Peridot World

Coffee With Peridot? Uh, I don't think so!

2011-12-03T10:10:00.001-08:00

Just this morning, I was told that I am finally complicated enough that I can start my very own show, ‘Coffee With Peridot’. So Khandu, this is for you, just so you know how badly my show would run if I took up your reccomendation...!

‘Coz the first thing I’d talk about is that my sister is engaged! YEAY! Finally, finally, FINALLY, I get to pull her leg, and she cannot do a thing about it…!

And one of my cousins’ engaged. And another just got married this Thursday. Another’s getting engaged next month. A fourth gave birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy just last Sunday…!

And if you think that is hectic, what're you going to say when I tell you that I've finally got a job at a sane company? No more 50 year old colleagues! No more being the youngest employee with no one to talk to!

I’m moving out – tomorrow – flying off to a real job in a proper MNC, with a good JD!!! All you poor people who’ve had to bear my whining the last couple years, you’re free! No more whining!! (at least for the next couple months :P)

So yes, feeling a bit left out to be the only unhitched cousin in the entire extended family, but it’s alright. I’ve got a sister to torture, two cousins to back me up after her and a whole new avenue to look out at…

And of course, Bhai, my newest brother-in-law! Oh, is he sweet! Of course, I’m sure if that’s to get my sister on his good side (Just kidding Bhai! :P)! It is simply beautiful when I’m talking about the pounding going on above-stairs (there’s some renovation work going on) and suddenly my sister brings up her new fiancé, totally unrelated might they be!

New love, I tell you… Sigh!

So all in all, life’s good. It can (and will) get better, but for now, to have a good job in hand (FINALLY!!!), a newly engaged sister (and to get her to blush so prettily!), and an elder brother figure who, for the first time in my life, offered to beat up someone who made me upset!

Aah… Life’s good when it’s all figured out, flop though my morning coffee show will be!

What Say Your Mumma?

2011-09-09T05:32:00.001-07:00

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She made me stay abed for days on nigh when I was unwell. But when she took a major fall and was all trussed up in bandages and cream, she tottered up early in the morning to the kitchen. When asked why, she told us her daughter was getting late for office and if not for her, would leave on an empty stomach. She is my mother.

She scolded me when I complained of a stomach bug to her on a holiday trip. I was branded an unsavory person who knew not how to control her food urges and caused everyone trouble when attacked by acidity. A couple of days later she caught the bug and couldn’t walk for a week. That was five years ago and she still can’t forgive herself for her comments. She is my mother.

I was a teenager in the throes of adolescence. I came home hours after curfew was set. The shouting match which ensued was loud and fierce. She had to turn away with a frown on her face. The tears which shimmered in her eyes then, rise up still when the day is mentioned. She is my mother.

My elder sister had come first not only in her class, but in the entire grade. I had scraped a bare eleventh in my class. The teachers all praised her and looked down their noses at me. Fellow students clapped her shoulder and bestowed perfunctory smiles at me. Relatives called to congratulate her and didn’t bother to speak to me. I felt my confidence slither low and blamed myself for all my follies. But when She congratulated my sister and bought her a gift, she made sure I had one too. She is my mother.

The teacher had called in my mother to class. I had lost my homework for the umpteenth time and they knew not what to do with me. I was named a Problem Child, and the Principal shook his head gravely at me. But She combed my hair the next day as she prepared me for school and tied a pretty band around my ponytail. She told me to face up to those who looked down at me and prove to them that I was worthy. She is my mother.

I was in college and in the depth of depression. Nothing was going my way, and only hurt was imminent. I was blundering about and losing all things I deemed important for me. In the midst of my Crisis, I was called home from college because it was close-by and she had a lesion on her leg which needed to be treated. Her leg hurt and she could barely stand. While at the doctor’s, the only solution to my depression seemed to me in the form of a particular snack. That snack took on the form of every little and big thing that caused me pain. Everybody else called me selfish when I wished to have the snack. But She made me drive down to the snack-bar and buy the snack for myself on the way home from the doctor’s. She is my mother.

She’s strict and unemotional and fussy and points out all the little flaws in me at every opportunity.

She’s warm and brave and strong and protects me from all those who dare to pick at the slightest of my flaws.

She is my mother.

For Anna Hazare

2011-08-16T22:28:00.001-07:00

The Anna Hazare Movement
If you think Govt = corruption, you are a part of it
If you want a developed India, you are a part of it
If you have ever had to pay a bribe, you are a part of it

'Coz we aren't BJP, or Congress, or Political..
We Are Indian..!
Free Anna Hazare!
http://www.avaaz.org/en/free_anna_fb/97.php?cl_tta_sign=8c1c9d8385f1d754115470601adc9317

Travails of the Nose Boogie

2011-08-07T22:38:00.001-07:00

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So I'm sitting there all quiet like. Not a peep or a twitch. Cocooned so beautifically in my warm cave. And then I'm gourged out. Ripped cruelly by long talons and dug up from plateaus so silent..!

You won't believe the places where I've been dug up at! Bus stations and train bogeys and schoolrooms and cinema theaters. Waiting for your mate? Dig me out! Stuck at a traffic signal? Stick that finger into your nose! That book you're reading getting too monotonous? What're you waiting for? Pull me out!

And those historical ruins where I end up! Under the writing desk, edges of the bus seat, last pages of the notebook, and my personal horror, the caverns of the mouth..! Even bring rolled into a tiny sphere and flicked into nothingness beats that last one.

You know what irks me bad? When you have a really bad cold. You sniff and you sneeze all day and that thin cotton hanky you varry gets fated to have me blown into it. And then you peek into that little piece of cloth every single time. Why do you have to pull a face when you do that? I mean, you KNOW what you're gonna find already, and you still look just to make a face.

Like what did you expect to see? Diamonds?

It's really unfair, you know? Why this cruel treatment to me? Do you treat my cousins that way? Oh no, the Earwax gets the special treatment. A soft bud to coax him out and then straight into the bin so he can start his own life. No public birthings for him. No stick-on-the-wall or horr0or creature stories of that one!

But me, you've made into the Bogieman. The Bogieman, for God's sake? Did your creativity have to die off just then? Why couldn't I get a name just a bit more glamorous, huh? Something like the Snot Monster or Sticky Star would have been just fine.

And then you rub in salt by making me out to be some kind of a psychopath out to get children who don't eat their vegetables and stay up too late. Who cares if they don't sleep? I certainly do not, thank you very much. So I'd be grateful if you'd stop inventing the stuff of nightmares out of me.

Especially when I put MY kids to sleep by putting in them the fear of itsy bitsy baby fingers digging out naughty nose boogies from runny caves straight into kiddie mouths.

YOU'RE the stuff of OUR nightmares!

You, and the nicknames your kind give us. 'Jungle King' one babe in squeaky shoes called me! I nearly fainted out of her nose. And then of course, her mom had to have me blown out of her nose and into a silky hanky. And then open the hanky to peer at me.

One of these days, I'm going to learn to metamorphose into diamonds.

Jar of Hearts

2011-07-02T02:41:00.001-07:00

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A dark sky envelops the horizon. Brilliant stars pierce the cloudy realms in the churn. The rush of air outside my speeding coach drowns out most sounds from the surrounds.

A mewling from a baby drifts through the darkness. The soft notes of a lullaby which follows brings on the sting of tears.

So close yet so far, the last step forward too heavy. A coach full of hearts, and not one of those hearts belongs to me. A city bustling with spirits, not one aligned to mine.

To whom do I belong? Where is my Jar of Hearts? Hundreds of radiant minds I’ve met since I first drew breath, and how many of those do I remember now?

There is this part of me which is always waiting. Waiting in the quiet, waiting for rejection. For I know not whom to trust. Or on whom to rely.

Each to-day I meet new persons, so similar to yester-day. And all so wonderful, all so happy and gay. All so kind and all nice they say.

And sadly yester-day, some of them simply wore masks. And left me blind to see through the colourful sketches drawn on. And to-day is no different, for I know not to find the mask, to tear it off.

So how do I collect my Jar of Hearts, how do I let loose my kite? How do I know whom to trust. Or on whom to rely.

I stand alone. I know none to be with me. I remember faces flying past my mind’s eye. Memory fails when I look for those who never made me cry. And still I pull forward, for to stand still is to be left behind.

Yet to cling is to know that I stand weak. How much longer can I hold on? How do I know I won’t be left behind? How do I risk my heart out there with those unkind?

How do I believe? How many do I search ‘till I fill my Jar of Hearts? For I know not whom to trust. Or on whom to rely.

All I know is that the sky is dark pierced with brilliant stars. And I wander alone with my Jar of Hearts. I stumble, I fall, but I'll play my part.

So long as I have my Jar of Hearts.

Rich, Rich, RICH!

2011-06-02T04:11:00.001-07:00

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I’m going to be rich! Yes, rich! And not in petty thousands, but millions! Ha!

But shush, it’s a secret… My business partner doesn’t want me to divulge info on how I got the money he’s going to bestow on me. But you know me. I can’t shut up about such things, can I?

You see, I received a secret email from Dissue M Koromah the son of a late Seirra leonian Colenel, matthin Koromah who died many years ago when the revolutionary united front rebels(Okay, this getting too long) who was attacked his residence in Makeni Sierraleon (BTW, has any one of you heard of this place? I would be obliged to know the country of my benefactor.)

Mr. K wishes to bequeath me with 8.5 Million US Dollars! His dearly departed father made a fortune in diamonds (imagine!) and now the kindly disposed Mr. K wishes to share the bounty. And wonder of wonders! A lucky draw of email ids drew me!

I’d always known ssoggo as going to serve me! Pooh on you, all you who asked me what it ever meant!

I am now officially retiring from my boring, old day-job. I won’t have the time. I have been, after all, given the great responsibility of identifying the business into which Mr. K and I are to invest the vast moneys…

And of course, Mr. K has so very generously offered me 10% as starting commission to generate the wardrobes required for this new lifestyle!

The only hitch, ahem (and this is super, super, SUPER secret), I have to deposit a sum of Rs 100 000 in his bank account first. After all, when Mr. K is willing to share millions, he needs to know I won’t run of with it!

I’m off now. I have to send a reply via email to Mr. K.

Urgently.

He needs that one hundred thousand in his bank account immediately to know my id is not dormant!

So, all ye lesser mortals, take care! I’ll try not to forget you when I become the millionaire I always knew I was destined to be!

A Complete Guide To Hacking An Email Id

2011-05-01T09:22:00.001-07:00

This really works! I've used it, so I thought I'd assist those of you out there who wish to do it too.

