtone suddenly playing on someone’s phone in my office (still chokes me up a little), switching on the light when you come back to an empty house. I didn’t even try to eat at the dining table the first few days because sitting there alone felt horrible. The worst part ironically was talking to friends and family over phone because I had to relate the weary details of the day, of misguided ambulatory trips and cheating landlords. This will probably, no definitely, make me look like a porcelain doll, but the one routine that held was having breakdowns (mental, emotional, take your pick) every day after coming back home for different reasons. Then there was the matter of physical fitness which I was absolutely lacking. Talking of lack of things, suddenly I found myself constantly on the ola app which continued to burn holes in my pocket very lavishly. Commute, the bitch. I began looking for alternative bus routes, which proved to be as hard as looking for flats for some reason. I didn’t know the way back to my house although I ACTIVELY tried to understand the routes. There were so many and so confusing that I often mixed up a couple and ended up at roadblocks. And oh the traffic and this weird dust that never failed to get my throat all scratchy when I already had a major persisting cold. Maybe I should jot down the things that I didn’t like about this city. IT WAS NOT MUMBAI would be topping my list. The weather was horribly cold, the commute even worse. My mood wasn’t improving and one day I ended up yelling at a taxiwalla over phone who refused to pick me up at silk board. Yesterday, 2 autowallas and 2 taxiwallas rejected me and I didn’t flinch. A tip for those forlorn lovers, if you want to understand true rejection, call an ola cab when you are stranded in a strange city completely out of your wits and hungry and cold as a food-and-heat-loving lady on karvachauth day. People finally made a plan the coming weekend to go out and “chill”. I was skeptical but, well, what the hell, I went. Was horrible. We ‘bar hopped’, I had a blaring headache was hungry and it had gotten excessively cold. It was absolutely horrible. My father had come here for the weekend and was going to help me sort my stuff out. The original plan was to just chill around because my stuff was SUPPOSED to be sorted out by the time he came. We had fun times. Went around the place and he showed me places we used to go when I was a kid. He cleaned my living space and basically started my kitchen, so to speak. Basically made my life easier by a ton. He left. Then came the crushing weight of homesickness and loneliness crashing down like a billion-gallon ice-cold waterfall right on my head. I think I had become more or less immune to any possible emotion by then so I didn’t react to another piece of news which would’ve been horribly disappointing otherwise. Apparently I “Pushed through”, or something on those lines, because these are just minor, stupid problems compared to the ones people face every day of their entire lives. I had friends getting annoyed with me for whining too much, much like I was. Throughout this period, what was a little too overwhelming was the utter loneliness that I dealt with everyday. Family comfort was there but that was it, they couldn’t do much more than talk to me. It still rattles me how bad I felt, I was supposed to be strong. Let’s be clear, this is not something I hold against Bangalore at all, I spent the first 6 years of my life here, one of my very close friends comes from the city. How can I not like it? It’s just that what happened was maybe just my luck, or bad timing, or whatever. The bottom line is that I think I understand what happened. None of the situations were as bad as they seemed that time, I had imposed my inner chaos onto the world and said that the world is fucked up, I am completely fine. It’s a miracle how much 2 days of getting your life back in order and do for your mental state. So anyway, things seem alright, decent too. Things are falling back into place. Things are happening. Things are nice. Things are alright.

Honesty is the best policy (just another rant)

In the bodies writhing amidst ostentatious, smelly, firecrackery smoke;  in the kid clicking a selfie with another bunch of kids in the food court; in this girl on the next table shrieking over  god knows what with the most stupid, attention seeking  expression on her face that I have seen in a while, there is just one thing common. Pretense. Somehow the youth of today can’t seem to get over themselves. Failed a class? Well, who cares. Tripped a handicap lately? Maybe, I wasn’t looking. Put someone down because your ego couldn’t handle it?

