...Between Fantasy And Reality - II

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 11:38 AM


...Between Fantasy And Reality



   In all my haste, I’d forgotten to mention a few things in the first of a series of dedications to you: First, the fact that you wore braces then – and it didn’t matter to me if it diminished your overall beauty; it wasn’t something I was concerned with in the first place. And then, the fact that you were wearing a blue kurti (did it have dots? or was it decorated with stars?) the day we first spoke to each other; and I had no idea it would come to haunt me again the first time I saw you dressed in it – but I’ll get to that in a while. There was another thing that I’d noticed – during maths class you always took the seats at the back, whereas in the science class (which took place once maths was over) you always took the front seats, usually somewhere from the first three rows; but I can’t be so sure - it was only a handful of times that I’d seen you during science class. But come grade ten, and it would all change.
   When tenth grade began, I honestly hoped you’d opt for some other batch, because I was opting for the same one I did last year; it was the tenth grade after all – I had to make something of it, right? Much to my dismay – and somewhat to my liking – you didn’t, and it was with inane happiness that I’d realized I could get to be in the same room with you for 3 hours, because this time, I opted for science too.
   I don’t remember much of science classes, except the fact that I was usually very sleepy and that you still occupied one the first few rows, but without the friend you usually sat with, and you sat on the other side, now; I took a seat on on of the rows to the right, while you took one on the left. And you didn’t change your seat for maths class, which was now held after science.
   This one time after the summer vacations, I clearly remember, I saw you in science class and I almost died. This was the first class I was attending after a month-and-a-half away from science, so naturally whatever was being taught made no sense to me. I sat on the left this time; I’d arrived later than usual and hence couldn’t occupy the seat that I usually did on the right, and from where I sat I could see you very clearly, seated about 3 or 4 rows ahead of me. You'd worn something ethnic, and it was green in color. Dark-ish green it was, with stripes on it, and it had some sort of a luster which made it shine under light. Was it really green, though? I'm not so sure. It definitely looked like it was from a distance, and up till then, I hadn't once had the opportunity to get close enough to assess carefully the color of your clothes, let alone talk to you.
   The subject being taught then was Physics, and due to my absence in the preceding classes, whatever our teacher taught went flying over my head. She gave the class a numerical to solve, and gave the students some time to work on it. I tried to work on it as much as I could, but in my bewilderment I ended up looking around the class, not only to see if others were as dumbstruck as me, but for other reasons too. From where I sat, I could see only see you turn sideways to discuss the question with the person who sat next to you. I also saw you run your hand through backwards through the entire length of your hair, in confusion (so I assumed). That went on to give me the idea to write another something, and even though I know you're not known to wear rings, the only elusive detail I added didn't go unnoticed by you.  That science class made realize two things, other than the fact that I really needed to start studying science - first, that you looked prettier when you wore ethnic clothes; and second, the fact that I wasn't over you in a long shot.
   And that was before we'd first introduced ourselves to each other.
   When I first spoke with you we were getting our first-term test papers. During the science exam, I remember, I'd come in before the paper was about to start, and so the invigilator made me occupy one of the very first rows. As I complained to her somewhat nonchalantly about where she'd seated me, I noticed you came and sat down behind me, in the row immediately behind the row I was sitting in. And then, even as I continued whining about my seat and the invigilator continued to ignore me, I somehow knew then that I didn't want to be reseated. I ignored my furiously beating heart (and the magnanimously loud sounds it made, then) and attempted the paper as focused as I could be. And somewhat to my surprise, I'd done rather well - as I came to know on the day I first spoke with you.
   You sat right behind one of my friends, and because of the absence of a fairly high number of students, I went and sat with her. And again, you were directly behind me.  I was tensed the whole time our science teacher called out the names of various students and handed their papers to them, not only because I was about to get mine, but because I had to be conscious of how I acted in front of you. I didn't know you then, and neither did you know me - so to hope for a good first impression wasn't so irrational, was it? You exchanged a few words with my friend, and I might've put in a few myself, but I never looked at you as I did so; I didn't have the guts. My left leg shook nervously as more names got called out, along with their marks; and almost froze when my name was said aloud: I'd scored 59 on 65.
   Mostly because I never knew I could score that well - and also because I knew this was the very first impression you'd ever get of me - I was happy beyond I could express. When your name was called out, the science teacher pronounced your name incorrectly and, as the class laughed, I tried to put in a little bit of a smile myself. How much had you scored? 51? I remember you stood in line to get your marks increased, but I don't know what had happened after that.
   The first time we spoke, we were standing in the space between where the stairs ended and the an entrance led to the second floor reception. I'd walked outside class with my friends, and you happened to be walking with them, too. They ditched us there, on some silly pretext (that is how I remember it) and one of the better ones left after making some comment on how much I loved guitars. You followed it up with a comment too, but I don't remember what it was; although I remember it being very ironic - talking about how much I loved guitars with you. But the change in topic happened quick, and I know I was the one who initiated it (and to this day I don't believe I had enough courage to go ahead with such a daredevil task). If I am to recall correctly, which might not be the case here at all, I asked you something about the first term exams of your school, and you said something regarding it. And that something I don't remember at all. But what I do remember is that when I'd asked you when your exams finished (or began), your eyebrows curled and your eyes warped into a scrutinizing expression, and you bent your head towards your right and gazed upwards. That was a weird expression - it still is, in my books - and considering it was one of the very first ones I saw, I felt partly weird, but mostly I was overwhelmed with happiness. I'd never dreamt I'd speak to you ever, and alone, at that. This friend of mine you were talking to, she told me I'd owe her a treat if you and I ever had a proper conversation.
   I still owe her a treat.
   And I owe you one too, because I guess I'll treasure the memory of our first conversation, no matter how short it might've been, for as long as I'm able to. I'm not one to make false promises, and I'm pretty sure I won't remember you forever; because someday, like everything I once remembered, I'll forget you, too.
But if it's any consolation, I'll probably remember something about you that I'd noticed that very day, from a distance so close I'd have to blind to not be encompassed in its enigma. Something beautiful. Something awfully gripping; magnetic. Something I won't possibly ever forget.
   Something haunting.
   Your eyes.


