Whatever is my favourite word.

Because it seems to sum up everything that I’m unable to articulate appropriately. Does that even make sense?

I am feeling quite disappointed today. As a matter of fact, currently I’m more than disappointed. I’m angry. I’m upset. I’m sad. And I’m Whatever.

Let me keep it simple and say that all the wonderful plans I had for December (with folks, of course) have gone kaput. Moreover, I can’t seem to conveniently hold anyone responsible for my disappointment, and that’s the icing on the cake (which has been burnt black in the oven). I could blame it on the situation, but, situations are unfeeling, heartless entities that decide to change their minds on a whim.

Life seemed to have been stationary, and pretty much humdrum a while ago (I just read my previous post). I’m glad that I enjoyed that phase while it lasted.

I have a major entrance exam coming up, and I’m nowhere close to finishing a syllabus that is easy yet endless enough to keep me flabbergasted all the time.

I shouldn’t keep time for whatever. Whatever, is out of question. Whatever needs to be replaced by focus, books, and more focus.

Maybe a little party and good wine could be thrown in. After all, 2014 is round the corner. Though, I’m unhappy that 2013 is already on her way out.

I’ll be off to Munaar for a week’s getaway. See you soon. And a Happy New Year.

Or whatever.



I could copy paste the first paragraph of my previous post, but in simpler and more blatant words, writing has taken a backseat. Probably the backseat of a bus headed to Timbaktu.

I should be studying for an examination that is due on Saturday. But, I’m spending time with a friend called Procrastination as of now. Friend is partially to blame for my sluggishness and couch potato-ness. Should I apologise?

I’m not dissatisfied or unhappy or frustrated, or anything of that sort. Strangely enough, everything seems to be stationary. Sometimes, I tend to forget which day it is and important dates such as birthdays. Sometimes, when I look out of the window and observe the sky, I feel as though the clouds haven’t really moved. They’re all still. Two pigeons visit my balcony every morning, and Mum has conjured a harebrained story about them being reincarnations of my late grandparents. My day is incomplete without filter coffee, “Romedy Now”, “Lost”, books, and my very faithful cellphone, not to mention social media.

The only things that are liable to change are my shower timings and sleep pattern. I have also been munching on ‘Little Heart’ biscuits. I haven’t had time to explore new places for photography. I think I’m going to the railway station on my own during the winter break and capture various scenes out there on my camera.

Music hasn’t been exactly forgotten. I anticipate some worthwhile jamming sessions with a friend. So that’s good.

As much as I would love for some spice or masala in my seemingly mundane routine, I think I’d like to secretly savour the monotony because I know deep down that routines are liable to change, and that I might not be able to get this time back. I feel like some major change is imminent. It’s like the lull before a storm, but,\ this time the storm may not be a storm. It could be something pleasant.

I think I’d like constancy for a change. I hate pigeons, but if they are supposedly my thatha and patti, I don’t mind indulging in their company.




How long has it been? A month? Or more maybe? I have been blatantly ignoring my blog, and writing to be precise. I have reasons to validate that but let’s not get into that. “I have been busy,” could suffice for now.

(Or maybe the lack of solid inspiration, who knows.)

I woke up half an hour ago, with the sole intention of writing something in my favourite blank box again. I have forgotten how much it has helped me get through stuff, happy and sad.

Have you ever felt like a mistake? I am not talking about having committed one. I’m talking about having felt like one. Your career, your college, your hobby, a decision – these tend to qualify as mistakes at times. But, the fact that you as an individual could be a mistake in someone’s life, is something that doesn’t pop in your mind very often. And when it does, it makes you contemplate, and just worry.

“I should not have been her friend,” or “He shouldn’t have gotten close to me,” – as though you are the root cause of every problem, as though you are the one causing all the inconvenience.

The tiny voice in your head shouts “Be rational!” but all the rationality it tries to enforce upon you can be pretty useless, once your emotional side has taken control. You try to seek comfort in some sort of an assurance in your friend and that tiny voice as well , but it seems shallow as a puddle. And yet there are times when there is no one to guarantee you anything.

