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I look around and see different people, having different stories.

Stories happen. Every day comes with a whole new story. Your own story; and the people you see, their story. The more you'll try relating yourself with their story, the better will you understand.

However, the reason why I’m writing this post is really vague. Ever came across that urge to write, even though you’re totally out of thoughts –proper sensible thoughts –yet still, you want to sit and pen down every single chunk that’s coming into your head and its hell frustrating when you try to digest back those random circling thoughts!

Circling thoughts remind me, of how utterly tired have I become! Tired of so-many-things; tired, of everything.

The judgmental-heads would come to comment  criticize this ‘negative approach’ of mine. So to tell them, I’m not being a pessimist or some sort of looser; but the walls that I have around which I’ve built just cause of people like you out there, they happen to collapse and the concealed spills out..

What exactly am I tired of, you cannot know now, since I’m not particular about it either.

Yes, the particularities are yet to hit my head; and when they will, I won’t miss to mention them. But just to provide you with a little hint and intimate epilogue; there has been a lot happening –with me, and around me –which has again brought me to the verge of nothingness!

And again, those who’ll take the gist that I am considering my unidentifiable conflicts as world’s biggest issues, and that I’m just too insensitive to others’ problems and troubles –well, how much I wish to rip their head off just with my words and loud expression for their lame and pathetic judgment! However though, I would do no such thing but tell them enough that since they do-NOT know me; Yes, YOU donot know me, hence, you should avoid judging me just on the basis of what I appear to be!!!

This triggers a whole new topic on which I could write and write and write. I’m surely coming back on this, for how much I hate this society which I’m a part of. The mindless trends they’ve bred, and I am being victimized!

Sadly, I have no escape. Like always, I’ve ended up in this battle with a thrashing defeat on myself before society and religion.

Sighhh.

Fiction: I'd Like To See Her Again

On the far side of the park in the pouring rain, she sat at the vacant bench.

See her face, what do you see?

She fell in love; in the wrong time, in the wrong place, with the wrong person.

But could she be blamed? Since love is inevitable. It just happens; in the oddest time, with an extremely wrong person. And fate is always there to make you realize that.

She wouldn’t wince, no matter how sharp is the blow of this heavy rain falling upon her. It was like, the sharper was the blow; the more unreal would she take the pain to be. The more drenched she’d be, the more real will she find her own existence. It was like, she’s trying to make sure if she is alive or not. She was trying to put the fallen things together; herself.

Even in this dim light, I managed to see those bruises of despair on her face being dissolved into smooth lines of resignation and acceptance.

That moment, she seemed totally drowned in desolation, absolutely lifeless and dejected; puzzled and lost. And this moment, her anguish was transformed into ease. It was obvious, that she has finally submitted to her ironical fate. She has successfully put the fallen together –herself; leave alone the uncertain duration; because sooner or later, she was going to fall apart, again.

Was she crying? Or were they sigh of submission? I know not. I wanted to go up and tell her how courageous she is, to sit by her side and tap her shoulder for her braveness and endurance. I wanted to tell her how proud I am of her; of course I didn’t know here, but I felt this unknown connection between her and myself. A very powerful connection for that profound instance; because her story, was pretty much my story.

I looked up, and she was gone. When did she go, I don’t know. Where did she go, this I don’t know either; but she wasn’t there anymore.

I was left alone, with a feeling of regret to have missed a chance of talking with somebody whose story was in union with mine.

Her face revealed a story, a heart wrenching story; story of love, story of pain, story of despair, story of loss, story of separation, story of dejection –story of contentment.

I wish to God, to see her again. Yes, I’d like to see her again.

 

You know, fate could be really brutal at times. For some, it begins with misery and ends in happiness; but for some, the misery gets worst towards the end.

Summer Is Here!

Just yesterday, after a long boring day at university; tired, I stepped into the house. The epilogue insists on letting you know, that the first thing I do when I enter my house, is to see myself in the mirror. There, following my routine, I went before the mirror and received a minor heart attack when I saw the evident skin tan! Boy, can I go presentable anywhere now?! *sulking*

Just then I realized, Summer is here!

