Category Archives: Of Writing

Of Sad Days

I wanted to write something happy today – something about finding rainbows beyond a cloud; about mirthful summers and early springs; about happiness. I wanted to write happy things and be happy.

But there’s a storm raining down upon my heart. Inside, I’m wrecking; breaking into several pieces. But does anybody realize that? No. I hide it all behind a sheer pretence. I laugh. I giggle. I look around at people. When tears prick at my eyes, I blink away. But on particularly lonely moments, when the streetlights no longer shine brightly, I sit down on the pavement and I cry my heart out.

There’s a storm raining down upon my heart. It’s been long since I saw the sunshine last. I’m waiting for the rays to break through the darkness and enter my house. I want to believe that yes, it’ll be there…soon. I want to write happy things until then – about hope. But there’s a storm razing inside me, shattering every hope of mine. So, until the dawn arrives, I sit and write another sad story about a sad day.

Of Meanings

Sometimes, I like to stare into the horizon. Alone. Sitting in the crisp mid-August air of one of the buzzing metro cities, I sit in silence, staring at the zoning headlights and the one, solitary, constant streetlight right outside my window. There’s no meaning to it. It’s like staring at a blank piece of canvas for long, only this scene right in front is filled with myriad colours.

Cars line the sidewalk. A few happy teenagers walk alongside, laughing and singing to themselves. The evening is slowly drawing in and yet, the sky is empty. Devoid of stars. But it’s no genius prediction that they’ll soon be there. Twinkling and zoning out into the oblivion. It takes a little bit more darkness to see them in full light.

The picture in front of me is meaningless. It’s like a page ripped apart from the perfect storybook and it flutters with the wind, falling in the hands of a lonely stranger or two, causing them to stare at it awhile longer, just to see if it resonates with their lives.

It resonates with mine. It feels empty. The picture feels empty, though there are people moving and cars honking and lights speeding. There’s a wonderful beginning and a glorious end but somehow, I’m stuck in a scene which has no meaning. Nothing. But somehow, it captures me. It fascinates me. I’m perfectly happy with being stuck in the same scene for long. I’m not waiting for a shattering climax or a surprising breakthrough. I find meaning in the meaningless scene. I find everything and yet nothing.

So, I lean out of my window and watch. The people walking below the street don’t know what tomorrow holds. Yet, they want to wake up to that newer dawn, believing their lives will be better. The streetlights flicker and stay and stay and flicker, a silent witness to the everyday world. They are the much needed light for that one lost traveller who is likely to stop by right below and peer at his phone and call his family. People may think that they don’t need the weird, old lamppost there, but they do need the light. And though nights have been synonymous with darkness, surprisingly I see every picture ten times clearer. Sometimes the night hides the reality and paints a distorted illusion. But sometimes, it shows the world in all it‘s glinting, real colours. To me, the day hides more demons than the dusk.

The scene is slowly starting to metamorphose into a meaningful picture. Or may be, I’m looking at it from a different set of eyes. It doesn’t matter. I feel like I could’ve paused and stayed in this scene for even longer even if it was devoid of meaning. Surprisingly the hunt for a meaning doesn’t haunt me anymore. For sometimes, I’ve realized, that every thing in life needn’t have a meaning. Every thing in our lives doesn’t need to be making sense. All we’ve got to do sometimes, is believe, that someday it’s all going to fall back in place. Someday, when we are miles ahead, having passed that meaningless phase, we’re going to look back and it’ll perfectly make sense.

Even if it doesn’t, it’s beauty is not lost. We don’t need to find the meaning, sometimes.

Of Forevers And Faraways

“Promise you’ll stay in contact,” I muttered. “Call me twice a day and talk about anything. I promise I’ll be there to listen. Don’t hesitate.”

“Okay, I will,” he said. “But you’re not going faraway, are you? You can always return, can’t you?”

I nodded, unsure of the promises I kept making.

“No, it’s not that faraway, I promise. You can come visit me anytime. And then, there’s Skype too! We won’t lose contact even for a moment!”

