Disgust

Ever find yourself so drastically changed that you could no longer relate to the person you were just last year?

Ever go back on your work and think just that one word, "Eww"?

("Eww" can be substituted out for "No. Just no.")

It is disgusting.

I'm filled with disgust.

Im made of disgust.

Question is, will I take it down or leave it here for the world to see?

Or does this serve as some kind of warning that I no longer am the person that wrote the posts that seem like so many experiences ago?

Eulogy

I've been avoiding writing about this for too long.

Primarily because it means too much to me. It becomes real. Forever.
When I articulate my feelings, there's no hiding from them.

Today I dreamt about you. I've been dreaming about you often, but today hit me hard.

I was 9 years old when you came to us. You were so small you fit in my hand. I remember looking down at you all curled up in my arms thinking I would never love anything more fiercely than I loved you at that moment. I was right. Wisdom of a 9 year old, you really know love at that age right? The fierce, innocent love of a child.

We grew up together. You were so much fun. I loved the way my hair really perplexed you and you'd attack with the ferocity of a very small mouse. Im sorry I drove you crazy with all that scratching on the bed, but it was really funny watching you attempt to dig a whole in the mattress.
You were so brave. Not the intelligent kind of brave. The dumbass kind. I remember chasing after you so many times when you slipped out the gate to go chase cows. You realise that you were only 6 inches off the ground right? Its a miracle you never got stepped on.

I remember teaching you your name was Buzz by being overly cuddly with my stuffed bear calling it Buzz. You were such a jealous type. Couldn't even handle mom hugging me or Ro.

As the years went by and I got busier and had less time to spend with you, you got older and grumpier preferring to stare out of the window on your own or lounge on mom. She was, afterall, your portable sofa cum bed. I still maintained she ruined you. You were so good as a pup and as an adult, then, as you hit old age, she started feeding you off the table and you started begging. How many times did I tell you that was undignified and very unbecoming of your age. You didn't listen, but then again, you never did.

Atleast you learnt to not eat everything as you got older. Not that you were ever messy or immature about it. Though I think that lizard you ate and then almost immediately regurgitated in one piece would beg to differ. But hey, you learnt from your mistakes, that's more than I can say about most people I know.

You were everything to be Buzz, you were my friend when I had none, you were what made me feel loved when I hated myself. You were never too demanding and always waited patiently for me to find a few moments to spend with you. I wish I'd spent more time with you towards the end of it but the truth is I couldn't bear to see you that way. My strong, independant and moronic baby, barely moving. It broke my heart every day.

I was glad when it was over. I hated seeing you like that.

That last day, your last day. I walked into the house from college, already a mess. I knew it was over, our time together was over. I looked at you look at me and I watched as the last light left your eyes, that last flicker of recognition. I know you only held on long enough after that for mom and dad to get home. Im sorry she couldn't be there, but its better she didn't see you like that. It would've hurt her too much.

I still think about how you felt in my arms as they injected the pain away. Im sorry I made you suffer that long, I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to let go. I don't know if you felt it but I held on tight Buzzy, really tight. I held on till you were no longer breathing and for a while after that too. I don't know if you heard me but I kept telling you I loved you, that it was okay you had to go, that you were everything, I thanked you for all the times you'd been there for me when no one else could. I dont know if you felt it but I kissed you again and again till my face was covered with your fur.

Buzz, a little bit of me died with you that day.

I was sitting on the roof with Vikram and Rohin and Vikram said something to me that made that day a little easier. He said, "You know Rhea, Buzz had the perfect life. You got him as a puppy when you were still a kid. You had all the time in the world to spend with him and play with him. When he reached a point where he couldnt play anymore, you had grown up and had other things to do so he was able to contemplate life as all old men should. And now he's gone, but you, your life is just beginning. The way I see it, he left at a perfect time."

Maybe you did. But no time would ever be right to lose someone or something you love.

I was 9 years old when you came to us. I was 21 when you left.

