A New Theme and An Idea. Suggestions?

I changed my Blog’s theme today(like that is not evident!)

From Flowery white and pink (Chataue) to


monochromatic black and neon (Monochrome)

A very long leap, I’d say. Its like I deserted a log cabin by the stream in some small town in Europe you can’t locate on the map and shifted to a studio apartment on the upper east side of Manhattan overnight.

Now, Is the change from a serene, ,uncomplicated country life to a fast, eventful big city life good? That is one debate I do not want to engage in.
But what I do want to know is:
Is this change good? Please let me know through your comments if this theme suits my blog and its content better than the previous one and is easier to navigate through or not.
There was such great variety to choose from that my mind suffered a minor “not -responding -due – to – overload”. So I chalked down my requirements and it boiled down to this.
Do you like it? Is it boring and plain? Hate it? Please do let me know.
I can revert back to the previous theme or get another one.
You can also suggest a theme if you have one in mind.

Moving on,
I also conceived an idea.
One look at my tag cloud will tell you that there is a single topic center piece to all my writes.. LOVE. And I want that to change. Because consistency, to the point of stagnation, is just not me. Now whenever I write something, I just pick a pen and paper or my mobile and start writing/ typing into it without a clear direction. I just go with the flow and usually end up with something very far from what I may have wanted in the first place.
So, Here is what I thought I will do to help both the repetitive theme problem and the all-over-the-place problem.
I request you, all of you, to give me a few words or themes you want to see me write about. It can be anything you find appropriate or interesting. I will, then, compile a list of 60 such themes/words and write on two everyday over the next one month.
This will ensure that I have something to write about everyday AND do not wander about directionlessly and end up nowhere AND write things that you’d like to read.
Please do leave a few suggestions for the same in the comments.
Thank you in anticipation 🙂

Hope you’re all doing well. The weekend is almoooost here! Got any special plans? Feel free to share. 😀

Keep spreading the love.
Carpe Diem.


How are you today?

I got an e-mail this morning from an old friend. We went to school together but since then we’ve both gone our own seperate ways in life which do not have a common focal point at all. I wont lie and say that I have made any special effort to stay in touch with him. I have not. Neither has he. And I will not use my busy schedule as an excuse for the same. It is just that with time priorities change. Mine have, so have his.
But this one e-mail made me stop and think.
It was just intended to ask me How I was doing and if everything was fine. For some unexplained reason, it felt so good to know that he took some time off to ask me how I was. We’re all so held up in our own lives all the time that we forget to just stop and genuinely ask people How they’re doing and care about it. All human relationships have become a means to reach some end. Where is the time when friendship used to be selfless and pure?

So, This post does not contain any fancy philosophy or sad poetry.
Just a question from me to you that I realised I should ask more often…

How are you doing today?

Though its a bit late for this but I hope you had a nice, relaxing weekend and the week started on a good note for you. If it did not, dont worry. Take some time to sit back and unwind. I hope everything turns out to be just fine.
Carpe Diem.

PS: Try reaching out to an old friend today. It may just take a few minutes of your time but you wont know how good it will make the recipient feel.
If you already have, did it make a difference to your life and re-kindle your friendship?

Will you lend me my own to keep?

Will you lend me
two smiles and a sigh?
I want to grow wings and fly.

Will you lend me
a verse and some rhymes?
I want to be a lie and shield to your crimes.

Will you lend me
three days and a night?
I want to be a scene and a sight.

Will you lend me
a morsel and some wine?
I want to be artsy and shine.

Will you lend me
some knifes and a paper?
I want to be a muted poet and a shaper.

Will you lend me
a carpet and some dust?
I want to be a candlestand to sit and rust.

Will you lend me
some guilt and some pain?
I want to be a clever charmer and a dab of vain.

Will you lend me
drops of rain and frost?
I want to be the love found and lost.

Will you lend me
an emotion and some fire?
I want to be an irony and satire.

Will you lend me
Someone not yours to keep?
I want to be alone and never again meek.

Will you lend me
My own ?

Will you?

But here I am Yours, Unloved.

