life is extraordinary in the way we tell it.

that is the secret to a more than ordinary life.

Janota

Some copy for a shoe line. Theme: Elements

Fire

Cool flames frolicking in front of your eyes. The sizzling sensation of systematic devastation. The world is set ablaze. Do you have the right shoes?

Earth

Volcanic ash shimmering in the twilight of dawn, simmering down on a silent earth. A thin streak of sunlight escapes from the belt of the horizon. It’s a new day, a new beginning. Do you have the right shoes?

Wind

Many things ride the wind. Autumn leaves broken from their homes, the summery scent of fresh grass, the waft of rain, the flutter of wings, the skip of a heartbeat. Now it’s your turn. Do you have the right shoes?

Water

Tread past the white froth sparking on the rocks. A plunge into oceans blue. Deep, deeper, until the surface is a mirage. A new universe, mystic, mesmerizing, metamorphic. A transformation, unrelenting. Another adventure. Do you have the right shoes?

Ether

Something surreal, something unreal, like the everlasting turning of a diving wheel. Mountains shift, winds change, waters tremble. It awakens, asks you to follow it into the abyss. Do you have the right shoes?

Of Beer till Bob

Yet again I find myself in the awkward predicament of not knowing what I want, undecided if what I want would even be good for me. It's like this. You give up healthy dal-rice for blueberry cheesecake by candlelight. But you don't know if you'll miss the taste of the rice later on. Sure, the cheesecake is sweet and tastes amazing, but can you live in that one evening forever?

It's time I told you a story. A story of innocence. Of quick glances, flushed faces (only hers), racing heartbeats (again, only hers). A story of hopes, expectations that soared, flew high in the jubilation of new love. Love? Only to come crashing, burning one lazy evening. A heart that capsized in one single moment. One solitary moment, one opening of a door. Two figures that weren't meant to be. Atleast not in her mind. Waves came crashing down and walls came up. Smiles and laughter protected the sinking ship. And lifeboats brought the ship to a shore. To catch her breath. Panting.

They say hope never dies. Like a cruel mockery it keeps you dancing. On your feet. But then there were cruel words. Insults. A show of indifference, apathy. Still there were stolen glances. A heart dancing at his sight - a sight she didn't see much. Like a rare gift. When he spoke, she treasured the sound. Still she claimed indifference. It didn't matter. They'd chosen different paths. Running on different tracks. Still, those stolen glances. That proximity which she yearned for. So unattainable. So impossible. Others took her hand, but with the other, hope held.

Years passed. Or was it only a few moments? Things changed. Glances weren't stolen. They were returned. And what more can I say? This was a story, after all. You know how it goes. This is a story. A story of beer. Of challenges. Of losing, of winning. Of new springs of hope. Of dancing hearts. Of smiles. Of warmth. Of hands shaking, spilling lemonade, when he's around. Of blushing when he looks. Of long walks at midnight. Of pitchers by candlelight. Of wine up above. Of getting caught in the rain. Of hopes, expectations. Of guilt. Of talks in the balcony. Of meeting at odd hours. Of learning how to box. Of cheese omelette. Of a conscience. Of blueberry cheesecake by candlelight. Of walks on the beach at twilight. Of sharing. Of sea shells. Of reaching out for his hand. Of sharing a secret. Of sand on his tshirt. Of acceptance. And realizations. And chocolates. And stars.

And cricket matches.

And drunken nights.

And a kiss.

And Bob. Who could forget Bob? No cleaver could end him. From the first beer to the birth of Bob. That is the length of this story.

The disclaimer? It's not a fairytale.

disjointed. so unwhole.unwhole-y? holy? too many thoughts, not enough sense. sense as in consciousness, not intelligence. please. not the intelligence. it feels like being stuck outside a bubble. or maybe stuck inside one.

it's not breaking. it's like it's made out of diamond. unbreakable. i speak and my voice bounces around, in my own head. i yell and shout, still it echoes back to me. laughing faces come and fade away. nothing is permanent except for this bubble. but the air is running out, it has to pop soon.

things are so different now. the world's changed. it's all their fault, i swear. it's cut off my voice, my thoughts. i used to dream, now i float.

this isn't some poetic angst blog. this is me, trying to get thoughts out of my head. trying to reconnect. it's nice to move away, to start fresh. a clean slate. the old one's got puke on it and no one wants to clean up.

but new slates are hard to come by. please help me clean it up. please don't leave me stranded with the dirty slate. i know i can't do it by myself. don't leave.

Renaissance. But not really.

So...I'm sitting here. In the nearly empty computer lab at college (nearly empty except for this very dashing junior who should keep his mouth shut so that he doesn't lose the rugged charm of his good looks). I'm pondering over the very curious event of my seating location. Why am I not attending my lecture, you implore? (Yes, implore.)

Well, I got kicked out for not wearing flat black close toed shoes.

But fascism ended a long time ago, you shout!

Think again, I declare.

