Emotions or emoticons?

Scuttling back and forth, filling up stacks
of sentences, the written word
Underlined with emotions
that gleam in the sight
and yet fail to breathe
loitering around as the emoticons
sometimes excessive, mostly inflated
sometimes ignored, always inadequate

:-)

The road to you...

The road to you
goes through a path
I'd not be afraid to take
if it wasn't trampling you underneath
The wall that hides you
and protects you from wrath
I'd not hesitate to break
if the debris didn't bury you beneath
I'd not quit
if my win didn't defeat you
I'd not live
if my death didn't beat you
We'd be friends
if you weren't so scared
It'd all be easy
if I hadn't cared.

Sleeping with...

Love does not make itself felt in the desire of copulation with someone ( a desire that may extend to infinitely many) but in the desire of sharing sleep with someone ( a desire limited to one).

~The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

How touching. And true. Think about the person you really want to fall asleep beside, safe, snug and happy, and you know love. A single metaphor can give rise to love.

Value Education?

One just doesn't know how much something or someone is important to us until it stops being there.

Like air, you don't see it, you even don't know it if you don't feel it, nevertheless you know how much you needed it the moment there's none. It's so easy to take life for granted and not value what we have. Love, for example.

And also, to some extent in today's times, the cellphone/internet/book-collection we are passively addicted to. For no apparent reason, I couldn't send text messages all day from my phone yesterday, and it was then I realized how crippling it is for me even though my phone is scarcely used these days like it used to be. And sure as hell, you need_to text the most on the day you can't. Damn, it was frustrating, for it was ok till the previous night and everything else worked fine anyway. Like that one day I dilli-dallied getting phone validity refilled for a few hours, and while nobody calls me anyway normally, that day I just had to get the calls waiting for me that texted "Call me. Please." Just how compelling is that? And weird. You need the pen the most just when you don't have it. Or the internet. Or the friend.

Life's way of telling us how to value things we have and stop whining for what we don't, is it?

Of young and rebellious women

This post has been delayed too much, and so has the question I wanted to think aloud over in the previous post. The title would be a giveaway, yet, my question arose from something more specific, and this is what it was...just what is the deal with the "young and rebellious" image of blogs written by female authors in blogosphere? My point is, think a little, and you'd suddenly find that a lot of blogs written by women, especially the more popular ones, seem to either fit or endorse or trying-hard-to-fit the image of a young and rebellious blog, or if not that, at least a modern, young, rebellious women author.

This is by no means a general statement or an allegation, but this is a feeling I can't stop getting whenever I'm randomly blog-hopping. It maybe in the look or the blog or in the author's attitude, in the words chosen or in the response evoked by the readers. This element is almost unmistakable. An element of so-called progressiveness and rebellion. An element of out-of-the normal individuality (maybe, simply because of the fact that the normal of our world does not allow for individual expression of themselves by women, more or less) that is either inherent, or the author is trying very very hard to portray. Almost as a matter of pride. In fact, some of the blogs I've come across sometime while browsing randomly are so loudly and promiscuously feminine that the insensitivity in the name of free expression is scary, and I'm afraid may be a reason why the modern rebellious women is stereotyped (so wrongly) with a negative connotation very often. I don't get the point behind all the noise, and sometimes, all the sensuality.

I'm not saying it's a good thing or a bad thing. In fact, I won't be surprised if someone came and told me that this blog also somehow fell into the same category. I'm just exclaiming at something I can't fail to notice. Some of the more read blogs have a larger element of this kind of a modern, rebellious, confessional streak in them, and somehow, it happens with the female authors all the time and less (but definitely does happen) with the men.
Is that some kind of a division in blog world? Does this world of apparent anarchy and freedom also have some kind of, possibly biased for or against, rules of its own? One of my friends once argued that all female blogs enjoy more readership than male ones, or to be more precise, he said that if your readers know you're a female, you'd get more readership if you were writing in complete neutrality and anonymity. I gave him a hundred counter examples at that moment, but maybe, partially, he was right in a way. And if there is such kind of a "favor", I don't like it! I mean, let's be fair, (and I may be offending a few feminists here) you're born either a man or a woman, entirely independent of your choice or anybody's control. It's just normal and natural. What is there to be proud of, or ashamed of, about your sexuality? You're neither less nor more because you're a woman, or in this case, a woman who blogs. But that's only what I think.

P.S. If you're bursting with anger at me for my remarks about women, blast me for sure, but before that read this, just to chill you a little (it's good news) :P If you're a man, irrespective of what you think about this post, go through that link too, because I want to say Yey! :P

Lame

No, contrary to expectations the title doesn't refer to the posts on this blog (that's for you to say, if at all, through comments/emails only :P), although it sorta fits the current state of this blog: random short irregular posts. Blaah, life hi aisi hai. But anyway, the title is meant to tell you that I'm sorta lame, literally, rather me is looli-langdi :P Okay, that sounds far worse than it is...actually, day before, a stupid dog bit me on the leg, though thankfully not too badly (thick jeans! yey!) and it was a pet vaccinated dog so I was saved the injections, but I had to get the tetanus and now my right arm is really sore. So with pain in the left leg and right arm, I'm rather lame (and not otherwise, mind you).

Life doesn't have too much else non-canine and interesting going on, otherwise. I like the feel of the semester going on at full flow, though it's such a breeze for me so far. I liked the feel of having one 24 hr period with a coupld of deadlines and reasonable work that could give my brain some practice and slow down its exponential decay (seriously, is my brain even one-fourth of what it was 4.5 years ago? Dunno!).

