Goodbye 2010!

| Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on 11:39 PM


   I was going to write a post about how 2010 was. And how I want 2011 to be.
   I will.
   First, I'll take the time out to write about...
   Well, I saw this movie called 'Scott Pilgrim vs. The World' and believe me, there can be no better movie to be seen on the very last day of a year for someone who is as.. well, I don't really have a lot of adjectives for myself, so I'll just go with.. WEIRD as me. There's tons of action(that I don't really like a lot), arcade-style visuals(that I sort of liked), and best of all - one really AWESOME blue/pink/green haired chick(that, to my surprise, I really, REALLY liked)
    So her name is Ramona Flowers. And she looks AWESOME. Mary Elizabeth Winstead played her in the film and I doubt I'd find her as mind-numbingly awesome as I happened to had it not been for hair. I mean, my first impression was something like, 'Eh, who's this pixie chick with pink hair?' but then it sort of changed to end up something like, 'Who is this chick with pink hair!?' You know what I mean right?
    To top all of that, she changes her hair color TWICE in the film(blue and green!), which is more than adequate and double of just satisfactory. My personal favorite would be green. Or blue. Or pink. She's awesome. I'm infatuated. I'm definitely writing a short story about some chick with green or pink or blue hair. Or maybe alternating hair colors. It's one of those rare moments when inspiration seems to hit you in the face. So hard your teeth come out. And you feel so good that you wish your eyes and hair would fall out too. Know what I mean right?
Ramona Flowers! She's AWESOME!!!
   So, uh, enough rambling about pink haired chicks.
   How was 2010?
   Okay. Just.. okay.
   I mean, could've been better but it was, uh.. satisfactory.
   There were tons of firsts: First 75/80 in Maths, first blog[:D], first awesome short story, first really disgusting short story, etc, etc. I could go on, but I wouldn't want to really.
   It was disappointing too. There were times I wanted to kill myself. And given the extremely fickle and impulsive nature of my mind, chances are something like that just might end up happening. But I know better now. I suppose... (O_o)
   The really, REALLY cool thing about this year was that I knew what I wanted to do in-spite of the fact that I hated it. I mean, I tried studying like a dog, and for the most part I'd say I succeeded. I even did things just to stop myself from going crazy. Even though I have no chances whatsoever of ever ending up as a musician, I still continued to write meaningless songs with weird riffs. Not that I have any higher chances of ending up as an author, I still wrote short stories and poems, right? It's one of the reasons I sort of like myself. Not a lot. Just a little. Ask me how much I like myself and I'll tell you I think I'm no more than a piece of shit. PLUS. I also stuck to my 'no-dating-in-the-tenth-grade' pact, even though I had quite a lot of chances to go back on my words. :)
    So. I think that should be enough for.. about an hour and a half before another year hits me fresh in my stomach and makes my hair fall out with anxiety.
    What am I looking forward to? 
    Not much. It's going to be another year like the one that just passed my by. With love, laughter, happiness, bullshit, dumbfucks, hardships and the likes. And not to forget, tons of brain-raping studies. 
    2010...  You came and went to quick. You just... passed out too freaking quick. Like a drunkard with the liquor holding capacity of a twelve year old.
   Will I remember you for long? Well, that just depends on my, as of yet a little too unreliable, brain. No false promises, man, I'm not one of those asses who says, 'Aww, I'll never forget this!' Though I'm pretty sure I should say it at this point. But neh, I'm not one to take chances. You'd know, right?
   No hard feelings, man.
   You were a bitch at times. I was one too. We're even. :)
   Don't really know tons about remembrance, but I sure do know that I'll miss you. I'll fucking miss you for sure. 
   Bubbye, man.
   'Twas fun knowing you.
    Time to say hello to 2011. :)


Behind A Happy Face

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 12:02 PM


She wore a happy face
But no one knew what lay behind...

