"My head can be pretty messed up!
u know how i go from thought to thought in a matter of a few seconds..?"
-Abeer Saha
True to his word, the brilliant boy did not finish his thought.
Though he did leave quite a turbulent storm in my mind.
Jumping from thought to thought, i thought about how messed up his mind really might be. Then I thought how messed up my head might be and in the long run how messed up every ones head is.
What am I doing?
I am multi tasking.
Its what the "youth" is brilliant at.
I'm talking to said brilliant boy, discussing passwords.
"take these broken wings and learnt to fly again"
Random song playing on the radio.
What am I doing?
Didn't it start with messed up heads? Thoughts. they flicker and fade in and out of oblivion.
A completed thought.
what a treat.
What AM I doing here?
More importantly, Why am I still here?
I ask and ask.
I am answered by a volley of shouts in my messed up head.
I am surrounded by an answering silence.
Sunday 12 October 2008
Anonymous No More.
I love to write. I don't know if it's any good but I love it.
I write Anonymously though. Never needed the credit. Never thought I was good enough.
Who the hell defines "good enough".
I write.
That is "good enough"
Anonymous no more.
Name: Rhea.
It means the art of reaching perfection. But then there is nothing perfect about me.
Im real. Im flawed. Im alive.
Age:17
Im just graduation school. The plan? college. English at Stephens, DU.
Like I said, I love to write. I love to read. I love literature.
Sex: Female.
Though I assumed that bit was obvious.
Country/Nationality: India/Indian
Born and brought up. Indian from the heart to the outside. No, I don't walk around in a sari or tout my religion. Im proud of my country, my heritage and my roots. I am Indian.
Objective: Read and to be Read.
"let me light up the sky, Light it up for you."
Summary: Rhea, 17 year old female from India. Loves reading and writing. Real, Flawed and Alive.
Anonymous no more.
I write Anonymously though. Never needed the credit. Never thought I was good enough.
Who the hell defines "good enough".
I write.
That is "good enough"
Anonymous no more.
Name: Rhea.
It means the art of reaching perfection. But then there is nothing perfect about me.
Im real. Im flawed. Im alive.
Age:17
Im just graduation school. The plan? college. English at Stephens, DU.
Like I said, I love to write. I love to read. I love literature.
Sex: Female.
Though I assumed that bit was obvious.
Country/Nationality: India/Indian
Born and brought up. Indian from the heart to the outside. No, I don't walk around in a sari or tout my religion. Im proud of my country, my heritage and my roots. I am Indian.
Objective: Read and to be Read.
"let me light up the sky, Light it up for you."
Summary: Rhea, 17 year old female from India. Loves reading and writing. Real, Flawed and Alive.
Anonymous no more.
Monday 6 October 2008
Alone/Someone
I'm alone.
all alone in this world.
Alone to deal with my pain.
Alone to deal with my situation.
all alone.
Everyone thinks those words once maybe twice in a week, month or year. if they are lucky, in a lifetime. So how alone are you?
On one level, its just you against the world. you are facing it alone. No one will feel it like you do. No one is in the situation as you are in, the position you are.
On another level, look around. if you cant find a single person waiting to catch you. Problem. But the probability of that is pretty low. In that case you are driving people away and need some serious help.
No?
don't think your driving them away?
Cant see anyone?
Are you sure?
Look harder.
yeah.
Right there.
There's someone.
and another.
Oh LORD! Do I really see a third? It seems I do.
Most of the time, your not looking hard enough. Someone is ALWAYS there.Someone might not get how to deal with the situation. Someone might not know what to say or do. But that someone is still there, by your side or a little way behind.. Someone might just be waiting for you to need again. To confront the issue and say "Yeah, i can't deal with this, I need support." Someone is praying that you turn around and see that they will be there, all you have to do is pick up the phone and call, pick up a pen and write, switch on a computer and type. Anything. Sometimes, just talking about it helps. Sometimes just knowing that someones there is enough. Sometimes nothing is. That's when you sit down and count the stars that shine on you. Even if it is only one. Even if the only good thing is that there is a someone. When you see that Someone you will find that it is Someone who loves you and always will. Someone who may not know how to be there but will try if you just let them, show them, tell them how. Someone who's waiting for you to reach out. Someone ready to catch you.
You'll find that someone is me.