“And you’ll be there, right, forever? You’ll have my back?”

“I will.”

“Will you miss me?”

A blaring horn cut us off and the train stood in front of us. For a second, I was relieved I didn’t have to answer that question.

Will I miss him?

No.

I’ll cry on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings, wishing for him to be there. I’ll buy enough snacks for both of us, and then sit down and eat in silence because he won’t be there. I’ll bring his favourite chocolates from the l store and save them so that I can give it to him when I come back home next. I’ll do everything we did together, but I’ll never bring myself to cry and miss him ten times more.

“You didn’t answer?” he mumbled. “Will you miss me?”

I looked away, blinking back tears.

Of Remembrance

Lucky are the people who are never pushed into oblivion. Someone who stirs your soul without even trying is rare to find. Someone who tells you things you never considered before, who agitates and soothes you at the right times, someone who you helplessly give in to, someone who makes you question your own thoughts and come off with a better outlook, someone who just doesn’t know you but sees right through your soul. You have a few moments to remember but them, you remember clearly. There is nothing extraordinary about them but the fact that ‘they’ did it, changes every single perception. Their memories doesn’t fade. Just becomes harsh because with passing time, you miss them even more. You wonder what it would have been like to have spent more time with them, to have explored them a little more. Lucky are the people who are never forgotten without putting in any efforts. Well, sometimes, just sometimes the people you cannot forget are the ones you spent the least time with.

Of The First Post Challenge

So few days ago, I was nominated for the first post challenge by ANNEMARIE & LIFE. A big thank you for the nomination.

The rules:

  • link your first post
  • name the type of the post
  • explain why this was your first post (reason for writing)
  • nominate fellow bloggers to participate in the challenge

So here is my first blog post ever:

THE SCARIEST BLOG POST OF THEM ALL

I had no clue what to write in the first blog post.. Being fairly new to the blogging world and having read lots of articles on the techniques of blogging, I was rather nervous. But then, I decided to just go with it. To pour my heart out on the paper. Though I accept, back at that time, I hadn’t found my niche, I believe I have found one now.

“And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.”- Meister Eckhart

Have you ever felt the urge to start a new venture but there’s always something that holds you back? Have you taken a step forward in excitement, only to retreat and sit back? We’ve all gone through this at some point of time in our lives. Putting it more precisely, most of us go through this experience every time we decide to start something new.

It’ll please some of you to know that I spent two hours trying to figure out the title of my first-ever blog post! And while I was atop my terrace, looking down at the terribly high drop and then looking back up, wondering what should be the title after all, I realized something. I realized that I was scared (no, not about the entire height factor) – of starting a new blog and taking the first few baby steps.

A myriad of questions ran through my mind as I quietly scrolled through the themes. Having read numerous articles about why most bloggers fail and how disastrous some blog posts are, I was afraid because there’s always a possibility for joining the same train. What if my first blog post isn’t that impressive? What if it doesn’t connect with my readers? What if I start receiving hate messages? Even worse, what ifsomeone adds my blog to the worst-ever-blogs list? And sitting on the edge of a terrace was not helping at all. Of course, I wasn’t planning on jumping down from there (and I wouldn’t ever think of it, because I want to look pretty while I’m dying and falling from that height is obviously going to leave me with nothing but grotesque bruises and broken bones. And, I’m guessing that wouldn’t be pretty!). Some part of me convincingly said that I was out of ideas probably because of gravity which was pulling every creative thought away from my brain and sending them to settle at my feet. The other part kept on laughing like a maniac. In short, half of my insides were fighting with the other half. I thought a change of place might help.

So, picking up my laptop, I trudged downstairs to my room.

That, as I had already predicted, didn’t help. Instead of focusing on the birth of my blog baby (I’m trying to be over dramatic), I started drooling over the Chace Crawford posters on my wall and playing my brother’s recently downloaded games. I had this strange thought of writing about video games in my first blog post! And hopefully, I didn’t yield to the urge. Then, I had an even stranger thought of writing about who are my best actors and why.

At this rate, I realized, I was never going to be able to start a blog.