The air felt heavy, the silence weighed it down.
He had to squint hard in the dim light to see,
And he was surprised, and shocked somehow too,
To see an array of Happy Faces...

All happy, none sad.
All superficial, all sickening.

He had not known then, that those were plastic faces..
Plastic faces with plastic smiles.
The real faces lay hidden,
Under lips curled into forced smiles
Pasted on a sheet of frigid white...

He had not known then, that it was their Ritual;

Their punishment; their crime;
Their heinous sacrimony to the unpleasant world
Where anger and happiness were duly accepted
But tears and guilt were not...

And he had not known then, that under one such etched smile
Lay a set of gorgeously carved eyes,
Searching for another pair, as unpleased and unhappy...

And she took off her mask in front of a set of Unknown Eyes,
For she saw that under them, the smile worn was genuine
And as she did pieces of flesh from her face came tearing out,
For she had worn the mask unbothered for too long

And then she cupped her face,
Her real face, with real flesh and real bones
With her real hands and started crying, 
As a set of Unknown Eyes watched...

She felt not as she thought she would,
As with her tears, she'd relinquished her sorrows
Into her World's Cauldron of Emotions,
Which had been left unstirred for long, too...

And a set of Unknown Eyes stood and stared,
As from her eyes, tears rolled down her face,
Dropping on the barren floor like little pearls,
The demons of Love and Care winning the war
Against the angels of Hatred and Anger...

But as the pearls fell, she felt the presence

Of another two sets of eyes...
The Lions of the jungle of her World...

And she put her mask back on,
Her face got cut in places,
And shards of her mask fell down
Cradled heartily with her own dark, red blood...

And as a set of Unknown Eyes watched,
She wore her happy face again
But no one else knew what lay behind...


Everything Ends [Fiction 55]

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 9:57 PM


Distances separate people. And hearts.
I was waiting for her acknowledge my existence.
And she did. Again.
But dammit, she forgot.
I find happiness in small things.
Whatever’s left of those small things - and happiness - now?
She forgot.
But it’s okay.
I'll forget her someday.
And she'll forget me too.
Everything ends.


Christmasy Feelings

| Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on 12:07 AM


   It's Christmas 2010 already? Well, at least now I know I'll die sooner than I realize, so it's cool.
   How would you feel if you were to spend Christmas studying for a goddamned 'Talent Reward Examination' to be held the day after? I mean, considering the fact that I have no REAL talent in Maths, Physics or Chemistry whatsoever, and that the 'Reward' I'll get wouldn't particularly be any rewarding - to me, that is - I don't even really know why I'm even taking it. But then again, so are about a lakh or even more students all over India, so I guess I'm not the only one. I'd still think it'll be a rank wasted: The person who'd be ranked after me could easily get my rank, provided of course I don't give the test. But such a situation might arise in which I'm the one who's ranked last, justifying my taking the test - I'd be helping the one who would stand last had it not been for me, stand second last right?
   You know, I can be very sure of the fact that most people don't really 'celebrate' Christmas. I mean, aside from Christians who actually do something, everybody else treats Christmas like a regular holiday, right?
   I wrote a delightful little letter addressed to Santa too. I mean, well, technically not addressed because I don't know the address, but still. It reads:

    Dear Santa,
       I don't have a wishlist for you this year. Like the previous one. AND the one before.
    See, the reason is, that I don't really know what I want. Or what I should want...
    You know what I mean right? So this year, instead of giving you a wishlist and expect
    -ing you to fulfill it, I'd just want you to give a list of things I should wish for. If you 
    could just do that, it'd be appreciated. Very much. Thanks :)

