My brilliant lonely evening over the tank on our roof

Ive just watched Nim's island in star movies...It is a splendid movie. And I wish I was like Nim or the writer or Jack. I wish I was like the writer with an island like that, a dad like that and a daughter like that. I wish I had the animal friends. I wish I can touch an orangutan with love. I don't think it is really very possible.

But what is possible is where I am sitting now. I am sitting on the tank over the roof's roof...watching a wonderful sunset in shades of greyish purple and fire yellow and orange. It might start raining any moment now. It had been raining all week this week. There's this real cold wind blowing real fast now, I almost can't see with all my fringes of hair covering my face. The sky is getting darker and darker..and the light is fading. The moon above my head is growing brighter and brighter as the sky's blocking me out.

There are apartments all around me. But thankfully they end at the same level as where I'm sitting. So I have a little extra access to the sunset. And yea, over my head…it's just so gorgeous right now. I can't tell you.

I feel like staying here forever.

Shucks, this feels so phony, I can't hear my voice, wait a sec. there's a cuckoo singing..anyway, I can't hear my voice anymore. I’m hearing the voice in my head like the voice of that writer in Nim's island. I'm shivering a little now. And a little scared. And very uncomfortable..there was this man from the apartment looking and I tried to climb the tank with half the concentration on that man..and though I made the climb okay. My left arm near the shoulder seems to hurt a bit.

I want to write and go on writing. But there is a little boy there..oh, he's gone. He just tried to climb the ladder to the roof asking someone younger, possibly little brother or a friend not to come up because he /she might fall down the ladder. He went away anyway. Where was I?

I wanted to tell you this especially.

People are calling it Venus, some are calling it pole star, though I don't think so.. I've seen pole star all my life. It's not this bright. This star or planet is so bright. It glows like this little diamond. Don't cuckoo's ever go to sleep? It's still cooeing, and in the morning they start long before I wake up. I know it because I usually kinda fall outta sleep at four in the morning, and then I continue sleeping anyway. I'm really shivering now. It's so cold, I can feel the goosebumps happen.

I always say, if you close your eyes hard enough and believe....

Today, I say, if you open your eyes wide enough, your sense of touch well enough, You could believe you're in heaven or maybe more. You could believe you're that ballerina or the figure skater, or the artist among rooms of beautifully arranged colours. You could be in that silent orchestra with the sound of water flowing(in the tank), the wind blowing, the aeroplane's whoo as it's passing by and the poor cuckoo killing itself with the song..surrounded by mint blue, navy blue, gray and deep curtains, laced with red, orange and yellow lace at the end..and when you open your eyes from all that air conditioned breeze blowing, you see sparkling diamonds and an incomparable smile of love stuck in the sky. Lol. Imagination is supposed to be something better than what really is, and it just proves I have a poor one man.

Heck, it's just getting better and better, the city is aglow with chains of orange lights. I wanted to write that I don't want to go home, I didn't because it would have been a lie. Some thing about this moment makes life bearable, reminds me of John Keats you know, poor john, poor poor john's 'a thing of beauty is a joy forever.' I'm not afraid of going to my room now, well, it has a side fulla windows anyway, I'm not afraid of going in there and facing the walls and a sluggish research. I'm not afraid of the exams either. Not the least bit. I just want to laugh and laugh so hard and go on writing. And looking up and breathing. I want to go on and on and on. I love you. I do, I really do. I'm so happy right now, I really would say that to you if I saw you dear. And I love myself, just as I always have and I love life more than I have ever realized.

I am human ain' i? Well, it means I have a habit of sifting, converting and applying every moment. Irrespective of what goes on in and around me to my life.

This moment, I have realized that happiness comes from within. You don't need to have millions of bucks to buy it, no, I'm not trying to discourage the ambitious. You simply* need to learn to see. You can take the hard way too. You can buy it too. And guarantee a moderate level of it with all the money and stuff. But if you can't see it, you can't feel it, there's no point at all in any thing.

*conditions apply.

François.

Ohk, that means French. I’m going to French classes. Hurray.

Bonjour :)

I had my first day this morning. And they don’t teach things the Rapidex 30 days style. They teach French from French. All morning I understood what my teacher was trying to say from her expressions. We started with…

L’ alphabet francais

Letters pronunciation

A aa ( like the aa in paa)

B bay

C say

D they

E eh ( ble)…..

And so on and so forth. But my favourite alphabet is ‘W’. It’s pronounced as (dooblehyou)

Then there were these introductions that went like

Bonjour. Ja m’apelle Yushka. (good whatever, or hello, my name is Yushka)

Je suis ‘etudiante. (I am a student)

Je parle anglais, telogu, un peu de francais. J Sounds fancy doesn’t it?? I know.

And so on and so forth about where we stay and stuff. It had been most exciting. They even took us to this library where we could borrow books after submitting four photos and Rs.1000 refundable deposit. Considering not everyone was as self obsessed as me to carry four photos of myself in their wallets, and me being short of money. We all told we’d apply tomorrow when I’m sure we’re sure to forget something or the other.

In the library there was this book for small kids on how to make ‘tartines’ . And it was so pretty. With all those water coloured pictures in it and all. He gets wheat and all, makes it into atta, and makes a bread loaf out of it gets milk, La cre’me and butter, applies it on sliced bread. And On the sliced and buttered bread he applies fruit jam from this delicious looking red jar. And all the while keeps saying ‘This makes me hungry’ , ‘This makes me more hungry’, ‘This makes me even more hungry’. Finally when the tartine’s done. He eats it up as he walks and says what a tasty meal it was!