Its been 8 months since you've been gone and not a day goes by without a thought of you but today more than ever I miss the way you'd curl up next to me when I felt like shit and give me the 'don't you dare move me you pain in the ass' look if I tried to readjust. I miss the sound of your feet pitter pattering all over the house at really odd hours and I miss the way your breath smelt like a thousand corpses. I miss saying "Buzzy, kaun aya" and watching you flip shit. I miss taking you on walks and carrying you around, much to your distaste. I miss giving you bones to chew, watching you keep at it for half an hour, going to bury it and forgetting about it. The backyard still has them and I promise you, no one will take them away. I miss how you'd sit at the bottom of the stairs and bark till someone carried you up and the scratching sounds you made at the door when you wanted to be let in only to promptly walk out. I miss how you'd sleep curled up on my bean bag as I pretended study. You kept my secret, you kept all my secrets.

Buzz, you owned this house and every living thing in it.
I love you as much as I did that first day, with the fierce, innocent love of a 9 year old.

Sometimes, I get a good feeling.

Hello world,

I guess this is the format I will follow for a while. I like the idea of someone listening to me. Not that I lack people who listen, I might just have too many of those if there is even such a thing. Once in a while though, even though there are a 100 people I could call I dont, I still feel alone. Sad ain't it?

That was not the point of this particular post.

I just had a relatively amazing day and I want to share it with you, world.

I went to meet my friends at Khan Market after class today and due to some pretty unexpected circumstances, I found myself alone. I consulted with a friend and after a little deliberation took myself up to the rooftop of Market Cafe.

The weather was beautiful. It was the kinda day where you feel like its early morning all day. I was listening to some old music I hadn't heard in a while. I ordered a lemon iced tea with mint, pulled out my ipad and started to read Oscar Wilde who may be one of my favourite authors. It was essentially perfect.

My server was a very sweet, slightly camp fellow. I don't think he had ever seen a girl alone before and he kept coming to check up on me. He told me about the student discount as well and we got talking. He said I looked about 16. My ego swelled up. Its taken quite a bashing in the last few days, I think I might have hit an all time low yesterday. Let me tell you, a random gay fellow telling you that you look 5 years younger than you are, if taken as a compliment, is one of the nicest feelings in the world.

Winter was in the air.
The tunes were right.
My ceasar salad was crisp, cold, perfect.
I felt something I hadn't in so long.
It was an indescribable feeling that one can only really get in their own company.

I looked out at the world, the breeze making my hair dance, a good book in my lap, good music surrounding me, enveloping me and for those few moments, all was well with the world.

Its a moment that doesn't come too often.
Its a feeling worth all the shit life may throw at you.

Today, I feel good world.

Thanks for listening.
Ill be back soon!

Goodnight.

Some Nights

Hello World,
Its been a while.
I feel the need to share. To write. Whats going to come off it will, as usual be a surprise to both of us.

I graduated. Did you hear? It was awful. I don't like change. I loved my life on campus. I loved being a part of something bigger than myself. Well that's done. I miss the life, I do. However, Im older, Im different. I wont be able to live that life again. It was wonderful while it lasted. I will always miss it, look back at it with fondness, and for now, try to retain what I can of it. But, its over. It took me a while to say, but its over.

I turned 21 too. No escaping life now. I have a job, yes, a job. I woke at an online art magazine part time. It can be found at www.thewallartmag.com. Infact, I was published this month. Worst piece of crap Ive ever written. just. WOW. Such shit. But hey, I plan to write here more often and Im hoping the practice will bring me back to where I was.

My baby passed away, my buzz. He was my dog. I grew up with him. I loved him. I feel the void he left behind every single time I walk in to the house. Id always yell out his name earlier, now I do it in my mind. I'd walk in yelling "BUZZ" or ask my maids, "buzzy kahan hai?" Now I just walk in with a sinking heart. Its a shit feeling. I want to write a post dedicated solely to him. I dont think Im ready yet. I feel like that would be it. I would have accepted it. I haven't yet. I still expect to hear the clattering of his much too long nails as he walked about the house. It's a terrible thing to lose something so dear, something you grew up with, nursed, taught, scolded, something that loved  you no matter what, something that was always around, in the background, doing its own thing till you needed it. I lost that two months ago. Im not ready.