This monologue is not just a piece of bigotry, it is also condescending and demeaning in case these people missed it. That is assuming some of them read, you know, the smart ones. It has been a long long time since I wrote anything thinking well, live and let live. Told myself, being cynical all the time ain’t that good for the general outlook towards life. But WOW. I think I can safely say this country is done producing the Tagores and Kalams for a while. The challenge for women these days is seemingly the infamous thigh-gap situation, or this contouring business. I don’t know what is going on in the boy sphere. Is it misunderstanding and smashing  feminism? Or is it having high beauty standards that they need to live up to. I don’t know. Understand this, I am not disrespecting anyone who has had a meaningful conversation or an honest moment lately. Just all the other ones. Gender doesn’t even begin to matter here. It’s about mental capacity and how people are using it. I feel physically sick when I see pretentiousness ; acting like how is socially deemed cool, bragging about the sloppiness in day to day life, being obnoxious, not being conscious of the human presence that is seemingly invisible to your quirks. Again, I don’t mean to impose opinions on people. Just wish that this might hurt/offend someone enough to start thinking. To ACTUALLY start thinking about the things that do matter. This is not a question of personal choice. The argument that ‘things that matter to me might not matter to you’ is fucking redundant because COME ON I am fairly positive uploading a picture on facebook saying ‘#FCFUN’ is the new translation of ‘lookie here, although I think I'm smart, all I want to do is say that I matter because some people agreed to click a demeaning picture with my sorry self’ and it doesn’t matter. AT ALL.

But YOU matter, little kid. You need to understand that your worth is so much more than people, so much more than getting noticed for being loud. Someday you are going to wake up without friends. Someday you will be invisible to that girl/boy you like. Someday you might feel pudgy for having eaten unhealthy. But all that is OK because none of that is going to define your self-worth. None of that will dictate how you will be treated in society. The only person who will do that is YOU. If you disrespect yourself, people (like me) are going to disrespect you and someday feel so nauseous about your pretentiousness that they will have to write about you. Please don’t be that kid, be honest with yourself, do something real. Run, love, get your heart broken, FEEL something, talk about curing diseases, dance, swim, anything. This sounds preachy, but it is just that. We were taught ‘honesty is the best policy’ in moral science for the single reason of it being the statement to live by.

Open your eyes and realise that you are beautiful, man and woman alike.

The Sea

It's the sea,
Oh beautiful, soothing sea
endearing and imploring
Surrenders self to you,
And caresses you like a lover.

It's the sea,
Oh raging sea,
Invites you and repels you.
Takes you with violent love
and sets you free.

It's the sea
It moves like a maiden,
Compells you to inch closer.
A touch, a single touch perhaps..
There. You are doomed.

It's the sea,
That has come to swallow you
To absorb you and all your wins
All your losses and all your loves
All your memories are his' now.

And so are you. 

Wail of the Dying Jay

Azure as sea and white as pearl,

He lay dying on the grass.

Hurt, hunted and near death.

He cried and wailed,

For it was pain,

That shooting pain,

That caged him in his mortal cage.

It trapped his holy soul,

Pierced his heart,

And stole his grace.

He had flown high,

In his time,

Above the wales,

And above the streams.

He had tasted the skies,

And kissed the waters.

He had loved and lain,

With a cerulean maid, vain.

Now lay he, a crumpled mess.

With a broken wing,

And a broken will,

Proud and helpless.

He knew it was time.

Time to give up, and to perish.

One last time he wailed.

It resounded of frayed hope,

And battered senses.

Hurt, hunted and near death,

He lay dying on the grass.

Azure as sea and white as pearl.

Anna's Lullaby

There once was a man who lived in the shadows. He wore darkness like a blanket and found solace in being aloof.He had calloused feet and a calloused heart. He then met a little girl by the name of Anna. She was like balm to his pain.

He taught her how to dance, for in his prime, he was a dancer himself. They would dance for hours till the man could no more bear to stand. He then would watch Anna dance. After they called it a day, the girl would sing him to sleep everyday till she could see his eyes flutter in sleep reacting to his colourful dreams.

Days passed, months flew by as they danced together. One day after singing him to sleep, she slept and never woke up. The man's heart broke as his cries would keep the dogs awake at night. He was old, infirm and weak. He counted days on his fingers praying for his suffering to stop along with his broken heart. 

One day when he sat burning his last lamp of oil, he found, in the folds of his sheet, the shoes that anna wore while they danced.For a moment as he held the shoes, he felt like he could feel Anna herself. 

He felt a sense of peace settle over him as he stopped longing for death.He knew it was his time now, he knew who would be there to greet him as he neared The Light. With this realisation, he pressed her shoes to his heart and sang Anna's lullby. That was the last night that he slept in pain. With the song, he plunged into a deep, peaceful slumber never to wake again.

Pieces of Burnt Paper

I write me, my time

On a flimsy sheet with faded ink,

In a dark room by a flicker of the flame.

In hopes of manifesting,

Realizing myself.

In me I see a girl.

A little girl with long hair,

Dancing about like a painter’s stroke,

On a yellowed canvas.

