At home

You don't know me...

I have always held a grudge against growing up. The peter pan belief is so much more comfortable. All of a sudden I am this Post Graduate student and it seems I need to grow up in a spurt. Like I was asleep all of this while - stunted in a good way, lost in a right-out-of-adolescence phase and someone woke me up only for me to find  that years have passed by. Thus, the need to catch up on it.

Of all the strangest things, the knowledge that is s'pposed to enlighten me and bring depth to my thoughts, is, instead making the world seem so hollow. It's like believing in the fairytale of love and one fine day finding it to be nothing but a "system" which is balanced on fine threads of need, chiselled by careful selection criterion, even if subconscious.

This reference has nothing to do with the lectures but the insight one gets from meeting different people. I would so love to vanquish anything called rationality and science from my mind right now and instead trust my intuitions, hold on to faiths that are (stupid) and baseless.

This is coming from someone who has always been blamed of being too rational.

As days more pass by, I want to keep things about me to myself. Not because I can't trust, but I have just grown so protective about everything that makes me what I am, I would rather be another shadow in the night adding to the darkness than the light at the end of the tunnel.

As Clareece "Precious" Jones said, "Some folks has a lot of things around them that shines for other peoples. I think that maybe some of them was in tunnels. And in that tunnel, the only light they had, was inside of them. And then long after they escape that tunnel, they still be shining for everybody else. "

I pray, I be one of the fireflies that glows within.
At home

A Late Goodbye...

Finally, the time has come. And it's a late goodbye. Henceforth, I shall be mostly writing NOT from Bhopal. Not sitting in my room but then my room too, only elsewhere. My parents are not even a wee bit moved by me moving out, probably only glad :P. Predictably, I have always preferred joyous and exuberant see-offs over weepy ones! My kid sister , friends, family-friends and neighbours turned out to be more emotional. :|

As of me, I can't wait to be on MY own. What sweeps me, percolates to the deepest of me and rids me of any weight at all - as light as a feather, must be the same ecstasy which Adam experienced once he had the forbidden fruit in his hands OR the butterflies that romp the stomach during bungee jumps.  Not that moving out is a forbidden fruit, but something so long-awaited.

Tomorrow- you are going to be different and new
Tomorrow - you'll be a nascent brew
Tomorrow- you'll be a flambouyant hue
Tomorrow- you'll be more ME  :)

Life is Good. :)
At home

Roots and Wings ...

This post, unlike my most posts, has been written in different sittings. A part of me likes that I keep coming back to this post, adding some more to it. A part of me is pretty distressed, am I losing spontaneity?

I am writing in the eerie hours after quite a while and it truly feels like coming back home. The usual preoccupation is comfortably preoccupied and that gives me an opportunity to leave a few nightly words here. Surprisingly, that brings me to my original musings of roots and wings. I have been fairly rooted since a long time, aspiring to grow wings. And, then I thought I grew wings, I wanted to test them. I am presuming the test flight was successful and that I am indeed ready to take a flight, to whoosh past the stars, to whisper to the clouds and sing to the rainbows.

The creative lot, truly are loners deep within. In a sibylline, pretended ‘burden’ of psychosis and dotage - the quest of art, the journey that they take pride in is often solitary. Quite ostensibly they savour it too, fashionably overrated.

A lot many people have agreed to having wings without roots as meaningless and vice versa, for there is sustenance only for such a rooted soul who can fly. But is it truly possible to own both, at the same time? I doubt. I agree, both the forces create the balance. But to breakaway and to fashion absolute brilliance, the roots must be compromised with. Otherwise you have held on and merely grown tall, not flown.  

Taking you back to the ponderings of the day when the gusty winds were quite gutsy, so.

I feel I am such a romantic loon. I often colour my vision sepia, just to look at moments passing by. How they would be, as memories. Wondering if I would, with wisdom of a few years added, look back at things the same way I do now. Would all that make me smile or embarrass me at being “the kid”.

This rooftop was literally the brewery of the love(s) - all the sneaking-up-at-night-to-talk-to-someone-over-phone, all the secrets that I whispered to the breeze up here. If there could be another confidante like it. I just spent an entire evening singing up here and smiling at other rooftops. Now, meaninglessly vacant. Once, my closest of friends would shout back at me from one of those. The ones farther still would call up and wave at each other. The boys we would look at and we let them look at us. All the amateur dj parties we had. It seems so barren and dead this place with floating memories. I am one of the last few survivors. 