Authors Note: Its 2:00 AM at night. My thoughts are jumbled my feeling escalated and confused. This piece is raw and unedited. Its not my best. My point and purpose is simple, convey a message to someone. To that person, I say this, You know who you are. I miss you.
all alone in this world.
Alone to deal with my pain.
Alone to deal with my situation.
all alone.
Everyone thinks those words once maybe twice in a week, month or year. if they are lucky, in a lifetime. So how alone are you?
On one level, its just you against the world. you are facing it alone. No one will feel it like you do. No one is in the situation as you are in, the position you are.
On another level, look around. if you cant find a single person waiting to catch you. Problem. But the probability of that is pretty low. In that case you are driving people away and need some serious help.
No?
don't think your driving them away?
Cant see anyone?
Are you sure?
Look harder.
yeah.
Right there.
There's someone.
and another.
Oh LORD! Do I really see a third? It seems I do.
Most of the time, your not looking hard enough. Someone is ALWAYS there.Someone might not get how to deal with the situation. Someone might not know what to say or do. But that someone is still there, by your side or a little way behind.. Someone might just be waiting for you to need again. To confront the issue and say "Yeah, i can't deal with this, I need support." Someone is praying that you turn around and see that they will be there, all you have to do is pick up the phone and call, pick up a pen and write, switch on a computer and type. Anything. Sometimes, just talking about it helps. Sometimes just knowing that someones there is enough. Sometimes nothing is. That's when you sit down and count the stars that shine on you. Even if it is only one. Even if the only good thing is that there is a someone. When you see that Someone you will find that it is Someone who loves you and always will. Someone who may not know how to be there but will try if you just let them, show them, tell them how. Someone who's waiting for you to reach out. Someone ready to catch you.
You'll find that someone is me.
Authors Note: Its 2:00 AM at night. My thoughts are jumbled my feeling escalated and confused. This piece is raw and unedited. Its not my best. My point and purpose is simple, convey a message to someone. To that person, I say this, You know who you are. I miss you.
Tuesday 8 April 2008
Things that make you go 'Hmmm..' : Contradictions.
26th of march 2008.
Being driven up to kudd, we attempt to overtake a truck carrying like chickens which are soon to be somebodies dinner. We are filled with a sense of remorse for each of those ill fated chickens aware of their bleak and not so distant future. Slowly, we attempt to make our remorse and compassion evident saying things like, "Oh! those poor things", "What bad conditions they are being transported in!" and my forever favourite,"we should all be vegetarians and stop this world wide massacre."
Oh Please! Those poor things were born to be eaten by us. Thus is the food chain. We should "Oh those poor things!" all livestock and for that matter, prey. Are you really willing to challenge the way of the world in the name of human compassion?!?! As for those "bad conditions", well, how well would you keep something on its way to the gallows? Pointless statement... yes?
Vegetarians?! Hm, to the person making this irrational statement, YOU become a vegetarian and leave my habits alone please. Thank you! Do you really think ONE person not eating chicken is going to affect the poultry industry? Here's the bad news, it not going to make any difference.
As practical and heartless (hm, somehow those two always go hand-in-hand) as I may sound, at that particular moment, I must say, my heart did go out to those poor chickens in those 4 inch by 6 inch compartments being transported long distance only to be murdered at the break of dawn and served up with gravy by lunchtime, to say nothing of dinner. The argument I have presented myself with is the one I have stated above. It makes me feel better to say those things. Practicality is my answer to heartache. I am an animal lover and my heart goes out to each poor soul on the street though I have evidently learned to harden my heart over the years. I myself have my own little fetish-s. For one, I will never eat anything that looks like what it did when alive. That is probably why I will never be capable of eating fish. I also refuse to eat anything that I may have kept as a pet [i.e. named as it scampered around under my nose]. Which means, no fish, dog, pigeon, lizard, snail, rabbit or parakeets for me.
As you can see, residing within me is a cynical hypocrite who is so politically correct that he/she can openly be described as politically incorrect.
The same child, who ran home crying because she saw a dead puppy, ate chicken nuggets that night. In fact the only thing that did console her were chicken nuggets.
My dear friend the hypocrite doesn't just restrict itself to views on non vegetarian food but on everything. even vegetarian. I refuse to eat paneer and claim to be repulsed by he very sound of it, but place a plate of special paneer pakoras in front of me from nandini and im at it like a hungry lion at a deer(if you'll excuse the phrase).
