Contrails


(This picture is completely and in all totality, irrelevant to the post. I just added it because I miss the short hair days. I really wanna get them chopped again but my mom will kill me šŸ™)

This is a new word I learned. Merriam-Webster says “a stream of water or ice particles created in the sky by an airplane or rocket”. I say a starry trail, a silver lining. An incredibly poetic way of explaining something scientific. It’s magic. Pixie Dust. Whatever.
It’s been a while since I’ve been trying to write. I can rant, I can comment but I can’t create. I can not conjure stories. I lack imagination (there, I said it). Fiction is essentially borrowing something from reality but then maybe, I’m far too wound up in the real world to open up that third eye and peep into the land of dreams. I read buck loads of fiction, not only because it gives me an iexplicable release from the mundane, but also in the unwavering hope that I might pick up some tricks. Maybe Harry Clifton’s latest escapade would teach me how to mould a tale. Maybe the mistress of Manderley would let me in to her secret of how to best describe the obnoxious housekeeper. Maybe Luna would help me overcome my inhibitions and show me how to catch wrakspurts. I know, I’m giving some random references but all I wanna figure out is why on earth am I not able to create my own fictions world? My best friends churn out stories on monthly basis. The Internet is full of people writing stuff every other day. Whatever they all write might not always be my cup of tea, but then who am I to judge? I am envious of the skill they have to bake those stories. Will I ever be able to write one? I don’t know. Will I ever stop cribbing? Hell, no! Will I ever start imagining? Maybe, let’s try!

That brings us back to contrails. It struck me metaphorically because in this word, I can imagine my journey. I am way to focused on the nuances and the technicalities and not really trying to read out the pattern. Rather than flying the engine, I should be thinking about the whirlwind of a pattern I’m gonna leave behind. The story I’ll write – my contrail.

BoredomĀ 

  Is it humanely possible to get bored of getting so bored? All day, everyday. All the time, every single time. You turn into somebody extremely mechanical and the level of indifference you have towards the world, the ant on the wall, Donald Trump and everything in general, reaches such astronomical levels that it gets difficult to comprehend when something begins and where that thing ends. Any and every incident, no matter what, fails to create even the tiniest flicker of enthusiasm. I cry every single time I read (mind you read, and not watch) when Dumbledore dies. When Dracy acts with an attitude towards Elizabeth, literary greats expect you to cry, but I don’t. Rebecca’s loyal maidservant, Mrs Danvers burns the palatial Maderley down and I just blink. However, Tom chases Jerry in a riot of an episode and I laugh my ass off. Is it just me or is something colossally wrong with our generation and time? It’s easier to relate to strangers on tumblr and Instagram rather than have a heart-to-heart with real humans. We lose our patience easily, and without any regard whatsoever to the effort put by the other side. Is this us being selective and evolving into smarter beings or is it just boredom – to actually spare a thought and attempt an action? Whatever it might be, I am really really really bored right now.

PS – such thoughts occur mostly during long, post-lunch conference calls with whole onsite team at work.

Confessions (again and screenshotted)


 I took down my last post because of some shameful reasons but the psychonaut was kind enough to save a screenshot and viola, it’s back on!

Since I abhor publicising on social media, shoutout to the stud out there who has just started his own blog – http://bhuvesharora.wordpress.com/

Also, a big shoutout and a hug and kiss and some coconut water for my dobby, who went on a writing spree one fine day and is back in the game – https://expressingtheaccepted.wordpress.com

Also, Asmita and Shetty need to start writing soon.

Spread the love,or cynicism – whatever floats your boat:)

Blooms

  
I woke up this morning and saw a bunch of lilies bloom. I got them a couple of days and had been waiting for that. However, when the moment came, it caught me by surprise. Maybe I’m insane for getting so majorly affected by something as ordinary as blooming of a flower but it’s just too beautiful! The sheer joy I felt after looking at them and admiring them and getting happy that at least one of my life choices, i.e. to always have flowers in the house, was commendable. Baby steps potterphile, that’s how we’ll go about this. Let’s not think about anything or the bigger picture or if the ordinary things I’m doing fit into the bigger picture and just be in the moment!

BrokenHeart

  

Disclaimer – I wanted to title this post as <\heart> but WordPress didn’t let me.They should be extra considerate towards us nerds, shouldn’t they?

A huge of up growing up (?) has been the realisation that heart breaks don’t necessarily relate to love and relationships. They can sprout up from something as minuscule as Lakeview messing up my favourite Sunday or Jeffrey Archer taking forever to come up with the next in the Clifton Chronicles (I hope you’re listening Mr. Archer) to me realising how the very company I have always hated has played a significant role in the kind of career I’d have. Doesn’t help that I’ve started having these 2 am thoughts. The entire world is sleeping and I’m sitting up in my bed like a nocturnal, myopic owl and trying to figure out my life. Having one aspect of life sorted out, once upon a time, used to be a huge source of glee but now, it’s nothing but a cause of panic – what if I lose that too. I remember reading this amazing post online a couple of nights back, where they said “are you scared, or are you not ready?”. This hit an artery particularly close to my heart. People come out shadows but I seem to be moving back into them. I literally can’t wait to fast forward till a couple of months from now and see how it shapes out to be. Or maybe, this is all a by-product of reading Neruda (I will persist you in my grace) and depression about not having my hair cut since more than an year! In the meanwhile, I’ll let the broken heart spill random 2am thoughts and have outbursts of happiness when I see my next plate of biryani (I swear I’m the most fickle person I’ve ever met!).

