~ silent secrets! ~

Loves me, loves me not.

2012-03-01T22:53:00.002+05:30

(written dated: 11 Nov 2011)

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And then your voice, your gestures, your unlimited talking, your anger, the pink spot on your nose when you’re angry, how you stamp your left foot when you’re adamant, the curls in your hair, your tiny fingers, your height, your weight, your searching eyes, your self-respect and every single thing that he’d told had bowled him over will slowly start constructing the dividing wall concretely. Now you’ll realize and worry and he’ll say that such is not the case; you’ve misinterpreted it, probably. And this is when you’ll know that the formality has begun.

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photo courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mazarin-/2704771092/

- Just Someone.

remnants of love

2012-01-04T11:18:00.009+05:30

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i scramble again
craning
balancing the chair on one leg

holding my breath

counting to five

you turn around

almost for a second

eyes grazing around

i catch my moment

of truce

and untold salvation

later

another instance

my senses lapsing again

closeness

friction

and intoxication

laughter smoldering

something within melts

and opens up

effortlessly

completely

secrets lying bare

dancing even, maybe

right in front of your eyes

reasons take excuses

mistakes, dark corners

surrendering predominantly

body, mind, soul...

moist eyes

heart stripped

naked

and clothed again

- assurance

entwined

caressing your forearm

murmur escapes your lips

a name

a subtle whisper

the same

yet again

tiny jostle

within

about

audible crash

where did i err?

walking in late, perhaps.

surely deserves more?

my complete submission

the remnants of your love.

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-Just Someone.

photograph courtesy: freewebs.com

N.V. Balakrishnan, Playwright.

2011-12-18T00:42:00.003+05:30

Thatha and me.

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(Thatha - Grandfather. Paati - Grandmother. Amma - Mother. Appa - Father. Thambi - Younger brother. Periamma - Mother's elder sister.)

Balu thatha was always my favourite. Paati would always try to rein me in. She had a million unwritten rules which she expected me to abide by, which I never gave a second thought about – what were rules for, when I had thatha by my side? Most of my childhood memories are filled with my grandparents. Appa and Amma were always at work and when they were not, they wanted to me study, do homework or learn music. Very rarely, mostly during breakfast, dad and I would eat together and we’d watch Top cat, Swat cats, Captain Planet or Josie and the pussy cats (the good old days when this did not sound perverted in any way). Every other waking, sleeping, dreaming moment would go with thatha and paati. Paati strongly believed that I was the best at everything I did. To her, I was her personal show piece. She’s flaunt me to anyone who’d come to our place for even half an hour – ranges from the milk man to the relative who’d be visiting just because they had come down to Papanasam and the water falls. I somehow found that annoying back then and I would end up yelling at her, and she at me and thatha would interfere to bring about peace. Undoubtedly, he would always take my side.

He would make me sit on his cycle and pull it along to the bus stop while paati carried my school bag. She would keep complaining about me waking up very late and how tedious it later gets to rush to the school bus after that and thatha will constantly ask her to keep quiet and try to tell me a story instead. He would tell me stories about amma’s childhood, about my childhood. There was this incident when paati one day, while cutting vegetables in the kitchen and keeping a sharp eye on me, asked me who it could be at the door, for the door bell had just then rung and my periamma (amma’s elder sister) had gone to open it. “Thatha! He will be back from Coimbatore with gifts for me!” came my immediate reply as I tried to jump from the kitchen slab where I was sitting. Scooping me up and shouting at me for being careless, paati says, “Thatha? Why he never wrote to me saying he would be back soon. Stop being stupid and so careless… If you had stepped on the knife, then…” And with that came that came thatha’s voice booming from the hall, “Why do you keep yelling at my kid all the time? You come here da, kanna. Look what I’ve bought for you!” That was the thing with thatha. I could have anything I wanted, anything under the moon, as long as I whined for it loudly within his ear shot. The very next day, I would have it. At least three fourths of his pension money went on gifts for me.

Thatha. N.V. Balakrishnan, playwright, his notepad would say. His plays were always on air on some radio station or the other. He would show me various medals and cups and the sorts – those prizes his dramas had won him and newspaper cuttings of special mention for his dramas. They barely made any impact on me. What I found most interesting was the cassette recordings he had of me right from the day I had started making stupid, senseless sounds. There we cassettes that ran completely with nothing other than me yelling childish gibberish. His favourite was the one in which paati was making us dosas and after about 15 minutes, I would say, “Podhum, thatha neenga saptadhu! Inum evlo dosai paati sutite irupaanga?” (What you’ve eaten is enough, thatha. How many more dosas will paati make?) Only God will know what he found funny enough in it to laugh every time he thought of it.

He was an expert at grammar – an expert at teaching grammar in the simplest way possible. He would try his best to pin me down to learn something from him and it would not last more than 5 minutes. All I had to do was whine. And he would immediately give in. he could never see his grand-daughter wriggle in annoyance. He never really understood how I could make sentences without any grammatical mistakes without really being able to tell why a certain usage was right and why another was wrong. “Come on, thatha! That is so simple. It is WRONG. They were. Not they was. I know which is the right one. So why can’t we just get done with this?” I’d say and he’d just gape at me. “Your daughter just knows, Kalai. What do I teach her?” he’d ask amma. He taught me cycling when he was about 75. He used to run around with me, catching the cycle and teaching me to balance. When I learnt to zoom around with it at lightning speed, he gave up trying to catch up.

He pampered thambi equally when he came along and thambi learnt it too, the whining technique. I grew up and fights between paati and I also grew. He ‘Don’t’s never seemed to end and I never seemed to be ready to listen and thatha never once failed to back me up blindly. He took me around on his cycle – anywhere I wanted to go – until I fit into the carriage.

When he learnt I could write, I would like to believe he was a little happy. I never really bothered to show him what I wrote. Amma always forced me to share it with him, though. He would say something like, “Nice. But you should really try making your grammar basics even stronger. Your style is very different. Maybe it is the new generation’s thing”, he would say and paati would listen to this and tell anyone who would listen to her about how I was the best writer of my age. This was when I was about 13.

I have already spoken about how paati’s death was for him over here. At times I use dto wonder how he was coping. He searched among the million cassettes he had and found where paati’s voice still survived. He listened to them now and then. Most of them were of paati and I arguing. He had very few pictures with her and one of mine when I was a couple of years old, my face alone torn and saved from the rest of the picture. I’d wish him on his birthday, March the 5^th every year after his 80^th in the evening and he would always say the same thing: “Ah! It’s my birthday today! So nice of you to remind me!”

As years went tumbling by, his body kept weakening. Amma suggested him to stop making frequent trips to Coimbatore, come from Vickramasingapuram and live with us at Chennai. At least he would be eating healthy food, she argued. Thatha could not be moved. He refused point blank and kept writing his dramas through the night, dozing off on the table every single night. The room would always be a mess. Full of papers. News paper clippings. Cassettes. Pens. “I will write till my last breath. Pen and paper are what make me breathe”, he would say firmly and walk away to his messy table. After much persuasion, he came to Chennai for a ‘holiday’. That is to say, it was agreed that he would stay here for a few days and then go back to Vickramasingapuram. After the 3^rd day, he went back to amma saying he needed a return ticket as soon as possible. “I have to climb down two sets of stairs to go for a walk. I need to walk for 15 minutes to get to a tea shop or buy the newspaper. There’s too much pollution. You won’t let me go for a walk far away alone. No one to talk to! I am leaving!” he said. We tried to prolong his stay as much as a month after which he confined himself to his papers again and amma had to give in.

I never understood how he managed to drag himself to the radio stations over and over again to submit his dramas. He was hitting his 90’s and it didn’t come as a shock when he fell sick. “Bad food!” amma complained, “If only he would listen and stay with us.” She took him to the hospital where I was treated when I fell sick and as far as I heard, it was going okay. Until this evening, that is. Amma called on the landline and demands to talk with dad. He isn’t home, I say. Se closes the call. Dad gets back home in the evening. I have a wash and have my breakfast-cum-lunch-cum-dinner and appa comes and clears his throat and says, “N. V. Balakrishnan thatha is no more. Amma just called. I’ll have to leave for Vickramasingapuram in some time. Thambi has exams. He won’t get an off at school and it will get complicated if we take him now. Will you be able to take care of him for 4 days? I’ll try my best to be back in 3 days and maybe amma can come here for a day and then get back. Will you manage?”

I was shocked. Wasn’t he supposed to be getting better? I had planned to call him in the morning next year on his birthday and return safely the half a photograph of mine I had ‘borrowed’ from him a year ago. What was wrong with him? Why did he have to die? I had always wanted to get him a print out of everything I had written and make him read. I had wanted to know what he thought about my writing. Appa gets ready and leaves in a hurry, giving us last minute instructions. Thambi is wondering if he will get to use thatha’s phone. He calls up thatha’s number and says, ‘I’ll myself ask permission from him. You people won’t let me have it otherwise.”

I go online and try to be normal, like nothing really has happened. I stay on my profile page, meditating on nothing specifically. I remember how he used to thrust this one particular newspaper clipping from The Hindu that had a review about his ’50 lakhs’ drama. He would tell me how it was unique since it had broken Balumahendra’s record of a drama with the least number of characters ever – 4, including the watchman who had no dialogue. “Or it could’ve been 3”, my mind says. I feel angry at myself for never having paid enough attention all through the years to pick up even that obvious detail that probably a lot of other people knew.

I am never going to see him at our Vickramasingapuram house again. He is never again going to pull along his rickety cycle with him to go get me poories for breakfast the minute I land there. There’s going to be no hand to thrust newspaper clippings or drama scripts or recorded dramas aired on the radio for me to read or listen. No one is going to pamper me anymore like I am still 3. No one is going to tell me anymore that I was the most intelligent kid ever. I am never going to know any more of my childhood antics, or my mother’s, for that matter.

The last that I saw him was when he came to Chennai to receive a ‘Lifetime Achievement Award’ in the field of drama given in memory of the great Avvai Shanmugam. I remember thatha telling me that they were old pals and that Avvai Shanmugam had acted in dramas scripted by him. I realized the importance and recognition he held there only after attending the ceremony. Thatha was 90+ and still he walked proudly to receive his award. I clicked frantically with the lazy Samsung camera I had. He was a happy man that day. I told myself that I should get him the print outs soon. That I should make him read what I had written for paati. Ask him what he thought about it. Promise him that I would definitely try to write well enough to make him feel proud about me. And I never did any of those.

Most often, we get too use to having certain people around us that we forget to pause a minute to realize their value. I am thinking of amma right now and how she is coping with the loss of her dad. How would it feel to know that both your parents are dead? How did she manage to tell me to be careful while using the cooker, warn me not to blow up the kitchen trying to cook something I wasn’t sure about, instruct my brother to concentrate on his exams and take them seriously and follow these up with a hundred other instructions to make sure we are safe here while she had to take her dead father back to Vickramasingapuram for cremation? Is that why she seeked appa’s comforting voice before breaking the news to me? Is there where you need someone whom you can call your own, whose pain you can feel as your own and with whom you decide to share your life? Is that how far you love your children? How you ‘grow up’ to cope up with what should have probably been a complete outburst of emotions?

I am sitting here, typing this down for the past few hours. The day is almost up. I am unable to feel hunger. Or pain. Or get sleep. The tears haven’t found their way yet. I am promising myself that I will write – to people. To people whom I care about, to people who mean a lot to me, to people who have shown me what love is, whether or not they write back. Long, random, personal letters. Someday, when they are low, when they miss me, when they think of me and all the memories they shared, they would probably take up what I had written for them and remember all the good times and feel loved. And that love, I am sure will wrap a warm and protective blanket around me wherever I go. Just like the love I am sure thatha’s feeling towards his little girl now, as he is reading this from somewhere above or about me. I love you, thatha. I hope I live up to your expectations and make you proud one day.

P.s: I somehow like this picture in my mind where I see thatha and paati meeting up again. They smile at each other – one of those very rare smiles they’ve shared in their 80+ years of marriage, before paati’s brows cross and she yells at her husband, “Why did you have to come so soon? Who will pamper my papa now?”

- Just Someone.

The door was closed shut.

2011-10-23T22:54:00.000+05:30

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Creative Writing paper again. Assignment this time.

Topic: ‘The door was shut.’

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The door was closed shut and my newly wedded wife inched her way towards the overly decorated bed decked with flowers. I sat, unblinking and taking my time to observe and appreciate the beauty she was. Fear and apprehension were evidently streaked across her face and her clouded eyes reflected her emotions – the same magnetic eyes that had attracted me the moment I had laid my eyes on her photograph the day my mother forced me to give it a glance for the n-th time.

Considering that ours was an arranged marriage, my wife’s emotions were justified; it gave me a weird high, calling that intellectual and stunning woman that my eyes beheld as my ‘wife.’

From the few conversations that we had had prior to this moment, I could read that our ideas quite matched and that our lifestyles were comfortably and complimentary-ly contemporary. I waited as she came and sat next to me, the perfume she wore slowly wafting through the room, reminding me strongly of her presence in such vicinity. Her fingers were slowly drumming the table beside, nervousness evident, much contradicting the bold and outgoing personality of hers that I had beheld in the past month.

My mind raced to figure out what I could possibly do or say to bring the tension down to make her feel comfortable. I could hear my mind screaming within, ‘IDIOT!’ I couldn’t agree more. Drops of perspiration began showing up down my neck and finally, finally realization struck.

‘Coffee?’I asked, in the softest voice I could muster from the usual frightful gruff that escapes my vocal cords. She searched my face for the briefest time and slowly, her face broke into a brilliant smile that touched her eyes.

Boy, I was home!

- Just Someone.

I thought I knew Chaya pretty well...

2011-08-20T00:00:00.002+05:30

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20 mark question in my 'Creative writing' paper: Begin with the line 'I thought I knew Chaya pretty well...' and bring about a sketch of that character.Wrote it in about 20 minutes. Posting it just because I felt like doing it. :D

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I thought I knew Chaya pretty well, but my entire perception of her was about to change drastically. I was in school back then, 10^th grade to be precise. Chaya was a very pretty girl, extremely silent and always confined herself to her work. She smiled occasionally, more of a blush actually, when someone pointed out an embarrassing mistake she had made or when she caught one of us staring openly at her. The usual chatter among us boys was always about how someone as beautiful as Chaya could be so unaware of her beauty and behave very casually as opposed to the unlimited tantrums and air other girls her age always threw around. Chaya was a couple of years younger to me and she was my first crush. Most of my mornings were usually spent marching along the corridor, past her class, at least 20 times in my well ironed shirt and trousers until I caught a glimpse of her settling in her usual corner bench. But that specific morning, I was having a very bad feeling that something had gone wrong, when the bench remained empty for the 8^th consecutive day. Aimlessly dreaming of waltzing on my rooftop with her, I killed another painful day at school. On the 10^th day, she came to school – with a clean shaved head.

