Date: 31.12.2007
Time: 7:47 p.m.
Crispy fried chicken
Could never seem like a good idea
When there was chocolate to spare,
Taking a cold walk along
A mending street made the
Day seem less bare.
Blocked ideas running wild
With the force of vivid colours,
From red ears to held back sighs
To the imposition of tight collars.
Boredom and laughter
Put together like a charm,
Furry balls of little birds
Running about a wayward farm.
You come up with
Weirdness and improbablity
When you find you cannot say,
A bit of what is a part of
The mess of your mind
On the second day.
End: 8:05 p.m.
Monday, 31 December 2007
Monday, 24 December 2007
Euthanasia
Date: 24.12.2007
Time: 2:10 p.m.
I feel my life with ague intense
Lust for it consuming my base essence
The surging fire turning blood to vapours
And young bones to ashes.
Do I not deserve to die?
For harbouring such passion
That burns my soul to bits
With its intensity?
Give me euthanasia.
Hack off those limbs that move with life
Watch my blood flow from severed appendages
Hurt me, but wait! on second thought, don’t
My love for it will kill me instead.
Do I not deserve to die?
For harbouring such passion
That tears my soul to shreds
With its ferocity?
Give me euthanasia.
The mad fit issues vomit from my stomach
Overwhelming tide of strenuous craving
Punctuated by stabs ripping off flesh
I feel too much in every fibre.
Do I not deserve to die?
Spare me this passion
As it makes my soul implode
With its ardent cruelty.
Give me euthanasia.
End: 2:17 p.m.
Time: 2:10 p.m.
I feel my life with ague intense
Lust for it consuming my base essence
The surging fire turning blood to vapours
And young bones to ashes.
Do I not deserve to die?
For harbouring such passion
That burns my soul to bits
With its intensity?
Give me euthanasia.
Hack off those limbs that move with life
Watch my blood flow from severed appendages
Hurt me, but wait! on second thought, don’t
My love for it will kill me instead.
Do I not deserve to die?
For harbouring such passion
That tears my soul to shreds
With its ferocity?
Give me euthanasia.
The mad fit issues vomit from my stomach
Overwhelming tide of strenuous craving
Punctuated by stabs ripping off flesh
I feel too much in every fibre.
Do I not deserve to die?
Spare me this passion
As it makes my soul implode
With its ardent cruelty.
Give me euthanasia.
End: 2:17 p.m.
Sunday, 23 December 2007
Frosted Thoughts
Date: 23.12.2007
Time: 6:45 p.m.
A parted curtain holds the key to many lives
As they walk away, dancing to daylight’s sway
The tide of festive notes that light up shining eyes
But a pair stays glum, when all else is humdrum.
Wiping mist from that window while sitting silently
Contemplating quietude and faith in misery
The ink refuses to flow, bubbles do remain
Dried red raindrops form patterns on the windowpane.
Old companions forsaken by frosted thoughts
Without a single stream, even in a dream
An eerie emptiness puts out those embers bright
As they fade away, slowly with each day.
That young ghost haunts the dwelling bound to yesterdays
More numbness freezes spirit fire in so many ways
Passing through the people walking by in peace
Fragmented heartbeat felt as though on a stifling lease.
Queer and quaint, the portrait lies left incomplete
The lines in disarray, for she won’t paint today
Eyes spell darkness seen through fog and stormy haze
No more words to say, no more words to stay.
End: 7:05 p.m.
Time: 6:45 p.m.
A parted curtain holds the key to many lives
As they walk away, dancing to daylight’s sway
The tide of festive notes that light up shining eyes
But a pair stays glum, when all else is humdrum.
Wiping mist from that window while sitting silently
Contemplating quietude and faith in misery
The ink refuses to flow, bubbles do remain
Dried red raindrops form patterns on the windowpane.
Old companions forsaken by frosted thoughts
Without a single stream, even in a dream
An eerie emptiness puts out those embers bright
As they fade away, slowly with each day.
That young ghost haunts the dwelling bound to yesterdays
More numbness freezes spirit fire in so many ways
Passing through the people walking by in peace
Fragmented heartbeat felt as though on a stifling lease.
Queer and quaint, the portrait lies left incomplete
The lines in disarray, for she won’t paint today
Eyes spell darkness seen through fog and stormy haze
No more words to say, no more words to stay.
End: 7:05 p.m.
Sunday, 16 December 2007
Liberation
Date: 16.12.2007
Time: 8:45 p.m.
Those bonds of attachment
That held the depleted corpse
Bound exquisitely to the reeking realm
Break, tatter and tear
As life is imbued into her rotten body.
She breaks all the attachment
Liberated, she rises above
All those dreary mortals
Who wished only to keep her bound
Against her will, to their flawed mortal plane.
This moment she stands alone
Strengthened by the solitude
That is welcomed and cherished,
Freed from her hankering after
Other damaged souls.
She stands alone needing no support
Not a single bond to keep her chained
That deceased marionette’s eyes awaken
To move against the will of those strings
That play a dithyramb for the living.
But the corpse is not disheartened
For solitude is what she wants
And the cadaver is freed from
All those vacuous ties that bring torment
For they are not needed for her to fly again.
End: 8:52 p.m.
Time: 8:45 p.m.
Those bonds of attachment
That held the depleted corpse
Bound exquisitely to the reeking realm
Break, tatter and tear
As life is imbued into her rotten body.
She breaks all the attachment
Liberated, she rises above
All those dreary mortals
Who wished only to keep her bound
Against her will, to their flawed mortal plane.
This moment she stands alone
Strengthened by the solitude
That is welcomed and cherished,
Freed from her hankering after
Other damaged souls.
She stands alone needing no support
Not a single bond to keep her chained
That deceased marionette’s eyes awaken
To move against the will of those strings
That play a dithyramb for the living.
But the corpse is not disheartened
For solitude is what she wants
And the cadaver is freed from
All those vacuous ties that bring torment
For they are not needed for her to fly again.
End: 8:52 p.m.
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Black Queen
Date: 06.12.2007
Time: 6:04 p.m.
Starting my game waiting for white
To begin play with its silver pawn
With watchful eyes I note the motion
As my black fades against a snowy dawn.
I play in black and my defence
Involves no castled king
White makes its move across the board
While I hear my black squares sing.
A bold little pawn steps forward to meet
The glance of a cold white knight
Its tiny mould flanked on one side
By a black bishop’s greater might.
The game is on, the battle engaging
A war of two powerful well-matched wits
Losses incurred on both sides ignored
As no pride dares to call it quits.
The black queen moves and strikes it strong
One after the other, the white pieces fall
Without face or mercy, her purpose fixed
Attack, defend, destroy and appal.
A defiant white king spared for the last
For victory to be relished after a worthy fight
My black queen eyes him with a steely stare
“Checkmate,” she exults, with her well-earned right.
End: 6:25 p.m.
Time: 6:04 p.m.
Starting my game waiting for white
To begin play with its silver pawn
With watchful eyes I note the motion
As my black fades against a snowy dawn.
I play in black and my defence
Involves no castled king
White makes its move across the board
While I hear my black squares sing.
A bold little pawn steps forward to meet
The glance of a cold white knight
Its tiny mould flanked on one side
By a black bishop’s greater might.
The game is on, the battle engaging
A war of two powerful well-matched wits
Losses incurred on both sides ignored
As no pride dares to call it quits.
The black queen moves and strikes it strong
One after the other, the white pieces fall
Without face or mercy, her purpose fixed
Attack, defend, destroy and appal.
A defiant white king spared for the last
For victory to be relished after a worthy fight
My black queen eyes him with a steely stare
“Checkmate,” she exults, with her well-earned right.
End: 6:25 p.m.
Decay
Date: 06.12.2007
Time: 12:08 p.m.
Those branches die painfully every year
Or are cut mercilessly by metal hands
Who is to say which is better?
There is pain on both occasions
Beautiful, glorious pain that sends a shiver of delight
Felt throughout those branches
Just before severance
And the silent numbness.
That necrosis sets in from within
Stemming from the desire to enjoy death
As much of it as life may allow
From decayed tendrils of thought and hope
The longing stays even after
The diseased limb is severed
For a moment nothing is felt
And then pain floods the senses.
Depletion of the soul continues
Frayed and slashed, the canvas forgets
The image it was to paint before the world
A heavy branch falls with a heavy thud
Taking with it living memories of old springtime
When it bore green leaves instead of dead mildew
And a trembling ant crept up to its very top
Wait, and watch how its world has stopped.
End: 12:20 p.m.
Time: 12:08 p.m.
Those branches die painfully every year
Or are cut mercilessly by metal hands
Who is to say which is better?
There is pain on both occasions
Beautiful, glorious pain that sends a shiver of delight
Felt throughout those branches
Just before severance
And the silent numbness.
That necrosis sets in from within
Stemming from the desire to enjoy death
As much of it as life may allow
From decayed tendrils of thought and hope
The longing stays even after
The diseased limb is severed
For a moment nothing is felt
And then pain floods the senses.
Depletion of the soul continues
Frayed and slashed, the canvas forgets
The image it was to paint before the world
A heavy branch falls with a heavy thud
Taking with it living memories of old springtime
When it bore green leaves instead of dead mildew
And a trembling ant crept up to its very top
Wait, and watch how its world has stopped.
End: 12:20 p.m.
Sunday, 2 December 2007
Winter
Date: 02.12.2007
Time: 11:32 a.m.
Winter sheds another tear
Unto the earth’s welcoming arms
The silence frozen till it is thawed
By sounds of approaching hooves
Bearing with them the message
Of another battle lost
And one being fought relentlessly
Against the might of one’s own arms.
Winter heaves another sigh
Drifting into the sullen mists
Smoky circles dance till they fade
Or are shattered by swift movement
Bringing with it more stories
Of destruction and blood lost
In a crimson haze
Against the might of one’s own arms.
Winter sings another dirge
For awaiting ears of dying trees
Fallen leaves hear it and know
That their time is past, and come to naught perhaps
Crushed beneath heavy footsteps
Feeling whispers of fading hope
Finally succumbing to the draught of despair
Against the might of one’s own arms.
End: 11:43 a.m.
Time: 11:32 a.m.
Winter sheds another tear
Unto the earth’s welcoming arms
The silence frozen till it is thawed
By sounds of approaching hooves
Bearing with them the message
Of another battle lost
And one being fought relentlessly
Against the might of one’s own arms.
Winter heaves another sigh
Drifting into the sullen mists
Smoky circles dance till they fade
Or are shattered by swift movement
Bringing with it more stories
Of destruction and blood lost
In a crimson haze
Against the might of one’s own arms.
Winter sings another dirge
For awaiting ears of dying trees
Fallen leaves hear it and know
That their time is past, and come to naught perhaps
Crushed beneath heavy footsteps
Feeling whispers of fading hope
Finally succumbing to the draught of despair
Against the might of one’s own arms.
End: 11:43 a.m.
Thursday, 29 November 2007
Perch
Date: 29.11.2007
Time: 5:30 p.m.
Having a bit of time on my hands these days, I’ve been indulging in haunting the terrace once again. I usually go upstairs in the late afternoon, with a book and some music, perch myself on the water tank (which has a remarkable view of the neighbourhood, by the way), and read, listen to music and take in my surroundings all at the same time. Today wasn’t very different as I flew to my favourite haunt at around four and sombrely seated myself in my usual place. However, a few things did occur that kept me rather amused.
While I was comfortably reading and looking up occasionally to observe an orange sun slowly turn red and then disappear in the horizon, I noticed an old gentleman pacing about his terrace, two buildings away. The expression on his face was worth a million words for he looked stunned beyond belief when he noticed a scatty-looking girl with an untidy pony-tail in a red T-shirt on the highest water-tank of the neighbourhood, sitting cross-legged and poring over a book. His eyes were crinkled in confusion and disbelief, his brows were tightly knitted and his mouth formed a round ‘O’. In fact, he kept blinking and glancing my way to convince himself that my presence there was not an illusion. I was highly tickled and had to control the urge to wave cheerily at him from my perch and shock him even more. Yes, I do make an attempt to be less rude to people. Sometimes, that is.
As I continued to sit there and read, with my music play-list behaving benevolently towards me, I spotted a pot-bellied gentleman on a westward terrace feeding seeds to a flock of white and grey pigeons. Other birds flew by solemnly and an orange-beaked playful ’un decided to play hide and seek among the jutting out pipes on my terrace and an old, forgotten antenna while chirping happily about its day. A crow dancing on the edge of the water-tank flew away looking rather affronted when I waved and spoke to it. I wonder why though, for I am usually well-liked by these birds.
The dim light filtering through the clouds grew weary of resisting the power of darkness and slowly ebbed away into myriad enigmatic shades of grey. A slight nip in the air made the approaching evening seem pleasant and welcoming. The sun had set by then and I had also finished the short story that I was reading. I therefore decided not to offer myself as a live sacrifice to the blood-thirsty mosquitoes out there and began my descent into the mortal plane.
My footsteps echoed in the desolate staircase and I slipped into agreeable reveries, untroubled by all that usually keeps me preoccupied and distressed.
End: 6:00 p.m.
Time: 5:30 p.m.
Having a bit of time on my hands these days, I’ve been indulging in haunting the terrace once again. I usually go upstairs in the late afternoon, with a book and some music, perch myself on the water tank (which has a remarkable view of the neighbourhood, by the way), and read, listen to music and take in my surroundings all at the same time. Today wasn’t very different as I flew to my favourite haunt at around four and sombrely seated myself in my usual place. However, a few things did occur that kept me rather amused.
While I was comfortably reading and looking up occasionally to observe an orange sun slowly turn red and then disappear in the horizon, I noticed an old gentleman pacing about his terrace, two buildings away. The expression on his face was worth a million words for he looked stunned beyond belief when he noticed a scatty-looking girl with an untidy pony-tail in a red T-shirt on the highest water-tank of the neighbourhood, sitting cross-legged and poring over a book. His eyes were crinkled in confusion and disbelief, his brows were tightly knitted and his mouth formed a round ‘O’. In fact, he kept blinking and glancing my way to convince himself that my presence there was not an illusion. I was highly tickled and had to control the urge to wave cheerily at him from my perch and shock him even more. Yes, I do make an attempt to be less rude to people. Sometimes, that is.
As I continued to sit there and read, with my music play-list behaving benevolently towards me, I spotted a pot-bellied gentleman on a westward terrace feeding seeds to a flock of white and grey pigeons. Other birds flew by solemnly and an orange-beaked playful ’un decided to play hide and seek among the jutting out pipes on my terrace and an old, forgotten antenna while chirping happily about its day. A crow dancing on the edge of the water-tank flew away looking rather affronted when I waved and spoke to it. I wonder why though, for I am usually well-liked by these birds.
The dim light filtering through the clouds grew weary of resisting the power of darkness and slowly ebbed away into myriad enigmatic shades of grey. A slight nip in the air made the approaching evening seem pleasant and welcoming. The sun had set by then and I had also finished the short story that I was reading. I therefore decided not to offer myself as a live sacrifice to the blood-thirsty mosquitoes out there and began my descent into the mortal plane.
My footsteps echoed in the desolate staircase and I slipped into agreeable reveries, untroubled by all that usually keeps me preoccupied and distressed.
End: 6:00 p.m.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
Weirdness, yes
LD had been playing the role of an actual live “ear worm” by constantly croaking ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ throughout the day, and annoying people in the way.
2:35 p.m.
MayaJCA: “If you sing that song again —”
LD: “You’ll slap me?”
MayaJCA: “No.”
LD: “Kick me?”
MayaJCA: “No. Worse. I’m going to kiss you.”
LD: “!”
LD: “O_o”
LD: “Stay away from me, woman!”
MayaJCA: “Muwhahahahaha. I knew that was going to be your reaction.”
LD: “…”
LD goes back to her croaking, thereafter, in spite of the perils that may lie ahead.
2:35 p.m.
MayaJCA: “If you sing that song again —”
LD: “You’ll slap me?”
MayaJCA: “No.”
LD: “Kick me?”
MayaJCA: “No. Worse. I’m going to kiss you.”
LD: “!”
LD: “O_o”
LD: “Stay away from me, woman!”
MayaJCA: “Muwhahahahaha. I knew that was going to be your reaction.”
LD: “…”
LD goes back to her croaking, thereafter, in spite of the perils that may lie ahead.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
Phase
For quite some time now, I have been purposely denying myself most things that I love. I have stayed off books, my precious piano, the guitar, and a lot of other things that I know give me pleasure. I had stopped myself from indulging in these precisely because they were activities that I enjoyed. I had wanted to see how much ‘estrangement’ I could take.
It pained me to keep my distance, however I derived a certain kind of sadistic amusement from it … a different sort of pleasure. Whether or not it is healthy is not something I would like to sit and debate right now, but nevertheless, it has been a revelatory experience. And it has made me wonder whether submitting to my longing for all that pleases me after denying myself just that is the sweetest poison any pleasure-seeking hedonist could hope for.
There have been moments when I’d thought that I would yield too easily, and others when the perverse pleasure derived from the exercise made me wish for it continue interminably. I cannot deny having enjoyed it. Moreover, I have been benefited with an insight into my own spirit. It certainly has been fruitful and the delight I felt after finally giving in was more than what I would have received had I indulged myself throughout.
I suppose that having bipolar tendencies also has something to do with it. Whatever it is, my intuition tells me that I will go back to my ‘denial’ phase after a spell of indulgence although I can’t say that I don’t look forward to it. Let me see what happens.
It pained me to keep my distance, however I derived a certain kind of sadistic amusement from it … a different sort of pleasure. Whether or not it is healthy is not something I would like to sit and debate right now, but nevertheless, it has been a revelatory experience. And it has made me wonder whether submitting to my longing for all that pleases me after denying myself just that is the sweetest poison any pleasure-seeking hedonist could hope for.
There have been moments when I’d thought that I would yield too easily, and others when the perverse pleasure derived from the exercise made me wish for it continue interminably. I cannot deny having enjoyed it. Moreover, I have been benefited with an insight into my own spirit. It certainly has been fruitful and the delight I felt after finally giving in was more than what I would have received had I indulged myself throughout.
