Stupid Story

"You're so sour, I probably wouldn't want you" said the fox as he walked away from the grapes. Grapes didn't care. The fox was just bitter that she was out of reach. As the fox walked away, she slipped back in to her own little world, woven together of a delicate yarn and covered with patterns of callousness that scared away potential predators from her deepest insecurities. She had dodged stones for so long, knowing that the fox was bound to realize the undeniable truth, sooner rather than later. The grapes were out of reach.

"Bray", a rather revolting noise brought her back from her thoughts. Down below, stood an ass.

"What are you doing here?" the grapes asked propelled by a sudden infusion of contempt brought about by a realization of the fact that she was indeed unassailable.

"Can't you see that I am out of reach?"

"No" the ass blinked.

The grapes was confused. She never had to encounter that situation before. The fox was smart enough to realize that she was out of reach within a few stones but the ass was different. The ass was stupid. In fact, probably so stupid that there was a huge possibility that the ass was never going to realize the aforementioned truth.

"Whatever" thought the grapes, "He's never going to hit me."

She looked the other way, but curiosity prevailed as she looked down to see the ass, slowly and wearily, trudge all around to collect the stones that were meant for her. She smiled inside. He wasn't gonna last long. After what seemed like an eternity, and it probably was an eternity too, the ass finally had a pile of stones in front of him. And with a playing speed that would give slow motion replays a run for their money, he threw the first stone. The grapes couldn't even see where it went. His aim sucked.

As the ass repeated the above action for a second time, the grapes thought she was going to die of boredom. But throw it, he did and again, it did not even come close.

"Great marksmen never manage to hit me" the grapes announced, "Why do you even bother to try?"

The ass looked up and blinked. "I don't know", he said "I just try."

The grapes looked up in exasperation. This was going to be a long day.

And so it proved, and it did not stop there. It was followed by another long day and then another and so on till they added up to make a long week, which in turn added up to make a long month, which later formed many long months. The ass, stupid as he was, never realized that the grapes was out of reach for most creatures, let alone one with the pathetic aim and limited reach that he possessed. So he threw and threw and when the small pile in front of him had been extinguished, he again trudged around wearily till he made another one. And then he started throwing again.

The grapes by the beginning of the second week had forgotten all about the ass. He was now a part of her surroundings, just like the beehive on the next tree, which incidentally got hit by a stray stone, which incidentally caused all the bees to launch a well orchestrated offensive on the ass. He was now as constant as the hot sun that blistered on his back, day in day out, as unrelenting as the freezing nights that so cruelly numbed his every muscle, when the sun finished its shift of torture. But the ass was stupid. He never knew these things were supposed to hold you back. He never knew the laws of nature. He just wanted the grapes.

Then one fine day, when the birds were out in force singing their hearts out, every single vine in the forest swayed with a sense of tranquility and joy that characterized the whole world, the grapes at last remembered the ass. It looked down to find the ass lying there, covered with blisters, his skin pale, his bones sticking out of his skin, lying there next to a solitary stone. It was the last stone of the last pile that he was going to make. The ass then called on its last reserves of life, picked up the stone and threw it. It did not hit the grapes. In fact, it landed right next to the ass. Then unnoticed by an entire world, busy celebrating a beautiful day, it fell down and died. Unnoticed by everyone except for the grapes.

The grapes stared down at the ass for sometime pausing to find the right words to express what she now felt for the ass. And then she found the right words.

"What an idiot!"

Five Seconds..

00:00:01 : WOW!...this feels good!...no, wait...this feels absolutely amazing!...I've literally never felt so buoyant before in my life...yet this feels so vaguely familiar...that feeling that makes you think you're flying...Wait a sec!...am I actually flying?...HOLY SHIT!!...I'm actually flying!...Look beneath ya, you idiot!...No ground, lots of air!...Ok, don't panic...take a deep breath...relax..recap...we were on a bike...Jomy was driving it...Oh!..so that's what happened...we must have crashed...and I must have gotten thrown off...