In a blue frock and plaited hair

And a basket of roses

She runs across the field,

Chases a sparkle, a dream.

Winds come and strike her down,

Rain becomes her glory.

Her flowers wither and fall,

And with time, so does she.

This I write, I write in regret.

It weighs me down like a thousand chains.

I committed a crime that cost my life, 

I let the girl go.

In her place I find now,

A hardened speck in a paper town,

A flat town in a disc world.

With linear souls and pointless emotion

And a fire that doesn’t burn.

With contagious insanity and desire.

This world deceives her,

Blinds and pushes her.

A fire starts on one end,

reaches the other.

In its wake, leaves ashes that are her.

Ashes blow around This World,

defeated but free, unwavering.

This world, but, crumbles around her,

Like pieces of burnt paper.

Guess who's back.

Sleepless. Eyes wide open. Nose equally blocked. No luggage. Bah.

Well this was a bummer.

To tell you the truth i had expected a bit more. From myself really. But then hey, im sick. Coming here this time doesn't seem like the woohoo scenario I imagined. Infact its quite the opposite. You're sitting in class going .. nuclear. Fuel. Combustion. Hmm combustion. Human bodies do that. Necrosis fascitis. Ugly pictures. To BAM energy and why? Because everything is clawing at you and constantly whispering in your ear, 'have to have to do good'. It was pretty annoying really. I had expected some sort of raw hungry-for-knowledge enthusiasm which turned out to be more like eh-nose-icantbreathe-mylungsareabouttoexplode-blekhiasm. The only thing that has found perfect space is that absolutely heavenly bookshelf which solves my bedside table problem. Really, my bedside earlier was actually the marble floor.

Whats more, after two years of experience I forget to carry that infernal umbrella around and ended up drenched and cold with some really smart people playing volleyball on the basketball court with a football rather expertly. I realise suddenly that I dont really have a place to eat apart from the greasy and spicy restaurants which, may I point out, I'd usually love. Ah, what's better than a piping hot, overspiced, bread pakoda in the chilling rain. And then there's the ginormous realisation of tomorrow's queue hassle for the satanic ritual of paying the fee.

This day couldn't be better. Ah sweet Manipal.

On a rather forcibly optimistic note, tomorrow is a new day. Full of getting things done and setting agendas.

Oh who am I kidding. Im too bleh to think that way. Things are going to be same. Mundane and dry. Hell I might snatch a couple of fun moments what with the weekend and all. Even if that is a lord of the rings marathon. But there are no sisters here. No gossiping with mom or dad. No watching cwg with family. Cheering the Indians on and secretly checking out hot diver bodies. No wayward imagination of worlds on specks. No hot soup of ugly veggies.

I miss you hot soup of ugly veggies.

Zara hatke, zara bachke

The wet road glistens like diamond and gold pellets as the streetlamps and advertisment boards lighten the way ahead. What is it about this city that sends me plunging into my own mind looking for just the right adjectives. Nothing else would do, it has to be just fitting. As i stepped out of the station, into the open, I smell the salt in air, the humidity rubbing against my skin. Bombay has a dull, pulsating charm about it which induces dreams of being a part of one of the NCPA productions, a commercial sailor or some corporate bigshot with a private cabin in BKC. While people usually define cities, its style, standard of living. Bombay defines its people. It drives them to work day and night and still finds them chilling on marine drive after hours. 

The very sight of the sea inspires some hidden side in me and I want to write and fly with the eagles over band stand. Bombay is so mysterious.. so enigmatic. Like a woman's moods does its weather change. Like the curves of her body, the waves rise and fall. Like the folds in her saree, the city holds strong, scented secrets. Whispers of bedside lovers, of manslaughter, of a child studying by the candle light fills its nights. It is a city of eyes. Listless eyes of the homeless man, his curly, matted hair, his little sack that holds the sum of his belongings. Stoic eyes  of the working woman in a suit who breaks for a quiet lunch at Mondegar , scan the newspaper. The only hint of emotion is given by her pursed, red lips which quiver with excitement as stocks rise. The lonely writer and his bloodshot eyes linger over a burnt cigarette butt, drawing inspiration from the oddities in life.

 Bombay is like a living organism, slowly inching its way to nirvana. It contains all of its history, all the families that have been here since it was given as dowry. With traffic doubling as blood, its slowly moving lifeforce and sea as its external shine. I have said this before and I won't hesitate in saying it again. Bombay is a city of contradictions. It hides dirt under all the glamour. And under the dirt is where you find more glamour. This is a city where if you shun something because of the looks of it, you're doomed to experience only a fraction of the city. Forever. It is the city of rich imagination where if you merely think it, it comes true. And whatever is the truth you would probably never think of it.