My heart jostled and fell out of my body. There was a new sense of a strong emotion that had washed across her usually calm face. During lunch break, talk floated around that she was suffering from a type of cancer and that she was to undergo constant treatment from then. I felt my entire self numbing. Gathering all my courage, I waited for her to come to the exit gate of the school in the evening. “Chaya,” I hesitated. Her deep black eyes bore into mine, searching for a cue towards what I had to say. Open-mouthed, I stood staring at her, waiting for the familiar blush that was not to come. Unknowingly, a tear stood at the brink of my eye and trying to blink it away, I made it trace its path down my cheek. A small voice in my head very inappropriately commented that I could never look cute the way Chaya did when she cried. Switching it off, I commenced on another trial at framing a sentence and failed miserably, not getting any further than saying “Chaya…” and deliberating again.

What should have been an encouraging talk from my side, ended up being a complete consoling session by her to an uncontrollably sobbing me. Of what she spoke and how she framed her words I remember nothing, but when she was done, the hysterical panting had stopped and her hand gently rested upon mine. I had spent days wishing to but get close to her, to just have my face brush past her curly hair and claim her smile to be only mine. But right then, I could barely hold myself together.

In the week that followed, we saw a Chaya that none of us had ever even dreamt of before. We saw the singer in her, the writer in her, the swimmer in her, and most of all, the will-power in her. A very strong bond of friendship blossomed and that was when the entire wave of her personality hit me. Composed and dignified, she stood tall in everyone’s opinion, the school’s star performer when she passed out graduating. Though the magnanimity of her being awed me at times, she somehow sensed it at the right moments and made sure that our relationship stayed stable.

I had proposed marriage to her in all humanly imaginable ways possible and she had softly and politely turned them all down with her rhythmic laughter. We made trips to the beach at 4 in the morning to wait and watch the sun rise. We went on trekking trips to unknown places of the North-East. My daydream of waltzing with her did come true in one of those eccentric moods she always gets into. We learnt the Salsa together and slept next to each other in tents, counting stars and making wishes. Effortlessly, she taught me that life revolved around the strong pivot of love and it was worth having lived only when we had given more than what we had got. Her success in her career taught me the power of creativity and of keeping the heart and mind open. And of a person as a whole, her life personified determination for me. But for her constant weight losses, nothing showed even a remote trace of the condition she suffered from. The lesson of her life to me is always this favourite line of some poem of hers – “When hope is all you’ve got, you’ve still got a lot.”

- Just Someone.

Photography Courtesy: Fahad Yunus Mohammed.

உனக்கென சில இரகசியங்கள்...

2011-06-12T00:39:00.007+05:30

இது உனக்காக. வெசிக்கோ. :)

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மனதின் ஓரம்
ஈரம் கசிந்துகொண்டே இருக்கும் ஒரு மூலையில்
உன் நினைவுகள் இன்னும் தித்திக்கின்றன...

சன்னலின் ஓரம் அமர்ந்தவாறே
நீ என் தோள்மேல்
தலைசாய்த்த அழகை
எண்ணிப்பார்க்கின்றேன்...

குளிருக்கு இதமாக உனது நெருக்கம்.
விரல்தொட அஞ்சும் நெஞ்சம்
மனதிலோ
காவியம் வார்துக்கொண்டிருந்தது!

தூக்கத்தில்
எனது பெயரின் பாதியை
உன் உதடுகள் இசைக்க
நாடி ஒரு கணம் இழுத்து நின்றது

சிலிர்த்தெழுந்த இதயம்
சிறகடிக்கத்துவங்கவே
மழையின் சாரல்
முகத்தின்மீது சற்று விழுந்தது ...

இன்றும்
நீயே கனவுகளை சுற்றி வளைத்தாய் என
என் புன்னகை உறுதி செய்தது
.

என்றாவது உன்னிடம்
உண்மை கூற வேண்டுமென
மீண்டும் முடிவு செய்கின்றேன்,

என்னுள் உன்னை பூட்டியவாறே
.

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(புகைப்படம்: deviantart)

FIITJEE, Exams & Me.

2011-04-26T00:16:00.003+05:30

Legen-keep.waiting.for.it-dary.

I always wondered how people could write exams, especially the objectives ones that we got at FIITJEE. Apart from the irresistible urge to shade the bubbles to form a nice pattern – ranging from doing alternative ones to trying to make a Mickey Mouse out of it – the whole thing never made any sense to me.

FIITJEE had a wonderful examination setting committee I must admit; a lot of other schools and coaching centers are picking up quite well. Ranging from CPPs [Chapter practice Problems] to PTs [Practice Tests] to MPTs [Mid-Phase Tests] to P.Ts [Phase Tests] to I-can’t-remember-any-more-but-I-am-EXTREMELY-sure-there’s-lots-more, they would always have us on something; the logic behind being that the rocket that has a fire on its tail all the time will reach the highest ever seen altitudes. Or something like that methinks.

Like every other usual kid at FIITJEE, I did all the problems on the package, those that the teachers gave us in class, the CPPs and even bubbled those question numbers in which I had a doubt – a different shade of a bubble for conceptual doubt, calculation doubt, total doubt, etc. And I scored the second top mark or so in class in the first Phase test, having had an honest no-clue idea about how I had managed to do that.

Practice Tests were the best – first 2 hours every Saturday morning. Walk in late – no early morning ‘Guru Devaaaa’ singing [Maharishi stuff, yeah] and no ‘Trancenmental’ meditation – grab your OMR sheet, one pencil, one eraser, one nice spot far enough from the invigilator’s eye and near enough to the air conditioner – these were air conditioners that worked only in one specific direction every day, honest. By the end of the 2 years and the 8 phases that they put us through, than knowing all my formulae by-heart, I had close-to-mastered the art of sleeping in different positions while maintaining the image of staying in deep trying-recollect-a-really-complicated-formula. The exceptional tricky situations arose when faculties I knew quite well came to invigilate.

FTRE [FIITJEE Talent Research Examination – I was thinking for about 10 minutes, trying to figure out what the ‘F’ stood for while writing this post, and then it finally struck..] was a wonderful experience. It was on my birthday and I couldn’t ask for a better free-entertainment package. After the usual hugging and presents-opening stuff, I went to the exam hall and ran my attention though the seating arrangement. I saw a few people with names I liked and I made a mental calculation that satisfied me that it was a good luck sign – for what, I fail to understand even now. The morning session went uneventfully while the afternoon session was a little bit fun. There was a 9^th standard kid next to me and after he signed the attendance sheet, he passed it on to me and made a visible scratching noise on his question paper with his pencil. He had scribbled “Hey, happy birthday!” in an oddly beautiful handwriting. I realized he had picked it up from the attendance sheet. “Thanks!” I wrote on mine. With a remark about how he thought my smiley’s mouth looked twisted, he went on to say that it was his birthday the previous day and I went on to wish him and the conversation went on, keeping me awake through the entire exam duration. I exited the hall as a happy soul.

Even the major exams like the JEE itself were no exceptions. My centre for IITJEE was the Presidency College; to be precise - a dark, scary and dingy hall, situated separately from the rest of the age-old buildings. The windows looked like someone had smashed them open just an hour ago and the very location and look of it gave me the chills. I told myself that quite a few of my batch mates are around, I needed to try to look serious – this was the JEE itself. So I tried going through the entire paper, admiring the colour of the question paper set I had got, drawing doodles – which, thanks to my artistic skills – were limited to concentric circles and absurdly shaped triangles. Somewhere after about an hour, the strength of my elbow started slipping and I started collapsing on my question paper, only to be reminded in my doodle-y dreams that the JEE is going on and I would lift my head up in an odd angle, with the look of Einstein trying to figure out the relativity equation.

The chemistry part was fun, I must admit. I had no idea what any of those ligands were. For every question in organic chemistry, I would draw at least 10 different compounds and admire my creativity skills: Come on, who ever knew that you could draw ten different convincing looking products for every reaction?

Math was okay, too. I would try fixing three pencils to form the 3D plane and try to put a dot in space to figure out what shape the graph or equation or whatever it was would turn out to be. Physics was the most difficult. I couldn’t throw around stuff at a specified velocity or with a particular frictional force. I couldn’t really figure out why a picture of the roller coaster kept playing in my mind whenever I saw a question from Rot-Mech [Rotational Mechanics].

The first relief came when Paper-I got over and it was lunch time. Barely able to wait to delve into the amazing world of food, I spotted a good shady, unoccupied place and started eating with a friend, discussing about the wonderful sea breeze we were having. We were making plans to get done with the paper and rush into the sea right after that.

Afternoon session started. Paper II. Yellow colour it was. A really good thing, I had noted to myself. Black ink would look nice on it. Just as I was arranging my black pens and pencils in order, I saw this girl two benches diagonally behind me, looking very much uninterested in anything even remotely close to involving anything that requires the hand to move in synchronization with a pen or pencil. After meticulously writing my name in about 12 different fonts, drawing bubbles around it and trying to make out something sensible out of my ‘doodles’, I surveyed my case studies. Some of them were fretting with their heads and sweaty hands with their pencils slipping from the tension building.

I glance back and see that girl I had observed about an hour ago – she was in deep slumber, blissfully floating away in happy dreams, judging by the peaceful streak that ran through her calm face. I sighed deeply and wished I could get myself to do that too. Seeing a little further behind, to a little of my gleeful horror, I saw a couple of her relatives poking her with a twig through the designed cement wall at the posterior of the hall. I chuckled softly to myself and my neighbor caught me as I continued to enjoy the entertainment behind. Slowly, more people peeked to look what was happening behind. After a very, very entertaining 20 minutes, the invigilator figured out that something was going on among the last 3 benches. The ordeal she went through to shoo the ‘relatives’ away, explaining that such things were not allowed in the exam hall is a totally different story. I didn’t fail to notice that the girl hazily wrote her name, could’ve been just half of it, and went right back to her slumber.

And oh, we did go to the beach that day. And as the waves hit us, we let it carry away the ghosts of IITJEE, if any.

AIEEE was cool as well, considering the fact that my examination centre was my own school and that ascertained air-conditioned halls. And if my memory hasn’t failed me drastically again, it was definitely a one-day ordeal. BITS also guaranteed an ac hall, what with online examination and stuff. But it got a little awkward when I couldn’t pretend to lie down on the keyboard with the pretext of ‘thinking’ about my long-lost formulae again. But my extraordinary practice with the PTs and P.Ts came in handy. I did manage to doze off a little and I could almost swear I had pictures of me floating in the galaxy with… okay, okay. I just slept.

Compared to all this, the fact that I had a poem on every 3^rd page of my so-called ‘Organic Chemistry’ notes seems so trivial, no?

I sincerely hope all those who had studied with me or did a good job pretending to do so at FIITJEE had a good laugh while reminiscing those wonderful days, the kids who have given all these exams this year felt a little better after reading this and if you are one among those blessed souls, never having heard of FIITJEE in your entire life, I hope you had a tiny smile on your face at least once as you complete reading this.

- Just Someone.

The election speech.

2011-03-19T21:43:00.005+05:30

The madness. :D

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[I had contested in the Students' Union Elections at college. I lost for reasons I never understood nor I ever will. Or rather, for reasons NO ONE ever really understood. But what has been the best part of it, is the love I ended up earning. A separate update on that will follow. But for now, here is the speech I had made.]

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Good afternoon, everyone. I am Sivagnanavathy, and my first assurance to you all is that I will not lead you into a situation where you have to meditate on your watch or draw doodles on your neighbour’s hand for the next few minutes.

Let me begin with a simple observation: Year after year, the students’ union election comes and goes and different people contest for the same post I am standing for right now. The requirement from the winner for this has been almost the same down the years. That is where I believe innovation takes a stand, and that is where I propel my vision to, because when everyone is thinking the same thing, then no one is really thinking.

Though I have had a few credits to my name in some extra-curricular activities at school, when I came into college, I had to start afresh. Somewhere along the line, where luck and chance met, I had the wonderful opportunity to design the first ever official Srishti website which, thanks to the amazing support from the Ethirajians, got ten thousand plus hits in less than 2 weeks. Being a second year who has never got an opportunity even half as good as this before, it was but a blessing when the Students’ Union 2010-2011 decided to go ahead and give this complete responsibility to me. Seeing the webpage everyday and seeing that the number of visits was increasing rapidly as every minute passed, it gave me immense joy – maybe that is how a mother feels when she sees her child grow. That is the kind of opportunity and happiness I would like to give all of you, that is the kind of innovation I would like to bring about.

Innovation distinguishes between a leader and a follower. And innovation, is the call of the day.

Time and circumstances permitting, I would like to implement quite a few new ideas like maintaining an official webpage for the announcement of all the intra-college and inter-college events, bring down the money collected from the students for the cultural events by using appropriate sponsorship plans and making sure that every single idea or suggestion irrespective of the background of the person they come from or the deed into, shall be considered with equal respect and importance.

And most of all, I promise to be myself, for , there is nothing better that the huge, warm and smiling heart that will always accommodate one more person.

And before I wrap up my speech with a, ‘Please vote for me’, there’s something very important I would like to say: A million thanks to all my friends who woke up half an hour earlier than the time I did every single morning to make sure I was awake and didn’t end up getting late, who patiently sat through the umpteen brain-storming sessions, who belted on with every last ounce of energy in them while campaigning for me, who lent me the last sip of water when they were tired themselves because they believed that that sacrifice could help me hold on for longer in the next class, who reminded me about time and food and health, who fed me while I had the ‘Egyptian Mummy’ costume hanging around me, who dressed me up into it in the first place while threatening me to stand still and pleading me to shut up as they occasionally had to scratch my head and wipe the sweat and helped me pull off the campaign into what it turned out to be. Thank you, people, for staunchly believing in me and supporting me! As batman says, "Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are!" Honestly, nothing would’ve been possible without you all!

Irrespective of the outcome of this election, I am very happy that the Students’ Union 2010-2011 gave us this wonderful opportunity by planning out this election procedure. We the contestants have now formed a beautiful bond we will carry on for a lifetime and despite all the fear and apprehension that had built in, the whole endeavour was an amazing experience, as we learnt to build on patience and endurance and learnt the reach that the very campaigning has, as at the end of the day, we have random people who smile at us and genuinely enquire about our campaigning, and promising to vote for us and wishing us the best. This I believe has been the best part of this election campaigning.