Found but here I am
lost again.
Healed but here I am
in pain.
Begun but here I am
at the end.
Real but here I
Read but here I am
Tall but here I am
Safe but here I am
Stable but here I am
Sane but here I am
Owned but here I am
Crowned but here I am
Believer but here I am
Brimming but here I am
Filled but here I am
Ripe but here I am
Confessed but here I am
in denial.
Accepted but here I am
Sorted but here I am
Bound but here I am
Flowing but here I am
Expected but here I am
turned away.

Unloved, but here I am yours.

When Man met Time: A Conversation.

Picture Courtesy: Fine Art America


Can your eyes see the unreal? Like wind that is but only ever felt, never imprinted at the back of your eye. Just fleeting over your iris like an ominous thought, never too sure to enter.
Can you understand that which is not to be understood? Can you undo that which was never done?
To make the clock’s hands move forward but preserve each second in a drop of saline water and forever drown your mortal self in its enveloping, almost morbid, stillness- yet so dynamic that it seems unreal, invisible and undone the same.

How dare you bring this thought home along with your hands stained in blood and shoes dripping wet in dirt.

To trace your footsteps on sand that has moved since. Just like the clock that never stopped to breath.
To ask the lonely grain of dirt swept away, into your eye by the careless wind if it ever felt your feet and the tired longing of your soul. And ask another still. Then piece their stories together and cover the odd gaps with your own patched memory. Bring the picture to life on a digitzed canvas standing in thin air without any apparent support, your retina. Dont say a word. Only speak in your head, if you must. I can hear you that way.
And whenever the picture is complete, Place the origin of now. Of this unreal stop. The beginning of an end. The end of a beginning.

Will you be able to live through it over again? With the knowledge of what it comes to? Oh the misery of being caged in a prison of your own unfruitful, powerless enlightenment. Should it kill you before your death catches up or Should it make you immune to mortality. A timeless thing. Like the thought. Yes.
Forever preserved in a drop of Saline water. Drowning some mortal identity in its boiling stillness.

You went to look for your purpose on the sands of time. You saw what was not to be seen. You understood what was rendered meaningless eons back. You undid what was never done. You disturbed the perfectly harmonic pandemonium time had created with such caution. And something warned you but you let your serpentious tongue slip out all secrets in the open.

Decide now.
Do you really want to know your purpose? Do you really want to take all uncertainty and ignorance out? Are you ready to be held responsible for every action without a destiny to put the blame on?
Are you ready to give up being human?

A Letter To My Ex.

Dear Ex,

I am sure you’re wondering why I write to you years after our romance culminated in silent but strong friendship, after a lot of hating ofcourse. I seem to have hit a road block with love and it is imperative I say everything I have always wanted to say to let go and move on.

You were my first. My first butterflies-in-the-stomach. My first walk home from school deliberately stretched long. My first all night call on the phone. My first love letter sneaked in when no one was looking. My first rose pressed dry in a novel. My first shameless smile on a busy school day. My first double check in the mirror to make sure I look good. My first time holding hands. You were my first in every sense of the word.

We were 14. And that, perhaps, is both the funniest and the saddest part.
Funny because,
Our idea of a date was sneaking out on our bicycles to unexplored and isolated parts of the small town we then lived in, making sure we avoided running into either our parents or friends. How difficult it was to act normal and say sane things when we did run into a friend of your mother on a narrow lane very late at night once. How innocent and easy love was, with you. It was in such unpretentious things. Love was The first letter you wrote to me with red hearts sketched into the empty spaces. Love was The reply I sent on pink paper with a flowery watermark. Love was The first rose you got me and had the hardest time actually delivering in the presence of your best friend and sister. Love was The hurried note you left with clover before leaving for your cousin’s wedding to tell me how beautiful I looked at the party the previous night. You asked me to wish everyone the best of luck for their exams on your behalf in that note. To this day I can not forget how important and loved that made me feel. Love was The secret call you made from your cousin’s cellphone to tell me that you miss me. Remember how scary it was when your mother caught you talking on the phone at 4 in the morning? I swear my heart stopped beating for an entire minute. Love was The names we called eachother that no one knows till date.