   Come to think of it, I DO know why Santa doesn't come to India. Like... how many number of houses here even have chimneys? (O_o)
   Christmas wasn't really sad. I'm just remarkably more cynical than I used to be last year. The sad part is that I have to spend about 8 hours tomorrow going to the FIITJEE test center, giving an IQ and a PCM paper, and coming back from the FIITJEE test center. It's sad. And I can't even really say, "Why me, God?" 'cause it'd be freaking stupid to say such a thing when I'm obviously aware of the fact that tons - and literally tons - of people take the test. In fact, there are a number of people who've talked to me only regarding the FTRE. Had it not been for the FTRE, I don't even know if they'd have even said hello to me.
   I was talking to one of my friends about something... and it was a particularly interesting one. She mentioned the term, 'Blackberry Contacts'
   I asked her, 'What the hell? Blackberry contacts? Is that a reference to your friend possessing one or him having contacts in the company called Blackberry?'
   'It refers to him possessing a Blackberry'
   'So you'll call the contacts of his Blackberry, his Blackberry contacts? Seriously?'
   'Why? If I have an iPhone, and you're one of the contacts, what would you be called then? An Apple Contact?'
   Well, come to think of now, I just guess it was plain irritating for her.
   That'll be all I have to share about me and my Christmasy feelings at the moment.
Goodnight, y'all.

This Day Would Come...

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 2:58 PM


  Dad is sipping his morning tea and reading the newspaper.
  Mom is outside gathering clothes from the clothesline because it started raining about ten minutes back.
  I'm having my morning tea as well. I'm out of my two biscuits permitted to be had every morning.
  The sound of dad turning his pages irritates me.
  I'm staring at my now-empty cup of tea. Suddenly, I remember what my friend had said to me.'I want to go and play guitar on the streets,' I announce, to nobody in particular and everyone in general. I explain further. 'It's a campaign by some company in which the money collected is donated to the poor. Just for two hours. Please.' I don't know why I used the word 'please'. I don't even know if I should have.
  Mom reacts first. She takes one of her saris down from the clothesline and puts it in a bucket where she's collecting all the clothes. It falls down making a splash-like sound. Proceeding to the next sari, she says, 'Good. You'll at least do something better than lazing around all the time.' Then, she puts another sari into the bucket and goes ahead to the next in line.
  Dad picks his cup up and takes a sip. Then, lowering his glasses without using his hands, he looks at me. A stern, puzzled look. A questioning look. He turns his head slowly and looks at mom. 'You know,' he says to her; his hands still holding the newspaper. 'I told you this day would come.'
  Mom keeps on collecting clothes from the clothesline.
  The serene grey sky keeps on pouring softly.
  Dad goes back to reading his newspaper.
  And I go back to staring blankly at my empty cup of tea...

  Disclaimer: Fiction
    Although, there really is a campaign in which you can get to play instruments to raise money for the poor. :)

I'm So Cool!

| Posted in , , | Posted on 11:33 AM


[This is what me and Anish Majumdar were discussing the night before our respective second language unit tests: French and Sanskrit.]

I'm So Cool!

I'm so cool someone threw water on me and it froze on my skin and now I'm called Ice Man!

I'm so cool when I came back from Antarctica, Global Warming started!

I'm so cool I gave the sun a frost bite!

I'm so cool I need a year of practice to get warmed up!

I'm so cool you'll feel you're cool 'cause you know me!

I'm so cool that from October to February, people have to wear woolen clothes around me!(*)

I'm so cool I sell snowballs at the Sahara!

I'm so cool I look at the sun and it's night!

I'm so cool I can keep all the food in my fridge cool!

I'm so cool someone fired a missile towards me and it didn't reach me 'cause it was 
heat-seeking missile!


