loud voices outside the door. intelligible language.unintelligible meaning.telgu.angry protests from my room mate. i snuggle deeper into my blanket.the unmistakable vibration of my cell.a message from him. a reminder of the night. sleep beckons.10 am is still early morning.a string of blue beads. a swift good bye from my rom mate. reminders to drink milk. sleep refuses to leave my eyes.
a filled bladder.beats any alarm clock. tooth paste,brush and the tiny wash basin. the faulty flush in the loo. back in room. drinking chocolate,milk and spoon.the battle begins. it ends up in a starving stomach. a tiger buiscuit. all that is left. an unread paper. read though seemingly unread.
the flicker ofthe system. articles to edit.messages pending. nonchalance. a super slow network.waning patience. a chance for the paper again.attempt at a song. forgotten lyrics. editing again. a glance at the clock. one hour gone. rest of the day looms. readings stare point blank. a missing drive. the stapled readings lie.untouched.
a smile. thoughts of the night again. a widening smile. half an hour for lunch. a lost appetite.
coffee machine. another of those puffy samosas. hot sun. fluttering curtains. thoughts of a bath. pink bucket and an ash mug. long nails. cracked heels. lots of moisturiser. kajal.
room again. whining of dogs. misplaced anger. pending work. a miss call. hint of a smile.
dinner. an empty full stomach.
night
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Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
stolen moments
“You like teasing me don’t you?” He muttered sleepily.
“Huh? What did I do now?” she chuckled wickedly.
“Nothing. Forget it. Am going to sleep. You coming back in or not?” he asked lifting the blanket to allow her to slide in.
“Nah. Am not sleepy anymore. I am going for a walk”
“mmmph nnng” came a muffled grunt from somewhere under the sheets.
Swish swash. The blanket went for a toss.
“You can’t sleep when am up and awake. Come on...up you get….” She started prodding the side of his tummy with her cold toes.
“AAARRHHH”
“You bitch! Wait till I get you”
He leapt out of the bed in mock anger and leapt at her. With an almighty squeal, she caught hold of the 1st thing that came into her hands—a big fat Harrison and threw it straight at him.
He dodged and threw a pillow at her. She caught it precariously and almost lost her balance trying to hold on to it.
“AWWWW!!”
Too late. She hadn’t seen him come behind her. She was too busy laughing that silently uproarious laugher of hers.
***
“Now how did that feel?” he asked her grinning.
She tried hard to feign anger and gingerly checked her lips.
“It hurts” she whined
“Am sure it does” he laughed, and leaned over and kissed her again. Tenderly this time.
“Not so fast” she said giggling.
It was his turn now to rub his lip. She had bit him.
He pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her body fit into his, felt her fingers on his chest, felt her damp lips press onto his neck. She sighed.
“When’s the train?” she asked, carefully avoiding his eyes.
He stroked her hair gently. “ In exactly 3 hours my love.”
“Do I have to go? Can’t I stay? Just one more day?”
“You know you cant dear. Nor can I. We need to go back.”
She hugged him closer still. “ I don’t want to go.”
“ Nor do I love. It’s been a wonderful weekend. But you know we can’t afford to stay longer. You have to attend classes. And I need to work overtime to make up for this leave.”
He kissed her head, the part that was visible under his arms. She had snuggled in so much that he could only feel her, and not see.
“I’d better get ready then. The station is quite far away….”
He watched her as she lifted herself from the bed and went into the bathroom. He leaned over to smell that side of the bed that she had slept in. It still smelt of her perfume. The one she wore whenever they met.
She turned on the shower.
He sighed. He knew she was crying now.
“Can I come in” he knocked on the bathroom door.
“ No. Am almost done. Am coming out.”
***
She was wearing the sari that he had gotten her from his first salary. He held her hand till the distant chugging of the train could be heard.
The train slid slowly out of the station. And he walked back to the auto that awaited him.
“Huh? What did I do now?” she chuckled wickedly.
