The Love Of My Life

Note: This is the ugliest thing I've ever written, not literarily but emotionally. I have hated myself for writing it. But still, I'm posting it for some reason. Please don't hate me after reading it. It's unethical, it's wrong, and I know it. And lastly, nothing about it is true.
Please forget it if you hate it.

‘Papa, hurry up! I don't want to miss the bus again!’ my son cried from the doorway, as I rushed to grab a muffler for myself.
My wife hurriedly handed over his tiffin box to me, and leaned forward from the kitchen door for a peck. The love of my life she was.
I backed off, unusually startled, and scurried off to the door without looking back. I heard her chuckle, and was relieved she didn’t take it too seriously.
Rohan made a grumpy face, as I clutched his hand and we began to walk toward his bus stop. I ruffled his hair with affection, as he skipped along, gripping with excitement. His school was taking him for a picnic to Lodhi Garden.
I could die for that smile on his tiny face. Priceless.
As his bus stop came closer, my pace quickened. I wanted to reach there fast. I kept touching my muffler again and again; making sure it wasn’t looking shabby.
I was glad Rohan wasn’t asking me his usual silly questions. Like why do dogs look down, and why do ditches stink and why does winter feel cold.
Of late they had begun to irritate me, instead of amusing me.
I shrugged as I wondered why.
We reached the bus stop fifteen minutes earlier than the scheduled time, because apparently, I had made Rohan miss his bus yesterday, dilly dallying at home. Rohan had used these words.
I felt like an idiot standing there with my dreamy son, when nobody was to be seen on the roads. We had no companions, but even the other school kids weren’t to be seen.
Not even her.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, than I saw her tiny figure appear from the bend down the road.
It would take her about five minutes to reach here.
Five minutes, twenty three seconds, to be precise.
As I looked on, numb; Rohan caught hold of my hand, all of a sudden. I shook, as if I’d been snapped out of a dream. A stray dog, probably on its morning walk, had scared my son.
My son.
I held him closer to myself, to reassure myself, more than him.
I had a kid.
Nevertheless, I looked up.
I could see her face very clearly now. From the last few days I’d spent thinking of her, I’d concluded that she was probably in her last year of schooling,
That sway in her walk, that emptiness of her bag, that blue kajal that was so intoxicatingly magnetic, those lanky footsteps, and those dirty shoes – they explained a lot of things.
She came nearer with every passing second.
And she looked straight into my eyes.
I missed a beat, as she walked past me.
I still had my eyes closed, and was still overcoming the effect of her presence, when I heard her say, ‘Good morning!’
I turned around. So did Rohan.
Her smile froze me. I searched for words, but they wouldn’t come out. And I meekly wished her back. I then drew my son closer.
She smiled again, and then made her way to her bus stop, five meters away from mine.
I mean, from Rohan’s.
Rohan.
He looked at me puzzled. He then glanced at her, and then back at me. Then he promptly asked, ‘Do you know her?’
I ruffled his hair once again and said, ‘No. But when someone says good morning, always wish back. It is good manners. Only bad boys don't wish back.’
He contemplated on what I said, as I did too, and then enquired, ‘But why did she say good morning?’
I went speechless for a minute.
I next heard a screeching of brakes, and my son hurried away to board his school bus, that stood in front of me. I waved a mechanical bye to him.
My five year old asked difficult questions.

I sighed as I turned to go back home. Time for office.
Then I stopped, and turned to look at her.
She was looking at me intently.
She blushed pink and turned away, and pretended to take out some notebook from her bag.
I turned away too.

I jogged my way back to the house, perspiring in the bitter cold.
My wife was ready to leave for work. She gave me an alluring smile from the sofa, where she sat and sipped that wonderful coffee that she makes.
I smiled back wryly.
The love of my life she was.

Five days couldn’t wreck these blissful five years.
They wouldn’t.

I went up to her, and planted a kiss on her lips.
I love you, I said to her, more for me to listen.

She hugged me, and a serene smile swept across my face.
Yes, they wouldn’t.

P.S. : Told you. Please don't hate me like I did when I wrote it.

The Tale Of The Jungle

Each movement brisk, each look guarded,
Slow and steady, it trudges through.
The eye is swift, the paws are ready,
The night is dark, the sky a scary blue…

A slight rustle of the leaves of the bush
A predator on its usual prowl,
But tonight is going to be different,
The weakling springs to action, and growls.

‘My prey, what cheek? Who dared to dare?
Thou art to die, thy end is near!’
The weakling maintains a profound silence,
No silly movement, it wants to steer.

The predator looks around,
Terror strikes his killer eyes.
As the weakling pounces and dives,
The trees tremble, thunder the skies!

‘Thou kill me tonight, my prey,
Thou art the King, Thou win…’
The predator breathes its last,
Defeated by its weakest twin.

The twin breathes heavy,
It trembles with dread and fear,
Victory it has finally achieved,
It rules the jungle, the mice, the deer…

It raises it head towards the sky,
The moon, the stars, all in reverence seem to bend,
It smiles, wryly, and then weeps,
And mourns at its sibling’s sad end…

