tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83917113156463272552024-03-14T00:27:01.092+05:30Rising from ashesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-67068806470156271032012-09-19T00:30:00.001+05:302012-09-19T00:36:14.675+05:30The abyss. <div><p>Darkness doesn't have a heart. Neither does it have a centre. It is like a bottomless pit without any hint of what it contains. Of all the phenomena in this mortal world, darkness is the most unfathomable. We are all dark inside. Atleast a part of us is. We venture out, looking for someone to eradicate, if not whole, atleast a part of this darkness in us. But often, even when we find someone willing to share our darkness, indulge us and love us the way we are, the darkness inside us rears its ugly head & fills our heart with doubts & questions we'd never ask otherwise. Gullible, that we are, we pay heed to these vile thoughts & discarding all that we initially felt, tightly wind up ourselves inside our shell. It's not that we don't want to be pulled out but we never really give anyone a chance to do so. And then we crib about how no one cares.</p>
<p>Like I'm doing now. Damn! This wasn't supposed to get personal.</p>
<p>I'm stuck in this abyss. Waiting for you to extend an arm. For me to grab. So that you can pull me out. Into the safety of your arms. Into the warmth of your love. </p>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-80634093349819285362012-09-18T04:27:00.001+05:302012-09-18T04:27:17.418+05:30Love, maybe? Punishment, yes!<div><p>Yes. I've been stupid. Again. Duped. Again. Of course you still love her. I was just a healthy distraction. Just one more among the many others. Why didn't I see it? Because I didn't want to. Because I wanted more. More than we had decided. More than you had bargained for. You might have seemed like my white knight but your armour doesn't shine. It is rusty. Of old promises. Of memories. Your memories. I may have moved ahead but you got me stranded again. Back to square one. Ha! I'm such a fool. Such a fool. And you know what's worse? You shall come back for more. And I shall embrace you. Welcome you back. Because you see, I love you. And love is sickening. It is revolting. And yet love drives us. All of us. Your love for her. My love for him. And now, my love for you. All so sickening. </p>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-81922969560000471242012-09-12T19:10:00.003+05:302012-09-12T19:13:37.420+05:30If.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
If it were my world,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun would never rise.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It would always be cold and dark;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A world where time wouldn't fly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If it were my world,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stars would twinkle all the time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The moon shining bright;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking like a perfect dime.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If it were my world,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lovers wouldn't exist.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It would be devoid of pain and pleasure;<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A place where passion people can resist.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it is not so, yes the world's not mine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still I hope it would be; with the passing time.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-19460301371537691972012-09-12T18:35:00.000+05:302012-09-12T18:35:15.750+05:30Life as I see it.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes, the titles of my posts are usually as boring, stupid & completely irrelevant to the actual post as this one is. Obviously one cannot expect me to write about my perception of life in a mere blog post, right?<br />
<br />
Anyway, before I completely forget about what I was going to blog about and veer off to another direction, let me begin. So, ah! Life. As I see it. Let me rewind to May 2010. I was young (er) and carefree (Yeah, I still am) not to mention a lot less stupid. Yes, I like to praise my past self, you know.<br />
<br />
Due to inexplicable reason, I decided to veer away from science and go for English Literature for my graduation. No, I'm not about to rant on how I hate my course and teachers (which I do) nor will I be describing my favourite piece of fiction.<br />
Today, I'm lamenting. Not my decision, but Literature. You see, two years down this course, I have, lately, begun to not only detest society but also resent art. In all forms. Yes, you read that right. I detest art now. Literature destroyed not only my ability of enjoying a piece of prose or poetry without delving into its layers, but also made me aware of how stupid humanity and our human concern about every little thing is. Also, remember, unless & until you have a super active libido and a promiscuous nature, you cannot be a man or woman of Literature.<br />
After reading my post again, I sigh. I've been rambling again. And the literary side of me observes me, with cynical detachment. She points and laughs. We are all a part of this reality.<br />
Yet, she chooses to be detached. Despite being a part of her, I fail. I desperately hold on to my remaining innocence. She moves ahead. I sulk. Alone, yet not quite. My detached self attached to me. Bone by bone.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-90198738214177088122012-07-19T01:09:00.001+05:302012-07-19T01:09:26.399+05:30The wrinkled memory.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
He would always have a smile on his old wrinkled face while handing me the menu and we would share a smile, almost conspirational. At times, he'd even help me decide my order & at times, he'd ask me how my day was. We shared a special bond, this waiter and I.<br />
