"There's No Place Like Home."

Note: I found this short piece in my diary from a few months ago, thought its sounded good and would please my mother who is my most loyal and probably only reader. This ones for you mom, you make "Home" what it is.

It was a cold winter morning, I walked in to the house shivering at 10 am.
I had been out all night.
Awake, through the night.
I dragged my exhausted frame up the stairs and crawled into bed.
I curled up under the covers inhaling the sweet smell of the detergent my mother used to wash the comforter with. It smelt like home.
I closed my eyes.
Two rooms away my father was singing "Rasputin" as he pottered about, tinkering with his model railroads or fixing his helicopters.
I heard my dog Buzz run from one room to the other as my mother sneezed as loudly as was humanely possible.
Upstairs my brother was strumming his guitar.
I sighed. content.
I smile.
I'm Home.

A Moonlit Walk with Buzz Lightyear of Star Command

This is not the Buzz Lightyear of Star Command you all know. This is my buzz, the daschund. I swear that's his name. You can check the birth certificate Rohin and I made for him when we got him about 11 years ago. Let me paint you a picture: hes black with a tan nose and feet. His claws are humongous and his teeth, a not very attractive yellow. He smells as pretty as a dog can, but his breath could put the kraken to shame. He walks about with the air of one who owns whatever his aura touches. You can try calling him to come over to you, he will not dignify you with more than a look in your general direction that says, "Yeah. Right." He has the grace to look embarrassed and confused when he farts and audacity to walk away from you when you are on your knees grovelling for his attention. He is the quintessential dignified old man one would not want to cross and dare not patronise. Try making coochie coo sounds at him. Go on. I dare you.
Anyway, I had the pleasure of taking this incredible, albeit useless, creature for his evening walk. His walks generally consist of someone hooking on the leash so he will walk out of the house(he never leaves without it on) and unhooks it as soon as they step out of the gate. He is then allowed to run free about the clearing adjacent to the house for about 5 minutes. Not today though. Today, I would walk him around the park. I think he sensed this because he was very excited. More than usual. Not that I blame him. He's been sniffing at the same blades of grass and car tyres for a while. He needed a change.
So we set off, going from one side of the road to the other. For all intents and purposes we were following the path of an absurdly large drunken snake. You could sense his excitement.. all these new smells! Oh my. You could see the sparks flying from his eyes..
We zigzagged across the road till we came to a hill about two feet high. Considering buzz is about 8 inches tall, this mound of earth was to him, a challenge. HE climbed it repeatedly, slipping off just as he reached the top. When he finally made it he turned his ass around so he wasn't facing me and took what seemed like a healthy and satisfying dump. He looked confused and slightly annoyed at the sound of his poop hitting the hill and slowly rolling off it. I dodged.
We walked on and he revelled in the aroma of new tyres. We jaunted along, him lost in the Ecstasy of new scents, and I, lost in various deep thoughts that at the time seemed life changing. It was a calm moment, both of us existing in our own worlds in our own heads when suddenly disaster struck in the form of an absurdly large indistinguishable fruit falling from the tree. Buzz jumped back, petrified, tail between his legs. he gave the fallen fruit a wide berth only to spy a cow coming out of the shrubs. This miniature genius went into full on attack mode, barking and pulling on his leash with all 3.5 kgs of his weight. Talk about misplaced sense of fear.
Barring this one explosive incident, the walk was largely uneventful. We strolled back towards the house, buzz picking up his pace as we got closer. He bolted in the gate, waited for me to take of his leash and jaunted into the house, his tail standing erect, his body wagging side to side with pride. He stepped into the kitchen and promptly collapsed on the floor with a sigh of contentment and was snoring not a minute later.
Needless to say, it was a good walk.

Potato

Height of self obsession: I stalked myself on facebook.
there were two conclusions I came to aside from the obvious, "I'm a narcissist".
One being that I'm never gonna be as scrawny as I was in school and that's okay.

