EpicFail

Social Experiment. '<'EpicFail'>'

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I want to cut off all my hair
and go out walking in the cold
Carve myself a new hole
and talk just like before

I want to starve myself of blankets
and sleep here on the floor





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Before the dawn...

The view from windows is quite beautiful, a thin mist laying claim to all it touches, a small beam of light shining through the overlapping branches of a tree. A huge bat swoops low. And her dog decides to follow her home, running ahead , looking back every few steps to make sure she doesn't lose her way.

Sometimes she just wants to escape, from the reality her life has become. Strangely , for the pragmatist she is , dreaming comes very naturally to her.  But it will be up to her to find her poem in her reality. Tap to the music outside, n not inside.

Harmonize.



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Random Rantings in Retrospect

Whoever said a bus stand or a railway station is the most interesting place to sit and observe life shall get one tight whack from me!!
Cos it isn't. It simply isn't.
Its just a place where you sit and wait for a bus or a train.

I am sure one could find poetic undertones to this - people waiting to get on with their journey , to go to or get away from , a story behind every face, of hope, happiness, dismay, laughter, sadness or just a plain journey.

But at 5 in the morning in the biting cold, after a hectic day/week/month at school, without a smoke or a drop of alcohol or even a decent dinner all this is far from poetic.

I can only see strange disheveled people waking up or being woken up on the platform, a store owner cleaning his store -using the same broom to mop the floor and his merchandise, strange men and women staring at me cos
1) A grumpy looking girl, alone, writing away at this place at 5 in the morning is not a very common sight.
2)They have nothing better to do.

I look around and I don't see shops with fascinating wares, I see business opportunities. I am here so i can be together or go apart,to see if I meet Jalebi again, but in my head I instinctively want to write a list of to-dos and start working on that.  That's what going back to school has done.
Split the yesterday and today. And I am not sure I welcome the change.

The Guerilla

Aim.Fire.Dodge.Roll.Ambush.Take a hit.Fall.
Rise.
Brush off the leaves, dust your clothes.
Breathe.
Shake your head.Shake off your fears.
Take control.
Take charge.

Smile.




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Down in a rabbit hole

I heard you fell into a rabbit hole
Covered yourself up in snow
Baby, tell me, where'd you go
For days and days?
Did they make you stay up all night?
Did they paint your face that pastey white?
You're thirsty but your appetite 
Gets chased away
Sun turns us to stone
It's a cloudy day
But we still can't go home
I've been out that cellar door
Until we see the moon
We're invisible
No one ever takes the garbage out
A neighbor kid gets dared to touch the house
He runs back only to announce
"There's no one home"
Because we paint the foil with the flame
Smear the soda, taste butane
For every fear that can't be named
To calm you down
Your heart starts skipping steps
So you're farther gone
Than you might expect
If your thoughts should turn to death
Gotta stomp them out 
Like a cigarette

Nostalgia

They call it reminiscing, dregs of memory flowing away, a lump in the throat, just a vault locked away inside that you peep into once in a while midst the present whizzing past at breakneck speeds.

But at times... when gathering those moments scattered in the winds of time you realize that you always knew, even at that time, that you were only gathering memories.

Nostalgia is really made in the present.



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And this is how you remind me....
This is how you remind me of what I really  am
This is how you remind me of what I really am

Amber eyes

A shuttered window half closed
Knocking in the breeze of night
A face peeps out from behind the blinds
In the glow of candlelight
She watches the big moon alone
and whispers of its scars
She raises her hand to smooth-en
the knotted brow afar
The moon is calmer now
Smiling down its dwight
The melancholy is not overwhelming she thinks
as she sidles back out of sight...

Frail

Some tiny wisps are enough to hold the world together. Some of the most convoluted knots just untie themselves. Sometimes only silence can do justice to the unsaid. And sometimes the meanest deeds gladden the heart.

Its not the world that has gone bonkers. Neither has the it been turned on its head.
Its just spinning, crazed beyond a point by the mundane.

The crystal is clear for a change.


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Waves

The waves felt my feet, cold and white
Sensed their fears and cajoled them to life

They skipped and held to the sands beneath
Somewhere they were but one

Shimmering in the light of the setting day.