I suppose that having bipolar tendencies also has something to do with it. Whatever it is, my intuition tells me that I will go back to my ‘denial’ phase after a spell of indulgence although I can’t say that I don’t look forward to it. Let me see what happens.
Deep Blue
Date: 25.11.2007
Time: 00:20 a.m.
Deep blue waves crash against the shore
Those sandy shores unmarked for many years
Frothy waves crash against the shore
Washing the rocks with the salty tears of the sea.
Deep blue dreams transport into abstraction
Slipping into most insignificant a reverie
Surreal dreams transport into abstraction
Blotting out the mundane with horrors instead.
Deep blue dots swim before the eyes
Dancing distractedly without a purpose
Blurry dots swim before the eyes
Deep blue something: sands lost from time.
End: 00:30 a.m.
Time: 00:20 a.m.
Deep blue waves crash against the shore
Those sandy shores unmarked for many years
Frothy waves crash against the shore
Washing the rocks with the salty tears of the sea.
Deep blue dreams transport into abstraction
Slipping into most insignificant a reverie
Surreal dreams transport into abstraction
Blotting out the mundane with horrors instead.
Deep blue dots swim before the eyes
Dancing distractedly without a purpose
Blurry dots swim before the eyes
Deep blue something: sands lost from time.
End: 00:30 a.m.
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Composure
Date: 20.11.2007
Time: 00:55 a.m.
Come take advantage of me
I am waiting to be manipulated
Fed lies spewed out of malice
And told only what I wish to hear.
Come feed off my cheery smile
I am waiting to be robbed
Told deceitful stories
And have words twist my thought.
Come stare as I am vulnerable
I am waiting for the blow
That will strike right out of the blue
When I am not needed any more.
Come cower as I keep looking
My penetrating glare burning through façades
I see through the deception
As I have learnt my lesson now.
My silence stems not from fear
But from enjoyment at the discomfort
Caused to your cowardly mind
As you never dared and do not, even now.
End: 1:00 a.m.
Time: 00:55 a.m.
Come take advantage of me
I am waiting to be manipulated
Fed lies spewed out of malice
And told only what I wish to hear.
Come feed off my cheery smile
I am waiting to be robbed
Told deceitful stories
And have words twist my thought.
Come stare as I am vulnerable
I am waiting for the blow
That will strike right out of the blue
When I am not needed any more.
Come cower as I keep looking
My penetrating glare burning through façades
I see through the deception
As I have learnt my lesson now.
My silence stems not from fear
But from enjoyment at the discomfort
Caused to your cowardly mind
As you never dared and do not, even now.
End: 1:00 a.m.
Sunday, 18 November 2007
Not
Life is so peachy. It rocks big time. I love everything. Wow. I am in a wonderful mood in spite of learning that I have more examinations to sit for. Of course I am not being sarcastic. Sarcastic? Who, me? You must be out of your mind!
Why would a person like me with such an interesting life ever have to resort to sarcasm to make things more interesting for her? I am telling you, I am such a social butterfly! I simply cannot live without socialising every single hour of the day. I would never have to bother with silly trivialities such as talking to myself to keep me company. And did I ever mention how much I enjoy the fact that each day of my existence is remarkably different from the other days? I might have, I think ... once, or twice, or perhaps even a hundred times since it is a veritable truth.
Like I said, life is brilliant at the moment. In fact, it simply could not have been better. I am such a happy person, aren’t I? I’d stun everyone with the intensity of my vibrant smile — one that I am flashing almost constantly. No, seriously, my face hurts from all that smiling. It does, really.
At the moment, I feel like the most positive person on the planet. I could clap and sing and dance to express my joy. Brilliant, right? Yes. Very.
Not.
Why would a person like me with such an interesting life ever have to resort to sarcasm to make things more interesting for her? I am telling you, I am such a social butterfly! I simply cannot live without socialising every single hour of the day. I would never have to bother with silly trivialities such as talking to myself to keep me company. And did I ever mention how much I enjoy the fact that each day of my existence is remarkably different from the other days? I might have, I think ... once, or twice, or perhaps even a hundred times since it is a veritable truth.
Like I said, life is brilliant at the moment. In fact, it simply could not have been better. I am such a happy person, aren’t I? I’d stun everyone with the intensity of my vibrant smile — one that I am flashing almost constantly. No, seriously, my face hurts from all that smiling. It does, really.
At the moment, I feel like the most positive person on the planet. I could clap and sing and dance to express my joy. Brilliant, right? Yes. Very.
Not.
Sunday, 11 November 2007
Something
Date: 11.11.2007
Time: 11:05 p.m.
There is something in a word
That has it sound sensible to the ear and mind of one
Something in shadows
Which draws those with fondness for the dark
Something in the brilliance of wit and the arts
Inducing hearty laughter and hope in hearts.
Lack of which brings thought to a standstill
Harping on one and one alone
When does reality start the beginning of dissociation?
When that something fails to inspire again?
Looking without truly seeing
Listening without truly hearing.
Reaction passes unnoticed then
A wall is built that none can bend
That something has been said a moment back
Faces a barrier in the guise of a smile
Not meant in all of its truth as it should
But put forth to the world and veiled as good.
There is something indeed that prevents the fall
Of the dangling verse left incomplete
When the heavens burst and the rain descends
On paper befouled by words in ink
That were loath to describe that something
Which is there inexplicable in everything.
End: 11:20 p.m.
Time: 11:05 p.m.
There is something in a word
That has it sound sensible to the ear and mind of one
Something in shadows
Which draws those with fondness for the dark
Something in the brilliance of wit and the arts
Inducing hearty laughter and hope in hearts.
Lack of which brings thought to a standstill
Harping on one and one alone
When does reality start the beginning of dissociation?
When that something fails to inspire again?
Looking without truly seeing
Listening without truly hearing.
Reaction passes unnoticed then
A wall is built that none can bend
That something has been said a moment back
Faces a barrier in the guise of a smile
Not meant in all of its truth as it should
But put forth to the world and veiled as good.
There is something indeed that prevents the fall
Of the dangling verse left incomplete
When the heavens burst and the rain descends
On paper befouled by words in ink
That were loath to describe that something
Which is there inexplicable in everything.
End: 11:20 p.m.
Saturday, 10 November 2007
Aphasia
I am eating my dinner all by myself in my room. My door is shut. So are the windows. I can hear people bursting chocolate bombs outside. And no, I am beyond caring about any of it. My sleep is disturbed enough ... a few loud noises will hardly make a difference.
Today, I am afraid of quite a few things. I have to keep track of a lot of stray thoughts and discern my dream-memories from real ones. It is hardly an easy task, seeing that I am one given to drifting away into myself, where I have my own world to comfort me. And so, when I find myself walking down the road of reality, I often get rather confused. Did this actually happen, or had I only imagined that it had? Was I actually told to do this, or is this another imaginary conversation? I am also frightened by myself, and certain perceptions of mine. Words fail to be my friends and I feel choked by my inability to express what is bothering me. I have just lied to a very good friend and said that I am fine when I am quite obviously far from it. I feel horrible about it. Still, there is nothing I can do at present. Thankfully, I am not prodded and pushed, and I am grateful for that bit of empathy.
To be honest, I have never been one to directly say what is on my mind, especially when I am a bit troubled. I beat about the bush a lot. I vacillate. My circumlocutions are outrageous. It is actually a miracle that people still stick around to listen. Look at me now: it is exactly what I am doing. This is another instance of my being closed and withdrawn. Not that I have much of a choice anyway. It is the best way I have tackled things so far.
I know that I should face my fears head on. But I doubt whether I have the courage to do so. Yes, it is courage that I require. I don’t think that I have much of it though, and I loathe myself for this weakness of mine.
My dinner is cold. What I’m chewing feels like hardened gum. I wish that I were not quite so addicted to the Internet and lived a fresher existence. Yet, what can a depleted soul do but cling on to those figments that have become most precious? Reality can wait then, can’t it?
Today, I am afraid of quite a few things. I have to keep track of a lot of stray thoughts and discern my dream-memories from real ones. It is hardly an easy task, seeing that I am one given to drifting away into myself, where I have my own world to comfort me. And so, when I find myself walking down the road of reality, I often get rather confused. Did this actually happen, or had I only imagined that it had? Was I actually told to do this, or is this another imaginary conversation? I am also frightened by myself, and certain perceptions of mine. Words fail to be my friends and I feel choked by my inability to express what is bothering me. I have just lied to a very good friend and said that I am fine when I am quite obviously far from it. I feel horrible about it. Still, there is nothing I can do at present. Thankfully, I am not prodded and pushed, and I am grateful for that bit of empathy.
To be honest, I have never been one to directly say what is on my mind, especially when I am a bit troubled. I beat about the bush a lot. I vacillate. My circumlocutions are outrageous. It is actually a miracle that people still stick around to listen. Look at me now: it is exactly what I am doing. This is another instance of my being closed and withdrawn. Not that I have much of a choice anyway. It is the best way I have tackled things so far.
I know that I should face my fears head on. But I doubt whether I have the courage to do so. Yes, it is courage that I require. I don’t think that I have much of it though, and I loathe myself for this weakness of mine.
My dinner is cold. What I’m chewing feels like hardened gum. I wish that I were not quite so addicted to the Internet and lived a fresher existence. Yet, what can a depleted soul do but cling on to those figments that have become most precious? Reality can wait then, can’t it?
Friday, 9 November 2007
Retreat
Date: 09.11.2007
Time: 11: 07 p.m.
Feel the whispered words caress those longing ears
With feeling so strong that clumsy hands
Fail to drop those lights down on the floor
That lies still, unmoving, supporting stony walls
As they decide to help a stucture stand up.
Will it crumble now or will those bricks
Stand straight and tall for ages till
The very foundations whose strength is uncertain
Crumble down to dust and mingle with
The earth that awaits its death most patiently?
Happy voices sound inside the head of a
Clumsy fool caught up in a phantasm of deluded joy
When people are alive and attentive still
And speaking with those beings inside
Offers the comfort that human words may have provided.
Thoughts fly freely as the drawbridge is lowered
Across the moat of murky waters containing
Nightmares of enchanted lies to the self
Letting the truth emerge most frighteningly
Till Illusion paints a pretty picture once more.
Withdrawing into Illusion’s den of flying winds
Streaming across the skies of hope of bluest hue
Oblivious of the mystery of the lost voices
Which cannot venture into the realm of reality
At times when they need to sound louder than ever.
Feel the whispered words spoken to its own ears
To resound mightily throughout the chamber
Where an imagined world beats its living heartbeat
With powerful stroke of wings of fantasy
While the whispers are heard no more.
End: 11:30 p.m.
Time: 11: 07 p.m.
Feel the whispered words caress those longing ears
With feeling so strong that clumsy hands
Fail to drop those lights down on the floor
That lies still, unmoving, supporting stony walls
As they decide to help a stucture stand up.
Will it crumble now or will those bricks
Stand straight and tall for ages till
The very foundations whose strength is uncertain
Crumble down to dust and mingle with
The earth that awaits its death most patiently?
Happy voices sound inside the head of a
Clumsy fool caught up in a phantasm of deluded joy
When people are alive and attentive still
And speaking with those beings inside
Offers the comfort that human words may have provided.
Thoughts fly freely as the drawbridge is lowered
Across the moat of murky waters containing
Nightmares of enchanted lies to the self
Letting the truth emerge most frighteningly
Till Illusion paints a pretty picture once more.
Withdrawing into Illusion’s den of flying winds
Streaming across the skies of hope of bluest hue
Oblivious of the mystery of the lost voices
Which cannot venture into the realm of reality
At times when they need to sound louder than ever.
Feel the whispered words spoken to its own ears
To resound mightily throughout the chamber
Where an imagined world beats its living heartbeat
With powerful stroke of wings of fantasy
While the whispers are heard no more.
End: 11:30 p.m.
Thursday, 8 November 2007
November Rain
Date: 08.11.2007
Time: 5:00 p.m.
The sky was pensive for quite some time this morning. Clouds had gathered together to hold a whispered conference with the hidden stars. Hushed messages were conveyed back and forth and finally, in the afternoon there was rain.
I had fallen asleep after lunch, having stuffed myself with dry fruits and kaju barfis. The pounding of the raindrops against the glass window panes of my room woke me up. After blinking constantly for a while, I resolved to go up to the terrace (my new haunt, these days) and enjoy the sprinkle from the heavens.
The terrace was empty. The ground was damp from its continuing battle with the raindrops. My usual seat on top of the water tank did not seem like a very good idea right then. So, I decided to simply walk about in silence. Those sweet descending drops of water were quite fond of me, it seemed, for they rushed at my uplifted face like a bull shown a red flag by a matador. A slightly disappointing simile, I know, but nevertheless, I tasted those refreshing and relished raindrops with all the pleasure attributed to a satisfied hedonist.
My walk grew faster. I broke into a run — going round and round the terrace till I started feeling dizzy with joy. The rain kept on falling on me and my face had an expression of utmost contentment pasted all across it. I laughed heartily, losing myself to the rejuvenating rain. Laughing, I spun round and round and round, with my eyes locked with the clouds above.
The adrenaline pumping through my veins exhilarated me and put me on a high. The thrill of getting drenched gave me the energy to keep running … faster and faster, till finally, exhausted, I slumped down resting against a stone wall. I was happy and there was nothing anyone could do to snatch my moment of bliss from me.
Of course, the rains did cease after a while and the sun decided to emerge from the cover of clouds and shine discreetly till it was time for it to say farewell for the day. I resumed my seat on the water tank leg and spent the next hour watching the day draw to a close. My brother joined me later and it was rather nice to sit together on the leg and listen to songs while watching the birds fly home. And it was quite amusing to have him point at a faraway crow and confidently call it a bat.
I’m still feeling elated. Happy. At peace. Content. Exalted. I know that the terrace awaits my presence the next time there is November rain.
End: 5:25 p.m.
Time: 5:00 p.m.
The sky was pensive for quite some time this morning. Clouds had gathered together to hold a whispered conference with the hidden stars. Hushed messages were conveyed back and forth and finally, in the afternoon there was rain.
I had fallen asleep after lunch, having stuffed myself with dry fruits and kaju barfis. The pounding of the raindrops against the glass window panes of my room woke me up. After blinking constantly for a while, I resolved to go up to the terrace (my new haunt, these days) and enjoy the sprinkle from the heavens.
The terrace was empty. The ground was damp from its continuing battle with the raindrops. My usual seat on top of the water tank did not seem like a very good idea right then. So, I decided to simply walk about in silence. Those sweet descending drops of water were quite fond of me, it seemed, for they rushed at my uplifted face like a bull shown a red flag by a matador. A slightly disappointing simile, I know, but nevertheless, I tasted those refreshing and relished raindrops with all the pleasure attributed to a satisfied hedonist.
My walk grew faster. I broke into a run — going round and round the terrace till I started feeling dizzy with joy. The rain kept on falling on me and my face had an expression of utmost contentment pasted all across it. I laughed heartily, losing myself to the rejuvenating rain. Laughing, I spun round and round and round, with my eyes locked with the clouds above.
The adrenaline pumping through my veins exhilarated me and put me on a high. The thrill of getting drenched gave me the energy to keep running … faster and faster, till finally, exhausted, I slumped down resting against a stone wall. I was happy and there was nothing anyone could do to snatch my moment of bliss from me.
Of course, the rains did cease after a while and the sun decided to emerge from the cover of clouds and shine discreetly till it was time for it to say farewell for the day. I resumed my seat on the water tank leg and spent the next hour watching the day draw to a close. My brother joined me later and it was rather nice to sit together on the leg and listen to songs while watching the birds fly home. And it was quite amusing to have him point at a faraway crow and confidently call it a bat.
I’m still feeling elated. Happy. At peace. Content. Exalted. I know that the terrace awaits my presence the next time there is November rain.
End: 5:25 p.m.
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Meme
Jadis tagged me with this: The Alphabet Meme. While I find it interesting to read tags written by others, I am not too fond of getting tagged myself. Oh well, I am bored, so here it goes:
A ACCEPT reality.
B BREAK away from stereotypes.
C CREATE to set your thoughts free of the constraints of a mundane world.
D DECIDE for yourself. Live on your own terms.
A ACCEPT reality.
B BREAK away from stereotypes.
C CREATE to set your thoughts free of the constraints of a mundane world.
D DECIDE for yourself. Live on your own terms.
E EXPLORE your possibilities. All of them, even those that appear impossible.
F FORGIVE yourself all your mistakes. Regret is not worth the energy.
G GROW with each passing year and keep an open mind. You never know when you might have to eat your own words.
H HOPE for innovation to strike the minds that matter. And yours.
I IGNORE average.
J JOURNEY into unexplored territories and break new ground.
K KNOW your limitations and learn to overcome them.
L LOVE the exalted heights that the human mind can reach and what can be accomplished from there.
M MANAGE all your resources. The precious will slip away if care is not taken.
N NOTICE life.
O OPEN the doors that lead onto greener pastures.
P PLAY for enjoyment and for laughter.
Q QUESTION arbitrary authority.
R RELAX to breathe in life instead of rushing through each day.
S SHARE freedom and tolerance.
T TRY to be your ideal self.
U USE all your faculties to their maximum potential.
V VALUE freedom ... of thought, speech and action.
W WORK putting in your best effort.
X X-RAY and analyse people. Facades often mask weak foundations.
Y YIELD to no will but your own.
Z ZOOM in to discover little details you had missed before the retrospection.
Taking up this tag is optional. If you would like to, then all you need to do this form a sentence with each word printed in uppercase.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Dissociation
Date: 05.11.2007
Time: 11:14 p.m.
Instigating arguments. Speaking about resentments harboured in the past that refuse to leave the mind. Loud voices. Soft ones raised to high-pitched cacophony. Anger swelling inside the gut, rising and consuming the mind. More arguing. More resentment. More bitter truths coming up to the surface.