And just like one of those moments when you wish to talk to someone, someone who would get all of it that you are going through without saying it verbally (esp if it’s me), someone you can’t really decide who could be that – calls up! It’s really nice and handy too when you only about have 3 rupees 19 paise talktime balance. Oh boy! That’s the feeling. My best friend being in town keeps me happy anyway but then telepathic phone call was a leap in the faith in the concept of “best friends”. She had gotten a new number and so we did the old trick again – called up the other best friend and tried to intrigue her if not scare her. We talked of good old times and all the times when we – just like now- talked about old times.


As the s’pposedly life changing moment in my life is arriving, I have become more of a keen observer. I am looking at things around me better in awe and gratitude, and also with a feeling of good riddance at times. After spending 16 years in city, I am moving (something I have longed since about 5 years) away to a far far place. The first thing I do in the morning is to announce my family, the college mummy and this best friend (basically the local phone call rate people) about the countdown no.


To add to all of these good reasons to be happy dappy yappy about, Radio Mirchi is telling me that it is raining in some part of the city. So, thank God, I wasn’t dreaming up the petrichor. It is going to rain here too, soon maybe. Yay.


PS: What is with the windy nights? Nothing lifts my mood like it, nothing. I am so gonna miss you rooftop. I wanna tell you - WORLD and LIFE, lest this wind blows me away with it to some distant land of wonderment, I love you :)

PS2: my hair is messed up beyond repair. Damn you wind.

PS3: la la la la <that is me singing>

PS4: Everybody is welcome to add their suggestions to my list of things-to-carry-when-you-are-about-to-begin-your-life-in-a-hostel. :))))


At home

There is going to more FUN around on this blog!!

Well, there I said it.

Punk Princess is soon going to graduate and well, attempt at post grads, ;) which she thinks is a good enough reason to be footloose and fancy free!

This blog might become more personal, so if you are one of those sheepish readers who lemme know their views via sms/mail/fone - better open an a/c with LJ and add me up, because there would be more of friends only entries.

I might alternatively begin a new blog to keep the personal stuff outta here. Anyway, enough random thoughts. Just to let the google crawlers know - I am going to be back SOON to make some noise here! :)
At home

And, then YOU fell asleep...

Every once in a while I let my hair down and paint mushy pictures. ;) Last year I was on a mush spree around the valentine's day because of several writing contests. But, this year with the incentives missing, I gave the mush season a miss too.

To those, whom I might shock with the mush that is going to sweep this post, you can read some of the stories I wrote last year -> Here: The Chirping Chick!

Thanks to parwana for pulling me out of the hiding.
Thanks to angiasaa for the Balloons [How did you know I LOVE balloons?] and the gentle push to post an entry, you were missed too.

Thanks to *AG* for the not so gentle pushes and I am hoping that finally, his highness would leave a few words on this post.

Thanks to all you wonderful people to put up with my continual absence. I will make up for the time (and posts) I have lost offlate in the coming days. :)

NOTE: The first person narrative doesn't suggest anything. I hope you'll enjoy the write though. :)
You, yes you it is I am writing about tonight. I always had words for you, about you but there are words which have become you. It is but just another day's story.

I live life these days like a movie made of jumping frames, each more beautiful than the previous one. Or maybe that is an illusion too because when the older frames return again, from the collage of memories, they appear more beautiful than before. In sepia, in black and white, in mellow warm pastel shades, in shocking fun hues, in a milieu of rainbows, these days I enclose the entire world within me. It is resolute, and, the feeling of being whole encompasses every other trivial emotion. You smiling – toothy, mischievous or loving, you frowning upon the mundane or important, you with the dazed look frozen on your face, eyes lost - trying to find the “why” of some distant thought, it is all about you - the frames that whoosh by me as I close my eyes.


And, then you talk to me in a broken, slightly sore baritone. I like how my voice sounds against yours, like a rising crescendo, when we both try to speak at the same time. I love it when we both laugh together, and I realise how my voice must have been like unaccompanied vocals without the deep bass base, until you and yours filled the void. To me it feels like a brush of the rough against the soft, really.


It comforts me to know that I can comfort you. That probably, only I can give all your childhood dreams back, and you would believe in all the fairytales of hope and faith and trust and magic. I want you to go back in time and find that self of yours who believed that everything in this world is beautiful and nothing can ever go wrong. I want you to build castles in air again, dream a new dream everyday. I want you to know, someone is there to take care of you and no matter what, she would turn every wrong right for you if need be. Just believe, just know, just let yourself float in this space, shoot for the stars if you wish to.