<br />
And then, one not-so-fine day, he just wasn't there. I shooed away atleast 3 other waiters, hoping for my friend to turn up, in vain. There was no smiling wrinkles, no secret smirk and no one to ask me if I thought the coffee was too hot.<br />
<br />
However, I still visit, hoping to see him just one more day, just one more time, to tell him that despite his tiny role in my life, he meant something. The old friend of mine.<br />
You may ask why wouldn't I ask his co-workers about him and I'd tell you, I am too scared to know the answer. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-12164124553053186502012-05-22T04:15:00.001+05:302012-07-15T02:44:18.651+05:30Early Mornings.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm not a morning person. Essentially, I can't wake up smoothly anytime before 9 and sometimes even 10 seems early. But the days where I've stayed up late (sometimes even till 7am of the next day), do I fully experience how beautiful mornings really are. Like Shelley famously said, "the morning does not rebel against dark but rather disperses it" it is fascinating to see the light slowly creeping up the night and successfully replacing it slowly and steadily.</span><br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qmXGVgAW0xI/T7rFbhZDP8I/AAAAAAAAAVs/NTlXmNS41CY/sun69e.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qmXGVgAW0xI/T7rFbhZDP8I/AAAAAAAAAVs/NTlXmNS41CY/sun69e.png" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">These mornings remind me much of my Grandfather who'd always wake up at the crack of dawn till the very last day of his life at the age of 90. Mornings may not hold the same mystery and beauty as the night does for me but the chirping of birds and the warmth of early sunlight has a special magic.<br />
Being a steadfast atheist, it is in my habits to scorn heaven, god, Satan (though he's immensely attractive) and of course hell. Even then, when the sun rises and the bright almost orange light lights up the sky, the clouds pave a way towards a castle and somehow a part of me yearns for a little heaven, of a little magic and of a few miracles in my logical and almost always practical life. Sigh. As my fellow hostel mates sleep on, I make the fruitless self promise again, "today i'll sleep the night and wake up early tomorrow".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They say tomorrow never comes and I softly respond, "Amen".</span><br />
<br /></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-89057876834502375732012-02-18T23:40:00.000+05:302012-02-18T23:40:58.774+05:30Valentines Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xnhpcaMpiRo/Tz_pS_j2oaI/AAAAAAAAARE/Mktvu_n8kqA/s1600/sa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xnhpcaMpiRo/Tz_pS_j2oaI/AAAAAAAAARE/Mktvu_n8kqA/s200/sa.jpg" width="200" /></a>Like the past two years I was again date-less this V Day! Nothing new or special, because neither do I understand the concept of celebrating love on a certain one day nor do I encourage the meaningless expenditure that comes along with it.<br />
Additionally, its quite amusing to notice how various brands are trying to earn more profit by introducing the "Valentines Week", which includes everything under the sun including a Teddy Day (where the guy is supposed to gift a Teddy to the girl) to a Kiss Day, which no one really needs an explanation to. However, this year things were done a little differently.<br />
The four of us, Ananya, Jasmine, Suryatrisha and I decided on the concept of a "Secret Valentine" (heavily borrowed from the concept of "Secret Santa") and became each other's Valentine. As the name says, I cannot reveal at any point of time who is my Valentine and we had to buy a secret gift for our Valentine. Needless to say, mission was only half successful and though everyone did get their gifts, we just couldn't help revealing our geniuses in buying the gifts for our "Secret Valentine"! LOL.<br />
<br />
The gifts were just the cherry on top of a cake built by an evening full of hookahs and ice creams along with Jasmine's Strawberry Shake and hours of gossip! Go girls.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KlDvThfkqSg/Tz_pPD7X_tI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/j-v-mWqYXWk/s1600/sb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KlDvThfkqSg/Tz_pPD7X_tI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/j-v-mWqYXWk/s200/sb.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Love is in the air,<br />
Not for a day or week.<br />
For all the moments you spend,<br />
For all the days you look back upon with a smile.<br />
<br />
Signing off! Ciao!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-24777614776358224952012-01-23T19:16:00.001+05:302012-01-23T19:16:35.327+05:30Vapours and Smokes<div><p>In vapours and smoke, we see the world blink,<br>
Turning unto you as you would never think.</p>
<p>Thinking good things make you happy and forget your fears,<br>
Yet seeing them happen for others might bring tears.</p>
<p>Tears ensure you never forget old pain,<br>
You sometimes you feel what's there to gain?</p>
<p>Gaining experience helps us move forward,<br>
But somehow memories have the adamant power to pull us backwards.</p>
<p>Life has never been easy, nor will it ever be,<br>
I'll never be you, nor you me.</p>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-28804397565240486492011-12-27T15:51:00.001+05:302011-12-29T22:43:46.742+05:30Purposes & Surprises<div><p>Both are perhaps my least favourite words ever. I detest purposes and surprises from the top and bottom of my heart. Somehow being in total control or not being in control at all doesn't appeal to me much. I like having a little control and then again expect life to continue to surprise me. Makes sense? <br>
Not to me.<br>
The year ends. Somehow I've no memory of living 365 days a 100% this year. Perhaps I slept away some weeks or probably I was in comatose.<br>