“Nothing. Forget it. Am going to sleep. You coming back in or not?” he asked lifting the blanket to allow her to slide in.
“Nah. Am not sleepy anymore. I am going for a walk”
“mmmph nnng” came a muffled grunt from somewhere under the sheets.
Swish swash. The blanket went for a toss.
“You can’t sleep when am up and awake. Come on...up you get….” She started prodding the side of his tummy with her cold toes.
“AAARRHHH”
“You bitch! Wait till I get you”
He leapt out of the bed in mock anger and leapt at her. With an almighty squeal, she caught hold of the 1st thing that came into her hands—a big fat Harrison and threw it straight at him.
He dodged and threw a pillow at her. She caught it precariously and almost lost her balance trying to hold on to it.
“AWWWW!!”
Too late. She hadn’t seen him come behind her. She was too busy laughing that silently uproarious laugher of hers.
***
“Now how did that feel?” he asked her grinning.
She tried hard to feign anger and gingerly checked her lips.
“It hurts” she whined
“Am sure it does” he laughed, and leaned over and kissed her again. Tenderly this time.
“Not so fast” she said giggling.
It was his turn now to rub his lip. She had bit him.
He pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her body fit into his, felt her fingers on his chest, felt her damp lips press onto his neck. She sighed.
“When’s the train?” she asked, carefully avoiding his eyes.
He stroked her hair gently. “ In exactly 3 hours my love.”
“Do I have to go? Can’t I stay? Just one more day?”
“You know you cant dear. Nor can I. We need to go back.”
She hugged him closer still. “ I don’t want to go.”
“ Nor do I love. It’s been a wonderful weekend. But you know we can’t afford to stay longer. You have to attend classes. And I need to work overtime to make up for this leave.”
He kissed her head, the part that was visible under his arms. She had snuggled in so much that he could only feel her, and not see.
“I’d better get ready then. The station is quite far away….”
He watched her as she lifted herself from the bed and went into the bathroom. He leaned over to smell that side of the bed that she had slept in. It still smelt of her perfume. The one she wore whenever they met.
She turned on the shower.
He sighed. He knew she was crying now.
“Can I come in” he knocked on the bathroom door.
“ No. Am almost done. Am coming out.”
***
She was wearing the sari that he had gotten her from his first salary. He held her hand till the distant chugging of the train could be heard.
The train slid slowly out of the station. And he walked back to the auto that awaited him.
Monday, April 7, 2008
over a smoke
She never asked him anything. He never told her when he would come. But she always knew. It was not as if he came frequently. he sometimes never came. And when he did, it was always sudden—without notice. And yet, she knew. There would be no one visiting her then. She always made sure no one else came.
He knew nothing about her. He never asked.
It was not like she took care to welcome him. She never did anything special. She was the same. Always… to everyone. But he was different still. In ways she couldn’t explain. And so the only real effort she put in was to stack four packets of cigarettes. She knew he liked smoking. But she also knew he never smoked unless it was with her. It was something she had gathered from the way he always choked and coughed on the first cigarette he smoked with her.
There was a dim orange light in the room. She sat on the windowsill. Smoking. The red eye of the cigarette blended with the orange in the room. The smoke curled up over her head. Her hair soaked it up. The smokey curls hidden in her black curls. She played with a loose strand of hair which came up to her chin. He would be here any moment. She sensed it.
The freshly lit cigarette joined a pile of butts in the ashtray.
He came in. she acknowledged him by shifting her position from the window sill to the cane chair near the bed. He kept his small suitcase behind the door and joined her. He never looked at her. She always studied him.
She knew he had a family somewhere. She knew it by stitches that had mended a tear in his vest. She knew it in the way his eyes always watered after everything. She sensed it in the way he kept running his fingers over his fingers searching for an invisible ring. She knew he was in love with his wife. And this made her proud, if a woman like her could ever be, that he still came.