The Writer's Desk

I stared at the blank paper in front of me. Surprisingly enough, it stared back with equal innocence, as if it were waiting to learn a lesson that it would never forget. I could almost make out its twirling lips, and the childish eye brows, and the playful eyes, through its ruled lines, and margin.
I lifted my pen and saw the paper jump up with excitement as I breathed out. The innocent smile had miraculously changed into a happy grin, like that of a kindergarten child awaiting a prize from his teacher. I smiled back with the serenity of the teacher, as she hands out the prize to a jumping kid. I stroked the ends of the paper like she would fondle a new student on her first day at school. The eyes looked back at me with admiration and awe. I uncapped my pen, and rested my hand on the paper making sure that I wasn’t hurting it in any way, or folding it from any side. Dog ears and crumpling edges, they hurt. The paper smiled gratefully, and stared at me with unconditional love. It was ready.
I smiled as a thought crossed my mind. My mind began to set itself into WRITE mode, and all that remained to be done, was pen the thought down. I looked at the paper one last time, and satisfied with the eagerness in its eyes, I began. The paper chuckled and laughed and gloated, as I wrote out my initial thoughts onto it. I wondered the reason for such hilarity. I soon realized that the whole writing episode must be a rib tickling experience for the paper, in its true sense.
As I continued to vent myself out, I briefly saw the paper undergo a mix of motions, best compared to those a child undergoes as it trudges through her initial years of schooling. It laughed boisterously at times, and wailed loudly at other times. It hummed playfully for some time, and acted snobbish the remaining times. When my thoughts paused for breath, I noticed the paper heave sighs of unrest, as a child would on his morning games workout. I ruffled its edges, assuring it that it was in safe hands, as it looked on hopefully. Then my mind began to race again, and I continued to cast my imprints on the once plain and white paper, now blue with my thoughts. When I ended, the paper seemed tired and rugged, like a fifth grade student returning home from a hard day at school. I consoled it by running my hands all over it, but it was all blue with color, desperate to tell a story, dying to babble something out.
I read it up to down, not even barring a single full stop or punctuation. When I finished my read, it seemed content and satisfied, as if its purpose in life had been fulfilled. Its smile exuded the confidence of a teenager narrating her experiences of her sleepover to a pretending-to-be-stunned father. I smiled knowingly, as it stared back at me with utmost happiness and vigor.
I then read it once again, like an examiner would recheck a student’s answer sheet, and frowned like the examiner would on catching a blunder. The paper seemed apprehensive now, and looked at me with shivering lips and fearful eyes. It seemed to have realized what it’s fate was coming to, and pleaded me to let it stay. It had the emotion a twelfthie goes through as she realizes that time to depart has arrived. It begged to stay on, as I tore it out and threw it away in the dustbin, wherein lay a million others like it.
I only heard a feeble cry, as the paper seemed to battle its way through the big bad world outside. Leaving the security of my desk was indeed very painful for it.
I grabbed another paper hurriedly, ignoring the paper’s cry as it made its way out of my cocoon. I nervously looked at the time, and wiped drops of sweat from my face.
I couldn’t afford to lose my job as the columnist. I must come up with something in another hour.
As I wrote again, the paper in the dustbin seemed to look back in nostalgia, and seemed to be calling out to me. It didn’t take me long to realize that it would be calling out forever, but I mustn’t listen. It must brave the horrors of the world outside.
That’s growing up.
And this was a farewell, indeed.

The Other Woman - III

[ Alright. This is the last one, for now. Yet again, for those who haven't read parts 1 and 2, they aren't linked. Or rather, they are linked too deeply. So you can read it. :) ]

She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me…
The last petal fell from my hand before I could continue playing this stupid game.
She loves me. That’s where it stopped.
I kicked a nearby bottle in anger.
It was so weird.
My house reminded me of her.
My girlfriend reminded me of her.
Childhood reminded me of her.
Being online, reminded me of her.
Everything, reminded me of her.
As if she was walking beside me all through.
Why?
I recalled the last time I ever spoke to her. Ages ago.
She had sent me a patch up mail.
I’d agreed, but wasn’t ever able to do it. I couldn’t patch up.
Those eyes. Her.
They were the most difficult things in my life.
She was the most difficult part of my life.
I remember how my girlfriend had fought with her, for me. I didn’t know what to do.
My heart went out for both of them.
Yet I was being forced to choose one.
Or rather, I wasn’t being given a choice at all.

Everything changed after that.
Her silence accused me of betrayal. Betrayal I couldn’t face.
We stopped talking.
But she never went out of my mind. Not for a second.
I wondered why, as I switched off my room’s light.
My phone beeped.
‘Hey! Good night!’ it said. My girlfriend.
I stared at the phone.
And for the fifteenth time that night, I switched on the light, went to my balcony and plucked another rose. Red rose. That one’s for love, they say…
And I sat down.
‘I love her, I love her not. I love her, I love her not…’
Fifteen minutes later, it stopped at ‘I love her not’.
I smirked, and then laughed helplessly.
I did it for my girlfriend.
I thought about doing the same for her.
But I stopped. I didn’t want to know.
And this stupid game was turning out to be too truthful, anyway.
I went back to my bed and closed my eyes.
Ignorance is bliss.

[Once again, if you find resemblances, they are intended. Else, they arent. Ciao.]

The Other Woman - II

[ You can read it, even if you haven't read the first part. Just, if you have, you'll understand better. And, both are from different perspectives.]


My eyes never really had to be forced to do this. They automatically found their way. To her. And although I often pretended to look away, and act oblivious to her presence, my eyes darted around for her face, every damn day.
I saw her from the corner of my eye.
She was sitting there, all by herself, licking an ice cream.
She had a bloodshot, painful look in her eyes. And she was looking at ME. Staring, rather.
Carmel feast.
As my friends pranced around me, and played some stupid game with their ice creams, my mind wondered why she sat there alone. Her friends? She had few, but they were gems.
She still continued to stare, as I looked everywhere else except toward her.
Those eyes. I couldn’t look at them. They made me feel guilty. Of something.
I laughed, faking it, lest someone saw through my eyes.
She sighed, and I felt relieved that she hadn’t seen through it.
I still remember.
Oh god. Did I do wrong?
Her weeping face crossed my eyes, and those words rang in my mind.
“If you think that you can take him away, just forget about it!” I had said those.
But I’m not guilty of that.
He was mine. He still is. Yeah.
She, how was I to know whether it was love?
And could it be love?
They were so different.
And they didn’t even know each other.
But that look in her eye. It answered all my questions.
It was anger. It was passion. It was hatred. It was love.
Love for him.
Love with him.
Love for someone, who was mine.