00:00:02 : I hope I don't die...we'll probably die though...most people who get thrown off their bikes land on their head and die...God! thatz awful...I mean, not the dying part, but the landing on my head and dying part...I've always hoped for something a bit more heroic...I'd rather land on my chest and get impaled by a piece of stray metal...now therz a death that has everything...blood, gore, painful injuries and maybe that final image of me standing on the road and heroically pulling the metal out of that large gaping hole in my chest and...but this, one could almost imagine the jokes that are gonna circulate around campus..."He spent an entire life trying to avoid using his head and the one time, he should have avoided it, he lands on it"...Crap!...but, ah well!...no use thinking about all that now...when we're done for, we're done for....

00:00:03 : Hmmm...I wonder how they're gonna go about my funeral...lots of relatives probably, just like it is at every single one of those family functions...Yuck! I'd rather be left alone than be pseudo-mourned by people who barely even knew me...lots of friends too...thatz one thing we can look back with pride...when we were growing up, the biggest problem seemed to be making friends but now it looks like we've become a natural at it...girls?...not many, probably...which seems justified considering you've spent a lifetime being awful to them...I hope my sister brings along a few of her friends and lets my soul rest in piece...yet what is this feeling that seems so familiar?...I don't recall ever getting thrown off anything!...never flown before either!...maybe I was Superman in my last life!...wait!...does this mean that Superman is dead?

00:00:04 : Ok...it looks like we're losing speed...and altitude...we could hit ground any moment now, so you better wrap things up...last wishes?...inconsequential, since it's doubtful if anybody's gonna be around to carry them out...any regrets?...dude, we spent an entire life living like we did, so that we wouldn't have any regrets when we go...So I don't wanna spent the last few moments of my life realizing that I failed the one solitary goal, I set for myself...change of subject...Ah, herz a nice one...close your eyes and remember the one moment of your life that you wanna remember again...ok, here goes...concentrate..."Beckham...into Sheringham....and Solskjaer has won it!!"...wait an effing minute!...thatz that?...all that craziness and the last minute of a football match is the best you can come up with?...Granted it was a great match, but still!....try again!...relax and recap!...relax and recap!...I'm walking....and walking...Oh my God! She has like the hugest pair of eyes I've ever seen!...Oh!...So thatz where I know this flying feeling from!...I should ave guessed!....

00:00:05 : THUD!...did we die?...doesn't look like it...head still on my neck, everything still attached...ok!, deep breaths!...relax!...routine checkup!...arm covered in blood!...routine...wounds in my inside palm?...thatz gonna hurt!...bloody knee!...routine...wait!...DID I JUST LAND ON MY DODGY KNEE!?!...CRAZY IDIOT, I TOLD YOU TO GO FOR THE HEAD!!...wait!...which one was the dodgy knee again?...Oh, crap!...relax and recap!..."Louie coming in...me going in with my right foot"...AHA!....it's the left knee that got fecked!...and I've landed on my right one!...woohoo!...thank you, God for that!...wait, does this mean we're gonna have two dodgy knees from now on?...crap!...I take that back, God, you're one slippery little bugger!...JOMY!!...wherz Jomy!!...and the bike!...did they go over the edge?...no, wait, there he is...Wow, did I just fly across all that distance?...that must be like a new Olympic long jump record...pity, no onez around to verify...Ah, here he comes...he looks okay...and hopefully, I'm too...except that it feels like I'm missing something...where the feck is my mobile!!!...


PS: The author survived with four stitches on his hand and few other wounds. His friend did not need stitches (HA!). They're still locked in an argument so as to who lost more blood that day. The author feels that since he had the deeper wound, it should really be a no-contest. The bike was scraped in a few places, but thankfully still works. The owner of the bike exacted his revenge by taking a snap of the author getting injected in the butt. At the time of writing, the author and his friend still look forward to their next ride together..

What is it with me and naming articles?

My futile attempt at writing a short story rots below and its stench blocks out my nose every time I log on to this page. A lot has happened since then. Technofest came and left, proving that my earlier fears about my volatile hormones were completely unfounded. Not a single girl caught my imagination, partly thanks to the fact that I managed to keep myself busy during the entire thing, and partly thanks to the fact, that while keeping busy, I somehow managed to miss all the dance events. That's where you normally see nice looking girls doing nice looking things, and even though missing it was far from intentional, there is no denying the fact that it yielded more positives than negatives. So I guess somebody up there was accidentally tuning in when I said my prayers regarding the whole thing.