Dislike. Preferences. Hate. Questions. Rigid minds? What is flexibility? Do others have a right to question your preferences? ‘Qualifications for judgement’. More anger. Disbelief. Rationality gets butchered for irrational emotions. The past refuses to leave … haunting, still daunting.
Sarcastic remarks meant for un-empathetic ears. Calm-voiced reason and justification. Rage at being questioned. You dare question my preferences? Raised eyebrows and quivering lower lips. A cold glare that penetrates through the darkness. More sarcasm.
Definition — of the life of a city. What makes it throb and pulsate with life? It does not live. It does not live? Social behaviour. ‘Fitting in’. “You only need to put in an effort”. Sarcasm at the paradox. Relative ratiocination. Friendship — bitterness.
Nothing is supposed to last, is it? People skills are obviously very natural to some. Somebody has many ‘friends’. Listen. Watch. Speak. Watch and stare. Enjoy. Sadism speaks out from within. The argument is enjoyed. Laughter … at the irrationality of one. Cold laughter. Cruel sadism. More enjoyment.
Annoyance gives way to calculated satisfaction. Purpose. Was there one? Has it been achieved? Time has been spent. Boredom has been killed. Aggression expressed. The dysfunction is amusing in a cold manner. Aloof. Distant. Detached viewer. Expression of the shell, the exterior. The interior has been lost. It has escaped confinement and forsaken the cage for the sake of open spaces.
The candle flickers gleefully, watching the exchange. Impersonal, and offering feeble rays of unwanted light — light that the powerful black extinguishes. The bitterness resurfaces once more. Wounds are yet to heal … literally and otherwise. A cynical mind remains, and learns to be indifferent. Quiet ripostes that bring out the worst in another. More coldness.
Toughen up. You have, haven’t you? You have had to. You did not fit in, but you have survived. You don’t fit in, you don’t belong … but you don’t care anymore. This is strength. Is this strength? Must be.
End: 11:37 p.m.
Time: 11:14 p.m.
Instigating arguments. Speaking about resentments harboured in the past that refuse to leave the mind. Loud voices. Soft ones raised to high-pitched cacophony. Anger swelling inside the gut, rising and consuming the mind. More arguing. More resentment. More bitter truths coming up to the surface.
Dislike. Preferences. Hate. Questions. Rigid minds? What is flexibility? Do others have a right to question your preferences? ‘Qualifications for judgement’. More anger. Disbelief. Rationality gets butchered for irrational emotions. The past refuses to leave … haunting, still daunting.
Sarcastic remarks meant for un-empathetic ears. Calm-voiced reason and justification. Rage at being questioned. You dare question my preferences? Raised eyebrows and quivering lower lips. A cold glare that penetrates through the darkness. More sarcasm.
Definition — of the life of a city. What makes it throb and pulsate with life? It does not live. It does not live? Social behaviour. ‘Fitting in’. “You only need to put in an effort”. Sarcasm at the paradox. Relative ratiocination. Friendship — bitterness.
Nothing is supposed to last, is it? People skills are obviously very natural to some. Somebody has many ‘friends’. Listen. Watch. Speak. Watch and stare. Enjoy. Sadism speaks out from within. The argument is enjoyed. Laughter … at the irrationality of one. Cold laughter. Cruel sadism. More enjoyment.
Annoyance gives way to calculated satisfaction. Purpose. Was there one? Has it been achieved? Time has been spent. Boredom has been killed. Aggression expressed. The dysfunction is amusing in a cold manner. Aloof. Distant. Detached viewer. Expression of the shell, the exterior. The interior has been lost. It has escaped confinement and forsaken the cage for the sake of open spaces.
The candle flickers gleefully, watching the exchange. Impersonal, and offering feeble rays of unwanted light — light that the powerful black extinguishes. The bitterness resurfaces once more. Wounds are yet to heal … literally and otherwise. A cynical mind remains, and learns to be indifferent. Quiet ripostes that bring out the worst in another. More coldness.
Toughen up. You have, haven’t you? You have had to. You did not fit in, but you have survived. You don’t fit in, you don’t belong … but you don’t care anymore. This is strength. Is this strength? Must be.
End: 11:37 p.m.
Friday, 2 November 2007
Rediscovery
Date: 02.11.2007
Time: 6:25 p.m.
I went up to the terrace after many long years. It is still the same as ever, only, quieter now since you don’t find kite flyers and laughing little children there anymore.
When I went up, the sky had darkened considerably. The clouds were hardly visible, the traffic and noisy rickshaws had softened their outpouring of sound, and there was little, if not hardly any rustling of the palm tree leaves. Now I don’t live in a particularly picturesque part of the city, however the dying orange of the horizon contrasting with the welcoming midnight blue did make a very beautiful sight.
And of course, I had my music with me. Somehow, this evening, it seemed to stretch on and fill the entire space before me — space that was lying empty and forgotten. I climbed up this ‘outcrop’ (a supporting leg of an elevated water tank) and sat there … listening and watching the sky lights dim before my eyes. For some strangely surprising reason, a lot of tiny fireworks were shot off into the evening sky. I watched those sparkling bits of fiery colour whoosh up and then fall silently as they began to lose their spark after a few minutes of livid living.
Looking around, I noticed new additions to the terrace. There were many tiny satellite dishes perched along the terrace boundaries. They leered down at the streets below like condescending spiders gleefully watching approaching prey. There was also another living creature parked right below the ‘outcrop’ on which I was perched — a rather pretty potted plant that had been hiding in the shadows of the water tank.
Somehow, the clothing lines seemed lower today. The water tank, which used to be out of the reach of a tiny little girl who would look on wistfully as the much taller and older ‘adult-like almost adult’ creatures would jump and sit on it, was no longer an inaccessible mountain waiting to be conquered along with the years lying ahead. There were no stern voices warning against bending too much and falling over the stony railings. No animated laughter, no hurried scrambling to recover a straying cricket ball, no subdued murmuring of the wind brushing against clothes let out to dry. I was alone. But I did not mind it. I was comfortable below the steadily darkening sky and the open space before me.
I was free to scream at the top of my lungs, and hoarsely accompany my favourite songs playing inside my ears, my head and my soul. As I stood with my back resting against the edge of the water tank, I felt alive and awake. The breeze that was gently caressing my face and hair did not pause enough to produce much sound. My voice, ecstatic at being given the chance to break free of the constraints of a small room, was liberated and glad. I gazed up at the sky and felt grateful that I could witness the world in all its glory as I realised that no camera can capture what the human eye can see.
I was content.
End: 6:55 p.m.
Time: 6:25 p.m.
I went up to the terrace after many long years. It is still the same as ever, only, quieter now since you don’t find kite flyers and laughing little children there anymore.
When I went up, the sky had darkened considerably. The clouds were hardly visible, the traffic and noisy rickshaws had softened their outpouring of sound, and there was little, if not hardly any rustling of the palm tree leaves. Now I don’t live in a particularly picturesque part of the city, however the dying orange of the horizon contrasting with the welcoming midnight blue did make a very beautiful sight.
And of course, I had my music with me. Somehow, this evening, it seemed to stretch on and fill the entire space before me — space that was lying empty and forgotten. I climbed up this ‘outcrop’ (a supporting leg of an elevated water tank) and sat there … listening and watching the sky lights dim before my eyes. For some strangely surprising reason, a lot of tiny fireworks were shot off into the evening sky. I watched those sparkling bits of fiery colour whoosh up and then fall silently as they began to lose their spark after a few minutes of livid living.
Looking around, I noticed new additions to the terrace. There were many tiny satellite dishes perched along the terrace boundaries. They leered down at the streets below like condescending spiders gleefully watching approaching prey. There was also another living creature parked right below the ‘outcrop’ on which I was perched — a rather pretty potted plant that had been hiding in the shadows of the water tank.
Somehow, the clothing lines seemed lower today. The water tank, which used to be out of the reach of a tiny little girl who would look on wistfully as the much taller and older ‘adult-like almost adult’ creatures would jump and sit on it, was no longer an inaccessible mountain waiting to be conquered along with the years lying ahead. There were no stern voices warning against bending too much and falling over the stony railings. No animated laughter, no hurried scrambling to recover a straying cricket ball, no subdued murmuring of the wind brushing against clothes let out to dry. I was alone. But I did not mind it. I was comfortable below the steadily darkening sky and the open space before me.
I was free to scream at the top of my lungs, and hoarsely accompany my favourite songs playing inside my ears, my head and my soul. As I stood with my back resting against the edge of the water tank, I felt alive and awake. The breeze that was gently caressing my face and hair did not pause enough to produce much sound. My voice, ecstatic at being given the chance to break free of the constraints of a small room, was liberated and glad. I gazed up at the sky and felt grateful that I could witness the world in all its glory as I realised that no camera can capture what the human eye can see.
I was content.
End: 6:55 p.m.
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Picture Perfect
Date: 30.10.2007
Time: 10:26 a.m.
What a pretty picture you paint
When you work those words into
Portraits of despair ...
What a pretty picture you sketch
When you etch those lines into
Words instead.
What’s that word again?
I can’t think of it now
Forgive my incompetence
I can’t change what I am, can I?
What a pretty picture you draw
When you sculpt those thoughts into
Images from your heart ...
What a pretty picture you sketch
When you etch those lines into
Words instead.
What’s that melody again?
I can’t remember it now
Forgive my incoherence
I can’t express myself well, can I?
That memory of yours that I’ve
Locked away, away
Away from my eyes
Remembrance only brings tears
That even pain cannot
Take away.
Darkness is my comfort
It’s my safety nest where I
Let my heart howl silently
Darkness is my muse
It’s the incomprehensibly calming
Harbinger of peace.
What’s that thought again?
I can’t recall it now
Forgive my ignorance
I can’t change what I am, can I?
End: 10:45 a.m.
Time: 10:26 a.m.
What a pretty picture you paint
When you work those words into
Portraits of despair ...
What a pretty picture you sketch
When you etch those lines into
Words instead.
What’s that word again?
I can’t think of it now
Forgive my incompetence
I can’t change what I am, can I?
What a pretty picture you draw
When you sculpt those thoughts into
Images from your heart ...
What a pretty picture you sketch
When you etch those lines into
Words instead.
What’s that melody again?
I can’t remember it now
Forgive my incoherence
I can’t express myself well, can I?
That memory of yours that I’ve
Locked away, away
Away from my eyes
Remembrance only brings tears
That even pain cannot
Take away.
Darkness is my comfort
It’s my safety nest where I
Let my heart howl silently
Darkness is my muse
It’s the incomprehensibly calming
Harbinger of peace.
What’s that thought again?
I can’t recall it now
Forgive my ignorance
I can’t change what I am, can I?
End: 10:45 a.m.
Friday, 26 October 2007
Drowning Metaphors
Date: 26.10.2007
Time: 11:10 a.m.
When you are drowning while trying to cross a violent and turbulent river, you don’t really think of, say, famine victims in Ethiopia, do you? You are somewhat preoccupied with the abundant water that is rushing into your body — into your lungs and choking you and smothering that fiery spirit of yours. At that point of time you are too overwhelmed as you flap your arms wildly to stay afloat and not sink down to a watery grave.
You haven’t reached the stage where you’ve successfully crossed the river and are now looking back complacently and condescendingly at those who haven’t yet done so. You’re still too busy drowning, right? So how can you possibly know that your struggle against the raging waters ‘was’ not as difficult as it had appeared to you back when you were suffocating?
The trials one faces in life are a lot like that, aren’t they? People, presumably ‘adults’ or ‘grown-ups’, who have ‘seen much of life’ claim that teenagers dramatise everything. Perhaps they do. However, quite often, these ‘grown-ups’ refuse to realise and acknowledge the gravity of many situations. They forget the intensity of their own perceptions back when they were teenagers. Perhaps it is required for them to move forward in life. But then, it doesn’t quite help that drowning teenager who is left to save herself without any support in sight. Again, maybe it is the best way to grow up — being independent and surviving without ever asking for help.
End: 11:25 a.m.
Time: 11:10 a.m.
When you are drowning while trying to cross a violent and turbulent river, you don’t really think of, say, famine victims in Ethiopia, do you? You are somewhat preoccupied with the abundant water that is rushing into your body — into your lungs and choking you and smothering that fiery spirit of yours. At that point of time you are too overwhelmed as you flap your arms wildly to stay afloat and not sink down to a watery grave.
You haven’t reached the stage where you’ve successfully crossed the river and are now looking back complacently and condescendingly at those who haven’t yet done so. You’re still too busy drowning, right? So how can you possibly know that your struggle against the raging waters ‘was’ not as difficult as it had appeared to you back when you were suffocating?
The trials one faces in life are a lot like that, aren’t they? People, presumably ‘adults’ or ‘grown-ups’, who have ‘seen much of life’ claim that teenagers dramatise everything. Perhaps they do. However, quite often, these ‘grown-ups’ refuse to realise and acknowledge the gravity of many situations. They forget the intensity of their own perceptions back when they were teenagers. Perhaps it is required for them to move forward in life. But then, it doesn’t quite help that drowning teenager who is left to save herself without any support in sight. Again, maybe it is the best way to grow up — being independent and surviving without ever asking for help.
End: 11:25 a.m.
Thursday, 25 October 2007
Speechless
When you live keeping your expectations at the barest minimum, and people come by and decide to threaten even the little that you have kept aside for yourself, it hurts. Your existence seems threatened ... once again. And you wonder whether all the effort you put into working towards actually feeling that smile you keep on your face was worth the energy and time. It is worse when people who supposedly know you think that you should “learn to joke” about a time when you were at your worst.
I am going to revert back. I know it. It is only a matter of time. Guess I can’t keep pretending to myself much longer. How lovely. There is nothing else to say.
I am going to revert back. I know it. It is only a matter of time. Guess I can’t keep pretending to myself much longer. How lovely. There is nothing else to say.
Monday, 22 October 2007
Stolen Slumber
Date: 22.10.2007
Time: 3:08 a.m.
Much restless tossing and turning later
She rises from slumber with a jolt
The nightmare — or was it one?
Receding into oblivion
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
A glass of water downed in pain
Of parched lips and throat so dry
That hungered for those rejuvenating drops
Of clear sustenance
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
The ceiling fascinates two weary eyes
Puffy from the loss of peace
The way only a fellow-sufferer knows
Staring into space
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
Unholy hour, it is that draws her
Away from her moment of calm
Those few hours of serenity fleeting
And another glass drained in agony
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
Those rotating blades offer no bit of rest
With violent motion round and round
Never ceasing; locked eyes tire
But not enough
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
A wearied glance cast at the clock
Which mocks the dullness of her hollow gaze
And those many hours till daylight descends
So many! She endures resigned
But those hands remain still, unchanged.
End: 3: 23 a.m.
Time: 3:08 a.m.
Much restless tossing and turning later
She rises from slumber with a jolt
The nightmare — or was it one?
Receding into oblivion
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
A glass of water downed in pain
Of parched lips and throat so dry
That hungered for those rejuvenating drops
Of clear sustenance
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
The ceiling fascinates two weary eyes
Puffy from the loss of peace
The way only a fellow-sufferer knows
Staring into space
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
Unholy hour, it is that draws her
Away from her moment of calm
Those few hours of serenity fleeting
And another glass drained in agony
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
Those rotating blades offer no bit of rest
With violent motion round and round
Never ceasing; locked eyes tire
But not enough
As she struggles to close her eyes once more.
A wearied glance cast at the clock
Which mocks the dullness of her hollow gaze
And those many hours till daylight descends
So many! She endures resigned
But those hands remain still, unchanged.
End: 3: 23 a.m.
Sunday, 21 October 2007
Changing Song
Date: 21.10.2007
Time: 5:25 p.m.
Changing colours
Changing rhymes
And I watch that leaf
Fall down from autumn’s branches.
There are new notes
Drifting in the air
New refrains of a season —
One forgotten, one awaited
Soaring melodies
Like that pretty white bird
That just flew by me
On wings spread wide along the breeze.
Another month passes by
Musing over the colours witnessed
A few forgotten memories
Flit alive again before my eyes
They were pleasant, I conclude
Like a smoothly flowing rhythm
Felt from far reaches of the past
But I’m not ever looking back.
Changing colours
Changing rhymes
And I watch that leaf
Fall down from autumn’s branches.
My old songs sound rusted
Those strains played and played again
New times beckon a change
In the tenor of the tunes
Watching the terrain pass
Spellbound I hum of changing colours
Wildly green once
Blushing into red and brown.
Changing colours
Changing rhymes
And I watch that leaf
Fall down from autumn’s branches.
Changing colours
Changing songs
And I sing a new one
Knowing that I sing again.
End: 5:35 p.m.
Time: 5:25 p.m.
Changing colours
Changing rhymes
And I watch that leaf
Fall down from autumn’s branches.
There are new notes
Drifting in the air
New refrains of a season —
One forgotten, one awaited
Soaring melodies
Like that pretty white bird
That just flew by me
On wings spread wide along the breeze.
Another month passes by
Musing over the colours witnessed
A few forgotten memories
Flit alive again before my eyes
They were pleasant, I conclude
Like a smoothly flowing rhythm
Felt from far reaches of the past
But I’m not ever looking back.
Changing colours
Changing rhymes
And I watch that leaf
Fall down from autumn’s branches.
My old songs sound rusted
Those strains played and played again
New times beckon a change
In the tenor of the tunes
Watching the terrain pass
Spellbound I hum of changing colours
Wildly green once
Blushing into red and brown.
Changing colours
Changing rhymes
And I watch that leaf
Fall down from autumn’s branches.
Changing colours
Changing songs
And I sing a new one
Knowing that I sing again.
End: 5:35 p.m.
Sunday, 14 October 2007
What Kind Of Love Are You On?
I have been accused of hating love and not understanding other people’s notions of love. Perhaps it is indeed true that I do not understand other people’s notions of this profoundly perplexing human emotion and their expectations of it. However, I am certain that I do not ‘hate’ love. How can I, when I fall in love with so many things around me almost a hundred times each day?