I saw her throw her ice cream and walk away.
My heart skipped a beat, as my ice cream fell from my hand.
Wrong. Right. Wrong. Right.

I turned away, and laughed boisterously. I was glad my friends were around. To hide.
And I tried to lose myself in that noise.
Noise, that kept me miles away from that deadening silence of hers.
Silence, that told me harsh reality.
Silence, that shouted of love.
Love, I couldn’t understand.
Love, I didn’t want to understand.

He was mine.

[Simple funda: If you find resemblances, then they are intended. If you don't, they aren't. And guys, I love writing this series. It's rather close to my heart. Please tell me I can continue!]

The First Lesson

The sky was clear,
The sun had risen.
I prepared for flight
Distressed, shattered and broken.

I knew nothing about life,
But wanted to, at any cost.
However, scared and perplexed,
I was timid; half the battle was lost…

I shivered as I took one leap,
I shrieked as my eyes prepared for the fall,
My wings refused to budge at all;
I seemed petrified, a creature so small!

Then my mother gave me a push,
As if she too was fed up of me,
She caressed my head and pushed me off
Farewell, for a future so bleak?

My wings opened in a majestic way,
I rose from my home, into the sky.
I soared higher than the almighty perhaps,
I smiled, as my fears, drifted by…

My mother stared at me with love,
Her life seemed complete, all in all;
Her job was over, done well at that,
My life was hers, after all…

The journey so far...

A feeble step on the vast ground,
The bougainvillea seemed an outright danger,
A heavy bag, stacked with books
To Carmel, I was a stranger…

A nervous wimp, a geek, a nerd,
I buried myself into copies and books,
I knew deep down this will never work…
But it was a lot better than the world with nooks.

I was scared to open up,
Afraid that people would jeer,
Under confident, weak and unnoticed,
I was a coward; it was established, and clear.

Six years later, a lot seems different,
I have a say, and I always say;
Arrogance, pride and selfishness,
These words are a part of my life everyday…

Friends, enemies, life changed for me,
People are to blame for what I am today.
But why, I am a happy soul this way,
And these traits with me will forever stay…

I don’t feel scared looking into the mirror,
This is me, and perfect like this…
I don’t know who to thank or blame,
For nothing at all, from the past, do I miss….

But one thing’s certain,
Carmel made all the difference,
I grew, I evolved. I changed, I became…
To this school, I owe my reverence…

The Flyover

Every day I woke up with just one purpose. To see it. To relish every bit of it. To enjoy the mystery that surrounded it. To imagine the truth behind it.
I enjoyed my mornings. They were bliss in my opinion, lunacy in others’. I spent every second of my morning staring at it, as the winds gushed past me.
You see, I just had mornings for this sacred job.
Afternoons, I spent doing something I hated doing, but had to.
Evenings, playing; which was a job in itself now, took my time. I had to do it, else I’d be proclaimed a loser. And I just couldn’t stand it. Especially, in front of it.
And nights, I just couldn’t afford to look at such a beauty in darkness. Never. Never ever.

I was a street urchin, in the common man’s language. I lived, well, in the common man’s language, on the roads. When the day came to its close, I returned back to what many wouldn’t like to call a home. Because there wasn't any. It was a mere roof.
A roof like no other. A roof so plane and rugged. A roof no ‘house’ can have. A roof no person would ever want. A roof, like the flyover.

Afternoons were dreaded. More for the humiliation they got along with them. Who would like people shouting at them, refusing to buy something as cheap as flowers? But I had to succumb, as there was no other way. I had to fill my belly, in addition to my mother and father’s as well. I had to live, I had to survive. I couldn’t stand the thought of living without looking at it – the flyover.

The flyover was perhaps the only memory I had of what is called childhood, in the common man’s language. Well, if you omit out memories of a bickering mother, and a seemingly non-existent father. And I loved it more than anything else in the world. It was vast, expansive, and majestic in all its views. What, in the world could be more beautiful than this? With cars driving, zooming around. With a never ending blue sky above it. This is what I could call salvation. I wished I was a flyover, at times.
My mother said it led to some huge city. When I had asked what a city meant, she had shouted at me for asking too many questions. I knew why she was angry. Not because I asked too many questions, but because I asked too many questions about the flyover.
You see, no one liked the flyover. Infact, they detested it, and cursed it.
I had often heard my mother whispering to my father about how this wretched thing should be broken down, as they weren’t able to see stars. Whispering, as they couldn’t say it aloud, when I was around.
I was very defensive about it. I didn't have any particular reason for it, though. I did, actually, but not in the common man’s language.

