The film industry loves making films about speed and unstoppable vehicles. The train is on a track going at a breakneck speed and it need to be stopped. Or the bus is fitted with a bomb which will explode if the speed falls below a certain level. Etc etc etc.

What if you know for sure that the path you have chosen is going to end in a walloping crash? That the moment you stepped on it, you set out on a journey that will end in disappointment? What if you are on a vehicle that is set to blow up and you know it? What if all the choices you have made culminate in a dramatic mushroom cloud of smoke?

Do you jump off? Or do you enjoy the ride while it lasts?

Christmas

December and January are my favourite months of the year. The end and the beginning.

I've been meaning to write about Christmas for a long time now. So here goes. And yes, I'm off by a day but better late than never right.

I like the idea of Christmas. The idea of Christmas that has been pushed into my brain through Hollywood movies and literature. And call me cliched but I've always wanted it. That image of a roaring fireplace with a huge table laden with food. The wine and the turkey and the stuffing. The snow outside the window with the carols playing in the background. The warm woolens and the rich chocolate cake. The pudding and the pies. The big Christmas roast and the wonderful sauce and the steaming mugs of cocoa after. The sips of brandy all around to chase away the cold. The coffee. The laughter and the gossip of the family. The blankets and the socks. The reruns of old Christmas movies on the TV.

I've always wanted a white Christmas. And I don't think people who know me should be surprised that a major part of this post has been dedicated to the food.

But this is my Christmas wish. A huge Christmas feast with all the trappings. And great company to share it with.

Unrecognizable

A shadow of the past
A faint glimmer of who I once was
The mirror shows me a different person
A new face, a new smile
Shallow, empty, fake.

Every choice I made.
Built the person I am,
And destroyed the person I was.

Promises broken, blank words.
Water under the bridge they call it.

Defences breached
Only to cause despair and ruin inside the castle.
Fear and doubt,
Constant companions.

Trust misplaced.
Expectations ground into the dirt.
Disappointment at every turn.

All the change,
Fruitless, useless, needless

No masks left.
The costumes all torn
The dialogues all ancient history
The lights smashed
The stage shattered

Leaving me wrecked
Feeling disgusted.
Unappreciated, unloved, deserted.

Leaving me
Unrecognizable...

I'm proud of myself. After a long time, I'm proud of something I did. My 100th post here was one of those times. Getting featured on the Maadhyam page as the first featured blog was another. These times come rarely and that's what makes them all the more special.

Now you might wonder what made today one of those moments.

I flipped pancakes today. For the first time ever, I tried flipping a pancake, without a spatula like those chefs I admire on TV. And it wasn't just one. It was three :)

It's a small, insignificant thing. But it makes me feel very good. To be standing in my kitchen, flipping a pancake made me feel very important.

It's something I'll remember. It's filed away in that space in my mind reserved for such memories. One among so many others. But just as important.

Plans

When you make plans you expect them to work out. And the key word here is expect. Which more often than not means disappointment.

Because plans usually involve factors other than just yourself. They involve places, inanimate objects maybe but never just yourself in isolation. So when you plan to read, the book could be horrible. When you plan to listen to music, your earphones could stop working. When you plan to use the internet, it would refuse to work. When you plan to go someplace, it could start raining or you could not have transport. Etc etc etc.

And then there are those that involve other people. These are plans which are most likely to, and 99% of the time always do, disappoint. These plans would require a mind other than your own, which means that you can't control it. Thus making it, you guessed it, fail. Because when you make these plans, you expect the other person/s to also think the same way. You expect her/him/them to do a certain thing or be at a certain place or stick to a certain time. Which further compounds the likelihood of said plans failing.

Solution to problem - Don't make plans and don't depend on others thus avoiding disappointment.

Reality - Learn to deal with the disappointment.

You know the thing about being an idiot... The only one you hurt is yourself.

A lack of space is a really bad thing for a hoarder like me. I find it very hard to let go of things, throw things away. Both literally and figuratively.

I collect odd and ends. Tickets, stones, shells, bills. Memories, pictures, movies, books, tv shows. I hoard. And store. Because I find meaning in these things. The bill saved from dinner. The passes to plays and concerts I've been to. The movies I love watching over and over again. Quotes saved as drafts on my phone. A stone which looks just right in the sunlight. Shells from beach visits when we were kids. I keep all these. And attach importance to these inanimate objects. And I'm scared that letting any of these things go would mean that I'll forget.

I'll forget that really amazing concert. I'll never find that pretty stone again. That I won't remember that really nice dinner. That I won't remember that one really bad day. That I'll forget... That if I let go of one thing, that'll mean it's gone forever.

So then I start running out of boxes to keep these things. My table gets cluttered. And my hard drive acts up because there is too much on it.

And I have to start clearing things out. And throwing things away. With every paper i throw away, I feel like I'm forgetting.

But I guess there are some things you just must throw away. Some conversations you shouldn't remember. Some things you should just let go of.

Doesn't make it any simpler knowing that...

