I realised today, there are some words I really like. Here is a list.
Blasphemy
Meandering
Slab (Sounds so delicious, doesn't it?)
Pretty
Exasperate
Ginger
Exquisite
Serendipity
Alas
Cults
Shalom
Joyful
Fancy
Comprende
Shrug
Clock
Skull
Blip
Clap
Bahrain (said with the right accent)
Caucasus
Anaphoria
Ecstasy
Sunny
Abstrusity
philandering
Those are just some :) They sound so beautiful to my ears. They sound like music :)
Right now, my favorite word is blasphemy.
THIS IS BLASPHEMY!
Blaas-fum-ee.
Blasphemy!
This is just a blasphemous post.
Eeeee!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Hold Me Tight
Smooth white heaviness weighs on my hand. Slippery as a bowling alley freshly polished at dawn, shiny as a brand new mirror. White, white as a fistful of fresh snow cradled in a dirty, murky brown puddle of sewage water. It is a perfect round, crafted in my dreams by the fruitful, delicate efforts of strong, calloused hands of an artful mind headed by a mop of long, hippie hair, yet probably created by a mesh of metal and electricity in a dark, rectangular factory churning out clouds of grey smoke. The heart of the mug has a spherical handle, magically fitting my fingers as I blow into the dark brown liquid inside, waiting to take a sip of that hot, delicious, wakeful richness. The mug is sturdy, yet its fragility explodes in a moment, killing along with it John, George, Paul and Ringo, surprising them as they walk across Abbey Road. They have taken over the mug, emblazoned their name over the white pureness, decorating it with curvy black alphabets spelling out ‘Beatles,’ like dark fugitives in the night, slowly sneaking away, crossing the road’s bold, zebra lines into a Magical Mystery Tour with Sergeant Pepper and a little help from their friends. Oh, helpless mug, without limbs and movement, shrouded with burning liquid and melodious, unruly narcissists. It cries for Help from the closet, and all I hear is the Beatles singing, of peace and love, and harmony for the world.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Slowly Melting
My first try at poetry. Actual poetry. Not just about little boys turning into pigs and flying away. Though I do love that poem :)
Slowly Melting
A few spoken words
A few fleeting glances
And my heart goes
Crazy.
I tell it stop,
Stop your madness.
Stop falling
Stop failing.
It beats.
Mild and mild
Rushing with thrill
It creeps up to my peak,
Glowing and burning.
Fleeting, floating,
Cradled in snow
Melting.
Soft, silent whispers
Caressing.
I bow my head,
That crescent turns,
Merging with warmth.
That touch of your breath;
Like soft, silent words,
Hidden glances.
Cradled in snow,
Slowly melting.
Slowly Melting
A few spoken words
A few fleeting glances
And my heart goes
Crazy.
I tell it stop,
Stop your madness.
Stop falling
Stop failing.
It beats.
Mild and mild
Rushing with thrill
It creeps up to my peak,
Glowing and burning.
Fleeting, floating,
Cradled in snow
Melting.
Soft, silent whispers
Caressing.
I bow my head,
That crescent turns,
Merging with warmth.
That touch of your breath;
Like soft, silent words,
Hidden glances.
Cradled in snow,
Slowly melting.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Short Memoir for Class
Speaking of my English Creative Writing Course reminded me, we were assigned a writing assignment in class. Write a memoir. It sounded easy, and almost fun to write, had it not been for the fact that I wrote another memoir for another class just a couple of weeks ago. Another memoir already? *sigh*
I faltered, and I wrote this assignment two days past its assigned deadline. I went for a brief memoir as opposed to an actual five-page one. Here it is, the result of a lot of regret and self-condemnation, and one hour. And, let me warn you, it has an extremely cheesy title. Really.
The Colour of God
The gate loomed like a dark warrior in front of me as I struggled to hold back my tears. They wrestled with my eyes, pounding and aching to gain freedom. “They’ll be here,” I reassured myself.