I spent my mornings staring at the huge structure. It gave me peace, it made me feel serene. It was so much better than kicking around a tattered football. So much better than selling flowers. So much better than hearing nonsense from nonsensical people. So much better than, well, life.
I often wondered what life was, beyond the flyover, in what they call the ‘city’, in the common man’s language. What was a city? A place better than this? A place that gave joy? Joy, greater than staring at this wonder? Or just another word for problems, tensions, and trouble? I wished someone from those speeding cars would stop by, look at my innocent eight-year old face, in the common man’s language, and take me to the city.
I wanted to go there. You see, the flyover taught me to be positive. Maybe, the city was all about joys and happiness.
Life under the flyover, however was mine. Well, at least mornings were. So what if I couldn’t see the sky at night? At least there was place to lie down. So what if it was just a few inches, and it smelled gross? At least I had a bed sheet to cover my nose with. So what if it was a tattered, torn one, that was hardly of any use? At least it gave me hope that there was something better in the world.
You see, the flyover taught me to be positive.
At least I had food to eat. So what if it was partly stale, leftover food that I hated to gobble down? At least someone, anyone made a point to offer it to me.
You see, the flyover taught me to believe there was someone, up there. God, in the common man’s language.
In the common man’s language.
In the common man’s language.
I wasn't a commoner. No.
No commoner thinks of a flyover as his life.
No commoner thinks of a filthy, dirty and wretched life, as a good one.
No commoner has a flyover to teach them stuff, when they need to learn.

No commoner has such an unusual, mute, and lifeless sibling as a flyover.


But then, who wants to be common?

The Other Woman

As I sat in one remote corner of my school, munching and relishing my ice cream, my mind thought…
Carmel feast.
She was downstairs, I could see her. I couldn’t exactly decide whether she had seen me or not. But my heart said she had. She stood there with her clan of friends, an ice cream in each hand. She seemed happy. Or maybe she was faking it. She perhaps just wanted me to feel jealous of her happiness.
I sighed.
No one noticed. I was alone in the corridors. Or maybe I was alone anyhow, just alone…

I could recall, remember. Or perhaps I hadn't forgotten it at all. It was difficult to forget, anyway.
She had shouted with anger, “If you think that you can take him away, just forget about it!”
I had stared at her, open mouthed. Maybe she was right, I had thought about it.
But surely, I hadn't thought about making it work.
Bitter as it was, it hurt. I shouted back at her, weakly though. I had no strength left. She had left me shattered. He had left me shattered.
As if coping with the fact that he didn't love me, and had chosen her over me wasn't enough.

It seemed as if she was laughing at me, as she ate her ice cream. I very well knew the reason behind that glint in her eye. She seemed evil.

I threw my ice cream and walked away.

Time for self

I love being the centre of repulsion. I love to spend time with myself. I love the silence of an eerie night. I love to remember disasters. I love to experience things out of the way. I love the wind blowing past me. The sound of silence. The music of loneliness. The happiness of failure. I love to innovate. Think, at times. I love doing nothing. I love dressing up for no reason at all. I love to refuse invites to parties. I love to be the maniac that I am. Sleeping. Dreaming. Feeling lost.
I love to feel weird about doing a particular job. It tells me I’m different. I love being different. I love hot food, minus the onions. I love to play scrabble endlessly. I love to dream of a time when I’ll have time. I love to watch television, more because it makes me forget. I love to forget things, faces, names, people…
I love sad endings, in books, stories, films. I love to be someone else. I love to analyze myself. I love myself. I love those stereotypical soaps on TV. I love to correlate. I love the feeling of being protected. I love to be cared for. I love to talk, sometimes. I love to just laugh off life till tears squeeze out. I love the irony in my laugh. I love the word – depressed. I love words. I love to write. I love the computer. I love to sit and stare out into the night. I love to talk to the moon. I love to feel the presence of God.
Miracles. Black magic. Life after death. Sun signs. Horoscopes. Future.
I love the thought of running away. I love to bicker, fight and shout, when I’m angry. I love to fantasize. I love to live in a dream world. I love to not admit, and face reality. I love the idea of schizophrenia. I love to understand emotions, intricately. I love the feeling of love. I love that thumping heart beat. I love the red in my cheeks. I love to think about stuff of MY choice. I love life, MY way. Lazing around. Sleeping for eternity. The air conditioner. My bed. My house. The coziness. The food. Momos.
Pizzas. Simple rice. Those dinner conversations. The feeling of being required.

I love looking at the dark side of things. I love to have few people around me. I love to think of old jokes, and still find them funny. I love to preserve what I write. I love to see photographs, observe. I love to think of people. I love to judge. I love being partial. I love crying at night. I love to wake up late. I love postponing. I love to never do some things. I love the feeling of carrying an empty bag to school. I love to go to school for a particular reason a particular day. I love to show people who care, I care. I love to spend time lavishly. I love being pampered. I love the luxury of a day all for myself. I love being online. I love to compete with my own messaging speed. I love games. I love to read HT City over a cup of brewing, hot, self made coffee. I love to taste food. I love to stand in my balcony. I love to doze off in my car.
I love to feel incomplete, as it helps me live on.
I love to live life MY way – THIS way.

P.S. : People, I don't have much to say, really. But I'm SO glad that I'm finally posting!! I mean, I've been breaking my head over this computer for the past two days, so you know...
Relief!

Tags...and all the fun in them!!!

1. Last movie seen in a theatre:
Hmmm...i saw Jodhha Akbar, ansd what's more, twice. Man...I'm vella!

2. What book are you reading?
Does it mean you're insane if you don't read too many books??

3. Favourite board game:
I love scrabble, but no one plays with me :(
I like chess too...no one plays it with me :(
I love carrom, my uncle used to be my best opponent, then he got married :(
*Sigh*
I really need some good, considerate friends!!

4. Favourite magazine:
I like reading Filmfare...Bollywood entices me!! And of course, there's Shah Rukh...

5. Favourite smells:
In public interest, my close friends nicknamed me 'disabled' as they have a feeling that i dont see, smell or hear anything...

6. Favourite sound:
I'm least interested in finding out which sound I like!!

7. Worst feeling in the world :
Living life when you really don't want to...
I go through this terrible feeling every damn day... :(

8. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?
Is it morning 'enough'? Is it necessary to get up and open my books?
Is my mother at home, and would be watching me study?
Trust me, science is catching up on me...