But as the ones amongst you, who haven't realized this yet, will soon realize, the only way to escape the bricks that life throws at you is to drive up to the nearest cliff, take a moment to enjoy the scenery and then jump off it. Either that or whatever imaginative, brilliant masterplan that you come up with on how to take your own life. Now even though, it has nothing to do with where I intend to take the rest of this article, I must pause for a moment to reflect on the importance of meeting a good, interesting end. Imagine one of those GD sessions in heaven or hell or wherever it is that you end up after you die, and you're faced with the ignominy of saying 'I chocked to death on a cookie', while sitting next to you is the guy who died in a space shuttle explosion. And if ancient texts are to believe, the mistakes you make in life will haunt you only till you die (or lose your mind, whichever happens first) but the ones that you make in death will haunt you for an eternity. Afterlife rarely affords you second chances. And you can forget about reincarnation, 'cause right now you're sitting there, looking like the kid who did a reasonable job through high school, only to flunk his final exams. So die well, in a really really creative manner that will make people remember you with awe. Leave the heart attacks and automobile accidents to the creatively bereft. Jump off a plane, wrestle with a tiger, get the Pope to shoot you and all these are off the top of my head. I'm sure a less sleepier, more creative someone can come with better things.

I was really depressed when I started writing this, as bouts of forcing myself to prepare for incoming exams were once again accusing me of wasting 3 years of my life and were forecasting how I was going to waste one more in a meaningless halfhearted pursuit of a B.Tech degree which will probably end up with me saying enough is enough and running off to some place, hidden deep inside some surreal dream that the hounds of the realism will never be able to see. I was going to ramble on and on about how I got myself into this mess, but I guess we'll leave that for another day now that I feel light as a feather inside. It's amazing how writing something so utterly ridiculous can make you feel absolutely fantastic. God sure has a twisted sense of humor. Thank you if you're tuning in.

Too sleepy to name this.

"I'm sorry", she said, "but I've fallen out of love with you."

I was amused, not in the least by what she said, but by how she said it. I had woken up, one fine day to the rather sudden realization that she was no longer in love with me and had been waiting to hear it from her ever since, letting my imagination loose in the meantime, so as to how she was going to do it. But I never once considered that her words would be this mundane and this direct. Having known her for a significant portion of both our lives, I expected her to deal with it, a bit more creatively. I smiled as a dog outside, ran under a moving bus, trying to escape the rain. It could only end this way.

My mind swam back through the ocean of time, to when I first met her. She did not look like anything I normally fell for, so I did not bother to look twice when I first saw her. She was short, thin and fragile, her hair cut down to match that of a prepubescent boy that she strongly resembled, a far cry from all those voluptuous women of ravishing beauty that normally captured my interest. And the first conversation we had, no longer lingers on in my memory for she said nothing worth remembering. She was meek and her hushed voice, delivering carefully woven syllables reeked of a fear of something she was yet to discover. I was pretty sure that I was never going to fall in love with her. And I was right, I never did fall in love with her. But it was beyond imagination that she'd one day mean so much to me.

What aroused my curiosity was the way her ink took shape on a piece of parchment. Her words, strong and rebellious, oozed with imagination and displayed a surprising lack of the same fear that seemed to haunt her exterior, all the while displaying the same purity that I once valued in mine before it was lost in a deluge of arrogance and sarcasm. But what surprised me even more, was the passion with which she fell in love with me and the determination with which she, so obstinately stayed in love with me.

She fell in love with me. I never knew how or when, but one day everything was same as that of the day before, and the next day she was in love with me. I doubt that she knew anything more than her words betrayed later on, for at first she was as confused as me regarding the whole affair, before that sense of confusion was replaced by a submission to fate, a reluctant acceptance of the state that she was in. She was in love with me. I wasn't in love with her.

During my years of youthful tyranny, I had tried to exploit that fact, but she had resisted it with unabated vigor. My frustrations then boiled down to anger, as I tried to scar her, my every breath letting her know that I was never going to fall in love with her, but she defeated my armies of spite with nothing more than a sad smile. My taunts were gradually replaced by warnings then by pleas, until one day I found myself begging her not to go on burning her life at the altar of unrequited passion. It had taken her more than thirty years to break through my frozen exterior and she had done so with not so much as a kiss. I had gazed at her, shaking her head to my latest prayer, overcome by a sense of admiration and for the first time in my life I felt the warmth of humility. But I still wasn't able to fall in love with her .
My mind was dragged back to the present as her huge eyes waited patiently for a response. I wanted to let her know, how besides myself I was with joy, now that my prayers had finally been answered, but I chose to go down a more diplomatic route.