Im in love with this city. And I always will be.

Ek cutting chai.

Co-incidence, fate, whatever. But whenever there's a point of complete and utter despair, a train journey is staring me right in the face. I think every year I can attribute a week's worth of time ONLY to train journeys. It might not sound like much. Ive had major paranoia issues since as long as I can remember and these journeys somehow help me unwind. When I travel back home from college the compartments are mostly filled with students. I have been ragged in a train. Lightly though, was fairly fun. Sometimes some 6-8 guys are found with their heads dug in their pcs working their way through dota or cod. Sometimes a group of students just sit and smoke and exchange anecdotes of how that teacher was such a douche. I usually end up reading or watching something or just sitting down at the door with a friend.
This time was different.  After days of despair and ambiguity before and after results for god knows how many things,  I found myself at the end of my rope. I couldn't think straight and make a sane statement. 'Spiralling out of sanity' as I'd call it. 15 hours later, now im sitting across from my dad just staring into the horizon. I'm at peace. I dont even understand how that works just that it does. And beautifully so. I saw a string of  families living in a slum. Kids with dreadlocked hair from neglect, men with bare backs and women bent low in daily chores. And not a SINGLE one of them with a frown on their faces. One family had made pets out of this family of white strays, their pups playing with the tots. Kids were playing hop scotch and a girl was batting for a team of boys (which was like necter for my feminist soul). ROWS upon rows of identical bunglows in the exact same colours amusing the LIFE out of me and my dad. Open and vast ravines and a lone soul sitting somewhere in what seemed to be silent contemplation. I spent the last half an hour with this little girl, who barely reaches my knee, jumping around me playing let's-jump-around. Since I'm bad at babytalking I kept our conversation limited to 'tractor' and 'cow'. But then it WOULD be a little freaky if  I managed a conversation with a 2 year old. Anyway jokes apart, Travelling is one of the most beautiful aspects of any human. And in modern times its one of those simple pleasures of life which people have forgotten owing to their self important state of being perpetually busy. I'm going to a place where im going to be living alone. And working with people twice my age and I'm TERRIFIED. I have no idea as to what am I gonna make of it. I have no idea how I will deal with shifting and everything else. But after about 51 towns, 15 hours, 3 fields of marigold, some assortment of white and purple flowers, gazillions of salt panes later, I know I'll be fine. And everything else will be fine too.

Darkness and its Sanctity

A room, dark as night

Dark doors, slammed shut.

Dark windows cracked and shattered,

Dark sheets that smell of yew.

A dark lady, her companions dark thoughts.

Of wilted flowers and shriveled fruits, she wrote,

Of crushed hope and of broken souls.

Beside a lamp, she wrote.

Her tresses, wild and unruly.

Twisted freedom plagued her mind

Twisted bonds and twisted ropes,

That bled her writhing arms.

Thorns that dug into her neck,

And that pierced her soul.

In pain she found solace, it became her nectar.

Wrenched away from home and from any humanity

She sat by the light,

Writing, her mane flowing like a waterfall.

In Those moments, filled with darkness

She found her darkened heart.

It bled by the second,

For an estranged love,

For a smashed pride.

It bled onto the tattered gown,

Onto the silk, that once was pristine.

It bled for the pain she saw,

For things that might have been.

For smashed dreams.

Bound in chains,

Bound in shackles she wrote

Her skin raw and fingers bleeding.

She found solace.

In broken dreams and crushed hopes

She found her peace.

Where is my mind.