The other was that somethings are meant to last forever, and while 8 years may not be forever, its two years short of half my lifetime. Seems as close to forever as Id like to get.
This post is not going to be some brilliant piece of writing. This one, its just for you. I know its going to be relatively useless because to actually explain what I am feeling seems like an impossible task. One of the reasons I'm writing this is because I want to be able to come back to this moment and feel like I did something about it. I want to be able to look back 8 more years further down the line and think, "Yeah, I knew what I was talking about, I knew what I felt was right". Sometimes you just know right?

If only I could show you the smile on my face.
I haven't checked in the mirror yet, but I'm pretty sure my eyes are all sparkly.

Yet, I know that when you read this, you will know EXACTLY what I am talking about.

8 years Pots. Give or take a few months of silence.
8 years.

And look at what we have to show for it.

Words escape me, as usual. Man, I really need to find those words. :/
So I'm just going to copy paste what I found on one of our old pictures yea?

"A hundred smiles. a thousand laughs. lots of wiped up tears. surrendered thoughts. confidence in strength. a little jealousy. a pinch of contempt. a dash of irrational joy. =)
a crystal vase, still intact. shards of a broken heart, put back together. hugs and dances. friends and family. insanity. insecurity. saving a fish. saving a life. popatoe. backstreet boys and blink 182. music and lyrics. oranges and sunshine. nani chai and the perfect hug. flowers and vodka. just boys. bumps and bruises. a few more moments. tingly and dieing. soul mates and best friends. potato and butterfly. forever and for always."

So incredibly gay.
but like I said, I'm feeling it.

So dance with me, like we did before the dresses, the shoes, the makeup, the boys and the drama. Dance with me, like we did when we were spinning in circles with the moon in our eyes.

Lets sing to the wind as we dance through the night..

I love you.

Addendum: I am just incredibly attached to this friend of mine. Im not gay. Just Saying. Mother, that's for you.

Shitty Poetry 101

I spend a lot of my time worrying about my lost writing skills. Mother has constantly told me to practice, something I never needed to do and I don't see why I should now.
A few days ago I found myself bored in a class with not much to entertain myself with. I had, unfortunately, finished the 4 Sudoku puzzles I had copied on to my notebook to complete in class and still had some 35 grueling minutes to get through. Aastha, always by my side, literally not so much but metaphorically, was scribbling away at a speed that could possibly put A1 to shame. I felt left out and oddly inspired. So I whipped out my pen and wrote some really bad poetry, recalling the words of Trisha: 'Just write man'. It was an unmitigated disaster. I am putting it up to remind myself that if I don't practice, this might be my best work.
Dhruv called my writing 'cute'. The horror. the horror.

#1
I don't know you.
I caught a glimpse of you and I felt glad.
I saw you walked by and you smiled.
How long has it been since another's smile made my day?
But. I don't know you.
I feel drawn to you.
I, the proverbial moth, you, the flame.
I feel myself involuntarily reach for the happiness you embody.
I want to feel it, reach out and grab it, share it.
But you don't know me.
How could you know the misery I have felt for so long that I don't know any other state of being?
How could you know that when you catch my eye, I cant breathe.
How could you know that simple is all I need?
I don't know you.
But I want to.

#2
You are lost
but I have never felt so found
Funny how we started in sync and concluded out of it.
My happiness meant yours.
Your sorrow meant mine.
you always knew, you always grounded me.
Be it in misery, sorrow, joy or hope.

Now I find that Um the rock in the sea and you are grasping and floundering and drowning.
I beg you to swim towards me you don't.
You've been my pillar, let me be yours.
I reach for your hand, intent on pulling you out..
But you push me away.
You're slipping through my fingers.

You are lost
And I have never felt so found.

I could help you find yourself,
You're sure of it but you wont let me.
I'm offering direction to your wandering self
and you turn and walk the other way.

They said Id be lost without you
They said that you would be alright.

They were wrong.
You are lost.
I've never been so found.
Let me find you.

#3
We used to be friends
Best Friends.
One soul, two bodies.

I'd smile, you'd smile.
I'd cry, you'd stage a murder.
In your head, of course.