Sometimes realization can hit you so hard that you get the breath knocked out of you.

With all the force of a wrecking ball, it slams into the walls of your mind. And before you can even blink, the ideas you once had lie in smithereens around your feet.

That your carefully guarded moat had sleeping crocodiles. That those high walls had weak foundations. That the secrets you held locked up are now everyone's to know. That the diary has been read. That you have changed, irrevocably and irreversibly. That everything you warned yourself against crept up on you.

Worse than all of this, is the realisation that maybe you let it happen. That maybe you wanted it to happen. And that maybe you allowed it to happen.

So what do you do after being sucker-punched right between the eyes?

Make sure no one sees the black eye of course.

Fear

Fear is a crushing emotion. It grips your heart, twists your mind. Worse than the fear of the tangible is the fear of the intangible. The fear of dependency. The fear of loss. The fear of pain. The fear of embarrassment. The fear of ridicule. The fear of fear itself.

When you know what your fear is, you can recognise it, you can deal with it. But when the fear creeps up on you, when it was never there but suddenly is, that's the hardest to cope with. Because then, you didn't know how it happened, and you didn't know when. But it did happen. That thing which you never even bothered about now has it's teeth sunk in you. That fear which was once something you scoffed at, jeered at, now has come back to take revenge.

Fear, dear reader, is something you must protect against. Because fear, can kill. Slowly and painfully.

Man is a greedy creature. Always hungry for more. Always wanting, desiring, asking, needing. Never satisfied. Never happy.

He is a fickle creature. Impressionable. The grass is always greener on the other side after all. So he wants what the other one has, not seeing the wonders he already possesses.

And he will do anything to have it. Keep it. Possess it.

And before he knows it, what he had and saved, is lost to him too. Forever.

Because man isn't just greedy. He is also foolish.

Mosquitoes are annoying little things. They're tiny and they buzz all over the place. But the worst thing about them is their bite. They're tiny but their bites pack a lot of punch. And the bites don't just sting for a bit and then disappear, oh no. They itch. And then you scratch them. And then they itch some more. And the more you scratch them, the bigger those bites grow till finally there's a scar where you don't one.

Now jealousy is a lot like a mosquito bite. It's small and it stings the first time it comes. But then it doesn't just go away. It comes back. And this time it itches a little more. If you scratch it just grows bigger and bigger. And then there's a scar. It's a potent thing, this jealousy. Sneaky and quiet, it attacks when you least expect it. And then it tests you, to see if you'll scratch it. It waits to see if you'll act on it. The strong ones, well they can keep the itch at bay, stand against the will to scratch and act. But what about those weak ones, the powerless ones? They scratch at that virus and boom, it wins.

And you know the worst thing about this jealousy? It doesn't differentiate between the people you love and everyone else. It attacks just as stealthily and bites just as hard. And that's what makes it worse. When you look at someone you love, someone you respect, and all that time the jealousy is itching and clawing at you. When you look at that person who means so much to you and your vision is clouded by that potent green monster, oh boy, it shows you how strong you really are, how much you are really made of.

Shakespeare called it a green-eyed monster. I just call it an annoying mosquito bite.

A story

Stories have a character of their own. I don't mean the characters that make the story but the story itself. A story lives and breathes and grows and changes. With the person who tells it, writes it, listens to it. Every story changes every time it is told, read, heard.

Acquiring different shades, different meanings, different interpretations, a story has a life of its own. The moment it leaves the mind, it becomes a living being. A story feels, flows, melts, transforms, mutates and lives.

Every story is a piece of imagination. A character that starts from an idea. A small wisp of smoke like the one an extinguised candle leaves behind. That's what a story looks like. And then when that small wisp of smoke that blows away with the slightest movement of the air, dissipates into the atmosphere, escapes the confines of the mind, breathes and grows stronger, the character is born.

And that is a story.

You hold on. To things that you think are important. And to things that you know aren't important. You hold on till your fingers start hurting, till you hand grows numb. You hold on so tightly thinking that if you loosen your hold even for a minute, it'll all slip away. Because things are so volatile and flimsy.

You hold on with all the strength you can muster. You hold on.

But after a point. Realisation hits. That maybe you are stronger if you can let go. That maybe the fact that you let go means something. That maybe it's not wrong to be weak sometimes. That sometimes letting go is the only way to move forward. That you don't have to carry that burden forever. That letting go might not be such a bad thing after all.

So what do you do then?

Accept the weakness or prove that you are strong?

Humanity

We humans are a weak, deplorable, defenceless species. Replete with faults, shortcomings. Full of doubts, fears, insecurities.

The anger, the greed, the jealousy, the envy, the fear - these are what set us apart from those so-called lesser species. These base emotions that we so often frown upon, these make us what we are.

Hidden under those layers of lies and pretence; buried under those masks; fortified behind those walls; we are all the same. Fragile and powerless. Haunted by nightmares. Fighting off those demons that stalk us in the dark. Every single one of us. Desperate for help and support. For love. But what comfort can one weak soul provide another? What comfort exists in empty promises, false flattery?

