Schizophrenic.

I am a little fucked up in the head.
Just a little, I swear.
I do things, I shouldn't
And never regret them.
I live in my head, dreaming
And thinking all the time.
I love it that way.
I live in my lala land where
everything is my way.
Why should I bother changing then?
When I have the perfect world
You only wish you had.
It ain't real, you say.
Look in my head, I retort,
Everything is as real as
Real can ever be.

Ice cream and chocolate sauce

"I won't stay for long," he said, "I have work tomorrow."
"Just for dinner," I cajoled.
He sat, one among the others.
We ate with our eyes it seemed.
Licking off pasta sauces, sly smile, twinkled eyes.
"Ice cream?," I ask.
He nods, reluctantly.
"I really need to leave."
Double fudge chocolate.
"Chocolate sauce?"
He sighes.
Nod once, half hearted once again.
Sauce dribbled in the shape of a heart.
The last dribble licked off the finger.
He looked up and smiled.
I knew he was sold on the icecream and more.

I walk this road.

I walk this road.
This road of self-destruction.
I know, well, where it will take me.
And yet, I walk.
Why?
Because there is hope.
A slight chance.
That it will take me somewhere else.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results.
What can I say? Except maybe that I am insane.
At least I am not hopeless, not a cynic.
Not yet, at least.
I still have hope.

Echoes.

It echoes throughout the skies,
It echoes in the streets,
It echoes in deep hollows
of the bleeding heart.

Vacuum fills up,
where once you resided.
Void remains,
where once you belonged.

It echoes to remind of the hollow
that I have become.
It echoes to remind of the love
that I lost.

It shall echo until one day,
when it will hurt no more.
The bruises will heal and
it will echo no more.

For OSI

Dear Aunty in the Bus

Dearest Aunty in the bus,

First of all, I am sorry for my generation. We are rash and brash. We are unapologetic and careless. We are rude and crude. We don't say our please and thank yous and most of all, we don't say 'sorry'.

I am forced to believe that not all of us are like that but most of us, yes, are the stereotypical youth.

I am sorry that the idiot would not offer you his seat even though he seemed pretty able bodied. I am sorry that he didn't even glance at you apologetically when he hit you with his bag. I want to give him the benefit of doubt.

I wish I wasn't standing so that I could offer you a seat. I wish I had walked up to him and asked him to put his feet off the seat. Why didn't I? I am sorry for being apathetic.

It is just as much my fault for not stepping up as it is his for being a complete jackass.

Not anymore, I promise.

From,
Just another brash youth.

What else can I say?

I am just plain tired. Of a lot of things. I feel like cribbing and complaining but I really don't have any concrete to say.

I had a wonderful weekend and I should feel happy and nice right? But no.

My Indiblogger rank fell drastically and I am irritated that I don't blog. Well, that is mainly because I have nothing to say. I miss those days where I used to blog everyday but I mainly miss the fact that I had something to say.

It isn't like shit isn't happening. It has and it has been hitting the fan too. But I just sigh and clean it up and then the next day, more shit hits the fan.

Most days, I feel like a zombie. Go to college and back. That is it.

What more do I want? Isn't this how it is supposed to be? I hated drama when it happened and now, it feels bland.

Trust me, when I say, drama has been happening but I just feel the need to blog about it.

Is this what growing up feels like?

True Friend

Loneliness- you never left my side,

From me you never did hide.

Whether did surge or ebb the tide,

By me you always lied.

Whether alone or not,

Your presence has never been in doubt.

Whether spring or fall,

You have been with me through it all.

Whether a smile or frown,

You have been always around.

Whether life was up or down,

You never did me renoun,

True, whatever turns did life take,

You are a friend unfake.

Then how am I alone, how am I lonely?

Written on Tuesday, October 11, 2005. (I was 17 then) 

Posted for OSI

The way it begins is not the way it ends.

Monday morning blues. Come on who hasn't that awesome Sunday night with friends and then had to wake up at 7am? Sigh. Grumpy.

Some tamasha in the city = bus strike, apparently.