And then It ended. Just like that. You, in your typical poetic style, left a note with a friend. A note! You broke a 14 year old’s heart with a note? You should have at least taken the pain to look me in the eye and tell me it was over. The way you told me when it all began. How many sleepless nights I spent asking myself pointless questions like What went wrong? Why would he do this to me?

Which brings me to why it was Sad.
We were 14. And when you are 14 and madly in love, you do not know what is right and what is wrong. There is only one thing you know and that is loving and wanting the person before everything else. You do not understand patience and space and rationality and reality. When you are 14, you do not understand that the least you must do when breaking a girl’s heart is tell her so yourself. When you are 14, you do not understand that a guy would not know so or care to find out. When you are 14, you can fall in love but you can never know how much it is going to hurt when you fall out of it.

When “we” went back to being you and me, a period of undying awkwardness set in. Bitter backtalking, half baked story telling and trying to prove self right. You had your version floating under. I had mine. But oh! Life is so unfair. You were,afterall, a guy. And me a girl. So any version had to backfire at me. It ended in me being accepted for a teenage bitch who dated and then dumped guys. Even dating was taboo where we lived, remember? So you can imagine the treatment a girl gets after she has dated AND dumped. Someone who later went on to become a really good friend actually told me the kind of things people used to say about me. I wasted so many tears on public opinion I otherwise din’t care for.
You broke the first barrier of innocence down, Trust.
To this day I doubt it has mended itself.

But this is not to say that I regret it. I do not have an ounce of regret for loving you or for spending tears crying for you. You taught me so much. You made me realise the importance and power of the letter. My first poem was for you, to you, about you. Had it not been for you, I doubt I would have ever picked up a pen to write. And now that time has passed and I am who I am today, I know that you gave me the biggest happiness in bargain for all that sorrow. You gave me poetry.
That and happiness. All those hours spent crying and waiting and wanting and longing can not take away from me the happiness my first love gave me. At one point in life, you were all I could ask for and I will always respect that.

Today we are at a stage where we can talk without wanting to either kill or kiss eachother. I’d say we’re friends. We’re also in the same city again for the first time, 5 years after our break up. And this one is not a small prejudiced town. Maybe we can meet for coffee as friend someday? Or ride our bicycles to unexplored places?

Much (First)Love,

Have you read a book today?

Some people will tell you they write for their own self. That they do not care for an audience and its approval, opinion, appreciation or criticism. If there was even an ounce of truth in that, we would not have books and blogs and magazines and dailies. We would have room after room filled with personal journals resting in heaps of dust.
Shakespeare, Shelly, Keats, Frost, Austen, Dickens, The Bronte sisters, Nietzsche, Blyton, Wodehouse, Rumi, Conrad, Bernard Shaw, Miler, Eliot, O’Hara, Hemingway, Tolstoy, Tennessee, Twain, Lawrence, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Byron, Virginia Woolf and so many others would be names you haven’t heard of and their genius- things you haven’t read.
You would not be reading this post on my Blog if I decided to write for my else.

The truth remains that Every artist craves for an audience. Seeking acceptance is but human nature. So more than the “price” an art may fetch its artist, it is the admiration or recognition by masses that matters. That,perhaps, is the reason non- promotional wine tastings, art shows and exhibitions came into place. A dancer gets paid to perform but it is for an audience that takes delight in every twist of her ankle or every delicate turn of her waist that she spends days perfecting her every move before a show.

If you have ever known someone who writes, or better still are that someone yourself, you’ll know that there is a hope to be read and judged that does not extinguish…it just keeps burning higher like the flames of a wild, untamed fire.
There are the days when you write only for yourself but more often than not one writes to be read. And that is as true and real as the sun that shines every morning.