She lit another cigarette. She blew the smoke on to his face. He merely shrugged. She never waited for him to make the first move. It was always her—never him. She smiled inside. It was always this way. It was never different. She stood up and slipped off her cotton dress and wore her nakedness with arrogance. He looked up and took in her nudity. He was always careful not to look into her eyes. He always stared beyond her. Never inside. He never searched her. He just looked. She arranged herself on the bed. He joined her.
It was well into the night when he slipped out of the bed and sat on the chair. He coughed over the first cigarette. She joined him. She rested her bare legs on his thighs. He never pushed them away. Did not make any sign of like or dislike. He sat smoking. The packets emptied steadily. One after the other. She waited for the last cigarette he always left for her.
He lighted it and kept it on the table. She picked it up and balanced it between her fingers.
He dressed up. And pushed a wad of notes under the pillow. Picked up his suitcase and went to the door.
His hands rested on the knob a little more than usual. He turned back. She started.
“She died last week.”
The door closed. She stood staring at the door.
The cigarette had fallen down and was steadily scorching the old wooden floor.
He knew nothing about her. He never asked.
It was not like she took care to welcome him. She never did anything special. She was the same. Always… to everyone. But he was different still. In ways she couldn’t explain. And so the only real effort she put in was to stack four packets of cigarettes. She knew he liked smoking. But she also knew he never smoked unless it was with her. It was something she had gathered from the way he always choked and coughed on the first cigarette he smoked with her.
There was a dim orange light in the room. She sat on the windowsill. Smoking. The red eye of the cigarette blended with the orange in the room. The smoke curled up over her head. Her hair soaked it up. The smokey curls hidden in her black curls. She played with a loose strand of hair which came up to her chin. He would be here any moment. She sensed it.
The freshly lit cigarette joined a pile of butts in the ashtray.
He came in. she acknowledged him by shifting her position from the window sill to the cane chair near the bed. He kept his small suitcase behind the door and joined her. He never looked at her. She always studied him.
She knew he had a family somewhere. She knew it by stitches that had mended a tear in his vest. She knew it in the way his eyes always watered after everything. She sensed it in the way he kept running his fingers over his fingers searching for an invisible ring. She knew he was in love with his wife. And this made her proud, if a woman like her could ever be, that he still came.
She lit another cigarette. She blew the smoke on to his face. He merely shrugged. She never waited for him to make the first move. It was always her—never him. She smiled inside. It was always this way. It was never different. She stood up and slipped off her cotton dress and wore her nakedness with arrogance. He looked up and took in her nudity. He was always careful not to look into her eyes. He always stared beyond her. Never inside. He never searched her. He just looked. She arranged herself on the bed. He joined her.
It was well into the night when he slipped out of the bed and sat on the chair. He coughed over the first cigarette. She joined him. She rested her bare legs on his thighs. He never pushed them away. Did not make any sign of like or dislike. He sat smoking. The packets emptied steadily. One after the other. She waited for the last cigarette he always left for her.
He lighted it and kept it on the table. She picked it up and balanced it between her fingers.
He dressed up. And pushed a wad of notes under the pillow. Picked up his suitcase and went to the door.
His hands rested on the knob a little more than usual. He turned back. She started.
“She died last week.”
The door closed. She stood staring at the door.
The cigarette had fallen down and was steadily scorching the old wooden floor.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
in darkness and in light
I opened my eyes to white. White walls, white sheets, white everywhere. There was a faint beep- beep somewhere in the room. I couldn’t see what it was that made the noise. My eyes struggled to keep open.
Blackness.
There was a little girl running behind her grandfather, clutching a plastic bag behind her. Every time the bag filled up with air, the girl whooped in joy and the grandfather laughed at her, his completely white hair glistening in the sun…
There was that little girl again, rocking her baby sister to sleep, singing like she had seen her mother do. She prised open the baby’s eyes, to see if she had properly slept. The baby slept on, and girl sighed in exasperation! When would she grow up?