Time flies. I know that. Somehow this year flew a bit too fast for me. And to be completely truthful I've done nothing worth mentioning this year (as if I do every year). LOL!</p>
<p>This year has given me a lot of things that I don't know how to reciprocate to. The only memorable things this year (not in any order) includes my trip to Digha, my Christmas holiday at Pedong, the college fest, tripping for the first time, my birthday at the hostel (real surprise there), amongst the little memories with my friends. :D Even if fate thinks otherwise, somehow my friends and I always manage to spice up our lives. A lil tweaking and we're ON. <3</p>
<p>Every little thing counts. But not so much that you don't move on. Somehow "selective memory" becomes a hard reality for me now. But the whole purpose is perhaps to go ahead and let life surprise me....erm may be not so much.<br>
I don't mind the happier surprises :D ...it's the ugly ones I am against.</p>
<p>Signing off before you start grumbling. (:<br>
Hoping you had a great year. Wishing you have been invited and dint have to buy any New Year party tickets. (this new advertisement about buying New Year party tickets at some Zomato had me cracking up like hell).<br>
Very curious about the resolutions you're making and consequently planning on breaking :P [don't deny, been there...done that!]<br>
And last but not the least, wishing you a blast the next year. Bye 2011.</p>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-84647027752805365192011-10-03T12:19:00.001+05:302011-10-03T12:48:18.335+05:30The Past Week<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">On the last day in the hostel Jasmine and I were fighting over a bar of Temptation Roast Almond like two four year old kids (I doubt even they do these kind of things now) and fall apart laughing and we also promised to repeat it when we are on webcam! LOWL!<br />
Sigh I hardly realised that I'd be home so soon. Missing you guys. <3<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KukSEPDVRbI/TolhCPJ3x7I/AAAAAAAAAG0/4BoumdrWU9A/s1600/MNS_12050938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KukSEPDVRbI/TolhCPJ3x7I/AAAAAAAAAG0/4BoumdrWU9A/s200/MNS_12050938.JPG" width="200" /></a>The last week has been a long long torture. First came the day with the 6 honours where the whole department almost died. Then there was a continuous hitting of Macbeth, Puck, Demetrius, Hermia, Dacry, Elizabeth, Banquo, Jack, Lydia and also a stream of modern realities going on. My life is currently on a path of self discovery and spiritualism. LOL. Okay! That was a PJ! :D<br />
<br />
Long back, I had written a little article on indignation, detestation, contempt and other not so "strong" emotional words. I believe hatred, anger and love are quite "strong" words to be used in a daily basis. "I hate her", "I love you" etc would hardly hold any deeper meaning if you start quoting these everyday. Lately, I am in a fix. As in a psychological one. I don't want to hate anyone. I actually don't hate people. Its unhealthy and also a waste of energy. Yeah, don't roll your eyes. I mean it. Recently though some people in my life are acting such that my resolve may just dissolve. <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*shake of head*</span></b><br />
<br />
What I don't get is WHY do people have to be so complicated? Making up stories to hide their own flaws and as a result hurting others. Or simply making up stories to hurt other people. You don't along with me, well and good. But stop trying to influence others. GOD! Some people are <i>SO </i>jobless and then we exclaim how we never seem to have enough time.<br />
<br />
Back home, its a riot right now. <b>Durga Puja</b>'s here and my mom <i>insists</i> that we all get up early morning as a mark of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"</span>respect<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> <b style="font-size: small;">*roll eyes* </b>My mom doesn't get the concept of atheism. She thinks I need a psychiatrist because I don't believe that the photos of the deities in our </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">puja</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> room can actually <i>see</i> and <i>hear</i> us and apparently also grant us wishes! Heh.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UGqRDhXxDuo/Tolhetwu5aI/AAAAAAAAAG8/s9C8K4sbk74/s1600/durga-puja.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UGqRDhXxDuo/Tolhetwu5aI/AAAAAAAAAG8/s9C8K4sbk74/s200/durga-puja.gif" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-48128838375977987072011-09-19T23:47:00.002+05:302011-10-03T12:45:57.925+05:30When Holidays Arrive...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I've always had a close friendship with holidays. Even though we did not meet for days, I loved when we did and have always enjoyed the company of my lovely lovely holidays. Needless to say my holidays and I have always shared a close and healthy relationship. Until now. Now, now, don't panic. I am still very much normal and I still love my holidays but like everything else, too much of something is a pain!<br />
<div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssEUdyWPj3M/TolhDPgmdtI/AAAAAAAAAG4/4mgqg5tG52k/s1600/happy-holidays.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssEUdyWPj3M/TolhDPgmdtI/AAAAAAAAAG4/4mgqg5tG52k/s1600/happy-holidays.jpg" /></a>You might argue that chocolates and holidays are exceptions but I beg to differ. Even too much of chocolate is not pleasurable anymore as I found out lately and have taken a break from all things sweet. (Though my friends and I sincerely doubt the time period of this very very recent development. Read = 12 hours.) Ever since I joined college, my holidays have begun to love me a little too much. So much so that during every vacation (holidays have a nick name too! AW!) I've had since last year, (TWO) my parents have resorted to giving me strange dark looks after a mere three weeks of having me in the house. You see, my vacations, unlike normal vacations, are a tad longer. A 45 days Puja & Diwali vacation or a 3 months long summer vacation, my college is EXTREMELY generous in giving holidays.<br />
