Things Happiness Is Made Of (vol i)

1. Just up and finishing the last few pages of a book you've been reading over the last couple of days.
2. Hot cup of coffee/tea. Better if you can go 'clink' cheers with a partner.
3. That smile in the middle of a kiss.
4. A breezy ride to work. Colors. Shapes.
5. Sneaky coded messages... "red dragon come in to the hide out spot. over"
6. An awesome song stuck in your head.
7. Finding an old list...almost accomplished.
8. A story brewing in your head, the characters speaking of their dreams and woes.
9. An affectionate message from a furious friend.
10. A warm gooey cupcake.

#LoveAtFirstSight

Note: The following are 5 incidents of  ❤  at first sight.


The Message

They walked through the congested lanes hand in hand. Picking up random books and smelling through the old stained pages, cursing their empty pockets. 

At one of those nondescript stores, on one of those pre-owned binds, in awkward but sincere letters, the couple read, with choked breaths and unmoving eyes:

“This note was supposed to be the beginning of a great love story. But I just learnt that you don’t read. Not that this book is not your favorite book. But that your eyes can only see darkness and from today so can my heart. ” 

The Assassin

And through his steady sniper scope, he could see his victim. Shortly, she would be shot and kill him forever. For in an instant, his heart chose to love, he chose to kill.

She, Years Later

Days of anxious preparations were, finally, coming to an end. A few more words and the ‘much awaited’ would be over. The unveiled new bride glanced through the room in sheer excitement of the moment.

Their eyes might have met then. Someone somewhere regrets that evening to this day.

It wasn't him.

The Rescue

I was drenched and hoping for the incessant rain to subside. It wasn’t a pleasant wait under the park bench. Something caught my attention. Distinct heavy footsteps were closing in. I turned around to see you already bent down, eyes teeming with adoration, arms moving towards me.

The rest is history. We were meant to be inseparable. It’s not for nothing that they call dogs man’s best friend.

The Dream Girl

For the last three weeks, since the first time I saw you in that art gallery, I have lost all desires to live life as I had known it before. All that I could do was to hope that you would at least come to see the artist’s rendition of yourself on the canvas. The art gallery became my necessary haunt.

Today, I met the artist. Today, I learnt that the woman of my dreams rose from the artist’s imagination. That he owned you before I could. That he would, forever. And I… would only behold.

--------------------xxx-----------------------

Fight barriers (haiku)

Today all can happen
I live to see the snow melt you
I could not.

Thank you Thursday Poets Rally for the Perfect Poem Award.

I nominate Life between the lines for the next award.

How a smile works

You know I stare at you.
Today I want to stare at you while you are doing your thing,
smiling your charming little smile.
I want to experience the entire process-
Of your facial muscles flexing,
your glorious 'fair' skin stretching
and tightening around your cheeks;
(Is there a slight hint of a dimple?)
Nostrils flaring momentarily,
and your eyes, as they squint,
with those mesmerizing eye-lashes
gather around them the wrinkles,
Cheeks brighten as they rise
lips playfully rise and
the bright sparklies failing to hide the shyness
you'd want me not to see.
I want to see all of this
and then
...
 I want to kiss the living day lights out of you.

Checklist for a working girl's/ charmingly-awkward December-child's birthday

It's that time of the year when I feel like writing a girly-girl post again. Well, if anyone has read 25 random things about me

 they would know that my birthday is on Dec.18 and "it's one of the hugest deal in the world to me."
 So, with less than a month left for the day, I've prepared a checklist for myself which I think will help me enjoy my birthday more.Although some of the things on the list may seem absolutely irrelevent, it all makes perfect sense in my head. 

Here's the list:

