Rejected maal :P

I have been thinking, and I have been thinking a LOT lately about what exactly am I supposed to write about. The random factor is pretty dominant in me, but somehow it just doesn’t seem to be working (when I need it, talk about ditching ). So I thought, I will begin writing without thinking. So here I am, writing whatever is coming to my mind; so far, so good.

I am sitting in my advanced diploma class for web designing, and instead of looking up something relevant to my course, here I am writing mindlessly, and at the same time planning how to sneak out of the college today. It is tough to spend 6 hours in a college with nothing in the name of entertainment. Guess, they are pretty uptight about ‘imparting education to the future of India’. But they also don’t know or maybe they do, that the future of India firmly believes in ‘jugaad technology’; they might not allow us to step out of the college before the stipulated time, but we don’t give up so easily either. It feels like some sort of an achievement the moment I step out of the college after fooling the guards. That might seem very trivial to you, but you have to be in my college to know what I am talking about

I am done whining about my college and also my class is about to start (if it isn’t, then I am about to leave). So I will drop the pen here and hope the next time I can come up with something to write about.

Writing, because I missed it.

Every time I think of sitting down to write, the same trite and clichéd subject comes to my head. I can’t believe how silly and not to forget irrationally in love a girl can be. But you know what? For once, I am not going to whine, carp or kick up a fuss about my quite non-existent love life. I am tired of it too. So I am going to try my hand at funny. Naay, funny has to be impulsive; it cannot be something I think through or about. Guess it is going to be random again. Not the ‘love-sick’ kind of random. :\

Eureka! How about I tell you how unaffected I am by people’s criticism and pessimistic attitude. I have noticed that of late I have developed this ‘I don’t give a damn about what you think of me or my future prospects’. The best part is when I am in one of those ‘you are going nowhere with that attitude’ situation, something inside my head goes like, “Haa, wait and watch b*****s.”  I just don’t know why people have to be so critical of other people’s attitude, especially when it comes to their outlook about their respective future. Isn’t my future supposed to be my business and nobody else’s? One can be concerned but the god damned concern has got to have some kind of limits to prevent it from turning into some sort of freakish obsession. The other person might not think so but it scares or probably creeps out the person whose future is being “discussed”.

And I have no idea why am I writing hardcore serious substance. But I have to go, so I won’t be reviewing it.

Tattoo <3

A tattoo not only alters your appearance, but it is also reflective of the person you are. It not only defines you, but also what you hope to achieve. To many tattoos are just scars, but to me they are more than just ink and scars. They are an escape, a cryptic road to the world where I hope to be.

Every time I look at my tattoos, I am transported to a world of memories that I wish to share with no one. How much ever life might hurt me, my tattoos never fail to provide me relief from the restlessness and the insanity life tends to cause. My tattoos are like my babies. I don’t care what prompted me into getting them, including an otherwise insane impulse (like the world claims it to be), I love them nonetheless. They are beautiful to me. They mean the world to me. They are my secret stash of memories and happiness that nobody will ever be able to take away from me. They are happiness. They are secret symbols. They are my love.

They genuinely make me happy. Though according to the world my second tattoo must cause me a lot of regret, it doesn’t. Actually, it makes me smile. Every time I look at it, I feel a rush of joy caused by all the memories associated with it. Frankly, I had expected myself to feel some regret for getting it done, but I do not. Not even in the smallest degree. It makes me as happy as the day I got it done, a sort of satisfaction actually. But whatever it is, it feels great.

Ich kenne nicht.

I don’t know where or what this leads to. But all I know is that this is confusing enough to scare me. Every time I think of you my heart aches because when you walked away, you took my heart away with you. In my desperate attempts to stop you from leaving, I only managed to claw back my heart that too in pieces, but a part of it is still with you. And that is where I stay stuck.  Knowing that I can no longer look forward to your call or your text; to meeting you or seeing you smile that smile of yours breaks my heart to into a million pieces that I will never be able to put together. To know that the hope that dwells in my heart is no longer for me to have only provokes an irrevocable hatred for the fact that I am human, and an imperfect one at that. The fact that I will never be able to undo the consequences of my human fallacies arouses such anguish deep within me that it only seems befitting for me to suffer this heart-breaking agony. Though I know there is no escape from this, and I have become a prisoner of the consequences of my shortcomings, I hope that someday, I will be redeemed. I may not live in peace, but I hope to die in peace knowing that I had been forgiven and my soul had been salvaged from being condemned to hell.

P.S: I really don’t know what am I talking about.

Never before.

