A facebook habit and times otherwise (and me degressing- a part that ought to be ignored or unposted or whatever?)

There are hundreds.. ohk.. wait, thousands of pictures literally where I smile with all my teeth, eyes and all. Most of the times when I sense a camera nearby, I play the part, like it was just an act, put my heart in and believe that I’m happy. I start the smile with my lips, show my pretty teeth and narrow my eyes. I’ve observed that people who crinkle their eyes a little when they smile happen to look very convincing.  The photos come beautiful. I am happy that they come so. And I forget them. It’s like they aren’t a part of me. Like the way tourists see things. They go to a place, do a thing, and tick it off their list. Very unlike the traveller that I had I always wanted to become. To live, breathe in, and make the place a part of me. That I guess is what’s wrong with my photos these days. They do not live. Like beautiful jewelry that steal eyes off the face. And then it all loses the point.

But then again, some pictures come, where you jump and you remember the way the wind felt in your hair, feet off the shoes, salt on your lips, skin warm from the setting sun- red over the water, the launch, stretch, jump and a friend who makes you feel right. Bright, in a way that I don't even realize that I'm glowing and laughing and storing the image beyond it’s frame without meaning to. Those pictures make me happy, a little sentimental as I see them. I own them up so much that they’re too meaningful to be exposed without their unique circumstances. They make me so happy that I feel sad, a sweet kind of sadness, full of longing. 

Sometimes it's gurgling sparkling humour or anger, involvement. Friends, love, silent, sweet, textured, funny ones and a million more.  

So you know, I've decided.. not that my decisions hold like Nagarjuna Cement or anything.. but yeah.. I kinda decided to post atleast one picture every week that means a lot to me and tell you the story. Why? Because when I write- I do not talk. And I've been talking too much these days.

( A result of joblessness.. Oops.. My final year finals begin in a week and look at the weird decisions I'm taking.. doesn't matter. What is important is that I write, and that I read. And more importantly learn. And share my process of learning and growing, with a future me and you. Now that I think of it, it's not like I learn much, or that I share the useful part of my learning.. I just like the drama of imagining you reading my page. Not that I write for you alone or that I morph any of my writings to please you. That's the best part of being read by you. I don't know what you expect from me, so I won't be trying to impress you in the way I'd like to. But I know, that if you've had the patience to read this page as far as this sentence, you must have considered my existence and that makes you worth being considered as a friend. )

P.S.: It is fun to dream with open eyes and touch a person, reach a place. Still such a pity that one can't dream a life away.. and then again, who can prove such silly stuff otherwise, that this whole life is not a dream? Just the way as you get closer to waking you gain more control on the dream.. maybe waking is dying and to dream is to live. Maybe it isn't so, it just is what it is. But how would you know? 

Shelley's Ode to the West Wind

We had this poem in school and I fell in love with it the first time I read it.

So I read it again and again, so many times that I still will never forget a single line from it. Everytime they talked of board exams or careers or percentages, I'd open this page in my english text book under my desk and for a while float through the autumn wind, feel vicariously the power of the stormy winds, nodding my head to everything he yearned for and made it my sigh too.


There were lots of poems that touched me, that made me sad and ones that made me happy.. but this one always reminded me of a huge mermaid like angry Maenad with red hair and arrogant chin, skin- like ripe sunshine, golden; rising from the sea; along with all that wet hair as deep grey stroms and angry winds blew about her.

It made me feel first a little sad, then a little enchanted, and then a surge of power and then sweet as if lost in love as though the love was nought but a dream and the eyes still remain closed for the last sweetness of the love's touch remains as a smile on your face pierces the dream and just gently touches reality as if a tangent would touch a sphere just at one sweet point through face; and then he asked me to open my eyes and yearn along with him for ever having to wake up to knowing that I am seperate from the wind..and I felt it just as he intended, I too wanted to float, soar and gush. Atlast, he made me feel through all those class rooms full of people who would not listen to him, like I was the only one who could hear his secret. Who could feel the chains on his hands and all those constraints binding, physically, metaphorically.. he told me to never forget him. To never stop something free.

Never to try. For in freedom lies naturality and that chaos is a form of beauty unforgettably beautiful by it's sheer individuality.

Ode to the West Wind


I

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,


Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed


The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow


Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odors plain and hill:


Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!



II

Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,

Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,

Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,


Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread

On the blue surface of thine aery surge,

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head


Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge

Of the horizon to the zenith's height,

The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge


Of the dying year, to which this closing night

Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,

Vaulted with all thy congregated might


Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere

Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!


III

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,

Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,


Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,

And saw in sleep old palaces and towers

Quivering within the wave's intenser day,


All overgrown with azure moss and flowers

So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou

For whose path the Atlantic's level powers


Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below

The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear

The sapless foliage of the ocean, know


Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,

And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!


IV

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;

If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share


The impulse of thy strength, only less free

Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even

I were as in my boyhood, and could be


The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,

As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed

Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven


As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!

I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!


A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed

One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.


V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:

What if my leaves are falling like its own!

The tumult of thy mighty harmonies


Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,

Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,

My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!


Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!

And, by the incantation of this verse,


Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

Be through my lips to unawakened earth


The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?


Percy Bysshe Shelley

You do like it, right? I mean, how can anyone not?

Goa day.