• Splurge on a birthday dress. Splurge on two. (check)
• Stop the gastronomical indulgences till the birthday for you want the dress(es) to fit you perfectly on your birthday too.  (check)
• Act your crazy head out about a month ahead of time (we all have to let the steam out from time to time ) so that you are your charming old self n people don't think you are a b%##^^ on your birthday.(check)
• Start making subtle reference to your birthday in conversations with friends so they don't forget the date.  (on going)
• Don't give any clues as to  what you want on your birthday if you are surprisophilic. (on going)
• Go slow on the social interactions with your 'usual' people.  You won't enjoy the day if you have been getting  an overdose of social gatherings and 'happy', ' happening' times. Abstinence is the word. (on going)
• Reconnect with the friends whom you've not spent much time with of late. Reminisce.  You'd be surprised how fulfilling these meets would be. Don't overdo it. (on it)
• Don't take any sudden whimsical leaves from work. I know we(especially you) all do it once in a while owing to the I-don't-give-a-smelly-rat's-ass-about-how-pissed-my-boss-would-be-if-I-take-the-day-off-today moods.  You need the money (for you've already splurged on the dress and a check on gastronomical indulgence doesn't mean stop eating! ) and they won't really be happy if you are celebrating your birthday at the company's expense. (fighting strong urges not to)
• Give your beloved some space. A lot of it, in fact. 'Distance makes the hearts go fonder', anyone? Only then, anticipation of the long awaited hug on your birthday would be worth it. (ongoing)
• Since you have cut down on the socializing go for solitary morning walks. Winter mornings have the curious ability to suddenly activate your dormant-god-knows-since-when neurons and you feel awesomely smart throughout the day. (check)
• Just before the D-day finish reading a book that touches you so deeply that you cry for hours and come out of it with just the right cathartic effect. The smile on your birthday will then be liberating.  (not yet)
• Get a pedicure, you'd need your soles if you wanna dance the night away on the Day. (not yet)
• Get a nice ooh-la-la(NOT The Dirty Picture fame) haircut. You don't want your hair to look like forgotten dirty a broom (not even worth a penny in Horwarts) while the rest of you is looking (if not a million) a few thousand bucks worth. (research on)
• Work. Don't procrastinate at least for some days before your birthday. That way the days would pass faster and you won't have a lot of pending work when you can really do with some presenteeism at work on/post D-day. (on it. :-/ )

20 Questions - (un)popular opinion

I am feeling awefully candid today. So here is a list of questions I'll answer, depending on the demand for the question. I'll update the answer in the post, as and when the question is chosen.

Send me a number and I’ll tell you my unpopular opinion (each person gets to chose only 2 numbers):
1. A crazed-over television program you do not/never cared for.
2. A color you think is over-rated.
3. A selection of celebrities you don't give a rat's add about.
4. A pastime you 'don't get'.
5. A habit you can't stand.
6. Something you really like doing which everyone else around you cribs about.

• Waking up early in the morning. Been the eternal wake-up call and have been sworn at, gotten things and tantrums thrown at meself . #jobhazard.

7. Your favorite household chore.

Getting supplies and storing up the fridge.

8. Popular websites that make you go 'blah'.
9. White chocolate or Salad?
10. A sport you don’t like, for whatever reason.
11. A body part you really like, for whatever reason.
12. Something that people always tell you when they meet you first and you hate.
13. Choose three not-so-positive adjectives for yourself.

These are not exactly three words but its my game and i m allowed to break my rules!

• Impatient and impulsive.
• tending-to-unsocial
• Queen-of-digression-while-story-telling.

14. You wish you are never a Corporate Hotshot.
15. A classic must-read did you last read and absolutely hated?

• Ulysses -James Joyce

16. Something that people around you are good at or at least try their best to that you hate and can't get around to do it.
17. A color that you don't like wearing.
18. Something that you'd really enjoy eating that most of your friends would go 'yuck' over.
19. A celebrity crush that maybe even you don’t understand.
20. Uninhibited  rant on whatever crushing your cookie at the moment.

All colors, violent colors in my head when I think of the crusher. Good thing. Because words would have confused me and not blended in so well. The nerve behind my ear is about throbbing so hard it's as if it'd burst out and all the colors' would splatter slowly  forming almost legible words; trying albeit not entirely successfully to pass on the message.

Babble mumble

I can't weep.At least not anymore. All the tears, the red burning tears that I was so used to shedding, scarcely serve to quench my now-frantic heart. 


↓


For, what are tears if it is just brine. They tinkle down and you, oh you terribly divine you, just wipe them off with your charming smile, which leaves me feeling mushy inside.


↓


Tears, to be taken seriously, should be thick, bloody and should dry your heart with each falling drop, leaving you, exhausted, lifeless. Unwipable. Only to be healed. 


↓




If corpses could talk, mine would probably -through it's weighted tongue- force out through faded, choked sighs the loss of the briny-sweet tears and the charming/disarming smile.  


↓


The eyes would,then, probably bleed the real tears again. For a corpse, even a corpse much-in-love, doesn't need a heart to be quenched. Only memories to breathe off of. 


↓


Muchas gracias, you.