When I watch the sky at different points of the day, I feel gladdened to see it in all its unwavering beauty. There is always some aspect that draws my soul towards it and makes me love gazing at it for endless hours, staring intently at the ephemeral clouds, the graceful birds and the innumerable shades of colour that I see. Aye, I do call it love, for it is what I feel: boundless joy at being one with the world around me, just like the boundless sky.
I love music. I love art. I love good literature. I love the fact that the human mind is equipped with creative energies capable of giving rise to such monuments, such tributes to intelligence and thought, such testaments to the freedom of creating such ethereal forms of self-expression. It gives me so much joy that I feel inspired, motivated and driven to do the same and live up to myself and all that I am capable of.
I could go on endlessly about all the little things that I fall in love with everyday. Yes, the feeling is love, for I feel happiness, hope, despair, fear, grief, anguish, ecstasy and pain all at the same time. It is intense enough to overwhelm me and leave me gasping for breath, yet I enjoy every moment of it, even the pain of feeling stifled or choked by its power … and its beauty.
However, I may be asked why I have left human interactions out of this proclamation of mine. Why have I not mentioned any people? What are my views on ‘relationships’ between people? In a word: ‘confusing’. For instance, I find people speaking of certain ‘standards’ that they have, standards that they have set for themselves with no pressure from other people, however these standards are hardly, if ever maintained. You say that you believe in something, but your actions state otherwise. You say that you have set certain ethical boundaries for yourself, yet you do not hesitate to cross them the moment you find them uncomfortable, testing or difficult to live by. You say that you love, but you don’t truly mean it. For you it is just another word … a bit of ‘fun’, nothing more. I do not understand this at all.
Without wishing to sound judgemental, I must mention that I find behaviour of this kind incomprehensible since it is something that I personally would not do. Although I have learnt that it is unrealistic to assume that people are truly what they present themselves to be, I find this deception bewildering. What is wrong or quite so difficult about being truthful about yourself? Why would you say something if you didn’t actually mean it? What kind of satisfaction does one get from lying when it is certain that the façade put up by lies is sure to crumble one day? I find no rational answers to these questions of mine.
Considering a different angle, this entire concept of ‘declaring’ how much you love a person to the whole world, indulging in what I often call ‘mushy-ness’, going to great lengths to show other people how much you care by stating that you would die for a person, is something that I find odd and also somewhat illogical. I find it odd since I don’t understand why one would want to let oneself be quite so vulnerable to the world at large, leaving one at the mercy of a world that is simply waiting to steal something away. I am a very private person and I find it unfathomable why someone would want everyone to know of something quite so personal and make such public displays of ‘sappy’ behaviour. The logical part of me asks how one can know for certain that the relationship will actually last long enough to be boasted about to all and sundry. I have seen people constantly talk about their love-lives only to have their relationships end after a week or a month.
I have nothing against love itself neither do I judge people who are in love by categorising them as ‘bad’, ‘wrong’ or some other adjective. It must be nice to be able to open up to that extent to someone else. It’s just that I am sceptical about it as people often don’t mean what they say (and are sometimes unaware of the fact that they don’t). Life isn’t all about fairy-tale endings, neither is it a replication of a clichéd romantic comedy. Speaking from a practical point of view, I must say that looking at life through rose-tinted glasses will only result in one’s vision being flawed. While I understand that it is only human instinct acting when people feel ‘attracted’ to each other, I think that it would be foolish and illogical to assume that any sort of relationship can be based on lust alone.
At the risk of sounding didactic, I’ll venture this: at the end of the road it is all about companionship. Lust and attraction do indeed fade after some time just like the hormone levels of humans tend to fluctuate. However if you’re comfortable in the presence of the person whom you profess to love, and find his or her company soothing and calming even in times of distress, then, I feel that it’s a relationship that has the potential to last, provided that both parties involved are willing to work at maintaining it. Call me foolish and idealistic, but I think that love should be long-term if it is to be worth all the effort. In the end it’s about being with a person whom you can sit next to or lie with ‘and just forget the world’.
When I watch the sky at different points of the day, I feel gladdened to see it in all its unwavering beauty. There is always some aspect that draws my soul towards it and makes me love gazing at it for endless hours, staring intently at the ephemeral clouds, the graceful birds and the innumerable shades of colour that I see. Aye, I do call it love, for it is what I feel: boundless joy at being one with the world around me, just like the boundless sky.
I love music. I love art. I love good literature. I love the fact that the human mind is equipped with creative energies capable of giving rise to such monuments, such tributes to intelligence and thought, such testaments to the freedom of creating such ethereal forms of self-expression. It gives me so much joy that I feel inspired, motivated and driven to do the same and live up to myself and all that I am capable of.
I could go on endlessly about all the little things that I fall in love with everyday. Yes, the feeling is love, for I feel happiness, hope, despair, fear, grief, anguish, ecstasy and pain all at the same time. It is intense enough to overwhelm me and leave me gasping for breath, yet I enjoy every moment of it, even the pain of feeling stifled or choked by its power … and its beauty.
However, I may be asked why I have left human interactions out of this proclamation of mine. Why have I not mentioned any people? What are my views on ‘relationships’ between people? In a word: ‘confusing’. For instance, I find people speaking of certain ‘standards’ that they have, standards that they have set for themselves with no pressure from other people, however these standards are hardly, if ever maintained. You say that you believe in something, but your actions state otherwise. You say that you have set certain ethical boundaries for yourself, yet you do not hesitate to cross them the moment you find them uncomfortable, testing or difficult to live by. You say that you love, but you don’t truly mean it. For you it is just another word … a bit of ‘fun’, nothing more. I do not understand this at all.
Without wishing to sound judgemental, I must mention that I find behaviour of this kind incomprehensible since it is something that I personally would not do. Although I have learnt that it is unrealistic to assume that people are truly what they present themselves to be, I find this deception bewildering. What is wrong or quite so difficult about being truthful about yourself? Why would you say something if you didn’t actually mean it? What kind of satisfaction does one get from lying when it is certain that the façade put up by lies is sure to crumble one day? I find no rational answers to these questions of mine.
Considering a different angle, this entire concept of ‘declaring’ how much you love a person to the whole world, indulging in what I often call ‘mushy-ness’, going to great lengths to show other people how much you care by stating that you would die for a person, is something that I find odd and also somewhat illogical. I find it odd since I don’t understand why one would want to let oneself be quite so vulnerable to the world at large, leaving one at the mercy of a world that is simply waiting to steal something away. I am a very private person and I find it unfathomable why someone would want everyone to know of something quite so personal and make such public displays of ‘sappy’ behaviour. The logical part of me asks how one can know for certain that the relationship will actually last long enough to be boasted about to all and sundry. I have seen people constantly talk about their love-lives only to have their relationships end after a week or a month.
I have nothing against love itself neither do I judge people who are in love by categorising them as ‘bad’, ‘wrong’ or some other adjective. It must be nice to be able to open up to that extent to someone else. It’s just that I am sceptical about it as people often don’t mean what they say (and are sometimes unaware of the fact that they don’t). Life isn’t all about fairy-tale endings, neither is it a replication of a clichéd romantic comedy. Speaking from a practical point of view, I must say that looking at life through rose-tinted glasses will only result in one’s vision being flawed. While I understand that it is only human instinct acting when people feel ‘attracted’ to each other, I think that it would be foolish and illogical to assume that any sort of relationship can be based on lust alone.
At the risk of sounding didactic, I’ll venture this: at the end of the road it is all about companionship. Lust and attraction do indeed fade after some time just like the hormone levels of humans tend to fluctuate. However if you’re comfortable in the presence of the person whom you profess to love, and find his or her company soothing and calming even in times of distress, then, I feel that it’s a relationship that has the potential to last, provided that both parties involved are willing to work at maintaining it. Call me foolish and idealistic, but I think that love should be long-term if it is to be worth all the effort. In the end it’s about being with a person whom you can sit next to or lie with ‘and just forget the world’.
Thursday, 11 October 2007
Candidly Colourless
Date: 11.10.2007
Time: 11:40 p.m.
Come, come
Cast that brush aside
You have forgotten how to wield it
Let those empty tubes lie
They were never your friends
Does your hand not shake
With fear, with fear
When you touch those colours?
Come, come
Forget those dreams you wove
They shall remain within you forever
You could never paint them
Or have thoughts be touched by colour
Does your heart not race faster
From fear, from fear
When you touch those colours?
Come, come
Walk away from the unchangeable past
Even so, with the future, yet to arise
That lies bleak and of monochrome you love
And will never be tamed or attained
Does your mind not panic and scream
With fear, with fear
When you touch those colours?
Drop them, I say
Keep away, keep away
Colours will wrench you apart
With pain, with pain
Of old memories, now dim
Of old tunes, now fading
Those new lights mean nothing, nor are daunting
When you are candidly colourless.
End: 11:50 p.m.
Time: 11:40 p.m.
Come, come
Cast that brush aside
You have forgotten how to wield it
Let those empty tubes lie
They were never your friends
Does your hand not shake
With fear, with fear
When you touch those colours?
Come, come
Forget those dreams you wove
They shall remain within you forever
You could never paint them
Or have thoughts be touched by colour
Does your heart not race faster
From fear, from fear
When you touch those colours?
Come, come
Walk away from the unchangeable past
Even so, with the future, yet to arise
That lies bleak and of monochrome you love
And will never be tamed or attained
Does your mind not panic and scream
With fear, with fear
When you touch those colours?
Drop them, I say
Keep away, keep away
Colours will wrench you apart
With pain, with pain
Of old memories, now dim
Of old tunes, now fading
Those new lights mean nothing, nor are daunting
When you are candidly colourless.
End: 11:50 p.m.
Tuesday, 9 October 2007
A Window to my World [V]
Oh well, I have been terribly bored and the best way I know to kill boredom is just go and furiously type/write whatever comes to my mind. I’m not going to use “real” stationery today since I don’t wish to infect my beloved violet ink pen with any of those stupid viruses (of two different species, I am certain) and some bacteria that have been have been harassing me of late. However I don’t wish to be boring as well by forcing people to read my rants about multiple micro-organisms. I don’t even know how I manage to alliterate when I am annoyed! I mean, I can alliterate alarmingly almost always, even when I am particularly bugged. Sometimes, I don’t even notice it.
I don’t even know why I am digressing from morbidly menacing micro-organisms to my alliterating abnormality. I suppose it just goes to show how beautifully bored I am. My head and my left eye especially (which has a rather nice blood clot that is hidden from normal view at its upper left) hurt, I have been snivelling all day in spite of actually remembering to consume cough-syrup and my brother sat on a safety-pin today and was too embarrassed to mention the possibility of his rear-end bleeding to anyone. What, I ask is wrong with the world? Nothing, I suppose. Nothing apart from the fact that it is a world that needs chaos, a world that needs people to act stupidly instead of listening to reason or being reasonable, a world that needs all the evils imaginable to avoid being monotonously mundane; and there again, it doesn’t always succeed.
My parents were actually sitting and watching “Flash Gordon” this afternoon. And when I walked in and scoffed at a particularly melodramatic scene, my mother coolly commented that had I been five and watching it I’d have loved it too. This made absolutely no sense to me. Sometimes I wonder whether I have inherited my madness from her. Perhaps it is not induced after all. Oh well, I am rambling yet again.
Being stuck inside for three days can definitely ensure that you end up being excessively snarky to people around you. Oh yes, I have been very sarcastic, so much so that I am sure that there have been moments when my parents have actually considered cannibalism when it came to dealing with me. And of course, it is quite obviously a whole lot of fun when your younger sibling decides to make an extra effort at annoying you while you are in no mood to snap back. Oh well, my mother commented that I seemed like myself today. When I asked, “How so?” she merely replied, “You seem more aggressive.” Mothers. Gah.
I want to go outside and do something. Anything! While the fact that my head and eyes hurt is sort of nice, I doubt that I enjoy remaining confined much. Oh well, I have ranted enough. This is another disgusting and trivial post to be washed down the dreadful drain that is my blog. Forgive me for not being sweet and kind and humorous or any other admirable adjective. I was never any of those. Meh.
I don’t even know why I am digressing from morbidly menacing micro-organisms to my alliterating abnormality. I suppose it just goes to show how beautifully bored I am. My head and my left eye especially (which has a rather nice blood clot that is hidden from normal view at its upper left) hurt, I have been snivelling all day in spite of actually remembering to consume cough-syrup and my brother sat on a safety-pin today and was too embarrassed to mention the possibility of his rear-end bleeding to anyone. What, I ask is wrong with the world? Nothing, I suppose. Nothing apart from the fact that it is a world that needs chaos, a world that needs people to act stupidly instead of listening to reason or being reasonable, a world that needs all the evils imaginable to avoid being monotonously mundane; and there again, it doesn’t always succeed.
My parents were actually sitting and watching “Flash Gordon” this afternoon. And when I walked in and scoffed at a particularly melodramatic scene, my mother coolly commented that had I been five and watching it I’d have loved it too. This made absolutely no sense to me. Sometimes I wonder whether I have inherited my madness from her. Perhaps it is not induced after all. Oh well, I am rambling yet again.
Being stuck inside for three days can definitely ensure that you end up being excessively snarky to people around you. Oh yes, I have been very sarcastic, so much so that I am sure that there have been moments when my parents have actually considered cannibalism when it came to dealing with me. And of course, it is quite obviously a whole lot of fun when your younger sibling decides to make an extra effort at annoying you while you are in no mood to snap back. Oh well, my mother commented that I seemed like myself today. When I asked, “How so?” she merely replied, “You seem more aggressive.” Mothers. Gah.
I want to go outside and do something. Anything! While the fact that my head and eyes hurt is sort of nice, I doubt that I enjoy remaining confined much. Oh well, I have ranted enough. This is another disgusting and trivial post to be washed down the dreadful drain that is my blog. Forgive me for not being sweet and kind and humorous or any other admirable adjective. I was never any of those. Meh.
PS: And now, my brother is down with it as well. First I give my dad the infection and he starts looking like an angry alien villain from some horror movie. Now, it is my brother. GAH. I feel unclean. Yes.
Sunday, 7 October 2007
Creepy Croaking and Wild Whistling
I have conjunctivitis (I think) in one eye and was thoroughly bored all morning. Therefore, I decided to record myself croaking and whistling. Hopefully, it will successfully scare everyone who decides to go listen.
Creepy Croaking 1: Good Enough (Evanescence)
Comment: Yes, I was idiotic enough to use my long deceased vocal chords and phlegm-filled lungs (which hurt quite a bit when I cough, and I cough quite a bit) to try out this song. It is one of my favourites by the band, and stupid Airlet decided to call me up right in the middle of the recording (as you will probably notice when you suddenly hear a strange spy-style ringtone sound out all of a sudden with my voice cracking out of sheer surprise). Oh well, I was too lazy to sing it again, and my motive was to amuse myself, so I shall let this particularly blatant bit of a bug pass.
Creepy Croaking 2: My Immortal (Evanescence)
Comment: I was in love with this song since I first heard it. It has beautiful lyrics and Amy Lee is a genius. I haved croaked to express my profound adoration for this song.
Creepy Croaking 3: Like You (Evanescence)
Comment: My anthem and my lifeline during a not-so-nice time. It is painful, yes. Extremely painful, but still, one of my favourites. Then again, I feel like an idiot for even thinking about recording myself croaking this. *sigh*
Wild Whistling 1: The Lord Of The Rings Theme
Comment: This is one thing that I can do and am quite conceited about. Hah hah hah.
Monday, 1 October 2007
Inane Insanity
Yes well more insanity prevaileth ...
11:25 a.m.
During a well-deserved brain-breather …
DM: Do you know why she’s (VB) gone out?
LD: Yeah. Loo. No. Er. “*insert-certain-nickname-here-which-I-cannot-put-in-for-reasons-of-anonymity*”.
DM nods.
LD: But why would she go in search of him? I thought she didn’t like him that way.
DM: Well, she just wants to go look.
LD: But why?
DM: Okay, look, if you hear a good song —
LD: But I won’t go “in search of that song”.
DM: But you would download it to your iPod. She can’t download him to her iPod…
LD: Oh. Erm. That was quotable.
DM: Well, when I’m talking to you I have to talk in a language you will understand since you’re so dumb you don’t understand normal talk.
1:07 p.m.
VB: She (LD) goes hyper in Maths class. I don’t want her to sit in the middle!
DM: I tolerated her all morning. I can’t anymore. She kept on talking during Physics.
VB: (frustrated) She keeps talking to me in Maths.
DM: She talks more to me.
VB: (exasperated) To me also!
Here VB attempts to shove LD away from her.
VB: Oh look! She just slid away!
LD struggles against VB.
DM: (pleading to the class at large) Somebody come sit next to us. Save us!
VB: (to LD) You torturer!
LD laughs maniacally. She becomes ‘hyper-loopy’. DM and VB try to ignore her, but fail miserably. And they don’t like failing miserably.
DM: You can’t quote what I say. I can take you to court.
LD ignores DM and quotes her just the same. DM and VB then have a pencil-box-shoving-competition.
DM: (pushing the pencil box towards VB) You!
VB: (pushing it towards DM) No! You!
DM: You!
LD: (stops the pencil-box mid-journey) NOT MY PENCIL BOX! (More gently) Not my Spider-man pencil box!
More insanity later…
LD laughs maniacally.
VB: Somebody take her to Ranchi!
LD: I don’t want to go to Ranchi!
VB: (melodramatically) NAHI!!!!!!!
There is more maniacal madness on LD’s part. An innocent bystander, er, by-sitter, er, classmate sitting in front of LD starts laughing after another burst of exceptionally crazy laughter on LD’s part.
VB: She’s high!
SA: (another classmate who is quite concerned) Did she have something at break?
VB and DM conspire to pack LD off to an asylum.
LD protests!
1:20 p.m.
LD, VB, DM and MMM (Miss Minnie/Midget Mouse, who is another classmate) are sitting in the canteen.
DM: (laughing, no, wait, er, smiling gleefully at VB’s ‘predicament’) You get her (LD).
VB tries to push LD away. LD slides away unwittingly. LD then moves back to her original place.
VB: (copying some notes) What was the date last Monday?