A cloud of colour bursts into my eyes, bright and red, slowly sinking to the wet floor. I turn around, and Pragya comes charging at me, drops of water gleaming in the bright sun as they fall off her clothes, dancing like blood as they merge with the red powder flowing from her hands. “Happy Holi!!” she shrieks, smothering me with her red hands. I turn my lips in a smile and hug her. I can feel her bones touch my hands, sticking out at odd angles from her skinny body. “Why are you so sad? It’s Holi! Here, take this,” she yells at me, hopping excitedly as she hands me a packet full of something soft and squishy. “That’s the pink one. I still have some green if you want. Come, come, let’s go!” She takes my hand and pulls me behind her.
I feel the pebbles under my feet, skipping away as I trod over them. I could feel excitement slowly creeping up on me and destroying those tears. I ran over the familiar pebbles, crossing the clock tower and the ancient oak tree. I ran past the buildings filled with memories, calm and white, and ran into a masquerade of colours. The air was coloured, like a beautiful canvas, as if propped up by magic over hundreds of wet, screaming, colourful souls running around and throwing colour on each other. Green, red, blue, pink, yellow, orange, there was every colour known to man flooding the basketball court with its powdery mass. I stared at this beautiful madness, slightly scared, wholly shocked.
It was Holi.
I had waited all year; the day, till which all other days were feverishly deleted with black crosses on my calendar, and forgotten. The day where everything was bright and colourful and happy, spent joyfully skipping around and attacking everyone I loved with handfuls of soft, powdered colour and brutal, ice-cold water. It was Holi, I sang, and a smile slowly crept up on my face.
I tear open the packet, suddenly pumped up with adrenaline. I dip my hand into that green mass in the packet, and shout, “Holi Hai!!” My body feels like that of a body builder, suddenly filled with strength and muscle, and I charge at Pragya. She giggles and runs, as gallons of burning cold water suddenly pour down my back.
There began my Holi, covering every face in sight with moss-like green powder.
Now, I walk back to my dorm. Water drips down my side, and I shake myself, much like my dog, sending the water astray onto the mess of colour on the floor. The red and green and blue and yellow had merged together to form dirty black streams of putrid water flowing over the canvas. Pink streams flow down my legs, forming a puddle in the green ocean in my slippers. I look at my blue nails, cursing myself for not remembering my mother’s advice.
They hadn’t come.
I had crossed off twenty seven days in my calendar since my mother’s embrace. Twenty seven. I had counted. Twenty seven days of a cold winter spent shivering in a quilt, curled up to gain warmth from my own body. Twenty seven days spent in frantic anticipation.
“Are you coming for dinner?”
“No, I’m not hungry,” I growled back.
Here began another cycle of crossed out days. The moon was struggling to show from the blue expanse that was slowly turning to the dark side. Hundreds of feet slowly shuffled into the dining hall, leaving me behind, standing alone in the middle of the basketball court. I stood in the middle of dried up brown splotches – dull and dreadful. My heart slowly pounded in my feet, my whole body shaking with the strength of its beat. Hot streams flowed down my cheeks.
I suddenly sank into a warm, soft abyss, floating ecstatically over the dense love I felt. My parents hugged me, enveloping me in colourful happiness. I closed my eyes, hoping I was not dreaming. The abyss retreated and I opened my eyes, staring in wide-eyed wonder at them as if I’d seen God.
"We told you we will come. We will always come.”
I hope it makes sense and isn't a job too badly done :)
I faltered, and I wrote this assignment two days past its assigned deadline. I went for a brief memoir as opposed to an actual five-page one. Here it is, the result of a lot of regret and self-condemnation, and one hour. And, let me warn you, it has an extremely cheesy title. Really.
The Colour of God
The gate loomed like a dark warrior in front of me as I struggled to hold back my tears. They wrestled with my eyes, pounding and aching to gain freedom. “They’ll be here,” I reassured myself.
A cloud of colour bursts into my eyes, bright and red, slowly sinking to the wet floor. I turn around, and Pragya comes charging at me, drops of water gleaming in the bright sun as they fall off her clothes, dancing like blood as they merge with the red powder flowing from her hands. “Happy Holi!!” she shrieks, smothering me with her red hands. I turn my lips in a smile and hug her. I can feel her bones touch my hands, sticking out at odd angles from her skinny body. “Why are you so sad? It’s Holi! Here, take this,” she yells at me, hopping excitedly as she hands me a packet full of something soft and squishy. “That’s the pink one. I still have some green if you want. Come, come, let’s go!” She takes my hand and pulls me behind her.