And when it comes to someone like me, who is as sensitive as a thermometer, this thought is food for further absurd analysis.

Something like –

If that person had his/her life’s data stored in a computer, that needed periodic cleaning up, I would probably end up in the recycle bin, sooner or later.

Or maybe I was destined to be an Error 404, after all.

“Anyone who has never made a mistake, has never tried anything new,” said one great guy.

I’m starting to wonder that I was some good after all.

Upside down frowns

I am happy.

Happier than I have been in a very long time. This summer has probably been one of my best so far, and not in terms of where we, as a family, went holidaying, but in terms of how things have shaped up for me so far.

I must admit, the whole guitar and music scene has suffered a bit for me, considering I decided to pursue my recent-found love for photography. Yes, a Digital Single-Lens Reflex Camera. I joined the DSLR cult.

I need to figure out a way to balance both. And, a way to control my ADD tendency towards my hobbies. I have begun to multitask way too much. I know multitasking is good, yet, not really at times.

Hobbies can’t make one happy, alone. Or maybe they can. I don’t know. I haven’t really made new friends as such. Just maintained the old ones, and probably realized their worth. However, I may have become familiar with people who were strangers a few months ago, to an extent where their presence has become a refreshing part of my mundane routine.

I sometimes wonder what happiness really means. When you’re plunged in the depth of your worst nightmares  and when the world is an epitome of melancholy, happiness becomes an eclipsed entity, an idea that becomes so obscure that its existence is almost as good as gone. That’s when one scrounges for it in every nook and corner, and probably assumes it lies concealed in rings of cigarette smoke or submerged in a bottle of liquor. Or maybe it could be stolen from someone and be unleashed through pure sadism and malice.

But at least you feel happy at the end of your pursuit.

 What about the time when you step out of a never ending dark tunnel and step into sunlight? The rays could be from a warm summer’s sun or probably from that of a cold winter, but, it’s sunlight all the same. It makes your path visible. It’s a far cry from despair, and its bound to fill your heart with zeal. That’s the sort of happiness which is well deserved. The kind of happiness that makes you want to gulp it, breathe it, and fill your lungs with.

Then again, happiness could mean reading Murakami’s book one morning with a cuppa filter coffee and a plate of cheese sandwich. Or it could mean climbing a not so high hill, one rainy afternoon, with a dear one you meet after what seemed forever. Or it could mean just going to bed feeling content.

Who knows?

I’m scratching my head right now. It doesn’t have a definition. Or maybe it has a multitude of them.

 I am happy 🙂

Purpose, again

I have reinforced my faith in the fact that purpose kills plans.

And right now I’m enveloped by disappointment, irritation and menstrual stress.

I don’t believe in coming up with pointless three-liner blog posts. But, right now, beliefs can take a backseat.

Purposeless posts do exist.


Okay, I think I’m in a mood for one of my philosophical rants. It’s been ages I know, for I have gone through my old posts. When was the last time I had actually sat down before this blank box with the purpose of unleashing a reflective verbal diarrhea?

For some reason I feel my attempt at that might fail today.

They say purpose is the key to achievement, to success and you know, all that. It is, but true that purpose does keep you unfazed through the nasty surprises hurled at you through the course of a  turbulent trip to *insert destination*. Nasty surprises have always followed a repetitive pattern of appearing during some of the fantastic phases of your life. Stephen King puts it quite aptly, SSDD – Same Shit, Different Day.

However, there are days when I dedicate an entire weekend to recording a new piece of music I have composed, but the whole attempt is a waste owing to an unfortunate process of recording, getting dissatisfied, deleting the track, re-recording, getting my hopes up high, discovering faults, getting frustrated, and so on. It’s a futile consequence to a purposeful endeavour.

On the other hand, there are days when a sudden inspiration urges me to grab my microphone and guitar and I end up with a satisfactory rendition of my composition.