And so we live meaningless lives. Fight meaningless wars. Exist.

Because in the end nothing really matters. Nothing at all.

The Wannabes

I wrote this for a creative writing assignment. We were asked to write a satirical piece on 'the wannabes'. This is what I came up with . *shrugs*

Disclaimer - Any offence taken by any person living or dead is not the author's fault or responsibility. :P :D

The meaning of life. The meaning of being. The purpose of life.

These are questions that all of us ask. Why us? Why this planet? To what purpose?

And then the answer comes. Like an epiphany, out of the blue. We are here to be somebody; to do great things. We have people to meet, worlds to save after all.

And to this end we strive to BE somebody. We wear our cool loose khadi kurtas, the torn baggy jeans and how could I forget to mention the ever-present jhola? We sit around the chai tapris, sipping cups of tea expounding on the problems of the world. We put on the accents, and sagely nod our heads. We shake our heads at the right intervals and lament the disintegration of the society. We stand on our imaginary soap boxes and dish out gyaan which seemingly came to us as we were walking along the footpath thinking about life. We stand in front of paintings and talk about the anguish of the artist as he made those brush strokes. We listen to the Beatles and Led Zeppelin and Bob Marley, humming tunelessly, bobbing our heads with the music.

But we forget that we don’t really know about the problems of the world. We know no great truths. We do not understand the point of that painting. It was made when the artist was drunk for all we know, a mere accident. We do not actually like the music, and we don’t know the words.

This my friends, is the truth. And this my friends, is how we live. Pretence and lies. For that is how we must save the world.

Practice what you preach.

When, oh when will I learn?

One double O

It's my 100th post.

That's a big achievement. It's the big century.

My first post was on the 12th of August 2008. This month 'Things and Thoughts' turned two.

This blog has seen so many different moods, so many different sides. I've changed so very much in the last two years. My writing has grown. My style has changed. My thinking has changed.

I was wondering what would go into this post. Considering it's two years and number 100. But honestly, I don't know. I could write about people. I could write more about how things should be or how things are. I could ask more questions, look for more answers. I could rant. I could ponder. I could complain.

But I'm not doing any of those things.

This post is a reminder. Of a journey that started two years back. And it is a marker. Of an achievement. It is a celebration of me. And it also a thank you to those who have bothered to keep up with all that I have written.

This post is a toast. To the future. And to more writing and thinking and not to forget, coffee :D

Here's to me.

Here's to many more.

Regret

Regret is a big word. The dictionary calls it a pain of the mind on account of something done or experienced in the past, with a wish that it had been different; a looking back with dissatisfaction or with longing; grief; sorrow; especially, a mourning on account of the loss of some joy, advantage, or satisfaction.

But we attach more meaning to words. They mean more than just a dictionary definition.

Regret is an all-pervading feeling. It swamps you. You regret things that never were. Things that never should've been. Things that can never be. You regret opportunities lost; people hurt; things said.

But the worst kind of regret is for something that made you happy. A moment that was yours. You wonder how that is possible. Well, it is. you regret a moment that you lived for you, because in the process you opened up a can of worms that should've been left closed. In that moment you let loose emotions that never should've existed. And you broke down walls that should never have weakened. Your moment.

The dictionary defines regret as pain and grief.

Regretting a moment of happiness is the most painful type of regret there is.

Travelling Alone

Written for a creative writing assignment. We were given a 350 word limit which is why this seems incomplete.

Travelling alone is an experience by itself. It’s an exercise in independence, of being in control of yourself and your thoughts. It is an exercise in observation. And there is a certain sense of security in being a spectator. An onlooker. Sitting there near the window, with my iPod plugged in, looking out at the people milling about on the platform, gave me a chance to create stories. To make up lives for people I don’t know.

One of the first people I noticed in the crowd was a woman in a red sari. She stood there with a big bag near her feet, wringing her hands. Her eyes kept darting around from person to person. She seemed nervous somehow. I have always felt that nervousness and fear are two of the most easily recognisable emotions. I wondered what she was nervous about.

Then I couldn’t help but notice the two people on the opposite berths who were making a big show of settling down. The girl was pretty. It wasn’t an immediately recognisable beauty but it was there. The man on the other hand, I wouldn’t give a second look to. She seemed uncomfortable with him constantly hugging and kissing her. I have never liked PDA myself. Newlyweds, I thought in my head. I made a mental prediction that they would end in one year. It’s what always happens to incompatible people.

I went back to looking at the people on the platform. The man selling newspapers, the tea vendor. And then the man who had the berth above mine came in. He placed his guitar on the berth, put his bag under the seat I was sitting on and made himself comfortable opposite me. He fascinated me. With hazel eyes, nice hair, a grey tee and blue jeans, he seemed quite the catch. He took a book out of his bag – Mein Kampf. Intellectual or pseudo intellectual, I couldn’t decide which. Musician, the guitar said.