So, after all the play, when the kid comes home, I want him to bring me back stories from his day; I want him to splash colourful tales on me; as I absorb his ecstatic and beatific energy. I want to watch him in frames again, in awe, everyday. And then, as I am watching him yet, I want to blow beautiful dreams to his dazzling zealous eyes. When silence and fiery peace of the night engulfs us, I want to sing to him, only plain songs. Simple and childlike, just like him. I want the kid to close his eyes and drift off to sleep, to wake up to only me and warm sunny mornings.


Why can’t I fall asleep baby as you sleep?

If there were reasons less, I might have shared


Should I tell you about the ardour and the cares, in my heart that gently seep

Or how I wish to kiss you on your forehead, but I would not have dared

For I wish to watch you sleep, breathing slow

Your limp fingers curled around mine, still, as I hold on

If only you could see, how I lie by your side, wrapped in a warm glow

How can I take my eyes away from something so golden and brawn?


It is then that I wish to live for you and not me

It is then I fear the dawn and not the dark

It is then I realise, it is us and not I or He

It is then that I don’t wish to fall asleep, ever again, only if you would sleep right next to me

From now, always.


At home

The same old dream...

The end and the beginning [yes, in the same order] are contorted myths. The concept of infinity [and eternity if you will] is beguiling, very. Sometimes it is comforting to see it as an assortment of infinite elements [moments] - the countless yet with definite end points. Sometimes as endless, the end approaching the beginning in a continuum.

I like the latter better because it flatters my optimistic rationale more.

I am approaching an end to a 4 year long journey and a beginning too, hopefully, to better and warmer prospects. But why do I call the end or the beginning a Myth? Because I realise I haven't really changed as much I thought I had. I may have evolved, I may have learned better to camouflage myself but I continue to re-live the different events same as before.

Do you see it now, the myth?

And, frankly I am relieved. I really don't wanna change. :)))) So, as much as it offended me a few days ago, I don't mind being the kid who wants to chase things that look fancy. I wish every time I look into this kid's eyes in the mirror, I would find them sparkling with the wonder that life is, the reflected aura of the "things that caught her fancy" and shining with faith that everything is indeed all right.


PS: In ref with Here Comes The Sun - I have indeed found a place to belong, in me, myself.  I have indeed bumped into myself, again.
At home

Nudged and budged, finally!

In the past few weeks I received quite a few nudges and this post is *dedicated* to all of them. So, all those who might find the post worthless, I was urged to post something and hence this. :P

It amazes me how often we seek shelter in past glories. I was going through an old classmate's blog about school and felt mildly amused.
I also reminisced those days with a smile plastered on my face, I knew I was smiling because I could feel the cheek muscles urging to go back into the grumpy scowl or the normal - apathetic bearing on my countenance.

There are two sets of people, not mutually exclusive:
a) Those who were the stars in school times.
b) Those were/are stars thereafter.

There is this third kind who are the most interesting to know. The non-stars.

The non-stars could very well shoot for the stars too. They make up the silent admirers, the snobs of highest degree who would NOT mingle with the lowlife filth - the ones who suffer from the compulsive disorder to shoot for the stars, the complaisant, and, the complacent too.

What bothers me most is, these - the non-stars seldom share their perspective. If they are of the complaisant sort, they would rephrase your convictions. If they are complacent, they hardly care. I do not say approval and appreciation from others should be the soul motivating factor but how can you live your entire life without ever feeling the need to be heard, or the need to voice.

Coming back to school. In today's time, the focus largely lies on being outspoken, outgoing. While everything is about "out" where is the "in"? And, how long are we s'pposed to keep going "out" without ever trespassing one's own self? It is often the most uncomfortable terrain to walk upon.

Tell yourself a story someday, sing yourself a lullaby. It feels nice. :)
At home

Lost Horizon

I close my eyes

And it’s a lost horizon

With open skies -

Brilliant blues

Streaked with whites;

I could chase the breeze

Or just float by;

Time is humbled

I can pace up or slow down;

I don’t need a way

For when I close my eyes

Anyway, it’s a lost horizon

With flowers growing wild -

Rainbow of colours

Splashed on gaiety greens;

There are no butterflies

But I could flutter by;

Why freeze frames in pictures?

When I can close my eyes

To find a lost horizon

Where no shadows crawl by;



If only you could close your eyes

And see what lies behind...

It’s a lost horizon!

Photo Credit : Here