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Its cold... when September ends

Autumn isn't out the doors yet, and the chill in the air is unmistakable. The fog, thick and dense is not too far off either.

She pulls her warm clothes closer and sinks into what will be the most natural state for her, her cold winter. Her true element is at peace here, in the cynicism hidden in the biting frost,the malice in the needles of the wind, the reassuring cold on her brow that soothes her frown-lines that have been hurting for a while, unknown to her.

There will be no sun to sneak a smile out , no warm breeze to make her want to dance, no distracting sounds outside the window.

It will be calm.




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Searching

... For a new song
an old friend
a touch
photographs
a fire
the cold breeze
some sleep
a sunset
a familiar sound
some past memories
and new thrills
a whiff of warmth
and smell of the new

a song..






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Of walking away

Refrains of an old long forgotten song play in the background, in a rare moment of standstill amidst the zillions of those that just whiz past leaving her breathless.

And while she can place the song and what it meant to her long back, its not the same. Its all so clear,memories of the words , the tune and the surge of intense emotions. She hasn't forgotten anything. But this time she's not a part of it. As if looking at the scene standing outside a window.

You can't walk back to what you've walked away from and expect nothing to change.




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Of colours, sanctity and poetry

Once upon a time there were just 2 ways to be - the right way and the way that wouldn't be. Those days all was black and white or maybe even grey , all shades. Nature smiled down and agreed with the human whims and fancies.Humans, after all.

And then one night it rained, washing off the blacks and whites and grey, and faint streaks of colors unheard of before peeped out from underneath. Struggling to be touched and felt. But they were the forbidden colors of their kingdom, hidden by design. As tempting as sin.

Hell did not break lose. Neither did the heavens cry. Nature was the same. Smiling down at human foibles.
Because the colors would fade away, like pain, beautiful things always do. Only a void to be left behind.
And the world would be black , white and grey again.







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Precipice

High up ,standing on the edge
Looking down ..
on the world, on oneself

Contemplate just one step more
To shatter an illusion , a reality
Stopped by the sound of wind
Surreal and eerie, but strangely earthly

Just one step more and
will never pick up the pieces...




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Ruins

A rolling plain, a forgotten place and ruins as far as her eye could see. The seeds of civilization were rising again among them , maybe as primitive , with struggles no less than those eons ago.
She could hear echoes of those struggles if she just heard carefully, almost lost in the sound of the wind .

Sitting at the edge of the precipice, almost wished the ruins could be built again and then it just struck as unreal, almost un-sacrosanct.

When something beautiful falls to pieces, the crumbling remnants take a life of their own . Enchanting, painful and heartbreaking, like a scrapbook of memories.

Beautiful. Ephemeral.






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Moon

The moon broke last night again..
Shards of pain falling all over me..
Picked them up
Held them..
And rocked them gently to sleep...




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Strange but True

Nothing ever is as it seems, even when everything is so clear . There is no haze or mist or even a shard of smoke, yet it is impossible to see or even look at, at times.
In fact,sometimes it is so murky that she can't find her way out. She had looked around, taken deep breaths, weighed her options before putting a foot forward, but before she knew it the world had shuffled and she was still where it started.

Countless "tries", threats, cajoling , and she hasn't been able to break the pattern.

You could say she hasn't put in her heart in it yet, that she hasn't tried hard enough. But then it 'd be too subjective a debate cos no one else sees that haze.
No one side could win that one.

She'd just has to stay rooted where she is. For now.





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" If the sun sets you free...

The cover ups that float in her head when she puts those long waited conversations and confrontations on hold would put any liar to shame. She can't get herself to get up , go out and take that call. She's not humoring anyone. Nor is it her largess.And no she is not taking any pity on herself.
Its not like she doesn't know the power games one plays , with others and oneself.Or the ones played on her.

But wish all she wants ,scheme all she can, she'll never be.







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The 2 sides of pretense

Pretense is a beautiful thing. Sometimes so engrossed is one in their own little world of fake normality, that soon the boundary between the real and un' stops existing.
It could be a raging storm outside, but in this pretty sheltered world of pretense, its clear blue skies with just the right amount of breeze.

One just becomes a function of what one wants to feel like.

Of course its a different matter than when this deluge of rain beats and breaks down the walls of the pretended reality, the mucky slush appears but there never really is a rainbow.