<br />
</div><div>I sometimes wish this generosity could have been put to the awarding of marks but then somethings better not even be dreamt about. >.<" Anyways, back to my vacations. So, only this April I went home despite all misgivings, carrying ALL my course books and successfully letting them collect dust till JULY, when after 3 whole months, I finally returned. Now, my holidays wouldn't have been much painful only if I had things to do you see. Even becoming a couch potato is boring after sometime. </div><div>Writing this post with a heavy heart as yet again, my vacations begin this Sunday going on until 10th of November. I so wish my college mates lived nearer. Or atleast that my friends back home had as long vacations as mine. Sigh. One can never have everything. Even though I am happy that I am going to be home next week, eating decent food, sleeping on MY own bed where I don't dangle from the side and using a decent bathroom; I wish my holidays wouldn't be so long.</div><div>And as a footnote, Harshita Borah, I would have happily lent you my holidays girl. Only if I could. Sigh. Only if.</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-41646524317352112752011-07-08T00:06:00.000+05:302011-07-08T00:06:34.134+05:30The Conflict<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #073763;">Every one has problems in life. Love. Studies. Friends. Fashion. And every person who has a teen son/daughter in these 'troubled' years have TWO. The Internet and the phone. I know because my mom has handled me and now she's handling my sis. Sigh. I really respect her! We both are no easy teenage! My friends will vouch for that! <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">:</span>P</b></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AL7drXvezc/ThX8hAcbhjI/AAAAAAAAAFg/2f-FqDFGk9g/s1600/6a00d8341cce2453ef013485b4fc0d970c-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2AL7drXvezc/ThX8hAcbhjI/AAAAAAAAAFg/2f-FqDFGk9g/s320/6a00d8341cce2453ef013485b4fc0d970c-800wi.jpg" width="273" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d9ead3; color: #274e13;">So, its my last night home. Not literally. Am coming back AGAIN for some more holidays! But that's 3 months later. Staying home made me realise that somehow I want to be with my friends at hostel and also be with my family at home. Its seriously a big conflict. Hostel. Home. Both? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #ead1dc; color: #274e13;">The one I miss most away from home is my mom. She is and will always be the best person of my world. Keeping it short. Will miss mom. Wish I could have the best of both worlds. Guess Hannah is the only lucky one.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b> :(</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #ead1dc; color: #274e13;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Signing off.......bye Guwahati!</b></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-87219166048703982052011-07-06T17:22:00.003+05:302011-09-02T22:25:45.003+05:30AHA!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">You "tweet" on "Twitter" but you most definitely can't "twit" on "tweeter". #wordplay. Anyways, recently am having what they say as "twitter overdose" O_O tweeting every now or then! Saw #"The Social Network" again, courtesy my sister. Sometimes I think social networking is overrated. Almost everyone on #Facebook, #Orkut don't even know the meaning of the phrase social networking. And 75% people are high school English drop outs. The language and grammar.....I shudder recalling some of the messages I had received over the years online. Not that I am a genius when it comes to language but I teach a few of these a couple of things. The most common being - loose and lose!<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-epy3lXWMH_U/ThRNNgvPCbI/AAAAAAAAAFc/5jB6p5p8vyo/s1600/youd-be-suicidal-too-if-you-were-a-slug-with-arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-epy3lXWMH_U/ThRNNgvPCbI/AAAAAAAAAFc/5jB6p5p8vyo/s200/youd-be-suicidal-too-if-you-were-a-slug-with-arms.jpg" width="175" /></a>Anyways, its been almost 3 months home and I am longing to go back to hostel. My parents could just kick me out of the house if there was no chance of being charged with domestic violence. Sigh. I wish we could donate holidays! I'd gladly donate a couple of months to anyone who needs them. Recently I'm suffering from a continuous case of depression without any viable reason.<br />
<br />
Then I realised the reason is simple! LONELINESS! Yep its the same all around. No one has anyone to talk to anymore. Its a busy busy busy world (3 is the epic number). I seriously hope to have some mood upliftment after joining my mates in LBCH. One can hope, right? Saw Ellen Degeneres dance hip hop....talk about weird getting weirder!<br />
Broke up with my nth bf earlier this month. Nah! Am not at all upset because of that. Its human nature - read - MY nature. I canNOT sustain a relationship EVER. Like many other genes, the relationship gene is missing from my DNA too.<b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">:|</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<br />
Its pathetic. Not my relationships. My holidays! PAY attention. I have a 5 month holiday every year. Give or take a few. Only if it were my world....!<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If it were my world,<br />
The sun would never rise.<br />
It would always be cold and dark;<br />
a world where time wouldn't fly.<br />
<br />
If it were my world,<br />
Stars would twinkle all the time.<br />
The moon shining bright;<br />
looking like a perfect dime.<br />
<br />
If it were my world,<br />
Lovers wouldn't exist.<br />
It would be devoid of pain and pleasure;<br />
a place where passion people can resist.<br />
<br />
But it is not so, yes the world's not mine.<br />