I started my masters too, in psychology. Its amazing. I genuinely really enjoy it. I find myself at sea quite often, but I feel like this is where Im supposed to be, or atleast, at any rate, supposed to be doing. Ive found my place. Its nice to want to come home and read something academic. Or just read really, I kinda lost that along the way somewhere in my 3 years of DU.

DU is still messing with me. It started with me not getting my results, then my professor refusing me internals and therefore finding myself with an ER. I hope that shall be sorted soon.

So this is where I stand right now, I have a job, I have a master degree I'm pursuing. What does that leave? My identity.

For the first time in a long time, I know who I am and where I stand with most people. I know who I want to be and how much further I have to go to be there. I spent so much time as a teenager wondering who I was, where I was going. I finally decided, there's no point. Life will take you where it wants, exercise the little control you have, beyond that, there's nothing you can do. Everything changes and things rarely go as planned. Just be prepared to be thrown out of your comfort zone, expect the unexpected and take it as it comes. Sometimes you'll find that you cant cope up. Take a deep breath, remember it could be worse and remember that you HAVE to cope up. Then, break down, cry, throw things and give up for a day. You'll find tomorrow's a lot easier if not better.

All this being said, any sane human being would see that I am exhausted. But it is a wonderful kind of productive exhaustion that I have missed. I'm not going to lie, some days juggling all this and attempting to have some semblance of a social life or trying to keep up with relationships does get the best of me and  travelling 4 hours a day in a car or metro doesn't help in anyway and is a downright waste of time. Somedays I dont think I can do it anymore and I just want to crawl under a rock and sleep my life away. Other days I just want to give up and just let everything go.However, I still am happier all around than I think I could've been in any other situation.

Sure, there are some things I'd like to fix, may be a second shot. There are alot of things I'd redo a bit differently. For sure there are things Id like to change to be able to do and be everything I want to do and be. I'm still messy and disorganized, I'd still rather be sleeping and Im still always late.
All in all though, I'd like to say, Im content, even happy some days.

All in all though, Im getting there, Im fine.

Thank you for listening world.
I'll be back soon.

Goodnight.

All Growd Up

When do you really grow up?
When are you no longer a child?
When did I cross over that liminal space of "Not a girl, not yet a Woman"
Was it when I turned 16? 18? When I got my licence? When I started College?
Or was it when I moved on campus and had to, for all intents and purposes, live on my own?
I believe it was the day I found myself advising my Parents on this wonderful, albeit painful, journey we call Life.

This came up today in conversation with the ever inspiring Ambika Singh, aka, Potato.
We bonded over how we had to Bring up our parents.
It went beautifully with the "High School Never Ends" discussion.

Ive noticed this over the past two years maybe. I mean, aside from the questions I get asked about "The Facebook" and other baffling phenomenon on the ever confusing computer or cell phone, and the questions about current slang and chat speak*, I am also questioned about serious things. Let me paint you a picture: One half of the parental unit gets stumped on how to deal with a social situation and approaches me, the offspring. I listen, call upon my 20 years of experience and wisdom, and deliver a heart wrenching, inspiring monologue sprinkled with good advice. The concerned half of the parental unit looks at me in shock and proceeds to take this advice, which then in turn renders me absolutely baffled. There is always, this exchange of surprised looks. From the parent it generally says, "When did you grow up? Only yesterday I was trying  to get you to quit sucking your thumb." My response, "Where in the hell did THAT come from? This is too fast for me, I want a bouncy castle and cotton candy!"

Somewhere between 16 and now, I grew up.
Somewhere between asking for advice and ignoring it, I started advising.
Somewhere between asking questions and demanding answers, I found myself answering.