I wonder why I fight everything I end up loving. The first time I entered the sea, I hated it.. every moment I was in it, I kept comparing it to the coolness of the lakes.. calling it salty, turbulent, unkind and all that. Seriously, the first beach I visited after my childhood was last year.. February in Vizag. It was edged with rocks and so turbulent that I could never float with ease in it. The salt would just get into my eyes and I’d start beeping it. Lol.. even through all the complaints.. I was there in it.. playing in it all by myself.. musing.. beeping.. whatever.. and when it was the time for lunch and we went to the shore for a little while.. I remember opening a book.. and listening to the waves and the breeze sometimes I’d look up and see the afternoon sun shining on the sea.. and then I’d have to forcibly pull myself into the book.. a little while of that.. and I got restless.. it was irritating.. I finished reading the book and didn’t remember a single word of what it said.. all I remember of it were the waves..
Then I went to it.. slowly.. I didn’t want to get my dress wet again or my body salty.. I’d have to take a shower again.. and I was irritated.. but I kept walking to the sea.. and I kept my brows knotted and walked to the sea still grumbling.. wishing it were a cool happy lake or something.. all that heated sand in the afternoon was scorching my feet.. and the first step into the water… sigh.. I remember that moment like one frozen in a camera.. I was wearing black and black.. and leaned a little and watched the sun on the sea for a long long time.. and then finally I sat down on the edge with legs spread out.. as every wave went.. there was emptiness.. and as every wave came there was a cool happiness.. and the whole process of the waves was… mm… I don’t know.. fun? Sublime? Something in between...
And then there were more seas in the following days.. they were lovely.. they looked good.. I felt glorious standing there… but then.. some things just touch you more.
And then I went to Goa. This December for a 15 day holiday… Sighhhh… beaches and beaches and more beaches…. Days and days of walking through them.. sailing on them.. and swimming in them right in between.. just as if you were one of those dolphins. And so many so many pictures in my mind.. but I know even now, which of them will never fade.
Here is an anecdote of my best day in Goa,
I woke up early in the morning and went to brush my teeth.. by early in the morning it was around 4.30 or 5 and it was all still very dark.. brushing brushing going on… there were a few people around me talking some phony stuff.. and I was bored and turned my head to find some constellation.. to be exact, Cassiopeia as it was the only one I knew.. and then Voila! Shooting star.. It just went by.. I am an atheist, but if was not one, I would have said later that everything happens for a reason. Still being an atheist is better, all that cynism and dubeity of imaginary stuff add peach and flouroscent highlights to the awe of natural wonders. Hahha, Ces't la vie! isn't it? Life is unfair. But if you care to work for it and explore it and learn to love it.. it is more than fair.. it is beautiful. In all it’s chaos and destructive forces.. all the people it takes away.. life is just like the sea.. flowing.. in patterns too big to be understood or maybe it is patternless.. eitherway.. it is even more beautiful because of it’s complications and the huge scope for hope. It doesn’t fling a star fish to the shore because it’s bad or good.. it does so.. simply.. just the way we came.. simply.. for no purpose. Why should there be one? Well, no.. I’m not talking all this stuff about luck and life in awe of the shooting star.. rather in awe of the shooting star along with the glorious day that followed.
Big word, glory.. if you told me the same on the morning of trek.. I would’ve thought I was going to get kissed by a Xeno. Well.. a foreigner.. you see, I’m big on blue eyes and boys with guitars who travel.. lol.. no, nothing remarkably cool happened that day…
I was one of the first when we started.. I walked in the water.. and I walked, and I walked.. dozens and dozens of starfishes and everything.. shells.. water.. more water.. stylu (my brother’s friend) who came to the trek with me.. went ahead.. and then more people went ahead and then more people went ahead.. and I was walking in the water… thinking of nothing.. something about the morning Goan sun warmed my head up.. and things were just slipping one against the other too light and unimportant to be caught or cohered in my mind.. it was just buzzing lazily with nothing in it.. and after a while I stopped feeling my feet or the sand.. sometimes when I cared, I would notice the disturbance my legs created in the water and sometimes I tried hard to mentally remember some little mollusc peeping from the shell or digging itself into the sand.. the starfishes I jumped at crazy and stuck everywhere literally bored me now with their dull green blue and grayish backs and those creamy undersides with tentacles.. they were just so many and so similar.. they were slipping off my mind.. and if I looked at the sea.. the sea too was similar… there would be a wave now and then.. and it would make a little soft purring noise in between and end up like a hiss.. wherever went the roars, god knows.. after a while of walking, I realized I was nowhere.. people ahead of me were far ahead.. people behind were far behind… I knew who passed by me.. but I didn’t know who were behind me.. naturally, I assumed I was the last, and then I wanted to care about being the last, I wanted to push myself to go meet someone.. but I just didn’t.. I was walking at the normal pace with eyelids heavy.. fuck, I couldn’t stay awake.. I couldn’t remember a single song then.. and if I could recollect a word of two.. I didn’t have the motivation to try to remember the tune.. well, nothing is in tune with such an afternoon.. except for maybe labourers beating theirs huge hammers on those iron rods Tung! Space. Tung! Space. Tung! With the sun shining on their tanned backs and those muscles glittering in it. And there was no song for such a scene. Atleast, I knew none. So I went on.. sleepy but not sleeping. Appreciating the sea and the waves and the clear empty sky, just the way I’d appreciate the labourers muscles, but after a while.. things seem like a lazy sweet dream.. the monotony of It keeps shifting from monotonous to musical a moment precious and a moment lethargic.. and the worriless, even paced quality of the rhythm cools you. The heat blocks all the senses including happiness. It just gives you darkness and dreams. And I went on with an empty head.. not understanding or trying to understand or capture or enjoy anything. Just like a lazy yawn or a slow wave.. in my own criss cross even rhythm.. and there were people now… I had no idea when they caught up with me or if I went forward and caught up with them.. but then I started talking.. then there was some unimportant talk.. and then I’d slip into the sleepy rhythm.. inbetween there were some more words.. and some more walk.. and there was the sound of the sea.. now and again there was a tiny wisp of a breeze and I’d close my eyes and go on with it.. then, I’d hear the sea and go into sleep.. I walked on.. slowly things went hazy and I fell asleep.. I walked on.. with some weird corner of my consciousness trying to fall asleep and stay awake at the same time.. the rest of it was all asleep.. and then I walked more on.. it was such a weird walk coz I’d walk diagonally to my right so much that my friend would wake me up.. or give me a slow tug.. and I’d walk again in another stupid direction.. it kinda tripled the distance.. and everytime he gave me a tug on the hand.. or he’d talk to someone else.. I was hearing and feeling it not taking anything.. but now and then when he’d say my name, I’d wake up a little in my sleep, though I was still too lazy to open my eyes.. and drift again into it..
And then we met Stylu.. mm.. or I realized that we met him.. I guess we took some swims and came back.. played a little Frisbee or catches in the sea.. or maybe it was afterwards.. but there were times when we were energised and weird enough I remember the non energetic mode much better than the energetic modes during that phase.. we still walked on and we saw Vicky.. sleeping by the shade of a boat.. we all went and slept there too. And then the battery charging process ended.. We went for a swim or something a little while later.. and then CLUNG CLUNG CLUNG… full on consciousness.. and I started not noticing things.. it’s weird isn’t it.. as the consciousness develops and happiness is bursting in you.. the pretty things you notice around you seem to go smaller and the pretty things you notice in you gets bigger.. you eventually forget it.. but then it feels nice to feel happy, alive and active. When you feel so, you become a part of the picture, a happy picture. But when you’re closing your eyes, or when you’re sad, you notice every little detail around with a magnified consciousness, you become an audience of the picture an admirer of it’s beauty or you fear it. Every little mollusc movement can depress you for an unknown reason.. probably it’s a sadness that you could not belong to it. Or that you forget how to laugh for a little while and you go introvert mode for nothing that happens around you. Well, well, lucky enough.. I didn’t go introvert mode at all that day. It was just Garfield mode… a mode which goes like why stand when you can sit, why sit when you can sleep, so I didn’t bother opening my eyes.