Still I hope it would be; with the passing time.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Anyways, I'll end it here today! Its getting too long anyways!</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-59378023746105369102011-05-21T20:26:00.000+05:302011-05-21T20:26:54.102+05:30Effing much! Duh...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">Every morning I wake up and go through with my day....at the end, I sigh.....what was so good about it?</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">Now, don't even dare to think am writing a philosophy research paper on "Happiness in life" because I am not! Take yesterday for example...neither did I turn Superwoman and save the day, nor did I win the Nobel Prize. Sigh! But that's my incompetency. When I was a kid (strange...using the past tense), I used to dream of being whisked away to Hogwarts by Hagrid....When my 11th birthday came, my parents didn't know WHY I was so upset despite having done everything they could do to make my birthday special! You see, they didn't BELIEVE that Hagrid would come.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">Soooo, I gathered I am not gonna be a witch...not a pretty good thought you know! Flying away aboard my very own Firebolt was a route...an escape route...from what I couldn't possibly tell! But it seemed a good idea that time. Seems like, it still is...may be not the Firebolt...but the running away part!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">Sigh...............too many dots....indicates the recent gap I am suffering from, almost like a block! Speaking of blocks, I FINALLY overcame my reader's block AAAAANNNNDDDD finished Jeffrey Archer's False Impressions in a flat 4 hours reading session. What used to be an engaging pastime has turned into the toughest exam for me - reading! Always an avid reader, imagine my shock when I used to be staring at a page for half hour or so and realising that I've managed to read only 5 effing words!!! Being able to finish a WHOLE novel was equal to an achievement!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">Achievements! Another thread.....almost everything I do nowadays feels like one! Am so exhausted all the time that even the effort of typing has become nothing short of a 'dream come true' ....Just 5 minutes back, my cousin called and made plans for dinner out tonight! Nothing new...but the very task of getting up from my comfy bed and dressing up for an outing no longer holds appeal! Sigh....guess the years are finally catching up on me! To cap it, I have to wash my hair too because I was just too lazy to do it in the morning! See, I feel like a 200 kg 80 year old lump! SIGH! I need a boost up! I need chocolate! ...........................................ummm, okay I feel better!!! Nothing like a good old bar of dairy milk !! Aaaahhhh! Chocolate is most definitely the food of the gods!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #990000;">When I made this blog, I made myself promise never to hit the backspace while typing except for the usual typing mistakes....guess if I keep it up, all I will be posting is this sort of haphazard thoughts! Bah <b>:/ </b>who cares??? Do you?</span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-20741539578055273092011-05-14T19:51:00.003+05:302011-05-14T19:51:57.432+05:30The line....!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Often, I wonder if there is an invisible line that forbids us from wrong doing...most of us have grown up hearing the famous phrase "do not cross your limit" from our parents and I guess have wondered the same, WHAT is the limit?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Somehow my line seems a little blurred nowadays....like the distinction between scarlet and red (I am blissfully unaware of it) my sense of right and wrong gets blurred...somehow what I thought was wrong yesterday seems more and more right nowadays and the things I hoped are right seem so much like a clumsy blunder I might have made in my sleep....probably like the phone call we get in the middle of the night and we mumble a few incomprehensible words and then conveniently forgetting it the next day.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps, I am in a state of slumber .....perhaps I have always been...but it is painful to wake up. Who is the culprit? Time? Age? Emotions? Sometimes, life seems extremely stupid. The things we pay most attention to, extremely trivial. The fights we have, extremely silly. The things we buy, extremely worthless. Often, we are so swayed by our own emotions, we hardly realize the gravity of our decision. Hence takes birth REGRET...</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Its strange how the things we build up for expulsion somehow always remains within. Like a mad old collector, we hungrily and almost jealously guard our sentiments. Not for selfish gain....but almost always in fear....fear of being exposed. By now, I am seriously at a loss as to where this post is going but as I said, almost everything seems to be blurred to me.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Its been a month I came home. A month my books are lying abandoned, collecting dust. A month I've been thinking.....what am I doing? what am I going to do? A month of having the novelty of a TV in my bedroom. A month. Surprising how much time I can waste by simply doing NOTHING. Nothing worth mentioning, that is.......so, my holiday mission is to somehow achieve the size of a baby...err...teen elephant.....(evident from my diet...or rather the lack of it). And guess what? I might just get that PhD degree in HARRY POTTER....I've been reading the whole series for the 150th time....this time along with fan fiction...Erm, my teacher at college told me not to use 'short paragraphs' in my answers....ruins the drama she said. Hope she doesn't mark THIS blog post! I'll be getting a zero surely. LOL.