MMM: It’s the 1st today. So, one week…
LD: 21st.
VB: (annoyed) 24th!
LD: How do you add again?
MMM: You add?
LD: Erm.
1:30 p.m.
LD laughs in a strange, weird and demented manner.
LD: Heh heh heh! Ah ha ha ha! Tee haa haa haa! Whahahahahahaha! Bwahahahahaaha!
MMM: (sitting beside LD) WHAT did you have during break?
LD: Your sandwiches.
MMM: Lot’s of people had my sandwiches.
DM: (coming out of her LD-free reverie) What did you have when I was not looking?
MMM: She had nashpatis which no one had.
DM: Yes. I think it was the nashpatis.
LD: (coldly) I don’t remember pears being intoxicating.
After a while of pear-induced daydreaming …
MMM: (pointing at a random girl) That girl is such a kid!
LD: (in a very mature manner) Well, I also act like a kid.
MMM: No, I mean she acts like she’s five years old.
LD: Oh, you mean to say that I’m not five, I’m twelve. Yay!
MMM: You’re a tween.
LD is happy at not being thought of as a five-year-old. She decides to write everything down. MMM opens her mouth to say something.
LD: Wait! Quiet! No more talking till I finish writing. Oh. That was quotable.
MMM: That just made me realise that I was talking to be quoted down.
(LD must mention that she has been instructed to add that the above comment was sarcastic in nature, although she personally thinks that it was more wistful than sarcastic.)
1:40 p.m.
VB and DM break into peals of LD-ish laughter.
LD: Pepsi is making you high.
VB: (turning and facing LD) No. I just told her (DM), “You’re covering your hair with your face.”
LD bursts into laughter and her face gets covered by her hair.
DM: (smiling knowingly) I knew that would happen.
Oh well, we didn’t have the Mathematics class that day; something that is quite evident. :P
During a well-deserved brain-breather …
DM: Do you know why she’s (VB) gone out?
LD: Yeah. Loo. No. Er. “*insert-certain-nickname-here-which-I-cannot-put-in-for-reasons-of-anonymity*”.
DM nods.
LD: But why would she go in search of him? I thought she didn’t like him that way.
DM: Well, she just wants to go look.
LD: But why?
DM: Okay, look, if you hear a good song —
LD: But I won’t go “in search of that song”.
DM: But you would download it to your iPod. She can’t download him to her iPod…
LD: Oh. Erm. That was quotable.
DM: Well, when I’m talking to you I have to talk in a language you will understand since you’re so dumb you don’t understand normal talk.
1:07 p.m.
VB: She (LD) goes hyper in Maths class. I don’t want her to sit in the middle!
DM: I tolerated her all morning. I can’t anymore. She kept on talking during Physics.
VB: (frustrated) She keeps talking to me in Maths.
DM: She talks more to me.
VB: (exasperated) To me also!
Here VB attempts to shove LD away from her.
VB: Oh look! She just slid away!
LD struggles against VB.
DM: (pleading to the class at large) Somebody come sit next to us. Save us!
VB: (to LD) You torturer!
LD laughs maniacally. She becomes ‘hyper-loopy’. DM and VB try to ignore her, but fail miserably. And they don’t like failing miserably.
DM: You can’t quote what I say. I can take you to court.
LD ignores DM and quotes her just the same. DM and VB then have a pencil-box-shoving-competition.
DM: (pushing the pencil box towards VB) You!
VB: (pushing it towards DM) No! You!
DM: You!
LD: (stops the pencil-box mid-journey) NOT MY PENCIL BOX! (More gently) Not my Spider-man pencil box!
More insanity later…
LD laughs maniacally.
VB: Somebody take her to Ranchi!
LD: I don’t want to go to Ranchi!
VB: (melodramatically) NAHI!!!!!!!
There is more maniacal madness on LD’s part. An innocent bystander, er, by-sitter, er, classmate sitting in front of LD starts laughing after another burst of exceptionally crazy laughter on LD’s part.
VB: She’s high!
SA: (another classmate who is quite concerned) Did she have something at break?
VB and DM conspire to pack LD off to an asylum.
LD protests!
1:20 p.m.
LD, VB, DM and MMM (Miss Minnie/Midget Mouse, who is another classmate) are sitting in the canteen.
DM: (laughing, no, wait, er, smiling gleefully at VB’s ‘predicament’) You get her (LD).
VB tries to push LD away. LD slides away unwittingly. LD then moves back to her original place.
VB: (copying some notes) What was the date last Monday?
MMM: It’s the 1st today. So, one week…
LD: 21st.
VB: (annoyed) 24th!
LD: How do you add again?
MMM: You add?
LD: Erm.
1:30 p.m.
LD laughs in a strange, weird and demented manner.
LD: Heh heh heh! Ah ha ha ha! Tee haa haa haa! Whahahahahahaha! Bwahahahahaaha!
MMM: (sitting beside LD) WHAT did you have during break?
LD: Your sandwiches.
MMM: Lot’s of people had my sandwiches.
DM: (coming out of her LD-free reverie) What did you have when I was not looking?
MMM: She had nashpatis which no one had.
DM: Yes. I think it was the nashpatis.
LD: (coldly) I don’t remember pears being intoxicating.
After a while of pear-induced daydreaming …
MMM: (pointing at a random girl) That girl is such a kid!
LD: (in a very mature manner) Well, I also act like a kid.
MMM: No, I mean she acts like she’s five years old.
LD: Oh, you mean to say that I’m not five, I’m twelve. Yay!
MMM: You’re a tween.
LD is happy at not being thought of as a five-year-old. She decides to write everything down. MMM opens her mouth to say something.
LD: Wait! Quiet! No more talking till I finish writing. Oh. That was quotable.
MMM: That just made me realise that I was talking to be quoted down.
(LD must mention that she has been instructed to add that the above comment was sarcastic in nature, although she personally thinks that it was more wistful than sarcastic.)
1:40 p.m.
VB and DM break into peals of LD-ish laughter.
LD: Pepsi is making you high.
VB: (turning and facing LD) No. I just told her (DM), “You’re covering your hair with your face.”
LD bursts into laughter and her face gets covered by her hair.
DM: (smiling knowingly) I knew that would happen.
Oh well, we didn’t have the Mathematics class that day; something that is quite evident. :P
Thursday, 27 September 2007
Insomnia
Date: 27.09.2007
Time: 3:50 a.m.
Misty grey clouds
Gracefully traverse the expanse
Of a semi-dark sky of night
A silvery orb
Shows itself amidst these
And casts gleaming moonlight bright
The stillness of the air
Steals her slumber
After some moments of confused dreaming
She stands silently
Watching the night
Awaiting the faraway morning.
Those colours take
Many moments to shift
From one grey shade to another
The moon stares back
In sharp contrast
Through the smoky concealing cover
That wanderer gazes
With a gaze intense
Pondering over black and white hues
She stands silently
Watching the night
Awaiting the morning blues.
Sleep is lost
To the serenity of greys
Over dreams of perplexing colour
The veneer of moonlight
Tricks her into ease
As she succumbs to its charming power
Restive mind finds peace
In the monochrome sky
And the full moon’s calming rapture
She stands silently
Watching the night
Awaiting the morning’s capture.
End: 4:15 a.m.
Time: 3:50 a.m.
Misty grey clouds
Gracefully traverse the expanse
Of a semi-dark sky of night
A silvery orb
Shows itself amidst these
And casts gleaming moonlight bright
The stillness of the air
Steals her slumber
After some moments of confused dreaming
She stands silently
Watching the night
Awaiting the faraway morning.
Those colours take
Many moments to shift
From one grey shade to another
The moon stares back
In sharp contrast
Through the smoky concealing cover
That wanderer gazes
With a gaze intense
Pondering over black and white hues
She stands silently
Watching the night
Awaiting the morning blues.
Sleep is lost
To the serenity of greys
Over dreams of perplexing colour
The veneer of moonlight
Tricks her into ease
As she succumbs to its charming power
Restive mind finds peace
In the monochrome sky
And the full moon’s calming rapture
She stands silently
Watching the night
Awaiting the morning’s capture.
End: 4:15 a.m.
Friday, 21 September 2007
Anger
Date: 05.08.2007
Medium: Black oil pastel
Comment: This was made over a month back in a few minutes. And a few minutes of today (a few minutes back) made me want to post it.
Thursday, 20 September 2007
Artistic Musings [II]
Tower
Date: 19.09.2007
Medium: Oil pastels on a water colour background
Comment: It looks strange and horrible, I know. However, I had the picture inside my head and decided to do something about it. So here it is. Laugh and deride all you want.
Insanity
Date: 11.09.2007
Medium: Obvious, isn’t it? Violet ink.
Comment: I was bored. During a class. Oh well. I expect even more derision this time. And digicams are horrible.
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
Glassy Stare
Date: 19.09.2007
Time: 1:25 p.m.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
What makes me so calm
When there is life all around?
Life that throbs and pulsates with both energy and pain
I am calm, I am numb.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
Why do words fail to form
When I wish to frame a question?
A question caught within the folds of my throat
I am dull, I am numb.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
When there is a disturbance
Do I turn to look, to see what caused it?
It has an electrifying hold on the crowd, but
I am calm, I am numb.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
My glassy stare conveys naught
It is hollow like the soul within
My glassy stare shields my vulnerability
Sparing the emotions within
My glassy stare clouds my thoughts
From the thieving world.
End: 1:35 p.m.
~*~
This poem was inspired by the portrait. Somewhat. And something else that happened today. Not having a scanner is terribly irritating.
Time: 1:25 p.m.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
What makes me so calm
When there is life all around?
Life that throbs and pulsates with both energy and pain
I am calm, I am numb.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
Why do words fail to form
When I wish to frame a question?
A question caught within the folds of my throat
I am dull, I am numb.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
When there is a disturbance
Do I turn to look, to see what caused it?
It has an electrifying hold on the crowd, but
I am calm, I am numb.
I keep staring blankly
As I am taught to stare
I know not why.
My glassy stare conveys naught
It is hollow like the soul within
My glassy stare shields my vulnerability
Sparing the emotions within
My glassy stare clouds my thoughts
From the thieving world.
End: 1:35 p.m.
~*~
This poem was inspired by the portrait. Somewhat. And something else that happened today. Not having a scanner is terribly irritating.
Sunday, 16 September 2007
Talking without the Telephone
Experiment: To speak to Ship without using the telephone.
Apparatus: Travelling money, a sense of direction, functional vocal chords and a communicating device which is to be forgotten shortly.
Wishful thinking: A nose that stays still and does not keep training vigorously for the Marathon.
Theory: For two people to speak to each other without the use of the telephone they must be within hearing distance of each other.
Apparatus: Travelling money, a sense of direction, functional vocal chords and a communicating device which is to be forgotten shortly.
Wishful thinking: A nose that stays still and does not keep training vigorously for the Marathon.
Theory: For two people to speak to each other without the use of the telephone they must be within hearing distance of each other.
Procedure:
1. Choice of transport should be such that starting out a few minutes late does not impede the experiment by more than a few minutes.
2. Basic knowledge of street-smart travel is to be implemented and there should be no hesitation to ask an obliging and benevolent policeman for directions.
3. The communication device to be forgotten shortly is to be used briefly and only to ensure that the experiment is in full swing.
4. Greetings and oddly inane thoughts are to be conveyed back and forth using the vocal chords while within seeing and hearing distance of each other.
Observations:
(During a disgruntled expedition pursued by a certain childish-looking person to search for certain items of clothing)
Ship: I will rob your underwear.
LD, who is taller and older-looking, wisely chooses to keep her face expressionless.
(During a conversation about cricket playing abilities)
LD: I can field —
Ship: I can’t field for nuts. Or balls for that matter.
Ship and LD are paralysed with laughter in spite of the gross pun. Ship does her rather loud “whahahahahahaha” laugh.
(After a long conversation, towards the end of the afternoon)
LD: This is nice! We don’t have to use the telephone to talk.
Ship: This is quotable.
*Laughterness*
(Many “whahahahahahaha”s, “hee haw haw haah hah hah”s and Jerry-Mouse-laughs later)
LD: I don’t think I’ll be quoting though.
Ship: You will feel ugh about typing this out? You are insane.
LD: Yeah.
Inference:
1. Ship looks quite young and is equally reedy. And she is pweety!
2. Most bloggers have poor eyesight.
3. Ship and LD are both insane and laugh like crazy lunatics and do not know how to behave in public without embarrassing themselves.
4. Telephone conversations go quite a long way in putting people at ease.
5. Some things simply cannot be quoted!
Result: A happy day owing to a successful experiment.
Result: A happy day owing to a successful experiment.
Journey
When you are walking by yourself, lost in thought, you often forget about your destination. You’re so absorbed in your thoughts — those little imaginary conversations (with yourself and others) that you get a slight jolt when you finally arrive … when you have to stop. It is not a very pleasant feeling on most occasions since it makes you feel as though you are leaving a part of yourself behind — a branch of the steadily ageing tree breaks off and is lost to time forever.
I have often felt this way while travelling. It is serenity that comes upon me as I quietly watch the sky, the family of clouds drifting across it without a care, that proud eagle circling and searching at one corner, soaring high purposefully at one moment and gliding down nonchalantly in the next, the numerous shades of blue that streak across nature’s canvas ... I feel as though I am that eagle flying majestically in the sky. I can feel myself blending into the blue. I find myself floating on a cloud, heading off to visit distant dreams. My reverie takes me to faraway reaches of my mind wherein I find myself speaking to many facets of my nature, and accepting them the way they are. It hurts when I am called back to earth by the jarring sounds of voices that had been hitherto forgotten. It is painful to be wrenched away from that peaceful calm, back to the roar and din of mundane existences.
Dreams offer much comfort at times. They take you away from things you aren’t ready to deal with and give you time to grow, time to heal, till you are ready to face them. A journey gives you time to dream. You are saddened when it ends as it signals the end of the dream — another closed chapter. However, it is not possible to cling to every dream that flits before your eyes and transports you to your personal realm of peace, quiet and solitude. Dreams also have their own period of usefulness, after which they simply tend to hinder you from moving forward. One journey cannot continue indefinitely, which is why, it must end, just so that you are free to venture forth on another quest, and seek out new avenues that will show you what you are yet to see. You keep travelling and find new dreams to keep you alive during the long road ahead and longer roads to come.
Saturday, 15 September 2007
A Moment Remembered
“Don’t you think that you should—”
“Yes, well, I know more science than you, so drop it.”
“Well, I know more of life than you so listen to me.”
“All right, I’ll listen to the sound of silence coming from you.”
“Hmph.”
“What? You don’t have a riposte to that?”
“Hah. You wait till I come up with one.”
There was laughter, quite a lot of it. Inside jokes, good humour and a mellow mood can change the way people interpret words. That is why I would rather not forget.
“Yes, well, I know more science than you, so drop it.”
“Well, I know more of life than you so listen to me.”
“All right, I’ll listen to the sound of silence coming from you.”
“Hmph.”
“What? You don’t have a riposte to that?”
“Hah. You wait till I come up with one.”
There was laughter, quite a lot of it. Inside jokes, good humour and a mellow mood can change the way people interpret words. That is why I would rather not forget.
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Adventures of the Snivelling Skylark
Who would’ve thought that crossing a short street can be such a pain! I had a tough time guarding my ‘precious’ while navigating my way through a maze consisting of painfully noisy and pungently smoky vehicles this evening. My walk was further complicated by my nose which was running the 100 metre Olympic, a feat that could quite easily lead to my being re-christened “Snivelling Skylark”. And why am I going backwards while narrating the events that took place today? Oh well, R-E-W-I-N-D!
To begin, I’d have to mention that I woke up. Yes. Awakened. Stopped dreaming. Opened my eyes to look at the ceiling. Whichever you please. And I was not very well, to put things mildly. However I had a certain commitment to keep later during the day, which was why I was quite keen on getting better. I consumed organic matter which humans consume for the sake of sustenance and decided to wait till I felt a bit better instead of striding towards my destination right away. This did help. Slightly. And so my attempt at reaching my destination alive proved to be a successful endeavour.
Ordinary occurrences took place. Although I learnt that I had missed out on some delicious spring rolls. Le sigh. And these lines probably make no sense whatsoever. I am weird. So what I write or say is not likely to make much sense. Le shrug. I also witnessed the shortest ‘seminar’ in the history of mankind (what a relief!) and then, er, had quite a good time at a programme that was postponed by a week and held today. My ‘precious’ looked an absolute beauty and created sound that was quite literally music to my ears. I was amongst some very talented people and was requested to play Für Elise at the end of the programme. Which I did. And had an overenthusiastic ‘congratulator’ hug me. (O_o ... :P). And apparently also had VB in tears. (:o I know I didn't play that badly; perhaps she is being autistic today). Things could have been worse, I suppose. I mean, I made two mistakes while playing the second song. I could have sounded worse than I actually did. Le long-drawn-sigh.
After that, I walked down a short street and then a longer one and then stood there waiting for my mode of transport. For quite a long time. With my ‘precious’ in tow. Funny people wondered what I was carrying in a large, black, apparently-heavy (note keyword: apparently), rectangular bag. I looked at those sorry creatures in disdain. They knew not that it contained my ‘precious’. Oh well, their loss, I’d say. Although I’d have been gladder had certain careless women carrying large shopping bags had not brushed their impure articles against my ‘precious’.
I am in a talkative mood at present. Which is a pity since my snivelling situation shall probably not allow me to sound like anything other than a cracked blow-horn which has been poorly transfigured into a violin, which has been unequally broken into three fragments. I would feel guilty inflicting such pain on other people’s hearing devices by speaking to them. Shut up, I must, in that case. And so, I will and hope that I am better tomorrow.
To begin, I’d have to mention that I woke up. Yes. Awakened. Stopped dreaming. Opened my eyes to look at the ceiling. Whichever you please. And I was not very well, to put things mildly. However I had a certain commitment to keep later during the day, which was why I was quite keen on getting better. I consumed organic matter which humans consume for the sake of sustenance and decided to wait till I felt a bit better instead of striding towards my destination right away. This did help. Slightly. And so my attempt at reaching my destination alive proved to be a successful endeavour.