Moving on from food, I claim to be perfectly happy with the way I look, and on most days i am. Try putting me in a swimsuit though, you've had it.
I hate politics and shun news about the government and ministers and what not. In school, I run my own little government, state, country, or just a social group of teenagers, take your pick.
I'm not the only one either! Within each of us resides a little monster of contradiction who takes immense amounts of pleasure in ruining our social status and polluting our otherwise pure thoughts with thoughts of the extreme nature.
In essence we are all little contradictions to ourselves, inspired by our actual innermost feelings that we chose to reveal to few.
Our little contradictions have this way of showing up when most unwanted, creating problems and snagging us in self set up snares. But living without these contradictions, is living without knowing yourself.
To know myself, I'm willing to be a a bit of a contradiction, willing to lose a little social status, be a hypocrite. To know myself, that is a price I am willing to pay.
NOTE: the author at the time of committing ideas to paper, was extremely obsessed with the words 'contradiction' and 'hypocrite'. She even went to the extremes of calling the sky a hypocrite as it supports both the sun and moon. shes is known to be absolutely senseless most of the time. To drive that point home, the original title of this piece was Hypocritical Rhyme. Just because.
Being driven up to kudd, we attempt to overtake a truck carrying like chickens which are soon to be somebodies dinner. We are filled with a sense of remorse for each of those ill fated chickens aware of their bleak and not so distant future. Slowly, we attempt to make our remorse and compassion evident saying things like, "Oh! those poor things", "What bad conditions they are being transported in!" and my forever favourite,"we should all be vegetarians and stop this world wide massacre."
Oh Please! Those poor things were born to be eaten by us. Thus is the food chain. We should "Oh those poor things!" all livestock and for that matter, prey. Are you really willing to challenge the way of the world in the name of human compassion?!?! As for those "bad conditions", well, how well would you keep something on its way to the gallows? Pointless statement... yes?
Vegetarians?! Hm, to the person making this irrational statement, YOU become a vegetarian and leave my habits alone please. Thank you! Do you really think ONE person not eating chicken is going to affect the poultry industry? Here's the bad news, it not going to make any difference.
As practical and heartless (hm, somehow those two always go hand-in-hand) as I may sound, at that particular moment, I must say, my heart did go out to those poor chickens in those 4 inch by 6 inch compartments being transported long distance only to be murdered at the break of dawn and served up with gravy by lunchtime, to say nothing of dinner. The argument I have presented myself with is the one I have stated above. It makes me feel better to say those things. Practicality is my answer to heartache. I am an animal lover and my heart goes out to each poor soul on the street though I have evidently learned to harden my heart over the years. I myself have my own little fetish-s. For one, I will never eat anything that looks like what it did when alive. That is probably why I will never be capable of eating fish. I also refuse to eat anything that I may have kept as a pet [i.e. named as it scampered around under my nose]. Which means, no fish, dog, pigeon, lizard, snail, rabbit or parakeets for me.
As you can see, residing within me is a cynical hypocrite who is so politically correct that he/she can openly be described as politically incorrect.
The same child, who ran home crying because she saw a dead puppy, ate chicken nuggets that night. In fact the only thing that did console her were chicken nuggets.
My dear friend the hypocrite doesn't just restrict itself to views on non vegetarian food but on everything. even vegetarian. I refuse to eat paneer and claim to be repulsed by he very sound of it, but place a plate of special paneer pakoras in front of me from nandini and im at it like a hungry lion at a deer(if you'll excuse the phrase).
Moving on from food, I claim to be perfectly happy with the way I look, and on most days i am. Try putting me in a swimsuit though, you've had it.
I hate politics and shun news about the government and ministers and what not. In school, I run my own little government, state, country, or just a social group of teenagers, take your pick.
I'm not the only one either! Within each of us resides a little monster of contradiction who takes immense amounts of pleasure in ruining our social status and polluting our otherwise pure thoughts with thoughts of the extreme nature.
In essence we are all little contradictions to ourselves, inspired by our actual innermost feelings that we chose to reveal to few.
Our little contradictions have this way of showing up when most unwanted, creating problems and snagging us in self set up snares. But living without these contradictions, is living without knowing yourself.
To know myself, I'm willing to be a a bit of a contradiction, willing to lose a little social status, be a hypocrite. To know myself, that is a price I am willing to pay.