Try looking all you can...beautiful pretended reality is only just that.





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Losing Innocence

Sometimes the walls close in so fast, she doesn't feel like she can breathe a lot and the only way out is to break through them and run away. So fast and so far away that all that is left behind is a haze of dust that refuses to settle down.
But as she stops and looks around she realizes, she was the one who was always there and the world had broken into her walls.

And that's when its all crystal clear,that its this she has to really run away from - her innocence, guilelessness . Her vicious naivety.

The struggle is on to find a way to define it, find it, ensure its alright and safe and then try and lose it.
For better or worse. For her.





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The known unknown

Everyone has 2 selves. At least.
And not the devil and the angel in the biblical sense, and definitely not the right and the wrong. Cos they just don't exist.

Just a manifestation of oneself, one's thoughts. Of what should be, could be, as well as what it will really be .

The selves exist and the fact that they do is proof enough that it is known what will really happen.Way before hand.

Unless you are a stoic.

Or physically incapable of feeling the breeze on the nerve endings on your skin , unable to hear the music of the still water, or see the droplets in the air before it rains.

If you aren't that lucky.

Lost...and Found

When she stepped down from the plane, a familiar whiff of breeze hit her. It was like the countless times before, the cool dampness, the overcast skies, the strange smell of struggling millions around her, the romanticism hidden in that struggle.

But it wasn't like the countless times it had been before.Long long back.

And she was glad. She was glad to be going to her almost home.

She sometimes looks around and wonders, those who are hers, will always be, she can't stretch out her hand to feel them, let them in. But still be convinced they'll be there when she's all alone.

Not giving her company, just being as lonely.




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Anything for a vacation

Meditate
Swim
Music
Books
Dogs
Cycle
Run
Laugh
Walk
Shop
Cry
Smoke
Hug
Drive
Cook
Study
Write
Teach
Drink
See
Touch
Listen...

Anything but reminisce.



Peace of mind is nothing but a set of good distractions.




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Tough love

You love yourself.

You can't help it.

So what if you also can't help berating, hurting and blaming yourself.So what if you can't help fighting with yourself the most, and losing too. So what, if you are sometimes ashamed of what you are , were, have become or will probably be.
And so what if you sneer at yourself the most, enslaved by your own guilt.

Despite all that you wouldn't want it any other way. Cos secretly you are proud of what you are. It is you after all .YOU.

And if you had to live your life all over again, you'd chose the same fork in the road, go to the same places, be with the same people, listen to the same songs, you'd make the same mistakes .All over again.

You would always be the one who'd love to hate you the most and hate to love you the most.

And you just wouldn't be able to help it.



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Run.Faster.Breathe.Run

It is amazing how simplified everything gets once you have no time to breathe.
No thoughts.The lazy,chained ones.The ones that make you slip and skid on the shaking ground below.
The rush of air that fills your lungs every time you stop, breathe and run again is enough to give you all the morphine you need. Dull all senses, wishes, pains, desires and longing for hazy dimming utopia. The faster you go, the more in tandem is your rhythm with the revolving earth.

Running is the drug.

Running is the anti-id.




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Mad and Madder

Apparently there are 2 kinds of people in this world. She was about to blurt out," Us and them ?", maybe "the believers and the non believers?". She was stopped and corrected - "The Mad ones and the Madder ones".

And it made so much sense.There is no way she would accept their superiority because they were able to resist the temptation of delving deeper within themselves. While her mind knew how much effort it needed, she knew she wouldn't have it any other way.The madder ones look for connections everywhere, at least recognize one when they feel it. And connection was important to her. Even if only with herself.

You see, she needed at least one familiar face in life.

Esp the one in the mirror.




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Pride

Pride is a false, hollow thing. A helium balloon. And not as pretty. Maybe on the outside or when it is floating into the stratosphere. But not that which is held onto
out of fear of being misunderstood.

And however pretty that balloon, it'll be lonely while its floating away. None knowing whether it really wanted to be grounded in the very first place.

But soon it'll be too late, cos there's really no option when pride breaks free.





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Just another day

Sometimes you feel like writing the same thing again.
Well it is the same room, the same breeze, the same walls plastered with memories peeling off, its the same her. And while her world's turned over, nothings really changed.