My eyes opened again. The vision seemed a little blurred than before. There were dark patches around my eyes. I couldn’t understand why the beeing wouldn’t stop. It was slightly irritating and was adding to the heavy throbbing at the back of my head.
Blackness again.
There was that little girl again. She looked older now. She was sitting with her father, brows knitted together as they when her father clicked his tongue and put his bishop on the black square and said- “check mate!”
Why doesn’t the throbbing stop? It’s getting worse by the minute. And the beeping has become an impatient one now. Beeping faster and louder than before. If I could just get some sleep.
The little girl has grown up. She is lying on her back on the terrace, her mother with her. They enjoy watching the clouds, except that they don’t get much time to do it together. And so this moment is special. The girl lies back in contentment and asks her mother to sing. A soft song fills the air and the girl smiles in abandon.
The white room is not so white anymore. I lift my hands to massage my head, only that I can’t lift them. They feel like rocks. I try moving my fingers- they feel like boulders. I panic. The beeping is getting on my nerves.
The grandmother is making pickles so that the girl can take it with her when she goes back to the hostel. The girl asks her grandmother to teach her to make pickles. Her grandmother explains the art of making pickles in her gentle voice, while the girl looks on fascinated.
I see people all around me. Curiously, all the people are white too. Only their eyes are black. Even their hair is white. I wonder why. I realise they are all wearing bandanas. But I’ve never seen men wear bandanas before. I try to recollect if I’ve seen men wearing bandanas before. But thinking makes my head pound harder still. I want to scream. But I find I cant. I am wearing some kind of a mask over my mouth. There are tubes poking my nostrils. Now this is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am dressed in this peculiar fashion. I am angry, but I find I don’t have the energy to even be angry.
There is a boy waving to the girl. His dimples wink at her as he smiles. She runs into his arms and hugs him tight. They walk together along the beach, hand in hand, the girl jumping in glee whenever the waves tickled her feet. He holds her by the waist and pulls her closer to him and kisses her on her soft lips. The sun sets behind them, giving them their moment of togetherness
I now feel a shooting pain down my legs. There are tubes there too. The number of people seems to have increased. I black out.
It’s the girl’s wedding. She is standing with the boy, smiling and laughing. Sometimes her husband gently brushes his fingers over hers. She blushes while he grins wickedly.
There is a small home with lots of trees around and a small garden. The inside is just how a home should look. Its neat—in a very untidy sort of way. There are photographs all along the wall. Of him, of her, and of him and her. There are books everywhere, papers flying about. A coffee mug stands alone on the table near the couch. The boy and girl are sleeping on the couch, cuddled together in sleep.
The girl is running around packing her bags. Her husband keeps dumping things in the bag and she takes them out again, and puts it the way she wants it to. They jump into the car finally. She is laughing away to glory in the way she always does. The boy laughs and leans over to stop her laughter by kissing her full on her mouth.
The white walls stare back at me. I am drenched in sweat. I feel myself being transferred to a bed, which is rolled down a long corridor. I want to cry.
I remember the crash. The way the truck hit our car. The way both of us was thrown off. I remember him trying to reach for my hand. I remember someone lifting me into a van. I remember not seeing him beside me. I remember the doctor telling the nurse about how he could not be saved. I remember hearing someone tell someone else as to how difficult my condition was, and how they were trying hard to keep me alive.
I don’t want to live…not like this. When I know the best part of me will not be with me anymore. Why don’t these people in white understand…I don’t want to live. You are all fighting a losing battle to keep me alive.
My eyes cant see anymore. But I see the little girl running. I see her growing up into a woman. I see her long hair flying in the wind. I hear the sound of her laughter. I see the boy waiting for her…his arms stretched wide….
I know you’ll be waiting for me outside this world. Am coming to you my love, my life here was perfect because of you and the love we shared. And so am coming to you, to be loved by you—once again.
My eyes close—coloured darkness.
Blackness.