How cool are we? :P
For the record, we weren't drugged, high, drunk, or stoned. [Honest] :D
(*) - This one by Dhruv Diddi. :)


| Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on 2:17 PM


Disclaimer: Fictionalized Reality
   Second time I'd gone to that school for their fête. And I could tell a few things had changed from the previous one. The entry fee had gone up from Rs10 to Rs.20The big rotating car ride wasn't right after the entry - it wasn't even there, and it was the only ride I ever took. Instead, there were rows of food stalls. And in the place they'd been last year, there was a 'hit-the-balloons-with-guns-and-win-prizes' stall. I like observing my surroundings but no so much when it comes to people. Like I could tell you that the coupon counters were at the same place they'd been the last year and so was the Request Corner, but I wouldn't be able to tell you what a cute chick(according to people) was wearing last time as opposed to what she was wearing this year. Though, I'd be able to tell you she was the same chick. 
   I'm not the guy who usually goes to fêtes. I've never been to any other school except Bluebells because it's too bloody close to my home. I walk both ways - up and down - for the simple reason that even if there's nothing fun for me to do, to say the least, I'd be covering insane amounts of distances with my two feet.
   I happened to know someone - and mind you, just one - person from Bluebells this time round. And that was odd because I usually don't socialize. It's just a fancy way of saying I talk to a lot of people and bitch about them too. 
   At the main building of their school, I saw posters of 'Jam Sessions' and I thought, Whoa! That's cool! I can get to jam with random people! So I asked the aforementioned acquaintance of mine what exactly these 'Jam Sessions' were. And to my dismay she said, 'People dance!' I sighed. She also told me they last for half an hour each, pertaining to the 'Sessions' part of the name. I inquired further. 'It's a basement that's made to resemble a disc, and you can dance with your friends.'  Since I was aware of just how cool my moves were on the dance floor, I asked her, 'What if I get bored?' 
   She said, 'You come back up!' 
   So I asked, 'What if I want to go back in?'
   'Spend another hundred bucks and come back in!'
   I sighed.
   One of my friends I went there with, who wasn't from Bluebells got really stoked and asked me to join him in the jam session that was to start in a while. I gave him a 'you-seriously-want-me-to-dance?' look, and in reply he said, 'Heckyeah, what else will you do up here?' Sadly, he had a point. And even more sadly, I spent a hundred bucks to buy a ticket to go to a basement and do something that was the most unfamiliar form of self expression to me: Dance.
   The person who took the tickets tore mine and I saw something really, really nice. A really BIG aquarium placed high above right under the ceiling wall. I didn't even get time to admire it 'cause the people behind me pushed. It was pretty evident they wanted to dance. But more than anything I wanted to roam around the school, and admire fishes. Had I a chance, I'd have said out loud, 'AN AQUARIUM! Freaking fish over my head! COOL!' Thankfully though, I didn't.
   As I approached the 'basement' where everybody was dancing, I felt the bass beats of the song that was currently playing against my heart. I went in and thought, 'Damn, this place sure does resemble a disc!
   Darkness. Roaring, jumping people. SCREAMING people. Dotted lines of green and pink falling on people's faces and hands and whatever the lights found their way to. Not one of those sights that would make an introvert like me jump up in ecstasy. You know, darkness I like. But when it's attached to hip-hop beats and pink-and-green lights, it justs crosses a limit. I thought of the dark corridors illuminated by the aquariums. THAT was the kind of darkness I loved; silent darkness. I wanted to explore. I wanted to run away.
   My friend started dancing. I was just standing next to him gawking at the way he was moving his arms and his legs. Like he had no freaking bones. I started moving mine... though not so confidently or even rhythmically. I looked like a cat was made to dance... on all fours.
   Standing at some distance from us, there were two chicks who were trying to do dance. One of them was actually dancing. The other one was just... you know, people like to try things? Like me. I observed them for what felt like an eternity and went up to the one who wasn't really dancing(again, like me) and asked her if she would like to join me and my friend. Good thing was, even for an introvert like me, it didn't require any mustering up of courage 'cause well, my face was hidden. What more could I even want? 
   She consulted her friend and replied in affirmative.
   The situation looked better now. Instead of two guys dancing alone, there were four people, two of whom were chicks. So technically we could be considered a group. It's always more the merrier. More the crappier to me, but whatever.
   The aforementioned acquaintance was nowhere to be seen. It's not like we could see OR make out any of the people that we saw in that darkness, but still. She was probably dancing with her friends.
    We kept dancing with these two newly formed acquaintances. And I kept dancing like a Frankenstein, and the occasional jumps made it look like he was being shocked.
    The music stopped after another eternity had gone by. The lights were turned back on. People decided to behave like humans again.
    One of the chicks I was dancing with, asked me how I found the jam session. I told her, 'Can't wait for it to start again!' She didn't quite catch the sarcasm in my tone and said, 'Really! We're coming back again too! With our whole group this time!' 
    I reminded myself I had to run away. And I did. I bought a coke on my way out; the only thirty bucks I spent after the hundred for the 'Jam Session'. My friend told me he'd wasted a hundred bucks on the Jam Session, and expressed his desire to meet the aforementioned acquaintance for a full length debate on the topic: 'Jam Sessions Suck', sighting that he'd be speaking for the motion and the acquaintance against. I asked him why he didn't like it in-spite of having danced with chicks he didn't know. He said, 'Not hot enough,' as if he were comparing temperatures of volcanoes. I gave him a 'what-the-freaking-hell-is-wrong-with-you' look. He said, 'I don't know. You're the asexual one for not feeling the same way!'
   I sighed. We wanted to look for the acquaintance but she was nowhere to be seen as before, and the crowd started to look like it had gathered for a mini Woodstock festival, so we left.
   My friend took home just this one observation:
   a) Chicks who visit the Bluebells' Fête are hot (both bluebellians and non-bluebellians included). A majority of them to say the least.
   And I took home a few conclusions:
   a) I like coke when I'm having it after dancing for half an hour.
   b) I like aquariums in school corridors.
   c) I don't like discs, or anything that resembles one.
   d) I like talking to people I don't know only when both our faces are hidden.
   e) I'd be coming back again.