It is only but reasonable for me to hope that I get to be a part of this formidable team of the Students’ Union next year that could innovate and bring alive visions and I hereby request you all to kindly consider me as your next Joint General Secretary.

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P.s: To all those people who cried after hearing this speech - Yes, I meant every single word. :) This is to ALL of You. You know who you are. :)

And, thank you, Berty - for sitting with me from the infant stages of this speech, for telling me that I had it in me to do it, for teaching me that the whole procedure is only fun, for keeping me going, putting up with all my random calls and messages, seeing the final draft of this in the middle of the night & for all that encouragement and support.

And most of all, for calling me at the end of it, even when you knew I had lost I and telling me that you had heard my speech, you thought I had put up a brave and fair fight, that I deserved better things and that you were still proud of me.

Berty Ashley, I love you loads! :)

- Just Someone.

Lessons.

2011-03-06T01:22:00.005+05:30

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[Probably my random-est write-up till date.

Margarat Tate, this is for you.]

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There is always this point in life where you are left grasping nothing and you try to cling on to something that is already gone; where we refuse to acknowledge something as an ‘experience’ or a ‘lesson’. Where we relentlessly belt on that it is our future when it is not even present in the present.

I’ve been through them too - actually, one too many of them. I’ve cried truck loads, refused to give up, refused to believe, refused to accept and felt totally lost. When all I could do was look blankly from one wall to the other with a gazillion oft-heard phrases singing in my head, all focused to one way too familiar voice. Staying bewitched all day and freaking the hell out of closed ones by bursting into tears at every odd moment. It doesn’t only involve the shock in the experience, but also the mixed pain that revolves around the demolishing of a million memories and wondering where to start to carry on – alone.

We have all come across that person who never seems to be settled in a relationship and we have all come across another person who will without fail comment that the former one is absolutely unstable and the frequency of the make-age and breakage of relationships in the given time period of study surely indicates the same. But very few of us try to step out of that judgmental frame and wonder how it would be like to be that very person.

How would you like to be ignored and misunderstood by every single person you meet in a day? Imagine the same happening for a lifetime. That is how it feels like.

What most of the people misinterpret is the concept of ‘expectations.’ Yes, yes. They suck – big time. Et al. But what differentiates every other person from that person you share a bond with? Why doesn’t the random stranger you meet on the road not expect you to be polite when that one person wants you to do something special o out of the way?

Relationships nurture based on the time you spend with the person. Based on the quality concentration you give them. Based on how special you make them feel – even if it is once in a blue moon. Based on how expressive you are. Based on how understanding you are about their needs. Based on how well you portray yourself, conduct yourself, let them be free – which will automatically set your wings also free. Based on how much importance you give them, how well you show it, how much time you spend with them, how much you keep them engaged.

And then, when something slips and goes wrong somewhere, somewhere down the line, we are standing alone and looking blank, wondering where things went wrong, where the mistakes were made and how we never knew till then. That is when reality decides to slap hard on our faces and stick the harsh truth right across our faces. When denial is the only source of living, comforting and surviving.

What we need to know : [Our prayer has been answered.] The lesson has to be learnt. The purpose has been served and we have to move on.

If the strings are still hanging on and the final verdict is still not given, give a thought why you held on to it for so long. Maybe, you’ll find your reason there. If it is always a blank, it’s time to …

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- Just Someone

[Picture Courtesy: Fahad Y Mohammed]

Dignified Repose - My New Blog.

2010-12-18T21:41:00.003+05:30

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Dearest Silent Secrets,

Sorry for having made it as though I have abandoned you. Looks like the big man has a little sister now! :) The baby girl is young, cute and as amazing as her elder brother is. I am sure you will wrap her around your protective arms and be her bear hug all the time. Take care of her. She might not have told you yet, but she loves you a lot. :)

And, I love you too. You will always remain my first pride! :)

With all my love,

With all my love,

Your proud, proud, Amma. :)

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Dear Reader,

So long since I updated here!

It’s just that I have started a new blog and everything that I have been writing of late fit into the 2 labels I am using there.

The above picture is a screen shot of my blog. And if you notice keenly, I have included a link to the blog on the right hand side of this page.

www.dignifiedrepose.blogspot.com

There you go again. Have a look whenever it suits you.

And, thank you for the constant support. :)

Regards,

Just Someone.

I love you, Paati!

2010-07-19T17:41:00.001+05:30

[written dated: 19 July 2010]

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Of all the relationships that we come across in our lives, turning back, most of us would be able to relate to one particular person, one particular relationship, one magical period that had silently and persistently changed us, moulded us, guided us and showed the way ahead, to us with a calm and loving force. I learnt this fact when my grandmother passed away, my dear old lovely ‘Paati’ [‘Grandmother’, in Tamil].

She was this very bold woman, very old, not so tall, dark in complexion, wrinkled, and wore a pair of glittery white-stoned ear rings [I never really got to know if they were diamonds]. As far as I can remember, and as far as the photos that I have with both of us in it, right from the very beginning of my life, she has looked exactly the same, minus the wrinkles. My earliest memories of her are those of her chasing me, trying to catch me, to feed me, get me ready for school, make me wash my face, get me home to sleep or study… that list is endless! When I look back at those days, I can only just marvel at how she had the patience to be on her heels 24*7 with a highly adamant kid.

For her, I had always been special, her mini-pride. She *loved* to show me off. I learn from my Amma [mother] that I had learnt my first song when I was like a few months old, when Paati was singing me to sleep. She was this amazing singer. She always sang me to sleep, until those years when I could fit into the cradle. Her best past time was to let others know how very ‘talented’ I was and how ‘different’ and ‘extraordinary’ I was from the other kids of my age. She’d relate this incident of me singing to a group of people who had come home once [relatives or friends, I don’t remember], a few hundred times to anyone who would listen her out. “The little girl was hardly 3 and she’d sit in the middle of them all, straighten out her skirt so that they’d stay below her knee, give some book to everyone around to ‘follow’ the verses she sang, use her own ‘Thaalam’ [the beats used in Carnatic music] and sing her heart out!” she’d say and have a hearty laugh. The first few times I had heard that story, it amazed me how very big-ish I had tried to behave, or in general, kids try to behave and how very funny it all turns out to be, later, when they grow up and hear it all from the elders. But I remember getting quite irritated when she wouldn’t let that story sleep, ever. She never once got discouraged by my irritation and all the shouting that I gave her. I was always her “Paapa” [meaning: kid].

When friends from school called up on the land line and she answered the call, she’d ask them to hold the line, and keeping the receiver intact in her ear – as in, in the same position as that we use while talking to the person on the call – and shout for me, “Paapa!” Back then, it was so embarrassing when kids at school used to tease me, trying to call me “Paapa”, in class. I once yelled at Paati, asking her not to call me so. She remained silent all the while as I yelled – like always, and went about, doing her work. I was still her “Paapa” after that.

From when I was a new-born kid, she was the person who was there to take care of me, attend to me, tend to me. I grew up with her. Dad and Amma were employed and both were almost always busy in their own worlds. Dad was always this ‘Terror’ person whom I feared and detested. Amma was this person I’d always wished to know better but she was this busy, busy woman, devoted to the well being of the family and very much into her work. All my childhood passed with my grandparents. Thatha [grandfather] was my ‘Pamperer’ :D Whatever I wished for, would be there in front of me within a few days as long as I whined for it within the earshot of him. Paati was the strict person with whom I was stuck with, for the majority of the day. In a way, I never really liked her then. Parent-teacher meet, Sports day, Annual Day, any event where I was getting a prize, anything at school, she was the one who was by my side, and, I never liked it. I always wished my Amma would come too, like the rest of the kids had theirs, that she’d be by my side, put makeup on me, stay with me in the green room until my performances, see me win medals and cups, but then again, it was always Paati who would be there. What was actually a strong wish and need for my Amma was then expressed as a strong dislike for my Paati. She was everywhere where I needed Amma to be. Or better still, a family to be.

She used to plait my hair everyday, before I left for school. And she’d do my hair when I got back home from school. One such evening when I was probably 13 or so, she was telling me, with a lost look on her face, “You have simply grown up on your own, like the wild. I always used to try to be there for you, but smart kid, you knew the difference all the time. Every time I came to drop you in the school bus, you’d never wave back bye to me and keep looking longingly at those mothers and fathers who’d be happily waving at their children. I have tried not to make you feel that pain. But, smart kid!” Those are words that nailed into me, once and for all, strongly. I realized that day how very much I had misinterpreted her during my childhood. But the sad part was, even then, I couldn’t do much to make up for my misunderstanding with her.

She’d boldly come between dad and me, between all our fights and argue for me, on my side. She’d try to shield me, every time dad would lose his temper. She’d make sure I ate, all the time, whether I was being stubborn or my parents were forcing such a situation for me. She’d let the whole world know about even a minor achievement I made, and that included winning a silly handwriting competition at school. Like I said, I was her mini-pride.

One afternoon, when I was in my 9^th class and she was taken very seriously ill, she passed away, in her sleep, at home. She suffered from diabetes and was earlier taken ill a couple of times, but she always came out of it, strong and bold and as loving as ever. But that time, she was simply gone.

Grandpa had been trying to feed her lunch, dad was sleeping, and I was watching TV with my other grandmother – my Paati’s younger sister from Coimbatore, who had come to help her sister. Grandpa called us and asked us to see if something was wrong, since anything he had tried to feed her had been streaming down her mouth. There was no intake. She had been hospitalized for at least half a month and heavy dosages of medicines were given, that made her lose her consciousness and senses. She’d scream all of a sudden, her breathing was heavy. She failed to recognize any one of us. And all those only put me even more away from her. She lost a lot of weight and she needed attention round the clock.

Grandpa’s support to his wife at those moments were simply phenomenal. All my memories of them prior to that was full of petty fights. I secretly used to wonder how they ever got along through their 60 years of marriage. And I heard Amma saying this to her colleague, after they had decided to take Paati to the nearby town for further treatment: “Doctor, idhukku mela torture panama, veetlaye vachikonga! Kadaisi kalathula rumba paduthaadheenga nu solraaru. Appa va thirumbi paatha, ‘Indha ore oru dhadava mattum treatment panni paathidalame’ nu solrapove kanelaam kalangudhu avarukku. Enna panradhune therila!” [Translation: The doctor asks us not to torture her any further. He asks us to keep her at home and take care of her and let her stay in peace during her last days. I turn to look at dad (Amma’s father, as in, Grandpa), and he asks if we could try for further treatment just this one single time and has tears in his eyes. What to do?] At that moment I understood that certain forms of love are just simply beyond all of us.

That treatment ruined her. Grandpa spent all his time seated next to Paati, devoting himself to her, doing all that his old age would allow him to do to tend to his beloved wife. And one day, like I just said, she died. Grandpa called grandma (Paati’s younger sister) and me, and she tried to call her elder sister by her name. I just kept looking at her, transfixed. Too shocked to feel or do anything else. After a minute or so, I slowly took her hand in mine and placed her fingers on my palm. They were stiff. That was the first time I had touched her or got so close to her physically in months. Dad was woken up and he rushed to call the doctor who lived nearby. He came, checked her pulse and told us that she had been dead for at least quite a few hours by then. I felt nothing at that point. Just absolute shock. I wanted to run away from all that, as if doing so would help me run away from reality as well. Relatives were called. People cried. Paati was wrapped in some saree, and kept in the middle of the room. I badly wanted to go sit right next to her, hold her hands, ask her to speak to me. But I was too shocked to make any move. All the ceremonies and customs were done. I could only manage to stare at her dead self and feel nothing but an emptiness. And I walked next to my Amma, as they took Paati away in a vehicle designed to take away the dead and as I had a last glimpse of her, at the very end of the gate, as they forced me to get inside, it all came rushing. I cried like never before.

A few days later, Amma was telling me how very much Paati loved me. “She was so excited about your first day at school. She wanted to make you something you loved eating for your snack. You used to be crazy about puries then. And for the side dish, there was just one potato. She cooked that one potato and made puries for you that day!” Amma said, between her own tears.

Mostly, in the presence of others, I cannot bring out my emotions for my Paati. I just stare blankly into space. Till today, I miss her sorely in many moments of my life. And most of all, I wish I had been more polite and nice and loving and kind and understanding towards her, during her last days. I wish I had held her hands and soothed them out, sang to her, just sat by her, in at least a few of those last painful evenings she had had.

After my little brother was born, he kinda became the favourite and pet of everyone in the family. But to my Paati, I was always THE ONE. Truly, she had dedicated the whole of her life for me. Maximum of the tears she had shed was either for me or by me. The one person whose presence was solely dedicated to me. And the one person whom I had failed to love enough.

There are moments, like this, when I am thinking so much of her, writing about her, sitting on the terrace and looking at the stars, looking at other grandmothers out there, and kids that are extremely naughty, when memories of my Paati resurface in the lonely corner of my heart. There’s a gaping whole that always opens up and seems never-ending, making me choke and cry silently. I had been a bad, bad girl. But to her, I had always been her “Paapa” and she was perenially the proud granny.

Dearest Paati, to wherever you are!

Paapa loves you a lot and misses you very badly. I know that even now, you wish me the best and love me a lot. I hope you find peace out there. I am very, very sorry. If there’s anything I can do, to hug you once and kiss you on your forehead and touch your feet and seek your blessings, just once, believe me, I’d trade the whole world for the same! Paati, YOU WERE _THE_ BEST!

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~ Just Someone.

[ picture courtesy: Deviantart ]

Happy Birthday, Blog! :)

2010-06-02T15:17:00.007+05:30

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Dearest Blog,

Well, do I have to say it? As usual, I am late. *Very* late this time, I agree, in sending wishes on a birthday. I am sorry. I just hope you’ll forgive me like you always do, when I leave you abandoned for quite a long time without sharing secrets or posting poems. You know how things are at my end, don’t you?

Well, coming to the point, *Happy Birthday, Blog!* :)

You have absolutely no clue how happy I am to see you to have grown up like this. I have heard a lot about mothers being overjoyed at the sight of their kid, at the sight of the little one’s first word, first few steps, first birthday, etc. I don’t know if this is what it is, but I felt it on your first birthday! :)

It was simply a mind-blowing moment! The joy of having created you, moulded you, built you and grown up with you! Well, though people say that I have some writing skills, I have seen myself go out of words when the times matter most. When I get too angry, too upset, too happy, too emotional.. *This* is one such moment! The sheer happiness out of it.. I guess I’ll cherish it in all the years to come, as they go tumbling by and as we improve together.