I get miffed at little things these days though. Back like when I was young and rebellious, and spent a lot of energy quashing my anger and disappointment at the world by channeling it to myself. That reminds me of a question, but I'd keep it for the next post. I just got miffed at something.

The Nine-to-Five

It may sometimes give you a high
or it may produce a heavy sigh
But when, my friend, the end is nigh
The 9-to-5 is NOT what you'd hang by.

What women definitely don't want...

• is a man who can't take responsibility.
• is a man who can't take responsibility for his feelings, or the lack of them.
• and, very importantly, is a man in their lives who can't take responsibility for her feelings.

This comes from a little reading, a little thinking.
Which is, for me, a little processed thought, a little raw truth. What say?

Zidd, for you

Pyaar na karne ka haq hai tumhara,
nafrat yoon karoge to zulm hi kahoongi
Nazron ke saamne nahi to na sahi
Tum chaaho na chaaho aas-paas hi rahoongi

Template :(

I can't find a single one I like. :(
I have seen hundreds. And I can't zero in enough to spend all the effort on customising (sidebar!!!) and then discard it.

If you come across one, let me know. Please.

Of friends, new and old

The title is a fallacy. Friends are not new and old, or lost and found. Friends are just friends, without adjectives. Once a friend, always a friend. People talk of friends-turned-enemies, or at least have heard of incidents like those. I was myself involved in a relationship that could be deemed as something like that to an outsider for well over two years. But when I honestly ask myself, and look closely at the world around me, I realize that it is something that cannot truly happen. The way we humans are, once we love someone, trust someone, care for someone and accept them in our lives, after that, even if at a later stage we drift apart, fight, forget, break trust, abuse, grow indifferent to or grow to hate that person, even then, heart of hearts we retain something that loves and cares for that person just the same, almost. We can overlook that corner, we may forget that exists, but we can't truly deny it. And it may come back to you at some moment offguard. But all I want to say is, somebody who's once special always stays so, even in their absence. Some of it maybe because of the inherent goodness of people, of us and them, because noone is really evil. Everybody is a precious gem to someone. Their roles and places maybe functionally filled by others who step in, and there will be times when you will say "I don't care any more" and mean it, as honestly as you can tell yourself. But then, even we don't know ourselves 100%, do we?

I have met a lot of irreplaceable people in 21 years of my life. Most of them have moved on, but not without leaving voids. And irrespective of the circumstances that separated me from them, I know I still care like I did, and I know I will. Losing friends hurts, and getting one back from nowhere is a feeling hard to put in words. so I continue to hope some more will come back. I continue to hope they know I'm waiting, they know I still care, and they know that petty differences of opinion or circumstances that may have looked important then, really aren't. Honestly, how many times do you even remember what the dispute was about in sour fights? So I miss the old friends, I hang on to the ones I have, and I grapple with the voids.

And at the same time, I look forward to making new ones. Playing the game. Risking the hurt. Gambling some more with the trust.

Because that's life.

The time's arrived

That time has finally come, that which I knew would come, sooner or later, that which I pretended I knew what to do about when it was here, and that which I secretly hoped would be another one of those worst case scenarios that manifest themselves in my head in a typical attempt at preparing ahead and hence never actually arrive. But it has. It's time to start living by myself and myself alone. It's time to stop hoping for someone to turn up to listen, to stop calling up because you miss someone's voice and to stop expecting to be remembered. It's finally time to learn living without wanting company for food, or for hanging out. It's finally time to stop expecting others to understand. Just do what you need to do. Don't ask how. Even if you still don't have a strategy, it's too late and the war's already on, so deal with it.
Time flies. Even the convocation is finally over. It probably meant something. Maybe just this, that it's finally time to stop waiting.
How do I know?
Because I'm tired of the wait now.

Sarcasm

Sarcasm is entirely lost on some people. Aaargggghhhh...

Ansh

Ansh was waiting for her, sure that she would turn up. He sat in the darkness, listening to all emanating sounds from the adjoining room very carefully, but it was unusually silent. At the same time he had to be careful not to let his tears dry, just somehow keep the tap open at constant minimum speed till she finally came. It grew darker and silent. Nobody came. The door was slightly ajar; Ansh kept staring at the faint white line of light at that corner of the room, waiting for a sign of movement, but none came. This had never happened before. Maybe everyone thought he had already slept by now. But she didn't even come for kissing good night? Was she this mad? A fresh supply of water flooded his face. Won't she forgive him ever? Why hadn't she come? Ansh was more sorry and more afraid with every passing moment, till his eyes got heavy of the wait and were shut before he knew it.

Noise outside woke Ansh up next morning. His cheeks felt dry and tight. He ran outside, determined to find her and show his anger for being denied love and forgiveness. He did find her, lying right in front of his eyes near the door of the house. They'd tried all night in the hospital to save her from the sever hemorrhage her accident caused, but couldn't. She had forgiven him, but couldn't tell him so. Six year old Ansh broke down out of shock. His mother was no more.


[[Question: If this is an excerpt, is the whole story/character of Ansh worth writing?]]

Think!

Ego from self-respect, optimism from denial
love from possession, may be a very thin line
But it's impossible to escape behind lines and lies
in the mirror of one's own eyes