NOTE: the author at the time of committing ideas to paper, was extremely obsessed with the words 'contradiction' and 'hypocrite'. She even went to the extremes of calling the sky a hypocrite as it supports both the sun and moon. shes is known to be absolutely senseless most of the time. To drive that point home, the original title of this piece was Hypocritical Rhyme. Just because.
Saturday 15 March 2008
A Chapter of My Life - Just For You.
[Another examination, another essay. This time, edited.]
Rubber Duckies and other such random items. 'Blah' and other such random words. Life and other such random processes. A black box of preserved memories. A notebook in front of me aptly titled, Chapters of My Life. I sat sifting through my memory box.
Letters, notes and bits of papers emerged. Each with its own history, its own story. Letter given to me, letters I never sent, notes passed in class, notes sent home. Scraps of my past all wrapped up in a box. A black box of preserved memories.
I sat documenting my memories. A random thought of the possibility of Alzheimer's and amnesia had induced me to do so. I never wanted to forget my memories and if my internal diary, memory, did fail me, I wanted a back up. A hard copy if you will.
As I finished off with the letters, I came across a pencil with bits of paper wrapped around it attached to an old fading photograph. I stared at the photograph as tears welled up in my eyes and two little girls smiled back at me with muddy faces and dark, gleaming eyes. Mahak and me at age four.
Mahak had been my best friend when I lived in Vasant Kunj, New Delhi. She was my upstairs neighbor, whose balcony I first learned to serenade at the tender age of seven. She lived in the apartment above ours on the first floor and I would climb atop our gate and sing songs to her and she would sing them back. She would always crack first and collapse on the floor of her balcony, laughing and I would fall off the gate and dissolve into fits of giggles.
The picture that was now blurring before my eyes had been taken by her father right after we had tried to eat wet mud because it looked like chocolate, and had been caught. She was squeezing me tight while I stood there, mud clenched in my fist, grinning from ear to ear. When I moved from Vasant Kunj to gurgaon, she gave me the picture as a going away gift with the pencil, which she had wrapped scraps of paper around that had our names as well as the phrase 'friends forever' all over it.
I sat back and thought of the time she rescued me from the puppies. I was and still am a passionate dog lover so when we discovered a litter of puppies in in the bushes by the park, I was naturally ecstatic. I sat down among them and started playing with them. When it was time to leave, I patted them all on the head and trotted off... only to be pulled back. Four of the seven puppies had caught hold of my frock and were pulling me back. Then fifth and a sixth joined in while the seventh sat and watched the show, his head cocked to one side. I did then what I did best at the age of five when faced with danger. I started crying.
My mother, for whom I was wailing passionately, was nowhere to be seen. So my superhero in 'power puff dungarees' decided, with all the goodness in her heart, to take matters into her own hands and rescue me, bless her. Mahak grabbed two puppies and shoved them in the bush and grabbed a third while yelling at me to run. I did just that, dragging three puppies behind me for a good ten-twelve feet. When they let go we ran home and collapsed in the garden outside my house as the stairs to her seemed like Everest to our tired bodies. I had stared at her with awe. Eight months older than me, she sat there, satisfied and calm, a picture of nonchalance as she chewed on a blade of grass. She had saved my life. She was my hero. I had to make it up to her so I offered her my brother. She loved him. He was two years younger and he smelt funny. yet, she loved him as I did.
I laughed at how insane we were. A life for a life. Simple. I smiled and thought of how in her wisdom and generosity she had accepted him with grace and then decided to share him with me knowing I loved him with all my heart.
The good old days. "The golden days, when life was great and pain was all a world away." Lionel Richie sang aptly at that precise moment and the music filled my room and my heart. "We we to school, we learned the rules. trusted in all they had to say. Then life took a turn we all had to learn that we can't go back again."
I missed her, I missed us. We had lost touch and as I put the picture away and wrote down its description and history, I felt nostalgic. Lionel Richie sang on "and my heart is breaking, Just For You, Just For You. And my arms are open, Just For You. Just For You.
I picked up a piece of paper and started to write a letter, "Just For You," I thought. "Just For You."
Rubber Duckies and other such random items. 'Blah' and other such random words. Life and other such random processes. A black box of preserved memories. A notebook in front of me aptly titled, Chapters of My Life. I sat sifting through my memory box.