I feel the pebbles under my feet, skipping away as I trod over them. I could feel excitement slowly creeping up on me and destroying those tears. I ran over the familiar pebbles, crossing the clock tower and the ancient oak tree. I ran past the buildings filled with memories, calm and white, and ran into a masquerade of colours. The air was coloured, like a beautiful canvas, as if propped up by magic over hundreds of wet, screaming, colourful souls running around and throwing colour on each other. Green, red, blue, pink, yellow, orange, there was every colour known to man flooding the basketball court with its powdery mass. I stared at this beautiful madness, slightly scared, wholly shocked.
It was Holi.
I had waited all year; the day, till which all other days were feverishly deleted with black crosses on my calendar, and forgotten. The day where everything was bright and colourful and happy, spent joyfully skipping around and attacking everyone I loved with handfuls of soft, powdered colour and brutal, ice-cold water. It was Holi, I sang, and a smile slowly crept up on my face.
I tear open the packet, suddenly pumped up with adrenaline. I dip my hand into that green mass in the packet, and shout, “Holi Hai!!” My body feels like that of a body builder, suddenly filled with strength and muscle, and I charge at Pragya. She giggles and runs, as gallons of burning cold water suddenly pour down my back.
There began my Holi, covering every face in sight with moss-like green powder.
Now, I walk back to my dorm. Water drips down my side, and I shake myself, much like my dog, sending the water astray onto the mess of colour on the floor. The red and green and blue and yellow had merged together to form dirty black streams of putrid water flowing over the canvas. Pink streams flow down my legs, forming a puddle in the green ocean in my slippers. I look at my blue nails, cursing myself for not remembering my mother’s advice.
They hadn’t come.
I had crossed off twenty seven days in my calendar since my mother’s embrace. Twenty seven. I had counted. Twenty seven days of a cold winter spent shivering in a quilt, curled up to gain warmth from my own body. Twenty seven days spent in frantic anticipation.
“Are you coming for dinner?”
“No, I’m not hungry,” I growled back.
Here began another cycle of crossed out days. The moon was struggling to show from the blue expanse that was slowly turning to the dark side. Hundreds of feet slowly shuffled into the dining hall, leaving me behind, standing alone in the middle of the basketball court. I stood in the middle of dried up brown splotches – dull and dreadful. My heart slowly pounded in my feet, my whole body shaking with the strength of its beat. Hot streams flowed down my cheeks.
I suddenly sank into a warm, soft abyss, floating ecstatically over the dense love I felt. My parents hugged me, enveloping me in colourful happiness. I closed my eyes, hoping I was not dreaming. The abyss retreated and I opened my eyes, staring in wide-eyed wonder at them as if I’d seen God.
"We told you we will come. We will always come.”
I hope it makes sense and isn't a job too badly done :)
A post, random as ever
There's this deep, gnawing urge in me. An urge to do what, I know not. Just an urge. To do something, to just run or fly. It's like there is something inside me and it wants to force itself out of me. And not just flow out smoothly. To actually force its way out of me, violently. Maybe it is an urge to feel something. Or maybe I feel something that gives me this urge.
I will let the feeling pass.
*sigh*
I feel like writing more these days. Maybe it is my never ending list of essays to write for class. Oh wait, it is that. Of course it is. Essays after essays.
I was afraid, at first, to take a course in creative writing. I'd read and seen in too many places that creative writing ruins your natural flair and creativity and what not. But really, it doesn't. At least my course isn't. If anything, it has made me a better writer. Or so I like to believe.
I let things and people influence me. Much as I hate it, and hate to admit it, I do tend to get influenced easily. Not in a ridiculously obvious or gullible way, but I do. Or maybe I don't get influenced, but am actually slowly discovering myself? I really fail to understand myself and the workings of this human mind. I hope I figure it out some day :)
I will let the feeling pass.
*sigh*
I feel like writing more these days. Maybe it is my never ending list of essays to write for class. Oh wait, it is that. Of course it is. Essays after essays.