"Congratulations", I said, "Better late than never, huh?"

Her face was blank, her eyes betrayed a sense of confusion that envelops you when you're forced to stop doing something that you've done for, since forever. She had been in love with me for the better part of her life and now sans that motive, she was at a loss on what to do next and whom to do it for. I couldn't help thinking that circumstances so often had the strangest of implications.

She stood up, scratching with her thumb, that tiny birthmark on her finger that I had so often put down as a manufacturing defect, yet had always managed to capture my thoughts with its flawed perfection. Her huge eyes told me that she had taken her decision. She was finally going to fly away from my cage of callousness. I had left the door open years ago anticipating this very moment.

"I'd prefer it if we never saw each other again." She sealed the lock choosing yet again to do it with the crudest of words. I gave her an understanding smile and that was the green flag she was waiting for. She turned and walked, her boyish gait untouched by the tyrannies of time. She walked to the corner before turning around to shoot one last look at me, her tormentor in many a bad nightmare. And that was when time chose to take a break from its unceasing gait.

Everything stood still and it was as if somebody had hit the pause button, just to afford me the luxury of taking my time to see her one last time. She stood there, frozen in a pose that would have inspired a sculptor to copy it in stone. Her short hair was swept on to her face by the gentle breeze as if to set in place, the final piece of a jigsaw and the sunlight seeping from behind the rainclouds bounced off her lips. Her eyes radiated the same old passion of her youth, that had transfixed me, many a time. I realized with a shudder that she was the most beautiful thing that I'd ever set my eyes upon. And then, with all the abruptness of a break in the script, time resumed as the world reverted back to activity. she turned and walked away from me forever.

The rain had stopped and the mundane grayness had now been replaced by a rainbow of breathtaking beauty. Children skipped expertly from puddle to puddle, managing each time to avoid the strip of land that lay in between, as umbrellas, which previously separated their bearers from the world, now faded into the obscurity of being no longer needed. A painting of unparalleled beauty unfolded before me, each and everyone of its characters playing their roles to perfection. But their effort was all but wasted for I was too lost in another moment to notice it all, too distraught to take in all the joyful beauty that surrounded me. I realized, with a shudder, everything that had changed inside me, and confirmed, helpless and bound, that my worst fears had come true. I had fallen in love. The vicious cycle embarked yet again.

Back in High School..

Feck! I'm back in High School again.

There were a load of things I hated about high school. I hated the way they replaced all my friends with a handful of bookworms, whose only purpose in life was to get in to the IITs. I hated the way they filled my brains with formulas for magic potions that never quite worked and solutions to problems I'll never encounter, while I was busy figuring out how to fly among the birds, perch on one of those clifftops, while looking down upon the world, wondering how silly all those humans looked as they scurried around to live, what they mistook for life. I hated the way I never had lunch for 2 years, as my mother dint care to insist that I take it to school. As long as there were books in my bag. I hated that idiot who performed the entrance coaching farce for wasting my time and I hated myself for not having the backbone to stand up, look up at those surveillance cameras that never quite worked, and shout the obscenest of expletives. But above all else, I hated the crushes.

Ah, the crushes! Oh, If I could just get my hands on the irresponsible idiot who made my hormones go berserk the way they did, I would just wrench His divine neck until He lets out a squeal that would reverberate around the three worlds. It was strangest period of my life. I was prone to falling in love anywhere, at any time, with anyone and I never knew how or why. I shudder at the mere recollection of the horrors that love inflicted on me during those days - the recurring nightmare of having to wake up one fine day and finding out that I was in love with someone who, until yesterday was the last person I'd fall in love with, the patheticity of having to act weird around someone who was in your comfort zone the moment before. But above everything else, I dreaded having to stand in front of someone with the painful realization that I no longer was in love with her and that everything I told her was valid only in a distant dream.