I fell crazily in love with tartines though I’m not very big on sweet things. And our teacher said, tartines are usually the kid food and all. I thought, kid or not. Some day I’m gonna eat the French tartine and know how the blonde boy enjoyed his food. I also want to eat bouillabaisse with rouille and all, a dish made of different types of sea animals. I just wish I’d come outta my veggie-nism by then. Then there’s this restaurant named after Jules Verne ( 80,000 leagues under the sea) where plain food with no wine and stuff it self costs a 100 euros, but I’m gonna eat there.

Then there were these discussions on all these things, on French localities and stuff. And everytime one of said some little French thing, our teacher said something like ‘tribia’. That’s sposed to be something like very good. And came out saying ‘a bientot’ or some thing like that which I cannot remember. And then I stepped into cool streets with wet roads and a very slight drizzle giving the street air a cool and sloppily moist feel. I bought a chocolate cornetto, tried to walk to the main road, found a book store where they are still renting books for Rs. 2 and Rs. 3, went around, borrowed an Enid Blyton. Well, better than the piles of mills and boons and nora Roberts the place seemed to over flow with anyway. And all evening, I had the most enjoyable reading session in a while. It’s been so long since I read Blyton’s books without counting the faraway tree audio book I listen to to sleep. If you’re an insomniac planning to do the same.. Dorian Gray’s a better choice. All European talk in huge words and lop-sided generalised philosophies. With all this on, I skipped my research time. No, I’m still skipping it. :)

Seriously, how can anyone jump to and fro between quantitative data and the French parfum de joyeaux ? I have to do just that tonight if I plan to lead a guilt free life a few hours from now.

Sayonara. ( That’s jap. Dude)

Life at the end of his page is death

He just goes on killing people as he wishes.

He killed Andrei, Andrei Bolkonsky in WAR AND PEACE and he killed him twice too. I cried for him, both the times. The first time, he just goes to this peak of death and returns back again. He looks at Napoleon and the vast unending sky and gauzes it’s height. I wept, god knows, I wept, and went crazy, didn’t know what to do. So I walked along the streets with the book in my head wishing there was a soul somewhere to lean on and cry and not hear the words ,”It’s just a book”. But I could fine noone, and well, there’s mother even then. So I wept on her and she said the same words in exact terms, and it broke my heart again. I wanted to tell her to stop consoling me, and for some reason, her concern made me angry and hot-tempered, but I held it in. Bottled it up, and released it in more tears.

Then I went on with the book, to know, Andrei didn’t die. He made it alive. Blink. Blink. Blink. He isn’t dead? Oh jeez! Am I sposed to curse or celebrate? I don’t know, I did both, and gradually, he really killed him. My dream man, Andryushka lay there dead once again. This time, it wasn’t the active marathon, but a slow sadness that filled in.

Anyway, he murders Anna too in Anna Karenina. She just flings herself across a rail the way a man did at the start. And poof! she’s dead. There’s no miracle. No miracle happens in the last minute to save her. No preacher in the last moment to console her.

I don’t know which book it is from, I forgot the name of the story but it is about two men who start their travel together. One man dies, and the next man competes with hunger and nature and manages to survive through the huge spans of pain. A wolf (not a dog, if i remember correctly) and him, journey through starvation and inch slowly towards death, when the man, in the last minute is rescued by a ship and lives. Tolstoy didn’t have to kill the wolf. But of course, he did.

Alyosha the pot, from the story Alyosha the pot, is dead too. After all that work, all those things he had to go through and made to go without, he had never been righted. He just dies.He never got to marry Ustinya, and hurray! we now know, he never will either.

I believe he kills them to make us hope for the existence of a paradise and a god. And pull the non-believers into believing his beliefs. But those who resist know, that those good men dead, the strong wolf dead, wouldn't make it anywhere. They'll simply rot.

Bye.

How not to treat a poem…

Golden threads I weave in desperation

with pearls of words and thoughts strung

so that you remember me when I’m far away

into the land of strife

I weave, I wander through empty paths

In search of a future non-existent

I stand desolate on this world’s stage

Feeding on the vestiges of happy days

And tired I look half turned to go

Like a bird that returns to an empty cage

A loser am I, I look down and shiver

A reticent tear breaks my armour

P.s: I know how the words 'desperation', 'strife' and 'loser' look :)

I wrote this poem ages ago, as in really years ago in my little span of life. I just found it and It made me feel kinda nostalgic and kinda stupid. It was a time when my emotions went higher than the current flow and little tips of them touched the pages. As always, emotions too high end in regret. So, when I finished writing this, I considered a page and a few minutes wasted and threw it away.

I think it is wrong, just like the way we delete photos we don’t like because we don’t want to acknowledge our ugly side. Throwing this meant I refused to acknowledge the childish side of my emotions. Now considering I just crossed teen years seemed to be a good time to do so.

Geez! I threw away so many things like that. I guess most people do so. But that doesn't make my regret one inch lesser. I wrote a physics record book full of love poems in my 11th standard beginning about this guy I thought I was in love with... it would've been so nice if I kept it. But then, my love story ended up in a couple of phone calls. I laughed at myself, opened the books, laughed at the poems, thought I was being real clever at moving beyond and threw away the book. And it was a fully written in book too. Then there were these drawing books I threw away just as pompously thinking I could draw those mickey mouses whenever I want. Lol. Maybe I can, but I can't colour them like that.. I can't believe in the picture and scrape up enough patience to put blue in blue's place. Maybe they would've seemed foolish, but they would've been with me, exposing my foolishness to no one but me. I shoud've kept them, I should've. I should've kept the glass painting I did for s.u.p.w. I should've kept the little gold cups and trophies I won. I should've kept the letters I wrote for Chetu in my 9th that went unposted.

Moral: Think before you throw.