Sepulchral

  
Words have a way of twisting their sly, ambiguous and hidden meanings into and around our minds, often weaving uncertainties and melancholy. With a heavy heart and a light head, I present “The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay”. Each page has been a treat, each word a weave of emotion. I have cried, loved and laughed with the people in those pages. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I’ll admit that I’ve fallen in and out of love with Karan and Rhea. It’s been one of those inexplicable books that take a piece of you as they end. As sepulchral as it may sound, it moved me beyond words and made me feel okay about life. Yes, we screw up. Yes, we fail. Yes, we do not achieve every single goal we set for ourselves. Yes, every dream doesn’t go fulfilled. Yes, we make bad choices. No, every intoxication isn’t consuming. I have come undone with these pages, left with this quivering doubt that do words yield that amount of power over mortals or am I a fickle fool, waiting to be consumed.

Wishlist

  
I’m a human, a good one IMHO, and am entitled to a Wishlist every new year, regardless of the fact that there’s no Dumbledore waiting in the afterlife to fulfill it. So here it does:

  1. Coke that makes your lose weight with every sip
  2. Nutella that tones your body with every lick 
  3. 2 more pairs of eyes to read more 
  4. A world where we don’t need visas to travel (my biggest peeve)
  5. Food
  6. More food 
  7. Even more food 
  8. A direction to my life 
  9. Psyhonaut’s psychotic chaos 
  10. My mum should chill more and worry less 
  11. Tony Stark should ask me out 
  12. Sirius Black should ask me out 
  13. Both of them should fight over me and the winner should be decided by a deadly combo of the triwizard tournament and the hunger games
  14. If I get number 13, I don’t need number 15. If I don’t get number 12, I NEED number 15
  15. A crossover between Harry Potter and Avengers. Loki and Lord Voldemort will absolutely annihilate New York (coz everything happens in USA) before Harry, Order of Phoenix, Thor, IronMan ā¤ļø and black widow stop them and rip them apart. Haven’t given a thought to Horcruxes and Hallows but this is an interesting idea for a fanfic.
  16. More trees 
  17. A husky
  18. A fat, ginger kitten
  19. A black carnation
  20. Jai Kejriwal

This has been a useless but an entertaining list. I rest my case. 

Unfocused

  
I was home a couple of weeks back and a random experiment with my phone’s camera lead me to the picture above. Like any newbie, I enthusiastically juno-ed it and increased the saturation and decreased the shadows and did all the tricks a rookie instagrammer does, before uploading it. Psychonaut shed the light on the phenomena and told me it was called a “Bokeh”. At this point of time, I have to make it absolutely clear that I am, in no certain or uncertain terms, a photographer or even remotely interested to be one. What I thought to be an accident turned out to be an actual thing. I was amused.

Fast forward to three weeks and a chance trip to some ruins where I saw this… 


T’was a shiny, glittery corner with a story untold, which beckoned me with the promise of a secret unfurled. An inverted mirage, a paradox. A prefect shroud of darkness concealing light. A mere picture which looks umpteen times prettier when seen out of focus; which makes me wonder if that’s what life is – a simple journey to be undertaken without focusing on mere trivialities. Where you don’t focus on just one thing. Where losing focus means looking at the bigger pictures and, in turn, being able to perceive more. An unfocused picture. A Bokeh. 

 

InevitableĀ 

  
Like everything this galaxy has to offer, even the thing had an expiration date. Now, way past it, I raise a toast. Here’s to not giving a damn. Here’s to following my heart. Here’s to getting so sick of being in a mould that you gnaw your way out of it. Here’s to resetting moulds and vowing never to be in one again. Here’s to simply doing what the heart desires. Here’s to realizing what heart truly yearns for. Here’s to breaking all norms. Here’s to stop adhering to any norm. Here’s to setting my soul free. Here’s to John Grisham for saving my life. Here’s to the GMAT for keeping me rooted to reality. Here’s to Harry for waiting for me, even though I’ve been a deviant for quite sometime now. Here’s to finally striking a balance between all my worlds. Here’s to all my worlds for being so patient with me. Here’s to the intoxiation. Here’s to breaking old habits. Here’s to finding new habits. Here’s to staying a lazy bean. Here’s to the demigod for being so consistent. Here’s to my people. Here’s to every soul that spends so much time on me. Here’s to going wild, here’s to being free. Here’s to finally getting comfortable in my skin. Here’s to having a plan for the future. Here’s to the thing, which will come to me when the time is write. Here’s to patience. Here’s to ecstasy. Here’s to laughter. Again, here’s to not giving a damn in the whole wide galaxy filled with supernovas. In the end, here’s to the inevitable!

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