The cogs in my head were spinning and from my safe perch I could happily create all the stories I wanted.

This was going to be quite a trip I realised...

Change

When you lose the person you used to be, do you look forward or backward? Do you strive to hold on to that person? Do you fight to save those thoughts, those feelings, all those things you held to be so important? Or do you embrace who you have become? You feel the old you slip away like a dream, like sand through your fingers. You feel her disappear. And the next time you look in the mirror, you see a face you can't recognise. Do you let her go? Do you let accept the change that crept in so slowly, without you realising it?

Change is the only permanent thing in the world they say. Everyone says. But when the change is unwanted, how do you bring yourself to let go? When you can't trust the new person, how do you find acceptance? Because that is the most important thing, right?

Choices dictate our lives. And questions seem to rule mine.

Maybe it's time to move on. Or is it?

Anonymity

Anonymity is such a convenient mask to wear. There is a certain sense of security in being an unknown face. There is a sense of calm in knowing that no one knows you. Anonymity lends you the freedom to be; the freedom to do things that you might never do. There is a sense of release. It is a funny feeling, this anonymity.

The perfect coffee 12

Barista is overrated. I tried a plain cappuccino and it was just ok. Enough said.

But then Costa coffee happened :D That is one PERFECT cup. I went to the Costa Coffee in Pune and ordered a cappuccino. It was beautiful. I enjoyed it so much. It cost Rs. 60 including taxes but it was worth every penny. Thank you Ketki Bhosale, for taking me there :)

I thought Pune is coffee hell. Turns out, it isn't all that bad after all :)

Till next time, when you enjoy a cuppa, think of me :P :)

??

The power of the mind can move mountains. They say that if you want something hard enough, then the universe will conspire to make it happen.

My question is this, "what if someone else in this vast universe wants the opposite just as hard?" What happens then. Who does the universe listen to?

And all that jazz about if it has to happen, it eventually will, someway, somehow. What if two minds are wishing and praying for two different things? What "eventually happens" then?

How does the universe make up its mind? :)

I seem to think that a coin toss is the answer. All our lives are decided by a coin toss. That's how the universe decides who to listen to. It throws a coin into the air and a heads or a tails decides who it is going to listen to *shrugs*

Worth thinking about right?

The perfect coffee 11

Saturday, 5th June 2010.

Two different places. Two different types of coffee.

I first had filter coffee at ID, a restaurant in Sathyam theatre. The coffee costed 30 rupees and was disappointing to say the least. It wasn't hot enough, and wasn't worth the money I paid.

We moved then to City Centre. And Gloria Jean :) Those who have read this space would remember that I've mentioned Gloria Jean before. Well, at this Gloria Jean I decided to try a GJC cold coffee instead of a hot coffee. And it was kinda expensive, but it tastes very good. I sneaked a taste of my friend's hot coffee and it tasted just like I remembered it.

I think I've forgotten to mention the coffee I get at work. Even though it isn't perfect, the fact that they give me coffee whenever I ask for it, even though I'm just an intern, is nice. It helps me get through the boring parts of work :)

Till next time, enjoy your cuppa. :)

Happy birthday

I remember how we ended up talking. You were on the stairs and I was in the 5th floor corridor and we shot questions at each other. Stupid choices. :)

Panchgani. I was having a minor issue and you madam, just sat in the auditorium with me. Then you went on stage and I broke your glasses. Sorry about that :) But I managed to speak too and you stood there, near my chair, again, without saying a word. But you stayed.

On my birthday, we sat and talked outside college. Just because we wanted to.

We stayed outside French Loaf, talking one evening, for I don't know how long.

I gave you your first taste of cold coffee from CadB place :D I know you are eternally grateful, no need to say it :P

You took time out to see me when I was leaving for Hyderabad. just because I called and said come.

You give me bone crushing hugs :)

You let me rant that day. Made me rant, in fact. And took all of it.

You're an idiot. And I don't know how it happened, but I'm glad it did, that you made a place for yourself in my life.

I don't let people in. But you made me. And I don't regret it.

I love you. And I mean it.

Happy birthday and I get repetitive I know, but words are all I have :)

Guess what's playing in the background as I write this :)

To you

Words are all I have. To give to you. To make you smile.

So this is for you.

For being there when I never expected you to be.
For suddenly materialising out of the shadows. And smiling.
For saying the right things.
For trying.
For helping.
For listening.
For the colours.
For the images.

Thank you.

And these are simple, cliched words.

But that's all I can give you.

Small things

I started a story. Wrote this. And then decided I didn't like the story. So I scrapped the story and kept this part. Yes. It's true. I am capable of this too :| Sometimes, I surprise myself. It's everything I laugh at, but I write it well, I think.