Unending Addictions [Fiction 55]

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 11:21 PM


She crushed her last cigarette under her bare feet. 
It hurt; the pain more emotional than physical. 
It hit her skin first. Then her heart.
She exhaled her last puff of dark, rewarding smoke;
Had her last kiss on the tasteless filter.

She sighed.

Her hands reached for the nicotine gum kept at the window-sill.


6th Fiction 55.

Quit before it's too late.
Nicotine is more addictive than heroin, cocaine and alcohol.

By the way, photograph's self taken :)

Intimacy Issues [Fiction 55]

| Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on 6:31 PM


Every morning I wake up and forget how intimate I am with various people. 
Know the weird feeling in your gut you have when you're meeting someone new? 
It's always there in mine.
Yesterday, this chick I liked, told me she loved me.
And I didn’t know what to say…
So I just stared…


My 5th Fiction 55.
For someone I know... Not too much, but just enough. :)

Things That Don't Make You Cool

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 11:35 PM


   Well, someone had to come up with it right?
   The things that don't - and never will - make you cool:

   -> Having 20 Boyfriends/Girlfriends
  You're so smoking hot everybody wants to date you. And you let them! Jesus, what's  
  wrong with this world?

   -> Holding A Guitar
  Oooh! This hotshot just picked up a guitar! Look at him just standing and doing 
  nothing with it. So cool, no? 
  You hold a guitar if you know how to play it - If you don't you keep away.

   -> Wearing Low Waist Jeans
  Just what part of your butt crack do you think is appreciable to the rest of the world?

   -> Swearing Loudly
  Swear a li'l more a li'l faster and I'll be convinced you have Tourette's.   

   -> Having Tons Of Expensive Gadgets - And Letting Others Know
  Your dad is a fucking billionaire. You made that point with your iPhone, iPod Touch AND  
  the MacBook Pro. There's no need for you to show the iPad, really.

  -> Wearing Boxers On The Street
  It's not 3 AM. You're not drunk. Hopefully. Why are you wearing just your boxers?