They call it dejavu, an irie feeling of the world repeating itself.
She denies it being so.

The world never changed, she just moved out of it for a while.

The world must be feeling its share of dejavu .


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Not calm nor happy

She's always thought you could either be calm or happy. She's never complained about it either. She'd made her choices pretty clear.To herself. She'd always choose the calm. Always she thought. But who's ever made any rules for her and definitely not her, of all people.

She knows most think u cannot have one without the other. Maybe they are right, in their sheltered world they live together - Calm and Happy. Brothers in arms , that live or perish together.

In her small world they are archenemies.
Cos both of them come at a price. A very steep one too. And she, a mere mortal can not afford both.

Perhaps not even one.



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Monsters

Not too long back she was scared of the dark around. The pitch black and the vastness of it. Today she's scared it may not be as vast as she thought, be able to reach its edge by just stretching her hand out.

The dark is unfriendly she's known. Its still quite comforting . She's known that too. There are monsters lurking in the corner, and under her skin. Quiet, scared , intimidated for the time being. They are not really her friends but there's some comfort in having familiar enemies who's every move she knows, enemies which strike at precisely the same vein.A vein she's got covered. She's tamed the monsters, she thinks.Struck a deal with them. Its quite easy right now.

But they'll raise their ugly heads again, so she despairs. She can't let them. She repeats for the nth time. She just can't . Cos this time, no lifeboat will be able to save her. And while she loves the the cold, choppy waters, she doesn't want to drown. Not with these monsters.Not this time.



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Skidding through the dark

There's no time to breathe. She doesn't want any.

She's scared if she has the time to breathe, she'll open her eyes, turn around, and run away yet again.For her its just a eerie song she's dancing to. One that's as pretty as its dark, even with her eyes open.

For a change the dark is comforting.Its a cocoon she's feeling her way through, more aware than when there was all light and she'd have the sun shining in her eyes, blinding her with obscure un-kept promises.

The dark is unfamiliar, cold but benign.



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Smoke

Its not like its not hazy any more.It probably is more than ever before.

But now she knows better.About this smoke that isn't without a fire. And that it isn't necessary for her to breathe it.To lose her way in it.She has to find the fire though. No doubts about that. She needs that fire to hold on to, to warm herself, to burn in.

Wonder why she loves the winter more than summer then, if she's fascinated by fires so much? Is it cos of how cold she really is ?

She's probably asking for too much of herself.

The smoke won't clear if the fire is to burn.




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Absolutely Everybody

" Have you heard this?

"Familiarity breeds contempt and absence makes the heart grow fonder"

"hmm.. N familiar absence ?"

"I wondered about this for a long time before i made up my mind that its familiarity and not absence , more like an 80-20 split "

"Fonder Contempt ?"


The conversation couldn't have been for real. Such conversations are rarely so, so masked are the smiles, words and intentions .

But it happened, and happens in everyone's life, every once in a while when the familiar world just does not conform to the reality as it is. When they slip into the mode of looking for a model to predict happiness , for all.

But then can you ever really predict happiness ? can u every really apply logic to feelings? She blurts out out a big NO.
Maybe cos she truly feels it cant be so. Or maybe its her ego that stops her from looking for a pattern to her randomness. Almost as if she is proud of it, and cant let go.
Maybe it is because when you fit a pattern to feelings, its the same as logic. And what would result is a tarnished version of the raw, pure instincts and emotions.


Maybe its all a way to hide




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Putting pen to thoughts

If it could be summed up. This is how life would be summed up.

Cant thank the author enough....




https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=148092698568484



Serenading Life
Of Orange Skies and searing hope
Of almond sands and endless banter
Of Blue Seas and resplendent chimera
Of violet breezes and conspiratory smiles
Of white brunches and cosy cameraderie
Of aqua brooks and resplendent musings
Of dazy walks and fuzzy mush
Of amber sun and burning desires
Of rusty moors and wistful broodings
Of almond sands and endless banter
Of red wines and unspoken promises
Of Vivid Balloons and woven dreams
Of Yellow and love
Of silver shores and hopeful beginnings
Of rusty moors and wistful broodings
Of Crimson sunsets and drenched nostalgia
Of ashen streets and unequal music
Of pearly nights and whispered yen
Of rainbows and sweet delusions
Of lilac umbrellas and boundless joie de vivre
Of golden waves and untamed ardor
Of Olive woods and hazy laughters
Of sepia evenings and knotted hands
Of soulful ballads and seducing life


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No rain

All I can say is that my life is pretty plain

I like watchin' the puddles gather rain

And all I can do is just pour some tea for two

and speak my point of view

But it's not sane, It's not sane...