For the past few days, weeks even, my existence has been a chaotic, unconsolidated mush of unrecognizable emotions. Things that I never felt before as a schoolgirl. Fear, uncertainty, a sense of disconnection to name a few. It struck me today, that it is all a reaction to change. The first few months of college seemed like someone had opened a window in a room, long closed, and let atmosphere in. it was so new, so fresh and most of all, so SO welcome. Met new people, forged relationships, found myself and lost myself again. In my almost-two-years here, never once I thought I would want to go back to That time again. That I would crave that half an hour I got while travelling. That half an hour which was entitled to ME. Not to the teachers, not to those wretched exams, not to my family even. In there almost-two-years, I have had plenty of time to spend alone , doing things my way. I have voraciously thanked my stars for the life I lead and the life that my family leads. And then suddenly there was a void I did not how to fill with work or boys or friends. This void shoved itself head first into my stomach sometime back. I don’t know exactly what triggered it, but then I started enjoying time alone more. That was all I had, a string of moments of weakness in the dark, where no one could see them. And then I would wake up next morning and be that cool brave person again. That strong person who is above all the lesser emotions. This was my ‘enjoyment’ of alone time. This void I tried to fill with music. It gives me satisfaction but it still leaves me hungry. I started reading God of Small Things, and all my memories from That time in school came rushing back. when I was nursing a broken heart, and growing ever closer to my soul mate. This book reminded me of how there were such less people in school, and you could walk to another room and find someone who had read a similar book and start talking about it. College has been a rush of so many lights, thoughts, people, emotions, dresses.. that it is over whelming. And scary. I thought I adjusted very well. No one adjusts well.

Ceremony, rituals. These are the things we hold on to when change sweeps us off our feet. Mine were writing, reading books, finding joy in little things. And when I come here and see people, the maelstrom is so strong that I'm losing grip on my rituals. These rituals are also, in way, building blocks of a religion. They are the pillars, whose strength will be called upon by a crumbling temple. Rituals are pillars to a crumbling faith. I'm losing my pillars. When that fragile mask of societal norm shatters and when you are laid bare for everyone to see. When that knot in your throat becomes bigger and starts to choke you. When that butterfly feeling in your stomach turns to a malevolent lurching of a raging river. In those moments of weaknesses, I cant find anything to hold on to. My writing is as stale as dry wormwood. By the grace of any cosmic entity that I can care to acknowledge, I have everything anyone could wish for. And yet there is a fear gnawing at my innards. A fear of losing it entirely perhaps? No. it is a fear of losing myself completely and become a machine. It is a fear that a burning throat fears when chilli passes through it. A friend pointed out that in all my conversations, I use the first person with ample generosity. Is it because there is someone inside trying to hold on to what I was? It’s a fear of running out of my essence. That fuel , that makes me who I am. 

and Voila! There's your Epiphany for today!

A friend turned to me this one day and very genuinely told me, “You know, you say you want to become a scientist, you’re not really doing anything about it.” And then I say, “I’m still a kid, and I’ll do it when I grow up.” This was a couple days back, when I was 6 months away from turning 20. I’m not phobic like other girls, “oooh I’m 20, I’m so OLD!” frankly I don’t get what the big deal is. We are HERE to turn old and experience everything. But when I come to think of it, I can’t even think of tomorrow. The fact that all elders just go ahead and say, “You young people never think about your future.” This is generally met with a scroll-full of arguments including points like,

“Oh no no, I’m preparing for blah exam.”

 Or,” oh sure I know what job I want” or,” what car I want.”

.. And the works. I can’t think of growing up in this world. I just can’t. I can’t picture myself working under some boss, trying to meet deadlines and reminiscing about college, and the good old days where deadlines were a blur between some teacher flattery and a show of helplessness. It is such a cruel world. I can’t think of my two little sisters taking things so seriously and being all intense and professional about things. I don’t want them to grow up. I don’t want anything to change. But it is all going to and I’ll be forced to wear pencil skirts and look professional. I will be looked down upon if I wear converse to work. People will judge me if I have an extra piercing or a tattoo spelling out led zep or an ex flame.

Everyone says experiences in college are nothing; they just train you for the future. Where is the future? School was supposed to make me ready for college because that was our interpretation of the real world. What is real world anyway? How is THIS not real? I’m typing on a real laptop, sitting on a real chair. If things we face later are going to be worse than this why should ANYBODY grow up? It’s like letting life fuck you around with your permission. And anyway, what IS this bullshit about facing bigger problems. It is not as if one day the earth will be dying and I’ll be the only person who can save it. Now THAT would be a real problem, if seen objectively. Because after that nothing would be real so that will be the last real thing happening to ANYONE. Anyway, why SHOULD I not take NOW seriously when I don’t even know what I’m doing 5 minutes from now (preferably studying, but when has that happened). All I want to do right now, is go to the ground, lie down in the middle of it and look at the stars. If I were the last person on earth, it would be so nice, there would be nobody. It would be so quiet and then there would be no fear of bumping into someone and make small talk.

“Hey! You’re alive!”

 “Yea! So are you.”

 “Umm Yay okay.”