For a good twelve years I was aloof to this world of its own. And then someone gifted me a fat book in a maroon leather jacket for my thirteenth birthday. It was my least favorite gift the instant I saw it. Chocolates, Art kits and teddy bears won over that fat jacketed book.
But that changed. Almost an year later, I could not sleep one night and saw this book abandoned at the bottom drawer of my dresser. I thought of giving it a try. The best hours of my life happened. My first book. It was more exciting than a first romance. Men just can not make a woman feel all that a book can.
Unfortunately, I do not remember its name or what it was about, perhaps the fact that I have read over a thousand books since then is to blame. I would waddle in and out of the library on evenings that followed the sleepless night. I would sleep with a book under my pillow every night. There were times when I revisited books I had previously read only to unearth an entirely different dimension. The book with its characters and stories and souls and smells and spots was good as new again. A book at times can have more depth than a live person. And any amount of time spent swimming in its secrets will still leave something untouched for your next union. For a solid chunk of fibers compacted into thin sheet, a book has remarkable vicousity.

Books are treasures worth a million folds more than the tiny black digits prinited at the back of their jacket. They are treasure. Every word and letter and line in them, the riches.
Through some books I have travelled the lengths and breadths of the world and through others beyond the limits of possibility.
To be able to find yourself lost in an imagination and at times to become a part of it is the most beautiful experience there is. It is at this point that an appearance does not matter as much as a personality. It is at this point that you get entangled in a web so intricate yet woven by someone else.
You get involved. You do not buy the final product of an effort. You become a part of it. You may not know the author of the masterpiece you spent days and days and hours savouring and there is not a fat chance in the world that he will ever know you but there is something more evolved than worldly associations of acquaintance that binds you, something beyond physical presence or emotional dependance. He is your ticket to time travel and you, the audience he creates for.

Ever wanted to see a new place, meet new people and have new experiences without spending a dime?
Read a book. Or better still, write one.

Have you read a book today?

How I lost my Virginity.

Good. Now that I have your complete attention let me get to the point of this post which has nothing to do with my virginity or any event even remotely related to it.
Let me see if you continue to read this with as much attention now that I have put all my cards on the table.

Human Beings.

We evolved into our present form after millions of years of energy expending, directional evolutionary process. It was not by chance that our common ancestor with the chimpanzee lost all his body hair in a forest fire. It was not a lucky fluke that we started walking erect. Our pollex or digitus primus (the opposable thumb on our forelimb) was not a chance modification. Our brain capacity did not increase overnight in a random fashion.
It was years and years and more years of genetic labor. Walking erect was essential to performing hunting functions so was the development of a pollex without which we could not have made and operated any tools.

Tribe Habit. Civilization. Hunting. Gathering. Creating. Changing. Evolving. Rejecting. Rebuilding. Instilling. Splicing. Agriculture. Social awareness. Lighting up a fire. Cooking. Covering up with animal hide. Caving.
An endless list of events that are responsible for our now advanced and sophisticated form.

98.9% of our DNA is the same as that of a Chimp.
That is how close we are.

We keep chimps in our fancy labs to study. They respond by putting up a show for a banana treat. We’ve created parthenocarpy varieties of banana. And the chimps put up a show for a banana treat.

That is how far we’ve come.

Such a waste of precious paleontological time if you ask me. All that time and natural resource could have been put to making more varieties of insects instead. Yes, that would certainly be the wise thing to do. Were I to re-write evolution, the story and the process, Human race would not exist.

There should be no place in the ecosystem for an organism that will not be called a predator but will hunt beings down and turn them into stylish handbags. Not even to eat them and survive. But to wear as an accessory! How is the bollworm wrong then if it eats cotton bolls to survive? But oh! We kill the bollworm by perforating its gut! Get that, PERFORATING ITS GUT. Making a million tiny holes in it so that the gut bursts and the little bollworm dies. We do not even have the excuse of survival. Just effortless and self-imposed superiority.

If you are going to argue that survival of the fittest is the nature’s law then stop and think. Are you really the fittest? You with your diseases and stresses and obsessions and complexes. Are you really even superior to the may fly that lives all for 24 hours but without questioning its superiority or imposing it on beings?
And what is fitness? Darwin thinks it is leaving behind more progeny. Reproductive fitness. The Rabbit beats you to it.
Is it being stronger? The sharks and tigers and snakes and elephants are.
Is it being self-sufficient? Only the plants are.
Is it being more intelligent? The banyan tree that has stood for a hundred years and the rivers that continue to flow after hundreds are.
Is it about standing the test of time? The algae have.