It is small things you do which make me smile. It is those small interactions that I remember. I doubt constantly whether I matter to you. I doubt constantly whether you care. I ask over and over what difference I make to you because I feel like I don’t matter. But when you put out a hand when we are crossing the road even though you know I can cross by myself, for that second, I don’t doubt. When you hold my hand on those rare occasions, for that minute, I’m happy. When you tickle me and run away, for those few minutes, I laugh. When you get defensive when I make fun of you, for that moment I see that you care what I think of you. When you want to know what happens in my life and you are offended when I don’t tell you, I rethink what we have between us. When you kiss me, for that moment I believe everything is perfect. When you hug me, for that one moment, I am complete. When you seek me out, I feel better. When our hands brush against one other, for that millisecond, I forget what we don’t have. When you want to share your thoughts with me and you seek me out, for that moment, no one else exists. When you give me a high five, for that second, I feel like everything’s as it should be. When you care about me falling sick, for that moment, I believe we can be. When you say you love me, for that moment, I want to believe that it’s true even though it isn’t. When you don’t say anything, for that one moment, even silence seems precious.

Words

Words are sometimes so inadequate. But they have power.

Words can move mountains and they can break hearts. Words leave wounds that fester and burn. They leave scars that remain for an eternity, deep ones. Words are magic. And words are knives, sharpened to a point. Words have history. They hold secrets. Words are weapons - of love, of pain. Words are a release. They are expression. Words are a cage, chains which bound. Words are a mask to hide the truth. Words ARE the truth.

Words are inadequate. WORDS HAVE POWER.

Is it?

Is it supposed to be so hard?

To push through.
To make sure my mask doesn't slip.
To make sure that it all stays hidden away.
To keep face.
To hold the facade up.
To act my part.
To reconstruct the walls I thought would never break.
To get back what I lost.
To put the pieces back together.
To find all those pieces.
To lock up my thoughts in a box again, and hide the key that I vowed never to give to anyone, but did.
To keep my smile.
To watch someone else enjoy what was once mine.
To lose graciously.
To find, to fix.

Is it supposed to be so hard?

TO LOVE.

The perfect coffee 10

So I'm in Chennai - Coffee central.

I had coffee and butter biscuits from a tiny cafe down the road from my workplace. It was filter coffee with a Chennai twist :)

A coffee after dinner. Not a very good habit but oh well. I had dinner at Taj Coromandel the other night. A huge, tasty meal and I was so full, I could hardly move. But then the waiter comes up and asks "Madam, would you like a cup of coffee." You can guess what I said :) So it was a great meal rounded off by some really good coffee. The Taj after all :) And this was also the first time I tried my coffee with demerara sugar. It gives the coffee a different flavour altogether.

Breakfast was at the Lemon Tree hotel in Guindy. A huge, late breakfast which kept me going till dinnertime. And after pancakes, a mushroom omellette, bacon (which I completely and totally love, but that is another story), toast with extra butter and sausages, a cup of coffee just rounded out the whole meal. Though I must say it was just OK. Not as good as I expected it to be.

It would be blasphemy if I didn't write about the coffee which my grandmother makes for me almost every day. After I get home from work and have dinner, she boils the milk and makes the filter coffee decoction for the next day. And when I ask for a cup she makes it just right, just like that.

My mother wonders where the sudden obsession came from because coffee was an occassional thing in Hyderabad. I can't seem to explain why, or how. But the coffee lover in me has risen and is here to stay. I think it's very very odd that she can't even stand the smell of coffee :)

I'm on the lookout for a coffee mug. I have one really good, BIG one which my aunt bought from Cafe Coffee Day and I love it. But I still want a mug which is me. It's hard to explain but I think that I still need my own, particular distinctive mug because anyone could have a CCD mug :) Any ideas, suggestions - please share.

I need to visit this place my mother told me about. A small corner where they sold "metre coffee" and butter biscuits near the college where she studied a long, long time back :P Must make time for it, because my trip would be incomplete without it.

The craze continues. And those who still keep up with these posts, thank you. I shall promise not to disappoint :D

May the force be with me, and you :)

Ouch

I have never been punched. I have been slapped before. But never punched.

But right now, I feel like I've been punched. Like a wham in my stomach and a right hook to my chin. Like having the wind knocked out of me.

So you gasp for a breath. And try to find a place where you wish the pain went away. A place where you can nurse the wound. Heal maybe. Sew things back up.

But there aren't many of those around. You look for the arms of someone to give you comfort and tell you that it can all be stitched back up. But you know, that in the end, all the stitching and the healing, has to come from you.

And you alone.

So you try and you fail. And then try again. Hoping that this time it'll actually work.

The idle mind is a devil's workshop. How true.

We had a creative writing competition of sorts. We were given a prompt and we had to build on it. Here's what I wrote. And this was sometime in the first semester. I don't like it.

I was walking down the street and suddenly I saw him. The old man with the flowers. He was smiling and humming a tune to himself. His hair was all white and his face was as wrinkled as a sun dried tomato. But his eyes, that’s what I remembered. His twinkling blue eyes. Eyes as blue as the sky in summer.