Despite the ruin to my skin, the stupid tan, the sweat, the heat, and the prickles –summer has its charm! –for me it does have it, still. It reminded me of my childhood.

The summer evenings, when nani used to water the plants and I used to just buzz around until finally she’d agree to give me the turn! The session of picking green mangoes from the tree nani had at her backyard and taking active part in helping her pickle them!

I still remember how I used to sit at the backyard of nani’s house in my sleeveless vast and used to eat the ripe mangoes in the most indecent manner possible; with the mango sap running down my hands to my elbows!

Eating kachi imli and Kerry, and taking a promise from nani that she won’t tell my mother. Sure enough, she’d always agree before my innocent plea. Not to mention the consequences when my mother would discover the reason of my sore throat.
Can I forget the big green water melons; I would always insist on eating the red pulp direct without having it separated from its green skin –my father would agree, thinking it really cute but my mother would usually intervene for the sake of manners! Dang!

And when the summer would reach at its peak, lassi (a chilled drink made of yoghurt with ice in it) would get in; and my day would never begin unless a big mug of lassi is consumed! I would first drink the entire mug, and then pick the ice out of it and eat it; used to love the katar katar sound of it! Of course, I cannot forget to mention the smoothies my father used to make me.

Every night I would get a stomach ache; and a chilled glass of sprite with salt would always be the remedy of this complaint.

The monsoon season would come, and I’d go crazy with my cousins; going up at the roof and getting all soaked, playing kho kho and cricket at the lawn! Nothing would please me more, than aalu ke pakoray and nani be so kind to treat us all with jalebi. It would stop raining, I’d go in for a proper bath, get sober and change to dry clothes; in a while, it’d start raining again and I’d go again to get drenched! –my mother would shout at me, not that I’d listen ever.

Everyday used to be like a whole new experience; good great happiness in tiny little things.

Never mind where it has all gone; I had it once, and I’ll cherish it forever. You had it too, right? So survive the heat, endure the tan & prickles, and let it happen; Happy Summer. =)

See

She was telling him the concept she carry about love and falling in love.

Uh, you see, I don’t understand any point when all of a sudden you state to have found some undefined feelings for a total stranger –stranger in a sense; you haven’t known him since always, right?

My idea of love comes from tragedy though. I like the concept of death in romance or some tragic reason. I know that’s weird, but the more tragic is the story the more true I perceive the love to be. Oh-kay well right, not really death; say, delay in union? Right.

Oh me? Well, that’s never happening, you see. I can’t make myself even think of it. I'm more than just sure.
Oh I don't know why is it 'not' possible.. I just think it isn't.

Though I think I would like to believe that I’m in love. Charming as it seems to be. I mean who doesn’t idealize about having an extremely super duper love story? With lots of drama, lots of romance and her very own Mr. Perfect! Since I think and idealize a lot, so I’m more likely to believe that I’m in love when probably I wouldn’t be.

The thought which sometimes trouble me is how am I going to know that if it’s really love or just my idealization? And what if it turned out to be really love which it most definitely wouldn’t, like of course; but just in case.. And and, what am I gonna do in such a situation? I mean, many social hurdles would definitely color my decision; and choices and options are something I hate! Like really hate. And what about the person who I'll fall in love with? What if he'd be just flirting and I got serious? I'm not sure if I'll even survive a heart break! I'm likely to get serious, you see. Not even knowing if this is what I want or not. Sadly somewhere I do identify with that particular school of thought which naturalize love. Pure impact of this mindless society!

Oh well, that bothers me too much at times. So yeah, my love story –if I get any –it should be just awesome! I just don't know how am I going to know? I just hope everything happens like it does in fairy tales. I am much in love with the idea of falling in love.

All this while when she was talking, he had his eyes on her. Now that she stopped talking; he didn't know what to say, just too amused as he was. Though coming from the beginning towards the end, he didn't miss the gradual contradiction of views she had.
He was smiling now, at his own certainty which was proportional to her uncertainty. He knew exactly what it was.