This is a very detailed guide to assist you into hacking the email id of any person in virtually any modem. This guide will work on Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, mail.com and almost any other email format you may be using.

If you are using Firefox, please sign out of all your email ides, especially if you have an account in Gmail or Yahoo. Please sign out of your company email account, if you have any. Please do this now before you continue or do not hold us for any problems which might occur later.

If you are using IE, please sign out of all accounts, except Facebook. Facebook accounts will not get affected if in IE in this process. I do not know why. Please do not ask.

Now, go into ‘Start’, and open a windows media player. Along with this open Control Panel and My Computer. Now open a blank notepad (NOTE: Notepad has to be BLANK) and type the following:

I really am a fool to believe this weird process will work.

Alright, alright! That was a joke! Relax! So let us begin the real process now:

1. If you have closed any of the programs you had opened earlier, please open them again, i.e. Windows Media Player, Control Panel, My Computer.

2. Please, please make absolutely sure that you are signed out of ALL email accounts.

3. Now open a notepad (don’t worry, this is not a joke again).

4. Type: I really, really am a fool to be caught in the same thing twice!

Ha! Got you! Again! Seriously, if you were a hacker-aspirer, and you’re still here, I’ve not had anybody more shameless here before!

Okay, okay! Don’t blame me! If you try to hack into someone’s id and land upon Google for guidance, you’re bound to suffer! I got the idea from Programmingkid.com, a popular blog I follow. He had stated that hacking was the number one thing researched on Google, and this is an experiment I’m trying to increase my blog patronage too.

Many more pranksters out there, some not as innocent as me (come on, the prank was pretty harmless!), so good luck with you hacking research… Send me your thesis when you’re done!

http://programmingkid.com/hack-gmail-password-hacking-gmail-account-password/

Downhill, and No Ropes To Pull You Up

2011-04-14T00:28:00.001-07:00

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Some time back I received an email forward extolling the virtues of the Quarter-life Crisis. Such a comforting thought it was, to know that I’m not the only one suffering out here in this woebegone world, and yet, I would have preferred to be the odd one out!

But what do I call it when I find the most beautiful pair of slippers in a showroom one fine evening, costing only about half of a ten thousand? When the allure of crystalline heels and strappy boot flaps on discount becomes too hard to resist? And when I remember that it’s not Papa dearest who’s gonna be making the payment, but me, and so I turn away?

What do I call it when I change not one, not two but three jobs in two years? When I find out after being stuck in a job I intensely dislike that I made a mistake in choosing the money and not the profile? When I think about myself twenty years ago, and what I am now was not at all what I had in mind then?

Is it still a mid-life crisis when I step into the beauty parlor with a beautiful mane and step out with a shorn pate-like stilt of hair? When I step into the parlor the next day to turn the slick look into wild curls? And when I return the day after to get it all cut off, and the receptionist simpers about what an excellent customer I am?

I met a friend the other day at the mall, and the poor soul was burdened with little nieces and nephews, all screaming their heads off. Was it still a crisis that she had the authority to herd them back home safely, but not the authority to keep them in line with a raised voice? When passers-by smirked that the woman did not know how to keep her children in check?

A single day trip out of station gets you thinking on finances. And being stranded with an over-the-head billed credit card and an empty debit card is no joke I tell you! Three servicing trips for one motorbike in one month, an entire month’s pay gone in seconds as you pay overdue bills, an entire year’s saving struck down by a single trip to the beautiful, beautiful boutique!

Life is no longer about heartbreaks, or wanting to meet someone decent, or falling in love with infinite number of people anymore. It’s about just settling down, wherever you are, pushing roots into the soil and creating an ambiance of being at home. Your home. And your life partner can come along and join you after this is done.

Or you’re already married to the guy of your dreams and it’s about making sure you have support from him so that you can give support in return. You don’t care about whirlwind romances or romantic candle lights anymore because you now know it’s the small gestures which count. A hand-held walk down a busy street means much more than a boring dinner breathing in candle fumes.

You have your set of principles and your life should run according to them, and then something comes up and your whole world starts to fall about your ears. And you go running home to lick your wounds in peace and you realize that sometimes it’s easier to just live and let live. And at others, it’s important to stick to your values and beliefs. And you have no idea how to define these two times from each other.

You miss your friends, but on the crazy time this world runs on, you have no space to keep in touch. And when you do, you are insecure about your place in their lives because you’ve been so far away from them for so long now. And at the end of the whole perplexing, baffling confusion, you stop for a second and think that maybe your friend is going through the same conflict.

And you’re looking to get a job which you think would suit you, but either the pay is really bad, or the profile is not open, or you don’t have enough years of experience for it. And you rant and rave at God that He’s ruining your life, and that He doesn’t care and that you hate Him. And God in his great way, ignores your outburst and goes on, knowing that in twenty years you’re gonna be glad things were the way they are now.

Is this still quarter-life crisis? Or maybe it’s past quarter-century of your life crisis. I’ve crossed twenty-five, and I can’t seem to find a steady rock on which to place my foot. Everything is rolling downhill and no ropes dangle about me to pull me up.

Life is scary, and the only comfort I find is in the confines of my newest dress. Sure, it cost me a pretty penny, but the embrace of the soft silk and the outrageous cut of the fabric is sweeter than the sweetest energy drink in the whole product line!

Logic

2011-03-21T09:21:00.001-07:00

I received a lovely SMS today evening.. I thought I just had to share it here! Some Very Logical Statements: 1. Make peace with your PAST so it doesn't spoil your PRESENT 2. What OTHERS think about YOU is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!! (Boy, do I need to start applying this to myself!) 3. Time heals almost everything... Just give Time some time (Yeah, brought the proverbial tear to my eye too) 4. No one is responsible for your happiness except You yourself (makes a nice change from all those silly ones which blame you for your unhappiness, doesn't it?) 5. Don't compare your life with that of others'; You have no idea of what their journey is all about (I find this a bit hard to accept and agree to when I see EASY LUCK in some people's lives, and some real HARD LUCK in others'...) 6. STOP thinking so much! It's alright not to know all the answers (Yes, this is for you DD Cheque! :]) 7. SMILE! You don't own ALL the problems in the world.. (Yeah, only about 99% of them :P) 8. There is much to be learnt for a pair of walking legs; The foot that's at the front knows no FALSE EGO (they called it pride, but I think these words are better suited) and the foot that's at the back knows no SHAME. THEY BOTH KNOW THEIR SITUATION WILL CHANGE! Lovely statements, aren't they? And very intriguingly inspiring, yet humbling... Thanks AP!

An Ode to My Professor, An Ode to My Friend...

2011-03-21T05:25:00.001-07:00

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You made us laugh, you made us cry. With every breath we took, you made us alive!

Your wit and your cynicism, they were your tools.

Never was there a class you did not let us leave feeling rue.

But the load of work, the assignments and the 3AM deadlines, these were part and parcel of what made us fall in such admiration of you…

By breaking every conventional standard the way of life you did prove!

You shaped each of us into what we are today, you were the guiding hand in many of our lives.

I owe my first job to you Sir, my first top gradesheet, my first re-confidence, my first… For you today my heart cries…

Did you know, Sir, when each of us needed to feel special?

Was that why you had each of us singled out to mark us in your way so real?

Your Mirchi-sms will always stay with us, the after-class sessions many shared with you…

There is much each of us to you holds due.

I can see you shaking your head from up there now, smiling at all your students, indulgent of those who shed tears.

What else can I say, Sir? What else can I do? You were taken away much too soon, much too fast, much too early, and we’ll always miss you.

Thank you for being there and making such a big difference to our lives!

Rest in peace Sir!

Here’s to the undying spirit, the never tiring enthusiasm, the unselfish friendship, the remarkable humor and as V.S. put it, the 64-year-old guy who had multiple 25-year-olds drooling over him…!!

Ashram 01 - Break A Path

2011-03-18T22:36:00.001-07:00

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I'm paving the ground for the next book right now. The Hero Aditya and the Heroine Sharayu meet Rajkumar Dhruv at the lady's hermitage, the Rajkumar's ladylove in tow. What do you think of them abnd their banter? Easy? Irritating? Too noisy? Too quiet? Complicated? Or just plain romantic?

And what do you think about the conversation the Yuvraj and the Rajkumar have?

Dhruv.

Rajkumar of Palasida.

His friend Dhruv. Here.

Impulsively, he grasped his arms and shook him hard. Dhruv thumped him on the back.

“Adi!” he said again, his voice as surprised as Aditya felt.

“Dhruv… You’re all right!”

Dhruv caught his arm back and grinned. “’Course I am!” he said.

“How’d you come to be here?” Aditya asked. Dhruv shook his head and pulled his arm out of Aditya’s grasp. Aditya hesitated to let go, but had to.

“I came with Ramcharan,” Dhruv said, and reaching behind himself, he gestured. A lady clad in black stepped out from behind the ruins of the hut. At Dhruv’s wave, she came down to join them.

“My dear lady Ramcharan,” Dhruv said, “May I introduce you to Yuvraj Aditya?”

The lady scowled at his friend, but when she looked past him and at Aditya, she was smiling. Joining her hands in the normal way, she bowed slightly.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord,” she said. Aditya raised his brows, but bowed back.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” he said softly. The lady looked up at him and dimpled.

She was an exquisite creature. Dark hair flowed loose down past her waist. Black eyes lined with kohl looked coolly at him in an assessing sort of way. Glowing dusky skin complimented the eyes. A lush figure was hidden beneath shapeless black manly garments.

“Ramcharan?” he queried. Coral lips quirked.

“As much as the lord’s name is Sunderi,” she retorted. Aditya was surprised for a moment. Then he realized she meant Dhruv.

“Sunderi!” he shouted, looking at his friend. Dhruv stepped back and dropped into a lavish bow. Aditya burst into laughter. Reaching out, he caught Dhruv’s arm again. It was good to have his friend back.

The older lady had returned to the courtyard and she walked over to them.

“My lords,” she said, and both Dhruv and Aditya turned to her.

“Jwala – Sharayu,” Aditya said, “How is she?” The lady looked at him and nodded her head.

“She is well,” she said, laying her hand gently on his arm, “I thank you for bringing her home.”

“I – She…”

“She’s sleeping,” she said, “I thought it best for now.”

“Yes,” Aditya agreed.

“I am Sharada, wife of Hrishi Bharadwaj,” the lady continued, “Please, if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask me.” Aditya folded his palms and made his Pranaam to her.