The whole scenario today was rather reminiscent of Nazi Germany. The administration - the SS officers. The students - the Jewish population. There are strong parallels. Just as the Jews shed their religious clothing and shaved their beards, so too did we burn our non collared shirts, our Osho chappals, and hide our tattoos, piercings and highlights. Anne Frank hid in an attic. The students crammed into the bathrooms, or into the sanctuary of the Design floors. In the concentration camps, the prisoners could see the hopes that lay in lands far away. We students of this college can only look down to the four floors of the Institute of Design, sighing in envy as they prance around in chappals, tank tops and *gasp* shorts!

Alas this drudgery. The unfairness of it all. Still we find joy. Even victims of concentration camps found certain moments of joy in their lives. We laugh at the ineptitude of some of the staff. We laugh, still incredulous, that we're not allowed to attend lectures because our sleeves were rolled up. We ROFL when a friend gets a warning letter - one of the severest punishments - for chewing gum in class. Sure, in the beginning it was all a bit intimidating.

Now, it's just an average event in an average day in an otherwise uneventful existence.

Hit refresh

Lately a discussion with a friend of mine resulted in the following conclusion: everyone is a hypocrite. Are they though? Are you? Think about it, really. One thing though, that makes everyone a hypocrite is the notorious New Years Resolution. Fated to be forgotten.

So, my New Year's Resolution this year is to not make any resolutions.

It's foolproof.

Moving on, a list of things that last year taught me.

1) Listen to your friends when they are trying to save you from yourself. You don't have to always, but it's good to get their opinion. Otherwise you could find yourself stuck in places you don't want to be.

2) Drinking is bad.

Jk.

3) It's ok to suffer, but know that there is someone out there who is putting on a brave face even though they have it worse. Helps put things in perspective.

4) Do NOT divulge in self pity. If this occurs, find your nearest wine shop.

5) Need to stop unleashing the girlfriend demon. Being yourself in a relationship is much easier.

6) It's okay to not know where you're going. Unless you're out on the streets of Delhi at night.

7) Friends matter, especially when you're up at 2 AM and starving, freaking out about tomorrow's exam you just started studying for. But not just because of that.

8) Monotony will kill you. Do something different every week.

9) It's okay to be an emotionless cold hearted bitch. It's much better than being a "wears her heart on her sleeve" type of emotional wreck. Just fyi, just because someone says something doesn't mean its true.

10) Do things you won't regret. And don't regret the things you do. Patronizing cow, aren't I? :)

Oh, and I have another resolution for next year - to stop myself from becoming a corporate sell out. So much for my first resolution.

Well that didn't take long. Hypocrite, you shout? Nah, it's only efficiency.

The Wonderful Life of Kids

Something I wrote for something I had to write recently. It's hard writing for a definite audience. For me... writing is like taking off your clothes. You can't do it when you know someone's watching.

Ah childhood. That wonderful time of life, when life is full of rainbows and pink unicorns and cotton candy. When dreams could become real, and reality is filled with chocolate and other cavity inducing sweets. A time so innocent that, repeating Peter Pan, “You’ll never grow up!” But hark!

Innocent, you say?

Are you sure?

What marvels a bit of investigation reveals! It has been brought to light that for years now, what has made up a significant aspect of our childhood, aka nursery rhymes, contains the contaminated taint of adulthood. Innocent no more, rather our poems have been defiled with sexual innuendos, death and perverted imagery, all with the backdrop of soothing melodies. Though it does add an interesting outlook in retrospect when we’ve matured to adulthood.

Let’s retrace. Everyone remembers Rock-a-bye, Baby, right? It’s a lullaby. About a baby hurtling down to his death in his cradle. Does your teen have suicidal tendencies? Well, now you know why. Images of violence continue throughout the pages of nursery rhymes books. Recall the old woman who lived in a shoe. “She had so many children she didn't know what to do! So she gave them some broth without any bread, And she whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed!” Tough love, some would call it.

Then, there’s ye olde tale of the collapse of the London Bridge! The playful rhyme, Ring around the rosies, is actually based on the calamity of the bubonic plague in England in the 1600s. “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down” is a reference to the ashes from the infected bodies that were cremated to spread the plague for spreading. Gruesome. But hey, your five year old loves it.

Finally, who can forget the infamous tale of Jack and Jill? First of all, I don’t know how many of you have ever heard of a well on top of a hill. From what limited knowledge I have on such matters, people usually live in valleys close to the water source so that they avoid the impossible task of building a well to tap into an underground water body that doesn’t form on top of a hill. So then begs the question… what were they doing on top of that hill? More specifically, causing them to both to fall down? I heard Jack broke his crown.

A moment of dawning realization.

Disease, sex, death, violence… Themes that would seem reminiscent of Quentin Tarantino’s movies, not childhood nursery rhymes. But there you have it. The truth in all its twisted, ugly glory.

And don’t even get me started on Scooby Doo.