 And then what. You’d be forced to be friends with that person. It’s like marrying that person. Or you could just shoot them. OR you could trick them into believing that you don’t see them, now THAT would be a sight.

Anyway, coming back to the point, this is all damn immature of me; I’m being like how I was in 11^th grade, all pessimistic about things. It’s a mentality, being pessimistic. Take me for an example, I'm sitting here cribbing about something that is biologically bound to happen (unless of course), I should be doing something which I could use later in life, or simply what interests me. Well the good part in my case is that at least I have a vision; I know what I want to do which is based purely on my interests. I have absolutely no resistance from anybody to do it except my own self. So what I SHALL do now, instead of writing this, is study. I will, do math.

Big woman.

Hello there, all you feminists. Let me tell you one thing, it’s a bad time to be a woman. It will always be a bad time to be a woman, and , oh you suddenly agree to that? Well, hold your horses. Your being a feminist is only your ego lashing out, desperate to hold on to something that renders a woman even remotely respected. Notice how I said respectED and not respectABLE. Women are always respectable, but then deep down inside, we all know you(man and woman alike) don’t respect a woman. However much you want to scream at me right now, and well, remind me of the fact that I'm a woman too, the fact remains the same. Since you were a kid, you’ve been taught to disrespect ‘the female’, and by example no less. That girl in your grade who  you pushed around and bullied because you had a ‘crush’ on her, or well, simply. Your sister, whose plaits you’ve pulled since as long as you can remember, and then branded it sibling-affection. Your mother who you have manipulated into giving you extra money to have that canteen meal which your father refused to. Men have always found ways of disrespecting women, be it a teacher who has given you the gift of knowledge, or your mother who, well, bore you for 9 months, or that girl you saw drunk the other day on the road.

This, as has been repeatedly observed, everyone denies. “No, I’m not like other people you know, I have grown up with three sisters and I TOTAlly respect them” if you catch them on a normal day, you could often hear them say, “MAN did you LOOK at that ass. That shit is what I'm gonna tap one day. *hooting and grins*”.  Hitting a woman, as a matter of fact, is not as demeaning as ordering her to get your tea and then getting pissed off when she hasn’t mixed the sugar. Yes sir, open your eyes, this is a human being working, physically, as much as you are and emotionally, probably even more. Oh and that’s another thing. You're having a fight with your girlfriend and then you tell her, “hey I love you, just wait for a couple days. You’re PMSing , it will pass. Don’t worry.” 

Well while we are at it, I'm gonna take up the age old dilemma of gender disparity. A boy drinks, comes back to hostel with a couple smokes and his friends are like, “bhai, ab bohot ho gaya, stop smoking. Try toh kar.” Replace the boy with a girl and you hear, “dude, go to so and so room, you can smell smoke from outside. Her parents haven’t taught her anything or what?”, “ oh that girl? Yea yea, Ive seen her drunk a lot of times.” And a third one joins in,” oh yea man, I saw her making out with this guy the other day. What a slut.”. now this was an example of a woman’s reaction to their kind. All unicorns and rainbows. What about a man, you say? What does a man think? “dude she’s so badass, but naah, she’s not the kind of girl you date, you know because my girlfriend will be decent .. blah blah” and the works.

A woman will always remain a plaything to EVERY man on earth. She’s the one you will go to when you need comforting. She’s also the one you(straight men) will go to when you are horny. She is nothing but a device to you, a device you can appreciate from time to time, revel in its beauty or that new tube dress that accentuates her figure, but you will never consider her your equal. She has climbed mountains, smashed world records, won laureates, has patents. She has given birth to you, she has seen to your every demand, she has held your hand and sat by you when she had a cabinet full of work, she has tended to you with no complaints selflessly. And you won’t acknowledge it, why? Because , “I’m a man, I'm stronger and smarter than you, you can take care of the babies while I prove my masculinity to others by insulting and ordering you.” Even if you do, even if a woman sparks that inspiration and admiration in you, you say, “I like women on top*pun intended*. The alpha woman, who is the best among all” because why, it flatters your ego.

Basically, if you are a woman with ego, ambitions, emotions and natural human needs,

my sincere condolences.

