Fairly HAPPY Blog

When my days begin before 6 they are cloudy, misty, gloomy. And then there is sunrise, warm, bright and the way I like the day to be. And then the talktime slides down and down and down.
Perhaps for the first time in the history of arid grandeur is a blog that says, GOOOOOOOODMORNING.
How desperate are those onset of summer when one has to wait for weeks for one microsecond of crowning glory, for more days to go...
I don't like much of coffee, I like tea, and tea hasn't tasted half as good at chhedi's as it used to when I was a fresher and sophomore. Things on the to-do list are hence :

• Double poach, double chai, maggi
• Masala dosa and sweet corn soup
• Chicken cheese macaroni with alu dum and poori
• chaat and bread-omelette at Eggies
• daal roti
• Chicken Tandoori and Daal makhAAAni
• Utthapam

For now, thats about it. I can't wait, hope it doesnt rain.
Oh yes, FOOD PLAZA!
I must end, with a smiley this one time { :-) }

Of Love, Hate and Nothing in Particular

I see, I analyse, I decide.
All about others. Their lives, relationships, ideals, morals. Then I write stories. Hide the files and let no-one know of them.
Then I scream, I accuse, I unfrock unchaste sinners. Then I think of them more, and hate them more.
I have for some inherent fear never analysed myself, never pinned up a tag of decision on what I do or say. As a youth atom, I have seen love blossom at every corner down the round road. I have seen them break down right at my doorsteps. The place I live in is, afterall, the haven of all heartbreakers. I see those who love a new love every half a year, I see those who stick for four long years to look for greener pasture in foreign avenues. I see those who burn themselves in midnight lamp to lie tired as black soot.
I see lovers, I see players.
I don't realize that somewhere down in those dark galleries lives a me. A me of lies, deceit, hatred and fear. A me who is obssesed with myself, my ideals, me decisions. I hate this analysis part, particularly when it scathes me, scratches me.
I have lied, I have also loved. I have lived in a heaven of days to rot in hell for the next eternity to come. I have never really liked myself, never much hated too. But, I shall never be courageous enough to own up and bow down.
I don't understand these modern concepts of personal space in relationships. These ideas induced in Indian society by Mr. Farhan Akhtar don't define which part is to be his space, which part her space, and which iota their space.
She boozes, she is loose.
He fags, he is manly.
They date, they are in love.
And love encompasses to limits where He says, "Get a life! I am not your dog". Where She says, "You didn't buy me as your slave".
I have seen these, never understood these. The haven of heartbreakers was where I realized that love must be bounded in singularities.
I have seen men and women encompass love in domains of space-time, where honeys moon all weekend at the same place for four years with different keyword. I ask are they too dissatisfied with the term love?
I see girls run elope with lovers, and the lovers loving their loves with all their love. How much is that love after a decade? Is it over? Or does it flourish with someone else over some other space and some other form?
Till I was about 18 I always knew that love was when two people flung all cliffs to stay together because they had no other motive in life. They loved themselves, and they loved others.
All changed with number 18. I saw people hate themselves enough to love. Bubblegum boys and spicegirls. And I saw space. His, Her and an iota of Their. Then I learnt that it was not cool enough to commit, to give and take roses from the same person over years, to explain your little moves, to cry out when overwhelmed, to adhere to the little demands of the other one. I mugged these without understanding. I could not apply them in the examination. Then I realized I was made for love that was before 18 struck.
And now I know that love can be loved just once, and forever that once.

Test of Time

I have yet another exam. Spectroscopy. Some lines of light and ultra light, to sneak into.
Sneak into the spectrum of life, catch the colour of love, violet. Cry, howl, writhe, scream, loose, subside, mistrust, give in but never give up. Scratch your cheeks that itch with saline. Let loose all you ever wanted to keep for yourself.
Charity begins with love. Never ask back, never turn around to find your pillar.
Life is one lap of bungee-jumping. Plunge but don't look down. The master could be busy snapping strings.
Ever experienced strong spasms within your soul, that have no origin, no song to play for? Do you then grope around in the dark for that one shoulder you clung to when you balled?
It is your complex conjugate. Add it to yourself. Then make the real you, without it. Live, don't survive; Struggle till the last penny of talktime, and life will soon be over, much like the talktime.
Seen a crowd? You can spot me in it. I hold my head low, grounded with failure. Ever eaten sweets with the bitterest of expressions on your face? Ever displayed to the world your banner of vanquish? Ever told your soulmate the darkest of your nightmares? Ever known that your soul exists? Ever cried out to infity with your hands reaching out to hold it? Ever been plain simple human with pains, heartaches, childlike demands? Ever got chocolates for your bithday? Ever stared at the closed window corner of your shell, where lavish cobwebs sneer indignantly at you? Ever hated yourself to the extent of crying for the wrong reasons all the while?
Ever collected chocolate wrappers over three years? Ever written your life out and deleted all at once? Ever banged your head to guage which pain is more?
Then tell yourself that you are you and nothing else. Write a blog. Blow your nose. Hit publish. Rush back to spectroscopy.

Sin City - please forgive me

In less than two hours, in the town i live in, will be staged a marathon- Mid Semester Examination. I am to run on Quantum Field. But I am stuck as a classicle particle in an infinite potential well. Tunneling is not implied.
I sometimes wonder on what basis we choose the trivial principles of our lives. Principles like priorities, statements of sweet nothings, particularity in celebrations and a lot of other things that I don't happen to recall now. Priorities are weather cocks, time dependent, cheesy and deceitful. I don't set them. They come hopping around and clutch me. They are super-fluous, change shapes in the influence of external fields like peer tolerance.
Sometimes I wonder, why I wonder at all, and mess up things that should have been on the prioprity list, and then crib, and crib more.
Let me see how the afternoon gives way to evening, then iI will crib further.