There was a little girl running behind her grandfather, clutching a plastic bag behind her. Every time the bag filled up with air, the girl whooped in joy and the grandfather laughed at her, his completely white hair glistening in the sun…
There was that little girl again, rocking her baby sister to sleep, singing like she had seen her mother do. She prised open the baby’s eyes, to see if she had properly slept. The baby slept on, and girl sighed in exasperation! When would she grow up?
My eyes opened again. The vision seemed a little blurred than before. There were dark patches around my eyes. I couldn’t understand why the beeing wouldn’t stop. It was slightly irritating and was adding to the heavy throbbing at the back of my head.
Blackness again.
There was that little girl again. She looked older now. She was sitting with her father, brows knitted together as they when her father clicked his tongue and put his bishop on the black square and said- “check mate!”
Why doesn’t the throbbing stop? It’s getting worse by the minute. And the beeping has become an impatient one now. Beeping faster and louder than before. If I could just get some sleep.
The little girl has grown up. She is lying on her back on the terrace, her mother with her. They enjoy watching the clouds, except that they don’t get much time to do it together. And so this moment is special. The girl lies back in contentment and asks her mother to sing. A soft song fills the air and the girl smiles in abandon.
The white room is not so white anymore. I lift my hands to massage my head, only that I can’t lift them. They feel like rocks. I try moving my fingers- they feel like boulders. I panic. The beeping is getting on my nerves.
The grandmother is making pickles so that the girl can take it with her when she goes back to the hostel. The girl asks her grandmother to teach her to make pickles. Her grandmother explains the art of making pickles in her gentle voice, while the girl looks on fascinated.
I see people all around me. Curiously, all the people are white too. Only their eyes are black. Even their hair is white. I wonder why. I realise they are all wearing bandanas. But I’ve never seen men wear bandanas before. I try to recollect if I’ve seen men wearing bandanas before. But thinking makes my head pound harder still. I want to scream. But I find I cant. I am wearing some kind of a mask over my mouth. There are tubes poking my nostrils. Now this is ridiculous. I don’t know why I am dressed in this peculiar fashion. I am angry, but I find I don’t have the energy to even be angry.
There is a boy waving to the girl. His dimples wink at her as he smiles. She runs into his arms and hugs him tight. They walk together along the beach, hand in hand, the girl jumping in glee whenever the waves tickled her feet. He holds her by the waist and pulls her closer to him and kisses her on her soft lips. The sun sets behind them, giving them their moment of togetherness
I now feel a shooting pain down my legs. There are tubes there too. The number of people seems to have increased. I black out.
It’s the girl’s wedding. She is standing with the boy, smiling and laughing. Sometimes her husband gently brushes his fingers over hers. She blushes while he grins wickedly.
There is a small home with lots of trees around and a small garden. The inside is just how a home should look. Its neat—in a very untidy sort of way. There are photographs all along the wall. Of him, of her, and of him and her. There are books everywhere, papers flying about. A coffee mug stands alone on the table near the couch. The boy and girl are sleeping on the couch, cuddled together in sleep.
The girl is running around packing her bags. Her husband keeps dumping things in the bag and she takes them out again, and puts it the way she wants it to. They jump into the car finally. She is laughing away to glory in the way she always does. The boy laughs and leans over to stop her laughter by kissing her full on her mouth.
The white walls stare back at me. I am drenched in sweat. I feel myself being transferred to a bed, which is rolled down a long corridor. I want to cry.
I remember the crash. The way the truck hit our car. The way both of us was thrown off. I remember him trying to reach for my hand. I remember someone lifting me into a van. I remember not seeing him beside me. I remember the doctor telling the nurse about how he could not be saved. I remember hearing someone tell someone else as to how difficult my condition was, and how they were trying hard to keep me alive.
I don’t want to live…not like this. When I know the best part of me will not be with me anymore. Why don’t these people in white understand…I don’t want to live. You are all fighting a losing battle to keep me alive.