Anyway, after a swim, I don’t remember when it happened.. but I was walking with Stylu in the sea trying to remember the lyrics of the song Fireflies by Owl City. We were both trying pretty hard.. and then I got the line.. “planet earth turns slooowly”.. it was the only line I could remember and it wasn’t enough to trigger Stylu’s memory so I kept trying.. he kept trying and we started asking people who went past us.. oh finally, we came to know that Todo had it in his phone and we played.. I remember hearing it for the first time as he played.. the music went off.. the lyrics simply dawned on me like some much awaited sunrise.. every word would come and behind it I’d be repeating it thinking.. Shucks I knew it! I knew it!! One would think after listening to it with so much attention I’d remember the song then.. Hell, I was so busy going after the words that except for the line I already knew about planet earth moving slowly, the rest of the words each struck me as individual entities.. and each of their meaning I knew without worrying about the coherence or the order of the words in the sentences… I heard the song.. and I had a picture for every word of it.. but by the end of it when I tried to sing it again… I went blank. And then Stylu told me the words.. and I wrote them in the sand.. and then I took a picture of it and I remember.. singing it with him together.. I remember he jumped from one place to another in the sand and came to the place where I was writing the lyrics… and he started singing and I joined in my inaudible little voice.. and I remember it with the picture of the sand. I looked up and saw that his face was tanned and his eyes were brown and his mass of hair all dry. I noticed how funny he looked in his shorts and the woodland shoes and his trademark walk.. which looked like he was a little lamb sprightly and ready to jump from one place to another but held to the earth by the weight of those shoes. Seriously, his walk always remind me of it.. like he’s ready to go running around if not for the shoes. Like a kite’s rope tied to a rock.
I also remember him teaching me a tougue twister.. before or after the fireflies.. and it just went into my head like a tune.. he told me it was a German movie title… not so famous a movie.. but I’d like to see it someday.. thanks to the very interesting title.. and I kept hopping and jumping in the water rhyming the tongue twister to my steps in the water.. and somehow he’d fit in too.
I remember, me him and mm.. someone else, or was it just me and him.. we were running backwards, holding our hands.. and we were all laughing… and there was the sun in our face and sea at our feet.. I had flowers in my hair, wind flowing by and I was telling thank you life, thank you inside. I was happy I wasn’t alone in this trek.. happy that I had friends who could give me that moment. And if everything went wrong in the trek.. everything except that moment, I would’ve yearned to go to Goa again next year.
Going back to the chronological order, we woke up.. and we walked.. and we sang fireflies.. joking about the camp leader and old men in our group.. well, well, a litte while later.. again went for a swim.. Vicky didn’t get in, he was with the life guard talking.. we had our fun.. we came back.. I was wistfully thinking about all the benefits guys have.. and we were blabbering some nonsense when Vicky told us that he saw dolphins nearby.. he thought we saw them too.. it seems they were quite close.. my eyes went big.. and we started looking at the sea trying to find dolphins.. a few steps, and a few steps more.. and EUREKA! VOILA! OH MY OH MY MY OH MY GOD! I saw my first dolphin fin sticking out.. and then there were more fins, more and more fins… an entire school of them.. like some 6 or 7 I guess… or maybe more… no idea.. we threw our bags and went into the water. There was a dolphin so close.. it looked like it was headed our way, it looked like it was coming to meet us. I remember, for a couple of seconds it felt like my stomach was bottomless.. I felt cold, a little afraid, what if the dolphin snout came up right at my feet.. and I remember bending my head and getting lost in the shadows in the water.. Hallelujah.. I recovered and looked at the horizon again.. and then I saw this dolphin a pale gray one.. take a leap towards us.. it was so clear.. and so slow in movement like the world stopped.. like you cannot tell after wards if it lasted a moment or a day or for seasons at a stretch.. I remember feeling tears in my eyes.. and I remember telling myself to be strong… I remember so much that now as I write it, my breath is going short like I’m going to cry again.. Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out… now, I saw it, and if it was the ground instead of the sea I would have got onto my knees and put my head to my ground. But it was the sea, and I didn’t know what to do suddenly, something was just welling up in me and I saw the people around.. they were alright but then I saw Stylu’s face.. I’ll tell you this much, I have no idea what he thought or what he felt, but his face was just as beautiful as the dolphin then.. I didn’t know whether to see him or to see the sea and that happens very rarely. I scream and use big words for all little pretty things. But when that something beautiful really comes across you, you have nothing to say. To tell you, he had brown eyes.. his face was all happy.. and he was like looking and moving his hands and legs a little like he’s gotta do something.. like the happiness is giving him energy to pour forth and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He was happy then. Touched or not, god knows, but then he was happy. And I saw a glimpse of my happiness in him. Obviously, as it is mine, I feel like I was much happier.. but even the glimpse of my happiness in him was like.. how to say.. like finding a best friend.. or a love.. or someone who spoke your language in a foreign land you’ve been lost in for years… he was gorgeous and he didn’t have a single clue how much.
Throughout the trek I tailed him, and every time I saw his eyes, or I’d see him happy. It felt like my dolphin was in him. Like he was my dolphin. He mattered. Not as a friend, or a crush or a pet or a habit. He felt like my dolphin. I didn’t know that I felt like it till I started writing this. I just knew that I feel for him. Now I know what. Not that I’m gonna feed him fishes now that it dawned upon me or anything. But seriously, during my entire snorkelling session, I was thinking, so this is what a dolphin’s world looks like.. this is what the pale grey dolphin must be seeing everyday.. do you think that fish is edible? And so on.. and through the trek, many times I told myself, what would Stylu see this as? What does he see the sky as? What does he see in a trek? How shallow is his thought? And how deep and in what areas? In everything he made, or did or collected I was trying to see him in it. Something that is him. In the broken pieces his patience and impatience and innovation and his unnameable qualities.. I mean, you can’t name the thousands of variations and different qualities in Stylu.. and it was fun. He wouldn’t get it. Or maybe he would. Or maybe he would but he wouldn’t, because he’d say out that all this is too complicated for him. Or he’d tell himself inside.. why the unnecessary trouble or trying to understand it? I don’t know. I have never been able to predict people.. I haven’t even tried it consciously.. I just like to look at them.. the way I look at the sea.. I like listening to him.. the way I’d listen to the waves.. and there are a lot of times when I’d not get what was he thinking when he told me this.. and it would drown out being taken over by something more interesting at the moment. Either way, I followed two things during my trek, I heard two things, maybe I was a little more partial to the sea. Ohk… I loved the sea, but Stylu comes next.. huge gap in between.. but hey, to like a person enough to bring him in the same para as a naturally beautiful and interesting object.. you’d have to be interested in him like zillions and zillion loads.
The best part is, I followed the sea in complete consciousness, I followed Stylu just like that. I never asked myself why I was following him till I returned. Or if I was a disturbance to his privacy or any such questions. He was always in the corner of my eye, he was my trekking mate.. and I followed him. I didn’t ask him any questions as to what he was thinking or anything, anytime, atleast not that I can remember, but now that I’m here in my room and I look back. I wonder at how I can remember every little brown speck of his eyeball, so well that I can draw it any moment now, only thing is that I’d never find a colour sooo.. mm.. soo.. his brown.