9. Favourite fast food place:
Ah...Pizza hut is THE best!

10. Future child’s name:
Two years ago, I was telling my sis, "If I don't end up with this guy, I'll name my kid Armaan."
Sheesh!!!
Now, Armaan's over and done with...and no more am I doing family planning...

11. Finish this statement, “If I had a lot of money I’d…” :
Buy death.

12. Do you drive fast?
All I do is roll my eyes when my mother drives at 20km/h, and I have to sit beside her, bored...

13. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? :-0
Does holding on to a pillow or bedsheet or whatever/whoever count?

14. Do you eat the stems on broccoli?
I really don't know. I never really bothered to inspect the vegetable so closely.
I'll ask my mum if she cooks broccoli 'with stems' right away.

15. Storms - Cool or Scary?
Cool. Atleast something adventurous must happen in life dammit...
A big earthquake, a tsunami, a hijack....something!!!

16. If you could dye your hair any colour, what would be your choice?
I'd exchange for a 'hair quality exchange' machine!!!! My hair is evevn worse than a....than hay, I guess!
Sorry, I had no better example in mind :

17. Name all the different cities/towns you have lived in:
Delhi.
Man, my life is BORING in every way!

18. Favourite sports to watch:
You know what? I've been trying to understand cricket and soccer, and havent yet succeded. But with cricket, you know it's a happy thing when the ball crosses the boundary....
Soccer is hopeless...wait, I'm hopeless at soccer...

19. One nice thing about the person who sent this to you:
Kika - Hmmm, I haven't really had the chance totalk to her too much...But i knew her some time ago, she's a sweet girl...with her reservations.

20. What’s under your bed?
The worst FIITJEE papers I never want to solve, my pair of slippers, my bottle, then my shoes..And what's the nailcutter doing here? I've been looking for it all over...

21. Would you like to be born as yourself again?
Hell no!!!! I'd rather not be born then...

22. Morning person or night owl?
Night owl, when it comes to watching movies, awards shows, going online etc etc.
And I prefer to hibernate if it's studies...

23. Over easy or sunny side up?
Over easy, I guess...

24. Favourite place to relax:
Saumya, my friend's house is the best. Her mother loves attending to me, and my 'views' on every damn thing...

25. Favourite ice cream flavour:
I don't like ice-cream too much. I spill it every where, you see...and then it's a real mess. But if it's a must, I like Cornetto - lesser chances of spilling it...

26. You pass this tag to –
Radhika, Vasudha, Bharat, Disha, Akanksha, Shailja

27. Among people you tag, who do you think is going to respond the fastest?
Vasudha has stopped doing tags. So, cross out.
Bharat did one just recently, so he might not want to do another one right away. Cross out.
Disha will do it LATE. Plus, she's in USA. Cross out.
Shailja,lesser chances of it. Cross out.

My only hopes are with Radhika and Akanksha...
I just hope they have no other post in mind :P

***************************************************

Over? Sigh, I love answering random questions!!

Sinful Soulmates

I pushed her down my balcony
A pang of guilt in my throat.
She, I know not, why turned enemy,
When, on each other, we used to dote.
I had a bitter mind for sure,
Or maybe, our bond went sour,
The past few months had passed away
In cat fights, arguments, wars.
We blamed each other for the lives we led,
I knew-she had spoiled my life.
She said her life was a complete disaster,
And I was the reason for her strife.
It was amusing, how God had played,
With me, her and us.
The irony of our lives, being...
We had nothing more than each other, left.
Too bad then, that I had to take a stand,
Too bad then, that i wanted a life without her...
Too bad then, that i wasn't ready to listen
But why, we were sisters.
Soul mates, supposedly.
But unfortunate, that she cheated on me..
And of course, the money of the bank robbery
Alas! Only she knew where it was!

P.S: It's the first time...poetry on my blog...and that too in blank verse. If you do not approve of it (of which I'm certain), please let me know. This will not be repeated ever again.

Anything for you, sir...

When he walked into the class that day, his face seemed dull and he lacked his usual bright aura. I was perhaps the only one to notice it because the other students didn't bother to.
They had it straight in their head. He was a teacher. Them, students.
As I shrugged my shoulders at the thought, I looked at him intensely. Something was wrong.

I knew my sir more than anyone in the class did. And his lectures were more than just knowledge for me. They felt divine. If at all anything felt good about books and studies, it was his presence.
He was my favorite teacher, no doubt. Anyway, there were better things to think about…as he was more than that to me.
As he bragged on about resonance in benzene, I noticed he was sweating profusely. He hurriedly wiped it all off his face, and looked at me apprehensively.
Something was disturbing him terribly. And this was troubling me terribly.


I thought of the extra class I had arranged with him last week. It was just me and him. He taught, I listened. I talked, he listened. That day, I had poured out all my life’s conflicts in front of him. He seemed interested. He was perhaps the confidante for whom I had longed all this while.
He was more than a teacher. This much was clear.

But I didn't want to know any better.

Ignorance is bliss, they say.

When he looked at me again that day, his moist eyes gave away. He wanted to tell me something. I tried hard to read through, but sadly couldn’t.
This disturbed me, and so I decided to divert my attention to atoms and molecules.
Chemistry…was what he taught. And today, nothing seemed as interesting as it did.

I pretended to be deeply engrossed in my notebook as he gave the class a sum and walked round the class.

He was old, I reckoned. He was married, I knew. And he wasn’t exactly good looking either, I admitted. Yet, something drew me to him. What -- was a big question better left unanswered.

He stopped at my table, where I sat, lost in these thoughts.

No, I won't look up, I decided.