“Of course, my lady,” he said, palms still folded. “I am Yuvraj Aditya Hansraj. If there is any way I could serve you, please allow me to do so.” Lady Sharada placed her hand on his head in blessing and smiled. As she walked away, Aditya turned back to Dhruv, still perplexed.

If Dhruv was here, had everybody else also escaped the Ashram? But no. His Jwala had said at least one of them would have to be there always.

“How did you two come here?” he asked. Dhruv looked away from Aditya to Ramcharan, frowning. She seemed to look back a challenge at him, her chin tilted.

“I – She found me at the Ashram,” he said noncommittally, “Do you know there is a story about us – some legend?”

“Seven years,” Aditya said heavily. Dhruv nodded. The lady Ramcharan discretely moved away, and Dhruv led Aditya past the ruined gardens and to the outer path.

“I don’t even remember anything of what happened before,” Dhruv said seriously, “Just that Ramcharan fell over me and I awoke… It’s all so strange.”

“What about the others?” Aditya asked him, “Where were they?” Dhruv shrugged.

“I was alone,” he said, “The Ashram was bleak, nobody else around…”

“And the others?” Aditya persisted, “Lakshman, Sarvesh, Atreya?”

“They weren’t there. Why?” Dhruv asked, puzzled. Aditya didn’t reply. If Dhruv didn’t know the whole legend, he wasn’t going to tell him. It wasn’t above Dhruv to volunteer to be the one to be at the Ashram for all eternity.

Dhuv jumped over a small bundle of sticks on the path and blocked his path. “Well?” he asked, and from the frown on his face, Aditya knew he was better off without the extra knowledge.

“Nothing,” he said, “Worried about them.”

“Mother Hen,” Dhruv ribbed, and Aditya laughed. They began to walk again.

A slow breeze was blowing and cool air wafted from the River Yamuna.

“What’s this about Sunderi and Ramcharan?” Dhruv moved his shoulders evasively and bent to kick a stone from his path.

“Don’t ask me yet,” he said.

“Another fling?” Aditya asked.

Dhruv blushed.

Wild, handsome, jovial Dhruv, the most notorious rake amongst his seven friends, blushed. If that was what the light colour in his cheeks could be called.

“No,” he said and he stopped to watch the stone bound down the grassy slope to the river. “Not this time.” Aditya looked away from pensively.

“We have to do something about this hermitage,” he said. Dhruv gladly grasped the new topic.

“Yes!” he said, turning back to Aditya with a fierce light in his eyes. “Do you know what happened! Those rascals!” Aditya side-stepped him and jumped into the water.

“Yes. The Jwala – Sharayu. She came to look for me at the Ashram.”

“Jwala, huh?” Dhruv said diving in too. When he came up again and caught the look on Aditya’s face, he quickly sobered. “So bad, is it?”

Aditya ignored that. “She came to the Ashram to look for me to save the hermitage.”

“Alone?” Dhruv asked, surprised. “I’ve been here a couple nights now. The people here thought she’d been killed… Sharayu, daughter of Hrishi Alankara, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Aditya said.

“I think her father is dead.” Aditya looked at Dhruv appalled. There was no more amusement in Dhruv’s face.

Aditya closed his eyes tiredly. This news would strike his little Jwala too deep. Once again, he wished he could go to her and assure her that he would set everything right. But she was sleeping.

“I promised her I would help her save her hermitage,” he said. When Dhruv didn’t reply, he opened his eyes to see him frowning slightly. “She doesn’t know how to ride a horse, you know. Yet she came. All alone. Just to search for me in the Ashram.”

There was admiration in Dhruv’s face now. “Really,” he said interestedly.

“Some of her people were abducted.”

“Yes,” Dhruv said, “I wanted to go and save them, but Ramcharan kept insisting she would come too.”

“Don’t you feel there’s something odd about that name?” Aditya asked. Dhruv grinned cheekily.

“Not when she calls me Sunderi,” he replied.

“We can’t take her with us,” Aditya said, “It’s too dangerous.”

“She’s a bandit.” Aditya was surprised at the blunt admission, but not at the news. Her black men’s clothing had said so much.

“Don’t give me that look,” Dhruv said, sounding annoyed.

“Does it make a difference? Her being a bandit?” Aditya asked. Dhruv sighed.

First blushed, now sighed.

“Should it?” he asked. Aditya smiled kindly at his friend. Of all the seven, Dhruv was the youngest, a full two years younger than Aditya himself. Often times, he’d felt a protective sentiment for Dhruv he hadn’t felt as much for the others.

“No.”

“She’ll kill me if I don’t take her with us,” Dhruv said. “I don’t mind you know, but it was too dangerous when it was just her and I. Now with you, I suppose we can take her with us, can’t we?”

Aditya slanted a look at him and dived underwater. Swimming a fast pace, he emerged at the roots of a tree many feet away. Dhruv was paddling toward him much more languidly.

“Yes,” Aditya murmured to the far-away Dhruv softly, “I suppose you need her to come…”

Life Moves On

2011-03-18T21:48:00.001-07:00

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How do I put into words the anguish that eats at me? How do I describe the sadness I feel about thee? Been an year or more since the last we met, an unerring support you were to set…
A friend in need, a friend indeed; But a friend now become two, losing you is now to very rue..!
Know not I if we will remain close… A brother, a sister are what I’ll always remember at the close.

Really silly, actually, when I’ve been out of college for nearly two years now.

In my last post, you read about the friend whose wedding I attended in Kolkata. Well, he’d come to Goa with him wife this last week, and he’s leaving today. It feels all over as if college has just broken and everybody’s leaving for their own homes.

And somehow, for some unknown reason, it feels absolutely devastating! Add my uncertainties to it, and you get a mega mess of sentiments swirling out of control so vividly, a PnJ sandwich seems less messy.

I don’t know when we’ll meet again, whether we’ll be able to keep in touch now he’s married and has a new family, and most importantly, if we’ll remain good friends as we once were… Whether we are good friends as we once were!

But, life moves on. It should! Or it’ll give nothing but worry to my parents and ire to my sister. So I’ve made a list of how life moves on. It’s falling a little short, however, and I hope to supplement as I go on:

1. Join a new gym! – I’ve found this gym which offers lose 9kg in 9weeks kind of thingy… I’m thinking about joining it IF my sis or a friend or ANYONE at all gives me company. Going to new gyms freaks me out!!!

2. My new novel..! – Oh yeah! You’ve read the little excerpts I’ve written haven’t you? I’m expanding it, turning it into a full-fledged book, with the only problem being my office timings and my writing timings clashing! Grr...!!

3. Jogging? – That’s a BIG question. I used to go jogging every evening for some time just before leaving for the wedding. But lately since coming back, I’ve just lacked the energy.
Ditto with the morning walks.

4. Sister Time! – It’s about time I start to devote myself to my sister. Di, or DD Cheque as I call her (she was my bank account during my college days) will be out of here soon. How many days have I left with her here now?

5. New Wedding! AND the grand summary of it all, some other friends will be getting married soon, and I have THAT to look forward to!

And add to it all that I’m still looking to job-shift. Am I sounding pathetic or what! But anyway…

Life moves on, it won’t wait for me to catch up just because I’m mourning my college days. And besides, I wouldn’t even want to go back to those college days. As good as they were, the days that followed after it ended taught me life’s reality.

Life’s importance with respect to having your parents close by, caring for them in the simple way of being there at home just because they want you to…

Life’s importance in having a suitable job, when you know you can easily earn double what you’re earning right now if you take on a simpler job but not bring able to do so because you need to work according to your qualifications!

Life’s importance about always being there when it moves on. Because in the long run if you wait back, you’re the one to lose.

And no matter what may happen, Peridot SSOGGO will never be classified as a loser. That’s a promise.

Wedding Blues..!!!

2011-03-16T03:16:00.001-07:00

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I had the most beautiful time recently. A most unexpectedly, beautifully amazing time in a city so far away from home. A city which offered so much that I hardly missed home.

It was my friend’s wedding last week, and since I’d been preparing to attend his wedding from the day he announced his parents were thinking of hitching him up, I HAD to go.

So there I am, all decked up, with two large suitcases full of formal clothes and cosmetics and stuff, waiting impatiently at the airport terminal in Goa for the flight to arrive. My friend had insisted that I stay at his home for the function, and that all us friends attend all the functions, right from the ‘haldi’ to the reception.

And right there at the airport, I’m having nerve attacks. I’ve never met his family before. I’ve never left home for a city totally unknown all alone before (well, I have, but that’s for another time). I’m not sure I’m considered the closest of his friends to impose myself on his family at his wedding.

But what to do?

The plane ticket has been bought, my parents have left the airport and I’m already at the departure gates. Aah, but one thing’s pushing me on! A new place, with new people and lots of bachelors and bachelorettes…! Ahem, ahem. I suppose you get the meaning (Or perhaps I should be praying you do not!)!!!

The plane arrives, I get on, love the window seat, sit back to admire the clouds and lightning crashing in the turbulent skies. A really nice cluster of neighbors admire the view with me in the rocking plane (more about that later…).

And finally, I arrive at the NSCBI airport at Kolkata, dragging my luggage off the tracks. My friend is waiting for me just outside.

My dear friend, who had been fighting viral fever until a few hours before, has left a battalion of relatives back at his house, and driven all the way to the airport nearly an hour away from his home, just to pick me up…

And when we reach his home, his family is the kindest, sweetest bunch you can imagine! I was to stay at my friend’s sister’s place, and the hospitality her family gave me would put the Taj to shame!

After a few hours there, I’m as much a part of the wedding festivities as anybody else there. The bride is brought home, and she’s an absolute darling! I’m given the honor of being her squire when her husband is not around, and the sweet, demure girl strikes an instant chord with me.

The tiny niece and nephews my friend has been bragging about the last few years are all agog at the new ‘aunty’ from Goa. One kid of eight years tells me she cannot call me aunty because I’m not married yet. The other kid, a really mature child of eleven has no such qualms. When I address the bride as bhabi, the kids follow suit, much to their uncle, the groom’s chagrin..!

Uncleji introduces me to all his relatives proudly, and my friends sisters are excellent company. The aunts and cousins are beautiful people, plying me with sweets and mishthi and I feel like an honorary guest.

Finally, the three extraordinary days are over. I have to catch a flight at 5.30 the next morning, and my friend’s jijaji, the nephew and Uncleji drop me off at the airport in the early hours. As the car drives off, I feel an emptiness filled with longing inside of me.