Do we go for that field visit or not? Oh let's just go back to sleep. 1hr of dilly dalling = me frustrated and irritated.

Calls to the professors. Can we cancel going to the NGO? Oh sir, please? It ain't safe outside.

NO.

Ok so we have to go. Let's go? No.

How do we go?

For some weird reason, my classmates are aversive to the trains.

Make some calls. Are trains safe today? Yes.

Screw you. I am going by train. Anyone coming? Of course.

50 mins later, reach there.

Boring lecture in Tamil for 45 mins = Me sleepy and even more irritated.

Prof : R, if you have any questions, you can ask, ma!

Me in my head : I will ask without understanding kya?

Me aloud : No sir, I am fine.

Some time and one tea (with loads of sugar) later, "Ok. Most kids are at school but there are some you can interact with."

Me in the head: Damn. It isn't over kya?

Some more tamil speaking and me grumpier than ever.

R, this boy speaks Hindi.

Oh brilliant (sarcastic)

So, random silly questions.

What is your name?

AjithKumar....The Ultimate Superstar.

Ok. Blah blah...Interaction with other kids.

Bored.

Hey, you can't be a superstar if you can't dance. Dance karoge? (will you dance?)

Nahi. Nahi. (No. No)

Chal be, karna padega (Oh come on, you have to.) [Good thing, my professor doesnt understand my hindi}

Aap karoge to (If you dance with me)

Chal thik hai (Done)

Boy starts dancing to Waka Waka.

Rest of the boys join in.

My class boys join in.

The girls join in.

Boy, in the end, "Aap heroine ho." (pronounced : heroine-knee)

What an end to a horrible day! :)

And btw, we went to Karunalaya and they do some awesomely fantastic work here.

The train that never reached

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

"I have been waiting for you, since 30 mins. Where are you?" he said, sounding really irritated.

"I am so sorry. I am just on my way. The train is really slow. Are you still at the station?" I replied, over the din of the train.

"Yes." And he cut the call.

I sensed he was mad at me. I wish this train would go faster. It would take me atleast 15 mins more. As the train was approaching the station, I sent him a text, ' Reaching in 2. Wait near the entrance?"

Reply : "Don't bother. I had a long day. I just want to go home now. You do the same. See you later."

Shit, he was really mad.

As the train began to pull into the station, it suddenly stopped.

It just refused to move. I was getting more and more impatient. I dialled his number. No response. He does that when he is angry. I keep trying.

Text : "Please pick up my calls. I am stuck here. It really aint my fault."

15 minutes.

Train wasn't moving nor was he picking up the call.. Panic.

Phone ringing. Dad.

"Dad, can I call you later? I am stuck in the train."

"Don't you dare get out of there. There is some problem at the station. Just don't get off."

"But Dad, he is waiting for me at the station."

"Shit. Just don't get out. He'll call you. Ok?"

"Ok."

What the hell was happening? The networks were jammed. There was panic in the train.

30 mins later, the train started moving in the opposite direction. What? I just made my way home. Hoping and praying, he had done the same.

All night long, I called and I called. Watched TV all night. Emotion-less. Terrorist attack? Shooting at CST station?

Where the hell was he?

The mind unready to believe something had happened to him. City lockdown.

No, nothing could have happened. He just went home and slept. He is just being oblivious to the world as he usually is.

Phones totally cut. Eyes, stuck to the television.

How do I know he is ok? How the hell do I know?

27hrs later. Eyes still glued. Phones still out. Foodless, waterless, sleepless and maybe even breathless.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but I did. When I woke up, the scene was the station was on TV. Blood everywhere and glass shattered. A chill ran down my spine.

No. No. He said he was leaving. he left.

Door bell. Strengthlessly, I opened the door. There he stood in front of me, with that crooked smile of his.

"Shit, you look like a mess. Where were you? I was waiting." he said.

PS: Almost true story!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Credits
Image - Alston Station by Wandering Soul
Courtesy - www.deviantart.com via www.blogaton.in

Not until I say so.

It is not over until I say so.

I shall not give up until I am not ready to do so.