I was afraid, at first, to take a course in creative writing. I'd read and seen in too many places that creative writing ruins your natural flair and creativity and what not. But really, it doesn't. At least my course isn't. If anything, it has made me a better writer. Or so I like to believe.
I let things and people influence me. Much as I hate it, and hate to admit it, I do tend to get influenced easily. Not in a ridiculously obvious or gullible way, but I do. Or maybe I don't get influenced, but am actually slowly discovering myself? I really fail to understand myself and the workings of this human mind. I hope I figure it out some day :)
Wandering inside, and outside...
I have recently made a new friend.
It's amazing what music can do for you. Apart from being the breathtaking, beautiful, intensely powerful thing that is, you can always count on it to help you make new friends. And that's how I became friends with him. Just through music :)
He's a really amazing guy, I think. He just has this way about him. He's always intensely cheerful and he has a knack for coming up with amazingly creative ways to express himself. And even if he isn't cheerful or happy, he'll never complain or moan about life's ways and manages to be cheerful anyway. Or at least I think so.
He also reminds me of myself. Though I never expected it, in him of all people. Not in a bad way. I've always recognised myself as a fairly introvert, socially awkward, reserved person. And, well, boring. He definitely isn't. He always expresses himself openly, and he has his own, very firm, extremely likable personality.
And not only that, not even the music, but he also shares a love for reading and writing and English in general.
I love meeting people like him :) They make me feel like I belong to this world.
Today, I was talking to him about this amazing band he introduced me to (Cults, that's the name of the band. Amazing. Must listen) and he went ahead, like the amazing person he is, and described music. It is the closest thing I have ever read or heard or felt that has come to describing music. It almost teared me up.
"Music is such a release, such a solution, such a catharsis, such a catalyst. It's the greatest thing in the world. It's the passion of all human emotion and existence,
of all dilemma, joy, sorrow, confusion, angst, horror, ecstasy, surrealism. It's liberation, it's control, it's self discovery, it's wandering inside and outside..."
Isn't it just beautiful? :)
Just reading it gave me goosebumps.
That's how important music it is. That's the awe-striking intensity of its beauty. And he put it into beautiful words :)
He also wrote something else, later, something that really touched me inside. It describes exactly how I feel sometimes. It would take me a few sentence to describe the feeling, and he managed to do it in just a few, beautiful words.
"My heart feels like a driftwood floating on deserted emotions."
That's my new friend for you :) His name is Joey.
Yes, he is as awesome as the Joey from Friends. Really.
Here's a little something that made my night, apart from the conversation. Hope it makes yours too :)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTbP7YwNo9U&hd=1
It's amazing what music can do for you. Apart from being the breathtaking, beautiful, intensely powerful thing that is, you can always count on it to help you make new friends. And that's how I became friends with him. Just through music :)
He's a really amazing guy, I think. He just has this way about him. He's always intensely cheerful and he has a knack for coming up with amazingly creative ways to express himself. And even if he isn't cheerful or happy, he'll never complain or moan about life's ways and manages to be cheerful anyway. Or at least I think so.
He also reminds me of myself. Though I never expected it, in him of all people. Not in a bad way. I've always recognised myself as a fairly introvert, socially awkward, reserved person. And, well, boring. He definitely isn't. He always expresses himself openly, and he has his own, very firm, extremely likable personality.
And not only that, not even the music, but he also shares a love for reading and writing and English in general.
I love meeting people like him :) They make me feel like I belong to this world.
Today, I was talking to him about this amazing band he introduced me to (Cults, that's the name of the band. Amazing. Must listen) and he went ahead, like the amazing person he is, and described music. It is the closest thing I have ever read or heard or felt that has come to describing music. It almost teared me up.
"Music is such a release, such a solution, such a catharsis, such a catalyst. It's the greatest thing in the world. It's the passion of all human emotion and existence,
of all dilemma, joy, sorrow, confusion, angst, horror, ecstasy, surrealism. It's liberation, it's control, it's self discovery, it's wandering inside and outside..."
Isn't it just beautiful? :)
Just reading it gave me goosebumps.
That's how important music it is. That's the awe-striking intensity of its beauty. And he put it into beautiful words :)
He also wrote something else, later, something that really touched me inside. It describes exactly how I feel sometimes. It would take me a few sentence to describe the feeling, and he managed to do it in just a few, beautiful words.