Now, I'm the type of person who runs from growing up, my mother will testify to this. I hate the idea of not being a child, or being responsible. I want to be silly and ridiculous and have people look out for me. I want to jump about in a bouncy castle and ride that stupid choo-choo train I don't fit into anymore.
Needless to say, I was not happy with this discovery. Add graduation to that and you have a very distraught me.

The other day I found myself advising my parents on parenting.
I don't advocate this. It is a bad idea. They've managed fine till now without you telling them how to deal with you. Don't start now.
However, this situation did warrant a friendly word or 500 on the subject.
By the end of the conversation, I found myself exhausted, emotionally and surprisingly, physically. The only physical movement I had made whilst discussing said topic was holding the phone to my ear and swapping ears. I might have possibly switched seating positions once or twice but nothing more. Yet, I was exhausted. And from what I hear, once you take this job, there really is no quitting, no going back. Its a life time appointment, what the modernists call a "no exit" situation.
I'm going to take this moment to say Kudos to the Parental Unit. Trying to sort out just one situation almost got the best of me. You have brought up both me and my brother reasonably well with minimal to no damage. You have dealt with such situations on a daily basis and made it through and are still sane. You are my inspiration. Some day, I hope to have brought up relatively damage-less children.

However, until then, I shall practise on you.

Bringing up the parents.

I hear trial and error is the only way to go about it.

*Once I was asked what ":)" was. On another similar note, old people, LOL does NOT mean Lots of Love when we say it. It means LAUGHING OUT LOUD. Though chances are, the person who said it isn't. Laughing out Loud that is.

Useless Self Indulgence.

Clearly, structure and adhering to deadlines is not my strong point. I guess it doesn't help that I set them for myself. No punishment if I don't comply.

Useless.
That's what Id describe myself as.

If you are expecting purpose from this post I'm going to stop you right there. Do not. If you still do, I appeal to you to quit reading this now and move on to the next post. This is me being self indulgent.

I wanted to write something, anything. Just because I could. Just because they've always told me I could. Yet, as I sit here, yearning to share, to explore, to relate... I cant. There a block, a wall if you will. I do not know how to get around it. I do not know how to find that inspiration that used to strike so easily. I never had to go looking for it. It was always there, triggered by a word in conversation, lyrics to a song, a friends smile.
I now find myself struggling.

The only reason, I believe, this is happening is because life itself no longer has a purpose for me. In school, when my ability to write was at its zenith, there was purpose, something to look forward. I was happy, I was growing up.

What changed? I'm still growing! I'm still happy sometimes, even if it is rarer than it used to be.
I am aware of a void, a lack of purpose.
Why should that exist?
I found a goal, a purpose.
I have a plan. An academic plan, a career plan.

Yet, this void exists. A dissatisfaction.
The logical conclusion would be that I have reached that point where I begin to ask questions like "Who am I?" and "Why am I here?", all following some existential strain. I haven't begun to question, nor do I desire to.
I know many who would direct me to spiritual texts and different faiths.
Yet, in the moment I may be intrigued, but 20 minutes later, I don't want to know.
I know who I am. I don't know why I am here but I don't think it really matters, not right now. I don't care if my life is ruled by destiny or a series of coincidences that were my choice, free will. To conclude, I don't believe this is an existential crisis.

Yet, it shows all symptoms of one.

Look, a post, a piece of writing! I guess I did manage to succeed halfway. I say halfway because I am in no way satisfied with it. All I have done is attempted to explain a void, one I don't understand, one I want to fill and lament the lack of inspiration.

Like I said initially, Useless.

What's this? TWO posts in one day?!

So Ive decided to post atleast once a week.
I don't know about what.
If you have been reading whatever I've already posted, or you know me and found this by mistake, you'd know that I am CONVINCED I've lost my ability to write.
I have mother!
So this is my attempt to find those lost words and "turn of phrase"'s that used to flow out of me like a.. a..
See what I mean?

Anyway, Im hoping putting this up here for the 3 people who read this will motivate me to post. I feel like some kind of regime might be good for me.

Also, Ambika made me do the MMPI. Questionnaires like that always make me question myself and my character. The last few questions pertained to laziness and self motivation. I had to do SOMETHING productive.