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Holidays were never nice. Its not healthy to sit idle....for me! Ridiculously weird thoughts keep haunting my brain and I keep haunting my friends asking them the weirdest questions of their life....also, holidays have always proved to be the 'self-assessment' period for me....where I keep on replaying my memories and wondering how and when and what and why they could have been different!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ananya was right. Only the first holiday away from hostel seems fun. This one is simply dragging. I miss the hostel. Even though the food, the bathrooms, the rooms SUCK! I mean, is it ever the place? I think its the people who matter! For e.g. I'd rather die than miss my biology classes at school but I do miss my benchmates!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think I should sign off...before I start bawling over the keyboard! Ciao!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #4c1130; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P.S. Comments and criticism welcome! :P</span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-32466951302956901692011-05-07T14:03:00.000+05:302011-05-07T14:03:38.240+05:30This thing called "LOVE"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Z-85sMjA0/TcUDgTvUBDI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QLXWaG5VMac/s1600/mom-and-child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Z-85sMjA0/TcUDgTvUBDI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QLXWaG5VMac/s200/mom-and-child.jpg" width="136" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Love</b> is what a mother feels for her new born child, even after a long and painful birth. When a sister runs to help her younger sibling even after a bad quarrel the night before.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Love</b> is when a son looks forward to eating his mom's home cooked food even when he can afford 5* hotels. When a dad prays for his son's happiness even after he was abandoned in his old age.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Love</b> is when a friend hates the person you hate even if they don't even know the culprit personally. When your plant refuses to die and bears flowers even after you forgot to water it a couple of days.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GAAg2WeUuds/TcUDZexDFUI/AAAAAAAAADo/SSsBw7GZnWc/s1600/calvinhobbes_friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GAAg2WeUuds/TcUDZexDFUI/AAAAAAAAADo/SSsBw7GZnWc/s200/calvinhobbes_friends.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xyc7Ps0U5Cc/TcUDWsfHpDI/AAAAAAAAADk/-JP2IlNpXVg/s1600/write.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xyc7Ps0U5Cc/TcUDWsfHpDI/AAAAAAAAADk/-JP2IlNpXVg/s200/write.jpg" width="157" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Love </b>is when your friends plan a surprise for your birthday and you get to know about it but you go ahead and pretend to be surprised anyways. When I know writing about love has become so very common but I go ahead and publish it anyways just for the love of writing!</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-2252762103944345172011-05-05T17:27:00.000+05:302011-05-05T17:27:16.584+05:30often...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #674ea7; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I often wonder where I would have been if had half the things I had meant to do!</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">what if I had really exercised and lost all the extra flab?</span></div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EKUCKmHy5Bk/TcKQMQ5IiaI/AAAAAAAAADc/PeJYjmYlXcQ/s1600/Im-Fat-McDonalds.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EKUCKmHy5Bk/TcKQMQ5IiaI/AAAAAAAAADc/PeJYjmYlXcQ/s200/Im-Fat-McDonalds.gif" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">how would my life been different?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I would have got clothes of my size!</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wouldn't have been falling over my <b>OWN</b> feet....or maybe I would have? Erm, difficult!</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I would have fitted into a rickshaw with another person.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #45818e; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wouldn't have been labelled "appy legs".</span></li>
</ul><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyways they really didn't affect me, did it? I mean I am still living without following the "PRIMARY" thingy I plan before evry holiday - lose my extra flab!</span></div></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MQ20324RNI4/TcKQN7kmtOI/AAAAAAAAADg/nhUxOUFU82s/s1600/452908-fat_super.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MQ20324RNI4/TcKQN7kmtOI/AAAAAAAAADg/nhUxOUFU82s/s200/452908-fat_super.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cheers to FATTY people!</span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-74633706093803935732011-05-05T17:08:00.000+05:302011-05-05T17:08:05.000+05:30path...sigh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Seeing you, standing so far yet so near<br />
Took me back in time.<br />
When you'd be waiting for me<br />
Standing just like that;<br />
Love, adoration shining like a halo<br />
Surrounding me in its warmth.<br />
<br />
Yet today, I feel none of it<br />
Even though you look just the same.<br />
But the halo not for me<br />
Eyes dry, throat even drier;<br />
I try to call out to you<br />
But the words get choked.<br />
<br />
Because suddenly, you smile<br />
At her, with even more adoration.<br />
Jealously tears me up<br />
I walk away, not really rejected;<br />
But so very left out, so very lonely<br />