The music on her playlist has changed.

It had to at some point. Tomorrow or today. Maybe yesterday. Maybe for the better.

She'll listen closely again. Pick up the melody. Sing in her head, hum along.
Maybe the melody is more beautiful now.




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And once more..

Once more she'll look behind. And look ahead. At the same time.
Is it strange that its still the same and she isn't ? But then she's never been a switch. Its just been a breeze of wind that she's been in always. Flown with it. Somehow that's what's helped her survive she's always thought.

Today however she'll probably not flow with the wind. Maybe not survive either. But does she have a chance any other way.
Maybe she just rambles a lot. Wishful thinking they say.

Who's ever changed the wind and where it flows.





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Sands of time

She sees the past slipping through her fingers. She has an option though. To pick and collect the sands again. Save them from oblivion. But its the past she reasons. And how do you hold on to it forever. You only make your present. That's all there is.

The past could be a part of it. If you want.

But the memories of whats gone will go away too.
Past of today and of yesterday.


For once she's faster than them all. Not the one left behind.

She's the one who's ephemeral.



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Purple

She is indigo at times, she's a cheerful orange at others, sky blue to some.
But she is sometimes Purple. Been that of late. Her indigo with splashes of red. Red of the fire and the evening sky. Red of insanity. The indigo of the twilight and the break of dawn. As also the pitch of the night.

Her purple makes her who she is. Her smile uncalming and eyes wide open searching. Her red splashes in her purple dancing with the mirth of indigo.

Her purple makes her surreal.




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The world in my head...

They say the world is big, huge, unimaginable , and we are specks in it.
So small and insignificant that our actions inactions are nothing but narcissicist words in our universe. They don't cause chaos except in your mind.

Today in her hazy world of smoke, she saw the world churn around. The world was still huge and vast and she still a speck. But this huge world was in her head you see. In her head. Inside it.

So the world was actually smaller than her. The world was because she is. Its huge because she's small. Its significant because she deems it so. Its unfathomable because she doesn't get it.


But when she saw it churn inside her mind and then overflow ouside, she knew the world is her. Afterall.





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Of ironies and funny ones..

Wonder how this really goes. The world's blue and she can't stop giggling.Guess she knows her spot quite well. Or maybe she's got that dude Einstein too much under her skin. Him and his relativity.

How else could one explain her indigo shades at other times ? when they are all tickled to death over trivia ?

Well, as the news goes , she's floating, way above in the stratosphere . Too far above. Seeing it all. Looking on from the outside . Even outside herself. Too unconnected. And she just can't stop the chuckles.She's sure no one's heard her yet .





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Confusing "optimality"

.. with reality!

There's something really ticklish about rhyming words that I just can't fathom.
They may mean nothing together, or a great deal . Whatever the case, the 2 pieces of 2 different jigsaw puzzles that just seem to fit together make a pic, a happy nonsense of sorts.

Just like those unconnected thoughts that mushroom all over the insides of your head. Ones far from the present and your reality , along with those in the then and there, and you realize how extraordinary it is to function at these extremely incompatible levels of thoughts simultaneously.

Can't stop laughing over it all.

PS: For this optimality problem u don't need a solver, u need a revolver..!



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Madness !

Ever wondered what it feels like to be in the center of a tornado ?

The world spinning around you, chaos , all too fast for you to hold on to , take a breath , catch a glimpse of it all , the world turning around ?

But its really calm at the eye of the tornado , cos as that dude Einstien says " Relativity " is the real truth.

Madness at the end of it all. She just stares around, looking in daze of the world passing her by, holding out her hand for the past that's undeniably changed and for the present that is as fleeting as the past.

Its calm at the eye of the tornado, but she's changed too. She was the past. N now the present. By the time she catches her breath the world would have moved to tomorrow in her tornado.