This is productive.
So there.
I showed you, didn't I you stupid MMPI.
And as long as I've got you, why on earth would you want to know if I enjoy fixing door latches? Also, could you get more obvious with the questions about suicide? Depressed people don't know they are depressed! and they don't like to admit it if they do!

Ill attempt to be back with something worth reading in a few days.

Hopefully.

Even I can't get myself to believe this.

That Night

It started with a feeling, just an inkling. You felt it and you reached out for me. I saw it in your eyes and I knew it was here. Then it hit me, I felt it.
I held you close protecting you, rocking you to sleep, hiding you from it. I felt it searching for a way to you, a path, a hole, a gap in my protection. It wanted to get to you. It had to go through me.
All my defences, all my energy was directed at you. You were invisible to it, I was all too vulnerable.
For the first time, it infiltrated me.
I covered you, who was now gently snoring, at peace because you knew I was there. I, satisfied that you were safe, now turned and walked away to battle that which was within me. A battle I had put off for 14 years.
It was time.
So it began. I surrounded myself with my weapons, all the positivity I had in the world, my friends, my strengths. I faced it.
It rushed, I stopped.
It twisted, I undid.
I can do this.
It screamed, I was silent.
It attacked, I defended.
I need to do this.
It pushed, I pulled.
It stretched, I compressed.
I was stronger than this. I will always be stronger than this.
It won, I lost.
It lost, I won.
Conviction.
It faded away, it gave up.
I was a rock. A mountain.
You were still asleep, unaware that I was fighting my battle and yours. Unaware that you were the only reason I was strong.
I changed that night. I no longer fear.
I will protect. I will fight.
For you, I will.

Note: Take it as you will.

"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.

Inspiration

Inspiration.
It starts with a word, just one word, a fleeting thought maybe, and grows into so much more.
Accompanied by a feeling, that big things are about to happen, that starts slowly somewhere in ur chest, spraks its way down your spine to your toes, and grows and grows till it envelopes your body. Excitement builds like crescendo sound till youre ready to burst.
Its like a storm within you, raging and taking over anything it touches, taking control and precedence over every thought, trying to control every action.
Winds swirling, thoughts churling, images flashing...
and suddenly, theres a bolt of lightening and a calm of understanding washes over you, a clarity rarely found.
It ends with a word, just one word, which now means so much more.

Exhaustion and the desire to write results in nothing of any significance...

Its been a while.
Not that anybody noticed.

Everything happens for a good reason. Everything happens for the better. That's what he said to me.
I chose to disagree. Life is not determined by someone/something sitting up on a pedestal choosing your path, deciding what is going to happen to you... There isn't an almighty watching your every move, deciding what obstacles get thrown your way, which one gets resolved and which one does not.
[Note: Im not disputing the fact that an Almighty exists. I am merely questioning your significance, is it really enough to warrant his/her/its attention.]
We're all just meandering along in a bunch of coincidences, calling it life, trying to make it worthwhile, trying to be significant.
Destiny is not in question here though. your coincidences will lead you to where you are meant to be. If you land up somewhere else, that's where you are meant to be. After all, its not like you know in advance where you are meant to be. Ergo, if you do not know where you are meant to be, how do you know if you got there?

To appropriately conclude: We are not controlled, our decisions take us where we should be. The world and time is a web of coincidence. And where you are right now.. its where your meant to be. Don't like it? Change it.

You know you can.

Train Journey: A Reflection.

A Stream of Consciousness: You have been warned.