You've got mail

Prologue

2030, aug 24th, 6:35 pm : I found this letter while cleaning my desk. The handwriting seemed very familiar. It is only after reading one whole page that I realised that it was mine.

Chapter

Eyes set on your closed eyes with those perfect eye-lashes which make my heart skip a beat every now and then, what I heard you say last night:

I told you that I am not the perfect man that you think I am. I told you that I can be a screwed up, clueless, selfish prick hidden behind a shimmering porcelain mask. You laughed your generous laugh and told me that I was absolutely mistaken; that I didn’t have it in me to hurt a single soul and even if I did hurt you, I'd hurt myself more in the process.

You’ve got to understand that the nice, carefree boy-next-door that you know isn’t the real (or atleast the entire) me. Instead I'm a complete wreck, an unappetizing mess oozing out insecurities and wracking addictions off multiple sores, which running down my legs are creating a filthy puddle near my feet.

And hey, you’re not helping me when you’re looking straight at me with those big eyes, and the goofy grin of yours and calling me awesome. Perfect. Gorgeous. Hot. There is nothing that I want to do more than to pull off these so-called perfect layers of skin and fancy clothes and show you the toxic beast that lies waiting underneath. I want to show you the scars that are skin deep, marking me as an outcast for life, making memories unforgettable. I want to show you the scars that were supposed to be but I escaped. I want to show you the cold block of ice that is where my heart should be. I want you to lay your ear on my chest so that you can hear the absence of anything that comes from within, the silence where there should be pulse.I want you to lay your ear on my chest and hear the sudden eruption of heart beats that you cause by your touch.

I want you to, finally, come to terms with the fact that I was broken a long time ago and that there isn’t anything that you can do to change or fix me. I just want you to meet the real me. Only then can I trust mysel with you.

Did I really hear it or was I dreaming, like always?

Epilogue

Eyes set on your closed eyes with those perfect eye-lashes which make my heart skip a beat every now and then, what I whispered into your ears last night:

I will dance with you with yellow soles in fancy shoes in vacant lots under broken streetlamps, immersing my sickening soul in the music of our beating hearts. I will sing along with the radio, even if I sing horribly off-key. I will read out my favourite poems even if I mess up the lines. I will bear with your anger and moods and maybe sometimes argue with you and harsh words will slip out, but I promise to make it up to you with sincere apologies and sweetest of kisses. I will hide in your arms and cry out my sorrow, drenching your shirt with my tears.

Did you say you are broken? Or did you just sigh? It doesn't matter for I will love you best even if it's with my broken heart and my crushed hopes.

The Dreamer

The sky was black. Not the black that leads you to despair, but the black that makes you want to lie back and gaze at it, and for some unknown reason count the glittering, luminous spheres of plasma spread over it generously. I was, however, too self-involved to even care.

***

Just last Sunday, in one of his restless, philosophizing mood, he had told me, 'I know my dream is to be the guy who has everything -immeasurable, insane amount of money, women , crazy, easy success and all of this without the side effects, of course. I want a peace too, you see.  ' After a moment's consideration, he adds, (his voice dipping, making him sound more sincere, less pretentious) ' You'd think having lived all this while shaping a dream this elaborate and to die young, before achieving it would be a tragedy but the catch is that you would have already achieved it in a way then. How? You would then become the person who had almost superhuman potentials a perfect entity, the guy-who-could-have-achieved-anything-he-put-his-mind-to. Your self-doubt, your moments of excruciating insecurities  and over-critical self-reflection would then vanish and would have existed in vain. For you, apparently, had what it took to be what you dreamt of.'' His eyes glued to the screen, not staring at anything in particular, just seemed to have forgotten my presence next to him. 

The next moment we are busy watching a mindless comedy and laughing our guts out just for the heck of it.  He had always been a little strange; 'eccentric', he liked to call himself. This is, probably, why he was the one guy whom I trusted since I was a kid. Maybe his was   a case of borderline neurosis, but he knew the line between being selfish and being a cold hearted betrayer and he had always respected it...until one day when he decided to betray my faith on his insanity and jump off the roof.

He just let me stand by and watch him die.

He may have meant it for me to be a part of his grand scheme, his master-plan to make sure he achieves everything he but I refuse not to feel betrayed just because he is dead.
I did not ask to be a part of this and be damned for ever.