And then there was roleplay. Fecking stupid roleplay, thanks to which I couldn't read a book or watch a movie. In case, you're wondering what I'm talking about, I meant the phenomenon thanks to which, whenever you're reading a book or watching a movie, you subconsciously pretend that it's actually happening to you. And when you think you're in love, it's even worse. I went hopelessly from book to book, begging Gwendelon not to leave me just because my name wasn't Earnest, sobbing uncontrollably as Katherine Clifton lay on her deathbed talking about how she's always been in love with me. Shakespeare must have turned in his grave, as I mourned the loss of Mercutio, directed my uncontrollable rage against Tybalt and celebrated my love of Juliet and tasted her lips from that vial of poison that fooled everybody. And I'm not even going to get started on movies. I think I know why Heath Ledger killed himself.

But then I got in to college, and it stopped. I stopped falling in love and 3 years of peaceful tranquility followed. I marvelled at how easily I had gone from all the chaos to the sexual maturity that now defined me. In my newfound status as one of the more advanced male specimens in my world, I looked down upon everyone ranging from hardcore romantics, to the casual adolescent drooling at someone on the street. It was boring, it was dull, it was colourless, but it was all I ever asked for.

And so went three years, but just as I'm about to wrap up things in college, it's back again. It's almost like all the dormant hormones, that were hibernating till they stumbled on to situations where they had the potential for a whole lot more chaos, had woken up with a vengeance. I was falling for just about anything creative and I feel an onrushing wave of consequences setting off in my direction, telling me that one big stupid mistake isn't far away.

Next week we have an Arts fest in our college, where there will be people who'll be doing lots of creative things. And some of them are bound to be girls. And some of them are bound to be good. Maybe I should start writing my own obituary but I plan on fighting until there is not an ounce of resistance left in me. I hope God overlooks the fact that I talked about wringing his neck earlier in this article and helps keep my house in order. Amen!

Getting high, without actually smoking anything...

I was depressed and bored. I could not think of anything that had the potential to lift my spirits and worse still, I could not even think of a reason so as to why I was depressed. So then I turned to my roommate and he told me that I was either disappointed with something or I had to be in love.
Now, being in love was a particularly enticing prospect,no doubt, but the chances of that being the case were sadly limited, as I'm yet to meet someone who's that interesting (no offense to all the girls I know, but we're like round pegs and square holes or vice versa depending on your imagination and the limit to which it is governed by your rationale). So disappointed, it had to be.
I was intrigued, as I had a lot of reasons to be disappointed, so I went for a long walk. Depending upon your level of optimism, it could be equally be construed that my world was either chugging along nicely, or crashing down around me. My academics were going from bad to worse, which was one of the consequences of studying things you hardly feel about, while having lots on the other hand that you do care about. Confidence was slowly becoming an issue as the 'he'll get back before you know it' were being replaced by 'yeah..he ought to make it through..probably..yeah..'. I was back to walking without a limp and running with a slight one, but my knee was still a long way off from being normal. And my handwriting was still horrible. Looks out of place, I know, the last one, but back in school, my friends used to theorize that the best way I was gonna get a girl was by writing her something nice, but then they concluded that she probably won't be able to decipher my coded handwriting, should that ever happen.
But was I disappointed? Disappointment is something that happens to you, once you fail to attain an acceptable level of perfection in whatever it is that you are doing. I din't remember pursuing perfection in anything but then it struck me that it was involuntary. It was built into the human psyche as thickly as was anything else. The need to attain perfection was something that started every journey and the failure to attain it was almost certainly marked the end. Yet, some journeys have happy endings, some people end up contented despite the fact that they had just failed miserably to achieve what they set out for. That wasn't human.
Then, as if in a flood that were to wash way all my doubts, came the answers. I did not know what triggered it. Maybe it was the sheer beauty of the path that I was taking, the kind that inspires an artist. Maybe it was the intensity with which I doubted everything that I stood for, that provoked someone inside me to spill the answers. Maybe it happened that for a slippery moment, nature accepted me as one of her own, allowing the world and everything it was based on, to flow through me, before hastily realizing her mistake and correcting it swiftly, but not before I extracted a valuable ounce of realization. Or maybe it was because the group of young men, I had just passed was smoking something strong.
Perfection is neither a goal, nor a journey. It is probably one of those things, you see on your way when you look around, things that normally wouldn’t induce a second glance out of you, but things that sometimes make you wonder if they are allowed to be this perfect. Like watching fireflies light up a bush when it is getting dark. Like watching a baby flash that trademark toothless grin out at you for no apparent reason. Like watching a bird create an amazing piece of architecture from things as worthless as dry twigs. It will last only for a moment. You’ll soon be swatting mosquitoes near that bush, the baby will soon be wailing in the most irritating manner and the bird will probably shit on you if you stare at it long enough. But it is these moments that makes you understand why life is so worth living, and gives you a reason for sitting through all the other moments. Because no matter how hard it rains, the spring is always next. And when it comes, it is going to be beautiful.
One of things I like about this world, is that it is hard to remain mad. Sooner or later, someone or something is going to come and make you feel warm inside. You're not going to find those things in your average newspaper headline. You have to keep your eyes open and look for them. That, I believe, is their cue to find you.
So, If I wasn't disappointed with anything, why was I still depressed? I hope my roommate's wrong!