I don’t want to make you feel alienated by thanking you . But as much as I try, I can’t contain myself. I want you to know that you’ve been my rock support all the time, taking in patiently everything that I gave you, everything that I shared with you. Advice usually comes free and very easily. But it those people who actually care to shut up and just listen you out and offer you a comforting shoulder and pacify you are those who actually matter and at the same time, are very rare. I found such a person in you. Whether I felt too low or too happy, you were there to take in all my words, patiently bear it when I struck off some and altered some, and kept being my platform for a little fame! :)

Thanks to you, blog, today, I am a wee bit famous. A few people identify me. They recognize my works. Appreciate my poems. And love my stories and posts. And you know me. I *love* the spotlights! :D

And sure enough, I have grown with you. Improved a little and learnt a lot. My writing style keeps changing, which I hope has been happening for the good, and I have got the chance of following some really marvelous writes.

And on this special day of yours, I want you to know that you are very special to me! It took me a few weeks to find a suitable name for you. I wanted you to be exactly the mirror that would reflect my thoughts and me. A name that people would be easily able to relate to me. And then, I named you, ‘Silent Secrets!’ :)

Don’t you think it sounds cute? Delicate? Just like me? Like us? ;)

I *love* you, blog. More than you can ever guess. Every comment that you earn me, praise or criticism, it slowly forms what I am when I write. I love the way you look, the pictures you have, the posts and poems you house, the people you’ve earned me as followers .. :)

*sigh*

I wish you a wonderful life ahead. And I really look forward to a time when people would just cherish you and adore you and you would be their favourite, for, you deserve it all and more! :)

For one adorable blog, for the wonderful support you’ve been to me, for all the moments and memories you’ve given me, this is for you, blog! :)

*Happy Birthday!*

*hugs!*

With all my love,

~ Just Someone.

p.s: I love you! :)

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Dear Everyone,

My dear little blog turned one on 17^th May 2010. :)

Apart from being happy for my blog, I want to thank a few people, to let them know that they are always remembered, to let them know how special they have all been.

My Bestie, Mayank Raichura aka cRaZy f3lLa, the mind behind *all* the technical parts of this blog. He is more like the protector of this blog! :D He keeps reminding me being the strictest possible governess of my blog, to take better care of it, update it and improve it. More than half the time, I have absolutely no clue what the technical suggestions he makes me mean and I just mumble a totally innocuous ‘Uh. Okay.’ He is used to it now! :D

And for a few other friends, who have offered me a lifetime’s worth experiences and moments to live with; Vicky Arora, Anaya Kulkarni, Sweety Dutta, Guneet Bindra, Fahad Mohammed, Khushal Khan, Rohit Dubey, Rithambara Sriraman, and Sai Priya.

And of course, *The* man of my life, for a lifetime’s worth of love, protection and blessing! I am not sure what I would be without him now. My complete support, safe harbour, the only arms I can run into, no matter how stupid I look, sound, seem or behave! I owe you everything, Baby! :)

And finally, all my followers and readers. The blog and the writer side of me is all it is only because of you people! :) I haven’t become much of what I actually want to be. I just hope what I am now will be the first step to what I aspire to be! :)

Thank you, everyone! :) Keep visiting! :) Keep commenting! :)

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[ Photo courtesy: Deviantart. Editing: Sweety Dutta. ]

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~ Just Someone.

FINALLY back! :)

2010-03-30T12:35:00.010+05:30

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Okay. Let's face it. About five months? Yeah, that's how long I've been away from here. Blogger corrects me. Six.

Great! Honestly, so much has been happening at my end. December flew away with my birthday, completely my 18th year of a glorious[less] life, and with so many of new relationships in the making and breaking. NCC held me tightly and there you have a busy and exhausted me!

Come January and I was selected for the Madras Republic Day parade among the candidates representing my college. Practice started at about 5 at the light house at Marina [the beach at Chennai] and I had to wake up at 3 every morning. It got over by 10 and college started at 11:30. Cool enough? And after 26th, the body condition started deteriorating at a steady pace.

One fine Saturday, I came home and rang the calling bell, and simply collapsed in front of the door. I recovered, went to my room and fell on the bed, never to wake up. Almost. Amma asked me if I wanted something to eat or drink and all I could do was just shake my head, "No."

What began as a mild and persistently stubborn head ache, fever and body pain, developed consistently into something worser when dehydration, severe stomach ache and Gawd-alone-knows-what-else added to the party. After a week’s treatment at home by Amma went in vain and the body condition worsened to such a state where my intake literally became zero leading to utter weakness and with me slipping into a coma, Amma had to rush me to a nearby hospital at about 9 in the night to have me on drips to get some glucose into my body.

Consciousness returned and stayed for the major portion of the night. The severe stomach ache added to the agonizing weakness of the body and Amma, with the help of a colleague, took me to the nearest clinic to an Allopathic doctor. Upon examination, he declared that my body condition was such that I could no longer take any food in solid or liquid form orally, and hence, to keep me both physically strong and mentally conscious, he advised I be put on drips at least for a day or two and also referred me to a doctor in one of the leading hospitals in our area.

Though physically weak, I managed to walk into the hospital with Amma’s help and I was put in a bed on the second floor. Just as I was falling into a happy slumber – happy because I didn’t have to feel the pain in the stomach that had, by then, risen exponentially – I was woken up with a start and rushed to the ground floor for an ultra sound scan. They applied some slimy cream all over my tummy and every time the physician put something that resembled an enormous light bulb attached to a twisted pair cable, the machine beside beeped and produced unintelligible images. After what seemed life forever, I was mercifully taken back to my bed on a wheelchair.

When I woke up some time later, I realized that I was running a constant high temperature, consistently low blood pressure, the stomach pain hadn’t reduced one bit and the head ache simply adding on to the rest. Several blood tests and urine tests later, they confirmed that I had managed to catch a typhoid. The ultra sound scans reveled nothing. It said that I was perfectly normal. There was a long list of tablets and tonics that I had to consume and I was on drips the whole day, trying to sleep it off as much as possible.

The routine was quite simple. They would keep changing the glucose bottles once the previous one got over and inject a different substance every time. To divert my mind from the pain on my right hand where the needle was plastered, I had taught myself to meditate on the liquid in the glucose bottle and I could almost swear that I had brightened up a bit once, when they had one on me with a pretty shade of pink.

Every time I cried “Amma!” in pain, the duty nurse would come leisurely to my side and have three injections done on me through the same needle that ran the glucose from the drips into my body. One would be of the normal size – the usual one used on the human body. The other two were of that humungous size that are usually seen at the Vet. A minimum of 2 blood tests per day – again, one injection of normal size, one like those used at the Vet. They would have me take urine tests as and when they pleased and it was sheer torture to simply move myself out of the bed with every muscle, sinew, nerve and everything inside the body screaming in uncontrollable pain. The doctor used to come and have a look at me for a maximum of three minutes and the routine continued.

On the second day, we were informed that I did not carry the typhoid and rather, I had developed a dengue fever. The same procedure continued. Somewhere around the evening, I found myself unable to speak [ For those who are thing, ‘So sad!’ well, yes, I know! :( And for those who are thinking, ‘Why couldn’t it stay that way?’ well, :P ] and started showing signs to Amma to get my message across. Having lived with and brought up a daughter that usually has to be paid and begged on the knees to shut up and not talk, this change drove her crazy and she called up dad – who was then out of station – and asked him to come back as soon as possible. Totally dazed, confused and frightened beyond all limits, she asked the doctor why such a state had come to her daughter for which he replied that it would be best if she had me taken to the psychiatrist for that! :P

With the count of painkillers, antibiotics and some other medicines – that were probably named only to challenge man’s memory power and skill to spell, pronounce and remember the same correctly – slowly climbing their way to a sure shot century and simply no visible improvement in my health, day 3 came with the same treatment procedure continuing. The day-care nurse changed and a seemingly heartless one took the position of the previous nice one. At times, I thought that she derived pleasure in poking those injections and the coloured fluids that they contained, right into me. I had slowly started to dislike her whole-heartedly. A kidney specialist came sometime in the afternoon and felt my tummy at 3 different spots. He then scribbled something on the notepad he was carrying and left without a word.

At about 8, we were informed that I had to undergo a CT scan, for diagnosis purpose. My father, who had arrived early that morning after a sleepless night journey arranged at the last minute, and I, were willing to go ahead for this new twist, hoping against hope that at least that would hold the key to knowing what I really had had in my body and a possible cure for the same. For some unfathomable reason, Amma tried to convince us against it, but since we were gambling against what seemed to be nothing, we won.

I later learnt that a CT scan required a needle to e poked somewhere on my hand to insert a chemical, a dye, into my body. I was to be transported to a lab about 20 minutes away from the hospital and the nurses decided to get the needle on me at the hospital itself. The same nurse whom I had described a while ago, came armed with a huge needle and poked around on my right hand for about 10 times but couldn’t place it on a nerve. She then got a bit bored and got another nurse with her, who tried her hand at the poking festival, that was then playing at full swing, by trying to get the needle on my left hand for about 15 times. I was beginning to think that they were having fun doing it. Tiny red spots of blood were peeping through all the holes they had managed to create and my hands looked like a sort of blood-stained sieve. Quite to my relief, I was rushed off to the lab then and the lab technician there had fun on my left hand for sometime, increasing the area of the sieve and after about 10 whole minutes, found a blessed nerve. They then ran me through a HUGE machine. A microphone would all of a sudden blare, "Take a deep breath", "Hold it", "Breathe out", "Don't get up!" Somewhere around midnight, I was brought back to the dingy hospital bed on a stretcher and mercifully allowed to sleep. The swelling on both my hands and legs reached their personal best the next morning.

Day four brought more pain to me and fear for dad and Amma. I started relying on Amma for even the slightest and simplest of my body movements. Turning my head, folding my legs, moving my hands – it didn’t matter which. Every movement brought indescribable pain and I was trodding down the lane opposite to that of anything even remotely close to a recovery. I had finally given in and begged Amma to take me to Coimbatore for Naturopathy treatment. The doctor came on his regular rounds and took my ‘I am fine. No stomach pain or swelling of hands and legs’ for a medical statement and agreed to have me discharged. After 25,000 bucks, sleepless nights, literally 0 improvement and actually, a worsened condition, I was brought out of the hospital in a wheelchair and a semi-conscious state.

I remember it vividly. 14 February 2010. Valentine’s Day. Just outside the hospital gate, as I was lifted and rested inside an auto and dad and Amma were settling some bills, I was looking out at the world in about 3 weeks, and everything seemed new and blurred. At the traffic signal, just near the light post, there was this really beautiful couple. The guy was letting the accelerator roar as he waited for the signal to turn green, and behind him, on his bike, sat this girl, gorgeous, with a bunch of red roses. I smiled to myself. So much was still happening in the world!

Urgent reservations were made and Amma and I made our journey to Coimbatore the next day by train. I was lifted into a wheelchair at the station upon arrival, which had been arranged by her colleague there and then taken to the ground floor in the lift that the station usually used for goods and then taken in a call taxi that was waiting for us. After about half an hour after being carried into the room in the hospital, the doctor came and visited. With as much as one quick look, he told Amma that there was excess of salt content in my body and if we eliminated that, I would get alright. His one liner for me: Get as much as water, sunlight and air as possible. He encouraged me to do a simple breathing exercise and to when I tried it, to my horror, I found that I had difficulty breathing as well. I was put on fruit diet and made to attend Yoga classes in the morning and Pranayama classes in the evening. The maximum I could do in the Yoga class was to sit on a chair and try to fold the fingers in my hand and I’d be fast asleep in less than 10 minutes. Pranayama class was no different.

Within 3 days, the change was evident. The Yoga and Pranayama classes were held in the 2^nd floor and our room was in the ground floor – which had been allotted just for me since I had difficulty moving around and the Dining hall remained in the ground floor as well. The doctor refused to have me treated special in that case and I made my way to the 2^nd floor slowly, everyday and on the 3^rd day, I could manage to walk a bit without Amma’s help. The daily schedule also included a walk ever morning and evening and I managed to go out for about 100 feet. Slowly, within a week, I had managed to improve enough to walk my way upstairs without any assistance, eat my own food, and go for the morning and evening walk a bit more than the 100 feet distance.

I was getting restless to get back to my normal life and kept bugging Amma to take me back. She simply said that she would, only if she felt that I was totally back to being ‘normal’ and demanded to prove it by going for a full stretch walk with her, in the colony where the hospital is located. She also put doing Yoga fully on her demand list. Being a lazy person who would probably be nominated for defining laziness and trying to hide as much of the residual pain as possible, I did it on the 9^th day. I had gone for a full stretch walk with Amma and done Yoga completely, Surya Namaskar to Chakrasana and Amma had finally agreed to take me back home.

I returned home after a month, after managing to lose 6 and a half kilos and went to college the next day. My friend looked at me with that horror-struck face and remarked, ‘Okay! You’ve got your eyes. Where’s the rest of you?’

After a month’s strict diet control, my health slowly came back and I got back my weight. I somehow managed to complete all the pending assignments, study for my semesters and complete them in an I-have-absolutely-no-clue-how manner. The holidays came, and the holidays have almost gone and I have been ‘trying’ to do this post for the past 2 months! :P Anyway, I think I got a break I probably deserved. I’m not going to promise to increase the blog traffic or the speed of updates, since I have long since figured out that I hardly ever manage to keep them! :D Saving myself from the embarrassment of making explanations or excuses later, whichever, I henceforth announce that *I am back!* :D

Back to rule the roost and drive the world insane! :D

….

This post has not been done to proclaim that Allopathy is bad or Naturopathy is great. And *definitely* not to advertise! :D It is just a personal experience. :)

For those who are curious, I was admitted at Pavithra Nature Cure and Yoga Centre, at Marudhamalai, Coimbatore.

A wonderful place, with a pollution-free, noise-free environment and an absolutely pleasing climate, situated just a kilometer away from the Marudhamalai Hills/Temple. Lots of fresh air and sunshine. The best part of the place is that, one never feels like one is on a treatment there. There’s this perpetual air of the festive season hanging around there, and it feels like one is on a picnic there, rather than on a treatment. The doctor does not wear suits or carry a stethoscope. There are absolutely *NO* tests done, save weight checking, every morning. No medicines. No injections. No ICU ward. Patients are just given personal rooms. Everyone knows what complaint the other person has got and we feel a true sense of joy when one person gets cured. There’s a dining hall where everyone is supposed to eat together at a specified timing and the diet is decided every morning by the doctor which will definitely be fruits on the major part.