My eyes cant see anymore. But I see the little girl running. I see her growing up into a woman. I see her long hair flying in the wind. I hear the sound of her laughter. I see the boy waiting for her…his arms stretched wide….
I know you’ll be waiting for me outside this world. Am coming to you my love, my life here was perfect because of you and the love we shared. And so am coming to you, to be loved by you—once again.
My eyes close—coloured darkness.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Sappho Fragments
1.
I did not wish for the
Scents of Arabia, nor
The ethereal diamonds did I desire
But all at once
It did blossom
My tender hopes of desire
And in his gentle love, it took delight
2.
Days I have had, both bitter
And sweet, more there will be of such.
Life! See and know this
3.
When cries were heard
In the moonlight
Calm, when nature voiced
Its voiceless reproach
Walked in the delicate
Virgin Artemis
Of the hunt and the Moon.
p.s these are not entirely my works. as part of my modernist poetry course at college, we were given sappho fragments to complete. this is my attempt at completing them. the words in blue are the fragments and the rest is my creation
I did not wish for the
Scents of Arabia, nor
The ethereal diamonds did I desire
But all at once
It did blossom
My tender hopes of desire
And in his gentle love, it took delight
2.
Days I have had, both bitter
And sweet, more there will be of such.
Life! See and know this
3.
When cries were heard
In the moonlight
Calm, when nature voiced
Its voiceless reproach
Walked in the delicate
Virgin Artemis
Of the hunt and the Moon.
p.s these are not entirely my works. as part of my modernist poetry course at college, we were given sappho fragments to complete. this is my attempt at completing them. the words in blue are the fragments and the rest is my creation
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The Undefined
There's something I felt,
Silent and warm within.
A feeling so divine, yet undefined.
My simple mind, fathom, it couldn't.
Blowing, ruffling my nerves, it kept.
Scary it was, for what it wasn't.
Beyond the grips, could I know,
Why me, it was?
Chose I, to ask not.
I do not know why.
Skimmed through the unknown,
Undefined realms again.
Futile it was, to know,
Silent and warm within.
A feeling so divine, yet undefined.
My simple mind, fathom, it couldn't.
Blowing, ruffling my nerves, it kept.
Scary it was, for what it wasn't.
Beyond the grips, could I know,
Why me, it was?
Chose I, to ask not.
I do not know why.
Skimmed through the unknown,
Undefined realms again.
Futile it was, to know,
Happy and content though.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
May I.....?
Come, may I, to you,
in dreams of yours.
Feel, may I, the whispers,
you breathe soft.
Call, may I, to the
heartbeats tuned up.
Rise, may I, for the
beauty, yours divine.
Live, may I, alone
in your mind.
See, may I, the
wonder what you are.
Love, may I, the
you, I yearn.
in dreams of yours.
Feel, may I, the whispers,
you breathe soft.
Call, may I, to the
heartbeats tuned up.
Rise, may I, for the
beauty, yours divine.
Live, may I, alone
in your mind.
See, may I, the
wonder what you are.
Love, may I, the
you, I yearn.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
I wont let you go
I wont let you go
Not today
When I’ve so much to say
And you, so much to listen to
I haven’t told you
About the flowers that bloom
The winds that blow,
And the birds that flutter
I haven't yet loved you
to my hearts content
I haven’t told you
That I need you to stay
We haven’t seen
The sun, setting low
We haven’t watched the stars,
Lying on our back
We are yet to let the waves
Tickle our toes.
Our lives have just begun
You can’t just go.
I wont let you go
Not tomorrow
I have given you nothing
I haven’t let your skin drape mine
I haven’t let our senses rule
And our bodies speak
I haven’t loved you enough
I wont let you go
I haven’t sung your favourite song
I haven’t kissed you deep enough
I am yet to let you love me proper
We haven’t seen the seasons pass by
Drunk we have not
The wine of togetherness
Our love is soaring
How can I let you go?