He offered me a daisy. “It’s completely free. Just for you,” he said and gave me that smile again. “Free? Why?” I asked. “You look like you need it. Daisies are the happiest flowers,” he answered. “Why would you say that?” I asked. “You look troubled my child. Those brown eyes shouldn’t be so sad,” he replied, “tell Grandpa Joe what’s wrong.”

I had never met him before. He was a complete stranger, but I couldn’t explain why I trusted him instantly. I knew he would understand and I did something that I hadn’t done in a long, long time. I cried.

He enveloped me in a tight hug and just let me cry. He never said a word. I let myself go and then I told him. I told him why I hated my home and hated my drunk father. I told this complete stranger things I didn’t tell my friends.

And he listened. He didn’t know me either, but he listened. He didn’t have to be nice to me, this girl who cried. He could have told me to leave, but he didn’t.
After it all, he told me, “Baby girl, Grandpa Joe says things are bad now, but they always get better. Just hold on.” I didn’t believe what he said but he filled me with an odd sense of calm. I took that daisy from him and I couldn’t thank him. “Don’t thank me. Just believe baby girl,” he said and smiled again.

I walked and even though I didn’t want to, I believed him. I couldn’t explain what had just happened. I didn’t know why I did why I did what I did. But I would never forget him. My guardian angel, Grandpa Joe, the old man with the flowers......

The perfect coffee 9

So the first thing I did when I got to Chennai was to drink coffee :D I got off the train, met my granddad and was making my way to the auto stand. He asked if I had eaten anything and I said nope. No breakfast. He asked if I wanted coffee and I couldn't really say no could I? ;) So I had my first taste of brilliant Tamilian coffee at the Chennai Central railway station.

The one main thing I'm looking forward to in my stay here in Chennai is the coffee. Because now, I can step into any cafe anywhere and get good coffee. South Indian style :D

So for those dedicated few who still read this space, keep reading. There will be a lot more to come. Stay tuned :D

Why is it so easy to publicise the fact that you hate someone but so difficult to say that you love someone?

I know. It's because the word love comes with a lot of responsibility. Hate doesn't. Because love comes with ropes attached. Hate doesn't. Because when you say something out loud or put it into black and white words, it gives it a new meaning, concretises (I don't think its a word, but it'll do till I think of something better) it; and it's so much more convenient to concretise hate. Not love.

*shrugs*

Marriage

And now I feel like talking about something that people always seem to associate with me. An aversion to marriage.

Now, I haven't made up my mind about what exactly my views on marriage are. I am not one of those free-wheeling hippie types who is completely against the entire concept. I'm not one of those straight-laced pro-marriage campaigners either.

I think I'm somewhere in between. I dislike the entire concept of needing a piece of paper to validate your relationship. I dislike the fact that the word marriage keeps two unhappy people together only because they're "married". I dislike how you HAVE to carry on being unhappy because you have to uphold the vows you might have believed in at some point in the past but don't anymore.

But I do believe that happy marriages are possible. They might be one in a million or like a needle in a haystack but they're there. And I also believe that there those few who want to get married not for the validation, but because they want to and they believe it'll last (little do they know).

But I do believe in fidelity and loyalty. I don't like "I'm bored" so I'll leave. I need more concrete reasons. I don't like those who say "I believe in long-term but I don't think I can stay loyal". Watte contradiction I say.

Well, that's that. I have had this argument, sorry discussion, with different people. And I have heard a lot of different opinions. It's interesting to think of. Hmm. I still remain without any clear side to the issue. A wise person has said - I would like a wedding, not a marriage. I might agree :D

I dislike confusion. Internal and external. Confusion throws me off balance. It throws things out of perspective. I lose my centre of gravity and things go out of whack. I hate that. There are a lot of things that I can't avoid, and that sort of confusion I make my peace with. But with the other things, I hate not knowing. And when other people can't control their thoughts and actions, and that creates confusion for me, now that is the worst sort of confusion.

When I can't sort things out in my head, which I should be able to do, I dislike it very much.

So yes, it's easier when I know. And I like balance, order. I like a sense of structure. So when you put me on a seesaw with a constantly changing centre of gravity, I DO NOT like it.

Now don't get me wrong, confusion isn't always bad. It can help sometimes. And sometimes, the whole fun of things is in the confusion, the unpredictability.

But I like my head uncluttered which never seems to happen. I like to KNOW. And sadly enough my knowing seems to have to come from others, which does not help, even a little.

To conclude this very odd post - I do not like confusion and I can't seem to avoid it. Time to change huh?

Dependency

Barriers, walls, fences.

We build them to protect ourself. From people who seek to enter. To protect ourselves from people who seek to harm. We guard ourselves against getting too dependent, letting someone in.

Because dependency opens up a whole new world of danger. The danger of getting involved. The danger of having someone leave and then not being able to go on. The danger of getting addicted. The danger of leaning on someone who can't take the weight. The danger of losing yourself. The danger of changing. The danger of pain. The danger of finding trust misplaced.