And well, on the 9^th day, when I was discharged, I had gone to the Marudhamalai Temple with Amma – which included climbing up the hill by the steps! From being utterly unable to move a muscle, I went up there to the temple, sang a few songs with Amma – the doctor had made singing a must for me since the 3^rd day, since it was an essential breathing exercise that I could do without being reminded of being under treatment and also calmed me down and the other patients – and came back with her, to carry my own luggage and take the bus back to the Railway station! :)

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[ Picture courtesy: I'm sorry! :P I started working on this post 2 months ago and found the picture then! I've just forgotten where I got it from! :D ]

~ Just Someone.

Daddy's little DisGraCe ~

2009-11-05T21:36:00.009+05:30

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( written dated: 05 Nov 2009 )

"Dad, i need the PC today. Can you like put the password on?"

Yeah. MY PC is password protected and my DAD has the password. The story that I've been told over and over again is that, the PC was bought for my convenience - i had to work on quite a few projects for my boards during my 10th grade - and the internet connection was put on especially to suit my educational needs. AND, my dad puts a password on it and lets me use the PC only whenever he thinks it is ok.

Let me give it a better description. If he's in a bad mood, if he thinks that i am a little extra late - and he'd come to his own conclusions about the reason behind it without giving me the slightest option to explain - from college (school, earlier), if he - for the Nth time - decides I've been of no use but just a burden to the entire family, he'd just turn a deaf ear to all my pleas. It would roughly turn out to be like this:

"Dad, i need the PC today. Can you like put the password on?"

"Dad! i need the PC! Password, please!"

- after 15 minutes -

"Don't do this to me. I need to surf for some information. How longer do i wait?"

"Why in the world do i have to beg as though for mercy every time i need the system? For Heaven's sake, PUT ON THE PASSWORD!"

....

And he'd sit there, rock solid, flipping through the newspaper over and over again, looking at least 45 degrees turned away from the direction where I stand. Usually, i turn away and walk off, tears swelling in my eyes. Do I have to SAY it to make it obvious that i so HATE to keep asking friends - though they perfectly understand and keep my thinking away from any gloomy thought about this with loving ease - for help regarding browsing for information on the net. WHY do I have to, when the bloody PC with my favourite black LCD monitor sits in the house, with the UNLIMITED broadband connection on?

And when dad or mum start a row in the morning saying that's it's only a holiday, and I need to stay home instead of getting myself immersed in any NCC activity or whatever, and i do so, it's like I'm stuck in my own personal hell. They won't let me use the PC. Reading novels is one of the deadliest sins. Listening to music follows close behind. Sleeping beats them both. Phone calls are FORBIDDEN - dad keeps looming around close by every 15 seconds, so it's as good as not attending the call. And all these doesn't mean he'd have a nice little chat with me. he simply won't even acknowledge my presence. If his mood suits, maybe he would, at the dining table. Like "Pass the rice over."

And don't you want to know the reasons?

> No PC - You keep chatting all the time and that bloc (read: blog) ruins you!

(Dad does not understand what EXACTLY a chat window is or what a blog is for. He considers my poems and stories and the likes a waste of time. I should better do my course materials. Umm.. my course - English Literature and Communication Skills)

> No Novels - It only ruins and corrupts the mind! HOW can you be reading Sidney Sheldon and all that?!

(I am too young to read Sidney. I'll be officially eighteen in less than a month. And even if that doesn't have anything to do with being "mature" enough, I already am, double enough. He hasn't spent enough off time with me to interpret anything.)

> No listening to music - All that loud meaningless banging. Go do something better.

(I should be doing something 'better')

> No Sleeping - HOW can you afford to sleep when there is SO much to achieve in life?

(Achieve? By shutting myself up from the rest of the world?)

> No Phone Calls - I apparently have a secret boyfriend - one every two months.

(...)

> No Talking with me - I've been such a disgrace. Just a pain.

.. and the list goes on.

Some people say that I should understand that it is any 'normal' dad's behavior, just that he's a 'bit' too overprotective. Upon this, i get two different thoughts.

HOW can there be so much 'over - protection' that it literally chokes me every single time and he NEVER notices - I can now say, never really understands the whole impact since he has witnessed me doing one of the following - that whatever he does literally makes me want to kill myself or run away?

And if there are people who can think from that perspective, it certainly means that they've had a moment's closeness at least, from their father(s)? HOW does it feel to feel that way?

True, when i was younger, dad DID do things for me. Dress me up, take me around... But if all that vanish away with passing childhood, what do we share between us now? Are those memories supposed to keep my regard of him hoisted high up for the forever of our existences? That sincerely doesn't mean all my childhood memories hold smiles. I can recollect at least thirty incidents anyone would hate to hear and try to reason out with.

Mum. She's this weird person. I always somehow feel that she loves me in an odd way. But she never lets herself express it the pleasant way and I'm left wondering HOW i should reciprocate that love. She's been away most of the times, including those when I felt I needed her the most. It's like the thread of a relationship I keep trying to catch hold of, and it keeps slipping away with a jerk, each time.

Why is that dad refuses to trust me and says so blatantly on my face? Why is that dad and I can never once have a pleasant conversation and end a day in total peace? Why is that, in the past 3 years at least, i can't remember one single incident where i have felt deeply loved at home? Why is that i take any excuse to work extra time at college as a life-Savior and run? And on top of everything, why is that i find it easier and more appropriate to apply the term 'house' rather than 'home'?

Confessing, I feel utterly no emotion while reading all the sentimental and emotional stuff written about the relationship between a dad and his daughter. At times, I smile a little if it involves mum and her daughter. Call me stupid, emotionless, inhuman, A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.! I'm beyond caring now. I know how much of battering and tattering it has taken to feel all this numbness. Anyone trying to reason with me will only put me more in awe about the probability of closeness that person had shared with 'dad' and more away from my own concept of it.

Maybe, MAYBE, we should have tried to make amends. But what if all those trials from my side get reduced to physical and mental pain? It's like a vast and empty void spread in front of me, as I think of a future in case I'm still stuck in the same place I am, right now.

People say that this is my boon. I am shaping up into what I am currently because of these circumstances I am in. But how long does the endurance test turn positive? What if i falter even minutely?

NOTHING can convince me to step back from the idea of flying away somewhere to pursue higher studies, find a job or settle down, whichever. I am just counting down days and hours to meet with that eternal escape. And I keep day dreaming at times about how good the air would feel on my life then.

Presently, I yell it out at dad, "THIS is why i hate being at home! It's like as if I am dead. As though i don't even exist! Why the hell are you doing this to me?! I need the PC!"

It falls on deaf ears again. I have a vague memory of my little brother trying out various combinations of words to figure out the password, and i try a few of them. One luckily clicks. The first thing I do is, change the password. Not that it gives any assurance of me being able to access the system the next time I need it. But i just felt the NEED to do it. I've been browsing and surfing on the net for all that I have been longing to - India's Missiles, Military Operations, Recession, Obama's Health policies, current affairs, sports updates, catching up on blogs i follow, reading poetry and stories online...

It feels like Heaven! Precisely where i belong!

Mum gets back home and we talk as i help her with the vegetables and dinner. We have a bit of a conversation. Dad goes about as though I am dead.

I am online past the usual curfew time. Nobody seems to care. Me included.
I have no clue what Hell will get loose in the morrow. But presently, I feel ...

I remember reading something Linda Goodman:

When the child is young, he/she steps on your foot and when grown up, he/she steps on your heart. <-- This might as well have been told about the Sagittarian child who has never been trusted.

----

~ Just Someone.

( photo courtesy: flickr )

[ title courtesy: Anaya Kulkarni :) ]

●๋•αηgєℓѕ ∂ση'т кιℓℓ ●๋•

2009-09-24T08:01:00.008+05:30

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( written dated: 21 Sept 2009 )

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thought you were my Angel
and now i know
oh, oh

you were just an illusion
so centered within your own confusion
baby, one last word before you go
Angels don't kill, just know
every touch that burns within me
couldn't you ever just see
the memories you've left churning
are setting with the sun through the railing

the heart will cry out the pain
lashing out thoughts at you in vain
go ahead, live with your boy new
while this body of mine turns so blue

i thought you were my Angel
but now i know
oh, oh

you were just an illusion
so centered within your own confusion
baby, one last word before you go
Angels don't kill, just know

if not him, maybe another fool
will walk by when you look so cool
but no one will take your attitude in
'cause only i could love you so, in sin

oh, yea, i'll surely love you for long
my time only with you it does belong
but it's time i move away
no longer come in your way

she's here, the girl who'd die for me
maybe we can just never be
oh, i'll love you, please take care
but there's nothing more we can share

all along,
i thought you were my Angel
but now i know
oh, oh

you were just an illusion
so centered within your own confusion
baby, one last word before you go
Angels don't kill, just know

i'll forgive you, just like any other time
and throw open my arms to let your soul chime
but it's time i walked away
no more can i take this sway

and when you wake up from your dream
and understand the loss of my beam
remember i loved you all along
but you deemed for someone else to belong

now,
so, it's just that
i thought you were my Angel
but now i know
oh, oh

you were just an illusion
so centered within your own confusion
baby, one last word before you go
Angels don't kill, just know

here's the girl who loves me
maybe, we were what were meant to be!

----
~
Me.

( picture courtesy: deviantart)

UnwindinG MyselF! ~

2009-08-20T05:53:00.005+05:30

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Being gentle and a little patient and comforting has been a quality very much a part of me. No making loud statements here, but somehow, I haven't really been able to treat someone rudely or just give up on them even if they seemed utterly impossible. There are times that I have wondered loudly to myself if I was trying to act like some mini-super-hero thing! Trying to be that good girl in the books of all or something of that sort. Truth after all is, I just am that! Can’t help to see someone that way.

And then again, I’ve also been this really naive, soft and sensitive girl, so untouched by life, looking at the world with wide and interested eyes. I’ve changed. Changed to being that girl who can possibly hold herself up and keep the silence of her agony to herself - in a way. But coming to think of it now, I can see more twists to what I used to be. I am losing it - the uncanny ability to keep sticking to something with pain within.

Alright, apologies to keep going on endlessly about stuff involving pain, rejection and lost memories, but I guess I can be excused to be writing precisely about what I feel strongly about.

These days, it is maddening to be the one who has to listen to people throw tantrums, just because they managed to wreck their day. Like, you have a very bad time with something, or maybe the whole darn day goes in some horrible way, you come online or call up someone (read: me), and then you get all sulky and I try to ease it up... only to be the one to witness the other person go off, leaving me clueless about what I’d really done to deserve that way of treating.

Sure, people do have those days where nothing seems to go about the right way. Everything piles into an agonizing and highly irritating set of troubles. You don't understand what exactly is going wrong, and all you want to do is, to burn the world up, if you could afford to or manage to do so. Nothing sane pleases you; no assurances get you back in shape. Like, you just need that time to unwind yourself after the whole energy is used in one blast to shut all that frustration off.

The point I’d like to say is, I get into this category, too! I mean, I am human too! I have my own bad days, times when I don't understand what is wrong but I just want to shout at the top of my voice, times when I want to get online and just not talk anything or start up a conversation on my own, times when I want to just keep singing to myself even if it involves me at the vicinity of close company...

And well, do I get to be so? No, sir! Shouldn’t I be the one who is patient and controlled enough? Sounds pretty like the image for a 'perfect' personality. But trust it to ask me how really annoying it is! It is like, I am battling within myself to keep myself together in one piece, trying to distract myself in the best way possible out of the unexplainable rage burning within, and then, someone wants to unleash their bad day on me and then just walk away like nothing ever really happened. My head is like: huh?

The reasons range from a wide variety of highly kicked up fantasies of the mind to the most trivial things imaginable: not having had enough sleep, not having got a copy of some book or CD you've long wanted, not being able to go to some concert happening out the corner, and then, the cases of not staying in touch..

Tell me, it takes two people to make a relationship, right (please, this includes the realms of friendship too)? It takes two people to stay in touch, right? To keep it going? It infuriates me to no extent to be blamed, and then, when I try to stay calm and explain, pat it comes, "Excuses!"

Again, huh? In the first place, why do I have to explain if the relationship is really worth keeping? And whatever is a relationship if you can't understand me right and give me my space (whatever that means)? If it is so important to you that you need constant contact, why don't you just take an initiative? Attitude? Or are you trying to check on me?!

If you really care, then shouldn't it be like you'd do anything to get any bit of precious time in the company spent in absolute sweet talk?

And then, there are those that keep missing you very badly in your absence and then ridicule away all the moments when you have all the time in the world for them. Makes you wonder if they really meant it when they'd said you had been missed in the first place.

Know what? I just want to throw it up myself! Just shout out loud, kick the world up, and stay by myself, if I just want to, if I just feel like doing so. If everybody gets a chance to let themselves out and still justify themselves by the fact that it was just a passing mood, then why can't I?

Right now, I want to slam the door shut, hard, talk whatever that is running through my mind without the slightest inhibition at the thought of what 'others' might think, feel absolutely confident and feel absolutely 'Me'.

No, sir! I don't want to sulk, I don't want to boss around, I don't want to kick up any 'attitude' like half the world goes about thinking! It's just that, I too have my times when I just don't want to explain, excuse myself, make myself understood, put myself across in the 'appropriate' way, and smile and be around to keep comforting, being that bear hug everyone dreams of.

After all, the hardest and truest part is - if they really are true and genuine people who'd give anything to have you, or at least who care so much that they'd do the utmost to stay by, they are going to have you for whatever you are!

Raised eyebrows?

Did I not tell you, I’m *not* like that girl?!

(picture courtesy: deviantart)

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~ Just Someone.

DreaminG AwaY ~

2009-08-16T15:58:00.003+05:30

(Warning: Do not read if you are an ardent fan of the “Twilight” Series by Stephenie Meyer and you haven’t still completed it. This might spoil a little bit of the suspense.)

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It is past midnight. I still keep rolling all over on my bed, thoughts wandering somewhere. I give up trying to feel sleepy and grab my copy of Breaking Dawn for the N-th time. Pretty amazing it is, for the same book to make you blush, smile and cry no matter how many times you read it.