Purpose leads to expectations, and the latter are fickle minded when it comes to making one happy. What about a well-organized party turning out to be average with a low guest count? What about a trip planned way in advance with the ideal itinerary, that gets screwed up? You go well prepared for an examination and that turns out to be your worst one till date. You intend to deliver a well-rehearsed speech at a gathering, but one look at the audience is enough to drench you in cold sweat and incoherence. In fact, preparing posts prior to the A-Z blog challenge did no good either; I gave up, quarter way through.

Does this mean that being prepared, purposeful and expectant is wrong? Course not. It’s just that one  diverts so much energy towards the positive outcomes of his intention, that the other alternative gets sidelined; the alternative of a failure. How can it go wrong when I’m ready and all prepped? No way, it’s going to be kick-ass. And, that’s where one falls short.

What about all those times when I picked up the first dress I saw on a mannequin, just an hour before a big party, that earned me several compliments? When my family planned a surprise trip to Thailand? When I delivered a heartfelt speech for my music teacher after a successful show? And when my friends and I threw an impulsive yet memorable party, a few hours after the very idea culminated in our minds?

None of us bothered about outcomes. Spontaneity aided us, and god alone knows what made our efforts tick. Technically speaking, we hadn’t even given our efforts a thought. Come to face it, that party wasn’t supposed to set tongues wagging for days to come or encourage Facebook statuses. But, it did.

Sometimes, it just depends on your luck, on the time, the situation, and the people around you; the appropriateness of everything at that moment which ultimately benefits you. Yet, sometimes it’s just on how much we relax our ideals. The I’m-gonna-plan-my-summer-so-damn-well dogma could zap your energy, and before you even realise it, you are left with a forgettable vacation, not to mention scorching.

Moral of the story – I have come up with a abstruse post that may or may not be relished by you readers, but nevertheless leaves me feeling contented.


I don’t know why this month hasn’t given me a sense of satisfaction. It began on a high note, you know. My first short story got published on Spark, I was rewarded with constructive criticism and appreciation likewise. I uploaded my compositions on my newly made Soundcloud account, and that seemed to be getting somewhere as well. But after that, life seems to have come to a stand still. And I seemed to be stuck in this rut.

I know it has been ages since I blogged. I can’t pinpoint the exact reason for my abstinence from writing. Maybe it has been stress. The stress of harboring of new insecurities that have been lately popping into my mind. Or maybe, the stress of dealing with nasty surprises. Or maybe the very idea of dragging myself daily to a college that greets me with its revolting mediocrity. I don’t know. But, I haven’t been able to bring myself to write.

I’m staring at this blank box, waiting for my fingers to take charge of the keyboard, like they usually would. Instead, I get frustrated with myself for not being able to produce some sort of substantial content that could suffice as a blog post. Damn it.

An idle mind is a devil’s workshop. Time being paralyzed, my mind has lately been occupied with thoughts of triviality. Even something as simple as reading a book seems to have become a bloody task. It’s a phase of staring-at-words-till-they-lose-their-meaning, of worrying about others,  of analyzing the purpose of  studying Biotech, and of trying to convince myself that someday I’ll be competent enough to look after myself (big, big thoughts of a lanky girl on the brink of bidding farewell to teenage).

Hence, I have been comforting myself with a camera,  a microphone, and this guitar. I have been advised to practice Yoga every morning, to calm my nerves that seem to saltate at the slightest stimulus these days (and the problem isn’t PMS).

It’s not like I haven’t reached some kind of a solution. Breathing does soothe you. Shut your eyes, inhale slowly and deeply and vice verse. It’s not that your brain is going to pause and linger in tranquility (if you read that somewhere, then that’s bull).  But, the thoughts loosen up, and they float instead of ravaging in your head. You could let your worst fears play and replay as often as you wish and feel the fear element fading away gradually, until it dissipates into nothingness.

And you feel stronger. And calmer.

They tell you to listen to music, or paint. Or go stroll in a park. Or sleep it off. Or watch a stupid movie. Or read something inspirational. Or talk to someone. You could take your pick.

But, who thought that listening to oneself breathe is the best option of them all? I used to shrug it off. Never believed that paying attention to your lungs would be an excellent way to kick-start the whole relaxing process. One hears a lot of talk about surviving each day by learning from one’s errors or by being thick skinned. Yet, in spite of keeping all that philosophical dissertation in mind one tends to overlook the fact that the very crux of survival lies in each breathe.