Dependency is a dangerous thing, my friend. Tread carefully around it. It has claws and once it holds on, it won't let go. It has life-changing potential.

Dependency has rules of its own, a world of its own. It has a way of sneaking up on you and before you know it, it's part of your life.

So beware, my friends. And keep your guard up. Make those walls stronger. Fill the moat with water and crocodiles. Pull up the drawbridge. Because one moment of weakness can entail much more than you think.

The perfect coffee 8

For those of you who follow these rantings of a coffee lover, you might remember that I once wondered whether I was expecting too much from a cup of coffee and whether I would be able to make my own perfect coffee. For those of you who don't follow the numerous times I have talked about coffee, now you know that I once thought that even if I made a cup of coffee, I would find fault with it.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, I shall get down to the crux of this post.

I made coffee today. And yes yes, it was brilliant :D It's the first time I attempted to make coffee in the hostel and it came out so well. There was a thick layer of froth and it was strong and had just the right amount of sugar. And even better, it took 6 rupees worth of milk, and coffee powder and sugar which I didn't even have to pay for because they were already in the room. So this was in the true sense, the cheapest coffee I have had.

Well, now that I know I can make the coffee I love, in the room, do not for a moment assume that the exploring and the tasting and the posting will stop.

More will follow.

Till then, may the force be with you :) and me.

Utopia

This isn't a post where I'm looking at the way I write. I'm just thinking out loud. so here goes:

According to the Merriam Webster dictionary utopia is defined as "an imaginary and indefinitely remote place; a place of ideal perfection especially in laws, government, and social conditions; an impractical scheme for social improvement."

The word is used today in daily conversation to describe the perfect world, a place akin to heaven (if it exists). But then wouldn't different people have different ideas of their perfect world? Also, wouldn't one person's perfect world be in conflict with someone else's? Does that mean that if utopia becomes a real concept, there will be countless parallel universes? Different worlds existing in the same space. Individual bubbles colliding with one another.

Also, it could also happen that one person, let's call him X, imagines another, Y, in their world, but Y does not want to be part of X's world. How does X's utopia exist then? Does the very concept create a clone of Y so that the world can exist? Or does Y's world get nullified? Or does X just cease to exist because his utopia is impossible to create?

What if different people have a similar concept of their utopia? Does it then happen that these people live together in one world or does each person still get their personal universe?

Is our world, our universe as a whole, big enough to hold so many different universes within it? I have always wondered whether the universe is really infinite. If it is then would every person get their private planet to live on and thus utilise all the infinite space? If the universe is finite, what happens when there isn't any more space to accomodate so many worlds? Does the circle of life stop? Or do the worlds just get smaller?

The very foundation of the concept is a little faulty I think. Or maybe the way that the word and its usage has evolved has turned it into something with flaws.

There are a lot of questions. Not so many answers. Hmmm...

The perfect coffee 7

This post is long delayed. My apologies to those curious few who read this space.

Well it exists!!! It isn't a figment of my imagination or scribblings on a blog. The perfect coffee that I was so desperately looking for in Pune, actually exists in a place where it can be bought for Rs.10. It's everything I wanted from one cup of coffee. I didn't care about the heat, or the fact that I was just poked in the arm (I just like saying dramatic things, my blood test wasn't painful :D ) or the fact that I had just wasted Rs.12 on a cup of coffee from the wrong place or that the place is too far away from where I live. At that moment, time froze. And all that existed in my bubble was me and that perfect cup. It was like magic. I might be exaggerating a tad bit, but you know those cheesy romantic movies where everything moves in slow motion at that perfect moment, well, that's what happened. Slow motion, violins, guitars, wind :D

I wonder if it's weird that with me, slow motion moments happen with a cup of coffee :)

But then, drama aside, the coffee was strong, perfectly brewed, and best of all, very cheap. The balance of flavours was incredible. And before I forget, the place is the NCC canteen on S.B.Road. You walk out of the Symbiosis campus and walk down to the canteen for the most magical thing ever.

And credit must be given where it is due. I was told of this place by Vishal Menda. Thank you Vishal.

All I have to figure out now, is how to get there more often.

FYI, I was grinning the whole day :D

Fairytales

You know how in the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy clicked her heels three times and wished really hard that she was back home... I wish sometimes that I had a way to wish really hard and see my wishes come true.

Aladdin and his lamp, Ali Baba and the cave, Cinderella's fairy godmother, Alice and wonderland, Oz, a closet which opens up into another world - they endured for so long. They still endure and still captivate because in all their innocence they say what we are too scared to admit. With simple words and rhyme, they convey what we are too afraid to say out loud.

That we can't cope. That sometimes it all gets too much to handle. That sometimes the games hurt. That sometimes people mean more than they should. That dependency can make you weak. That trust can break you. That walls sometimes crumble and are hard to build again. That sometimes people affect you more than they should.

I wish I could believe in magic. I wish that for a little while I could believe in things like magic shoes, closets, rabbitholes, godmothers and lamps. That for a little while I could believe in escaping.