  -> Having A Mohawk
  Seriously? That's your hairstyle? Are you sure nobody shocked you underwater for like, 
  what, 30 minutes? Or wait, 30 minutes just wouldn't give the desired effect, would
  it? Well, maybe eternal electrocution would've helped. Dumbass.

   -> Typing 'lolzzz' all the time
  God. I didn't even crack a joke and all you seem to say is 'lolzzz'. Seriously. Stop.
  What I said wasn't funny. What you're saying is not funny. NOTHING is funny. Stop 
  'lolzzz'-ing. For the sake of anything that's ever been funny in this world. Please.

  -> 'Pimping' Your Ride
   On the back of your Maruti 800, you got this engraved: 

This Is Who I Am
48% Cool
52% Rich


  -> Posting Things That Don't Make People Cool.
  I am uncool. Period.

  Disclaimer: Product of intense boredom. Seriousness unintended.

Oh God, Once Again!

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 10:24 AM


   So. My Science Practical and my Piano exam are on the same date. Same morning. Always thought it'd be a choice between education and music; never one between a Science Practical and a Piano Practical. Bleh. "/
   By the way, I'm blogging from school.
   There are three member teams in the Bentley project, where you are to design a concert hall. One of them is attending a class. One of them is trying to memorise the poem 'A Prayer In Spring' by Robert Frost, and one of them is blogging. Eh.
   Anish came into the LCD lab a while back. He wrote lines from the poem he's supposed to memorise, called 'The Chimney Sweeper' by William Blake, on the whiteboard. The whiteboard now has, under the title of things to do, the various things that actually need to be done, and Anish's scribbling of a few lines from the chimney sweeper.
   Tarun, the one who's in the LCD lab with me, is clearly having a tough time memorising his poem for the goddamned poem recital Formattive Assignment. Screw CCE, man. Seriously, screw it. Thank god the poem I was supposed to learn is comparitively easy to memorise. It's called 'A Bird Came Down The Walk' by Emily Dickinson.
   Mayank send some chick a flirtatious text from my phone. She recognized it to be him and not me. Thank god.
   There's still so much stuff that I wanna write, but I just don't have the freaking time. It sucks. Life sucks. A little bit. Fuck yeah, it does.
   I'm as of yet, not perfectly prepared for my piano exam tomorrow. It's from 10:38 to 10:54. Sixteen minutes. And I'll be screwed more than sixteen million times during that time period.
   Plus, there's a test on Reproduction in AVTE today. I don't really mind giving tests or even studying for them, but goddammit does Reproduction SUCKS! To me, Biology in its entirety sucks. I don't care how Plasmodium reproduces, and pardon me for not caring if the cyst burts and releases a thousand seeds. Eh. And Sporangia has erect hyphae and on top of it there's Sporangiophores and the seeds burst. I don't even know if I'm correct. Who cares right now anyway.
  Well, that'll be enough rambling for a week to say atleast.
  Or maybe not.
  You know, thanks to CCE, it's just not enough to just know maths, you've got to be goddamn good at even freaking paper cutting. Screw you CCE. [It's becoming a rambling refrain]
  Do I have anything more to say?
  Not for the time being though, no.
  Tarun just asked me if I'd ever blown a balloon using my nose.
  I gave him a retarded look and went, 'What the fuck?'
  He also showed me a beautiful, and well, no exaggeration, GORGEOUS photo of our dear Mr. Kapil Sibbal.
  I've posed it below.

  P.S. It's gonna be recess in a while.

Answering The Allegations

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 11:44 AM


[So, uh, our director sir came to our class. And he told us to write our interpretation of the first four lines of the poem 'The Mirror' by Silvia Plath. So instead of just writing what I felt about the mirror, I wrote my interpretation in the form of a poem. Just like I did with a Shakespeare poem back in the ninth grade (The Seven Ages) :)]

The bold lines of each stanza are the line(s) written in the poem 'The Mirror' by Sylvia Plath. Everything else, I've written as my interpretation. 