Isn’t it wonderful when you find such great people so unexpectedly? I had not imagined I would have such wonderful company, that I’d find new acquaintances, new friends in a strange place I was so apprehensive about…

And yet, how could I doubt it?

And now back home, talking to my parents non-stop about the kindest family (besides mine) I’ve ever known, I feel a gratitude for being able to go to Kolkata.

For not only did the trip boost my confidence (EVERYBODY called me beautiful and nice! Can you imagine it?! Me?????!!!!), it gave me a chance to study different cultures, a chance to meet my friend anew and most importantly, some very new, very beautiful friends…

Yeah, I didn’t meet any bachelors I liked (I’m too choosy!) but what the heck! I got a bit of a new wardrobe!

Ashram 01 - I Really Can't Help It!

2011-02-25T23:28:00.001-08:00

Yep. I really can't help it. I've just written the first twist in the story, and the main plot has been revealed. I just HAD to share it here...

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“I got some of these,” he said, laying the leaf down and uncovering it. Inside was a whole feast. Some ripe yellow bananas. A bunch of green grapes glistening in the sun. A couple of pears and a small cluster of figs.

“It’s not much, but…”

“You forget I am a Hrishi’s daughter, my lord,” Sharayu said, “I am quite used to such fare. I thank you for it.” She picked up one of the figs. The Yuvraj kept the leaf next to her and sat on down on a rock opposite. For some reason, sitting together like this was very homely.

Sharayu finished her fig and picked up another. They were sweet, tangent fruit, savory for a morning like today. The Yuvraj had a pear in his hand, and he smiled to her.

“You’re welcome,” he said. For a while they ate in silence. There was only one more fig left. Sharayu looked at it tempted, but then passed it over in favor of the grapes.

“Did you expect to meet Lakshman at the Ashram?” the Yuvraj asked. Sharayu looked up at him, surprised.

“Yes,” she said, “I thought I would find all of you there. Wasn’t he there?”

Aditya frowned at her.

“Why should he be there?” he asked.

“Because all of you were to be there,” she answered, “I hadn’t thought I’d find you so easily, really. What with the horrors surrounding the Ashram and everything…” She shook her head and plucked a grape off the bunch.

“What horrors?” Aditya asked. She looked at him then, a very somber look on her face.

“The Ashram.” If it was to be an answer, it was a very inadequate one, and he said so. Blushing furiously, she stood up.

“The Ashram, my lord! Don’t you remember anything? How do you think you were there?”

Now he came to think of it, what had he been doing there? Placing his fingers on his temple, Aditya tried to remember why he’d decided to sleep in such a desolate place. Why he’d gone to visit such a desolate place.

“You don’t remember,” she sounded concerned, and hobbled toward him. “What is the last thing you know?”

The last thing he knew? “I don’t know,” he said, “I can’t remember anything...” He stood up himself, and walked away toward the stream. Tossing the half-eaten pear into the water, he turned to face her.

“Why did you say you’d expected to find all of us there?” he asked.

“Because I did,” she replied, “Don’t you remember fighting with the daitya?” The daitya, the demon monster. Yes, he remembered the beast alright. A mix-breed of a wild cat and a human, a crass science experiment by a mad Hrishi.

The damned thing had run riot around the forests, destroying human life, crops and disupting Ashrams. Add to this the rumor that the creature had been granted a boon by Lord Shiva that the one to slay the monster would be resigned to death themselves!

The Hrishis at Saint Kathali’s Ashram had summoned Aditya and his group of friends from their Gurukul to tackle the beast and kill it.

“You remember?” He looked up at Sharayu and nodded.

“We killed the thing,” he said, “Took us bloody- took us nearly the whole day, but we cornered it and killed it.”

“And do you remember what happened after that?” she asked.

Aditya tried to remember. Focusing hard on the fight, on the moment when he’d felt his sword drive deep into the creature’s chest, Aditya tried to remember. But he’d been too weak by then, much injured himself in the fight.

“No,” he said, fearing she would have the answer, “What happened?”

She looked uneasy. Waving her hands in the air, she pointed at him, then the gushing stream behind him.

“Gosh, I never thought you would actually not know!” she said, anxiously, “You and all your friends… You died. Or everyone thought you did. It was said to be because of the boon granted to the daitya. But then the Hrishimunis, they kept you in the Ashram, and declared that all of you had been sent into an enchanted sleep. And they did some yagn and said when something with the stars and their constellations happened, you would become alright…”

Aditya stared at her, a feeling of dread starting in his stomach.

“I had thought I’d find all of you still sleeping when I found you,” she hobbled closer to him, her hands fluttering about her hair, “Are – are you alright?”

Aditya couldn’t speak. “That Ashram,” he manage finally, “Why did you think there would be horrors there?”

She looked at him quizzically, nervously. “That was Hrishi Kathali’s Ashram. Or had been, at least. They kept you there and everybody said there were all kinds of charms and spells cast on it to keep away intruders.”

That ugly, barren land had been Hrishi Kathali’s Ashram!

Closing his eyes, Aditya remembered the lush greenery of the Ashram he had known. Wild deer coming in to graze. Young disciples and saintly Hrishis. Blustering lads and blushing maidens. The prosperous huts and temples.

“And the others?” he asked, “Lakshman and Atreya and…” he trailed off at the look on her face.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I seriously don’t. But–”

“But?” Aditya asked, stepping closer to her. She limped away from him. Almost mechanically, he caught her arm and led her to the rocks. “But?” he asked when she was seated again.

She was wringing her hands nervously now. “But the legend. Everybody knows the legend. You’re famous for it!”

“But?” Aditya asked, his voice getting a dangerous edge now. She paled and dropped her hands into her lap.

“But the legend,” she repeated. “It says that at least one of the Princes should remain in enchanted sleep forever more. Not all of you can recover.”

Ashram 01 - Part II

2011-02-21T02:00:00.001-08:00

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In my last post, you read about Sharayu, the valiant lady out in search of her Prince to get him to rescue her friends. Now we find the Prince in the dreaded Ashram. Are you interested..?

Yuvraj Aditya Hansraj opened his eyes sleepily. It was a huge effort to stay awake. He raised his hand to his head, grunting with the exertion of it. His head prickled uncomfortably, and a strange sensation of having overslept assailed his heavy hands.

A faint tinkling sound, such as that of a bell carried lightly in the cool air. A temple, he thought absently.

With a sudden jerk, he pulled himself upright. His back and hands ached in protest. But the movement had cleared the sleepiness, and his head cleared. Breathing a little more freely, Aditya looked around.

What was this place?!

He was sitting on rough ground. On a raised dais made of hard earth. A dark shadow was cast over him by a Banyan tree sharing the dais, vastly broad at its full height. But even if not for the Banyan tree, it was dark.

A bright moon shimmered low on the horizon, taunting in its vigor. The strong light it lent gave a pale glow to the surroundings.

Bleak surroundings, for all the glow they had. Dismal land stretched out on all sides, only to be swallowed by gnarly trees in the far distance. Saplings of lesser plants eased the stubbiness of the stark plains. A network of shrubbery assailed the land on one side, a group of thatched huts on the other.

Groaning at the stiffness in his limbs, Aditya pushed off the ground and stumbled to his feet. The place did not seem any brighter from a few feet up. But it did afford more of a view.

A wicker gate ran around the furthest part of the grounds, bordering the woods outside. Aditya followed the uneven sticks of wood along the perimeter with his eyes. Over a slope they went, and past a still, dull pond. Half-falling to the ground where they bordered the shrubbery, and sturdiest at a barren terrain furthest from where he stood.

Perplexed, Aditya rubbed his hand over his head. His palm brushed over a roughened chin and trailed over silky hair above his broad forehead. A golden chain holding a ruby pendant carved into the shape of a fiery sun snagged into his fingers, and Aditya traced the chain around his head.

For the first time in his life, the weight of the ruby against his brows felt unfamiliar.

Where was he?!

The mystery was starting to get at him, and Aditya jumped off the dais, ignoring the crick in his legs. The place was so bleak, there weren’t even any animals about. Not a sparrow foraging in the soils. Not a stray dog hounding around.

Not a soul for miles around! And yet the faintly tinkling bell persisted.

He started to walk toward the sound, but his left leg cramped beneath him. Kneeling on the ground in pain, Aditya grimaced. This could not go on. Pushing himself off the ground again, Aditya jumped into the air. Again, and then again and again, until he felt the blood flowing again in his tired legs.

Slowly, the cramp receded.

Swiping a broken twig off the ground, he began to walk briskly in the direction of the tinkling bell. As if to thwart him, the sound stopped. But Aditya kept walking in the direction the sound had come from. Toward the thorny shrubbery.

Untitled

2011-02-18T01:40:00.001-08:00

I'm thinking of starting a new plot. A historical adventure set in 1300s, India. I've got a full plot set out, and all my characters lined up to take their bow before stepping on stage. And here's my first page for the first piece... Do tell me what you think of it!

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The horse and its rider thudded over the hard ground, swirling droves of crinkly leaves in its wake. Thin moonlight filtered stingily through the thickly clustered trees of the forest. Light just enough for the rider to spot tiny creatures flitting underfoot. Light enough, for the horse to sense larger branches littering its path.

The rider was a mere figure huddled over the neck of the horse, certainly no expert. Rather, a novice in the business of horse-riding. Fibrils of moonlight shone quite blandly, allowing quick glimpses of a smooth, pale face. An angular chin tilted up, framed by long, wild raven coloured hair. The picture of serene yet feral riding.

The calm facade she presented was marred only by her terrified eyes and white knuckles. For in truth she simply clung to the mount’s silky mane. It was up to the horse to handle the odious task of weaving through the tree-studded woods.

As if to reinforce its pride and power from bottom-up, a low-hanging branch swiped the top of her head.

Sharayu winced and dropped her head lower. The added weight of a collection of wild flowers from the branch lingered in her hair. But she dared not reach up and shake them out. No, safer to just let them join the dirt and wind-blown leaves lining her scraggly hair. And she leaned lower and dug her hands deeper in the horse’s mane.

Riding full speed through a crazy forest over-furnished with trees was a bad case.

Correction. Riding full speed anywhere at all was a bad case.

Still, the worst part of the journey was over. She was far from the Hermitage. Her heart was done with tearing itself at the cries for help she had left behind. The courage she had scrounged was sitting comfortably somewhere in her knees.

A lot of that bravado had leaked out with the combined effect of her knees knocking together and the shaky ride on the horse, however.

A week since the start of her journey, her reasoning for it seemed bleak. The dark woods pressed down upon her, and Sharayu ducked to avoid a fresh branch swinging at her. The place she sought seemed so far away, and she wondered yet again if she had taken a wrong path.