But then, I can't run away can I? I can't wish things away. I can't escape. And I learn to hide my thoughts behind a joke, a smile. Because in the end, those stories will remain stories, and life will remain in reality.

...

Happiness is so fleeting. It comes rarely and then we sink once again into a deep stinking morass of insecurity, depression, anger and doubt. Life is a constant struggle of keeping afloat for those rare breaths. We swim and struggle against the quicksand. We try to find the shore.
We try, we fight.
We lose.

I wonder

Does the fear of rejection disappear
Once you have been rejected?
Does the uncertainty fade
When the answer is known?
Does hope continue
When the worst has already happened?
Does pain hurt lesser
When you know it was unintentional?
Does it feel good to be needed
When you know you will be forgotten when the need is fulfilled?
Does freedom taste as sweet
When you know you don’t deserve it?
Is love really that amazing
When it is unrequited?
Is life worth living
When you can’t find meaning?
Is pain worth bearing
When you know it’ll never go away?
It friendship worth maintaining
When you aren’t appreciated?
Is hurt worth pushing through
When there is nothing on the other side?

Questions, more questions...
I ask, I wonder, I think.

Fading Beauty

Wrote this for a competition. Not my best.

It all comes to an end
The circle of life
The circle of love
The theory of being.

The colours on a canvas fade away
The letters yellow with age
The memories dim
Friendships end
Love is lost
Never to be found again.

The sun sets in a blaze of colours.
It ushers in the night.
The light gives way to darkness.
Happiness gives way to sorrow.
Hope fades into despair.

faces wrinkle.
Eyes no longer shine bright.
The smile doesn't come as easily as it used to.

Words lose their meaning.
Pieces don't fit.
The music is tuneless
The instruments break.

Everything comes full circle.
Life always ends
All of us disappear.
Slowly, surely, steadily.
We fade away into shadows.
Like we had never existed...

I fight

I stand in front of the mirror
And I can't meet my own eyes.
I can't face myself.
I've turned into someone I don't recognise anymore.
I've become my worst nightmare.
I've always believed in the power of my mind.
I've always trusted the thoughts I've had.
But now I'm not so sure.
Now...
I don't know anymore.

I'm scared of my own thoughts.
Trapped in my mind, I fight to break free.
Thoughts spin around like the winds of a hurricane.
They shift around like desert sand dunes.
A fire burns behind my eyes.
And it consumes me inside out.
Like a disease...
It eats me up.
And I can feel myself disappearing.

I struggle to hold on to myself.
I fight to save the person I used to be.
But I'm not sure of anything anymore.
I don't recognise my own voice.
I don't believe the words I say.
I feel lost, adrift, stranded.

I try to find hope.
I reach out for help.
But all I can hear is laughter.
All I see is rejection.
And all I feel is crushing despair.

I fight a losing battle.

Unexplained

I tire myself out
I hope that if I'm too tired
I can stop thinking
Stop feeling.
That if I'm tired enough
The thoughts will stop haunting me.
I walk till I can't feel my feet anymore
But I still feel the thoughts.
I work till I don't know what I'm doing
But the words still hurt.
I wander off to places far away
Turns out they aren't far enough.

My feet are numb,
And my body is exhausted,
But my thoughts still sound as clear as crystal.
They still remind me of what I'm trying to run away from.
They tell me that I'm waiting for something that'll never happen.

The physical exhaustion dulls nothing.
The pain doesn't drive away the voice.
I have no choice left.
I can't run away anymore.
And I can't escape.
I'm trapped...
In my own head.

The dark side

Every one of us has a dark side; a person inside us who whispers in the night. It hums lullabies so the nightmares can take over. Our dark side fills our head with false hopes. It makes us weep in the darkness. It fills the mind with doubt, fear; sheer, suffocating blackness. Our dark side chokes our dreams and drains away our happiness. It is slow; clawing stealthily forward like the mist. It is a claustrophobic, impenetrable fog. It attacks when we least expect it. It poisons, it maims. With its icy cold dagger it stabs through our strength, pulling us away from the light, the love.

Life is a daily struggle to keep the darkness at bay. It is a fight to keep the dark side hidden in a box, locked away, deep inside the chambers of our mind. Life is all about finding the strength to keep going; to push away the pain; to not shrivel up, hideaway and give up.

Sometimes we win. Sometimes we lose.

What are friends for

I wrote this sometime around 2 in the morning. It could be a little more refined but I think I've put down most of what I wanted to.

You know why we need friends...
We need them to lie to us
When we can see the reality.
We need them to tell us it’ll all be ok
When we know it won’t.
We need them to blindfold us
When the truth becomes too much to take.
We need them to bandage and mend the cuts
That refuse to heal.
When the reality hurts too much
We need them to sing us a lullaby
And put us to sleep.
When the cuts bleed
And the tears flow,
We need them to stitch us up.
And when they see our hopes taking flight
And they know only more pain can follow,
We need them to chop off their wings.