   Disclaimer: Fiction
   Read the first chapter here.

...Between Fantasy And Reality - I

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 10:13 PM


...Between Fantasy And Reality


Ball Pen

   The last time I met you I'm pretty sure I was sadder than a whining baby deprived of  its mother's presence. But then again, that's how I usually am most of the time. I was quite intent on improving my demeanor for the next time we were to meet - but that didn't happen, so I might as well save all the amendments  for later. But you know me a lot more than most people do - and I'm certainly sure you know me well enough to say that I remember the most insignificant of things in the most excruciating of details.
   I remember how you looked in the ninth grade. You had the air of innocence around you, and that was one of the reasons why I actually liked looking at you. It had nothing to do with how you really looked, how high your hair were raised, or what clothes you were wearing; for me, it was more about the indiscernible aura you possessed. I liked you even more for being inconspicuous, for  not looking to get attention; and that's precisely why I gave you almost all of mine: I have a tendency to pay attention to those who hardly ever want it.
   This one time in ninth grade - when I used to take only maths classes and you attended both maths and science - there was some upset with the class timings and in place of the maths class the students were asked to give a science test, including the only-maths ones. When I and a bunch of other only-maths students relentlessly protested to the invigilator that we wanted nothing to do with the science test, she eventually agreed to shift us out of the room. Then, it was me and another 3 students squeezed on a single wood-bench - which was placed directly next to the door of our classroom - studying with a science teacher who we weren't quite acquainted with. I wasn't paying attention to whatever it was that was being taught, I just remember that the girl who sat next to me had half-gold half-black nail paint on her nails which freaked me out like anything. And then I remember you coming out of class to drink water.
   Back then, the water cooler used to be just outside our classroom behind the table where the extra classes were being taken, before it was shifted upstairs to a better and a more uncluttered location. I caught a glimpse of you as you stepped out of class - I had to; how could I not? - and headed over to the water point. I watched, as you turned the tap and water flowed out from the adjoining vessel into your glass. I had to turn back at an angle that almost contorted my face, but I'd gladly say it was worth it.
   I sat transfixed as you downed your glass of water in one-shot, straight. There was something in your face that had struck me; and it had struck me so much, for all of the twenty five seconds that you stood there, I couldn't look anywhere else. You wore glasses then. They made you look cuter; and although I have come to change that opinion with time, I can certainly say they don't make you look any less cute, if they don't make you any more prettier.
   I have been so callous as to forget when it was that I'd first started to notice you around me, but if anything comes close, it'd be that very incident. I also thought then, for some inane reason, that you were looking at me the whole time you were standing there. I know it's silly, but there's not much I can do about it; it's how I felt. Or how I wanted to feel, about what I wanted to be true. I don't really think that happened though; and I don't have enough plausible reasons to convince myself otherwise.
   You were one of out maths sir's favorite students - or one that he saw potential in - and he  always asked you questions during class. That's how I got to know your name in the first place, and you also answered most of his questions correctly. That very day that I got to know your name, I remember  you were wearing something pink. But now that I come to think about it, that was odd, because from what I'd gathered, I'd always thought you had a certain disliking for pink. There was this friend you always you used to sit with - a certain female. I believe it was she who'd first gotten my attention, but over time it diverted to someone else; someone who wasn't quite as demanding in terms of attention. Someone I'd hopelessly gotten infatuated with, only a blink of an eye later.