And what was she to do when she reached the place? That dark place which promised horrors of all sorts. The dreaded Ashram.

Sharayu closed her eyes and rested her tired head on the horse’s neck. The animal slowed its pace in sympathy, and she sighed.

The Ashram, where the seven Princes had been incarcerated for the longest time. Lying in a trance as if dead, separated from the rest of the world. Victim to a curse and sentenced to unlimited years of being cut off from life. Already seven years today and counting.

And she was headed there now. To try to get them back to life. To recruit them for their heroics.

A sudden urge to turn around and head back home gripped Sharayu with the strongest of seizures. Her resolve weakened and she wanted to stop the horse and turn them around. The panic surged through her and she looked up.

In response, her horse picked up its pace again. And as the wind whistled by, Sharayu drew in a shuddering breath. The memory of the cries she had forced herself to ignore bit into her viciously. And she knew she could not return.

Closing her eyes tightly, Sharayu forced the gory images out of her mind. There was no point thinking of what was left behind. She needed to think ahead. About the Ashram. About the Princes. About them being stuck in the damned Ashram and how to get them out of there.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened and looked up at patches of the starry sky hovering high above the woods. A flitting second later, a branch caught her midriff and threw her off the horse.

the Scab and the Scythe

2011-02-14T21:27:00.001-08:00

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This is a story of a scab and a scythe. A scab formed long after the attack of the scythe, rusting, healing, soothing, hurting. A scythe which rendered a blow on the flesh so deep, so wide, so broad, so shallow.

And lay the scab wondering through many months as the wound healed of the scythe. It seemed foolish to think of the one thing the scab wished to forget, to offer such importance to the weapon which had cut off the scab from the rest of the body. And yet the scab could help no more than pray and think.

And the more it thought, the more it angered. The more it angered, the more it hated. The more it hated, the more it hurt. And the more it hurt, the more it thought. A vicious circle never seeming to end, impossible to think it would stop to consider, reckless to assume that it would wait to pass judgment.

And know not what the scythe thought, know not what the scythe did. For once in the long journey when the scab had made up its anguished mind to forget the joy it felt in battle. The battle when the scythe and the scab were one. Rushing out to face the enemy together, being there for each other as companions..!

And the scab pushed these many thoughts out of its mind and determined itself to forget the scythe altogether. Out of sight, out of mind, out of life. But sadly, as we all know, it hardly ever works that way, does it?

For when the scythe came a-visiting one day, the scab was all asunder. Desperately happy, frantically tormented, hysterically off-balanced. And the scab wrote a note when it thought itself all calm, banishing the scythe from its life! And set about convincing itself that all was going to be right.

But then some more time passed, and the scab was healed and ready for fresh battles and roaring to go out and find life to live again. And the scab thought back to its past and could feel no pain and only fondness when it remembered the scythe.

For it had finally realized that the scythe itself had been an innocent. The hand which led the scythe had been to blame. And more than the hand, it had been the fates which had led the hand. And destiny could not have made anything better, for the scab was relieved to be free of the troublesome wart to which it had been attached and which the scythe had slashed off...!

So this is a story of the scab and the scythe, and a reminder to all to be wary of yourselves. For when you are the scab, do not think the scythe is inhuman. For after all, as someone once said so very truly, “Nobody is cruel and intentionally sets out to hurt someone other. They simply strive to gain importance for themselves, and in the process, inexplicably end up breaking many hearts and creating many scabs.”

And is that not what all of us do?

Life on Mars..?

2011-02-14T20:59:00.001-08:00

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An article was published recently in the Journal of Cosmology by scientist Dirk Schulze-Makuch of Washington State University. It was a very detailed, extremely fascinating article on Planet Mars exploration and with a definite tone of pro-human colonolization of the foreign planet, as a lifeboat in the event Earth becomes uninhabitable.

“We are on a vulnerable planet,” he wrote, “If we want to survive as a species, we have to expand into the Solar system and likely beyond.”

I sit at my window, remembering the article, and I see a beggar on the street below, wearing tattered clothing, lacerations emblazoning his skin, a small child tottering in his wake. I pick up the newspaper and read about 2G scams, and terrorist attacks and of Iraq invasions. I open the window wide, and breathe in dust-filled air, a smoky residue decidedly hanging heavy in the cloudy sky.

With such firm reminders of what we as a species are, and what we have achieved in our short stay of about a few million years on Earth, are we really worth saving? People kill people here! Forget kill, at least that is an easy way to go… People cheat people, use power to oppress those without, cheat entire nations of the tax-money of hard working citizens!

We, as a species, are collectively responsible for the over-use of CFCs, leading to a hole in the Ozone Layer, which will, while undoubtedly cause a lot of harm to not only our own species, also hurt so many other! We have caused the extinction of the Dodo Bird, the Szaferi Birch, the Sarawak Mango; the endangerment to the existence of pandas, of frogs, of tigers; caused vast reductions in the area of jungles and forests causing extensive harm to beautiful natural habitats of so many creatures.

Who gave us the right to decide that the luxury of Homo Sapiens was more important than the Sea Minx? Who gave us the right to decide that the male of our species are superior to females, and so allow mass genocides over multiple parts of our mother planet? Who gave us the right to fill our atmosphere with so many toxin fumes in the endeavor to manufacture gadgets and cosmetics to ease the Human life? Who have us the right to dig up the eggs of the Dodo bird to be served as a delicacy centuries ago, when the bird itself ceased to exist?

Yes, Dr. Schulze-Makoch has stated in his article the reason that we need a lifeboat planet is in the event of a Supernova explosion causing the destruction of Earth, or in case a fatal Asteroid attack occurs. But at the rate at which Humanity is progressing, it would be more suitable to assume that Humans will watch a Supernova destroying a much-disfigured Earth from their homes built on a slowly-disintegrating Mars.

2012 as a movie was beautifully choreographed. The message the film pushed home was that in the event of a catastrophe, it wouldn’t be you and I who would be shifted to a lifeboat planet, but the snobby rich and corrupt politicians.

And yet as I walk home from the supermarket, I see a young school-going girl waiting to cross a busy, traffic-flooded road, and I see a business executive break free from his group of colleagues and escort the child across the road. I see a bunch of pimple-faced teenagers rescue a fledgling from a gushing drain and return it to its nest. I see an old man stop his car to offer a lift to an even older lady carrying a large bag of groceries.

More importantly, I see a silent strike protesting the CWG scam, I see a news hoarding of a new Iraq government, I see the municipal persons rounding up beggars to be sent for rehabilitation. I see persons who may not be in the seat of power intent on converting the sad state of affairs our planet is in into a friendlier, more habitable planet.

A funny species we are. A species which will not tolerate crime, but only when we have support of like-minded people. A species which will set up medical centers and research centers to eradicate diseases our ancestors have faced so that our future generations may not have to suffer as they did. A species which will cross over all boundaries to try and help the 1411 remaining tigers survive and hopefully increase in number.

Are we a species worth saving? Hey, who am I to say, when I cannot deliver a guilty or non-guilty judgment on that dog which just tore my best dress?

http://journalofcosmology.com/Mars108.html

Eulogy of the Old Year

2010-12-31T22:01:00.001-08:00

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Another year down in the calendar, another set of twelve months passed by in a whirl, a whole new January waiting to be filled with miswritten last digits struck away to be replaced with an older one …

Oh look at me, I’m getting quite sentimental, am I not..! But it was a good year.

That is, if you count a change of only one job as compared to three in the last, an absence of new beaux against broken hearts from failed crushes in the past, depressing lack of new friendships versus broken links in the last years.

Aah… Life could be better, but then, so could it be worse. And this happy realization has made me quite a bit happy this first day of a (hopefully) grand new year… What made me realize this all of a sudden? You mean, besides the fact that I’ve become a self-proclaimed Philosopher in the past few months..!

The answer is, as usual, the one and only love in my life… The one who constantly tries to make me a better person, brings self-actualization a step closer, the only one till date to help me realize what I want to be rather than what I am – my writing.

I have been drawing up new character virtues these days. A very engaging activity it is, and recently, my sister (who is forced to bear the brunt of me trying to make her understand a certain hero’s new personality and a certain heroine’s disposition against the world) instructed me to define the latest vamp on myself (I know, but my sister really couldn’t imagine any heroine who could be infinitesimally similar to what I am!).

And I was compelled, in turn to draw up my own character. Who am I? How do I want the world to know me as? What would I, as a vamp, do evil deeds?

The whole thing turned out to have much in common to a self-actualization-of-sorts assignment given to my class during my post-graduation days by one of my favorite professors of all time (Oh Professor P, I miss your classes!). And at the end of it, I realized who I am as a person, how someone else would view me, and what I have in life I don’t appreciate, what I have that I do appreciate.

Basically, all about me though, thanks to my new-found humility, I would rather say ‘much’ about me rather than ‘all’!

And for this new year, based on this new self-actualization, I have made a resolution to have no resolutions. Ahem. No, really, I don’t think I need to change.

Yes, I am not perfect. In fact, I don’t think I have seen anybody so perfectly imperfect as myself! And each day, this imperfectness (does this word exist?) brings forth a new aspect of my new vamp character I am happy to imbibe in tuning the silly, boring old day into a crazier one to suit my taste!

What say you about all this? And yes, of course.

A Very Happy New Year to all of you out there! May this glaringly bright new sun dawning on this shimmering morning bring joy to your life as never before in the form of delightfully comforting everyday life, interspersed with a dash of changes and surprises to make it wild, as your craziest wishes and most feral dreams come true!

Deeper Truth

2010-12-24T02:21:00.001-08:00

My workbook is proving such a blessing! I've stuffed so many write-ups, so many plotlines in it, I'm starting to wonder if that is all I did during classes (in all possibility, YES!)...

Here's a synopsis for a prologue I've put up here for much earlier:

The story begins with Anna Marikova trying to lead an uneventful life, spending her days serving customers as waitress at a local cafetaria, her nights couped in her apartment...

When the blame of an unfortunate incident of an expensive showpiece breaking to piece lands on her, Anna's job is saved by the timely intervention of Adam Smith, a famous business tycoon to whom the showpiece belonged. Sadly, it also lands Anna on the front pages of daily journals and inquisitive magazines, which is the last thing she'd wanted. Reporters start to pry into her past, naming her the Mysterious Sweetheart of Adam Smith.