I suppose you get my point. I think I have had my quota of cliched mumbo jumbo. 😛

I need to take some time out to breathe. Breathing is easy peasy, simple pimple.

And.. I guess this is my post for the day.

To not let it be

Is it a good idea to tolerate a friend?

Or is it better to be blunt and hurtful, cut of all connections, and then probably embark on a new start later?

I don’t know. All I know is that I suck at being honest to those who are close to me. I am afraid of saying no. I am afraid of displeasing them. I could compromise for their sake. I don’t like being in anybody’s bad books.

I get this feeling that I tolerate too much. Trample on shit saying “Really, it’s not that bad.” But deep down, I know it is a lot. A lot to handle, and from the past experiences I’ve had, I rather prefer to not make big deal out of everything.

Tolerating a friend is not a good idea.

My glass is half full

Maybe with Mojito
Maybe with lemon iced tea
Or maybe with filter coffee.
Depends on my mood.

They make me feel optimistic, somehow. Does it make sense?

 It doesn’t have to always.

What are you supposed to do if you are forced to stay home during a two-month long summer vacation with the shallow comfort of a cellphone, a laptop, a T.V, a swimming pool, morning walks, an occasional cuppa coffee with a friend, maybe lunch, and the only family outing being a mere dinner?

To add to that, you hear your friends gushing about their plans to holiday in Europe, Australia, Thailand and the like.

I have had my share of cribbing. I have had my share of whining about my problems. After a point, even complaining loses its charm.

So now, I’d like to think of it this way – Maybe this two-month vacation is a chance for me to explore my skills as an artist, a writer, a singer, and a guitarist. Or a chance to make up for all those months of inactivity by swimming and walking. Also a chance to meet school friends whom I have missed ever since college began. It’s up to me to optimize on these days of freedom, not boredom.

Optimism is bullshit, say my cynical group of friends.

It’s not. It’s that one that keeps me going against Misery’s efforts to drag me down to Level Zero. 

Minding my own business

Sometimes my seamless concern for others disgusts me.

I think it’s a girl phenomenon. Else it’s just completely my problem.

Unavailing, otious concern. I’m talking about pointlessly analysing somebody else’s life. Sometimes it could also be that silly curiosity that plants itself in my idle brain.

There’s a reason why they say an idle mind is a devil’s worshop. In this case the devil assumes the form of senseless scrutiny.

Why is she dating that dumb dude?
What did he see in her?
Wait, what did she see in him?

What will happen if he gets into that college known for its snotty crowd?

If I ignore her calls just once, will she get mad at me?

Why is he messing with his life?
He shouldn’t smoke.
She shouldn’t smoke.

Why couldn’t she opt for the career of her choice?
Why can’t she make her own decisions?

Why, why did she fall into bad company? I didn’t expect that.

Why can’t he cut his shaggy mane?
Why did he go bald for chrissake?!

And, amongst all these unnecessary questions and thoughts dedicated to others, I forget one important person.


Everyone talks about this thing called Ego. Self-importance and adulation. Oh, I was so proud of it. It comforted me when I was hurt. But, I couldn’t comfort it when it got hurt.Well, this is completely off the context but it’s a wonder that I forget all about it, worrying about others. I should put it first. Worrying about myself and my problems to an extent is healthier than to worry about the choices others make, and the trouble they invite upon themselves.

It’s good to care but as I ponder, I conclude that I excessively indulge in thoughts about everything possible which is not in my control. For heaven’s sake, my friends do have some rationality to their credit.

It’s THEIR life. As Bon Jovi would say.

Almost half my brain is occupied with thoughts about others. Are they really worth all that space in my head? I don’t know. I guess not.

Indecisive for myself but decisive for others.That’s what it has come to. Control freakism-ish I suppose.

Would my best friend reserve that much of her brain space for me? I don’t think my boyfriend ever did that either.

Minding my own business is something I need to grasp.