Oh we reached the campsite, dolphin site was very close to it. We went in… I had 5 aloo bondas.. Stylu had 6.. or I had 6 and he had 7.. I remember being jealous of him having one extra.. and then I drowned some mugs of welcome drink and ran back to the beach to get another swim. Lol.. by this time the whole team was there near by and I wished just for a few seconds that no dolphin should come to the shore. I wanted to guard the moment jealously. Our doc then became a jelly boy, hah.. he got a jelly fish sting.. and for us all too there was a tiny itching which then developed into stronger itching.. and we scratched and played.. scrathed and floated.. itching reduced.. so we scratched lesser and swam.. and it was all wonderful till we got tired and went to the shore… I remember walking on the part wet golden sand trying to catch the water shadows by placing my feet a little firmly on the ground.. I believe when I do that, the water gets a little squeezed out and runs in.. forming a grayish shade replaced by a little whitish shade.. and as you lift your feet.. it rushes back making the whitish shade greyish.. and it is quite entertaining to watch it as you walk fast.. the shades run across the sand in response to your step. Hahha… and then back to camp, washed up.. and back to the beach again to see the sun sink.. I was standing there.. the guys were sitting in the sand a little behind me.. and then I was staring at it.. the sun went in stage after stage.. and I saw it go in with the little blue border just above the hoziron of the sky.. you see.. it didn’t look like the sun was drowning in the sea.. it looked more like the sun was fading into the colour.. like.. inbetween the sun and the sea, as it faded there was a bluish haze.. and then it was over. I felt I don’t know what.. but I wanted to go where no one I knew could see me.. so I ran.. not far.. not fast.. but a little away.. I found a little boat parked and it had a nice white flag and I sat there holding it. Some phony old man in our trekking group didn’t know what I was doing and alerted the guys apparently, so they came running after.. either way.. I was there.. and Todo was clicking photos of me as Stylu was picking shells. I say, the best shells of our trek… I wonder how he always gets them. But it’s good that he gets them as they end up in my collection.. but then wouldn’t it have been better if I got them all by myself. Ces’t la vie! Life is unfair… or maybe I just should put my glasses on during treks. And we were taking pictures of the shells and then we were jumping.. this way.. that way.. Todo, Vicky, me and Stylu. We met with aunty and uncle.. took some snaps with them.. and all.. and went in for dinner.. my battery was already on a flicker mode.. on and off.. on and off… and then there was this delicious fruit custard for the dessert.. so I filled my meal with the dessert.. had bowls and bowls and more bowls of it. And tummy khush. Battery went to reserve mode.. people were droning on, sitting around, my neck felt boneless.. I was falling asleep here and there.. and people’s shoulders.. and I was part conscious then.. but now I can remember nothing but somehow I remember Stylu stroking my hair inbetween and someone was telling some story.. and I was too lazy to smile out.. but I purred and smiled inside and thought something about growing my hair.. and then… I started floating. Believe me, it can be counted as one of the sweetest naps ever.. it wasn’t blank.. it had the back ground music of waves, it felt free and safe at the same time with friends around me.. it was relaxing.. and it was like sleep overlapped by the aroma of a sweet dream flowing around you called reality. I have no idea why the hell I ever woke up.. but I was pushed to some dumb camp fire.. and for some god knows why reason I tried in vain to keep my eyes apart instead of crashing.. and then I’d throw my head back and see the constellations.. as I said earlier, the only constellation I can identify, Cassiopeia. And from there I tried to see where Orion was and I remember lapsing into sleep. And in my sleep I heard some stupid camp songs that faded out into stars. And when I opened my eyes I’d put my head up and see more stars and close my eyes and see more stars and there was some noise going about me.
I have no idea how I came back from that stupid camp fire.. but I remember just falling into my sheets when I was woken by a tent mate to show her the way to the loo.. I have no idea why I couldn’t say no to her.. but through all my sleepy stupor I took her there.. and came back.. and then when I put my head onto my bag again… I didn’t want to sleep. I could sleep. It was a matter of choice, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to hear the waves all night. I wanted to make out how every next wave sounded and I’d tell myself you gotta wake up early tomorrow and just one more wave.. and just one more wave always won.. finally the arguments died out into sleep.
The previous day, the next day especially the early morning of the next day were all very beautiful. But then, it’s 3.14 in the morning. If I start another day now, my impending exam will drown like the sun in the sea. And though I care not for the exam.. if I have to put a full stop somewhere to his. I’d rather it’d be here than anywhere else. So, good night and '.'