The story continues, pushing Anna into Adam's life, she desperate to be left anonyomous, he eager to know all about her. Circumstances land Anna into a position where she has to flee or find her life endangered, and she disappears. Adam, totally taken by her mystery & finding himself falling in love with her, leaves no leaf unturned in his search for her, and the story digs into her past, revealing that Anna is actually Juliana Andrews, his late father's partner's daughter. William Smith was a part of a team of scientists working on using laser technology using diamond dust to cause explosions in the nuclei of cells.

The key to the technology lies with Juliana, who is not even aware of the fact. Well... I suppose after this, the end is quite obvious, isn't it? ;)

So, do you think I should go ahead with this plotline and convert it into a story???

Here's the prologue: http://ssoggo.posterous.com/prologue-2

I know, I know... It's more like a horror novel pro than a romance novel.. But wait till you read the rest..! :D

Original or Copy?

2010-12-24T00:50:00.001-08:00

I found this poem in my old workbook today... Problem is there's a verse from 'Arabian Nights' right above it. Now, I know that this isn't from Arabian Nights... But I'm not sure if it's from somewhere else.

Perhaps (and I think it is) it's an original from me (I know, makes me sound way greater than what I am).. Anyway, have put it up here for you to enjoy..! I really hope you like it!

You are my life, my soul, my yearn, my lore...

Sparking off that warm glow, never to be extinguished by any blow!

You are all I need, my sweet love you fulfill..

Your gentle care touch the core, mke the heart so happy that it can soar!

Won't you say that you love me, and that you'll always stay?

I know that you need me, never to be kept at bay..!

We don't need to part yet, we don't need to leave; We don't need to go as long as you believe!

Sumbissions

2010-12-15T03:25:00.001-08:00

This is something I was supposed to give in at a Mills & Boons New Author Search contest. Then half-way through, I realized that Mills & Boons wouldn't appreciate an action-flick converted into a love story submission... So this has gone into my Trashed Thingies Folder.. But I think it's okay-written, so I'm putting it up here... And yes, I have written another story for the Mills & Boon thingy, and it's in the guidelines this time... 2000 word limit, trashy romance novel restricted... Wish me luck!

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Zoya unsheathed her sword, her slender fingers tightening on the thin piece of metal. The hood around her face restricted her breathing, had her gasp for air. But she didn’t care. She had waited long for this moment; labored relentlessly for this very opportunity to come forth…

The eyes of the man opposite her narrowed. His lower minions were fluttering about him, she saw, but he wouldn’t let them interfere. This was his moment of pride, his honor at stake. After all he was the next in line to the throne, the Prince in waiting. And that was exactly what she wanted to negate.

Her hand swished out, caught the young Prince’s shoulder, and red splashed to the ground. There were shouts from the gathered knights behind. But the Prince was unperturbed. His sword swayed before her eyes, skimmed her hood. He aimed not at injuring her, she knew, but in revealing her identity, to unmask her.

It was just a game to him, she scoffed, angrily swatting his arm with her sword. A sleeve tore off. He jabbed at her hood in retaliation, and she stumbled backward. She had reached the edge now, a sharp drop of twenty feet marking the perimeter of the lower walls of the castle.

Slightly disturbed, she blinked. The flash of sharp metal which came next caught her hood and Zoya felt her foot slip off the wall. Deciding, she took the plunge.

A hard body beneath her legs jerked her out of the limbo and she caught the reins hanging from it, pulled, and the horse understood the signal. She was half a mile away before the Prince and his ensemble figured out she was gone.

The wooden gate crashing down ahead nor the troupe of knights could have held her horse back, and they soared over the men, slid under the spiked gates, over the moat. Her hood, already loosened, fell about her neck, and wild, dark hair flew in the wind.

She never knew when the arrow hit her. The sharp pain as the barbs pierced her shoulder and caught in her hair pulled out a strangled cry. Her horse raced forward, but Zoya was blinded. Her eyes closing, she slumped over her horse, quiet in defeat.

Adam was too late to stop the first of the arrows being shot after the robber. Running forward, he caught the bow of the marksman closest, his face taut. His men needed no further coaxing. The other bows lowered in unison.

Still running, he pulled the bow from the knight’s hands and caught the reins of a horse passing by. The soldier on it jumped off, and Adam leapt on. The gates were being raised now, and a swarm of soldiers burst through.

But none of the Knights, in all their vigor and single-minded determination could catch up with the escaping man. Adam charged forward, galloping into the dark castle grounds. The robber had disappeared, but he wouldn’t give-up. No, it had cost too long to give-up so easily.

The woods loomed outside the town, and Adam raced past the quaint houses lining the roads and into the thrush of trees beyond. He had no track of where the man he sought had disappeared, and he blindly raced on.

After much time, far into the woods, did he see a flicker of light, and finally slow and stop. It was a wood fire, burning slowly, the firewood reduced to coal. A horse stood next to it, and Adam jumped off his mount. There was a small hut in the stump of a tree next to the fire, and a stream rushed past behind. His steed snorted loudly, and Adam led it to the stream, patting its neck.

The robber had to have his den here. It was his horse near the fire, Adam was sure of it. He never saw the body on the ground, and he tripped to fall down hard. Scowling, he groped at the dark figure, and his hand caught at soft wool. Wet wool. He dragged the form into the firelight, and as the light shone off pale skin, the curse at the back on his mind evaporated.

It was a woman. He let go of the hair as if he’d been scalded, and the arrow head entangled in it broke off. He stared at the barbed wood for a moment before his eyes rested on the butt of the arrow in the woman’s shoulder.

A woman! How could it be?! A woman could not be responsible for robbing the houses of over fifty nobles! Could she even hold a sword?! And as soon he thought it, Adam felt anger, and shame. That a mere woman had bested his knights. Had bested even him today. His eyes followed the arrow in her shoulder to the dark stain on the ground about her.

With one smooth move, Adam had picked her up and carried her into the hut. There was moonlight enough streaming through for him to make out a bracken bed in a corner and he laid her down on it. The clear moonlight laid emphasis on her face, and Adam’s eyes lingered on her slightly parted lips, her long, tangled hair. And the grisly wound in her shoulder.

It took long for the wound to be cleaned out. The girl had lost much blood, and it was nearly dawn before he was done, her shoulder bandaged tightly. The wood-fire he had lit burnt low. She had cried much as he worked on the gash, shouted in a delirious voice at one point for her mother.

And now, she was too fragile to take back to the castle. To the dungeons, where she belonged. In the pale morning light, Adam saw her eyes flutter. In mid-consciousness, it could only mean pain, and without meaning to, Adam reached out to touch her face gently, fingered her high cheekbones.

And as suddenly, he pulled away. Looking around, he saw a table opposite the bed and he walked toward it. A thick tablet caught his attention and he picked up some parchments. It was a record, a diary. Steeling himself not to care that the girl was in pain, Adam settled to read.

The first thing Zoya felt was pain. A blinding pain searing through her arm, jolting sleep away from her eyes. She pushed up, and a hand touched the back of her head, supporting her. The fire deepened, and she gasped, her eyes scrunching.

“You shouldn’t move.” The voice was deep, measured. Zoya willed her eyes open and looked up. It was the Prince.

He laid a firm, gentle hand on her uninjured shoulder, pushed her back. She looked away from his face. Something in it disturbed her and she jerked her shoulder away.

“How long have you been living here?” he asked, standing over her, and when she didn’t answer, “Zoya..?” Her eyes flew back to his face, and she understood.

“You have read my log.” It was an accusation, her voice soft, and exceedingly harsh. But the Prince merely gazed at her.

“It wasn’t exactly under lock and key,” and as she moved, he reached out and stopped her getting up. “We didn’t know… Nobody knew.” Zoya flinched at his touch, his calloused hand brushed against hers, sending a shiver down her spine.

He turned and walked away, slow, measured steps, back to the table. “You should have come to us, informed the King –“

“Informed the King?” she struggled to sit, ignoring the sharp bite from her shoulder, “It was the King!” The Prince turned, and she felt vertiginous when he bore his eyes bore into hers.

“It was not my father,” he said, his words soft, “Nobody knows that the Noblemen are pushing the townsmen down. It was the Chancellors –“

“The Chancellors are whom the townsmen meet! We cannot go to the King!” she caught her shoulder in pain, “Perhaps you need to work on how your people…” Her words trailed away when the Prince strode forward. The dizziness returned, and the last she felt was his arms around her as she fell away.

It was the same conversation they had everytime she awoke. Adam made sure she found him sitting beside her whenever her eyes opened. He liked being around her, to see her eyes alight with fire, and he told himself it wasn’t because he liked the way her hair curled, or because he loved to hear the softness beneath her angry words.

She hated him with her every pore, and yet, he found his presence made her peaceful in an oddly vulnerable way. And her peace let him feel the anger he needed to collect against those who had wronged her.

He made her eat a thick gluttonous porridge, and she thanked him by swirling the bowl away. He changed her bandages, and she interfered to cause the cut to bleed.

“You shouldn’t have taken matters in your hands,” he said to her, trying to get her to drink water from a wooden cup the third evening. She pulled her head away.

“I didn’t want anybody else’s families to be killed,” and Adam felt the pain in her voice cut into his heart. He put the cup to her lips again, but she turned away, and he saw the tears. Automatically, his arms went around her, cradling her head against his chest. She didn’t pull away.

“They killed them,” she whispered, “Even Leon… And he was just three…”

The pain of the moment flashed through her being, and she could see her father, proud of the new medicine he had discovered, the respect of his people filling him with shining happiness. And then the fire-torch which had flown through the window, the warning of the ruthless duke being acted upon. The soldiers which marched into the fire, their swords slashing, her mother’s body smoldering, little Leon under the heavy wardrobe.

“And all because my father had refused to allow the surfs to die…” her fingers caught at his shirt, tightened, “All because he wanted to help…” The tears came harder then, and in so many months, she let them fall. Tender hands brushed her hair away from her face, wiped the wetness of her cheeks.

“Let me take care of it now,” he said, his voice deep, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” But she didn’t want to let him take care of anything. She had to do this herself. She had to rob every last nobleman of his gold, rob him of his very ranks. Rob him of his power to wield changes in the lives of the ordinary.

Okay, this is only half-finished... I'll post the remaining part when I write it... Cheers!

Stranger Twins

2010-12-04T03:24:00.001-08:00

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This is a prologue for one of my new stories... Do let me know what you think of it!

The Sawyer twins could not have been more different than two strangers who met each other on a metro on their way to work in the early hour morning rush.

Astra was fair in every sense of the word. Dazzling silver-blonde hair, pale pink cheeks, electric blue eyes. And when she walked, it seemed she drew the light from her surroundings only to let it burst out of herself with every step.