Sleep?

Maybe.

Its been a long long time since she's slept.I wonder if she even remembers when was the last she slept without a drink ,or a pillow, or a thought. Very comforting. Not really sane in this world. All three.

But she's been sleeping like that forever. With an alarm she knows she'll hear. Think about for a split second, switch off and sink back into that pillow , that thought.
Its her safety blanket. To hold. To count on. Cos that doesn't usually fail you. Comes unbidden whenever she wants to embrace it.

Time to get back to making no effort...

Ok. So she's tried running around, playing hide n seek , n just generally being obscure. Feindishly so. So much so that she's not sure what the point has been all along.
Was it all for herself ? or a result of what she wasn't outside?

Anyways, its back to being her. The way she is meant to be. The way she wants to be. Plain.Simple. Herself. n comfortable.
There r small nudges that threaten to push her over though.But then they will be always be so , no?

I guess que sera sera....

What goes around comes around....

Today I will take a diversion from the norm and just the 2 of us will talk.
About the ironies of life and how Im sure this has happened to someone before, and so the common belief that what goes around does really come around.

She of cors disagrees. She always does .

I guess its difficult for her to believe its so.Anyone before couldn't have seen this
fairness in life. Its deja' vu. The same confusion, only this time from the other side. The a fascinating irony . Both agree there.
In one sweeping moment she understood it all. Her mistakes and theirs played out an intriguing symphony. The players moved in and out, changed roles, turned towards, turned away , laughed and cried for what was said beyond what really was.

The flashes of this symphony are sudden and strong when they hit her and knock the breath out of her. And the only thing she can do is forgive them and wait for the next blinding one.

Multitasking

No, she doesn't write when she is multitasking. Its only when she's not all there. When her thoughts overflow and there is this immense need to pen them down, record them, re read them, peak inside , look back and see what it was like then. Cos her facts are her thoughts.Her words. Her journals.

Never expected this turn of events but this blog has turned out to be a conversation between 3 people.
But guess it doesn't matter much now.

Mistakes

Its really not that difficult to not make mistakes.Its not exactly simple either.

All one needs to know is the difference between choices one makes and the choices one wants to make. The "should I"s the "could I" s. Come to think of it, that's really not all. That's a long task. To peer in, ask the right question and reply truthfully.

And then again just knowing isn't good enough either.

Its not like she has no clue how much her mistakes will hurt. Herself and others. And its not like its the only choice. In fact its not even the only choice she wants to make. When she steps out and looks within, she comes up with a 100 other choices she'd want to make.

And then she steps right back in, and nothings changed.

Its really not that difficult to not make mistakes they say.She disagrees.



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Silence

Noise is a very funny thing. Somehow when its the noisiest outside is when its the quietest inside and when there isn't a sound around, all she hears are screams. Her own.

Ready to explode her head. She already scared someone might hear them, the screams, and get scarred forever by the terrifying visions in them.

Wonder why they say balance is beautiful, cos it just isn't.
If silence both ways is just not happening she'd rather drown her screams inside with those outside.



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Charades

Its really all a game one plays with oneself. The endless thinking, talking, running, feeling, laughing , stopping suddenly and gazing at the beautiful windswept wilderness all around , and then getting back to the grind.

Maybe someday it'll all stop. Maybe not. Maybe she doesn't want it to stop.
But one thing is definite now. She'll be looking over her shoulder when the game's being played. You see, its not only her looking at the windswept wilderness. She's part of the wilderness too.

Another lonely day... Part 2

I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and what I could be if...there weren't any other people living in the world. - Anne Frank

Its strange how she ends up seeing precisely what she is looking for.
Or maybe its cos she is looking for them everywhere, the signs that is.

In any case, its nice to see answers or at least what she deems to be answers. But is tragically terrible to realize she may never go through these absolutely rational logical ones and pick the wrong choices.

As anne frank says.... "if... There weren't any other people living in the world".



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Another lonely day...