No, we are not the fittest and we should not survive.
We have turned millions of years of evolutionary process into war, destruction, hurt, deforestation, hatred, calamity, power hunger, control, demolition, annihilation, obliteration, devastation.

Zilch. Zero. Nada.
We began with nothing and we are making sure we end with it.

Don’t tell me I am a misanthrope. That is another word you have created because you think you are important enough to be hated. In its anticipation, you devised a word for it.
Don’t tell me I am a churl. I speak the truth. I will not try to please you because you  are not the god of all things to be pleased and buttered for favors.

You want to know what all those years of evolution have brought? Immediate attention and focus when you get the slightest hint that a person is going to reveal how they successfully mated for the first time. My virginity is more important to some people than the doom we’re diving head first into.
For your information, even our common ancestor with the chimp got excited about mating calls or any indication of them. We should have stopped right there.

Enough said.

Have you heard a woman roar today?

“It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, to absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.”
― Charlotte BrontĂ«.

From Jane Eyre.

The individual.

The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.

-Friedrich Nietzsche
German philosopher (1844 – 1900)

Be yourself. Even if it is tough. Be yourself.

The Things I din’t say to my best friend.

The affable strength,
It is nonchalant within.
The affinity lasting a length,
It is hypothetically fading.

The errant ways,
Never to face isolation.
The unsparing gaze,
Never will it near constriction.

The better side of you,
Not so good with me.
The best things we’d do
Together with glee.

The glibbest of conversations
Or the muffled tattles.
The take off,blow-by-blow, actions
Or the silent considerations.
The ‘zari’, ‘satin’,’polka’,
And zest filled servings.
The ‘lippie’, ‘clutch’,’kohl’,
And rogish discussions.

The trying-to-be-geeky times,
Post exam reaction.
The forced treats
Post blacklist declaration.

The planning of elopes,
Which now sound embryonic.
The sharing of silly secrets,
Which are now left unclad.

The learning of essentials
In the bargain.
The-left behind time essentials
In this sea of confusion.

The arm wrestling sessions,
Complete with distractions.
The elite backbench-er stereotypes,
Complete with the duty assignations.

The summer on a rock hill,
Oh! Those must have cuisines.
The Baskin Robbin bill,
Oh! The hole burned in thy jeans.

I remember,

All this and a lot more.

Cause we were bestys, duh! Image

Living without

If you think of it,
Your presence made no difference.
And then memories hit,
A lifetime of reverence.

Homecoming was awaited,
Rebirth still is.
Togetherness was celebrated,
But being together forever now isn’t bliss.

Nonchalant you were,
Appearance is not descriptive.
Wish we could adhere
To all things that now are primitive.

Never had to hide,
“Wonder and stay bewildered”.
I know I am safe & you are by my side,
“You must be bewitched”.

Solitude in the womb of a mystery,
A child so sweet.
It all looks history.
Can we try once more the wish n greet?

Wheelies and volleys,
I am so lost.
Hundred and one homilies,
Still full of frost.

The wind blows fast,
Boots are no more a fashion.
My destiny at last,
Found and felt not without compassion.

Pandemonium still lives,
It was almost defeated.
Distances, tides and now times,
Yet not separated.

Let the years rewind,
Like the angel of the mind,

Emptiness looks eternal,
Lunacy does not.
Relatively less betrayal,
Life we have still got.

I do not flake out,
Tired though I am.
The change is about,
And It’s breaking the dam.

Acting strong is needed,
It may not be wise.
The past is the only thing heeded,
Now it never feels nice.

Words become water,
Freezing all the while.
Wonder if I can alter,
Wonder if I can compile,
This thing people call life.

Each second leaves
The loathing increased.
Now life is
A little more grieved.

It was not a first,
Why did it turn out to be a last?
Your memories and dreams are mine,
Framed in my heart shaped cast.

If you think of it your presence did make a difference.
Memories hit all the time.
It’s a lifetime of repentance.
Hope you are fine.

Pandemonium still lives,
It was almost defeated.
Distances, tides and now times,
Yet not separated.