Zara, on the other hand had dark features. Jet black hair, shimmering emerald eyes, beautiful olive skin. And she spread an aura of surrealistic mystique in the air with her every breath.

And what an irony it was, for Astra took after her father Ethan, a tall handsome blonde man he was. A mere mortal like me and you, but with features no less than a God descended from the mountains.

And Zara took after her mother, the beautiful witch Estora, who had drifted apart from her clan on a ruse, a mission to allow herself to live amidst the humans, to sense how their lives differed, to appreciate their non-magic ways of living.

It had been a magical love story between Ethan and Estora, and the witch had been astounded that it was possible to feel the ecstasy of emotions coiling from within the confines of the heart without the use of syrupy love potions. But fallen in love they had, and out of fear that the spell would break if Ethan found out about her magic, Estora had lied of her origins, hidden that she could use but a wand to get her will if she so wished. She rid her hands of the magical object and it hung around her neck instead, a foot long twig, playing the role of a lucky charm for an innocent Ethan.

And exactly a year and nine months after the happy union of the two in a parish church, the stranger twins had been born. And Estora had found herself in a much difficult fix when she realized Zara as mortal as Ethan and Astra as magical blooded as herself. And what could she say to Ethan when Astra fiddled with her wand as she held her tenderly for the first time, shocking him with a shower of sparks raining from the ceiling..?

As you can imagine, having being lied to for the better part of their marriage did not go well with Ethan, and exactly two months after their birth, it had been decided that Zara would live with her father, and Astra was bundled up for the long journey to the woods, where the fairies and the elves and the witches and wizards and all other magical folk are confined.

But what is not in the will of Destiny cannot be the will of the course of nature. And it had not been the will of Destiny that two daughters born to look so different would grow up, live their lives and die without ever having known that they had a much un-identical sister.

And to get Her will, Destiny had to bend around the formations of what the meddling of mere witches and men had brought about. And She moved herself in such beautiful fashions that no older was Astra five years old, she had fallen in love with a mortal. And Destiny moved herself in such enthralling circles that when Zara was only five years old, she had first sighted magical presence in the air around her…

A Very Disappointing Day! :(

2010-11-24T21:43:00.001-08:00

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Yesterday was a very disappointing day for me. I love writing, and almost all the time, different poems, stories, scenes from different books I’ve written and even characters step out infront of me. They all feel so real, I sometimes think that putting my hand out will let me touch them. A novel line pulls me into the setting I have created, and the fantasy I have written of seems more real to me that the real world I live in…

I find it hard to accept that each morning, I have to go to work at a job I do not have much interest in. Yes, my job is great, the people there are interesting, and the work I do keeps my mind stimulated at all times! But it’s not something I have a passion for! It’s not something I look forward to; just something I go to each day so that my bank account won’t run dry at the end of the month.

I hate the fact that I am too tired to come home and write! I really feel so guilty about snatching free times in between hours to update my latest novella! I don’t like being lost in my stories half the time only to be dragged back out of it just because some silly supplier is insisting on us hiring the transport company instead of him doing it(that was really silly actually, because it’s going to just cost him higher now)!

I so look forward to the day when all I will be doing from sunrise to down is writing! I can imagine it all now… Me sitting at this writing desk, swiveling around as the latest adventure of my hero saves the heroine in distress! Okay, I digressed, and besides, none of my heroes save their heroines. It’s the other way round in my stories usually… But again, I’m digressing.

My parents however, have insisted, and rightly so actually, that I should have at least one book published before my dream career is allowed to take flight. And it should be published in India, and it should be a success. And it should help me make a profit, for, they some reason believe that I am not a Non Profit Organization. I don’t know why, don’t ask me.

And in trying to fulfill these conditions, I got my book published last year. Too bad, it was an American company which published it, which didn’t bother to send across any books to India, and for my parents, that wasn’t enough.

So I tried for an Indian publisher this July. I’ve been at it for so long. A good friend of mine is also helping me in this. It was he who got my book to several publishers, and the latest of them was a newbie in the market, looking for new authors. But just yesterday, after looking at good news for a good three months (I follow the no news is good news policy. But this company had told me I had passed two levels out of three anyway, so it was actually good news), the company rejected me.

And you know why? Coz they said my book wasn’t Indian enough. Seriously?! Oh wait, yes! Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code was totally Indian wasn’t it? And Harry Potter too! How could my Un-Indian book hope to do well when such Indian books around? Right?

I was so depressed the whole afternoon. My friend told me not to worry, that my book has what it takes, and that it was just one Publisher out of so many. But it was still disappointing! It was months of hope all shattered!

But I suppose I have to keep trying, keep moving forward. My dream career is shifted a few months ahead (boo hoo!), but if I stop now, it’ll never come (DOUBLE BOO HOO!)…

I know my book is going to be big one day… It has the potential to keep readers discussing it all day, to have them lined up at bookstalls at midnight for my next book release, to… And I suppose the Publisher who rejected me has some bad Karma on his line (Yes, I believe in all that stuff) and he was not to share in my glory.

And yes, I am still a little down, so a few positive comments would help (If you’ve read this, that it to say, of course!)!

Once Upon A Time

2010-11-16T20:05:00.001-08:00

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Once upon a time. In a far away land. On a creaky wooden bridge. Above a river flooded with sand.

The quiet slumber of the village. A raucous cacophony of the jungle. A slow circle of trees. Marks the forest dangle.

There roamed the River Spirit. Floating over heavy water. A sad unit of ectoplasm. An unexplainable emotion in it would loiter.

A foot or so high was all the Spirit had to float. Lush green trees would then all dwarf. The village lay splattered out before. As if into a cradle waiting to morph.

A fear, a cry, a tear, a gush of the deepest emotions. In the center of the village would rise. A small hut not too large. From just here its purpose you cannot surmise.

But a village from the 16^th century. What can you expect from people who call you ‘thee’. A quiet way of life they lead. New things we know they are yet to see.

In the hut lay the River Spirit. Only the Spirit it was not. For in the physical lay the ectoplasm here. You could almost say he was asleep in his cot.

Had been a child when he went to the river. Walked across the bridge, not waited for the mother. Leaned too far, too deep he looked. By the time he was fished out, bloated and swollen now was he booked.

Now the water in the child is all but gone. The breath he draws now quiet and damp. The mother waits every moment for his eyes to open. Sitting by his side always carrying a lamp.

All through the night she waited. All through the day. And a month passed by. At last she was forced to look away.

And it has been but a year now. The Spirit leaves the river not. Watches sometimes from a foot high. As his mother passes his little hut.

And now a storm is coming. Rounding up wind. Large volumes of dust it floats. Dark as the outside of an orange rind.

And the Spirit is pushed from the river. Past the sandy shores. Moves to the village. A far-off memory marking his course.

Reaching the hut he looks around. All is quiet and just quite sound. His mother is here holding his hand. And suddenly he is not the Spirit, it is his hand.

More than a year later. Sits the child down. Picks up a pen. Notes his adventure mound.

Some other child is in the hut now. He knows. Some other Spirit is tied to the river. He knows.

And may this pen guide the Spirit back to the Village. Back to his home. And till then may the hut store the child. Let him know he is not alone.

The Ungrateful One

2010-11-15T04:09:00.001-08:00

He was by your side, every second, at your every bide. Never did He turn away, when you needed a shoulder to be at bay. Your laughter lightened His days, your tears drowned His heart, your words awoke in Him a childish glee, in many instances, made Him sense not see.

He was a constant in your life. He was your darling, you made Him feel full of life! Never a word against you would He hear, against the very storm of the Gods His heart for you He would sear!

And then one day, you fell in love. It was His pal, His best friend who took your heart. Alas! The pal had no heart to return, against a very bitter rain were you your loss to mourn. And for you He turned away from His comrade, your tears made Him see the world as cruel and bad! He comforted you, He made you see the happy days…

Mistake after mistake you made, desperate in your attempt to get your mate! And through the sad phase, He remained with you, steady, His support of you an unwavering maze… He made the pal see sense, drilled into you a patience, tried mightily to get you together, shorn His work, His reading, even His fodder...!

When the year of the duo came a-round, closer than peas in a pod were you two bound! Your mate had sadly left you for another, the thought of her coming to your home made you shudder! He was there then, your stronghold, your anchor! A deeply ingrained love, fluttering midst you like a dove…

A longing in your heart then enveloped you! Tore another’s love from her side! Filled the other’s life full of strife, you with your own hands pushed Him aside! Agreed, it was not only your doing, the estranged lover too was fully worth suing. But your actions were no less tragic, pushed His limit to the very brink!

And He turned away, scorned your hand, broke all bonds, never again to mend! And yet His heart nursed a wish to Him so dear, that His once friend be returned, for the loss of your friendship He so unhappily mourned. The love for you He felt, could more than a single brother’s heart so easily melt. You had always been close for Him, just your actions and degradations made Him cast you off His rim!

And now you’re gone, long since away, and a letter comes to Him, striking Him to the core. You said you hated Him, though not enough to wish Him dead… You hated Him all the same.

Oh you Ungrateful One, woe be you, who loses a friend so dear! Woe be you who hates the one who loved you most! Woe be you who cast away one who cast way all to be with you! Woe be you, and your ungrateful soul!

Untitled

2010-11-11T22:48:00.001-08:00

Diwali is a beautiful celebration of lights, of joy, of the ever-proclaimed victory of good over evil... In Goa, we build effigies of Narkasur, a demon killed by Lord Krishna eons ago on the day of Diwali, and burn them at midnight on the eve of Diwali.

People of all ages and sizes build these thingies, and a mad rush envelops our tiny state as people drive around crazily, to appreciate the different narkasur built people all around..!

[[posterous-content:pid___0]]

Diwali is also a very colourful festival, and people make rangoli designs outside their homes, to welcome Goddess Lakshmi to their houses. It's a carpet of colours to ward of danger and welcome brightness into the house... Lakshmi Pujan is usually on Diwali evenings, and the puja is carried out to welcome wealth, health and happiness into the homes, and bright shapes with colourful splashes turn the entranceway into an arch of laughter..!

[[posterous-content:pid___19]]

Separation

2009-04-29T05:00:00.001-07:00

Separation is one thing I never want to face in my life. It’s just too hard! Then may it be separating yourself from friends, or family or the love of your life. For a moment, Life becomes a journey which brings your emotions and tears constantly downhill.