Time spent together, chillin'
Legal, illegal such and such.
Every class, every step, every joke, every jibe.
Side by side yea?

We used to be friends,
Best friends,
Two peas in a pod.

All good things come to an end, they say.
How dare they articulate the inevitable.
But they were right

We had words.
We had wars.
Heated and Cold.

Sunshine changed to rain
Storms
Harsh winds
Broken trees.

It didn't stop abruptly, no.
The rain let up slowly till it was a drizzle.
Overcast cloudy skies
The calm after the storm
The battlefield littered with casualties of our own beings.

We used to be friends,
Best friends.
Now, Fire and Ice.


Here endeth the shitty poetry.
If you read through it, Kudos. I had a hard time writing it down.
But, somethings just need to be done. Exposing myself to humiliation should, somewhere, push me to write better.
You may giggle Trish.
I'm hoping I still get the last laugh.

Untitled

"Well Im forming and Im warming
pushing myself and I dont mind asking now..

Smoke surrounds your perfect face and im falling.
pushing a broom out into space, and this is where I found a way."

Music.
It speaks to the mortal soul.
When I can not explain what I feel.
Scratch that.
When I can not even begin to fathom the depths of what I feel, a song, an arrangement of notes, some lyrics, they bring it all to the surface.
and suddenly it all makes sense.
There's this feeling..
It overwhelms and overtakes.
makes everything else fade into complete oblivion.
That emotion, that feeling, become paramount.
Becomes me.
I begin to define myself for those three minutes as just that emotion.
A tear trickles down my face and suddenly, it makes sense.
When I am lost, and nowhere to be found.
When the path I am on makes no sense.
My life, makes no sense.
There is this feeling, this emotion I can not describe.

Music
Suddenly it all makes sense.
Every irrational thought, becomes rational.
Every intense emotion is validated.
Every word of the song, is me, is my life, is who I am.

"stranger things have happend both, before and afternoon. and I'm forming and I'm warming, state of the art until the clouds come crashing."

Sometimes, I can make sense of the lyrics.

"Alone inside my forest room and it's stormy. I never thought Id be in bloom, But this is where I start."

Sometimes, I just do not understand.

"Stadium Arcadium, a mirror to the moon.
Well Im forming and Im warming
(warming to you)"

Yet, there is a part of me that does, a part of me that relates.
A part of me that can identify that someone that makes me feel like the song does.
Makes me feel like sometimes I understand them and sometimes I dont.
Makes me feel like if I try a little harder, do just a little bit better, I might just understand, I might just be better than who I am.

Music.
The word does not even begin to describe what it can do. The word itself, is nothing. It's quite an amusing word. It does not give you a heads up, a warning. Does not give you even a sense of what is about to come.
Music.
It speaks to the mortal soul.
Even if the mind doesn't understand.
It give me this feeling, this emotion I can not define.
Sometimes, a chill down my spine, goosebumps, a connection.
Sometimes, happiness or overwhelming sadness.
Sometimes, the will to write again when I have lost all hope, or to sing, or to dance, or to just run. To go places you have never been before.
Sometimes, a complete understanding, explaining, defining who I am.
Music.
My heart, my soul, me.


Note: The song used in this post is Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

"There's No Place Like Home."

Note: I found this short piece in my diary from a few months ago. I thought it sounded good and would please my mother who is my most loyal and probably only reader. This ones for you mom, you make "Home" what it is.

It was a cold winter morning, I walked in to the house shivering at 10 am.
I had been out all night.
Awake, through the night.
I dragged my exhausted frame up the stairs and crawled into bed.
I curled up under the covers inhaling the sweet smell of the detergent my mother used to wash the comforter with. It smelt like home.
I closed my eyes.
Two rooms away my father was singing "Rasputin" as he pottered about, tinkering with his model railroads or fixing his helicopters.
I heard my dog Buzz run from one room to the other as my mother sneezed as loudly as was humanely possible.
Upstairs my brother was strumming his guitar.
I sighed. content.
I smile.
I'm Home.