P.s.1: Sorry for the word repetitions, grammar and so many other mistakes I usually commit. I didn't read this one to check for them again. I was afraid I wouldn't want to post it if I read it.

P.s. 2: This was originally meant to be a diary entry so I added in quite a lot of unnecessary details lest I forget the sketches of my trip. Hence the length too, sorry again. :)

Trek

Warangal and Laknavaram

Lol.. I went there looking for lots of water and moon light and I came back with something better and different.
By the way, this isn't an entry about the place, the place is a disappointment and has little or nothing to do with anything I have to say. Actually, the whole trek ended up as an excuse for socializing in the end.
The day before the trek, I considered my self a girl with a little rotten attitude, lots of cynicism and self-love. I was a happy person, crazily happy person, with little reasons to feel otherwise. I was there whenever my friends needed me, if I lifted the phone. I was so busy building up myself all the time.. I simply didn't care for anyone else. I didn't mean to hurt anyone wantedly.. but now even remembering so many names seems like pricking me.. I've been such an idiot to all of them. I'd go on treks, be friendly, laugh with them, share and completely open up to them.. and two days within my return.. they's disappear. I'd simply not care enough to call back to them when I see the dozens of missed calls. I wouldn't message them. I wouldn't acknowledge anything. And if by chance we come into touch again, I'd open up all over again and renew the friendship.. but most of them passed. We don't have many second chances and we don't live in movies where once we cut off from a person we end up meeting them again and again in streets and shopping malls till we make up with them.
It's not that I didn't care to support them or anything. It's just that I didn't care enough to show them they could have my hand when they needed me. Just that, sometimes to joke or while waiting at the bus stop, they would never think of calling me coz I made sure my time was not there for them.
The policies were very convenient. I'd live in the moment. Like everyone in the group picture. Smile and move on. In case someone tried to hold me beyond.. well, they never could. It was like the way I behave whenever something annoys me.. go into the room and close the door. Sometimes I wish I could go back. It's so simple. You give little and you expect negligible from any person and you like them always.
And then there was this trip..
the place was a disappointment. What was supposed to be some super deep lake turned out into ankle deep mush. Instead of the shady rainy weeks we've been having all month.. the sun screamed murder exactly on our appointed day with a clear bright and hot sky. While the supposed to be star studded night turned out into a cloudy dark night with almost no to not a single star status. The dried up lake area with tiny grass shoots were our exploration sites and the wonderful 1000 pillar temple of Warangal turned out into a little temple with lots of cuts.. that made it's wall look like pillars.. which btw weren't thousand or anywhere near it. The autos were amazingly slow or broke down in between the roads. Special offer says that our organisers have never been to the place out of which one can hardly even communicate with the localites. But I laughed through each and every moment of it. I don't believe in the reasoning that everything happens with a reason or for the better.. I just believe that things happen.. but dude, I tell you, this trek pushed me pretty close to believing it. Nothing came as expected in this trek.. everything was unexpected and more beautiful because it was unexpected. Friends, the cake, the mush, the moon light, the red wattled lapwing, the pictures, the plains, the grass, one little fire fly and all that laughter, so much so much of it bubbling and bursting through my throat.
There were moments when I felt so happy that everything that went wrong throughout the years, went wrong on purpose to make it happen. To make the days that followed the trek happen. To make my friends happen. Today, I can see them fade. See them get busy, see me go back slightly to my old ways.. but hell, I've never been the same as I was because I went there.
Because they taught me what an interesting thing life could be if people paid a little more concern towards each other. Showed each other sometimes how much they loved them. I've had so many amazing birthdays that till last year.. when it failed just once, just slightly, I realized how bad it could be.. and just when I was expecting another flop.. or rather.. fearing another flop birthday.. preparing myself to go away somewhere for that one day.. at 12 in the mid-night they came.. and boy, they gave me gifts.. lol.. I know it's a cliched thing to say.. but the gifts didn't matter one tiny bit as much as the thought that went into them.. the little details they took care of.. the powerpuff girls stickers, my pictures, the mug with Joey stuck in the left corner.. the mid night surprise.. mm.. wait a min.. this is about the trip right... gimme a minute..
Yeah, now going back to the trip.. I met those guys in the station.. as usual I started blabbering something, and blabbered, and blabbered and went on.. I gave poor Joey such a headache.. haha.. and there were Fuz, Satya and Vamsi, who'd always let me sleep on their shoulder.. Shweta.. who'd sing.. and sing.. and sing for so long.. you'd start wondering if it was a super power.. and the hi-powered dance through the songs...
And yeah.. there was this birthday celebration, mine and Poonam's celebrated a week early during the trek.. they carried the cake and all in secret.. and they waited for the moon to come out and gave me a blast.. and then there was the slushy mud bath they didn't say no to.. I love it about them.. they never say no to anything unreasonable as long as I don't hurt myself. And it's an important quality because it makes their yes's and no's matter. And for once, I let them matter. I don't know when it happened. But if they said no, I'd crib, whine, beg and everything, but I didn't do it. I didn't myself realize I liked them so much till I.. well, till I missed hearing them. Till I fell a little ill again.. and there was noone to tell me no or to complain to, or to crib to, or to care the way they do. The way I like best. Lol, I hated it pretty much, but now I miss them ruffling my hair.. calling me a boy... and all that..
And by making me care, and making me happy, they taught me how pretty life can be if cared for. And when you're as happy as that, you'd want to shout and tell the world thank you.. for keeping me so happy and making me feel so secure. You'd also want to tell them the lesson that you learnt, that shutting yourself out or calmly passing by observing is easy.. but you've got a life and you've got to do something with it, and when you have it only once why not live it completely... why not sing and let the people around you know you love them, why not cry when they don't show enough and start singing "hello, I love you" again.. sing, laugh, cry, sing is obviously more complete than sleep, see and sleep, sleep. People are a complication, one hellova headache when you start giving a damn about them but some complications complete life. :D

Moving Out

Moving Out

By 6 in the morning tomorrow, it'll be a week since I moved in here. Contrary to the lies I told my friends, it took little to make my parents agree. Thanks to my brother's ways of convincing mom and my excellent room mates.

My first day here, I just came. I don't know.. it didn't feel very different or anything as I expected. Yes, I had a lot of apprehensions about the sharing concept.. like.. what if I lose count and eat more biscuts than my one third share.. will it be bad and all.. they didn't last long.