My star, Little star

twinkle, little star.

do you wonder what you are?

a thousand miles, and inches apart,

your mind feels tangible by day,

lucid by night.

little steps to clarity,

your feet may take,

sluggishly the clarity slips away.

the wretched sun, over the brook,

the wretched rain, the wretched peace.

your dreams of calm, I snatch,

render you with pain, 

fecundate with chaos.

revel in the langour,

slowly eating away at you.

luxuria, gula, ira, invidia,

avaricia, acedia, superbia,

your seven comrades, 

shall never leave your side.

little star, find beauty in death,

in agony of brothers, 

in grieving sisters.

your mind performs le danse macabre,

flames shall lash against your skin,

burning with the wasted brilliance,

you once carried, 

burning with it, your wasted heart,

your wasted soul.

rest in peace, little star,

you will never wonder what you are.

We Are The (awkward)Champions.

yes, welcome to the Fraternity of The Socially Awkward. We are dorks, geeks, nerds, all in different combinations. we like to crack jokes because, well that's all we know. to other people, it is all so exotic, because, "oh look! its him!, we're in for some entertainment." or "oh look! its her!, she's so weird!" or ,"oh look! he just dropped a fork!". we suck at expressing ourselves so we dramatize everything (*whispers* yesss, like that) so that numskulls don't get SHIT of what we are saying.

and while it may seem so deliciously attractive to people(seriously what is UP with your taste), it is more of a handicap sometimes. when I walk out of my house to but milk, it is a FUCKING nightmare, because I'll meet GAzillions of people who know my mom(so im obliged to make small talk), dad(so im obliged to make small talk), grandma from Netherlands(so im obliged to make small talk) and people who say hi for absolutely no fucking reason. so i'm going to give you a crash course right here on how to behave around us inept people.

1. If you see us with earphones, PLEASE, take hint and do NOT make eye contact or talk, because frankly, some people just have earphones plugged in JUST so that, well, they can avoid all the blabber about how you haven't started for sessionals, and how you watched that movie where a kangaroo died and brought about an avalanche.

2. We break out into monologues from lord of the rings, or Pirates of the Caribbean or, Harry Potter or well, simply from our own special cocktails of grey matter. So please, judge if you want or just fuck off but do NOT interrupt or ask where it is from. That kind of beats the whole point.

3. If we can't relate to you when your boyfriend/girlfriend doesn't drop a line for two days, doesn't mean we are heartless. My heart wept when dobby died, and when natheniel frees bartimaeus and sacrifices himself? my faith in humanity was restored for 3 seconds right there.

4. If we're scared of monsters in the dark, its not because we're sissies(well there ARE other reasons that validate the sissy behaviour), it is because you're too ignorant to acknowledge the presence of a karanadon somewhere in a corner, or well, right in your face( you would probably be in his face by now, literally).

so please, don't try to talk to us, if you do, please make sure its about ANYTHING that doesn't concern your sorry self.

may your swords stay sharp, and your tongues even sharper.
*three finger salute*

The section-I chronicles

Our first encounter with the ‘THING’ was right in the first Sem itself during a particular English lecture when ‘IT’ was compared to a plane. Yes, people, This Is It. This was the revolutionary means of war which would later break friendships, cause bloodshed and wreak havoc.

This is PAPERBALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One of the memories that, I'm sure, every single one of us will carry with them is of the EPIC paper ball fights in our class. With teachers, without teachers, during lectures or otherwise, it just doesn’t seem to matter to us. Believe it or not, every living soul in the class, at one point or the other, was involved in it. Some brave offending, some defend, some hermit-like back benchers take to watching, some poor little souls (usually on the aisle side) get caught in the cross fires (not mentioning that much like myself, some have aiming capabilities worse than a 3 month-old), some bold warmongers who’d target the bald pate of a very specific teacher and then the whole class would scream “LOVISH NE KIYA!!”.

Alliances were formed, ammunition was collected (which usually came from the neighbor’s notebook because why use our own when we have the sweet little oblivious neighbor) , guns were loaded, and Sparta-like bloodthirstiness was in the air. But among all of this, there was a feeling of kinship among us. How we’d unite against the teacher in not listening, how as one paper ball was flung around the room there was a mutual understanding among eighty-four students that the war has been waged. This was the point of no-return when rows would stock up on ammo, sometimes hitting each other with it( just to check the quality of ammo of-course).

In a class of 84 people it is not possible that groups not be formed, every class has that. But what every class doesn’t have is that when all these groups are together, we are as ONE. Groups, then don’t matter, everybody hangs out with everyone and has fun. My reaction when I entered the class and its numerous introductions in every lecture was that “bah, I'm stuck here for another year.” but now? The year has gone so fast, just yesterday we had our class party, and our field trips, and our constant lamenting about extra classes, our boo-ing the teacher when she over stayed her lecture by a minute, our united standing up to teachers picking on particular students.