I wont let you go
Not today, never tomorrow
I can’t let you go
Ever…
Not today
When I’ve so much to say
And you, so much to listen to
I haven’t told you
About the flowers that bloom
The winds that blow,
And the birds that flutter
I haven't yet loved you
to my hearts content
I haven’t told you
That I need you to stay
We haven’t seen
The sun, setting low
We haven’t watched the stars,
Lying on our back
We are yet to let the waves
Tickle our toes.
Our lives have just begun
You can’t just go.
I wont let you go
Not tomorrow
I have given you nothing
I haven’t let your skin drape mine
I haven’t let our senses rule
And our bodies speak
I haven’t loved you enough
I wont let you go
I haven’t sung your favourite song
I haven’t kissed you deep enough
I am yet to let you love me proper
We haven’t seen the seasons pass by
Drunk we have not
The wine of togetherness
Our love is soaring
How can I let you go?
I wont let you go
Not today, never tomorrow
I can’t let you go
Ever…
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
if it could be
if it could be
that i could drink up pain
i'd do so from you
with a thirst never before
to never let you face fall
t
t
if it could be
that i could grow wings
i'd fly to you
to kiss your cheek
and bring that dimples to show again
t
t
if it could be that
i could be strong
i'd go away from you
to realize that i'd die
away from you
t
t
if it could be that
i'd love you more
God will take you away from me
jealous and greedy
for what no one but you would get....
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
a comeback???
ever since i made myself available to the webbed world after a long break of over a month, I've been co min to this page everyday. but haven penned down anything...i dunno what to write...and if i know what to write dunno how to put it...sigh!!blame it on the writers block!
while I've been pondering on whether my creative juices have depleted, I've been scrounging the blog world and came upon some real classy posts...unfortunately me the scatter brain forgot to note the pages and so cant share them with ya...sigh!and double sigh!! now these blogs made up for some ultra interesting readings but added to my woes...i wanna write...Boo Hoo Hoo...
gosh!! look at me wailing at the top of my voice..*(though no one can hear) about my stupid writing blocks...
so anyways..one of my friends and a frequent visitor to my blog described my blog as "existentialism and blah"...now ,I'd always thought that existentialism was way up my level of thinking..thought it was all high funda...unreachable...but her describing it in d way that she did makes me ponder...and ponder even more coz there's this nagging in my mind( not without reason) that there must be some pun intended...well! whatever it is i guess i cant change my way of writing...but coming to think of it, my writing has changed( suffered might be a better word) quite a bit...do i let it change..now thats another question...
its not like i've written anything worthwhile here...but the main thing is i've actually written( well, er..typed) something, and that is an achievement as of now...
hopefully next time around instead of writing nothing about something and something about nothing, i'll manage some readworthy stuff...
so long then...ciao
while I've been pondering on whether my creative juices have depleted, I've been scrounging the blog world and came upon some real classy posts...unfortunately me the scatter brain forgot to note the pages and so cant share them with ya...sigh!and double sigh!! now these blogs made up for some ultra interesting readings but added to my woes...i wanna write...Boo Hoo Hoo...
gosh!! look at me wailing at the top of my voice..*(though no one can hear) about my stupid writing blocks...
so anyways..one of my friends and a frequent visitor to my blog described my blog as "existentialism and blah"...now ,I'd always thought that existentialism was way up my level of thinking..thought it was all high funda...unreachable...but her describing it in d way that she did makes me ponder...and ponder even more coz there's this nagging in my mind( not without reason) that there must be some pun intended...well! whatever it is i guess i cant change my way of writing...but coming to think of it, my writing has changed( suffered might be a better word) quite a bit...do i let it change..now thats another question...
its not like i've written anything worthwhile here...but the main thing is i've actually written( well, er..typed) something, and that is an achievement as of now...
hopefully next time around instead of writing nothing about something and something about nothing, i'll manage some readworthy stuff...
so long then...ciao
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