A million times before I have made mistakes, but never did I work so hard on correcting it. Actually, nothing has ever been the effort until now. But now I have found happiness in the weirdest, most kick-ass package available. I do not intend to abase the one this post is directed at, but it’s true. I have felt things and I have felt them in such a magnitude that I never thought any of it was possible; but I am glad I feel the sort of madness I do. Although it is too crazy for me too, but it somehow feels worth everything I am, possess or feel.

And now that I can’t think of anything else to write, I have come to realize that this post is kind of repetitive. But I just wanted to write, so I did. Screw the theme, I am anyways all about being random.

Lalalala

I have been so much in love with this ‘lalalala’ thing and I am surprised I have never written a post with this heading. So here I am, finally writing one with that heading.

Lalala for me signifies a carefree existence, replete with the kind of freedom I always long for. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I could live the rest of my life like that? Without being bound? Without being tied down to responsibilities or the kitchen, since I happen to be a girl and an Indian at that. Wouldn’t it be great if I am answerable to no one for what I wear, for how much I spend and all such trivialities of life? Given the current circumstances, that feels like an extremely distant dream. But if the circumstances can be stubborn, so can I; after all isn’t that what I am better known for. I will find my way around the sly tricks of life and destiny.

So long, my friend.

So long. Till a few days back, I didn’t know what this phrase meant but then my English teacher always comes to my rescue. When she explained what it meant, I felt a weird emotion running through me. Actually not weird, the usual sentimental feeling that I feel.

‘So long’ felt it had much more to it than just a mere ‘Goodbye’. It has a yearning in it, a yearning of unimaginable intensity. I probably feel that way because I first heard it in a movie. But every-time I repeat this phrase in my mind, I feel a tug in my heart. I am almost instantly transported to a world brimming with passion and longing. And every single time I space out while delineating about this world, that hides in the corners of my mind, I feel  there is more to this Utopian world than meets the eye.

And though I have been advised to let such Utopian desires be buried where they belong (I also have enough reasons to stick to the advice), I can’t help but hope and consequently try to see it for real one day. Ah! I am so talking like a ‘lovesick’ idiot.

The waiting lounge.

I am going through one of those sad a.k.a bad phases, again. So ignore the whiny undercurrent which will probably be a dominant part of this post.

So, I was having a textual conversation with a friend when I said, “I often find myself in the waiting lounge” on being told that it is just a phase and it will pass. I have such zest for life but when I think of how regularly I visit the ‘This phase will also pass’ lounge, the enthusiasm dies a bit. I spend so much time there that it feels like that when I am not in there, I am out there doing something that makes me go back in there.

Why is it that everything that goes wrong is termed a ‘phase’ which shall eventually pass? Why can’t something stick, especially when we specifically resolve that it will never be ‘just another phase’? Why is life such a bitch when it ought to be acting like an entity with a heart? At times it seriously feels like the world is a stage, we are the puppets and some supernatural entity is pulling off a sick joke on us. I am so fed up of feeling so caught up in those materialistic strings; feels like by the time I get myself out of one web, I walk right into another one.  I would have also gone with the flow and called it another ‘phase’ had something precious to me than my own life not been at the center of it. How can I wait for it to pass me by when it is the only thing I want?

Only I

Only I will know the thoughts I think, the emotions I feel and stash away. Only I have the ears for the speechless delineations of my afflicted heart because to the world I am another broken heart. But they do not know the hallowed love I saw, experienced and felt because of him. Their avaricious eyes prevent them from seeing the Utopia I once lived in. I do not mind the fallacy of their human minds, for my covetous heart holds close to its memories and is disinclined to partake in the rapture.

I live in an abyss of self-condemnation and disgrace. I wish there was a way to communicate the excruciating malady my heart suffers as a consequence of my blunder. I crave for compassion, which is probably not for me to expect. How am I to exist bereft of his love?

What is it about this night?

I ask myself, “What is it about this night?” What is it about this peaceful night that bothers me so much? What is it that I left behind in this day that I keep looking for? What did I lose?

This night seems to be so composed and yet something about it bothers me so much. ‘Traumatize’ might be the more appropriate word. I see no promise in tomorrow, I feel so stuck in this night, every night. I feel stuck and yet I want to stay here, holding on to whatever it is that my mind, my soul is absent-mindedly holding on to. It seems that my lament, my mourning defeats the purpose of the morning. The promises that a new dawn brings along with it fail to arouse me; it holds no charm for me. Like my soul refuses to be wooed by the passions of the new day. It is stubborn like a kid, never relenting, never moving from wherever it is stuck.

I have said enough. I have talked enough.