There is a lot more that I remember, and right now, I'll share everything; because these memories have been barred for long enough. And that's not how I treat my memories.
   There was an extra class we both attended together, in the basement of our tuition center in a room that was barely large enough to fit thirty people. I remember why you were taking that extra class - you'd scored really low in the  preceding quadrilaterals test - while I don't remember while I attended it myself. I also don't remember why it was that I'd taken the back seat during that class (which I usually never did). Whatever be the reason, it sure did work out to my benefit: you were sitting right in front of me, two rows ahead. It was the winter season then - probably around October but I'm not so sure - and you wore your school uniform, as always, and you'd also worn that red sweater that still is a part of it. I loved that sweater; I still do. There was something about it that brought out your inner innocence and reflected it in your attire; and when coupled with the glasses, I thought you looked beautiful. I don't know what beauty means to most people - but that's what it meant to me, back then: you in your winter school-uniform and the sweater, gracefully adorned with spectacles. With your hair open.
   Your school uniform also reminds me of something else.
   While our second-term final paper for maths was underway, I remember you sitting somewhere behind me. And I also remember you continuously talking to the person next to you. It was right then that for the very first time I'd actually wondered about what I wanted with you. Something like that would be so great. Easy, friendly conversations. Something like that would be so... simple. But the invigilator threw you out of the class, and asked you to go sit in another class. I don't remember whether your friend was asked to accompany you there - I guess he wasn't - but I'm not so sure; it's only a few moments that I remember, not entire days.
   I attempted the paper almost mindlessly - not because of you, but because that's how I was back then - and I still ended up with a good score. I think it was 65 on 80, and I think that is how much you scored, give or take a few marks. It surprised me when you came to submit your paper back in the room that you were asked to leave. I remember you standing by the door, with one of your hands stretched out to give your answer sheet to the invigilator. She came and took it from you, and then you left; not without making an imprint on my mind - I was absolutely, and irrationally in love with the way you looked. That led me to write a poem too, and if you rack your brains hard enough (which I don't really think you'll need to) you'll know which one it is.
   Another memory that I haven't shared with everybody is that of the last Circles extra class we had. I think it was held after the second-term paper was over, but I'm not quite sure, as always. Before that class, I remember I only partly understood everything that was being taught, while you were nodding your head to whatever the teacher was saying. But during that class I couldn't see you as clearly as I could before - you were sitting very close to me, right next to the person who sat next to me. In all foolishness I'd forgotten to bring a pen to class, so I asked the guy next to me for one. He didn't have an extra one, but he seemed to know you, so he asked you. And youdid have an extra pen. It was a ball pen, the one that you'd given me; it didn't have a cap, and it's grip was dotted with circles so as to make writing more comfortable. If I could, I'd keep it for the rest of my life. But as the end of the class approached, I chose not to, much against my will; and thought up ways to return to you the pen that you'd given me.
   If I were to tell you how excitedly nervous I'd gotten at the mere thought of approaching you, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't believe me. But that's how I am, I guess - unbelievable. And it was with much courage that I'd approached you with what was yours, as I felt my heart pounding violently inside me. I held it out to you - your pen - and as you accepted it with a gracious smile, I thanked you.
   And that was the very first time you'd led me blur the lines between fantasy and reality. 
   And I'll always love you for that.