They say that beginnings are probably the best things – beginning a new business venture, starting a new job, starting college, starting a new book – we’ve always been fascinated by the idea of beginnings. It is the end that brings us pain. Nobody wants a beautiful thing to end. That is probably why we all go, “Oh no!” when our favourite romantic movie starts rolling out the credits. The concept of an ending has always scared us. We believe that beginnings are easier. However, they are not.

I’ve no idea about the whole concept of an ending, but speaking from experience, I can say that the beginning steps are probably harder. When it took me two hours to only figure out the title for a blog post, I realized that it is not always easy to start a thing. Be it a businessman or a teacher or a kid in primary grade, they all dread the beginning steps. The businessman spends sleepless nights, thinking about his newest venture. The teacher is nervous on the first day of school and meeting her new students. The kid in primary grade fakes a stomach ache because he is afraid of facing the new kids in school. We all have several apprehensions before starting something new. And, the only nagging question in our minds is – Will this be successful? Will the idea be successful? Will I be able to do this thing right?

One of the major reasons such thoughts strike our minds is because right from the start, we’ve been told that starting anything new is arisk. And we’ve grown up with the same idea. We are afraid to go in the less-trodden way for that is a risk. Students are afraid to choose a vocational stream because that is a risk, so they tend to stick to the traditional courses. Parents are afraid to send their kids out alone because that is a risk, so they keep them inside their homes until they feel that he/she has grown up enough. New writers are afraid to send their works to a publisher because they feel that it is a risk-their works might get rejected. So they keep their works to themselves, only sharing it with their family and a few friends.

It is like you’ve been gifted a pair of wings by God and you are standing at the edge of a cliff. A part of you is excited to try the wings and the other part keeps holding you back, reminding you a numerous times that you can’t fly. It fills your head with a plethora of confusions. You’re suddenly afraid that the wings may not be real – a thought that hadn’t crossed your mind until then. You are suddenly terrified at the idea of jumping down the cliff and spreading the wings that have been gifted to you. What if you fall?

So, you turn back and walk down the safer road, back home.

The only thought that doesn’t cross your mind is: What if you fly?

The beginning to a beginning is to take a risk. Until, you’ve taken a risk, you’ll never know what is next. Let us think of risks as a series of steps. Let us, for once, forget that risk is used in a negative term. And let us embrace the new possibilities that arrive in our mind, once we’ve settled on that thought.

And that is exactly how I managed to write my first blog post-the supposedly scariest post of them all. Though the FIRST blog post sounds terrifying, I’m proud I’ve managed to put up something decent. Now that I think of it, I was also standing at the edge of the cliff, with a pair of wings. At first, I was afraid to take a step forward. So, I took two steps back. But that was only because I wanted to take flight. So, here I’m, flying towards the sun, thinking about the world that exists out there.

And I’m not afraid anymore.

I nominate the following bloggers to take part in the challenge. I’d love to read their first views on blogging.

Excuse Me?

I have been away from blogging for so long! All these days, I have been writing down random little things on sheets of papers and no matter how much I tried, I never could gather enough time to type it all out. Why, you ask.

The reason for this is I have a major major exam tomorrow. It’s not like I’ve been studying 24*7 or anything like that; but I’ve been under so much stress that I’ve never had a moment of respite all these days. Every time I logged in and sat down to read some of your blogs, I just couldn’t put my mind to it because of the constant tension hovering in my mind.

This exam means a lot for me. And I get one chance to prove myself here. I promise that once the exam is over, hopefully, within a couple of days, I’ll be able to get back to writing again and reading your beautiful thoughts as well.

I hope all your best wishes are with me, because I need them. Really.

Signing off for now.

I hope you have wonderful days!

Of Blog Tours And More

It seems like I’ve had the busiest week! Phew! Now that there’s a moment of respite, I’d love to invite you all to join my blog tour which is going to be the grandest event, coming to your town, this May! So gear up, people… Okay, let’s get serious. I had been kidding all the while!

I want to thank Rob from The V-Pub for inviting me to this blog tour. I couldn’t wait to get started after I happened to receive the very notification.