Ordinary occurrences took place. Although I learnt that I had missed out on some delicious spring rolls. Le sigh. And these lines probably make no sense whatsoever. I am weird. So what I write or say is not likely to make much sense. Le shrug. I also witnessed the shortest ‘seminar’ in the history of mankind (what a relief!) and then, er, had quite a good time at a programme that was postponed by a week and held today. My ‘precious’ looked an absolute beauty and created sound that was quite literally music to my ears. I was amongst some very talented people and was requested to play Für Elise at the end of the programme. Which I did. And had an overenthusiastic ‘congratulator’ hug me. (O_o ... :P). And apparently also had VB in tears. (:o I know I didn't play that badly; perhaps she is being autistic today). Things could have been worse, I suppose. I mean, I made two mistakes while playing the second song. I could have sounded worse than I actually did. Le long-drawn-sigh.
After that, I walked down a short street and then a longer one and then stood there waiting for my mode of transport. For quite a long time. With my ‘precious’ in tow. Funny people wondered what I was carrying in a large, black, apparently-heavy (note keyword: apparently), rectangular bag. I looked at those sorry creatures in disdain. They knew not that it contained my ‘precious’. Oh well, their loss, I’d say. Although I’d have been gladder had certain careless women carrying large shopping bags had not brushed their impure articles against my ‘precious’.
I am in a talkative mood at present. Which is a pity since my snivelling situation shall probably not allow me to sound like anything other than a cracked blow-horn which has been poorly transfigured into a violin, which has been unequally broken into three fragments. I would feel guilty inflicting such pain on other people’s hearing devices by speaking to them. Shut up, I must, in that case. And so, I will and hope that I am better tomorrow.
Friday, 7 September 2007
Still Laughing
Laughter is a funny thing. No, really. I’m not joking when I say this. It’s contagious and so, well, intoxicating that you don’t wish to ever stop laughing once you start. And perhaps that’s why I still have a smile on my face. In spite of the day and how it started...
I mean, this morning, a certain member of the family decided to use me as an instrument to vent pent up frustration and downright pissed-off-ness and yelled out a whole lot of things which really did not need to be shouted, let alone said. And I surprised myself by not responding at all. Well, not really, since I er, talked back a bit as well, however my words were spoken calmly and rationally: two things that I never am when riled. Which goes to say that I wasn’t provoked into an angry outburst, something that is very uncharacteristic of me under similar circumstances. To be honest, I could not care less. Oh well, that’s one up for me, I suppose.
Moreover, later during the day, something that had upset me quite a bit some weeks back reared its ugly head once again. And I surprised myself yet again by not reacting the way I usually would. I’d much rather laugh at the absurdity of the situation and a certain person involved than go through that again. I guess that I’ve already found closure for that particular incident (if writing mouldy metaphors can taken into consideration), which is why I spent most of the afternoon in peace.
Yes. I’ve realised that I prefer laughing to sulking. I prefer chuckling to brooding. I’d choose snorty sniggers over silent unshed tears any day. And I’d rather listen to Pineapple Head for the eleventh time this afternoon with a smile than let the world and all its rot affect my mood.
I mean, this morning, a certain member of the family decided to use me as an instrument to vent pent up frustration and downright pissed-off-ness and yelled out a whole lot of things which really did not need to be shouted, let alone said. And I surprised myself by not responding at all. Well, not really, since I er, talked back a bit as well, however my words were spoken calmly and rationally: two things that I never am when riled. Which goes to say that I wasn’t provoked into an angry outburst, something that is very uncharacteristic of me under similar circumstances. To be honest, I could not care less. Oh well, that’s one up for me, I suppose.
Moreover, later during the day, something that had upset me quite a bit some weeks back reared its ugly head once again. And I surprised myself yet again by not reacting the way I usually would. I’d much rather laugh at the absurdity of the situation and a certain person involved than go through that again. I guess that I’ve already found closure for that particular incident (if writing mouldy metaphors can taken into consideration), which is why I spent most of the afternoon in peace.
Yes. I’ve realised that I prefer laughing to sulking. I prefer chuckling to brooding. I’d choose snorty sniggers over silent unshed tears any day. And I’d rather listen to Pineapple Head for the eleventh time this afternoon with a smile than let the world and all its rot affect my mood.
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
Evening Walk
Date: 05.09.2007
Time: 7:25 p.m.
Silent is the walk down a familiar old lane
That has been traversed many times before,
Watching the mud and pebbles
Breathing in the fragrance of cleansed earth,
Bearing a purpose in mind.
Dark is the sky still caressed by loving clouds
That have been gathering and grieving all day,
Revealed by a sudden flash of lightning
Illuminating the stars playing hide and seek,
Shadowed for now.
Pleasant is the stroll in the cool evening air
That carries those soft footsteps moving calmly,
Taking in the serenity that the night offers
Content with the soothing solitude
Unperturbed by restless sounds.
End: 7:37 p.m.
Time: 7:25 p.m.
Silent is the walk down a familiar old lane
That has been traversed many times before,
Watching the mud and pebbles
Breathing in the fragrance of cleansed earth,
Bearing a purpose in mind.
Dark is the sky still caressed by loving clouds
That have been gathering and grieving all day,
Revealed by a sudden flash of lightning
Illuminating the stars playing hide and seek,
Shadowed for now.
Pleasant is the stroll in the cool evening air
That carries those soft footsteps moving calmly,
Taking in the serenity that the night offers
Content with the soothing solitude
Unperturbed by restless sounds.
End: 7:37 p.m.
Saturday, 1 September 2007
Attack of the Egregious Egret!
12:15 p.m.
Mr. Bean: (while discussing some rot which no one was paying attention to anyway) “Have any of you got cats as pets?”
LD: (muttering under her breath) “I have a pet brother! Does that count?”
DM: (looking and pointing at LD in a mousy manner) “She is one.”
Mr. Bean: “Cats do not have a mechanism for the removal of paracetamol. So, if your cat gets fever and you give it paracetamol it will accumulate in its body ultimately killing off your cat.”
The above words are spoken with a happy and satisfied smile, and the sentence is finished off with a grin.
DM: “He’s smiling! What kind of a person is he? A sadist?”
VB: (grimly) “I’m going to report him to PETA.”
LD: (thinks) ‘GAH! And what is the connection between membrane proteins and cats dying of paracetamol? I decide to pay attention for once and this is what happens! Meh.’
Mr. Bean continues to speak in a language that only gerbils can comprehend correctly while the animal activists get back to their state of well-cultivated ennui.
12:25 p.m.
The class has ended. People are happy. Then, out of nowhere …
Mr. Bean: “How many of you have seen Star Wars, the so called new episodes?”
LD jumps up and down in her seat. She is very excited. Her hand shoots up into the air from the last row. Her hand is the only one up.
Mr. Bean: “Well, there are some people called the Yay-dhee …”
LD: “Jedi!”
Mr. Bean: “… Yay-dhee who have this power to do things … They have something called ‘midhichlorian’, which helps them become Yay-dhee…”
LD: (very agitated) “It’s JEDI!”
Mr. Bean: (continuing in spite of the lack of enthusiasm from most of the class and death-glares from one agitated member) “How many of you have seen the original trilogy?”
LD and VB raise their hands. LD starts mentally ticking off the names one by one.
LD: (happily) “A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi …”
Mr. Bean: (ignoring everyone else) “After the success of these, George Lucas became very influenced by science fiction.”
LD: (mouth hanging open) “…”
DM: (insinuatingly) “How come you didn’t know that? You pseudo!”
LD growls.
Mr. Bean: “The original Yay-dhee …”
LD: (interjecting) “JEDI!!!”
Mr. Bean: “… was Luke Skywalker…”
LD smiles at the mention of the name as it reminds her of uber-cool action sequences involving the said person. She even forgives the speaker the error of calling Luke Skywalker the “original Yay-dhee”.
Mr. Bean: (smiling foolishly by this time) “… and yes, in the new ones it was Anakin Skywalker before he became Darth Bhay-darr.”
LD: (thundering) “VADER!!!”
LD starts shaking visibly and keeps sending death-glares to the blasphemous person. A disturbance can be felt in the Force. LD is then asked to control herself by DM.
LD: “Blah!”
Mr. Bean: (while discussing some rot which no one was paying attention to anyway) “Have any of you got cats as pets?”
LD: (muttering under her breath) “I have a pet brother! Does that count?”
DM: (looking and pointing at LD in a mousy manner) “She is one.”
Mr. Bean: “Cats do not have a mechanism for the removal of paracetamol. So, if your cat gets fever and you give it paracetamol it will accumulate in its body ultimately killing off your cat.”
The above words are spoken with a happy and satisfied smile, and the sentence is finished off with a grin.
DM: “He’s smiling! What kind of a person is he? A sadist?”
VB: (grimly) “I’m going to report him to PETA.”
LD: (thinks) ‘GAH! And what is the connection between membrane proteins and cats dying of paracetamol? I decide to pay attention for once and this is what happens! Meh.’
Mr. Bean continues to speak in a language that only gerbils can comprehend correctly while the animal activists get back to their state of well-cultivated ennui.
12:25 p.m.
The class has ended. People are happy. Then, out of nowhere …
Mr. Bean: “How many of you have seen Star Wars, the so called new episodes?”
LD jumps up and down in her seat. She is very excited. Her hand shoots up into the air from the last row. Her hand is the only one up.
Mr. Bean: “Well, there are some people called the Yay-dhee …”
LD: “Jedi!”
Mr. Bean: “… Yay-dhee who have this power to do things … They have something called ‘midhichlorian’, which helps them become Yay-dhee…”
LD: (very agitated) “It’s JEDI!”
Mr. Bean: (continuing in spite of the lack of enthusiasm from most of the class and death-glares from one agitated member) “How many of you have seen the original trilogy?”
LD and VB raise their hands. LD starts mentally ticking off the names one by one.
LD: (happily) “A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi …”
Mr. Bean: (ignoring everyone else) “After the success of these, George Lucas became very influenced by science fiction.”
LD: (mouth hanging open) “…”
DM: (insinuatingly) “How come you didn’t know that? You pseudo!”
LD growls.
Mr. Bean: “The original Yay-dhee …”
LD: (interjecting) “JEDI!!!”
Mr. Bean: “… was Luke Skywalker…”
LD smiles at the mention of the name as it reminds her of uber-cool action sequences involving the said person. She even forgives the speaker the error of calling Luke Skywalker the “original Yay-dhee”.
Mr. Bean: (smiling foolishly by this time) “… and yes, in the new ones it was Anakin Skywalker before he became Darth Bhay-darr.”
LD: (thundering) “VADER!!!”
LD starts shaking visibly and keeps sending death-glares to the blasphemous person. A disturbance can be felt in the Force. LD is then asked to control herself by DM.
LD: “Blah!”
Friday, 31 August 2007
One Shade Lighter
Date: 31.08.2007
Time: 2:00 p.m.
It’s funny how much life changes with time. You think that you know yourself — the kind of person you are, how you react to situations, how you react to people … But then, one day, you might just spring a surprise on yourself. You let a certain thought enter your mind, let it incubate for a while, and then voila: you find that your point of view regarding an issue has changed! No longer do you have the same stubborn opinion. You don’t dismiss an idea as absolutely wrong. You open your mind and your eyes to consider other options. You’re willing to try out something new — you’re willing to change.
Life always brings with it, a multifarious meld of situations which make you re-think the way you live. Sometimes, it involves being at the receiving end of a string of disappointments. You feel anxious, worried, worn-out, stressed, torn and at a loss as to how you should proceed. Often, if a great many such incidents occur together, you feel as though you’re being pushed to the very edge. And at this point, the slightest nudge is enough to have you lose your footing and fall.
The more you are denied what you’ve been longing, the more you feel that the whole world is conspiring against you and you find yourself gripped by a heightened sense of paranoia, coupled with a cynical distaste for the people around you. You stop trusting people, even if it is against every innate instinct. And this is not precipitated by disappointment alone. It is brought on by repeatedly having your immaturity, innocence, faith and naïveté taken advantage of by shallow ‘second hander’s who have nothing better to do than feed off others and derive vindictive satisfaction from it.
Well, that is life. And you learn to take it in your stride. You have to, in any case, since you lost your choice to do anything but that the moment you decided to inhale the first breath of air the instant you were born. You have to survive. You have to live … no matter what happens. Even if people are snatched away — young, healthy people, people who remembered to wish you on your birthday after a long tiring day at work, people who had no business to die all of a sudden, leaving others behind in a state of shock.
This is actually where time surprises you. You think that there isn’t the slightest chance that you will heal. You’re convinced that you will continue to wallow in anger, despair, grief, self-hatred and pain, some of which is even self-induced. However, one day, you simply wake up and find that the old wounds don’t hurt all that much. You’ve forgiven some people for hurting you. You’ve stopped re-living some emotional wounds. You’ve learnt to accept a few ‘facts of life’ with sporting grace. You’ve lost some inhibitions and learnt to ‘loosen up’. You’ve learnt to understand, accept and allow certain attributes of the world and its people. You have stopped shouting and yelling and rebelling about every little thing. You grow up a bit, and stop being that petulant twelve-year-old brat for a while. And then, you realise that life is one shade lighter.
End: 2:35 p.m.
Time: 2:00 p.m.
It’s funny how much life changes with time. You think that you know yourself — the kind of person you are, how you react to situations, how you react to people … But then, one day, you might just spring a surprise on yourself. You let a certain thought enter your mind, let it incubate for a while, and then voila: you find that your point of view regarding an issue has changed! No longer do you have the same stubborn opinion. You don’t dismiss an idea as absolutely wrong. You open your mind and your eyes to consider other options. You’re willing to try out something new — you’re willing to change.
Life always brings with it, a multifarious meld of situations which make you re-think the way you live. Sometimes, it involves being at the receiving end of a string of disappointments. You feel anxious, worried, worn-out, stressed, torn and at a loss as to how you should proceed. Often, if a great many such incidents occur together, you feel as though you’re being pushed to the very edge. And at this point, the slightest nudge is enough to have you lose your footing and fall.
The more you are denied what you’ve been longing, the more you feel that the whole world is conspiring against you and you find yourself gripped by a heightened sense of paranoia, coupled with a cynical distaste for the people around you. You stop trusting people, even if it is against every innate instinct. And this is not precipitated by disappointment alone. It is brought on by repeatedly having your immaturity, innocence, faith and naïveté taken advantage of by shallow ‘second hander’s who have nothing better to do than feed off others and derive vindictive satisfaction from it.
Well, that is life. And you learn to take it in your stride. You have to, in any case, since you lost your choice to do anything but that the moment you decided to inhale the first breath of air the instant you were born. You have to survive. You have to live … no matter what happens. Even if people are snatched away — young, healthy people, people who remembered to wish you on your birthday after a long tiring day at work, people who had no business to die all of a sudden, leaving others behind in a state of shock.
This is actually where time surprises you. You think that there isn’t the slightest chance that you will heal. You’re convinced that you will continue to wallow in anger, despair, grief, self-hatred and pain, some of which is even self-induced. However, one day, you simply wake up and find that the old wounds don’t hurt all that much. You’ve forgiven some people for hurting you. You’ve stopped re-living some emotional wounds. You’ve learnt to accept a few ‘facts of life’ with sporting grace. You’ve lost some inhibitions and learnt to ‘loosen up’. You’ve learnt to understand, accept and allow certain attributes of the world and its people. You have stopped shouting and yelling and rebelling about every little thing. You grow up a bit, and stop being that petulant twelve-year-old brat for a while. And then, you realise that life is one shade lighter.
End: 2:35 p.m.
P.S. : This sounds a lot more positive than how I was actually feeling. Nevertheless, writing rot instead of paying attention in a certain professor’s class is the better choice any day.
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Existence
Have one classmate give you a head massage while another gives you a hand massage.
Watch an inter-departmental football match from a balcony on the fourth floor while listening to amazing guitar-plays on the 'Pod.
Stare quietly at the picture perfect skyline with sombre clouds floating serenely.
Have a slight breeze blow gently on your face.
Take deep breaths to check that you are alive.
Have a loudly ringing bell shatter the silence of solitude that you were beginning to enjoy.
"When we live such fragile lives
It's the best way we survive ..."
Or maybe not.
Watch an inter-departmental football match from a balcony on the fourth floor while listening to amazing guitar-plays on the 'Pod.
Stare quietly at the picture perfect skyline with sombre clouds floating serenely.
Have a slight breeze blow gently on your face.
Take deep breaths to check that you are alive.
Have a loudly ringing bell shatter the silence of solitude that you were beginning to enjoy.
"When we live such fragile lives
It's the best way we survive ..."
Or maybe not.
Wednesday, 29 August 2007
As The Lark Flies
Date: 29.08.2007
Time: 10:10 p.m.
That bird has flown away
Look, can you see the vestiges of its flight?
Those flawed lines that demarcate the air it tainted?
It has moved its vile presence elsewhere
And cast its malevolence upon itself
Worry not, for it does not wish to return
Or cause harm to those it knew
Or did not.
The moon looks beautiful
Look, do you not find its waning shadows lovely?
Those pearly lights it casts on dark lanes, spellbinding?
It shall be gone soon
But revel in its beauty for now
For the day will not come again
Once night descends and encompasses all
Once again.
Those clouds leer at you
Look, can you not feel their gaze?
Those majestic lines which linger hazily?
They want you to stare back
Keep staring till you lose yourself in them
Mesmerised, while the bird flies farther away
And it cannot be followed anymore with your eyes
And ears.
End: 10:20 p.m.
Time: 10:10 p.m.
That bird has flown away
Look, can you see the vestiges of its flight?
Those flawed lines that demarcate the air it tainted?
It has moved its vile presence elsewhere
And cast its malevolence upon itself
Worry not, for it does not wish to return
Or cause harm to those it knew
Or did not.
The moon looks beautiful
Look, do you not find its waning shadows lovely?