I don’t know why I did this. But I didn't want to look into those eyes, whose language I couldn’t decipher.

Anyway, I mechanically repeated to myself that he was a teacher, and I- just his student.
It didn't help. Damn.

An hour passed away, ad he still continued to talk about benzene and phenol and naphthalene. Some time later, he glanced at his watch. A Rolex, I recalled, as I had noticed during that memorable extra class.
He then glanced at me.
In an attempt to ignore him, I too glanced at my watch, and realized that the class was almost over.
He put back the chalk on the table, looked at the class and said:
“This will be my last class with you. I am getting transferred immediately to the other branch. Good luck, may god be with you in all you do.”

My heart skipped a beat as he looked at me for a nanosecond and then walked away.

Those eyes…I wish I had deciphered.



Drat. This couldn’t be love.

When tagged, I'm at my best!!

Disha tagged me, and I'm all smiles about it.
Here I am, presenting my self-obsessed side...(oh! how I love to answer questions!!)

Instructions: Remove ONE question from below, and add in your personal question, make it a total of 20 questions, then tag 8 people in your list, list them out at the end of this post. Notify them in their chat box that he/she has been tagged. Whoever does the tag will have blessings from all.
1. What have you realised recently?
That life isn't really worth living, but isn't worth dying too.
2. Have you given your first kiss away?
Ahem. I prefer to keep it under cover.
3. If you were to be stranded on a deserted island, who are the 11 blog buddies you would take?
I dont waste time thinking about such weird stuff.
4. Where is the place that you want to go the most?
Melbourne, Australia. Gawd, I love the things I know about it...
5. If you can have 1 dream to come true, what would it be?
My wishes are too important to fit into one wish...sigh!
6. Do you believe in seeing a rainbow after the rain?
I get all excited about it, but have never ever seen it :(
7. What are you afraid to lose the most now?
My blog, man, I'm addicted!
8. If you win $1 million, what would you do?
Naah, I wouldn't go mad, trust me...
9. If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?I'll wait for him to say it.
I hate taking the first step :/
10.List out 3 good points of the person who tagged you.
Alright, here goes Dish:
a. She writes stuff I always enjoy reading :D
b. She is a wonderful person with that little bit of mystery about her.
c. She's an amazing friend to have. Mwah!
(I can be so nice sometimes...wonder why people say I'm arogant, proud, selfish....)
11. What are the requirements that you wish from your other half?
I have a list already, so I neednt think AT ALL:
a. He must be an awesome cook, who would cook for me everyday by will.
b.He must LOVE kids, as I hate them. (uh..yeah)
c. He must freak out when I cry in front of him, but console me nevertheless. (I'd love the humor the scene would create...LOL)
d. He should be towards the metrosexual side. (Okay, already many people tease me, now you don't start...)
e. He must love me just as much as he loves himself.
f. He must be successful, and must appreciate writing.
g. He must be good looking, and please, a helluva cleanliness freak like me...

I'm so nice to just have these requirements, right?

12. Which type of person do you hate the most?
If I start, this blog would end up being nothing but the answer to this one. So, no comments.
13. What is the one thing you cannot live without?
Air? *confused with the question* And if you meant metaphorically, then I'm still confused...
14. If you have faults, would you rather the people around you point out to you or would you rather they keep quiet?
Surely, I'd like themto come up with it rather than go on and bitch about it. I HATE backbiters.
15. What do you think is the most important thing in your life?
Happiness, and all the things that come with it. ;)
16. Are you a shopaholic or not?
Hell NO!! I loathe the idea of it like anything. I cant standwalkingten miles for silly things like shoes or dressed or books or stuff.
17. Find a word to describe the person who tagged you.
Enigmatic.
(Dish, this word holds a very beautiful part of my life to it. Feel obliged...alright, I was kidding!)
18. If you have a chance. Which part of your character you would like to change?
Nothing. I am happy with what I am. And I dont care if 'people' are not. :
19. The first time you felt you were in love?
Uh...happened around 9th...what a disaster it turned out to be!!
20. Would you rather have love but no money or money but no love?
Love, but no money.
(Let me clear out, I won't probably fall for a guy who hasn't a bank balance, in case you're thinking otherwise...)
******************************************************

And I tag:
Vasudha
Radhika
Akanksha
Prerna
Aanchal
Nik
Shailja
Pallavi

P.S:Lord, why do I always feel sad when tags come to an end...

That Cokehead Lost...

When I woke up that morning, my head felt heavy. I wasn’t exactly feeling all well. Infact, I just wasn’t well. My head felt dizzy, I had a running nose. I put together all the strength that I had, to get up and look around. I was on the beach. I tried to recall how I reached there, but after three lines of coke that I had snorted last evening, I obviously couldn’t remember. I tried to convince myself that I must have come here myself last night. I had no other choice, anyway.
As I stood there, staring at the violent waves, my life flashed in front of my eyes like a film roll. And I began to reminisce.

I knew my life wouldn’t be rosy the day I left my home, and along with that, a cozy life. But never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that it could get so rocky.
My parents had seemed like tyrants to me. They had a problem with everything that I did. And when, one fine day I realized that the life they wanted me to live wasn’t exactly the one I wanted to, I stomped out of the house. Anyway, they had expressed their disgust of the fact that I was their daughter, the day they found out I smoke and drank. I walked out, swearing under my breath to never return.