Hahha.. first thing I checked out as soon as I came here weren't the cupboards or the balcony with a lovely sunset view.. I went into the kitchen.. I didn't do anything much, just boiled a little water.. and that was enough. It was clean, cosy, had a few necessary utensils.. none too much to arrange or manage.. just enough and just properly used.. not too new and not too old. It felt like I belonged there. Everytime I wash the dishes there or cook.. as Anu says for hours and hours in my usual slow motion.. I'm humming tunes inside.. or smiling and thinking of nice stuff.

And then there were the shelves.. the lots and lots of empty book shelves, all neat and ready to show off my books. It was such a joy filling it up.. arranging my economics books, hard and spiral bound note books.. and the many little note books full of scribbles in the shelf.. and then there was a square cut stone pen stand I brought from home that went so cosily in.. it just fit there.. hah! And there were my oil pastels and ink pot and all that.. Honestly, I love keeping them there, looking at them and all so much.. that even though I know noone would want to read these pink simple details.. I just have to write it. They were the first things I arranged and while putting them in their new place, every bit gave me a feeling that I'd like to remember for a long time. Because it was a feeling new and nice. Lol.. I'm so damned proud of each thing in that shelf.. it's like a pot or a greeting card I've spent ages on and finished. Best part- it hardly took a couple of hours to put it all.

And then it was evening, I was alone and there was the balcony.. I just stood there, gazing and sighing.. sigh! Believe me, it's a mini-heaven in there. There's always this cool breeze blowing.. and there's the untrafficky main road we can see.. and beyond that.. unobstructed sky. It's tough to find it in the city.. but man, from our place.. you could see the horizon and the sky vertical and horizontally unobstructed :D!!!

Oh and now you come to a very ventilated room shared by the three of us with sunshine pouring in.. I stay at a double bhk flat.. and there's another room too.. except, all three of us like this room too much to go there.. it's just bright, airy and warm.

And then comes the best part, my roomies.. :) I doubt if any of the stuff I had written would even come close to positivity if my roomies weren't so good. It's like this.. any place is made pretty by the people we are with. When you live with a person you dislike, every minute at home can seem restless. Every little moment of entertainment can seem like an escape. And it blotches the entire memory. Though you can block them out, you cannot block out your guilt for not inviting them to the party or your annoyance for them never being able to be a part of the happiness you share with your other inmates. They will be a "but..." in the essay and mind, I guess.

Hahha.. now my roomies.. are fun, ethical people and pretty caring too. We sometimes go out for walks in the evening time.. and we look at the sky and rocks and talk about it.. talk about ourselves.. open up a bit.. close soon.. but still opening up even a bit to a one week stranger in your house is cool enough. And then we frequently cook together.. watch movies together till late night.. tease each other and all.. and if probably time froze at any point of such times, I'd rush to get a camera and take pictures of them, their 36 teeth showing smiley faces and the weird expressions they sometimes keep and then I'd take another picture of all of it together.. All three of us smiling, standing. I'd be in a corner, I still don't belong with them as completely as the place I live in.. But I know and I hope, strongly that I will. Because it's nice to be a part of their group. Happy, simple and self-reliable people.

Btw the road where I'd go out for walks.. that road.. I really don't know how to say it.. but it's scantily populated.. has nice pavements and if we walk just a little further.. there's a little lake and a small park to the right and to the left there are rocks and small boulders in bushes.. and from there you can see the view I like best- sexy sunset sky in all purple, orange, pink with hints of darkness and pale stars and the moon.. I like it here!

On keeping your eyes closed

It's not as complicated as it sounds.. it's almost simple and it's easy to get used to. Like burgers and junk food. Every time you give your word and break it, everytime you run away from your work knowing sometime or later you'll have to do it and still try to escape.. geez.. it tears something inside. Something like confidence and self-respect. And it hurts.

I can't tell you how bad it hurts. Or how little.. it depends on whether or not and if you do, how long you choose to ponder on your question about your morality. It's like a choice of walking through a forest with your eyes closed, and as long as they are closed for some reason your step keeps falling right.. and you can easily neglect the eerie feeling of a ghost behind your back. But sometime during the journey you will stumble upon a root or a weed and would involuntarily have to open your eyes. It is then that your back starts prickling with fear. Of dull empty sadness and a disappointment in yourself.

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.

Kids

 

I think I like kids. But I like imagining kids more than actually meeting them.

