The Third Stage

Bargaining. Already.

I don't know why I'm writing again, when I have nothing to say. Nothing's changed. Except I realized, somehow, somewhere, something's not the same. It's like I've been falling, all this while with the certainty that there's a mattress down there, ready to catch me. It's still there, but now I never wanna reach the bottom.

Wow, my writing's started to suck. Ok, ignoring all the eyes I feel are watching me, or would watch me as I publish this, and talking only to myself.

It's KILLING me right now to not pick up the phone, to make everything the same as it was once. Maybe I can call ceasefire? Maybe you really won't be such a weak willed bastard the next time? But you know what irks me the most? You didn't even try to stop me. I left and you accepted it.

And HER. For the LOVE OF GOD! There was once a time when it was alright, she was allowed to be mad at me. But now, she's this delusional psychopath who hasn't got any remains of dignity left. And I realize maybe I can't ever let this blog become public. But for god's sake!

I'll delete this post. But for now, let me vent. There's oh so much to vent.

In his memory

So... you know that story I was telling you about? The one that I said wasn't a fairytale? Well, you know why? Because in that story, everyone did not live happily after. People died in that story. Don't worry, they were imaginary. Too bad the rest of it wasn't.

Lately I've been introspecting. What kind of a fool was I? Yes there are varieties. I came up with an answer too. I was the masochistic kind. Once, a friend told me that I seemed like a cold hearted bitch (he meant it in the nicest way) and that comment.. well it stuck. I felt like I really did have no emotions. That was scary. Did I not feel? Was I cold, apathetic? Just like the rest of my family? No, of course not. I could feel... I'd show them.

So I came to him. And they told me he'd hurt me. And I didn't care. Because I wanted to see, you know? See how much he could possibly hurt me. How far would he be able to break me? Ah, but this one was cruel. He didn't come with a sleek blade. No, he came at my heart with a dull axe. Bouts of pain, but hey, I made it through! Until the last one. No, that last attempt really pretty much cracked it. So I withdrew it; my heart, that is. Now its slightly deformed, slightly mangled, in need of repair. It needs to catch its breath, but it's still there pumping. But I showed them. I was capable of emotion! Who's laughing now?

The thing is, I'm over it. But only because I have to be. Because it would be the most stupid thing in the history of the universe (except for the invention of the plastic duck for the tub) to go back. I know that. They know that. Everyone knows that. But that doesn't mean I can't keep glancing at my phone every once in a while. It doesn't mean I can't read his old messages. It doesn't mean I can't go through the past in my head.

It doesn't mean I can't regret what won't come back. Oh, and who died? Well, Bob did. Remember him? Yeah a cleaver couldn't kill him, but a kiss gone astray could.

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.