As I embarked upon a new life, all I carried along with me, was a bag in which I’d stuffed a few clothes and my certificates which proved my education. I had to carve a life out of these, and I knew there wasn’t any other way.
I got a job at a call centre. They paid me enough to fill my belly, but not enough to buy a house. I stayed at a pal’s place for a month or so, after which she blatantly refused to give me refuge. That was the first time I felt I ad done a huge mistake by walking out. I felt scared as I walked out of my friend’s house. I was completely broken.
I could see that I had no purpose in life. And that troubled me.
I spent the night under a street light. Homeless, helpless, alone…
I went to a bar the next day. That’s where I met a peddler, who offered to sell drugs to me. I refused, and walked away.
But the next time I went to that bar, and was trying to find peace in my vodka, I met him again. It was pure coincidence, and this time, I couldn’t refuse.
I found a purpose to live – cocaine.
The peddler would supply me cocaine, and I would pay him all my salary for it.
Cocaine was tremendously hallucinating, and I began to find peace in it. Each shot of it left me so lost, so high…
It was a healer, it took me away from all the troubles of the world.

I still lived on the roads, but now, I cared less.
I never felt anything was going wrong with me, till one day, my nose began to bleed. It pained severely. I tried to convince myself that it couldn’t be because of drugs. I couldn’t.
I knew it was cocaine.
But I never went to a doctor. I was scared. And there wasn’t anyone to force me anyway.
Life moved on.
My meetings with the peddler increased. I now snorted almost eighteen lines of coke everyday, after which I passed out.
One such night, I fainted. I hadn’t passed out, I had fainted with the pain I my nose, from where blood oozed out like anything.


When I opened my eyes next, I saw myself in a room which had been mine some time ago. Beside me, I saw my parents, who wept like anything. I cried. And I hugged them as tightly as I could. I didn't want to leave them. I just wanted to come back.
I was glad they agreed with me.

I had learnt my lesson.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Cocaine never went out of my mind. Life seemed incomplete without it. I hadn’t any will power to stop myself, so I feigned evening walks and went in search of my peddler.

I found him, and with him, I found cocaine.

My parents found out soon. Their faces told me they had given up all hope. They seemed shattered. And I couldn’t stand it.
I decided to leave once again. It was just my way of telling them to forget that they had a daughter. This time, they didn't stop me.

I knew I was ruining my life, as I met the peddler once again and snorted three lines of coke.
But somewhere deep down, I just wasn’t bothered. Cocaine was now my life. It was a different point that it was poison, too.

That was yesterday. As I watched the waves come and go, I realized how I had ruined my life to an extent after which I couldn’t step back.
And I was sad to admit, that I wasn’t happy with it.

I knew what I had to do today…let the waves take me away. For the first time after so long, I felt like being led by someone…

I needed a better high than what cocaine gave me, and what could be better than death.


Not much was left of life now…
Not much of life was left now…

Hunger

Navratras.
It’s a moment of sheer joy for someone like me, who hasn’t the chance of eating even one meal a day. I heard one lady say something about the Durga goddess, one of those days. It’s for her, said she. I would never know any better, so I decided to flaunt this new bit of knowledge I’d gained on one of my usual trips to the temple.
I live in Dwarka. For some people to whom god is just perpetually kind, this place is heaven. I have often stood outside the gates of those high buildings, higher than I can bend my neck, and looked at them longingly. No, I don’t want to be there, but just want to actually know what these people do in big houses. But before I can even try to figure that out, I am abused by the guard sitting there, who has no work except to shoo away people like me. I am a ten year old, and I have a family – a mother who lurks around temples in hope of getting some food to fill her belly and mine too. A father who has lost all will to live, but still manages to trudge up to his work place, where he has to set up bricks. I feel proud to announce it to all my friends, that my father has built the building right opposite to where all of us live.
Little do people know about where I live. Across the temple, there is a straight line of tiny huts, that’s where my house is.
I have a bigger family than that, if I think about it. After all, all the people out there, who get together every festival near the temple, are my family. I’m one of them. And that’s exactly how I remember that day.


Ashtami. My mother told me. I nodded blankly, as I ruffled my disheveled hair early in the morning. Still partly asleep, I heard her say about how we’ll have to hurry up and reach the temple gates if we have to receive prasad from all the people who come there.
That’s why Navratras were sheer joy. All those rich people would come to the temple, with delicious offerings, which for once would fill my belly. Poori, halva, and most importantly the coins in there, hidden between this luscious food. It was sure a treat, and with that thought in mind, I hurriedly went to the temple.

Many came there, and I lankily stood with bare hands, as they filled my hand with what they thought was their way of thanking god. I didn't believe in god. I mean, had he been there, why wouldn’t he do something about me?
I saw some uncles dressed in plain white kurtas, with a tilak on their heads. All my friends rushed towards them, as we knew they would have something to give us. They did, obviously. I ate some halva, as one of my friends snatched the rest of it from me. I didn't want to fight with him for such a thing, although that meant he had stolen my food away. I had few friends.

By the time it was noon, there was a huge rush at the temple. I stared at the people walking in and out of it. Some were so gaudily dressed as if god would give them extra if they dressed like that. All of them seemed so happy going inside, and so satisfied coming outside that they surprised me. I could not understand what made them so happy. Somewhere deep down I envied them, as I wasn’t as lucky with god as they were. I shrugged and turned away from the temple.

As I walked around, I spotted two women making their way towards us. They had a huge plate in hand, which meant they would be giving us something. A smile swept across my face, as I advanced towards them. On nearing them, I tried to study them both. They were mother and daughter. The daughter was pretty, and appealed more to me, more so because she had the plate in her hand. She seemed apprehensive, maybe it was the first time she had the plate in her hand. Her mother walked in an arrogant fashion, with a maroon bag in her hand. The daughter looked so nervous, so gullible in comparison.
As I was just a metre apart from them, and the girl was about to give me something, and I had stretched my hand in response, someone gave me hard push from behind. I almost fell aside, as a clan of boys, some of which were sadly my friends, surrounded the two.
I stood aside and watched.
They seemed completely helpless. The daughter seemed as if she would just cry out loud. All these ugly creatures around her, trying to snatch off the plate from her, the sight was just so captivating that I just stood there, numb.
My friend, who had snatched my food earlier that day, made his way through the crowd of boys. He almost shouted at all of them. I was glad I hadn’t fought with him. He was helping the girl after all.
“Don’t try to snatch!” he shrieked, “Stand properly; they’ll give it to you!!”

