A Bit of the Real

“Life’s disappointments are harder to take when you don’t know any swear words.” It's so simple, shaking off the pressure - Just take the bottle, fill the glass, drink it, and then spit it away swearing for the last person you thought of before putting the glass to the mouth... [;)] Try this, you'd feel better... *[i]conditions apply[/i] *[i]Bottle must not contain alcoholic drink.[/i]

I saw this movie, Lakshya today. My friend recommended this film to me way back in 2005. I didn’t pay much heed. But I liked the songs, used to listen to them when I was low. However, following my urge to watch it, I finished the act today. It took 24 years for him to realise. Well, I am 24. And I just realised that same thing, and then the film showed me that what I realised was is correct. I don’t know if it is the film’s effect but I feel I am in a similar situation: I have a faint idea of my aim, I have made some decisions, and (don’t know how to write this, let’s put it straight…) the girl I like has told that she’s got no time to talk to me anymore. It’s high time that I act. People fall in love at all wrong times when they can not afford the comfort and love that their soul mates deserve. And then there’s a break up. I don’t know if I’d get to meet her after this, but I am working on a project that will take me to a great height. I just want to reach that place...

Calvin:     I don’t understand it, Hobbes. The kids teased me when I wouldn’t play baseball. Then they yelled at me when I did play. Then the teacher called me a “quitter” when I stopped playing. Unless you’re a star you can’t please anyone. Hobbes:   In that case, why not just please yourself? Calvin:     Because Mom won’t let me move to Madagascar. I don’t like what we are doing sometimes because I am forced to do so without a logical satisfaction. I pledge, I’ll never do this kinda’ stuff again!

Life seems like being caught in a Do While loop. The escape condition is not getting satisfied. Don’t know how many iterations left yet. Good if I had kept a “count++” in the “do” block. I return to this blog only when I don’t have any place to express my self. This may seem selfish. Who isn’t selfish, anyway? What has happened to the creative writer? He has lost his skills. Nah, he has just lost his concentration. He did what his mind told him to do. He lost control over his mind and let his body freely obey it. But now it’s over. From tonight, this geek is on a special diet: The diet for the brain. Just a bit of self control. No more throwing away actions. No more doing-as-I-like. Just me. Me, me and me. And me, too! Let the loop iterate. Let the world see a butterfly out of the pupae. Let there be light.

It was a winter night. There was no moon in the sky, but a broken streetlight was oscillating in the brisk wind. I looked around. Everyone in the houses around was asleep. Somewhere, I could hear the T.V. blaring a late-night show. The spectacled watchman Babu was trying to keep awake, striking his bamboo stick on the concrete floor, counting moments until sunrise, lest his bon-fire blows away. The wind was slow but it was cold, and my teeth started chattering. Whine looked at me, and then at Bisha who snuggled beside Bowwo. He then said, “ Wow… what a peaceful sleep these guys are having… and look at us… staying awake all night just because some jackass warned us about the Outsiders…” “Whine, they watched the area all day… now we are replacing them in the night”, I replied. “Why only we have got to do the tough stuff every time? I can’t sleep in the daytime in all these noises, and in the night I have to freakin’ nightwatch! This is unfair… I need a change… And look ...

Today is Monday. I just woke up with a strong desire of jogging. MY regular jogging track is 6 km straight and it takes 35-40 minutes. I'd leave in 10 minutes after this post gets published. I woke up from my bedding to find that I hadn't used the blanket. Frankly, I don't know how I slept, or rather who made me sleep.Usually I remove my specs and keep them beside my laptop after scheduling the downloads. My specs were at the usual place. But no downloads, yet the laptop was ON all night. May be someone put me to sleep, finding me sleeping in front of the laptop screen. I hope they haven't seen my chat history :P

November 15th -> January 14th : My duration of absence from the blogosphere. I bet I still love it. Many sunshines and showers have changed the way I look, touch, talk and walk. I don't recognise myself. Fighting-off expectations and working relentlessly to stop all the useless thoughts, I have stopped working with a plan. Now I never plan, I just make a list of things to be be done and execute them asynchronously irrespective of the order. Try it. It is fun. Today I am feeling BLANK. BLANK means completely blank. All I remember is just a phone call. There was nothing extraordinary in the call, no. No Love You, no Miss You, nah... nothing. Just plain words. Still I remember it and it only. All night while multiple dreams came, it ran like a backgroundworker pestering me. There's something about the conversation that gives me the creeps. Today's Sunday, no office, and I have decided to be hyper-active lest I fall in such a trap. Good day.