Answering The Allegations

I am silver and exact
From the smallest of pockmarks
To the largest of moles, 
I will show you all, precisely
Barring nothing.

I have no preconceptions.
You might have shabby hair
Or a bent nose or even a harelip
But I will think of you as nothing more
Than another human, another soul

Whatever I see, I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
You might be the daughter of a king,
Or the son of a beggar
But you will see yourself just as
Who you are, your own unbiased self
Nothing more, nothing less...

I am not cruel, only truthful -
I will serve you your reality
Just the way you want it:
Cold, hard and bitter; or
Pleasant, charming and beautiful
It's up to you to decide.

* * *


| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 2:44 PM


The train reached its destination twenty minutes before the scheduled time. Surprising.
   When I set foot in the city, I was greeted by sights none too familiar, none too welcoming. But first of all, there was The Smell. One every goddamned station of the goddamned country of India offers. That of urine; and feces; and of carbage collected and dumped nowhere in particular.
   The Mechanical Voice announcing its announcements in different languages, unbothered if anybody cared enough to listen. Dirty cats turning their watchful eyes towards newcomers, assessing them. Dirty dogs chasing after dirty puppies. Little urchins running around collecting water bottles. Mother urchins breastfeeding even littler ones.
    Yep. Pretty damn sure it was Kolkata.

On my way to - and from - a relative's house, I couldn't help but notice Kolkata a little bit more.
    Cars clogging in traffic. People at cornershops buying whatever they felt the need of. Long queues behind the local tubewells for drawing water. Children, and even adults, playing their own version of badminton with plastic racquets and ping pong balls. Delighted mobs gathered around every other tea stall. And roads being newly decorated with posters of political parties.
    I'd hate to admit it even now, but politics had destroyed the beauty of the city of Kolkata to me. It loomed over the city like the clouds over the earth. And all people, whether they be ordinary or extra-ordinary, felt it. Negatively.
   But at the same time, I could not get out of my mind the things that truly set it apart.
   People standing and talking in groups on the pavements, over a cup of tea. Men out in the streets wearing banyan and lungi. Women carrying tholes for buying groceries. Phuchkawallahs and bhelpuriwallahs happily recieving payments for their inexpensive rates. Rickshaw-pullers pulling people of various sizes and ages at wages unimaginable to someone who'd lived in Delhi for so long...
   And then I realized something, and I don't know how right or wrong that might've been...
   People had simpler lives here. They found happiness in simpler things. They loved simpler things. They wanted simpler things. Better things.
   Not easier lives by any means, though. Just simpler.
   And I will always have a part of Kolkata in me, irrespective of whether I lived in Delhi, Dehradun, or Dallas.
   That'll be all. 


A Dash Of Fiery Red

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 7:36 PM


An angel she was; or a
Devil she might've been, dressed
In fiery red 

The two eyes she had embodied
Inexplicable beauty and whatnot; she was
Chilling more than dry ice; her 
Hair darker than a moonless night

Of all that I had seen,
Ridiculous I felt to have even looked, and
Die I sure did, when
In my sight she was no more;
And she'd left upon my heart
A dash of fiery red.

O Mother Earth!

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 6:47 PM


When will we learn? 

The shining sun isn't golden anymore 
It is hidden beneath the blanket
Of black smog; and who else
But we ourselves, are to blame?
It has lost its aura
Emanating no more, the resplendent sunlight
That it once did... 

The dry river beds haven't had a visitor 
Since ages abound... 
The gentle flow of the river has long ceased; 
Its subtle sound unheard for an eternity 
All there is, is silence 
Cold; Heartless; Painful

The trees have felled their leaves,
Greyed beyond recognition 
Those leaves, once green, now
A shade of flaccid marble white
But be not fooled by them,
For they look to be old;
But they are as young as morning dew

There is no more
The season of the sun;
Of the flowers; Of blistering cold;
Or of tranquil rain...
Just one, of stagnated growth
And perennial dullness, persists; and is seen
Wherever the eyes might turn to...