I still see myself in Bella - clumsy, special in some weird and incomprehensible way, always seeming to do the utterly mindless thing and lying immersed in my own version of "Wuthering Heights" all the time.

I can feel the pain or whatever odd feeling it is, whenever Bella looks at Edward in the eye and shudders thinking that it is a dream - he's too good to be true. The only difference being, I don't have no Edward of mine to feel agony to see me that way, to say "We'll be together, forever." Or maybe, I did.

Ok, maybe I do have people saying me that. But somehow, a true sense that will complete me as a whole, make me feel as though I am the outrageously lucky lottery winner just ain’t looming in over here. It gets very uneasy though, when I guess on who my Edward probably could be. Let's see how the description goes:

Someone so flawless in appearance that he looks like a Greek God, marble skin that's cold, a smile that makes you forget how to breathe, his electrifying presence, closeness making you hyperventilate, the patterns his soft touch draw on your skin send you off to somewhere outside the earth, the way he caresses your chin, the way he cruelly pulls away only too soon, it makes you want to punch his face, the way he smiles his crooked smile when he knows that all you want is just a lil' more of him, the way he seems to be able to read your mind in a way, though he can't literally get into it and the way he considers you to be his most precious gift though you never get the faintest idea of how that could be...

Ahh...!!

It looks like all this explanation is chiseled in a way to shout out loudly, pointing to someone I know! And then again, I want to smirk and pretend that it just doesn't match. I try not to need such a person, pretend that I hardly see him, need him... and it gets all the more on my nerves when I try to move from it and it gets back to me in double the precision and speed.

Why does he have to be so perfect and make me feel as though the whole thing is out of balance, which only makes it harder to get away and yet stay close (whatever that means) ?

Lines such as these get a lump in the throat: If it weren't Edward out there, if I didn't know in every cell of my body that he loved me as much as I loved him - unconditionally and irrevocably and, to be honest, irrationally - I'd never be able to get up off this floor.

Why does it choke me? Because I almost felt this way at one point of time? Or because I *want* it to be that way now?

Not to forget, I have an almost perfect Jacob Black in. Like how Bella says, being with Jake is like breathing air - it happens so naturally!
And, Jake is my sunshine; I need him to stay healthy and happy. And, I love him. It seriously can creep you out to know that you are hurting him and yet, the best thing to do is not do anything about it.

And why did Edward's father have to be a doctor? And yet, why did he have to have a younger sister?
(I know that only people who know me inside-out can understand what this line means, but I can't seem to reason out to myself why I shouldn't write this here!)

Every time I close my eyes, take a deep breath and think of him, I can feel the cold fingers caressing away, only almost touching me...
I can almost reach out to him, to his hair and tousle it... and then, it goes off as a puff of smoke! Isn't it way too terrible to be this way?! Under an Unbreakable Spell, caught awing at it, wanting it and yet trying your best to rip yourself away, knowing it will hurt you bad!

And then, I can see the Jake part of me too. Of how much I care about him, how much I’d give to just see him happy, how much I irrevocably love him and still I'd let go of him just so he'd be happy with the one he *thinks* he loves ~
I'm not sure if it is what they call sacrifice. But when they render so much of unexplainable MaGiC to your world, all you want is to see them happy, even at the cost of smiling, re-assuring and staying by their side, while listening quietly to their love story, slowly being torn apart by some fool who can't understand how precious they are! You wonder why you are still by their side, helping them out like an idiot, though you know yourself deep inside that every damn move will rip you apart slowly.

Like Bella says, Jacob is my sunshine; he radiates hope and joy automatically. Edward is my drug, I *need him*

I'd love to feel his finger on mine, and still, I'd like to keep those cold hands off me, in a way. I sigh deeply and get back to my copy of Breaking Dawn.
My bedside clock shows that the time is past 3 in the morning. Unknowingly, I let the book close as the pages flutter by. I think I saw a drop of tear come down its way to my cheek.

Jake's lines while thinking about Bella seem to apply in a strange way:

(S)he’s everything you ever wanted, everything you'll never have.

(picture courtesy: photobucket)

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~ Just Someone.

CampinG! ~

2009-08-04T20:30:00.006+05:30

----

An announcement 10 days of camping in NCC can bring in mixed reactions within the self; especially if you are a first-timer. I was no exception when I encountered the same.
Excitement, fear and a twinkle in the eye! After all the last minute packing and the sleepy journey, we arrived at the camp site, all hungry and tired. Confusion followed, regarding the allocation of rooms for the different schools and colleges reporting. After finally figuring out our room, arranging our luggage and bidding adieu to our 3rd year Seniors who'd accompanied us, we half ran to the area where lunch was supposed to be served, only to find that we'd been late and that lunch was over. Believe it or not, the same happened during dinner time also!
The 2nd years Seniors seemed to be accustomed to this and showed no reaction. But we, the 1st years were feeling aghast! No food! That was more than the worst we were prepared to handle!

Things settled pretty well from the 2nd day, though. The only problem was, we had to wake up at mid-night 4 o' clock to get ready and report in our contingents at 5:30 sharp in the parade ground. The tricky part was, there was acute shortage of water. From that day on, we started appreciating whole-heartedly every time there was enough water to brush our teeth and wash our faces. Miraculously though, once we assembled in the parade ground - I’m not sure if it is the uniform, complete with the boot, belt and barret, or if it is the sight of seeing some 600 odd Cadets assembled there for the drill - a sudden freshening of the self occurs and all you feel like doing is showing all over there why you are the better person in drill there.

We got a 10 minute break in between to get some refreshment - tea or lime juice or buttermilk or the sorts, and of course water! We never once dared to question where from the drinking water came - it was more than enough that we got it now and then.

The drill would continue till 1:30 where we got our lunch break. Again, we learnt not to question how not to make queries about how or where the food was prepared. Fatigue and hunger overrule hygiene-conscious souls and those that would have hardly cared to give a second glance to that food were found fighting their way to help themselves with 2nd and 3rd servings! :D

We rushed to fill bottles and collapsed on our bed spreads on the floor until our Seniors kicked us awake at about 3 to wash our faces - good luck and presence of water permitting - and reported again at 3:30 for the drill. Break at about 6 or 6:30, refreshment, water, face wash, change into civils, go report for cultural, selection for singing and dancing, drama, etc.
That continued until 12 or so, and then, we drop into our beds, dead tired, too sleepy to even think if we were occupying our own bed spreads or not.

There was just one fan in the room that we stayed. Apart from our college, another college was also there and just one 100 watt bulb was provided. After about 4 days there, heavy rains started lashing in the evening time, the only time we get our chance to try our luck at finding water for bathing. Bottles if perfume were our only refugee and no one dared to comment about it - after all, it was everybody's fate!

Skipping bath unto 3 days was normal. It would have sounded like heaven to people like me but for the heavy drill and P.T activities in the scorching sun. Even after all the rain that rattles throughout the night, the parade ground becomes free from puddles of even the minutest size by 10 in the morning! Such heat!

But beyond all these, the fun that we had in the camp-site..! I’d trade nothing, absolutely NOTHING, to give up on that! The mad rush for water to have a bath, running for second serves whenever the food tasted a wee bit better than the previous day, jumping like excited little 5-year-olds at the sight of ice-creams, looking enviously at those that managed to take a bath once in 2 days, singing and clapping and dancing along with those who performed on-stage during the cultural time throughout the night! That was WONDERFUL!

Though usually camp stories are filled with no-sleep nights, ours was different there. Since the sleeping time was way too restricted, any minute offered was duly awarded to the body to relax a bit.

The discipline taught us much. We automatically started rising early; concentrating on our drills in spite of the punishment we got when we got late or didn't do it properly - frog jumps topping the list there!

We learnt to love our uniforms, give respect to what we learnt, calling all our second years "Senior", paying toe-salute and the much awed NCC salute to our teachers there, adoring our boot-shines, feeling absolutely proud to be an NCC Cadet while wearing the complete uniform with the barret, to never cry no matter what while in the uniform and treat any person with courtesy and care.

Slowly, the secret that water supply came quite well after 11 in the night leaked away, and bathrooms were flooded with queues of people waiting to have bath in their sleep at even 1 or 2 in the night.

Since I was shifted to the CATC side - Combined Annual Training Camp, I was given the chance to give command and train the Junior Wing Cadets - those from classes 8, 9 and 10. I tell you, it was such a wonderful experience! They make one learn so much from them - right from their drill, until the love and care they show to the Cadets like me who trained them!
(They could actually tell how tired or sad or happy I was with the way I smiled back at them when they wished me "Good Morning, ma'am.")

It was another memorable experience when they took us to the Firing Range at the SRM University Grounds. Gee! It takes an extra helping of food to be barely able to lift those rifles and take proper aim! And i can never express right the amount of pride that surged within us when we took the return journey to the camp site in the NCC vehicle, with all the eyes of the passers-by on the road, glued onto the vehicle and the cadets in uniform inside!

We made friends for life from other colleges too, with those that shared our same wavelengths and even those that we would have passed by otherwise as people from other planets with defective heads.

The internal drive to get selected for the Republic Day parade ruled every soul there! we learnt SO much from all our teachers there - Mani Sir, Jayaseelan Sir, Naren Sir, Soma Sir, Sarath Sir, Ebe Sir and also, our Seniors from SRM, among whom I SHOULD mention about the CATC camp Senior, Pushpendar Patil - PP, for short.

If there is anyone who can keep his face so emotionless, calm and composed during dill that would be PP Senior! Personification of absolute calmness!
Only while doing the rifle drill, one gets to know how darn heavy it is. We are supposed to keep it by our sides and throw it shoulder level and catch it single handed when we hear the command and proceed with the drill. In the course, we are required to hit the rifle hard at different positions for various commands like "Safdan", "Visharm", "Bagalsaahd", "Salute", etc.
The hand usually gets extremely red and swollen after each of such sessions and one cannot stop feeling sad for the Cadet who is doing the rifle drill.

But when you see PP do it, it is all different! Seriously, he doesn't move one extra muscle, not a single movement on his face that shows any pain or uneasiness. I, usually feel sorry for the rifle that's with him.
He is so freaking tall, if I might use that adjective safely without causing disrespect, and thin enough to pass any one-glance fitness test. He’s always around to blow the whistle for everyone to assemble for breakfast, lunch, P.T Parade, cultural and the rest for which I haven't found out yet. We just run whenever we hear the whistle.

No wonder he soon found a fan club out there - people who couldn't help admiring his flawless composure! But still, he is one of those kinds who'd be genuinely and pleasantly surprised if he found that there was but 1 person who thought he was cool!

Not to forget Hemant Chandru - Chandru for short, whose performances with his guitar while he sang along found another fan-club's creation. And of course, his famous run of seven straight days of wearing the same black shirt and black pant got him the glance from all sorts of spectators.

The Junior Division Cadets - boys from classes 8, 9 and 10 - from C.S.I Corley School whose Contingent Drill got the maximum applause from both the spectators and the judges. Not a single move escaped without coordination and was rated better than even the Senior Division Cadets!

Mani Sir's sever Drill Training was met with awe from every Cadet there, the 2nd years and the first years, equally. He's a retired army person after 23 years of service in the same, but you wouldn't be able to rate him older than 35 years. He is so darn fit!
Naren Sir's lectures were wonderful times! We always wished we could just stop everything else and listen patiently to him for hours together about his experience while he was at the Siachen camp, in the Republic Day Camp, etc sitting underneath the army tents patched up there in the parade ground.
Sarath Sir's comical twist to the serious camp will be another thing none of us will be able to forget.

Everyone was seen to be a wee bit emotional during the final day evening, during prize distribution. To no one's wonder, the maximum applause in the Teacher's side was for Mani Sir and Sarath Sir and for the best Cadet category, our one and only PP!
Couldn’t help marveling at how wonderfully and innocently and broadly he could smile and how perfect he looked, in his uniform! Even when he walked down from the stage, the ear-splitting applause continued!

We tried our best to stay awake throughout the night but fatigue over ruled in the end. We fell asleep at about 1:30 but woke up automatically at about 4:20, the next day. Within 30 minutes, we were ready with packed bags, washed faces, brushed teeth downstairs, to go report to our Sirs and Seniors.
Since a group of four girls from the Senior Wing - which included me - had helped the Sirs with the certificate-writing - most of which I had done since my hand-writing was rated well - medals and cups arrangement, etc.

Though they had promised us a special treat for our help for the last two days (we had spent time from early morning to about 12 in the night with all that work), time didn't stand by us. The only factor that helped us hold behind our tears was the fact that we were not supposed to cry while in our uniforms.
We boarded the bus, waiting to dispatch us at the closest railway station or bus stop, running every now and then at the sight of some Sir or Senior from another college, to say our bye's or get mobile numbers and email ids.

We shouted our throat full, as the bus left the camp site, and sang our way.

Only after pressing the doorbell home and settling on familiar floors, did it really sink in that the camp was completely over! True it was, all of us had been silently wishing that some punishment order would spring up and we'd be asked to stay for a minimum of an extra two days!
The first most welcome break was the long uninterrupted bath I managed to have, followed by some food and SLEEP!
I slept the whole day through, waking up only for food breaks. I later managed to make a few calls, asking what had happened at college meanwhile. The first response that most of them gave me after seeing my number flash on their mobile screens was: "Hey! You still alive, eh?"

I called up a few Seniors who had taken the risk of attending college today and found that they had been dropping dead asleep on their benches. One had walked straight from hostel premises to the Department with the wrong slippers, soaked clothes for washing at 3 in the afternoon and woken up at 12 in the night to remember about them.
I washed mine with the washing machine set at 60 degrees and finally found my uniform in the right colour and smell.

Seems my internals are coming up. And my light-music finals are scheduled for this Friday, which will mean continuous practice in the time left.
Nothing seems impossible now! Horrible food, power failures, water shortage, strength-draining strenuous physical activity... NOTHING seems able enough to halt me anymore. Better than before, I feel fresh and ALIVE and PROUD to say that I’m an NCC Cadet!

Memories of the camp will stay with me till my last and the better part is, more camps will follow in my second year! I hope to be better prepared in my drill activities, and better furnished with the GSK and other stuff that matter for getting selected as the Best Cadet and proceed on for the AIBC - All India Best Cadet.

* [i can still hear Chandru play and sing on his Guitar:" I'm becoming this all I want to do / Is be more like me and be less like you "
A small inside detail that makes us smile now: the camp Senior for our next camp in the 2nd year will most probably be Chandru! ;) shh! :P]

Happy Camping, everyone!

NCC is THE PLACE TO BE!
\m/

----
~ Just Someone.