"Another Lonely Day"
- Ben harper


Yes indeed I'm alone again
and here comes emptiness crashing in
it's either love or hate
I can't find in between
cause I've been with witches
and I have been with a queen

it wouldn't have worked out any way
so now it's just another lonely day
further along we just may
but for now it's just another lonely day

wish there was something
I could say or do
I can resist anything
but temptation from you
but I'd rather walk alone
than chase you around
I'd rather fall myself
than let you drag me down

it wouldn't have worked out any way
and now it's just another lonely day
further along we just may
but for now it's just another lonely day

yesterday seems like a life ago
cause the one I love
today I hardly know
you I held so close in my heart oh dear
grow further from me
with every falling tear

it wouldn't have worked out any way
so now it's just another lonely day
further along we just may
but for now it's just another lonely day

The Slow Dance

She has started lying. Not cos she has to. Just so that she isn't out of practice. But maybe it is more cos she is not ok with hurting with truths. Or the guilt that follows. Its complicating everything way more than before. But the truth is really that she's started making the same mistakes done to her.

She's also started moving out of the realm of just laughing uncontrollably.Is this a sign ? That there's a difference between "against your will" and "ignorance"- for the kids singing nothing else matters in the pune choir. She just kept thinking it was unfortunate for those kids.
But he made her see. It wasn't really that strange you know.

The little things

She would miss the big picture and be fascinated by the small details.
She dint see 5 people wasting away a part of their life while their peers were busy running the rat marathon. She saw the tears of laughter in her eyes in the mirror, the way the the waves of music and laughter hit them all , the squeak of the footwear on granite floor and the squeels of laughter inspired in her, the fascination in those eyes, the blue-green insect that adamantly sat on the main door .

She stared at them, be amused in part, inspired in part, deliberate over them know she'd seen a beautiful thing today.

It was hers in spirit. All hers. No one else owned them you know. They just dint know.

Footsteps

The mind kept talking of places and people, of today , tomorrow and yesterday. And the smile on the face played in sync with it all, some happy, some sad , some guilty , real , imagined thoughts and memories.

At about 3 in the night this might have seemed like someone who'd crossed over to the other side of sanity. But that of course is the beauty of solitude.

Ten minutes later , when the mind took a breather to look around and really see where the feet were taking it , it couldn't help admiring the effortlessness of it all. The feet had taken the mind and the smile to the new "home". Empty , not so warm, with memories of past plastered on the walls, and a familiar unfriendly dog waiting for them at the doorstep. It wasn't quite a home, but it'd do for the moment.

"She will be loved...

...I know that goodbye means nothing all...Comes back and makes me catch her every time she falls "

This song had meant a lot to her. At different points of her life. For different people. From different people. She hoped. So much so that, whenever it played, in her head or outside, the pain and melancholy would be just beautifully unbearable.
She knew that it never did really mean anything to anyone but her. But she'd still pretend, maybe as a way to absolve herself of the guilt of hurting herself time and again. Pretend there were others hurt more than her.

You see in a perfect world, this is how it is supposed to be.
A slow dance is just that. An entire night spent talking to someone is to be only that much.A quiet drive with 4 others is only a drive. Confessions in a drunken stupor are to be forgotten with the hangover. A gaze that lasts for 10 seconds is to last only for 10 seconds.
Frivolous memories , not to be looked at with a "what if " . To give way to the real.

They are only but memories now.
Frivolous ones that too.

4 friends

In the accepted ways of the world, they'd just met each other. They weren't to be so thick. But every time they reached that beautiful high together, with 2 of them cracking crazy jokes, one laughing inconsolably , another one doing both along with being concerned about his grades in between, they knew this was different. This was one of those guilty pleasures they deserved. Deserved for reasons unknown to others, reasons whispered through sudden bursts of tears, followed by a round of hollow laughter, a far away look out of the window and a smile and a sigh, a glance that peirced your thoughts accepted them and accepted you , a small nod exchanged silently that spoke a million words. They deserved their guilty pleasures.

Inside they knew this wouldn't last. It wasn't supposed to you see, beautiful things don't. Maybe that is why the one among them who'd seen fleeting beauty in the most painful way, tried to capture all this in still frames of his camera. To look at when all the memories had all but faded. To reminisce the comfort found in the unquestioning company of each other.

In their secret society of solace all were welcome, all were forgiven. Only shades of gray existed....in the breaking dawns and in the eyes that looked at the dawn through the rolled up window panes of a smoke filled car going nowhere.