Let’s start with the Rules: Pass the tour on up to four other bloggers. Give them the rules and a specific Monday to post. Answer four questions about your creative process that lets other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.Compose a one-time post on a specific Monday (date given by your nominator).

1. What I’m working on at the moment?

To be honest, nothing. Everything around me is starting to feel like a giant black hole that is sucking away every thought and dream of mine. I want to pick up my pen and write something, but I have absolutely nothing in my mind. Apart from that, I’m sitting in front of my Mathematics books and trying to focus on a sum, but everything seems to jumble up. Probably, I’m studying too much.

2. How does my work differ from others in my genre?

I don’t have a genre! My works range from dreams to God to family to hope to random everyday things! I have heard people stress on the need to be “different”, but I believe that, no, you can be one from the crowd and yet inspire the people around you. You don’t need to do different things in order to be “different”. You can be you, ’cause that is “different”.

3. How does my writing and creative process work?

Almost everything that I write is based on personal experiences. I believe that simplicity is all that matters. You don’t need to have a genius brain to write a million dollar article. Sometimes, the best of stories are written with the littlest, most insignificant ideas. Why, you may write about the beauty of a drop of dew on the pale, crunchy, withering autumn leaves! You may write about the old man you happen to see everyday on your way to work. You may write about the little ant that crawls up the sugar cube and tries to drag it along. Each one of these instances has a tremendous beauty hidden. But we come across it everyday, and so, we think that it is not worth writing about. We don’t dig deeper. We don’t see the irony. We don’t see the pain. We don’t see their smiles. We don’t feel what they feel. And that is what makes these instances so enthralling! There’s so much scope to write more and more and beyond about these little things around us.

My brother and I happen to have many interesting conversations throughout the day, and whenever a conversation keeps replaying itself, I make sure to put it down on the paper. This way, I remember – the person and the story.

So basically, I start from nothing. At least, I start.

4. Why do I write and create what do I do?

I love writing. With a pen and a few sheets of paper, I can write about so many things. I can paint a picture without any colours. I can build a castle with words. I can make people come alive in my stories. That is why I write. It lets me dream. It lets me express myself. For me, writing is like a ‘horegallu’.

Back in olden times, in villages, there used to be stone benches called horegallus, below big, bushy, banyan trees where a tired traveller or two would stop by on sunny afternoons. There, they would sit and wait for someone to stop by. When another person would join them, they would talk about their worries – of how the summer parched their lands; of how they had to sell their cattle; of how they struggle each passing day. They would talk like they’ve known each other forever, when in reality, they would be strangers. When the sun would finally go down, they’d stand up and walk separate ways, feeling a little lighter and a little happier. Whoever said, sorrow shared is sorrow halved, sure did know right. The ‘horegallu’ was like a drop of rain in the desert. Strangers met. Strangers left. The horegallu was left with stories to tell.

Writing feels like an escape. That is what I do on rainy days. I write about my darkest fears and sorrows and feel a little lighter. I write about hope and feel hopeful. I write about happiness and feel a little happier.

Now, I’d like to nominate following fellow bloggers:

Walking After Midnight

PastelTessa

Run Wright

Ruined In All The Right Ways

If you wish to participate, and I hope that you do, please answer the 4 questions listed about that I’ve answered. You can answer them anytime that you’d like as I don’t have a certain Monday in mind. Have a great day!

Of Twisted, Random, Crazy Tales

During Christmas nights, when the moon was high up in the sky, she and her children would sit near the window above the fireplace, their noses pressed against the mullioned windows, waiting for Santa and his reindeer to fly through the dark winter sky. Halfway through the freezing night, their mother would find them fast asleep on their beaten leather couch, their lips curled into smiles and dreams fleeting in their little hearts.

The mornings that followed Christmas nights, they’d sigh and grumble for having fallen asleep so fast. Perhaps, Santa visited them then, they’d reason. Their mother would be standing near the corner, listening to their every talk, feeling pangs of burning pain running down her heart when she revelled in their infinite hopes. Her kids never had any gifts. They didn’t have proper mittens and sweaters. They never had pies for Christmas desserts. Yet, they would never blame Santa. They would never question his existence. Every Christmas they went by, they would take the blame on themselves.