Mark Twain said, "I can live without food for [n] days, but I can't live a single day without praise." He lost lost wife and three daughters in a very short term. He was then alone. In loneliness, he wrote the darkest of his works, "The Mysterious Stranger" (unfinished). One of the quotes from it is: " In a little while you will be alone in shoreless space, to wander its limitless solitudes without friend or comrade forever--for you will remain a thought, the only existent thought, and by your nature inextinguishable, indestructible. But I, your poor servant, have revealed you to yourself and set you free. Dream other dreams, and better!...You perceive, now, that these things are all impossible except in a dream. You perceive that they are pure and puerile insanities, the silly creations of an imagination that is not conscious of its freaks - in a word, that they are a dream, and you the maker of it. The dream-marks are all present; you should have recogniz...

I remember the first time I blogged. I thought I was doing it for fame. I was hoping to be a good writer, and wanted to be the most famous blogger in the blogosphere, just as every computer student wants to become Bill Gates, or Richard Stallman, or Steve Jobs, or Larry Page. I started with my poems. A few months later, I didn't like them. I started a story then. The name was: What a name?!!?. I wrote 6-7 posts and got impressive comments. Somehow, I failed to continue it. I forgot all about blogging. Then suddenly, India Student Partner program started an "Every MSP must have a blog" scheme, and I felt I needed a rather tech blog. So I shifted to www.nicenotes.spaces.live.com. As usual, I ran out of either ideas or time to blog each night. Today while writing this, I asked myself a question: Why do I blog? For fame? So that some cool (hot, actually) girl discovers my hidden talent and becomes a fan for real? So that I can boast about my creativity? The answer is: NO. I b...

Sunrise. Birds chirp. Trees exhale oxygen. Suddenly I hear a scream. I woman was pointing at the ground. "A snake! A snake!", she frantically cried. It wasn't a snake. Snakes have removable foreskin. This creature was way too slimy and slippery to be a snake. I know what it was. It was an earthworm; disoriented earthworm. It dragged itself on the dry floor, leaving behind marks of its wet body. Someone said, "Kill it!". I didn't. I just waited until it coiled itself, and inserted a piece of paper beneath it. It was trying to escape off from the other side. A chill passed by my heart. I held the paper with shaky hands, and carried it away with the worm on it. I threw it in the bushes nearby and bid him good day. "It will come again!", my mother said. "Not on the dry land, mom, not again... ", I smirked. Things digging themselves out of deep-within can't panic me.

The red sun was smiling. So was the silver moon. The stars winked. The rain drops fell from clouds. A rainbow passed from within. The tree swaying in the wind. "Kaushal!!" came a voice... The paper sheet was perfectly placed under the bed. The pencil, rubber, and the colour sticks went back to their residence. The light was OFF. KC could hear the TV blaring. He was trying to listen to footsteps. It was mom; she was coming to his room. He pulled over the blanket, though it wasn't winter and he wasn't ill. "Mom..." he groaned.."Turn off the lights!". She just wanted to have a look at his room. "You weren't sleeping?" "I was arranging my bag for tomorrow..." "Tomorrow is your first day..." It is tough to make moms leave our rooms. Specially at times when you want to be alone. Now he couldn't turn ON the lights: She'd be back. He thought he'd continue his drawing later. He shut his eyes.But he didn't cl...

Monday. The most despised day. Just because it follows Sunday, which is, at almost every place, a holiday. We all love holidays, and the relaxation they give. Kusum watched them depart, thinking that she would be alone all day, with no one to talk to, in the three storey bungalow. It was going to be tough for her, because it was the first Monday after the vacation. With a great effort she had been a bit closer to Disha, the girl who always was lost in the thoughts of her old mom. A tear crept out and slid down her cheeks to the chin, falling on the doormat. Disha held her papa's hand while he opened the car door for her. In seconds, they zoomed through the street. In minutes, he'd drop her by school, Kusum thought. She wanted to go with them. She wanted to see her entering the school with the new school uniform. Her class, her friends, and teachers were not going to be here: It was a new school. She would be alone. Will they talk to her? Will she talk to them? I hope she do...

The birds were flying to gather food in v-shaped patterns; chirping, singing, diving in the golden sun. The sun was feeble today, and it's rays could not make an effect on the shivering earth. It had been less than ten degrees these days, giving just a reason to snuggle in the bed exceeding the sleeping time limits. Amidst all, there was this school, with pupils yawning in the first lecture, and the workers relishing hot tea. A cold wave tore through the sweat shirt his mother knit for him as KC looked at Nick. Beside him was Joy. "I doubt if that keeps him warm for long...", he thought as he admired his thick fur jacket his dad sent from Canada. They were, in all, four of them. Soon, they would be asked to remove their sweaters and then run all around the school at least five times. Then, they would have to empty the dustbins of every class into the main bin. By the time it would be over, it would be time for the first break, and their classmates would laugh...