Sadness so raw, I evade even tears.</span></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-41779746102463811652011-05-05T17:00:00.000+05:302011-05-05T17:00:08.989+05:30Sorry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sorry. I can't make everyone happy. I can't pretend that just because you don't like a movie, i'l ditch it happily too.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Can't stop talking to the people you don't talk to. Can't hate someone just because you don't like them. Can't act normally when you feel like acting normally and just accept it when you want to ignore me. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yeah it's distressing but I can't dance according to your tune. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;">Can't love metal bands just because you think jazz sucks. I can't start wearing pink just because you think its hot! Can't stop loving black just because you think its goth. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 16px;">In this material world, even if its difficult to accept, I still value my immaterial emotions. Sorry. <span id="goog_368146908"></span><span id="goog_368146909"></span>I just can't make everyone happy....</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-68857618343526737162010-12-31T18:24:00.000+05:302011-05-05T17:00:48.987+05:30Resolutions...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TR3R362BYPI/AAAAAAAAAC0/ElMUOiAP5EQ/s1600/resolutions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TR3R362BYPI/AAAAAAAAAC0/ElMUOiAP5EQ/s200/resolutions.jpg" width="200" /></a>Every new year, I make tons of resolutions - atleast 12 (1 for every month) & end up breaking every one of them! Result? Getting depressed on 30th Dec, EVERY year [31st is fun day, can't ruin THAT :-./]....<br />
So, this new year, I have only FOUR resolutions -<br />
* Make NO resolutions<br />
* Hence break NO resolutions.<br />
* Therefore, no depression.<br />
* Can party on 30th Dec as well.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Cheers! A very happy new year, with a grain of salt!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TR3SPMYx_oI/AAAAAAAAAC4/hPHm4TV7aAw/s1600/troubles-last-resolutions.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TR3SPMYx_oI/AAAAAAAAAC4/hPHm4TV7aAw/s200/troubles-last-resolutions.gif" width="200" /></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-14794442430581087012010-12-28T18:30:00.001+05:302019-01-03T01:57:37.251+05:30The Deadline<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am never good at deadlines. Let alone submitting a project before the last day, I hardly ever reach my classes on time.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TRneG-BDlcI/AAAAAAAAACk/rHHOHSdLZDg/s1600/Time-Flies.jpg"></a><br />
<br />
Even though I live just 2 minutes away from college, I'm invariably late for class EVERY DAY! It doesn't matter whether it's a morning class or an afternoon one, I am ALWAYS late.<br />
<br />
Even in relationships, I realise my mistakes a little too late. According to my ex, when I asked him the reason of our break up, ONE year later [see what I mean by TOO LATE?] he replied, "We were both at fault but you let your ego down too late."<br />
<br />
<br />
7 months back, I shifted my base from my hometown to this noisy excuse of a city, Kolkata!<br />
<br />
Being a Bengali, it is inevitable that I'll have many known people but the horde of relatives we have here surprised even my mom!<br />
<br />
<br />
Most of these people don't know even of my existence but among these strangers live some really special people - my mom's family!<br />
<br />
My maternal grandparents, my mom's elder sister, i.e. my Boro mashi, her family (mesho, dadabhai & didi) and my mom's younger sister, i.e. my Choto mashi. Being a clever woman, she hasn't married yet!<br />
<br />
My Grandfather passed away earlier this year in March and neither I nor my mom had the chance to say goodbye living miles away. After his death, my grandma, i.e. my Dida, lost all zeal in life. She had always been a tiny yet strong woman with wonderful anecdotes. She had always been a strength for all of us, always perking us with her funny odd ways.<br />
<br />
After arriving in Kolkata, I had the chance to meet her for about a handful of times, including my 19th birthday. But joining college, time was scarce. Before going back to Guwahati for Puja holidays, I met her once more, purely by coincidence. After holidays, I didn't have the 'time' to see her as in a cruel stab of fate, right after a few days of my arrival to Kolkata, she fell ill and had to be taken to the hospital.<br />
<br />
1st there were exams and then stupid excuses, I never got the time to see her.<br />
<br />
Sunday - the only possible day to see her, seemed too full suddenly.<br />
<br />
Finally, as my Christmas holidays came nearer, I planned to visit her the first thing! But, before I could, fate played again - she passed away......<br />
<br />
I vividly remember my mom's words as she called me, devoid of any emotion, "She's no more. I couldn't see her the last time."<br />
<br />
Numb with shock, guilt and sadness couldn't measure up to what I was feeling. My mom, thousands of miles away couldn't see her.....but me??? What I did had no excuses. You may say its not your fault but I don't believe that. I am living in guilt.<br />
<br />
Like with everything else, I was a little too late but this time, there was no extension. I missed this deadline.....forever.<br />
<br />
The worst part - I know she's forgiven me.<br />
<br />
As I stood next to her lifeless form, all I could remember was the words she used to say every time we parted, "Abar dekha hobe" [we'll meet again]<br />
<br />
No......this time, nothing will work...I missed my deadline along with those unspoken words meant for you. All that is left now are the endless memories that live beyond deadline..........Dida, you'll be remembered. I promise.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-78474985121936904712010-12-25T13:43:00.000+05:302010-12-25T13:47:56.719+05:30ColourlessPassing through the alleys I see,<br />
How all the colours fly by me.<br />
Having the speed of wind;<br />
They rush away leaving me colourless.<br />
<br />
Grey are the trees, so is the sky,<br />
So are the animals passing me by.<br />