Those pearly lights it casts on dark lanes, spellbinding?
It shall be gone soon
But revel in its beauty for now
For the day will not come again
Once night descends and encompasses all
Once again.
Those clouds leer at you
Look, can you not feel their gaze?
Those majestic lines which linger hazily?
They want you to stare back
Keep staring till you lose yourself in them
Mesmerised, while the bird flies farther away
And it cannot be followed anymore with your eyes
And ears.
End: 10:20 p.m.
Sunday, 26 August 2007
Hysteria
For me, Sundays are usually days when I enjoy sleeping for an extra hour or two (and sometimes even stay asleep till twelve in the afternoon). However, this Sunday, I had certain appointments to keep. I was to attend my first official “blog meet” and this happy-but-scary-nevertheless event required me to wake up early so that I could maintain my status as a ‘punctual person’.
My first great achievement of the day was reaching the venue all by myself by a route I am not accustomed to, without getting lost. And I reached fifteen minutes early owing to the benevolence of the usually unkind traffic. And so, I waited … and kept watch, my glance alternating between the partially visible sky speckled with pretty clouds and the sparsely populated road with unfamiliar faces huddled at one corner.
After several minutes of muttering “The clouds have shifted” to myself and also dismissing potential Lucifers who walked by as “Too old”, “Too young”, “Nah, can’t be… too short” and one particularly professional looking middle-aged person in a teal shirt who kept looking behind to find my eyes following his every move (out of curiosity, of course) as “Too paranoid”, I could see the Cheshire-Cat-who-is-also-a-crazy-tree-frog, (C.C.w.i.a.a.c.t.f. or “Kitty” for short), ambling along amiably towards the spot where I was standing.
We waved at each other in recognition and the moment Kitty was within speaking distance, I spotted the CD he had promised to bring along and made a rude and rather impatient grabbing motion, snatching it out of his hands before he could utter a word. (Yes, I know, my social skills are severely limited). And I cannot remember whether I said thank you. (My mother really should have spanked me more as a child, to ensure that I have at least some semblance of politeness).
While waiting for Lucifer (who was running late) to turn up, Kitty and I spoke of random snigger-inducing subjects that had us breaking into fits of lunatic-like-laughter at regular intervals. I mentioned the sad news that my friend, the Steely Bunny would not be able to attend the meet while Kitty suggested that we raid the meet venue while it was still closed (an offer, which I declined, by the way). Then, all of a sudden, a tallish person popped up behind Kitty, who, for some unfathomable reason started guffawing in a manner that would defeat Goofy by a landslide in a guffaw-like-a-dead-decapitated-chicken-that-has-been-brought-to-life-by-Dark-Magic competition. It so turned out that Kitty was er, laughing at Lucifer (who can actually earn a fortune advertising for VLCC if that picture he e-mailed me was actually his) as the latter had hacked off his moustache since the last time they had met.
The three of us then proceeded to a coffee shop, the haunt of most brand-influenced materialistic teenagers, around the corner to have ‘breakfast’. While walking, Lucifer contradicted Kitty and let me know that I was not short. Yayness! Thank you! Did I mention that he also got me a chocolate as a belated birthday present? Yumness! At the coffee shop, we seated ourselves right next to the food display (I devoured the chocolate delicacies with my eyes till our Chocolate Fantasies arrived) and further demonstrated my non-existent social skills by draining glass after glass of water, exasperating the waiters, startling Lucifer, who was silently keeping count of the number of glasses I had consumed, and giving Kitty more reasons to call me a ‘mortal aquatic creature’. By the time we made our way back to the meet-venue, I think there were nine empty cups adorning the table for three, out of which I had consumed the contents of seven. While walking back, Kitty managed to snigger at Lucifer’s face, carry on endless conversation and untie his shoelaces without touching them, all at once.
At our destination, we climbed up to the first floor and sniffed around the sci-fi section for quite some time. Kitty pounced and drooled delightedly over Tolkien, an ultra-hot black and silver Waterman fountain pen (which I drooled over as well) and kept on talking. Lucifer silently observed all the inane behaviour taking place around him with a Zen-like air and the occasional gleam in his eyes. I was selectively deaf whenever (a) Kitty froze in fear after unconsciously slipping in an expletive, lest he be quoted by me and lose his reputation, (b) jokes were cracked about how er, young I looked and (c) when the picture of me in pigtails (taken a few days ago by the classmates who molested my hair into the aforementioned form) happened to be shown to the two (*ahem*) humans accompanying me. At that last, they turned purple trying not to laugh and then gave in to the need to breathe and burst out laughing. I really don’t blame them. I would’ve done the same had it been someone else. The comic nature of that picture is very tragic indeed. Therefore, I looked away as they turned blue in the face, guffawing away to glory.
Kitty also made the mistake of assuming that “height is everything” when he went and enquired whether Venus In Furs was available. His question was answered by an “Oh really? Can you tell me what it is about?” from the manager. Lucifer and I nearly died chuckling quietly as we watched him get embarrassed and return with a miffed expression. We replied in the negative when he asked us whether he looked eighteen. Oh yes, Kitty looked very displeased. (*Insert sick sadistic smirk here*).
At the music and movies section, we forced Kitty to confess his profound adoration for pink covered Disney Princess movies, Mary Poppins and later during the day, Janet Jackson. Lucifer and I also shook hooves with Kitty’s imaginary pink Unicorn friend, who did not speak much, but was glad to make our acquaintance, possibly glad at having people other than Kitty to interact with. Other note-worthy incidents that took place include our valiant attempt to protest against having sounds made by a constipated anaemic gargoyle (alias Enrique) thrust down our auditory canals — this involved the three of us sitting down on the rug for a while before being told, “Excuse me, but this is not the place to sit” by one of the shop assistants. Lucifer began the game of intimidating a scruffy-looking, bespectacled twelve-year-old boy by peering intently at him over (not through, mind you) Kitty’s glasses. He and Kitty took turns at this and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I demonstrated the “Jerry mouse laugh”, much to the amusement of my companions and also enacted what occurred after I had accidentally let it slip louder than I had intended, during a class in college. Oh, and I also punched Kitty for being annoying. (Thanks to my hard knuckles, I can punch quite well without much of an effort).
Dark Chocolate called up after her meeting ended and we decided to go out and get some mineral water (since I was thirsty again) while waiting for her to arrive. By the time I had passed more water down my perpetually parched throat, Dark Chocolate arrived, smiled and waved at everyone. Once inside once again, we decided to order some food. Dark Chocolate meowed, made funny faces that would give Puss in Boots a run for his money, and showed us some incredibly cute pictures and videos of some kittens. We also discussed amoebae that performed callisthenics inside people’s brains, the joy of threatening to set E. coli and Bacillus subtillis on people, the exact mechanism by which a cat would die a gruesome death (with its four paws in the air, lying helpless on the road) when encountering a particularly difficult calculus problem set in competitive examinations and the odd coincidence of having dancers in muted music videos move in harmony with a completely unrelated and equally irksome song, (usually of a different language), playing loudly in the background.
Lucifer left soon after lunch. Dark Chocolate called up her boyfriend to have him meow at us. (She had boasted of his meowing skills. Hence, well, you know). Kitty and I made revolted pukey-faces at the mushy talk that soon followed between the two meow-ers. And the three of us decided to walk to the multiplex nearby for something to drink. At the multiplex, I bumped into one of my college-buddies, and was introduced to her mum and sister, who were both very sweet and gracious. At the food court we all got a kick out of behaving immaturely — we made squeaky-sounds by speedily sliding our fingers across some glossy paper, shredded the paper into tiny strips and stuffed these inside the plastic soft-drink glass. Kitty and I then raced down an up escalator. I won. (Whee-ness!) Kitty got ticked off by a security guard. (Boo-ness!) Dark Chocolate breezed down the normal flight of stairs and purred like a content cat. (“…”-ness). We left the multiplex and were guided towards the Metro station by Dark Chocolate. Discussion pertaining to the joys of listening to Lacuna Coil and head-banging to one’s heart’s content ensured that we were not bored while waiting for the train. I got off before the others, waved and walked off to board another transportation vehicle which would take me home.
I’m certain that I have successfully conveyed the full extent of my inane, puerile and well, dim-witted demeanour to all those who met me. I was exhausted when I reached home. And Ship’s battery decided to cold-war me some minutes into the conversation. However, I do well with a lot of laughing gas in my system. And I did laugh today … quite a bit. Very amusing, the day was. A good time, I had. Stop speaking like Yoda, I should. So, well, YAYNESS! XD
My first great achievement of the day was reaching the venue all by myself by a route I am not accustomed to, without getting lost. And I reached fifteen minutes early owing to the benevolence of the usually unkind traffic. And so, I waited … and kept watch, my glance alternating between the partially visible sky speckled with pretty clouds and the sparsely populated road with unfamiliar faces huddled at one corner.
After several minutes of muttering “The clouds have shifted” to myself and also dismissing potential Lucifers who walked by as “Too old”, “Too young”, “Nah, can’t be… too short” and one particularly professional looking middle-aged person in a teal shirt who kept looking behind to find my eyes following his every move (out of curiosity, of course) as “Too paranoid”, I could see the Cheshire-Cat-who-is-also-a-crazy-tree-frog, (C.C.w.i.a.a.c.t.f. or “Kitty” for short), ambling along amiably towards the spot where I was standing.
We waved at each other in recognition and the moment Kitty was within speaking distance, I spotted the CD he had promised to bring along and made a rude and rather impatient grabbing motion, snatching it out of his hands before he could utter a word. (Yes, I know, my social skills are severely limited). And I cannot remember whether I said thank you. (My mother really should have spanked me more as a child, to ensure that I have at least some semblance of politeness).
While waiting for Lucifer (who was running late) to turn up, Kitty and I spoke of random snigger-inducing subjects that had us breaking into fits of lunatic-like-laughter at regular intervals. I mentioned the sad news that my friend, the Steely Bunny would not be able to attend the meet while Kitty suggested that we raid the meet venue while it was still closed (an offer, which I declined, by the way). Then, all of a sudden, a tallish person popped up behind Kitty, who, for some unfathomable reason started guffawing in a manner that would defeat Goofy by a landslide in a guffaw-like-a-dead-decapitated-chicken-that-has-been-brought-to-life-by-Dark-Magic competition. It so turned out that Kitty was er, laughing at Lucifer (who can actually earn a fortune advertising for VLCC if that picture he e-mailed me was actually his) as the latter had hacked off his moustache since the last time they had met.
The three of us then proceeded to a coffee shop, the haunt of most brand-influenced materialistic teenagers, around the corner to have ‘breakfast’. While walking, Lucifer contradicted Kitty and let me know that I was not short. Yayness! Thank you! Did I mention that he also got me a chocolate as a belated birthday present? Yumness! At the coffee shop, we seated ourselves right next to the food display (I devoured the chocolate delicacies with my eyes till our Chocolate Fantasies arrived) and further demonstrated my non-existent social skills by draining glass after glass of water, exasperating the waiters, startling Lucifer, who was silently keeping count of the number of glasses I had consumed, and giving Kitty more reasons to call me a ‘mortal aquatic creature’. By the time we made our way back to the meet-venue, I think there were nine empty cups adorning the table for three, out of which I had consumed the contents of seven. While walking back, Kitty managed to snigger at Lucifer’s face, carry on endless conversation and untie his shoelaces without touching them, all at once.
At our destination, we climbed up to the first floor and sniffed around the sci-fi section for quite some time. Kitty pounced and drooled delightedly over Tolkien, an ultra-hot black and silver Waterman fountain pen (which I drooled over as well) and kept on talking. Lucifer silently observed all the inane behaviour taking place around him with a Zen-like air and the occasional gleam in his eyes. I was selectively deaf whenever (a) Kitty froze in fear after unconsciously slipping in an expletive, lest he be quoted by me and lose his reputation, (b) jokes were cracked about how er, young I looked and (c) when the picture of me in pigtails (taken a few days ago by the classmates who molested my hair into the aforementioned form) happened to be shown to the two (*ahem*) humans accompanying me. At that last, they turned purple trying not to laugh and then gave in to the need to breathe and burst out laughing. I really don’t blame them. I would’ve done the same had it been someone else. The comic nature of that picture is very tragic indeed. Therefore, I looked away as they turned blue in the face, guffawing away to glory.
Kitty also made the mistake of assuming that “height is everything” when he went and enquired whether Venus In Furs was available. His question was answered by an “Oh really? Can you tell me what it is about?” from the manager. Lucifer and I nearly died chuckling quietly as we watched him get embarrassed and return with a miffed expression. We replied in the negative when he asked us whether he looked eighteen. Oh yes, Kitty looked very displeased. (*Insert sick sadistic smirk here*).
At the music and movies section, we forced Kitty to confess his profound adoration for pink covered Disney Princess movies, Mary Poppins and later during the day, Janet Jackson. Lucifer and I also shook hooves with Kitty’s imaginary pink Unicorn friend, who did not speak much, but was glad to make our acquaintance, possibly glad at having people other than Kitty to interact with. Other note-worthy incidents that took place include our valiant attempt to protest against having sounds made by a constipated anaemic gargoyle (alias Enrique) thrust down our auditory canals — this involved the three of us sitting down on the rug for a while before being told, “Excuse me, but this is not the place to sit” by one of the shop assistants. Lucifer began the game of intimidating a scruffy-looking, bespectacled twelve-year-old boy by peering intently at him over (not through, mind you) Kitty’s glasses. He and Kitty took turns at this and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I demonstrated the “Jerry mouse laugh”, much to the amusement of my companions and also enacted what occurred after I had accidentally let it slip louder than I had intended, during a class in college. Oh, and I also punched Kitty for being annoying. (Thanks to my hard knuckles, I can punch quite well without much of an effort).
Dark Chocolate called up after her meeting ended and we decided to go out and get some mineral water (since I was thirsty again) while waiting for her to arrive. By the time I had passed more water down my perpetually parched throat, Dark Chocolate arrived, smiled and waved at everyone. Once inside once again, we decided to order some food. Dark Chocolate meowed, made funny faces that would give Puss in Boots a run for his money, and showed us some incredibly cute pictures and videos of some kittens. We also discussed amoebae that performed callisthenics inside people’s brains, the joy of threatening to set E. coli and Bacillus subtillis on people, the exact mechanism by which a cat would die a gruesome death (with its four paws in the air, lying helpless on the road) when encountering a particularly difficult calculus problem set in competitive examinations and the odd coincidence of having dancers in muted music videos move in harmony with a completely unrelated and equally irksome song, (usually of a different language), playing loudly in the background.
Lucifer left soon after lunch. Dark Chocolate called up her boyfriend to have him meow at us. (She had boasted of his meowing skills. Hence, well, you know). Kitty and I made revolted pukey-faces at the mushy talk that soon followed between the two meow-ers. And the three of us decided to walk to the multiplex nearby for something to drink. At the multiplex, I bumped into one of my college-buddies, and was introduced to her mum and sister, who were both very sweet and gracious. At the food court we all got a kick out of behaving immaturely — we made squeaky-sounds by speedily sliding our fingers across some glossy paper, shredded the paper into tiny strips and stuffed these inside the plastic soft-drink glass. Kitty and I then raced down an up escalator. I won. (Whee-ness!) Kitty got ticked off by a security guard. (Boo-ness!) Dark Chocolate breezed down the normal flight of stairs and purred like a content cat. (“…”-ness). We left the multiplex and were guided towards the Metro station by Dark Chocolate. Discussion pertaining to the joys of listening to Lacuna Coil and head-banging to one’s heart’s content ensured that we were not bored while waiting for the train. I got off before the others, waved and walked off to board another transportation vehicle which would take me home.
I’m certain that I have successfully conveyed the full extent of my inane, puerile and well, dim-witted demeanour to all those who met me. I was exhausted when I reached home. And Ship’s battery decided to cold-war me some minutes into the conversation. However, I do well with a lot of laughing gas in my system. And I did laugh today … quite a bit. Very amusing, the day was. A good time, I had. Stop speaking like Yoda, I should. So, well, YAYNESS! XD
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
At The Zoo
1:30 p.m.
DM: (while certain rowdy raucous specimens are playing with VB’s and her hair-thingys) “We are not chicks! What are you people — cocks?”
There is inane raucous laughter from all around.
1:55 p.m.
DM: (to LD) “I finally realised how you speak! You speak like you’ve got chewing gum stuck to your teeth.”
LD: (mutters) “Right …”
DM: “I’m not saying it’s bad … and *insert DM’s parody/imitation of LD’s manner of speaking here* and it’s cute, but yes …”
LD: “…”
LD stares blankly with one eyebrow raised.
2:50 p.m.
Professor: (while explaining a certain part of the lecture-thingy) “If one of these RNA primers fall off we may no longer be humans but donkeys …”
LD starts laughing like a donkey. VB and DM look away. LD scribbles into the note-book in which she has been jotting down bits and pieces of all the conversation that she has heard during the afternoon. LD then shows VB the note-book.
VB: (after reading it) “I read it. You’re crazy.”
DM: “You’re weird.”
VB: “Both of us … (she sees LD scribbling some more) OOF!”
VB blinks. Twice.
LD: (thinking) “That coffee is actually working!”
3:00 p.m.
Professor: “When did we start?”
Class: (in monosyllables) “1:50”
Professor: “And how long do we go on?”
Class: (in a dull and monotonous manner) “3:40”
Professor: “Then I will give you a break.”
And she leaves. (For a short while). Cheers erupt, albeit muted ones.
LD: (mentally) “YAYNESS!”
3:10 p.m.
LD: (to VB) “I like your initials.”
VB: (sharply) “I don’t. Imagine a Bengali saying it — Bhee Bhee!”
LD snorts most ungraciously and breaks into a laughing fit, scribbling all the while.
VB: “And you’re going to write that down. I’m not going to speak to you.”
3:20 p.m.
The professor is discussing palindromic DNA sequences. There is palpable excitement in the air.
Somebody from the class: (jumping up) “MALAYALAM! MALAYALAM!”