You see, sometimes, you meet those kids who have seen more than they should have or heard things they shouldn't have. And they don't know what to do with all that they have seen or heard or they end up using them at random things and random people. I have been the random person sometimes and it makes me all irritated. Some part of you is sorry for them, but most part of you feels guilty for something you didnt do. So you want to run away from that kid. You hope you can always avoid her. And when you're staying in these apartments waiting for the lift and these kids with divorced parents come around you and catch your leg.. believe me, their eyes and ears know a lot.. but their tongues don't and they say something they aren't supposed to say and they don't know it. They expect you to be surprised or something but all you feel is grossed and irritated..or at the most pitiful. And it isn't easy to pity a thing as heartless as a naughty kid, they'd use it to twist you to get what they want. And in while you lose all that pity and end up again avoiding them.
But not all kids are so, some are there. Real sweet and polite. You like them a lot and you don't know what to do with all that liking.
And there are those kids timid and frail, who if you say 'bow' a little too heavily would run up half a mile and hide behind those pillars and peep at you timidly. If you happen to pass by then on your way home near the lift, they kinda stick their chin down and look at you like they're afraid you might harm them. You'd just want to take 'em in and hum sweet and sing to them till they start singing along. You'd want to do anything they name just to have 'em not look at you like that, all cautious. But they wouldn't speak, and you'd end up asking if they had their dinner or givin them a chocolate and not knowing what else to do when they nod their head and take a step back.  Then you'd go away, walking a little fast or a with a conscious attempt to lower your pace to your house. Because, more than chocolates or anything, your absence gives them a more free movement.                                                                                                                                              But there is just one creed of kids who can move you towards hating them. And you still can't hate them completely and it frustrates you. You know these over-smart kids who sass their parents, wear lip sticks, not in the kid way, but in the really well way. And you want to go an wipe it off their lips. And sometimes they make you feel sorry for them or something but then they don't let you feel sorry for long. And these kids can make any person angry easy, and when you look all angry, they don't smile like foolish kids, ice or  fear like sweet or timid kids, they look real contemptible. And the higher your anger goes, the higher their contempt. And you can't take it because the kid is winning over you. It sticks through yer ego. And they lose people after people like that. When these kids come and demand money or an eraser, almost anyone in the world except their parents would want to say no or some might even want to snatch it away after they've got it.  Why, I think even the parents want to say no, but they get tired of all those scenes and all and they say yes without meaning to more sweetly than necessary to keep the bonds unscathed.  
And then there are these tiny kids who simply look too cute to be hated. And they have these big eyes and all. They simply catch your heart. But then they don't know what to do with it. So they just play around and go away. And their mothers get all insecure or something and take 'em away from your arms. And some of them are even sweet enough to say they wont come to their mothers.. you'd feel all high, but you'd want the mother not to feel too insecure as after all they are the ones cleaning their diapers, so you kinda give 'em away. And they sorta look at you. It breaks your heart right away and you want to crawl up in a corner and never give him away. It happens you know. There was this baby whom I sang sleepy songs and rhymes to for hours on a cool summer evening with all that breeze floating around. I could tell you he enjoyed it. He is the only one who really enjoyed my singing you know. He even joined me...and tried to sing 'dancing bears and painted wings' and he not even once mocked at my accent or anything. He just went on smiling like that in white cotton clothes, smelling of baby powder and milk, and humming tunes with me. Even his weight was such a warm soft comfortable thing on the hands. And then, his mother tried taking him away and he wouldn't go. Man, I wanted to take him home right away. But then they played it all unfair, told him lies that they were going out and  going to see lorries and buy chocolates. Phonies, lied to him and took him away. The next time I saw the kid after months ... he knew how to walk and all..he didn't recognize me. He didn't remember me one ounce. And all these friends with me were shifting him from one to another, I didn't want to touch the kid ever again. I looked at him real slow and real long and went away to the ground to play. I didn't see him again. Thank god. I didn't.  

11 June 2010

For once, the monsoons have entered our place at the right time. After humid grey mornings, in the evening we can feel cold straight drops of rain piercing your back if you happen to be out. Well coming to that, it can pierce your front too, but you wont have the grit to stand against such chattering rain that way. And then, there's grandma here, cooking hot spicy food every day. And then, there are the mangoes delicious, rich, sweet, glorious, glorious mangoes, oh god. I can't count the number of them I've had this summer. And there are friends available. Summer hols. and all. Some passing by reader would think of this as a wonderful summer, nah, no, this is by far one of the worst summers I've had, with not enough play...as suddenly all my pals seemed to remember their 'age' or rather I'm afraid I admit they're slipping into the middle age laziness at 18. Can't do a damn thing about anything if people stay stuck to their pc's all night, wake up late and again get stuck to their pc's and at about 7 in the evening, come down for a while for a little gossip and small talk. Geez! they aren't even singing free anymore and they'd probably murder me in my sleep for writing all that. But I'll write more. They're all good, happy, cool people. But I liked the confused, energetic, erreneous ones. It was nice. All those fights in the game.
I'll tell you what it was like before.
I used to wake up at 5 am or they'd call me then. I'd brush, take my 'lucky' badminton racket(s) and a book inside the cover...all the coins and little notes and stick them again in the badminton cover...then wear the shoulder strap and blue and white nike(gosh, all that play ripped one pair off).. and then...all jingling with the rattling loose change music I'd go to seven hills. And then there'd be a couple of em already awake..and we'd decide who'd go to whose house to plague and pull em off their beauty sleep. I'd mostly volunteer to go to my best buddie's house and trust me she can be the laziest slimy thing alive before waking up. Personally I believe she used to have compact Trojan wars inside her head on whether or not to surrender her precious dreams to idiot friends. And she, her sis and we used to all go down in our slacks and start the badminton...well, that was the year before...last year, after losing amazing sets of 8 matches in a row with various partners and various reasons, I gave up badminton...and took to simply running around trying to play leg-touch with all those who didnt have the space to occupy the court...but all those years before last..we used to start badminton and play like..till ten, with sore hands...and all those little stones everywhere on the road and around, used to get little black clots in our feet for atleast two of us everyday. Then all tired and stuff, we'd collect the change and buy water packets and those one or two and a half rupee maaza packets..and I'd go home dragging my feet, wishing I lived this side of the street..., 10 blocks closer, 9 blocks closer..and so on till I reached home..by that time, most probably mum would've gone to the office..and I'd sleep it off...afternoon was t.v. time... some of them in seven hills preferred to spend it playing uno and other card games. Then we'd go off in the evening, and I loved them pretty dearly too, because we'd play these chillar games with lots of running around, falling down and laughter. We'd play, out-out, cho-cho, current shock, chain cut, hide and seek and such miscelleneous games and on some ill-fated evenings we played even kabaddi. By 8.30 or so, we'd again be too hurt with all those uneven bits of tar road stones stuck into our feet and the evening wind gets simply too irresistable to be forgotten in speedy games, then we'd sit and play antakshari or dumb charade ( that's dumsharaatz you know) and they were so refreshing after all that play and stuff... they weren't those girly games we laughed about anymore. They were those group games we laughed in an entirety of good humor and happiness.
As the clock's hand starts crossing nine, one or many mums would be screaming from the apartments at one or many of their respective kids...and we'd slowly grow thinner in number. That would be when I'd realize I can't stay on the road singing with pals all night .. then I'd start the bargaining with people on how far they'd accompany me home. Usually it's the temple, but then temple turns out into the car, car turns out into the tree, and then they'd all be lined up on the left and right because I whine I'm too cluttered to cross the road and they'd believe and help me across it..then the girls go home...but the guys come on till home.. I usually tell them I'd give them lemonade, but I know I dont have to. They'll know it'll be too late to drop into. All along the way, we'd talk of all the so called 'item' candidates. The funniness of our friends, the funniness of our 'not so friendly friends' and so on and so forth, and playing around in between. I'd end up wishing home was a block away, 2 blocks away and so on and so forth. It's nice to have pals who stay close and come by with wings at the least intimation.
And now, we barely see each other every 3 or 4 days. We're busy, I know. But we had been busy before too. We couldnt possibly have a tighter scheduled plan than those Eamcet years we played through... Sigh. And there go the bacha party too Ja-kun. All too old to run. But we'd stay young, wont we dear? And weds never ever say no to leg-touch, darling darling ja, darling darling pals.
It's been five glorious summers since we started playing together.
That'd be a semi-decadal celebration for me I suppose. And yes, thank you guys for sticking by through all those times i screamed, fussed, lectured, chased, apologised and ate your heads. Whether or not we go on playing and screaming, fussing, lecturing, chasing and apologising, stay in touch. Man, I didn't believe time passed by so quickly. But I suppose, through happy times it always does and ends up assimilated into sweet memories and significant lessons.

