| Posted in , , , , | Posted on 10:55 PM


  Pink Floyd.
  You godsend. Just when I needed you the most.

  I wanted awesomeness in my ears. I wanted Pink Floyd. I needed Pink Floyd. But I didn't have internet.
  And so I found a DVD with all of PInk Floyd's songs in my CD cabinet, and I'd had it with me ever since October 2009. And till yesterday I hadn't run it, once.
 I believe in destiny, yes.
  So, yes. Life's been okay. I've been trying to study like an ass, and for the most part I'm succeeding; only at the 'ass' bit. It's fun, though. I don't hate it so much now. It's growing onto me.
 My internet isn't back yet. That bit is not growing onto me at all.
 Another thing that's growing onto me is Pink Floyd. And I really mean it; I listen to their 25 minute songs in one go without pausing them even once, and at one go. It's fun. It's fuuuu-uh-uuuuhn. Echoes, A Saucerful of Secrets, Atom Heart Mother, Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts I,II,III,IV,V and VI,VII,VIII,IX). And these are just the long ones. The last song mentioned is the trippiest song I've heard in a while; it trips me up every time I listen to it. Every. Single. Time.
 I'm planning on posting a lot of drafted stuff. I will, though, very soon.
 I've been talking to this friend of mine. And she's awesome. Bloody awesome. She'll make me awesome, too. And the very first step to attaining complete awesomeness, as suggested by her, is to 'stop hanging out with blondes random people, and start reading more novels.'
 Oh yuss. Shall do.
 On the reading list now: A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini. I'm absolutely certain it'll kick some major butt. So yeh - I shall go, and read it now.
 But I need to finish my Physics practical file first. Dangit. (>_<)

 Au revoir,
 Les peuples

 PS - I have no idea whether that is correct french or not.


| Posted in , , , | Posted on 9:38 PM


We shall all die horrible deaths.
Our bodies will lie bare on the ground,
The earth mingling with our skin,
The soil wet with our sweat,
The dust trotting into our hair,
Our blood drying quick under the dry, harsh sun...

We shall be ignored
Like rabid dogs,
Screaming incessantly; vehemently
Our sacrifices shall be forgotten,
Our scars unhealed,
Our agony unheard,
Our blood unnoticed,
Our valour overlooked...

But we shall die,
Knowing fully well,
That we had not fought in vain.


Inconvenience Regretted

| Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 9:14 PM


 My internet hasn't been working for the majority of the past week, since the 12th. This just bloody sucks. I had three freaking holidays after that, and I didn't have internet; that's like having cake batter and no oven to cook. Sigh. Sadness. Inconvenience regretted. Anyway, I've been feeling better about myself lately. I won't go into details, but let's just say the VMC Safdarjung Centre is pretty life changing, and I mean it as literally as I possibly can. And yes, it doesn't have anything to do with girls. Nothing. At. All.
 Moving on, this week hasn't sucked as bad as all the other weeks before this; but then again, it's just another week. School's going pretty awesome. And, I've just had my very first experience of a guitar class, and not as a student. Awesome.
 Music's awesome, too. I've been playing guitar and writing songs and whatnot. It's always fun, doing all this. I'm pretty sure I'd love to do this for the rest of my life. I'm not implying in any way that the stage is my place to be, I'm just saying I friggin' love music.
 Writing's going well, too. I wrote this poem a few days back that I couldn't post because of the lousy internet. I shall be posting it today. And my internet's still not back yet, though. I'm using my dad's laptop, only because I've come back from 4 hours of classes and have 4 hours of classes tomorrow and 3 hours the day after.
 I'm getting closer to the seniors of this year, man. I don't know what I'll do when they're gone. It'll be sad. Really sad.
 I'd love to ramble more and more, about anything and everything, but I can't; I have a bunch of short stories to write and dozens of worksheets to finish, and of course the former is given more priority.
 I wish I knew what it was like to love. Not love music, or writing - because I do, and it freaking feels great - but a person. I wish I knew for certain it was love, and nothing else but love. Love isn't a function well defined is it?
 But that doesn't matter. I'm already acquainted to a different sort of love. And that love doesn't waiver, so I'm cool.
 Peace out, yo!
 |m| (-_-) |m|

An Unworthy Consolation

| Posted in , , , , , , | Posted on 10:48 PM


It is said that soulmates are the split of one heart. In a world of 7 billion population, you can expect 7 soulmates, 7 split hearts.
Blogger Remya Raj
and I took the concept of split hearts and put them into 6 different stories with the 7th one being a common link between all of them. Three of them will be written by her and the other three by me. The 7th one will be a joint effort. I hope you guys enjoy it. We explore the concept and present you with An Unworthy Consolation - the second installment to Soulmates or Lovers, written by me. The first installment is published here.