( Picture courtesy: msn.com )

My MaGiCal Touch ! ~

2009-06-25T20:19:00.015+05:30

----

In this really messy, crowded, hush-rush life of ours, we meet many people. Some, move in and out in an astoundingly quick pace; some some tend to stay in for quite some time without really making any meaning or difference.There are yet other people , the rarest of them all, who come in, in the most unnatural or casual ways and like a spark, they catch our instant attention and for some unexplainable reason, we find ourselves admiring them, getting impressed and influenced even by their mere presence. We search for that one face even in a h...u...g...e crowd.

No! I'm not talking about crushes or love here.

It's a sort of admiration you feel strongly. Their charisma overwhelms you, the hundred different expressions that they can give you in sixty seconds both amaze you and make you emote along. Even a restless crowd seems put under some spell and sway along, and wonderfully so!

Instinctively, you feel that this person, directly or indirectly, is going to have a huge hold on your thinking, views, behaviour and the sorts.

Here, in my case, that person has figured her way into what i'm most passionate about - writing. Right from the day I've seen her and seen her talk, there's something absolutely magnetic about her that is irresistable.

Beyond her voice, pretty looks, quite an awesome sense of humour, there's just something, SOMETHING, that I'm not able to hit on specifically, that has put me under an awe of her.

It so happens that, that girl I am talking about is called APOORVA!

I'm no introvert, but somehow, it is taking every nerve in me to make up my mind to her know all this - I keep telling myself: Maybe it would seem like flattery, nothing more than yet another passing comment, the case of a new-commer trying to impress the senior, none of which this is. But I guess I've managed to let the world know right now that in some mysterious way, she has touched me. She is someone I really admire and certainly the first face I look forward to find everytime I go to the auditorium.

To me, she is, more than Apoorva, my MaGiCal touch!

Apoorva and Heena Bajaj!

- Now, I need to mention something about this pair, really! :D

They keep talking, and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking (ok, you get the idea) soooo much so that, at times i wonder if they have any idea athemselves about what they are talking :D

Alright, alright, jokes apart, they have this real wonderful atmosphere created! :)

The combo of Apoorva and Heena ROCKS!

\m/

They compliment each other's personality and are in the best of spirits in the other's presence.

Note for the reader: most of what i have posted here so happens to be portions of a letter I'd written for Apoorva and was read in the auditorium :D

Okay, I understand you are wondering why in the first place a letter was read aloud in the audi :P Lemme explain. Like mentioned in the post, I was a little scared to walk up to her and tell her about all this admiration thing face to face. So I'd decided to pass the note anonymously in the audi, ask her to have a look at my blog, and later reveal myself.

I waited for her to pass the microphone to someone else so that she wouldn't end up reading the whole thing to the 1000 odd people in the audi and I would bet my life any time to say that she'd go on talking about anything!

But as luck would have it, though I got my timing right, as soon as the thing was passed over, my MaGiCal touch (:P) passed it over to the other girl with the microphone, Arma, and she started reading the whole thing aloud. If i'd stood up to say not to do so, I thought I'd be giving myself away. And since everybody was keenly listening, asking anyone to pass the messgae to tell them not to read would also cause flutters. So I decided to stay put.

I had mentioned this in that letter --> I'll reveal myself pretty soon, perhaps to know how you liked my blog post. Right now, I'l just tell you that I am from the English Department.

^ That, did the damage. The eyes of everyone there shifted to the front part of the lower gallery where the English Department students were seated and somebody shouted my name. And by then, Arma, Heena and Apoorva were asking the person who had sent that letter signed as "Just Someone" to identify herself, and *BOOM*!

I had to stand up after precisely 5 seconds of hesitation! :D

They thanked me enough for being so nice and doing the letter. But the BEST part was, after the audi emptied and I was standing outside, waiting for some friends, some girls who were total strangers to me till then, walked up to me saying stuff like: "You wrote down precisely what i thought! Girl, you didn't just pour out your heart there, but it was all our hearts that were in there!"

THAT is why i call her my MaGiCal touch! ;)

I wonder if I'll be getting to know more of her in the one year that we'd be sharing college space. And probably, a few might think that I shoud have waited to put out my opinions out in the air after I'd possibly gotten to know her more. But what I feel is - at THIS moment, she has made me think, write... She deserves this! :)

Few people manage to create this sort of an impact on us.

Apoorva, this is for you, for a reason i'll probably never know myself! ;)

Love You! :)

----

~ Just Someone.

( picture courtesy: DeviantArt )

untitled ! ~

2009-06-16T14:59:00.005+05:30

( written on 04 JUN 2009 )

----

When the last ray of the crimson sun
Sets by the distant horizon
My final tear would fall by
The voice of my lost soul
Dissolved in that dew drop
That is on that leaf blade
By the window of your stubborn gaze
- My tear, sir, it holds my word
The full-stop to the agony.
Even before the silence envelopes
I’ll be gone, long gone.
He, the Guard of the Secrets
Will descend when the dead-end you hit
And let reality sink in your daze
- I am dead.

Me?
I am walking through familiar pathways…

----

- Me.

( picture courtesy: Polly Jean, Deviantart.com )

untitled ! ~

2009-05-28T11:44:00.000+05:30

( written on 07 FEB 2009 )

----

The walk of a fifty mile and a score
She went along and pain she bore
Fluttered among words and silence new
Lay secrets, he could comprehend, so few.

But you go (with her), she'll be safe
And the story, another fairy-tale.
Maybe more will come, more will flow
The fire, though, ceases to burn, it's hollow.

Here's the note she left behind
They found her dead and this beside,
Crumpled and tattered,
In a beautiful hand, it read:

It did hurt, but I'll never say
Why my end doth come this way,
Honey, my sunshine roses are blue
You'll never know, but my stars, shone on You !

----

- Me.

Inspiration: Lewis Carroll
Dedication: Nut

( picture courtesy: photobucket )

Happy Birthday, Rithu ! :)

2009-05-27T14:47:00.002+05:30

( For Rithu, my Sweetheart ! )

I am late by three days to make this post. But better later than never ;)

Like every other year, I promise myself that I'll call Rithu at 12 in the night to wish her and, like every other year, I oversleep.
I wake up with a start at about nine o' clock and give her a ring.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart !"

"You &)&)*$#@! Do you have to say that 'sweetheart' thing still?"

=))

"Well, sweetheart, it's your BIRTHDAY !"

"STOP THAT 'sweetheart' thing ! And hey.. Tell me.. You just now woke up, right?"

"Yea...”

"And you are still half-asleep in a way.. Right?"

"Yeaahh..."

"AND, you haven't brushed your teeth yet, right?"

"*)(^$%#@ That's unnecessary information you are seeking. Tell me, how does it feel like, to be 18?"

"Feels like I should have been this a lot earlier. You know, I could have voted.. But HEY ! People should vote for ME ! I could transform the whole damn society.."

"Yeah, right. You'll make kids act 18 even before they are 8"

"General Knowledge, baby. It would be a revolution in the history of mankind.."

:P

Now, THAT'S Rithu. She's this real cool girl, my bestie, or in better words, my sweetheart ! :P
If there's anyone on earth with whom I can discuss every other crap topic possible with such nonchalance, or with such deep interest like it is the next thing that will alter human life, that would be Rithu.

It makes me remember all those days we were, in this "mutual helping" thing, that helped us stay awake through all the many Chemistry, Physics and Maths lectures (yea, practically EVERYTHING :P)
She's been my Savior in more than one way; kicking me at the right times when the faculty turn in our direction, giving me ideas to play with my Calci or write a poem (that poem written during the "amines" topic was because Rithu gave me the idea to try my hand at it) or tell her about what happened that day with Destiny..

:D

And at times, when someone finds us talking with such seriousness and interest, they drop in to join the convo and we abruptly stop and stare blankly at each other.
They ask us what we were talking about so animatedly and Rithu says, "No, you don't wanna know.."

:D

Those times were awesome !
\m/

She somehow takes it on herself that she "spoilt" the kid that I used to be. And that's when I laugh the most when she says that dialogue of hers with genuine regret :P

But all this nonsense and fun apart, she's been the soul that has been around in both my highs and lows and beyond all our million fights, she always somehow speaks up to me, and we are back to kicking the world.
She's been around when the "Chiguin" dream seemed real, and also, when the Destiny took its turn.

Seen me cry my eyes and heart out and been there to give me all the cheer she could muster in herself.
In fact, though everbody else reacted with such a cold mind, she was the only person who was honestly shocked and upset as much as I was and that reflected in the reply she wrote down in that Chemistry notebook of mine - "What is wrong with ***** ?"

That made all the difference - everybody else's response was, "It's ok. It happens."

At times, I really wonder what I would have done without her. I make her read all my poems and stories first, and she does, because most of them come in between classes and she's the one who has got the curse from the Devil of getting stuck up right next to me.
She sings for me, makes pictures, custom-made smileys that I love SO much and she's the partner that is around to bring the roof down, in the school canteen.

Somehow, one whole year has swiftly flown by, and everything seems like a beautiful poem, written in air..
.. slowly evaporating away with the fragrance of memories good and bad still hanging by..

The coolest girl I know, with a cool accent, cool behaviour, cool attitude, cool family, cool everything...!

This is just a small.. umm.. something like a gift, for her :)

Rithu, sweetheart ( this time, she'll start writing my epitaph after seeing this :P ), this is just for you..
For all that you've done and been through with me..

And for still clinging onto me, and joining me in wrecking the world and driving people mad..

I Love You ! :)

( I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I HAD to include this line :P )

You are The Best !

\m/

Love n cheer,
~ Me <3

( picture courtesy: deviantart.com, editing by: Sweety )

My Letter to My VG ! ~

2009-05-24T14:28:00.000+05:30

( this is an excerpt from one of my letters to my VG - "Veer Ji", in Punjabi means, elder brother )

----

Dearest VG,

So long since I wrote to you, I know. And I kinda feel that it's bad. Well, thinking about why I haven't written to you all these days or why I'm writing to you now, I'm forced to analyse myself. It's painful though, to be truthful in such an occasion - it's like ripping the ugly truths that nigger within, out of the soul, mind...

A part of me agrees, the other, denies, and there’s a HUGE conflict raging within. And I forced myself to talk about this to you now - yes, "forced", because the conflict raises its head within, time and again.

Do I come to you only when I'm in pain and agony? Only when I'm sad, distressed, very low and have no one else to turn unto? Why didn't I make an entry in the book when I was really very happy?
A day or two ago, I was so, so happy that I could almost jump in joy and touch the stars. But I didn't write to you that day.
Why?
Even yesterday I was made speechless by a few things, gestures from friends online. They all made me so happy. But even then, I didn't write to you.
Why?

I don't seem to have a clear-cut answer, but let me try to tell you what I think, i.e., what one part of my mind thinks, about which, the other part of my mind thinks as cruel and self-destructive.

I seem to come to you only when my tears are falling - outwardly or otherwise. Maybe because I know that you'll be your loving self to me, you'd give a hug, a pat on the shoulder, remind me that I am special, etc.

That's fine - you are my dearest VG, so, I can expect you to do that. But shouldn't it be due on my part to share my happy moments also with you, as and when they happen? Isn't it a little mean of me to make use of you only when I need help; only when I need someone to listen?
It's so unfair of me to expect you to dry my tears and then enjoy alone when I'm happy. So mean.

One part of my mind says so. The other part says that I'm being too harsh on myself, too critical. It says that VG is VG only because he can understand all this and still love me - unconditionally.
The other part promptly retorts, saying, "There you go again, so self-centered and mean."
It feels terrible when the head that houses these two parts of the mind, constantly arguing, happens to be mine. Sigh !

The other thing - hearing people say nice things about me, seeing them write poems for me, it feels great, you know.
And here again, the two parts of my mind come into the picture.

One says, "That’s so cool. So you really are adorable."

The other says, "Ain't that dumb and lowly to crave for praise?"

Part one says, “Well, maybe. But what's so low about it? They like me 'cause I am good to them."

Part two says, " Oh yeah, really? You just seem to be asking for all that because you feel insecure, because you don't receive love enough, in the usual ways other people are accustomed to. All that closeness you have lost, you are now in search of that in strangers. That's why all this show that you care. Accept it."

Part one says " Of course not. I may have lost love, aright. But it's no indication that the love or care that I have for someone else is fake. When I love someone, I give it my all."

Part two gives a yawn and says, "Crap after crap of idealism. I don't believe all that one bit. I just see an insecure soul within."

Part one thinks that it's not wrong to like praises, it's normal.

But hey, I ain't normal. Am I not supposed to be different from the everyday person? What does it account to, if I too succumb to worldly praises? Then again, I'm not a heavenly creature to shun it all and live a life, content.

And at times, it does seem a little kiddish when one part jumps with joy about something someone said. The other part gives some mocking comment and then a long-drawn yawn.

And all this happening inside my head simply freaks me out to no explainable extent. Is that a usual teenager's thinking? Am I a plain and simple one too?
Just pretending?

When part one sets about bravely to dig up gnawing "truths" that part two hosts, it just blows me off, completely.

I'm left wondering at the genuinenity of my own self. And wait ! How am I able to write about those parts without concealing anything in between?
Part three, is it? And what makes me think of the existence of three?
Four, I suppose?

Here it goes again ! :

Is this the general concept that growing up is difficult? Everyone thinks this way, is it?

Grr..

It's so irritating. And in case someday you decide to find the true meaning of "confusion", get inside my head.
I'll then pray that you'll return alive out, to tell the tale.

Pray?
Yeah, to my minds - Part one, two, three, four...

Like Linda Goodman says, "The Sagittarius girl might seem to confuse you, but that's nothing compared to what she does to herself !"

Now, take care. Stay alive for me.

Love n cheer,
~ Me.

( 09 APR 2009 )

----

( picture courtesy : apathtomastery.files.wordpress.com )

untitled ~

2009-05-23T12:17:00.000+05:30

( written in my early 12th class, during a chemistry session. if my memory holds right, sir was teaching us " amines " during that period :D )

----

As the sky grows dark,
Enveloping the earth with
The unknown silence,

I'll take you with me,

Over to your moon..

Thro' the quiet clouds

My stars will guide us,

Thro' the unseen gates of bliss,

Thro' the ever-awed mysteries of the horizon.

As we pass thro' all these and more,

Let's learn how it is,

To loose ourselves

And yet,

Gain ourselves..

The silver wheels of my star-studded chariot

Softly running over the

Withered leaves of unearthly "autumnous" winter..