***

Today as I saw the twilight hue fade to give way to the black sky, I noticed the sky and the ever-so-many twinkles from the beautiful explosions of gas, performing, as it seemed to me, specially for me. 

Picture credit: Xavier Photography

The Castle of Crossed Destinies

Wayanad, Kerela

 (I know)

Wings, I gave up

To hide in the web 

Which keeps me tangled, sad, content.

*

(Therefore I am)


We walked tipsy, intoxicated, mildly happy
Exchanged numbers, smiles, a few dance moves and secrets.
Betraying the web, seething to strangle the last smiles out of the beautiful slurring lips.

*

p.s.: 1)This Post is being written for THE POETRY CONTEST at Blogjunta.com as a part of WOMEN & BLOGGING month

2)shared with Haiku Heights prompt #34
3) A special thanks to the photographer, Naveen for the beautiful picture. 

Change

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton Season 2 edition 18; the eighteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Perched on a rooftop wall, I looked down to see the tiny aggressive bodies running with stones in their hands towards the uniformed lot. The multitude of stones hurled did not deter the latter, since by now it had become a usual day-to-day affair for them. They could just take out another tear gas shell and throw it at the protesters. This would stop the buggers , at least for a while. 

They run from various directions and charge. In the background there is the rising smoke and the ringing echoes from the smoke grenades and rubber bullets being shot almost habitually at the screaming students.

This is a scene I witnessed in the midst of the students' agitation which has been going on in order to attain separate statehood for a certain section of Andhra Pradesh in a University, which is a stone's throw away(literally) from mine. As the world rises(cf. the middle-east) against the old systems and prejudices and practices - never mind the futility of many such endeavours - one becomes increasingly aware of not only the hustlers but also the people who are supposedly uninvolved.

My eyes glued to the, almost dramatic, scene below see that on one half of the road, the protesting students and the RAF were after each other contentiously. On the other half which was just a divider away, there was normal traffic - lovers out on a romantic bike ride, parents fetching their children from the school, families going for a movie, a bridegroom on his way to his wedding in a glittering, decorated car etc, too busy living their lives to even bother to give the warring side of the road a glance. There was an occasional spark from a gun shot visible from amongst the trees. The wind also brought with it the evening azaan from the nearby mosque which went unnoticed by the crowd involved/captivated by the happenings. If one looked at the sky, there was the setting sun which brought the promise that yet another day of agitation would soon come to an end. 

picture credit: liveindia.tv

Everything is blue.

Everything is dead.

Everything is mixed up.

I see a bright door, yet i am painted black.

At this moment, looking intently at my goosebumped arms, lost in the humbling thoughts that filled my mind, I felt immensely insignificant with respect to the larger order of things in the world. Suddenly a witness to the collage of all human emotions and passions- politics, hatred, possessiveness, love, mundane every day life, anger, frustration, curiosity, religion and even love- I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by this strange yet entirely matter-of-fact event. 

Maybe I am supposed to take up some charge and shout more slogans; or put down the cellphone, log out of the social networking sites and start signing more petitions, maybe I am supposed to go out and join fellow protestors and pelt some stones. But I haven't heard my calling yet.Should I just act because it is the 'in' thing to do? Or simple wait for a time more suited. Should I take a moment to see, feel and interiorize whats happening all around or simply turn my eyes to something brighter and walk away? I am not sure. Maybe I am supposed to come out of the passive unconcern that has set in my disposition. But it does not seem the right time to wake up yet. I shall be irresponsible by not acting, as many have already acted irresponsible with the power of action in their hands. I shall simply dream of a change; of a less-complicated, less chaotic world. A change which the entire world is awaiting with anxious eyes and held breaths. Until then,

Everything is blue.

Everything is dead.

Everything is mixed up.

I see a bright door, yet i am painted black.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

This is not how things are supposed to be

Tearless saddened kerchief
Dessert-less hearty feast.

Unused lying gift-wrap
Quiet like a bee.

Blind fingers in a darkroom
Hoping for a switch.

Unseen in the mirror
Fresh new socks without the wriggly toes.

Bludgeoned into a corner
Sprinting like a wheel.

Favourited Vol. VIII (Learning)

Uncle Ben: [to Group] What is learning, it's paying attention. It's opening you up to the big ball of shit that we call life. And what's the worst thing that could happen is you get bit in the ass. Well let me tell you my ass looks like hamburger meat, but i can still sit down.