Not stopping even when I shout;<br />
They rush away leaving me colourless.<br />
<br />
Even the sunshine is not yellow,<br />
Nor blue the water as it flows.<br />
Same is the time I breathe in;<br />
They rush away leaving me colourless.<br />
<br />
Now I've forgotten what it is like,<br />
To have red blood ooze out when pricked by a spike.<br />
Even as I look in defeat, at it;<br />
They rush away leaving me colourless.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TRWokiqAEiI/AAAAAAAAACY/QcJHjquvXxs/s1600/colorless-morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="137" width="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_m6mmGGinywQ/TRWokiqAEiI/AAAAAAAAACY/QcJHjquvXxs/s200/colorless-morning.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-69113400787950757552010-12-23T22:23:00.000+05:302010-12-23T22:23:27.394+05:30The Aftermath<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sunlight seems to bright to look at;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">The world seems too big to be in.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Life too long & all strengths lost,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Tears too dry to fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">All the smiles of yesterday;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Seems a ghost now.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">All the hopes and dreams of tomorrow,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Seem lost forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sad I may be sounding;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">But this is inevitable.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Because this is all I have,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Without the mask I lived behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">The mask which hid my sorrows;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Which made me invulnerable.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">The facade of calm, carefree life,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">I tried to live.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Now, I am naked and shrivelled;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Like a decaying corpse.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Healthy from the crust,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">But dead inside and lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">This is what love did to me;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">The fact I try to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Without you,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">I am in a living hell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8391711315646327255.post-7600320844928954392010-12-23T22:11:00.000+05:302010-12-23T22:11:39.845+05:30The tid-bits.<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Can love be this painful? Why do we ever commit our hearts to anyone if we know that heartbreak is inevitable? I thought I was practical, intelligent & logical.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Then how is falling in love practical? How is that, even knowing he is going to break me into pieces, giving full power to him over me, logical? How is shedding billions of tears even now, when I know that everything is lost, intelligent?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Giving someone the supremacy in your life can only bring you pain. Thinking that the one you care about cares the same way about you is completely illogical.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Times change, people too change. It may sound very cynical, but I can never believe that love lasts forever, true or truer or truest.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Affection dies out. Happy endings are only for the mushy Mills & Boon novels. After a couple of months, even years, the novelty of falling in love dies out.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">How can we claim to know someone totally? How can anyone be sure of someone else’s innermost thoughts? How can a person know that someone loves them and will love them forever?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">How can anyone be that naïve?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Love hurts badly. It breaks your heart into little pieces & if that weren’t enough, it breaks your sanity ten times more.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Worse? It doesn’t let go. You keep on loving that person even if it were months since your break-up. You plead, cry but nothing works.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">You put up a brave face, smile, tell everyone, ‘love’s crap’. Is it really? Or are you so bruised that even the word ‘love’ brings up bile to your throat?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Worst? You keep on wishing he would come back, set everything right, kiss you and make up for all the hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">That doesn’t happen. You heal, slowly, but atleast you heal.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Then suddenly someone else opens those old wounds by telling a little fact or fiction of the past. All the efforts of healing go up in smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Everything seems suffocating. Taking a fresh gulp of air seems to take too much effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Smiling seems like a chore, laughing a pain.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">Is this what love is supposed to be?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">This suffocation, this pain……it’s unbearable!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 198.0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Courier; font-size: 13.5pt;">THANKS for teaching me a lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10969840386321663418noreply@blogger.com4