My Home, Why I left it and why I'll miss it..

I moved to a hostel about a month ago, which incidently, is why I've written almost nothing for a month, partly because I was too lazy to keep undertaking the 20 minute journey from home to college, and partly because staying home was beginning to get unbearable. Unbearable, not because anybody there intended it to be that way, but because some things in life are just meant to make you tear your hair. Try as you might, you'll never find a reason so as to why that happened and try as you might, that will never wipe out the fact that it happened. I feel like someone sitting in a divorce court, looking at his wife, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.                                         
I'd been living with my grandparents (lovely people, a bit old though) for more that two years, in a house old enough to give some of the museums around a run for their money. I went snooping around for an exact age (my grandparents couldn't say for sure how old the house was, seems they never bothered to find out during the seventy odd years they spent within its walls, and while I do not normally leave a bracket open for this long, I have to mention that this does serve as an excellent metaphor for how some people live their lives, without ever bothering to find out more about their world, or the people that inhabit it) and that culminated in me finding a portion of the roof covered with dated tiles, on which were inscribed 'Oct 25, 1896'. With a bit of help from a few simple mathematical operations, one can safely conclude that my house is in fact, pretty old.

It was the place where I spent the earliest part of my life, with the sole difference that back then, I shared it with roughly ten other people, with more to come during the weekends, instead of the two that I share it with now. The room that I currently use, once housed my parents and my sister, and the room that I use when I'm bored of sleeping in my room used to house four more. It'll be a pity if you construed a sense of arrogance or boastfulness from that, for all I wished to highlight was the lonliness that fogs the rooms these days, in sharp yet sad contrast to the rush of life it once was subject to.   

It was exciting at first (it still is sometimes) as this was a place that could tell you a million stories. Every crack in the wall had a story, maybe more behind it. Lives had been lived and lost within these walls, tears shed, some of them fake, some genuine. Every single time, I toasted my own sucess or lamented my own loss, the house reminded me that it was nothing but yet another page in the voluminous journal that it had been keeping. It made you feel insignificant, but in a reassuring kind of way. This was a place that sometimes, literally trapped time.

But the problem with places that trap time, is that they do not realize that sometimes, you do not need time to be trapped, that you need it to flow. Countless were times when I went down for lunch only to find that I was four hours late, or when I missed a class or an appointment, just because I was stuck in a different time zone. Professors, friends or whoever the disappointed party was, they never bought the excuse that I just did not realize the clock was ticking outside and I wasn't stupid enough to try sell it to them. And there were times, when you felt a bit too insignificant, a bit too dwarfed by all the colour in the stories that preceded yours as opposed to the mundane dullness that plagues your own one. I was a cranky 21 year old and I wasn't ready to be the philosopher the house was making me out to be. So one fine day, I made the decision to leave it for someplace a bit more earthly.

Hostel is a sharp contrast, buzzing with life as you'd expect a place housing 600 odd college students, surviving on bad food and testosterone, to be. There was always something to do, always someone to talk to. I settled in nicely, with the fact that class was just a five minute walk proving to be the icing on the cake. Yet for some reason, when you're trying to listen to five people at the same time, as so often happens, your mind goes back to those times when you were listening without ever trying, to a wall on whose person, hidden by numerous coats of paint, lay the first pictures that your great grandmother made when she was a kid. I still look forward to the weekends when I get to listen to them.