An Unworthy Consolation

   I took a step inward. And then he was standing there alone, with a keyboard hanging from his right shoulder.
He looked at me, as if to ask why I’d moved away – his mouth on the verge of interrogating me, his eyes having already begun.
‘I’m sorry, man,’ I said to him, with the slightest hint of concern in my tone; like I was consoling both him and myself. ‘It’s the sinus. It’ll kick in again.’ He looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, as the raindrops fell generously all over him – his jet black hair, his cheeks, his face – and on my keyboard that lay ensconced tightly in his arms.
I didn’t like the disappointed look on his face; it was akin to the look little puppies have when they’re sad. I never had a heart that was easy to melt, but that look of his always did the trick. Always. 
‘So,’ I began again, with more energy, hoping to lighten to mood. ‘Walk with me to my bus, willye?’
‘Sure,’ he replied, with a confident smile. He bowed down in front of me and rolled his hand twice, inviting me to begin walking. I was a bitch, yes – but such small acts never went unnoticed by me.
I giggled randomly and started walking next to him, as we strode towards my bus. I saw him look at me and then look down again, as the faintest sign of a blush appeared on his face. I could tell, the glimmer of happiness was back in his eyes. I was happy then; this was the side of me he knew – the crazy, bitchy, random side of me. And I wanted him to know just that.

As we walked to the bus, we talked about the usual stuff – studies, music, getting drunk out of our minds – and about how he’d never get to marry me because he wasn’t a Bengali like I was.
‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘Breaks my heart every time you say it.’ He never knew I could sense the truth behind the hurt that he feigned. I was so glad he didn’t.
‘You toh shut up,’ I said to him. ‘You have at least a dozen chicks waiting to get a taste of that Pahaadi tongue of yours!’
Arrey, but I don’t like any of them!’ And he blushed, again.
‘Shut up, you womanizing whore. You like all of them!’
Arrey, nahi…’ I could see how disapproving he was of what I was saying; his every stammer pointed towards only one direction.
‘See? You can’t even decide who you like. All you men are the same. Bloody assholes.’
Accha? So if I tell you now that I like you, what’ll you say?’ This conversation had taken place many a times, but never had it taken this course.
‘I’ll tell you to stop watching porn.’ He smacked his forehead with his palm, and nodded disapprovingly. I knew how to take care of this.
‘You women, who never believe…’
‘Of course we don’t believe losers like you.’ I didn’t want to be this harsh, but it was the only way. I continued, regardless. ‘Besides, you’re much too young! Much too young, bete!’
‘What? It’s just 2 years!’
‘For now, it is. If we ever have kids, they’ll call me ‘grandma’ instead of ‘mom’. See? That’s when it’ll get all weird!’ He laughed out loud then, but somewhere in his eyes, he was solemn.
‘What a crazy bitch you are.’ He handed my keyboard to me, without having fully recovered from the effect of laughing too much.
‘Save the lines for someone you’ll actually get into bed with.’ He laughed again, as I hopped onto the bus.
‘So… I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes! You’re totally awesome for carrying my keyboard till here! You rock!’
‘Sure. Anytime. Bub-bye, chick!’ He waved goodbye to me.
‘Bye-bye, Bitchyface!’ I waved back.

As he turned his face away, I could see what I hoped had never been. It was right there, in his eyes. I wish he could see in my eyes, even a fraction of what I saw in his. Truth is, I kind of had a thing for him too; but it wasn’t the kind that you could see in someone’s eyes. It was much too trivial, too shallow; and it had nothing to do with age. I was fickle, erratic, unsteady, while he was everything I was not – calm, composed, docile. He was just too bloody good with the keys, and I would never learn to trust myself with feeling unconditionally for him; nor would I ever forgive myself for breaking his heart, if it ever came to that.
I breathed a heavy sigh as I saw him walk away. I cared too much about him to hurt him like that; I didn’t deserve even to break his heart. I loved him, maybe – yes, maybe. But one thing was absolutely certain: he was just too bloody good with the keys. 
I placed the keyboard on my seat and stared out of the window.