Letters, notes and bits of papers emerged. Each with its own history, its own story. Letter given to me, letters I never sent, notes passed in class, notes sent home. Scraps of my past all wrapped up in a box. A black box of preserved memories.
I sat documenting my memories. A random thought of the possibility of Alzheimer's and amnesia had induced me to do so. I never wanted to forget my memories and if my internal diary, memory, did fail me, I wanted a back up. A hard copy if you will.
As I finished off with the letters, I came across a pencil with bits of paper wrapped around it attached to an old fading photograph. I stared at the photograph as tears welled up in my eyes and two little girls smiled back at me with muddy faces and dark, gleaming eyes. Mahak and me at age four.
Mahak had been my best friend when I lived in Vasant Kunj, New Delhi. She was my upstairs neighbor, whose balcony I first learned to serenade at the tender age of seven. She lived in the apartment above ours on the first floor and I would climb atop our gate and sing songs to her and she would sing them back. She would always crack first and collapse on the floor of her balcony, laughing and I would fall off the gate and dissolve into fits of giggles.
The picture that was now blurring before my eyes had been taken by her father right after we had tried to eat wet mud because it looked like chocolate, and had been caught. She was squeezing me tight while I stood there, mud clenched in my fist, grinning from ear to ear. When I moved from Vasant Kunj to gurgaon, she gave me the picture as a going away gift with the pencil, which she had wrapped scraps of paper around that had our names as well as the phrase 'friends forever' all over it.
I sat back and thought of the time she rescued me from the puppies. I was and still am a passionate dog lover so when we discovered a litter of puppies in in the bushes by the park, I was naturally ecstatic. I sat down among them and started playing with them. When it was time to leave, I patted them all on the head and trotted off... only to be pulled back. Four of the seven puppies had caught hold of my frock and were pulling me back. Then fifth and a sixth joined in while the seventh sat and watched the show, his head cocked to one side. I did then what I did best at the age of five when faced with danger. I started crying.
My mother, for whom I was wailing passionately, was nowhere to be seen. So my superhero in 'power puff dungarees' decided, with all the goodness in her heart, to take matters into her own hands and rescue me, bless her. Mahak grabbed two puppies and shoved them in the bush and grabbed a third while yelling at me to run. I did just that, dragging three puppies behind me for a good ten-twelve feet. When they let go we ran home and collapsed in the garden outside my house as the stairs to her seemed like Everest to our tired bodies. I had stared at her with awe. Eight months older than me, she sat there, satisfied and calm, a picture of nonchalance as she chewed on a blade of grass. She had saved my life. She was my hero. I had to make it up to her so I offered her my brother. She loved him. He was two years younger and he smelt funny. yet, she loved him as I did.
I laughed at how insane we were. A life for a life. Simple. I smiled and thought of how in her wisdom and generosity she had accepted him with grace and then decided to share him with me knowing I loved him with all my heart.
The good old days. "The golden days, when life was great and pain was all a world away." Lionel Richie sang aptly at that precise moment and the music filled my room and my heart. "We we to school, we learned the rules. trusted in all they had to say. Then life took a turn we all had to learn that we can't go back again."
I missed her, I missed us. We had lost touch and as I put the picture away and wrote down its description and history, I felt nostalgic. Lionel Richie sang on "and my heart is breaking, Just For You, Just For You. And my arms are open, Just For You. Just For You.
I picked up a piece of paper and started to write a letter, "Just For You," I thought. "Just For You."
Thursday 28 February 2008
My Interpretation
William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I discovered this little poem while researching on unconscious motives.
I find the idea fascinating.
To be the master of ones own fate and the captain of ones own soul is quite an idealistic statement to make. Everyone's thoughts and actions are ultimately dictated by another or more commonly, by society. One may be under the high flung misconception that he or she 'thinks for him/herself' but at the end of the day all of us have been brainwashed to conform with society. It may be by just simply abiding by the law or wearing the 'fashionable' clothes or by buying the latest Ipod release. At the end of the day it is society as a whole and as a collective that dictates one actions.
All this may be all right for those who do not enjoy making their own decisions or those who don't really wish to stand out but for the handful of us who do, even YOU at the end of the day have not a SINGLE original thought or idea. If you do, it has in someway been influenced by an external force.
I'm sorry, you were born into the wrong world. You're free to escape to your own.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