When will we learn?

O Mother Earth,
When will we learn?

Madman's Obsession

| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 5:38 PM


   Obsession is a funny thing.
   You don't realize when you've got one - and when you do, you want it to end.
   It results in a lot of things. The worst, is knowing that you don't want what you're obsessed with.
   It creates a division within. You split into two - one that wants; one that doesn't.
   It's like you're a paradox in yourself. Half of you is going to want it, the other half will argue.
   The innocent, naïve part of you is going to die of need. The conscious, realistic part of you is going to be happy for lack of possession.
   And then, it's all of this coaxing and rejecting inside of you that you can't bear anymore. You want it to end. No more madness...
   But in doing so, you'll have to choose. Whose side will you be on? The realist or the dreamer? You... or you?
   And as I sit here with the last picture in my hand, I don't debate what to do. I've been through this before. I want it... No, I don't... But I do...
   I take out the lighter and set it on fire.
   This was the last one; I burnt all the others.
   I feel the flames feeding on the old polaroid. The memories, the feelings, the confusion... it's all fading away into oblivion. Just like the picture...
   It's not completely burnt yet. I can make out a few things. I shake it hard to put out the fire. Then, I throw it on the ground.
   The half that wanted is now no more.
   And the half that doesn't, will not mind a half burnt picture.

   Obsession is a funny thing...   

Crumpled Piece Of Paper

| Posted in , , | Posted on 5:03 PM


It lies there in silence...

You don't care about it
Why should you?
After all, it's
Just a crumpled piece of paper...

Take a closer look,
What's inside?

A thought?
An idea?

A desire?
A secret?

Or a mere collection of words?

Had you not wanted it to be
Would it have been crumpled?

Look even closer, darling

Is it,
Just a crumpled piece of paper? 


The Forgotten Sepal

| Posted in , , , | Posted on 8:25 PM


You were my angel.

When you cried,
I held you in my arms
And with every passing second
I could feel your pain dissipating,
Fading away like the resonance
Of your cries..

And then you smiled,
For the very first time, 
And your bright little eyes shone happiness 
Into the darkest corners of my heart;
Touching and illuminating what I felt 
Could never be reached...

With time, you grew

You learnt how to talk,
With little stammers and mispronunciations.
They were of no significance to me
For every word you spoke was pure gold,
And everything you said 
Made me proud

Your tiny little fingers
Clasped onto my hands, my shoulders
When you fell sick, and all those 
Sleepless nights I spent, looking after you
Are still as clear as day;
Your every movement pellucid...

With time, you matured

You learnt how to put your thoughts into words;
Your words into actions...
You made memories; good and bad
And you tasted bittersweet regret

And then you got acquainted with temptation.
It didn't kill you, nor did it hollow you out
 But I knew, only too well,
The silence before the storm, and
The ticks before the toll...

With time, you advanced

You became independent
You wanted to do everything yourself,
And I stood there beside you,
Waiting to pick you up shall you ever fall...
And you did

You got your piece of the ungrateful world
But you never sought me...
And who was I to complain?
For that was what you'd wanted; what you'd wished
And a child's wishes are always to be fulfilled
Over the wishes of oneself

And then you were happy again
Smiling like you once used to, 
But not in my arms...
And you chose to live inside a bubble
One made in a fit of complacency, of arrogance
One without me

Time may have grown you
Time may have matured you
But I fostered you
I nurtured you

Why didn't you understand,
That I've never wanted you to thank me...
All I wanted from you - and may I be forgiven,
If it was too much to ask - 
Was remembrance.
Fond, cherished remembrance.

Because you, darling, 
Are - and shall forever be -  
My sweet little flower...

And what am I to you now,
But a forgotten sepal?