“Santa left perhaps, when we blinked!” and “Santa didn’t visit us perhaps, because we haven’t been so good this year!” They would tell each other. Dreams never died in their eyes. Hopes lit up in them with each passing day.

“Ma,” they happened to ask one night. “Have you ever seen Santa Claus?”

What could their mother say? Her heart broke in sorrow. How could she tell her kids that she didn’t know if Santa did exist! How could she tell them that the fairytale they look forward is a mere illusion! How could she tell them the things that could only bring pain?

“Yes,” she lied.

And every Christmas after that, she watched them wait.

Until one Christmas night, when they had no roof over their head and starved. The night was vast. Snowflakes covered them in its snares. To the occasional howl of a street dog, they slept. Santa was forgotten that night. When hunger scratched their poor bellies and tears dried against their cheeks, suddenly the fairytale they had dreamed of for so long, metamorphosed into a painful reality. They realized, with a heavy heart, that the fairytale was gone. The freezing winds, the lonely streets, the hungry groans – how did they even dare to think that their life was going to be a fairytale?

“Ma,” they asked again. “Does Santa exist?”

“Yes,” their mother lied.

They slept without any food. They slept to racking shivers and mumbles. They slept without waiting for Santa. In the back of their minds, they knew they wouldn’t wake up again for another Christmas.

When the morning arrived, they found themselves in a warm house, next to the fireplace. Lavish breakfast awaited them. Without a bother, they ate and cried in joy.

Santa was remembered again.

“See! Santa gave us this, Ma,” they cried in giddy happiness.

Their mother nodded in agreement.

“Ma, Santa does exist, right?” they asked for the third time again.

“Yes,” she said. Only this time, she didn’t lie.

Of Tales Too Tiny

‘Mumma?’ he called.

The old woman in her worn out dress and wrinkled face, turned away from the sink to look at her little son lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling fan. Rust had settled on its corners and the slight squeaks it caused, made her cringe in distaste.

‘Yes child,’ she said as she wiped off her hands on her apron and walked to him. Dropping down on the couch, she allowed him to rest his head on her lap.

Her heart broke as she held his feeble hands and rubbed them gently.

When he did not speak, she asked again.

‘Yes?’

His eyes met hers and all they reflected was nothingness. Her son’s eyes were blank; they held no trace of emotion and she did not know whether to be happy or sad for that.

‘Mumma,’ he mumbled. His voice shook. ‘Does God love me any less?’

Almost immediately, she shook her head and looked away, blinking back her tears. The last thing she wanted to do was to cry in front of her dying son. His body felt so fragile against hers that she was afraid a slight touch would hurt him.

‘No, child, our God is beautiful,’ she told him. ‘He loves us all the same. We are all his lovely children and He loves us to death.

‘Then why does he let other children run and jump and shout while I lie here all day?’

It was difficult to swallow the lump stuck in her throat. Her temples throbbed as unwept tears threatened to spill.

‘It is because He has something special for you! He wants you to wait so that He can shower you with all the happiness in the world. He loves you, dear child, more than you can imagine,’ she aid and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Up there, He sits, watching over all of us. He picks us up when we fall. And when we cry, He is there to wipe away our tears. Each day, He presents us the most beautiful dawns to create histories. See? He is here with us. He is all around, child. And He loves you. So please, hold on.’

The doorbell rang, filling the house with a lovely tune.

She looked down at her son who was breathing quietly. His eyes were closed in blissful oblivion. She got up and opened the door.

The mailman handed her a letter.

After he took his leave, she closed the door behind her and tore open the pale yellow envelope to reveal her son’s medical reports. Her eyes glimmered with several hundred emotions as she looked frantically at the sheets.

And then, she saw it.

‘Wake up, child,’ she said as tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Wake up! You’ll live, child! You’ll live for long!’

He remained quiet.