-Accepted

Unusually Unsaid Understanding Vol .II (Stairs)

Among the mapped out uncertainties and the vague certainties, the spiraling stairs lead to the , even if undesired and neglected, destinations.

Stairs, Charminar

p.s: the p.s here

Elsewhere

(week-long challenge day-3)

Elsewhere, I'd have hummed a new picture
Lest I fall pray to a callous consternation
Slip my fingers into the ripples there...
Elsewhere, I'd not have fallen to reach to myself 
Was it she who teared so like me,lost like me?
Having given in to the disorganized Now,
Elsewhere, I'd have chuckled away a few naive moments
Right under the purple glazed sky,
Elsewhere, I'd have lived to die again another time.



p.s: 1) the words from the word-list have been italicized.
2) I know it seems like only 4 out of 5 required words have been used, then again see the 5th one on the list.

elsewhere

You are not You

The delectable words,
The smothering eyes,
The precarious memories,
The smokey touch,
The scars of pain,
The  playful fingers,
The smacks of taste.

...When I see you safe in the frame by my bed.


The fiery words,
The stone cold eyes,
The forgotten memories,
The lost touch,
The unfeeling skin,
The tired fingers,
The spiteful tongue.

... when I see you lying besides me, lost in a private ethereal world.


Should I just stare and love you  both?
Or
Should I pick up my choice with shaking hands and walk...

Notes from an Incipient Misanthrope (Stage I)

Confessions

"Sometimes I wake up early and even my soul is wet"

                                                                       -Pablo Neruda

-Grief is a product of idleness and isolation- a combination that I failed often to solve/escape.

-I've been :

• a patriot but inactive citizen,
•  an affectionate but distant sibling,
• a jovial but remote friend,
•  passionate but lost love;
• dull with brightness,
• unkind to beauty,
• an egoist to laughter , 
• with power, passive.

I have been everything that I thought I would never be.

-Was It I who suffered ,suffering in style the illusion of change, the poison of hope?

I shall give in to the image I see reflected in the cruel eyes when I look at you with an innocent desire to be spared the indignity of rejection. I give in, I give up.

'too soon',  you say.

You did not live my life, living helplessly each moment snowballing into years and decades reasserting the crack between the mind and the soul - having to see the wreckage of the bliss that you knew existed within you, one speck at a time.

-Sometimes tears seem so irrelevant. The cause too perverse. The soul drips with the tears I don't care to shed anymore.


-I am a cynic, an indifferent realist, I am all that you would care to define me as, for I have failed. I have failed my definition of myself. 

Cleverly Disguised As A Responsible Adult.

I have a strong Dee Dee instinct and it worries me sometimes.
All the forbidden buttons seem to attract my curiosity and fan my urge.

People keep telling me things that I shouldn't do, the things that I tell myself I shouldn't do, not for the nth time at least. But I still end up indulging my whim to see if things would be different this time around.

the stupid cow disease

But i am stuck. Its like watching your favourite movie over and over again. Except its not a good-favourite. Its just a pathetic obsession. There is no happy ending or happily-ever-afters.You keep expecting things would turn out differently with the characters involved so they are not heart broken/killed/handicapped/reduced to useless no-ones by the events in the plot. You know nothing would change, yet you sit through it hoping, till it ends up disappointing and disturbing you again, getting ready to give it another run.


I ,apparently,take a different route/approach each time but they all seem to send me to the same place. 'I am stuck' is the thought of the day.

eternal recurrence is a bitch

Memory Keeper

I stare into the eyes in the ripples of water

There is someone I know talking a stroll.

Let the ripples be, let the time crawl

'Mirror mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?'

A thought might strike me and pass,

I let you be , I let you go , I let you move from now to past.

If I were to cherish every moment of my life. It would have become a history textbook and, quite frankly, historical compositions aren't always the most interesting reads one comes across.

What I cherish most is my forgetfulness, my laziness to capture every moment into a more concrete form, my indifference to to the fact that my life, as I see it, might one day be as gone as I would be.

Yet i also cherish the moments You remind me of,in one those moods of yours. I cherish the 'stories' almost unaware that I have once lived them myself.

i cherish you as my memory keeper and I wish it to be so till I am capable of creating them.

The world is not a pair of chopsticks

A face is not a gaudy sports car
A scar is not the goal
A poll is not some rolled up dope

Hope is not an effective aspirin
A hairpin not a sheath
The teeth that shine brightly this eve
show the sole is not a gift.