And the worst thing about that slide downwards is that you pass all those good moments you’d shared with the person or people you’re separating from on the way. Funny, isn’t it, how all the bad times get eclipsed just then?

My college just got over. Two long years spent with a whole campus load of eccentrics, weirdoes and lovelies can make the time seem so short. Somehow, ever since I’d joined, I’d started worrying about how difficult it would be to get separated from them all. That’s me. But now that college is over, I’ve started to think about the next time I’ll meet all those lovelies and eccentrics.

A good friend of mine used to say that I live for the future. I don’t think about now and the wonderful time I’m wasting thinking about tomorrow. I just think about tomorrow.

Anyway, as I was saying, college just got over, and the thing I’ve been dreading the last 2 years actually happened. Everyone is now separated. All the lovelies, weirdoes and eccentrics have spread out in the world to showcase their attributes. It’s been almost an entire month that we convocated, but just yesterday, I realized that I would never again be out with my friends again.

I had a group of five people, me including. The different antics we were always up to…! But that’s another post. Just yesterday, I realized that we would never set out again, the five of us on three motorcycles, just after midnight for a night-out in the cold. And with that realization, another punch hit me that I would never again lounge in my room, talking with my roommate, uncaring about the time ticking away my precious sleep.

Never again would I tousle any of their hair, pat their hands, or just, be with them!

And then, I realized how much I really hate separation. Life always does this to us. It brings us so close to pure strangers, and then, when we fall in love with them, poof! We have to part. Why, I ask! Two years with the greatest friends I could ever have are gone, and why can’t I ever be with them again? I’d always wished to have cool friends, and I did. I’m grateful for that…

But for this separation… Couldn’t that have waited a little longer?

Fire Love

2009-04-29T04:53:00.001-07:00

Why do I so much so love you so, when I am fire, and you are the stove… Sparks a-fly each time we meet, things turn ugly, so prettily quick! The thick, dull blackening on your side, is it just me or do all make you cry..?

First you say that you love me, and then you say you gotta leave, then you say that you need me, and you want me to believe… You know that I love you, you know that I care… Still I need to know, that you will be there..!

Your insides simmer when we are both one, is it with fear of what will happen when we are done? Have no fright my dear, have no fear, may you have no sadness, even if it kills me, for you I’ll always do what’s right… I’ll welcome the ice, I’ll embrace the cold pain, if it makes you bright, I’ll dance in the rain!

And now I’m ashes, and you’ve been long gone… And this distance hurts so much more that the mercilessly happy sun… All I can do now is to bid my lonely time, pray to God that soon enough again, we will be one…

2 Years

2009-04-29T04:52:00.000-07:00

Is what you always do usually right? How many times have your innermost beliefs and desires clashed with the short-term decisions you take? Mine did…

I wanted to get out of my hometown. Away from the usual drags of life carried over with constant bickering of a small town you live in. And I wanted to escape from home. Must be sounding horrible written so blandly, but I did. I wanted a taste of independence, to make my own decisions about my life.

For my non-Indian readers, staying in your home-town means staying with your parents, in the same house, and if you don’t, you’re not filial, you’re a rebel, you’re a black sheep. But I wanted to be free, to be on my own for a while. After all, I’ll be married to some random guy my mum decides in a couple years and that will bind me down forever after.

I wanted to live a reckless life, be free, and the only escape I saw was a job outside of my home-town. An escape from my family, from my state, an insight to the wonderful exciting life the wonderful 'others’ get to live…

But then, I entered my post-graduation college. It was in my same home-town, but with a residential campus, which meant stay at home, but away from home. Two years of independence, a chance to prove that when left alone, I could still take care of myself, and not get killed! And along with these two years, came the realization that whatever I had thought about me the last 22 years was so totally wrong…

Being alone defined what you mean to yourself, what others who stay on campus mean to you and most importantly, what you mean to them. It gave me a chance to look at my life in different perspective, asked me about how difficult it was to know your parents were ill and you couldn’t be there to stay with them in the hospital. I saw batch-mates flying home to be with parents who had suffered heart attacks, crying secretly in their rooms because they missed family and friends back home.

And yet, we were a family away from family. It is interesting to see how some people you hardly know will stand by you at 3AM when they know you need support and a shoulder to cry on. Amazing to see how persons you thought were closest to snap the phone shut at 10 in the morning, despite knowing how much you need them.

It allows you to be yourself and analyze how others react to the real you, and to experiment with yourself and watch the same people forget the previous image of you and accept the totally new one. A simple act such as a straightening of your hair can give you a make-over. Persons you ignore being nice to you can make you regret your earlier harshness to them. So many of us stay so close on such a small campus, and yet, how many of the 120 people I have lived with the last 2 years do I really know? One, or maybe 2 of them..?

Nah, not even one of them! For each day brings forth a new face, each night sheds a new mask. There are some things which happened which I will never forget, and some actions for which I will be eternally grateful, and there are some incidents I wish I could forget, and some actions I can never forgive. And interestingly, all of the same person.

Yeah, I still wanna escape, but it wasn’t my family I wanted to escape from, it was escape from myself. Being a foreign-returned teenager, trying to adjust and please an entire extended family you hardly know and keen on making friends with pure strangers from your class you’ve never met before, and famous for being from ‘outside’, and not for who you are… The predefined slot you’re placed in just because people think they know you when they don’t have the slightest idea what you actually are…

Isn’t this something all of us crave to escape from? I was keen on getting out of here as of November, desperate to get a job which would fly me away from the stifling place I live in presently. But now, I’ve almost accepted a job right here, in my home-town, hardly 15minutes away from my home. And I’ll be living with my parents, glad to take care of them, to be in their company.

Sure, I still want to go out, but now, it is to travel, and if I ever crave escape, it will be from personal demons I will now be able to handle…

Lost

2009-04-29T03:06:00.001-07:00

Isn't it sad that sometimes the things dearest to us are shed away..? The little doll you used to hug tightly as a kid became lost somewhere down the line.. That lucky pen which got you through the toughest of examinations ran out of ink when you lazed to refill it some years back..

Does it feel worse that you no longer have them with you, or that those precious things were allowed to be lost then? We often let go, feel that the things we own have lost their importance, are of no more any consequence to us. And yet, these very things we miss when the time of their need has long gone by, and the possessions lost in some time and memory shaft.

It feels definitely worse when the possessions turn into persons. It is just two more months left for my college to get over. After that, I will be a free bird, gone with the wind, wild and carefree, eager to escape the confines and explore the corporate world. And yet, there exist so many persons here, in this tiny campus of mine, who will be gone forever, etched into a corner of my mind and stored for, perhaps, future 'networking'.

Recently, a friend had gone out of campus to visit home. It was just 3 days that he was away, and yet, he was one of the few people I have in a close group of friends, we usually spent much time together, and his abscence was sorely missed by us all. Surprisingly, it was the little things about him i missed, and only the good things I remembered. And almost pathetically pining away, I was much relieved when he was back.

It was his abscence which made me miss him so much. Sure, when he had been right here, it hadn't made much of a difference. But the short distance had made me realize exactly how sore I was going to be, missing all four of my friends after college broke out.

With possessions, we have a choice to let go or not to... Sure, the choice is pretty thin, but at least it exists. But what about with people. No matter how much you may wish to cling on, it doesn't hold, does it..?

I Miss...

2009-04-29T02:57:00.001-07:00

I miss those days, That carefree time, Your beautiful smile, The love in your eyes…

I miss your voice, That calming voice, My name you spoke, The way you called…

I miss your hands, Your loving arms, The gentle touch, Your flashing charm…

And then that day, That day which changed, The day that wiped, Since which I’ve just cried…

I miss your love, Your consoling hug, The shoulder you gave, Now it’s all a haze…

That time long gone, When I was the one, You so desperate for me, Without whom you couldn’t be…

And now, it’s over, The game all changed, Some other person, In my place…

And yet, How can I say anything else, But that I miss those days, the care-free time, Your beautiful smile, The love in your eyes…

Monica...

2009-04-29T02:55:00.001-07:00

I want to be Monica Geller, living the perfectly imperfect life in this impossible world. Really, who wouldn't want to be one of those people in 'Friends'? Except for Gunther, don't all the others make you wish they were real, living people you could actually be friends with? Or rather, that you could actually be living their lives, I bet!

I really envy Monica, with her falling in love with one of her best friends, the closeness she shares with Chandler, the appreciation and constant shock he feels that Monica loves HIM, having her passion as her career choice, childhood friend her room-mate, the independence she fiercely guards, her vigour, her easy acceptance amongst everybody... I am jealous of the very essence of Monica's life!

Sure, her life was never easy; her mum's intense criticism of every tiny facet of her, the new job issues that worried her, the crushing break-ups, the stiffling inability to conceive... I don't think any other character in the series has faced such real issues and yet, it is the fullness with which Monica stood up to these crises and moved on in her life, not being a cling, and yet managing to hold on to the threads which form her make me wish I could be her...

I want to experience a fulfilling relationship. I want to have a Chandler in my life; someone who's always there and for whom, I can be always there. Someone for whom I would want to be there... I want my career to be as challenging as her's. I want to face the issues and conquer them, so that I can savour the victory, learn to better myself... I want a closely knit group of people my age, who understand me, to be with me. To be alone at home, and yet know that I am not alone, because there are people who care just a call away...

I want to be Monica, and yet not lose the essence of my own life. Have you ever read such an outrageously crazy plead before?

You

2009-04-29T02:54:00.000-07:00

You think you have a hard life, and I’ve had it all easy,
When you had all you ever wanted, and I had the ride so queasy…

Friends from old, you say you envy… I moved around so much, I'd be glad to have any! You feel bad you had it all laid out, and you were the one who swept it all away? There are some who work all their lives, and yet, never manage to feel the ray…

Why is it that you crib and sulk and frown and moan, and push the comforting shoulder offered for you, demanding instead, a throne? And then, you still have the gall to say: Oh, I never have got the comforts that you languish; and even when it’s the opposite, you cry out in anguish?

When was it last that I had you run up to me to give some comfort when I was in pain? When was it that you came to shelter me from the rain? When was it that you went to fight with the person who made me cry, or stopped when you saw the tears as you walked by..?

Sure, I complain about the bad things, keep on smiling, and don’t say a word about you flings… But I still have my respect, my life, my human life… I’m not a piece of driftwood nor a slave in your hands, and yet you play with my feelings without any sense…

Whatever you had, it was by choice… I had a choice, nay, a delusion you may call! And yet, you say… You had a hard life, and I’ve had it all easy, when you had all you ever wanted, and I had the ride so queasy…

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