Wow, that’s what friends are for. I couldn’t believe that he’d done such a noble act. The girl gave him a grateful smile, as she handed the plate to her mother, so she could give away the prasad. She had a beautiful smile. I noticed she wore a simple pant and shirt, yet looked so enchantingly graceful. As she began to lift one plate from the many others in the huge plate, my friend pushed her out of the way, and cornered her mother.
I couldn’t believe it. I wish I had fought with him, bastard.
She tried to find her way through the street urchins, in an attempt to reach her mother, who was trying to save the plate from the wild attack. The girl finally gave up and stood at one side. I was still standing on the pavement and staring at her, when I heard a huge bang! BANG!
They had done what I never wanted them to do. The plate had fallen off, and all these idiotic boys completely ransacked its contents. The mother stood there, defeated, and so did the girl. When the boys were completely satisfied with what they’d done, they moved away, only to see the mess they had created. Bits and pieces of the holy prasad lay on the ground, while the rest of it was still in their dirty mouths.
I just couldn’t identify with this desperation among these boys. I was hungry, but not wild and biolent.
I felt disgusted, ashamed of belonging there. I just didn't want to call these insensitive beasts as my friends, as my family.
I glanced at the girl. It was as if the sight was just too much to stand for her. She held her disappointed mother by the hand and led her away, as the mother grumbled something at us.
I sprang to action. I wouldn't say sorry, but I just wanted to talk to her. Something…anything.

“Listen…” I called to her, as she walked away.
She turned, as she gave me a stern look. I don’t think she recognized me; I was the guy she wanted to give the prasad to. But no, she was just too upset.
“I…I didn't get the prasad.” I uttered, as she stopped and her mother walked ahead.
She looked at me sternly and said, “You won't get any prasad, if you drop it all on the road.”
She added as she walked away, “Never have I seen such wild creatures!”

I stood there, angry, betrayed. I didn't even do anything! Infact, all this while I had been thinking about her…and that’s what she tells me?
I gave a mean look to the temple, hoping god was looking. And then I walked away to my house. I didn't want to eat anymore.
No more was I hungry.
That had happened for the first time in my life—I wasn’t hungry…


P.S: I hereby apologise for my inexcusable irregularity in posting. I hope you will appreciate my comeback...

Six and out!!!

Alright, Vasudha tagged me!!! (Yayee!!! Uh..whatever....)



The Rules:

1.Link to the person that tagged you.

2.Post the rules on your blog.

3.Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

4.Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

5.Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

**1**

I DONT like music. And yes, its the weirdest, most irritating part about me...but hello!!! Its entirely my choice and I WILL stick to it. I mean, not that I'm some headcase who doesnt like anything remotely sane, but just that; I simply dont see ay point in plugging something into your ear and shaking your head as if you're being given minorshock treatments. Moreover, with a hearing problem like mine, I dont think its fair enough to torture myself and others with such nonsense. And it doesnt soothe me, it moreover creeps me out if I listen to it for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch.

Moral: It doent happen to me, so i wont believe it. There, i see a science student...

**2**

I'm just disinterested. No, there arent any more words for my rude behaviour (read apparent) . I simply dont seem much curious about life. (Though one of those tests at facebook certifies me as curious, I think I know better....). And the best part is, i have realised this after much taunting and sarcasm...

Moral: I dont CARE...its how I am....

**3**

I want to experience weightlessness...perhaps its just one of those 'too much of physics' moods of mine, but...I want to know how it feel to let go of yourself.... And, I'm not freaked out about it...I'm serious...

Moral: I'd like to commit suicide someday....jump off the 7th floor!!!

**4**

I want to earn as soon as possible. Well, nothing like my parentshave grounded me and dont give out a single penny or anything....just thatrgular shit of being free...i really want to live life like I've always wanted to...

Moral: After 12th, I'm going to apply at McD's....yes, I donot want to work at a call centre at earn lots of cash....

**5**

I donot understand cellphones.Think about it, I'm going to be engineer, and it takes me an hour to figure out the model (Sometimes, it's even worse). And the best part is, i donot feel dedicated to this weird gadget at all. I donot like carrying one in my pocket 24X7. It freaks me out if I have to attend two calls in an hour. And I try my best to just keep away. And when my mum decides to ask me about her post paid and prepaid stuff.....*blink*

That's all I do till she realises two things

=> Her daughter hardly cares whether she buys post paid or prepaid, as she doesnt significantly understand ay major difference between the two.

=> She mustnt try to improve her realtionship with her daughter with such a topic in hand....

Moral: I wont utter a word next time some one makes mobile talk with me. They say *Silence is golden*

**6**

I love typing....NO, not that I'm planning to be a typist in the near future, but I do find it a lot easier than writing with a pen....so, there's a change in the saying...

*The keyboard is mightier than the pen*

Moral : Vasudha, we're poles apart...

I tag:

Disha

Radhika

Nik

Vasudha

Pallavi

Prerna

P.S.: Considering that all my recent posts have a post script attached to them, I'd like to carry the legacy forward...

I donot understand this post, I donot know why I'e written it, and I sincerely hope someone will explain that to me...