   Disclaimer: Fiction

   Read the second part here.


| Posted in , , , , , , , | Posted on 9:54 PM


   I've been morbid. Terribly morbid. I'm like this fucking ocean of morbidness and I'd dare you to step in; and if you do, chances are you'll drown, so I'd advice you not to.
   And oh, I feel like being a loner.   
   Why shouldn't I? There aren't many pleasures in life you get by not being a loner, none that I seem to find anyway. I know I'm sounding like a hedonist, but hey! Most people don't even know what it means, so I guess I'm safe. I'm not one, by the way. There's more to life than just pleasures. Being lonely, for example. It doesn't bring you any pleasure and it certainly keeps you away from displeasure. I like it better that way: no pleasure, no displeasure. Perfect equilibrium.
   There have been only 3 posts in June so far, this being the third. And it's the freaking 26th. I'm ashamed of myself. Not because I didn't write enough - because I did, but because I didn't take enough time out to write for my blog; and that saddens me. I have particularly intimate feelings with my blog. I don't expect anybody else to understand. My blog is like that one friend that God just refused to grant me, and so Technology did. *happy smiley*  
    I am once again doing what one my friends just didn't understand; he said my blog was becoming more like a diary of sorts, blissfully unaware of the fact that that was what it was supposed to be all this time - and was confused as to why I tended to ramble so much on it. It didn't make sense to him. So I told him something, and even though I know it wasn't exactly this, I'm pretty sure it was something like, 'Well, you just don't fucking care enough to listen without being judgmental and critical, can you?' My blog does that for me. I love my blog. I don't care if it doesn't have a fucking gazillion followers, I'd still love it. And if I am in a position worthy enough to write a blog even after 5 years - you bet your ass I'd still blog.   
    Ah, so yes, reclaiming myself from the sudden rush of emotions, I'd like to say, well, life is kind of hard now. And it's okay. It's not that anybody else I know gets spared from having a shitty hard life, so it's cool. Besides, I'm all for challenges; sadly not the ones life seems to be offering now.      
   Oh yes, in the past 2 weeks, I've listened to music for about an estimated 21 hours; and since this calculation isn't done on based on any hard facts and just mental approximation (and also because I'm a pretty good listener) - you can just presume it's a lot more than that.    And oh, oh, oh - my blog just recently got, well... recognized. I'll elaborate at the opportune moment. Let's hope it arrives soon. *tediously long smiley*
   I played my keyboard yesterday, after a really long time and for a really long time too. It feels good to know I haven't yet lost the touch that my piano teacher once found so fondly commented upon. Sigh. And yes, I went to this relative's place today - and there's this freaking awesome acoustic guitar over there. I played it till my fingers turned charcoal black. Fun. Fun. A lot of fun.
   And yes, speaking of fun - at that very relative's place I studied Trigonometry too. I had to. Life just sucks all sorts of real and metaphorical balls. Nothing I can do about that.
   But yes - it does feel plenty good to be posting something on my dearly beloved blog after eons.
   I can feel a lot more brewing inside me now - stay tuned for another ramble post. And this time, it isn't just going to be about me.

Till I find time - or let it find me unawares,



Flummoxing [Fiction 55]

| Posted in , , | Posted on 10:46 PM


Smile, and kill me.
Cry – for a similar effect.
Don’t bereave of me of the right to think again, lady.
I know you’re rather flummoxing.
But ah, you see, I do know
You’re just as nimble as me.
So when you look at me,
Your eyes weightless without hope…
I know I am too.
13th Fiction 55.

The Other Day

| Posted in , , | Posted on 11:31 PM


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 21; the twenty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
The Other Day

The other day I was a tree,
Leaves flailing in the wind

The other day, a flower,
Blooming in the spring

The other day, a caterpillar,
Shattering its cocoon

The other day, a wolf,
Wailing like a loon

The other day, a fig,
Burning with the coal

The other day, a fish,
In a deadly shoal

The other day, a star,
Falling from the sky,

The other day, a baby,
With tears in his eyes,

The other day, I thought I knew
Who I was to be

But the other day, I know,
I wasn’t quite me.

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