Yashu's birthday

I woke up to a usual sultry summer morning at 4, 5, 6 and finally 7 Am. Remembered it's my friend's birthday, called her up to wish her, cursed my self for not doing so at 12, called another idiot like me and reminded her the same.
We decided to start to her house at 10. Well, 10 stretched into 11 and 12 and Yashu came home and called me. We went there.


I saw a dozen chattering, lively colorful girls all over the house, got introduced and stuff. I greeted aunty and it's such a sad plight that she had been cooking all day, i mean, they are the ones who go through all the pains to give birth and they are the ones expected to work like mules on those babies birthdays, it's the same with my birthday too. Such ungrateful children we all are. And god knows what makes them happy that way. She wasn't grumbling or complaining, I don't think she even thought of doing so. She simply wanted to do her best by her daughter just as mothers always do, the thought of trade and expectations donot enter their peripheries i suppose. And yes, by the way, the dozen dishes she cooked in one morning, all turned out to be one of the most delicious Ive eaten. It's been long since I ate such hot and fuming mother's cooking in the afternoon. My mum works. And currently, she's on a trip to Kerala..I kinda missed her a lot while I was eating all that.





After the food, the girls again rolled and chattered while I slept in my friends lap. She was stroking my hair and playing with it absent mindedly for almost an hour and a half. I slept like hell. Man, women are so kind, selfless and nurturing. Sweet, plain sweet till they start serving you. And then, they turn out into absolute bullies, given a chance, theyd kill you with the sheer amount of food they'd make you gobble. No exaggeration. I have never been bullied over food that way by anyone, ever. No, not my grand mother, or mother, or aunts or sisters compare to them. Aunty, the person who cooked, simply asked a couple of times and stood by silently not accepting her deserved compliments fully. She didnot bully us. The others did. No offense Ravali.

Oh well, I had this sweet and fresh mango juice and all. Had fun, then after a little chaos about a lost mobile they all went home. Only three of us school time friends had been left over. The birthday girl went to dedicate a few minutes to the family and we were left to watch a movie playing in the pc. Karthink calling karthik, It was dull, dark and slow. I wish we watched Simha instead. Well, anyway, then my fingers started itching and I took these pics...After that session, we just lay on bed, talking of school days and college days, prejudices and boys. I don't know how important what I heard is, I simply know that that moment is. Important. Very. The afternoon sun and hot wind were blowing in the room. We had a full meal, and our heads felt slow like some dull thudding heat was punding lazily inside it, not painfully but drowsily. Like a part of your mind is too sleepy to work and another part is all sharp and fit not allowing it to drift completely. So we talked. It was easy to move our lips and close our eyes. And in those dull confiding words and secrets we forgot to tell each other(me and ja), there was an apology. For all the time we could not spare each other. For our inability to hold each other evenly significant through time. Because our priorities change. Because we forget friends till we strongly pull forward the number of emotional transactions we have had with each other. Because, once we go home and enough time passes, there would be left only an impression of the happiness. A video in our heads..till we hear that voice again. That confiding, comforting voice that brings out the best in you. Simply because, we have seen other's worst and still held on and will go on. Because nothing I do can push her away and vice versa. The only thing that can make us drift is time. All these words are left unsaid in the mind. But they bake themselves into fluent expressions, said without thought or effort but said best without meaning to be said so. I could've gone on listening and talking to her forever. But could and did are different things. Our school pals were coming by. Me and ja, got into Yashu's dresses, got all pretty, went up, met friends, our batch, out sssssy batch with anu and teju dropped by in the end. There was another cake-cutting session and we got onto the roof, sat there on the water tank, over looking the place. We posed and posed for pics.. dozens of them. I sat between Sushie and Shweta, and yes, I know I'm smart. Theyr'e both strong contestants for the sweeest girl of the century badge. Wouldn't harm a thing ever unless it's themselves. We went down, and me and ja exchanged our dresses and had another photo session while the others waited for us. Then we skipped dinner. Man, i still regret it, and aunty made biryani again..I went home and got hungry there.

And I remembered, I didnt wish Yashu a Happy birthday last year. And this year, it was like one of the most important events of a most beloved friend, like it had been before we got into bachelors.

2010, May 2nd evening.

I haven't been well since a couple of days plus I had been a little busy too. These were the reasons I gave myself for not writing the blog promptly but I found time to complete half of Catch-22, May editions of vipula and chatura etc. etc. So I guess It was just laziness again. Lol.

On may 2nd, it rained here. An hour before the rains, there was this cool summer wind blowing hard and the clouds screamed and flashed before it even started. I took all those videos and all. And I don't know how to upload vid in blogger thing... think it's too much trouble anyway. Here are a couple O pics.


The sun was bright as the rain poured on but there were no rainbows as far as we saw...anyway, in a few minutes the huge Grey cloud gobbled him up.



This is the creeper before it started raining, it was swinging with the wind.


Those are my feet in a puddle of rain water.


This is a smiling house soaking in the rain. It seems my brother when he was little used to ask if he could take the trees into the home because they were getting wet. I wish I could shelter this one.


After the rain slowly subsided and the sun came out creeping in the west.



Yes, one more picture of the same creeper. Because it just looked so unbearably lovely in it's bright hues of yellow and green decked in rain drops against the deep gray skies.

And yea, by the time this session was over I was drenched and shivering what all with the fever on. My brother and kid sister returned from swimming talking about drowned roads, fallen electric poles and hanging current wires in rain water...followed by a traditional power cut. Hahha. Because I didn't have to go out that day...I'll say. It completed the rainy day.


Ciao.