As I finish writing, I look at the clock and realize that the room's been trapping time again. I've written deep into Valentine's day without realizing it and I again grow reflective. I still believe, rather childishly that I'm fated to meet my someone special in college, as I cannot comprehend any other reason, so as to why I would end up doing what I'm doing at where I'm doing it. But whoever she is, she's three years late now. Happy Valentines day!        

Getting back to words.

I still can't think of anything interesting to write about, although I'd deny it if you'd question me in person. The only positive development is that I think I have gotten to the root of why all this happened. It goes back to the beginning of December.
There was this thing that my department organised called the 'Motor Show', and my apparent disinterest in automobiles combined with my reluctance to move a finger unless I really really need to move it, led to me being drafted on to the media commitee. It all sounded like a nice quiet vacation to me, when I found out that all I had to do was write. What I did not anticipate was the amount of writing I had to do. If four non stop days of writing about ever silly little thing going on inside the tent was strenous, watching it being taken apart by professors (read one silly wanker) was heartbreaking. At one point, I had to sit through him deleting 3 paragraphs of some my best material about the air show that took place, and watch him replace it with one single stupid little sentance - 'all the children were shouting and jumping in joy'.
We did have the last laugh as my original report eventually went to the newspapers, and his edited version went to this rather dirty stream flowing along the way to the newspaper office, but the damage had been done. Twas a terrible massacre and the shock of sitting through it was something the bloke inside me, who takes over when I sit down to write, would take a bit of time to recover from. Everytime I sat down to write, all I saw were imaginary kids jumping up and down, and all I heard was the relentless tapping of the backspace key. Allright, that is a bit exaggerated, but jokes aside, it did really hurt. You'd know if something you spent quite a bit of time and imagination on, got mauled just when you were preparing to sit back and admire your craft. And that happened more than once over four days.
Anyway I'm getting closer to writing readable things again. Earlier today I wrote a rather goodlooking fictional piece on something called 'Tomlinson's surface meter' for my mid semester sessionals exams. Sadly I couldn't muster the artistic imagination needed to conjure up a suitable diagram to accompany the piece. Hopefully, the guy correcting all those papers will put in a good word or two about the whole thing. Maybe even mark it.

Tagged.

My writer's block continues as I just can't write anything that I find good enough to post here. But when this tag from Nivil came along, I decided to take it up and write something. When you write, you pass judgement on things and people around you and when you're drained, you find it hard to do that. I'm guessing that answering a simple set of questions about myself is bound to be a lot more easier.
This whole tagging thing means that you've got to reply to the same set of questions on your blog when you are tagged. It sounds silly, I know but I'm that jobless. God! these questions are crap!

1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?
She can't betray me. She'll know, by then that she doesn't need to. The moment she decides she's had enough, all she has to do is leave and I'll understand. Atleast I'll try to.

2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?
Realize, the moment before death, that I don't want to trade even a second of my life for something else.

3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
Somebody who'd remain grateful for that kick, his entire life.

4. Why do you blog?
To satisfy that uneasiness you feel when you are holding something inside you, that you so need to let out.

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
Doesn't matter. We'll end up best friends anyway.

6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Loving someone. It's harder.

7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?
Till she shows up.

8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?
I will go on secretly liking her.

9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Enlightenment. Free thought. The latter is the road to the former.

10. What takes you down the fastest?
Emotional drainage.

11. What resurrects you the fastest?
Beauty.

12. What’s your fear?
That I'd wake up one day and find out that I've fallen out of love with everything I'm in love with.

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
He knows his way around his world.

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
Happily married and poor.

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Stop the stupid alarm and go back to sleep.

16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?
I'm in love with ONE person. I've just got to find out who she is.

17. Would you give all in a relationship?
More than that.

18. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?
I don't think so. I'm not God.

19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
It doesn't matter what I prefer. Journeys end in lovers meeting. The journey will always be there. Without it, your destination will be nothing but meaningless.

20. Tag 6 people.
The last six comments on my blog.

A.W.O.L

I feel empty. I can't write when I'm empty. I'm trying to figure out how to escape this wretched state, but until then I'll be keeping off this blog. I'm hoping I'll be back before long and maybe that happens, I'll be able to write about all the things I did to get over this. I'm hoping a long journey might do me some good, or doing something different might usher in some freshness. Maybe what I need now, is some new people in my life. Whatever it is, I hope to get back to posting here sooner rather than later.