I'll take you with me,

To the ends of the world,

My stars bringing us back

Safely; together..

And as you sleep by

On your moon,

Pacing plainly into your dreams,

I'll be right there,

Next to you,

Awake - taking care that it's all gonna be okay..

With my stars telling us the secrets unexplored,

And bringing upon us,

The lovely blessings of Heaven.

----

-Me.

untitled ~

2009-05-22T13:06:00.000+05:30

( a poem written in my early 11th class, when i was in the hostel )

----

Yearning to see that face,
Full o' love and care,
To feel those shoulders
Wet with those stupid tears,
To experience that touch
And feel heavenly,
To speak lots and lose my mind,
To lie down in you
And melt my soul away..

The caress,
The warmth,
The authority,
And the supportiveness...

Here I am,
Evaporating away..
Dissolved in loneliness..
Pain,
Hatred,
A self I hate
Hidden somewhere within me,
There my tears fall,
Disappearing even before they are felt.

----

~ Me.

The Same Sullen Note ~

2009-05-22T12:28:00.000+05:30

( written in my 9th class )

The Same Sullen Note..

----

A new member came to the family
And the people's joy knew no bounds
When all had joy and rejoiced
I had to carry on, with the same sullen note..

The new commer began to walk
Maybe you'd call it toddling
The first steps were taken into the tape
But all I could do was carry on, the same sullen note..

The little one was taken to school
Gosh ! Bags bigger than the kid !
All had a smile and waved "bye !"
All i had was, the same sullen note..

Believe me ! Fourteen years rolled by !
The same little one.. no, a BIG ONE
Was bought a seat in college
All wished him luck, but I had to go on, the same sullen note..

The BIG ONE "finished" education
He was then a business man
All blessed him and wished him
But I, yes, had to go on, with the same sullen note..

That night, all had a peaceful sleep
One you'd get if you are settled
One you'd get due to fatigue
But I had to continue, with the same sullen note..

Years rolled by and the BIG ONE was now BIGGER
The once kid, now had a kid
Making the whole house enlightened
Well, I had to just go on, with the same sullen note..

One day, it happened
A VERY BIG EXPLOSION
Yea, little was I damaged
Oh God ! Even with the complete destruction around, had I to go on

with the same sullen note..

.. TICK - TOCK ! TICK - TOCK !

----

~ Me.

ENGLISH - A Tribute ! ~

2009-05-22T00:53:00.000+05:30

( a poem written in my 10th class )

ENGLISH - A Tribute !

----

Queen of all languages
Loved by people of all ages
Popular and spread world-wide
Traveling with people as they ride.

A language of letters twenty-six
Spreading faster as people mix
With literary resources so rich
And with words,that can,a torn heart,stitch.

There are prepositions and conjunctions
Not to forget interjections with proper punctuations
Metaphors and similes..
Oh! How many verbal beauties!

Amazing it is: to make you cry
And yet, urge you for another try.
It can give children some laughs
And amuse them with creatures like dwarfs
You and I of course know
That no one's ignorant of "Yes" & "No"

Some books can bring in you forgotten tears
And some, endanger you with haunting fears
Where else do you have a Shelley or a Wordsworth?
Or maybe a O.Henry or a Wardsworth?
Only this has a Rowling
Adored by every sibling
The only place with a Harry Potter
Who goes on getting- as expected- hotter!!

There isn't a language as this does flourish
And it is the adorable, cuddly ENGLISH !

----

- Me.

untitled ~

2009-05-22T00:31:00.000+05:30

( this is a poem written in my early 11th class, after i watched the movie "Gangster" )

----

I'm still waiting for You
Arms stretched, love pouring
At the end of this world
You did not betray me
Don' worry baby
Instead,You are the one who got betrayed !

Lost I am, far behind
Back in Your dark deep eyes
Rediscovering myself..

In every smile of Yours...!

I waited till this moment
To get off every bloodshed
To cherish Your touch
To feel You against me
To make You mine
But dear, Time has drifted You
Away, far away from me...

To know I won't have You
To make you mine
To know,I can't get to know You more..

....

I can feel your fingers
Slowly caressing away
From my hands,
I can still smell you around..
The moments of closeness
That I let go
Just to wait a lil' more
To finally get the bliss
Of uninterrupted YOU !
Now...

I'm never gonna have You
And You; Me...!
Oh don't cry baby,
I'm at the end of the world,

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting;
For You, Still.

----

-Me.

A World with just You and Me ! ~

2009-05-21T16:16:00.000+05:30

( a poem written in my early 11th class )

A World with just You and Me !

-----

Life is just an endless circle
In which belonged a part to Me;
I cherished and took pride
Of a world with just You and Me.

Travelling alongside the other
With a tear and a smile to lend
And an always outstretched hand
Snapping away the strange strand.

So much of love shared
And so many assuring glances later
The circle gave a rotation
With You in some side
And Me out of it.

There's so much to loose
So much to gain
Of a world with just You and Me

I can feel you drifting away
Promising a glee that's slipping away
I know I'm losing You,
And yet tend to wave at You,
With unexplainable emotions running through my head,
A tear escapes unnoticed.
With You gone

- In a world with just You and Me.

~ Me.

----

The House of the Emotions of Dawn and Dusk ~

2009-05-20T15:15:00.000+05:30

Written on 09 SEP 2007

The brightness heralded the birth of the new day

There wakes up the house

The pink top girl comes first

As usual in her pink sleeveless top,

Short black shorts,Ponytail,I-Pod,Sneakers....
The old, old lady [The Lord o'ly knows how old]

Comes with spring in her feet

Murmuring her morning prayers

And counting her rosary.

Now come the men40 to 50....

Laughing aloud

On the party joke

That someone had cracked....

Followed by their wives

In salwars and shoes

Each reciting

Their sorrows at home

In a sing-song way....

The bachelors walk in

All earning money

That they find no purpose to spend on....

They open up their game of shuttle

In a careless way....

Some kids come along

All trying to impersonate

The adults- Who themselves are wearing innumerous masks....

The various groups melt away

As it becomes brighter

The house is emptied

Alone.... Alone....

For the sun to beat it down....

The day starts growing dark

The life of the house springs back

Every part of it

Cherishing human touch

Welcoming back mortal prescence,

Company....

In come the first pair

And the second

And the third

And the fourth

And the .....

Two kids walk in

Hand-in-hand

The little boy

Pointing over to a butterfly resting on his finger

To the little girl who is completely captivated

...........

The old couple come

Silent to each other as usual.

The newly-wed girl blushes

On stealing a glance of her better-half.

The house glows that split-second

Happy, Blissfully....

The ice-cream sellers,

Little boys pursuading people to get their little toys

Toys that pour in light and loveliness....

As the day sucks in more light

Everyone goes back.

I am absolutely amazed

So many emotions

So many varieties of Souls

So many Relationships

So many moods....

[All at the very same place and time....]

I move on to remember the address

Crossing vagrants settling on their be(nches)ds

" TOWER PARK " - the board says....

I pick a piece of charcoal lying down

And write a board that is now peeling off it's paint:

" THE HOUSE OF THE EMOTIONS OF DAWN AND DUSK "

----

~ Me.

and so starts the ride :P

2009-05-20T11:07:00.000+05:30

well, well, finally the results are out :P

like we even asked for it :P <-- i don't think i'm ever going to be tired of saying that :D
as expected, there's nothing much in what has turned up. nothing that one would dream of pinning up on the collar and go about declaring proudly, just a something.

i'm not very sure where these marks are going to take me, if anywhere at all. and i'm assured enough that they are in no way proclaiming what real potential of some varying angle that these exams cannot portray, i possess. it's not just a statement coming out of a heart overwhelmed with pride for the self, it's a belief that keeps me secure and strong and helps me hold on when the rest of the world is busy branding me as a little less competent.

marks or no marks, nobody is going to be able to snatch the inbuilt qualities. they will be honed as time passes, and battered and bettered with various views and critiques.

but how i let the mind stay confident and calm through this roller coaster ride will determine how well i can execute my ever-shifting vision and dream - delicate ones ;)

hOpE will keep me going, and yea, a few pure hearts that will stand by :)

.. and so starts the ride ! :P

the roller coaster rider, again !

2009-05-20T09:32:00.000+05:30

like we even ask for it :P

the clock at the bottom right corner of my screen says that i have less than half an hour left for the time to become that terrible hour of 10:00

terrible, yes. the results for the boards have been declared overnight to be announced at that time, IST. NOW i presume you understand the meaning of the first line of mine - like we even ask for it :P

i remember my 10th boards now. and how it didn't matter at all then. at times i think, and most of my classmates agree, that we didn't treat those with so much of an importance or fear that we give a class test now :P nothing really mattered of what would come out of those exams.

preparations or no preparations, somehow, i knew that i'd make a little more than an average score. and i did ! they rate ICSE syllabus to be a little tougher than the current CBSE i am in. but with the clock ticking by and every minute runnng down, i know: half the preparations and double the marks then; more than double the preparation and.. 15 more minutes will tell what scores i'll end up with.

well, wondering about the relevance of the topic with what i've written here? simple: the roller coaster ride of having to put up with every other person's opinion about the marks i've managed to get, everybody's idea of the best college for me, the best branch for me to persue, not to forget that all these opinions come absolutely free, will start NOW!

not that mum or dad wouldn't ask me what i'd like to do. but these cloud of suggestions will make sure that everybody involved will soon be having a muddle within themselves.

my results? putting them up here?

it's bad enough that it's online and accessible for all those who have my roll number.

afetr two years of being in the science stream and doing Physics, Chemistry and Maths, i somehow feel that being stuck with circuits, acids or calculus just ain't for me ! i'd go mad if that's what i'll have to do for the rest of my life !

i'd rather read or write or sing or.. i'm not really sure where all this is heading to.

at times, when i look at all those teens of my age having a goal, say, to become a pilot or a C.A or a doctor, i am forced to think if i have been aimless all along. but hey, wait ! i did have dreams. it just seems like, the vision ahead keeps shifting now and then. all i know is i don't want to fade away as another existence on earth. but what do i do?

....

the time's almost up for the wait now. and i just hoe to hold on and get through this phase. Maybe, something is in store now.

- Just Someone.

being missed ;)

2009-05-19T20:54:00.000+05:30

----

i have given this enough thought now; so much that i feel i'll go crazy if i don't make my next post here now. i have been thinking if i should already post my first story here, or what precisely is running through my head at the moment. i guess the second one has finally won :D

i don't remember when i last had a wonderful day at home. somehow, there's always a spoiler, and it always comes in a magnified way. my time on the net or phone or with books have been restricted for the zillionth time. secluded life, in a way :P i need rest, is what i hear when i ask "why?"

rest is fine, but not at the cost of me not knowing what to do with every darn minute of my day :P sleeping, eating, writing now and then; i'm not really sure if i'm doing anything else. oh yea, thinking :P

my thoughts that i always rate as suicidal and dangerous to alarming extents, resurface now and then. and mid-way being caught up between 'em, i fall asleep.

but apart from all these, there have been a few things that make me smile a little and maybe, blush a little too ;) being missed has never meant so much till now. i keep wondering how i had grown so addicted to coming online, socialising, talking with a few treasured ones, and calling up a few others.. only now it is actually sinking in that, it is the same game being played at both sides of the court, afterall ;)

"i missed you sooOoooOoo much"

"can't wait to hear your voice. missing it lots !"

"time online is just not the same with no you around.."

.. and the likes ;) seriously, now and then it doesn't hurt to pamper the heart and mind with such statements from those that you love. well, "doesn't hurt" sure is an understatement :P
it feels like nothing else can matter more ! :)

smiling, blushing.. ahem ! ;)

at times, it's a pleasure, to be missed. and even more joy, to quietly rerun those conversations, feel loved, cared for, and pampered ! ;)

p.s: shh...!! it's a silent secret ! don't let 'em know. i'd like this "missing you" thing go on for a little longer ;)

- Just Someone

----

i start blogging today !

2009-05-17T15:01:00.000+05:30

ahh...

so finally, i start blogging ! i'm no closet poet or writer, and certainly not one who stays in the shadows of the glory of the show and not the centre of them all either. but somehow, i always found a reason to put away the idea of starting a blog - laziness, a little scared if i will be able to devote enough time to maintain one, or maybe a lot of other reasons that i haven't been able to figure out yet. somehow, some reviews for recently written poems and stories have helped me push my mind that extra bit and start blogging !

"Why don't you post them all in a blog?" has been the constant question and i always had an excuse, for those that asked and myself. i'd like to thank them all right now: Anaya Kulkarni, my Guardian Angel, whose thinking and style of writing i'm always in awe with, Aanindya Choudhury, someone who defies definitions of a particular relationship and the person who helped me out of my worst and gave me the wings to soar and the bold heart, to reach for the unknown, Mayank Raichura, the crazy guy who racked his brains as much as i did, or maybe even more, to help me out with a name for this blog (which i finally won, as this name was my idea :D ), Rohit Dubey and Vicky Arora, a lovely friend and the other one, my brother cum teacher cum friend cum lots of things, who constantly instill belief in me that i have it in me to become a well-acclaimed writer and keep reminding me that i'm no ordinary teenager, but something beyond, Rithambara, my sweetheart (she's so going to put me on fire for calling her this, like she always does :D ), my classmate, my bestie who keeps me grounded and gives her honest words at all that i write and mostly, the one who undergoes the torture of reading everything i write, first, Arindam Dey, the person whose blogs moved me and touched me the most, the author and poet who has been gracious enough to have time to read my works and give me comments and suggestions, Ms.Parvathy, my English teacher from class 6 - 10, who was the first to acknowledge my flair for writing and encourage me to keep going with it, my inspiration who keeps me going and takes immense pride in me, all the many other friends whose names i haven't mentioned over here, whose contributions have been in no less importance; and ofcourse, my amma, the lady who has always been around to back my dreams and help me hone my talents in music and offer enough support, emotinally or otherwise, in all my endeavours; someone who always takes pride in me and someone whom i can never thank enough.well, it might sound a little strange, seeing me mentioning all these names and thanking them as though i have already accomplished something great. but the fact so remains that it has taken the persuation and encouragemnet and yelling from all such people to make me start up with this blog. atleast, i've started ! ;)

i'll be posting my poems, stories, some random thoughts, and a little about me, incidents, and practically a little about everything that makes me think or write, now and then. hope you'll enjoy reading them. and genuine comments and criticism are always welcome.

i guess this will do for now.

me?

i'm Just Someone ! ;)