Music. It calls to my mortal soul. I sit, as the world around me sleeps, listening to the sounds of music that mean different things to different people in different parts of the world at different times.
The dead of the night as towns, nameless, pass by my window in a whirl of lights and cement structures. The lights comes and goes like a flickering bulb, a firefly in the dark. I can see a washed out moon trough the haze and pollution that makes the sky. Its hard not to reflect on the supernatural, to contemplate the existence of vampires, werewolves, possession and spirits. Harder yet to keep the emotions at bay. The emotions, the feelings suppressed during the day. The love that’s been kept aside for a spell. The longing that’s hidden from the world. The emptiness left when a someone special no longer resides in that void. The joy, of making new friends accompanied by the awkwardness of new beginnings.
Speaking of which, I met with two colonels today, don’t know their names. Never will see them again. Yet, we shared a whole train ride, majority of which was spent in attempting to ignore the snores of the asleep. We shared these moments and when this train arrives at New Delhi Railway station, we will part ways, never to meet again. Yet, united forever in that shared experience, a common factor. Two men. From the same world, which such differing attitudes. Can there really be such a situation.
Paradise. An untouched world. An unspoilt memory. A place where all our dreams come true.
My Romeo, who is currently in possession of my paradise, is so far away. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, rivalled by ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ Which one to believe? The pain of being so far away. ‘Close your eyes, escape this town for a little while.’ What town? This state of mind. ‘You were everything to me and I was begging you please don’t go’. How to stop those who must leave? How to move on? I don’t want to move on. I want to stay suspended in that reality forever. And just where do I come off, calling this state of mind a reality?
Realism, I must write 2000 words on realism. How do you decide? What’s real and what’s not? What’s real to me, that blue light over the door, the rhythmic swaying of this train, the loud snoring of my neighbour that I can not drown out with the music… can you, dear reader, grasp this? Feel its reality like I am at this moment. Can I once again revisit this reality when I read this again? Can I recreate the soreness in my knee from sitting cross legged? Feel the irritation at the snoring? Recall the physical effort it is taking me to suppress the longing, the tears that are sure to come if I for one minute stop and think of him so far away.
I was asked today, ‘How do you know when to stop brushing your teeth? When it hurts? Or after you have spit twice, thrice?” Its relative to each person, just like reality. All though making brushing your teeth a metaphor for reality may be a little too far fetched, even for my emotion-ridden brain.
‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’. Stevie Nicks got it right. She claims “when the rain washes you clean you’ll know.” I love rain. Although ironically, I have to bathe after prancing about in the rain. What world is this where the rain can wash you clean? And why am I not a part of it? The pollution and the deceit of the world is brought down by the rain, you bathe in the stale dust of a thousand wrongs and very few rights.
A sliver of light is filtering through the curtains, I can see the dust, its beautiful. I spy my emotion, chocking it. Until it is nothing more than just yellow light. The voice in my head is asking me what on earth I am doing randomly writing what is filtering through my subconscious into my conscious. She, I like to believe that it is a she, wants to know what I hope to achieve through this and all I have to tell her is that I don’t know.
When you’re young, which I still am, you are not at liberty to really know anything. You’re too young, you haven’t experienced the world. And chances are you won’t be allowed to. You’re way too young to. So where does that leave you? You’re too in experienced to know and too young to experience. Where does that leave you?
I know I have done nothing but pose a bunch of questions and barely talk off a train journey, I know is infuriating. In this game, I take no prisoners, only casualties. I’m not old enough to know the answers, or to know anything really.
Love, so far away, separated from me by oceans. I love you and that’s all I really know. Magnified by this reflecting, solidified by this writing, brought to light by this train journey. I am swayed and I move, conform, to the jerks, the swinging. I cope, my muscles working together, to the best of my ability.

At the crossroads.

The "Plan" was always to do brilliantly well in my boards, shock everyone I know with my sheer genius and ability to multi task, get into St. Stephens and then...
...
That's right.
I have no "and then..."
Nothing to complete the sentence with.
Its weird, I never thought I would say this, but being exactly where you want to be, isn't all that great.
I am EXACTLY where I planned to be today.
Today, I do not know what to do with myself, I have no goals, no ambition.

I leave the house, take a walk, meet my friends and come home.
I sit on my chair... and I wait...
I wait...
I wait for inspiration to strike, for an objective to materialize.
I scan the horizon for purpose and reason.
I wait.
I wait at the crossroads.

'Things that make you go hmm...' : and I say Hmmm..

"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.

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.