Where was the wind When the sails were down? And the sun on the horizon, Like a divine crown; What I have come for? I don't want any fame! I just want a chance to, Give a meaning to my name! "phat...!" Joy slapped the back of the KC, aka Krishnacharan. "Bholu.. where are you lost?" He said. KC was rubbing his eyes, as if woken from a deep dream. He looked at Joy in disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to sense the place where he had hit him. Joy: "Did you do the drawing home-work?" KC: "Yes.." "Show..." KC produced a sheet of paper from his back. It was painted in the shades of blue, red and yellow. "Aw.. what is this?" A thick voice came from behind. Soon, the sheet was ruthlessly snatched. "Hey!!" KC startled, "Nick! Give it back!" A well-built Nikhil Arora was all giggles when he heard KC plead like a baby. "What do you think you've drawn in this piece of shit?" Nick was dem...

The afternoon was hot. It seemed like the sun was eternally thirsty, because the lips, throat turned dry as quickly as she drank. Periodically, a wave of warm breeze blew about her, which she felt like a boon of the wind god, for it made her clothes almost wet with perspiration cold. Her palms were perspiring, too, and the handle of the cloth bag was trying to slip from the grip, as it was heavy. It would seem like a curse, with the bulky bag and perspiring clothes, that one has to board a crowded public transport bus, where people stick so close to each other that lungs refuse to breathe. While she was wishing that all would end soon, and that finally she would be at her home, having a glass of water under the new fan, the woman left for home. "Sarala!?" came an anxious, familiar, tiny voice. She looked behind, amidst the mass of perspiring faces. From within the crowd, a fair face was on her toe-tips, eagerly looking at her. "Kusum! Hey.... how are you??" Sarala e...

When the thoughts go in circles, but refrain coming out of the mouth, when the desire to whisper is lost, replaced by a scream and shout, When the cause to survive life, is itself bound in chains, what can i do but lament, over my self-imposed pain? Questions are there but, the answer is one, Let time heal the wound, boy, soon the pain will be gone!

It was dark.... and moist... The air was heavy.. and the lungs tried hard to breathe.. The heart was pounding in the rib-cage... And in the stomach, there was fire... It was not anger. It was hunger. The man with the mic announced... "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to introduce among you, our very own.. Shivcharan Sharma..." There was a thunderous applause. Someone whistled. It was darkness. Dad could not see anything, either because of his hunger, or because it was too dark.. Why was he there? He couldn't know... He looked around. His son was nowhere.. "Mr. Sharma, all our audience out there wants to know how you attained such a success in your business.... could you oblige us by a few words.."? Dad looked at himself. His clothes were rags. His skin was dirty. His nails were uncut. He didn't know what to say. Was it a joke? he thought. "Mr. Sharma.. your wife has been a vital support to you. She played an important role in your progress. Could...

It was cold, the sun risen, Respectably high in the sky; White clouds spread around, And some late birds passing by; Carrying him in her arms; There she was, on the bed; She stared at him and then the dad, What a nice gift they had had! His face was bright as the sun, So sugar-sweet was his smile; Starry bright were his eyes, Happiness flowed like the Nile! At last, mom and dad looked at each other, and then their baby. "Wow..", dad whispered ".. now we are mummy and daddy.." "Not just two of us, dear!" mom replied, plucking his nose "It's mummy, daddy, and our sweetu sweetu baby.." "Well.." dad wondered, "We can't call him a baby all the life..!" "????" "He must have a name...!" "He HAS a name... !" "Well, you didn't tell me..." "I did... remember the night at the riverside? That shooting star...??" "Yes, I remember.... it was a cool summer night.. and suddenl...

Why do you tease me, By staring in my eyes? Your mind’s still elsewhere, What you’re saying is lies! While I lack the strength, To say it in your face; You know what I’m thinking, Cause you can see the trace; Of the question building, From nothing in my mind, Still, for answering that, A proper time you don’t find; And you let me drown, In the ocean of confusions; As I try to breath and float, By making out conclusions; Of the language that your, Eyes speak when they stare; Why do you play such games? This will lead us to nowhere!

How nice it would be, If all earth was ice! Even a brief appearance, Of the sun would feel nice! But now that it burns, On the top our head; Its existence is forgotten, As if it was dead. No one really cares for, What one really has got; It is for what we don’t have, That big battles are fought…