I shall not regret not giving up.

I shall do whatever it takes.

I shall forgive myself.

I shall sleep peacefully knowing I did my best.

Until then, I shall be hopeful.

Update: I kept saying to myself that I wouldn't/shouldn't do something all day long. And that it would ruin it all. I tried and tried harder. Spoke to friends, spoke a little more. Then, I said, screw it and sent out a mail I was meaning to. I deleted it. With crazy emotions out of the way, I wrote the email, again, now, calmly. I haven't got a reply yet, but I feel better.

Does she have a story?

Does she have a story to tell? Did she have dreams to share? Did she have a life full of adventures and trials? Does she believe in God?

Did she love a man and have a family? Did she have her heart broken only to find herself stronger? Did she cry on the day she got married? Did she get the wedding she always dreamt of? Did she get married at all?

Did she want to have a career? Was she a stay at home mom? Was she a strict mom? Did she have a happy childhood?

A million and one thoughts ran through my mind as I saw an old lady begging at the signal. I wonder what a life she might have had. I think and realise maybe her life started and might just end at the signal. Nothing more to it. No dreams, no thoughts except where the next meal will come from. The next instant, I see a small child at the signal. Will the child have the same life? A life that begins and ends at the same place. No dreams, no thoughts.

Friendships!

I read this on a friend's blog and as usual, a discussion ensued. Friendship is a complicated relationship, isn't it? Each person's take on it is different and more importantly, your friendship differs depending on who it is with.

There are friends, acquaintances and bleh bleh categories but within friends, there are categories too right?

What the hell am I rambling about? Well, basically, we were never taught to define friendship in school, were we? (Thank God for that) and we are to find our own way around this complex relationship. We all make rules and break them. Some people seem to have no boundaries between friends.

I think it is like dropping someone in the deep blue ocean and asking them to swim. We all learn. We just learn. That is what makes each friendship special, ain't it?

I miss home

Do you know the sounds that make your house? If I close my eyes and imagine that I am home, I can hear the pressure cooker whistle, my grandmother humming, the door bell ringing, my servants chattering away in marathi, the phone ringing, random marathi songs blaring on the radio, the clunk and cluttering of pots and pans. All this makes my home, a happy home.

What do I hear now? Eeerie crazy silence.

When I would wake up at home, I would wake up to the aroma of breakfast. Here, I wake up to a growling stomach and the need to make some food and no1 to make it for me.

I am lost. I miss home. Does it get easier? I really wish it could.

Now Playing : Home - Buble (must stop)

Homesickness and me

Homesickness. I am homesick and maybe depressed. Ok I am a psychology student and saying the D word loosely is blasphemy. Ok. Ok Back to the topic. I miss home. A lot. I miss the craziness. My house back home is small(er) than the one I live/share here and there is Amma (Nani), Ajja (Nana), Akash (my brother) and someone or the other. There is always something happening. Phone ringing off the hook. Neighbours coming in to borrow stuff, randomly just to chat up or ask for their key because they have been locked up.

Here, most of the time, I am all alone and I miss the chaos. I miss fighting with my brother. I just miss having people around. I miss the familiarity.

But this post isn't about it. While I was there, I cribbed about having nothing to do. About things at home. About a lot of things. Now, I am at tabula rasa. Which means I can do whatever I want. I can build my life here from scratch. I can do things I always wanted. Yes, I will miss having people waiting for me back home but there will be always be there.

I am going to deal with this homesickness. I am going look at the positive side of things. I am going to print loads of pictures of my friends and family and put them up in my room. I am going to look at them and say, hey there are a lot of people who love me. I have loads of people in my life who actually miss me. That is the amount of love in my life.

To all old friends and new. To all the lovely places yet to be discovered in this wonderfully hot city called Chennai. To all the lonely nights with hot chocolate. To all the experiences that shall shape me.

The real you

Everything and everyone has a break point. The point beyond which you just can't take it anymore. There comes a point where the negativity and craziness just HAS to end. Once you reach that point, only then does the real and strong you surface!

3ww : Break, negative, surface