Now I'm not very good at mushy good-byes, and misty eyed promises of meeting up in later future, but here I am openly wishing that I hope in the coming years, when we walk past each other we nod with a mad glint in the eye of so many ‘insider’ jokes. Thank you all, for giving me the perfect first year, I made some very VERY good friends here and I shall remember every single one of you(yes I, now, know everybody’s name finally!!!).  I love you all and may you have the brightest future there is. All the best.

The white, The blue, the shapeless, The True

When water weaves itself like sultry waves,

Nature, the seamstress, leaves no boundaries,

Like a perfect satin fabric slipping over a shapely hip,

It flows into oblivion of the sleeping sea,

With a hem, the eye cannot fathom.

Limitless water flows from under our feet,

Changes form here, becomes tangible there,

Ever indecisive , gives itself over to you.

Moonlight dances on ripples and twists on currents,

Paints the perfect picture of solitude.

Like a maiden sitting on a rock, with a satin gown,

And flowing hair like night,

Coalesces with nature and brings you home,

Open your heart, open your eyes,

let it course through you,

leave in its wake, a pure heart, a pure mind.

Subtilités de la conduite sociale

Yes, here I'm going to finely relate to you, the atrociously annoying rules of social conduct. No, don't scroll away just yet. I'm going to tell you what all you should avoid doing when among a large number of educated social individuals.
1. Do NOT look at your drink all the time.
   Or your shoes for that matter, or admire the fine lines on your fingers. It gives others the idea that you're       nervous or occupied or troubled, when you just simply don't give a fuck and all you're doing is mentally compiling the "101 ways for the other person to SHUT THE FUCK UP."
2. Don't sleep on the dinner table.
   Apparently its insulting to the cook (looks like the host is not at all concerned about your comfort). You could sleep with your eyes open or excuse yourself to the washroom and sleep there.
3. Don't comment about the wallpaint when the other person is talking. The person talking usually takes it to heart when you don't stare at their stupid faces and ooo and aahh from time to time(they think they're important to you if you do that. Poor little delusional people)
4. Don't EVER be sarcastic, funny or even REMOTELY logical. Yes, this is one of the most important points. Normal people do not appreciate interesting, humorous conversation. Just be plain and dry and VOILA!! you're a hit.
5. Last but not the least, Do NOT, in ANY circumstances, excuse yourself from the party(really, that's what people call a highly boring gathering of dim-witted, old, 'apparently sophisticated' people, who think drinking Bourbon on the rocks is THE coolest thing they can ever do). Just leave without being noticed, otherwise the host party shall coax you into spending another meaningless, hellish hour in their company.

So, take my advice, either feign ignorance or pretend you never got the invitation (this will also give an upper hand as you later torture the person for 'not' inviting you when you were so looking forward to it) or pretend that you're too above all these parties and you prefer the kingdom of The Lone Ranger, or simply just chill and hope you don't get invited.

I mean, seriously, who are you kidding you scrawny little loser, nobody is inviting you anywhere. Hurrah!!

Rain.

The rain poured down,

Like sheets of nectar,

My parched skin, my parched throat,

Sent heavenly thanks.

My lord showered upon me,

I sang with love,

Danced with devotion.

The smell, like a thousand flowers,

In my mother’s locks,

Like the incense she lit.

Filled my senses, intoxicated.

The drops in my eyes,

Changed my vision, and I saw the light.

Bursting out of every orb,

Every drop I’ve seen,

Made me pure,

Made me strong, made me weak.

That was the shine I craved,

The diamonds and pearls

The silver and the gold,

Nothing but raw nature.

Two Drops of Freedom

walk a road downtown,

mind's play, a fleeting glimpse.

two sides of roads untouched,

carry the warm feet ahead.

follow the road they say,

where to, who to,

they fail to say.

try to plot a murderous fling,

so long it went, unseen.

now the clock turns, the bells chime,

call out to the feet, to stop, to ride

the waves as they go,

but there are so many, the feet cringe

meet the stones, the sand,

stuck in the grace of chaos,

meet the guile, the wicked smile.

lose their balance and trip and fall.

why do they walk i say, 

why shouldn't they walk you say, 

why shouldn't they walk i say.

trace the ghoulish path,

they walk on,

 leave you behind,

leave them behind,

they go on, 

not the waves not the stones, 

mark a road of their own.

where it takes them?

to my pride, walk ahead .
walk away and out of sight.