"My heart feels like a driftwood floating on deserted emotions."
That's my new friend for you :) His name is Joey.
Yes, he is as awesome as the Joey from Friends. Really.
Here's a little something that made my night, apart from the conversation. Hope it makes yours too :)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTbP7YwNo9U&hd=1
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
*shrug*
It's been a while! I'm still trying to figure out exactly what this blog is.
Yes, it's called 'And He Shrugged...' owing to my exquisite fascination and verging on voyeuristic obsession with Ayn Rand's work. Also, 'And He Shrugged..', what do you think it means? I don't mean that in a condescending tone, just in a very honest, eager to know tone. I'd like to know what you think it means, you, who's reading this right now.
As for me, I like to enjoy life. I may not be doing too much of that these days. These days I feel like I'm wasting my life away. But, the point of living is to enjoy your life. Don't you think that's the point? And no, I'm not telling you to drop your books and jobs to enjoy life. Unless, of course, that's the way you want to do it.
Me, I'd enjoy life writing, travelling, listening to beautiful music, strutting around in pretty, flowing dress and a straw hat with a camera around my neck, a notebook and pen in my bag, and comfortable shoes, somewhere in the woods or near a pond, or on the beach, or in a ginormous green field where I can just lay down in the cool, wet grass, ripping the delicate grass out roughly with my hands and throwing it up in the air, watching it sprinkle down on me, while the sun falls on me, seeping through my body, my eyes covered by the afore-mentioned hat, and just smile at the world and throw away all my worries and tensions and anger and stress into the beautiful blue expanse floating over me and watch the sun make them explode with its beautiful intensity.
That's what I'd like to do. That's what I think it means to shrug.
"Oh, I'm going to lose my job tomorrow?" *shrug* "I'll find another one, or maybe I'll just enjoy spending time with myself for a while."
"I don't have money?" *shrug* "It's bad, but worrying and killing myself about it won't help."
So when life is getting you down, I think of something I read in a speech. I believe the speech was called Sunscreen. Don't remember the author's name, but this was what he or she said: "Worrying about something is as effective as trying to solve an algebra problem by chewing a piece of gum."
Something along those lines. Beautiful, isn't it? :)
So remember. DOn't forget to shrug!
Yes, it's called 'And He Shrugged...' owing to my exquisite fascination and verging on voyeuristic obsession with Ayn Rand's work. Also, 'And He Shrugged..', what do you think it means? I don't mean that in a condescending tone, just in a very honest, eager to know tone. I'd like to know what you think it means, you, who's reading this right now.
As for me, I like to enjoy life. I may not be doing too much of that these days. These days I feel like I'm wasting my life away. But, the point of living is to enjoy your life. Don't you think that's the point? And no, I'm not telling you to drop your books and jobs to enjoy life. Unless, of course, that's the way you want to do it.
Me, I'd enjoy life writing, travelling, listening to beautiful music, strutting around in pretty, flowing dress and a straw hat with a camera around my neck, a notebook and pen in my bag, and comfortable shoes, somewhere in the woods or near a pond, or on the beach, or in a ginormous green field where I can just lay down in the cool, wet grass, ripping the delicate grass out roughly with my hands and throwing it up in the air, watching it sprinkle down on me, while the sun falls on me, seeping through my body, my eyes covered by the afore-mentioned hat, and just smile at the world and throw away all my worries and tensions and anger and stress into the beautiful blue expanse floating over me and watch the sun make them explode with its beautiful intensity.
That's what I'd like to do. That's what I think it means to shrug.
"Oh, I'm going to lose my job tomorrow?" *shrug* "I'll find another one, or maybe I'll just enjoy spending time with myself for a while."
"I don't have money?" *shrug* "It's bad, but worrying and killing myself about it won't help."
So when life is getting you down, I think of something I read in a speech. I believe the speech was called Sunscreen. Don't remember the author's name, but this was what he or she said: "Worrying about something is as effective as trying to solve an algebra problem by chewing a piece of gum."
Something along those lines. Beautiful, isn't it? :)
So remember. DOn't forget to shrug!
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