DM blinks repeatedly. VB blinks too. DM, VB and LD smile foolishly at each other. LD looks about sneakily.
VB: (catching LD’s eye) “You can’t write that.”
LD: “Oh no?”
LD starts writing promptly. VB stares at the screen. LD shows what she has written to VB. VB shakes her head. LD’s eyes twinkle mischievously.
VB: (exasperatedly) “Shakes head?”
LD nods. LD writes.
VB: “…”
LD chuckles.
3:28 p.m.
LD looks at the note-book.
LD: “This is fun!”
DM: “You’ve become quote crazy today.”
LD: “Quote crazy?”
DM: “Quote crazy. And you can quote that.”
3:35 p.m.
LD finally reads what’s on the screen.
LD: (snorting) “Hoogsteen pairing! Ahahahahahahahaha!”
VB: (bemused) “You just read it? She’s been saying it all along.”
LD keeps on sniggering stupidly.
3:40 p.m.
The class ends. DM, VB and LD are the first three to run out. LD is still snickering at the silly sounding name she read.
VB: “…”
DM: “…”
LD keeps laughing hysterically. DM and VB shake their heads in exasperation and walk on.
PS: Yes. I was bored. And I think that writer’s block sucks. So, I have been seeking inspiration elsewhere. Still, it was rather amusing! :P
DM: (while certain rowdy raucous specimens are playing with VB’s and her hair-thingys) “We are not chicks! What are you people — cocks?”
There is inane raucous laughter from all around.
1:55 p.m.
DM: (to LD) “I finally realised how you speak! You speak like you’ve got chewing gum stuck to your teeth.”
LD: (mutters) “Right …”
DM: “I’m not saying it’s bad … and *insert DM’s parody/imitation of LD’s manner of speaking here* and it’s cute, but yes …”
LD: “…”
LD stares blankly with one eyebrow raised.
2:50 p.m.
Professor: (while explaining a certain part of the lecture-thingy) “If one of these RNA primers fall off we may no longer be humans but donkeys …”
LD starts laughing like a donkey. VB and DM look away. LD scribbles into the note-book in which she has been jotting down bits and pieces of all the conversation that she has heard during the afternoon. LD then shows VB the note-book.
VB: (after reading it) “I read it. You’re crazy.”
DM: “You’re weird.”
VB: “Both of us … (she sees LD scribbling some more) OOF!”
VB blinks. Twice.
LD: (thinking) “That coffee is actually working!”
3:00 p.m.
Professor: “When did we start?”
Class: (in monosyllables) “1:50”
Professor: “And how long do we go on?”
Class: (in a dull and monotonous manner) “3:40”
Professor: “Then I will give you a break.”
And she leaves. (For a short while). Cheers erupt, albeit muted ones.
LD: (mentally) “YAYNESS!”
3:10 p.m.
LD: (to VB) “I like your initials.”
VB: (sharply) “I don’t. Imagine a Bengali saying it — Bhee Bhee!”
LD snorts most ungraciously and breaks into a laughing fit, scribbling all the while.
VB: “And you’re going to write that down. I’m not going to speak to you.”
3:20 p.m.
The professor is discussing palindromic DNA sequences. There is palpable excitement in the air.
Somebody from the class: (jumping up) “MALAYALAM! MALAYALAM!”
DM blinks repeatedly. VB blinks too. DM, VB and LD smile foolishly at each other. LD looks about sneakily.
VB: (catching LD’s eye) “You can’t write that.”
LD: “Oh no?”
LD starts writing promptly. VB stares at the screen. LD shows what she has written to VB. VB shakes her head. LD’s eyes twinkle mischievously.
VB: (exasperatedly) “Shakes head?”
LD nods. LD writes.
VB: “…”
LD chuckles.
3:28 p.m.
LD looks at the note-book.
LD: “This is fun!”
DM: “You’ve become quote crazy today.”
LD: “Quote crazy?”
DM: “Quote crazy. And you can quote that.”
3:35 p.m.
LD finally reads what’s on the screen.
LD: (snorting) “Hoogsteen pairing! Ahahahahahahahaha!”
VB: (bemused) “You just read it? She’s been saying it all along.”
LD keeps on sniggering stupidly.
3:40 p.m.
The class ends. DM, VB and LD are the first three to run out. LD is still snickering at the silly sounding name she read.
VB: “…”
DM: “…”
LD keeps laughing hysterically. DM and VB shake their heads in exasperation and walk on.
PS: Yes. I was bored. And I think that writer’s block sucks. So, I have been seeking inspiration elsewhere. Still, it was rather amusing! :P
Monday, 20 August 2007
Rainy Days and Mondays
Date: 20.08.2007
Time: 6:40 p.m.
A poetic day is usually one which gives you this insatiable urge to write. It doesn’t matter whether it is in prose or verse form — all that is important is the feeling that you will burst if you don’t put the thoughts swirling violently inside your head into words.
After raining petulantly for the last couple of days, the morning started out to be sunny and rather warm. Later during the day, however, the clouds seemed to suffer a hundred-and-eighty degree mood swing and amassed in one corner of the brightly lit sky. Although I wasn’t really watching the weather (I was, err … trying my best to ignore my grumbling stomach in a certain class which seemed to stretch on endlessly seeing that the fact that lunch breaks are meant for eating was an idea alien to the professor teaching us), I had a feeling that it would rain today. When my mates and I finally managed to head downstairs after arguing a long-drawn court-case with the professor (titled: “Class vs. Teacher: The Case of the Lunch-Break-which-is-denied-in-spite-of-class-having-ended-after-three-hours-of-torturous-teaching), we located some rowdy raucous specimens whom I was supposed to be ‘treating’ today and headed towards the nearby eatery which we frequent on a daily basis.
It took ages for the two ordered food-items to arrive, by which time the rowdy raucous specimens had evolved into ravenously-hungry rowdy raucous specimens. And then came the rain, pouring down beautifully, the moment we finished gorging the last crumbs left behind after a long battle with warring fingers fighting for food. Ah ‘what a glorious feeling!’ It was splendid to smell the fresh air again instead of rotten smoke from automobiles.
There were eight people and only three umbrellas, leading to more than one person (I’m poor at basic arithmetic, so forgive me) scrambling beneath a single umbrella in order to prepare for a mad dash to the next class. The only two things which I did not wish to get wet were my wristwatch and my bag (I’m still not sure whether it is water-proof). Therefore, I deposited my watch inside my bag, rolled up my trousers and ran like the lunatic I am, while ensuring that my bag does not get wet and paying no attention to whether the rowdy raucous specimen sharing (or I should say, ‘hogging’) my umbrella got drenched or not. Anyway, I did get drenched and I must say that it was rather pleasant to splash about in muddy water and feel the water droplets happily trickling down my face, head and rather wet back. Sadly, my friends weren’t quite so delighted at having got wet owing to their umbrellas being hogged by the other rowdy raucous specimens. And I suppose they were even more soaked than I was. Pity, really. Astonishingly, I actually managed to work out Mathematics while distracted and even got a ‘Good’ for working out the stuff (*smiles in a silly and weird manner*).
We had some free time after that class, which I spent sitting in the canteen with two of my friends. They both bought something warm to drink and I followed suit. We sat there sipping the hot fluid which made my throat feel as though it was getting an internal massage (although I think that I burnt my tongue). Nevertheless, it was quite pleasant after all the water I had been drinking today.
The last class was to start at five minutes to three. Not surprisingly, none of my classmates were very keen on staying for it. We all decided to wait for five or ten minutes to see whether the professor would be taking class and then leave if he did not turn up by that time. Most dishearteningly, we saw our professor walking up the corridor towards our classroom the exact moment we were finished packing and were about to leave! We all looked as though we’d been gifted poison on our birthday.
Our pleas to let us leave the dreaded dungeon (erm, not exactly a dungeon since the classroom’s on the fourth floor … I’m exaggerating a bit, heh) were mistaken for requests to discuss discourses on the lovely weather instead of our usual talk about ethics. Below, you would find an abridged version of the conversations that took place during the class (known and unknown to the professor).
Prof: (to a classmate) “What does the rain make you feel?”
LD: (while she’s answering … and I’m muttering) I feel like writing poetry. Descriptive, depressing poetry.
VB: (one of my friends, who is sitting directly on my right … she’s muttering as well) Sir, I feel like slapping LD … really hard.
LD: (while the discussion on rain is still continuing) I feel like jumping into puddles and splashing VB with water so that her undies remain wet. Waaaahahahahahaha (*evil laugh*).
[VB looks disgruntled]
Prof: “… The rain is associated with mood swings …”
LD: (mutters) Too true!
Prof: “… with missing someone you love …”
[LD sticks out her tongue and makes a face]
VB: (wrinkling her nose in annoyance) You’re still a five-year-old inside your head!
Prof: (sneakily taking the conversation back to Ethics) “… the relationship between man and nature … story of man’s hostility to nature … thanks to Science and Technology you could understand the logic of nature and manipulate nature … relationship is that of master and slave … nature is used as an instrument to serve our needs … used almost recklessly to serve human purpose … Those who wanted to make money, make war …”
LD: (softly and rather randomly) You missed out make pizza, sir, pizza and plastic.
Prof: “… power hungry people wanted to take advantage of nature and it is at this juncture that …”
LD: … more of blah-blah-ing comes in. Gah.
[After several pointed requests by the class to let us leave, which continue to be mistaken for requests to discuss other matters …]
Class: Leave us please, sir!
LD: (out of hearing range of the professor but within that of VB) Yes! These two next to me are wet and have wet undies as well (*snigger snigger snigger evil snigger*)!
Prof: “I give you the liberty to raise an issue and then go home.”
DM: (another friend sitting to the right of VB) Don’t we have the liberty to go home?
AGM: (a classmate, who abruptly asks) Is it ethical to make remakes of legendary films like Sholay?
[LD, VB and DM laugh like lunatics for no reason, while there is more blah-ness …
Then, this hitherto farcical representation takes a turn for the serious as VB decides to raise a very serious issue.]
Last Thursday, while VB and DM were walking to college together, along a slightly deserted route, certain men present there hooted, passed extremely lewd comments and made them feel extremely insecure and scared about the tense and unpredictable situation they were in. VB was extremely upset about the utter helplessness of their situation and that nothing is done about similar or even worse situations taking place across the country. She has written about the incident in her blog. I urge all of you to go and read “Protest”.
VB: We want to know what can be done about it. If it happens to millions of women all over the country why shouldn’t our voices be raised?
Our professor then suggested certain measures that could be taken for doing just that and urged all of us to speak out against this. The risk of speaking out and that of the so-called “loss of face” should be one that we, being a part of the “elite and lucky few in the country” should be willing to take. He also stated, “Danger lies in becoming solitary … we have all become onlookers.”
One thing that I think today’s lesson achieved is that our entire class has now woken up to the fact that eve-teasing and sexual harassment of women is something real — not just a sad story in the morning newspaper which one reads and forgets by the time one finishes breakfast.
I got a bit wet again while I was returning home from college (*Yayness*). And I also had a pleasant chat with Ship over the phone. The rains do indeed inspire a lot! After suffering from writer’s block and blankness for quite some time, I’ve actually written something that is three pages long! And yes, it was a rather poetic day, even though I haven’t wasted paper by ‘composing’ horrid poems that are so characteristic of me (*Smiles all around*). I feel slightly better, yes. Definitely.
End: 8:15 p.m.
Time: 6:40 p.m.
A poetic day is usually one which gives you this insatiable urge to write. It doesn’t matter whether it is in prose or verse form — all that is important is the feeling that you will burst if you don’t put the thoughts swirling violently inside your head into words.
After raining petulantly for the last couple of days, the morning started out to be sunny and rather warm. Later during the day, however, the clouds seemed to suffer a hundred-and-eighty degree mood swing and amassed in one corner of the brightly lit sky. Although I wasn’t really watching the weather (I was, err … trying my best to ignore my grumbling stomach in a certain class which seemed to stretch on endlessly seeing that the fact that lunch breaks are meant for eating was an idea alien to the professor teaching us), I had a feeling that it would rain today. When my mates and I finally managed to head downstairs after arguing a long-drawn court-case with the professor (titled: “Class vs. Teacher: The Case of the Lunch-Break-which-is-denied-in-spite-of-class-having-ended-after-three-hours-of-torturous-teaching), we located some rowdy raucous specimens whom I was supposed to be ‘treating’ today and headed towards the nearby eatery which we frequent on a daily basis.
It took ages for the two ordered food-items to arrive, by which time the rowdy raucous specimens had evolved into ravenously-hungry rowdy raucous specimens. And then came the rain, pouring down beautifully, the moment we finished gorging the last crumbs left behind after a long battle with warring fingers fighting for food. Ah ‘what a glorious feeling!’ It was splendid to smell the fresh air again instead of rotten smoke from automobiles.
There were eight people and only three umbrellas, leading to more than one person (I’m poor at basic arithmetic, so forgive me) scrambling beneath a single umbrella in order to prepare for a mad dash to the next class. The only two things which I did not wish to get wet were my wristwatch and my bag (I’m still not sure whether it is water-proof). Therefore, I deposited my watch inside my bag, rolled up my trousers and ran like the lunatic I am, while ensuring that my bag does not get wet and paying no attention to whether the rowdy raucous specimen sharing (or I should say, ‘hogging’) my umbrella got drenched or not. Anyway, I did get drenched and I must say that it was rather pleasant to splash about in muddy water and feel the water droplets happily trickling down my face, head and rather wet back. Sadly, my friends weren’t quite so delighted at having got wet owing to their umbrellas being hogged by the other rowdy raucous specimens. And I suppose they were even more soaked than I was. Pity, really. Astonishingly, I actually managed to work out Mathematics while distracted and even got a ‘Good’ for working out the stuff (*smiles in a silly and weird manner*).
We had some free time after that class, which I spent sitting in the canteen with two of my friends. They both bought something warm to drink and I followed suit. We sat there sipping the hot fluid which made my throat feel as though it was getting an internal massage (although I think that I burnt my tongue). Nevertheless, it was quite pleasant after all the water I had been drinking today.
The last class was to start at five minutes to three. Not surprisingly, none of my classmates were very keen on staying for it. We all decided to wait for five or ten minutes to see whether the professor would be taking class and then leave if he did not turn up by that time. Most dishearteningly, we saw our professor walking up the corridor towards our classroom the exact moment we were finished packing and were about to leave! We all looked as though we’d been gifted poison on our birthday.
Our pleas to let us leave the dreaded dungeon (erm, not exactly a dungeon since the classroom’s on the fourth floor … I’m exaggerating a bit, heh) were mistaken for requests to discuss discourses on the lovely weather instead of our usual talk about ethics. Below, you would find an abridged version of the conversations that took place during the class (known and unknown to the professor).
Prof: (to a classmate) “What does the rain make you feel?”
LD: (while she’s answering … and I’m muttering) I feel like writing poetry. Descriptive, depressing poetry.
VB: (one of my friends, who is sitting directly on my right … she’s muttering as well) Sir, I feel like slapping LD … really hard.
LD: (while the discussion on rain is still continuing) I feel like jumping into puddles and splashing VB with water so that her undies remain wet. Waaaahahahahahaha (*evil laugh*).
[VB looks disgruntled]
Prof: “… The rain is associated with mood swings …”
LD: (mutters) Too true!
Prof: “… with missing someone you love …”
[LD sticks out her tongue and makes a face]
VB: (wrinkling her nose in annoyance) You’re still a five-year-old inside your head!
Prof: (sneakily taking the conversation back to Ethics) “… the relationship between man and nature … story of man’s hostility to nature … thanks to Science and Technology you could understand the logic of nature and manipulate nature … relationship is that of master and slave … nature is used as an instrument to serve our needs … used almost recklessly to serve human purpose … Those who wanted to make money, make war …”
LD: (softly and rather randomly) You missed out make pizza, sir, pizza and plastic.
Prof: “… power hungry people wanted to take advantage of nature and it is at this juncture that …”
LD: … more of blah-blah-ing comes in. Gah.
[After several pointed requests by the class to let us leave, which continue to be mistaken for requests to discuss other matters …]
Class: Leave us please, sir!
LD: (out of hearing range of the professor but within that of VB) Yes! These two next to me are wet and have wet undies as well (*snigger snigger snigger evil snigger*)!
Prof: “I give you the liberty to raise an issue and then go home.”
DM: (another friend sitting to the right of VB) Don’t we have the liberty to go home?
AGM: (a classmate, who abruptly asks) Is it ethical to make remakes of legendary films like Sholay?
[LD, VB and DM laugh like lunatics for no reason, while there is more blah-ness …
Then, this hitherto farcical representation takes a turn for the serious as VB decides to raise a very serious issue.]
Last Thursday, while VB and DM were walking to college together, along a slightly deserted route, certain men present there hooted, passed extremely lewd comments and made them feel extremely insecure and scared about the tense and unpredictable situation they were in. VB was extremely upset about the utter helplessness of their situation and that nothing is done about similar or even worse situations taking place across the country. She has written about the incident in her blog. I urge all of you to go and read “Protest”.
VB: We want to know what can be done about it. If it happens to millions of women all over the country why shouldn’t our voices be raised?
Our professor then suggested certain measures that could be taken for doing just that and urged all of us to speak out against this. The risk of speaking out and that of the so-called “loss of face” should be one that we, being a part of the “elite and lucky few in the country” should be willing to take. He also stated, “Danger lies in becoming solitary … we have all become onlookers.”
One thing that I think today’s lesson achieved is that our entire class has now woken up to the fact that eve-teasing and sexual harassment of women is something real — not just a sad story in the morning newspaper which one reads and forgets by the time one finishes breakfast.
I got a bit wet again while I was returning home from college (*Yayness*). And I also had a pleasant chat with Ship over the phone. The rains do indeed inspire a lot! After suffering from writer’s block and blankness for quite some time, I’ve actually written something that is three pages long! And yes, it was a rather poetic day, even though I haven’t wasted paper by ‘composing’ horrid poems that are so characteristic of me (*Smiles all around*). I feel slightly better, yes. Definitely.
End: 8:15 p.m.
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