Teach me how to Be.

Taureans don't like change.

It's true.Even the corny zodiac coffee mugs say so.

And yet I have battled my inhibitions to change....for you.

And now that you do not want me anymore,I do not know to change back.

I have lived to dream ,now I dream, I wish,I yearn to live.

It is funny how you think you're having the worst day ever,and suddenly,what you've been waiting for happens.

It's not so amusing though,when you have prepared for, rehearsed,anticipated,and waited for today,only to find out that today wasn't what you thought it would be at all.Sometimes it bums you out.Sometimes you brush it off and prepare,you dreamer you,for tomorrow.

What if you don't know what to think anymore?

Or what to say,or do,for that matter.

For better for worse.I see a pattern there.It feels like every single time I try to become your idea of a better person,I end up alienating you a little more.I'm driving you away,one improvement at a time.

I have tried and tried,and tried,but those smiles you bestow are harder to earn than a pleasant afternoon in May.Or a warm December night.

It's easy to be evil.

I do Ridiculously Happy once in a while too.

Tears drop thick and fast,occasionally,without waiting to be bid upon to do so.

I can manage to be humorous and funny every now and then.

You obviously can't stand any of this though,can you?

How then,ought I to be?

So I ask what is rightfully mine..a lesson from you.

Teach me how to Be.

Teach me just how to Be to be so I can attempt,yet again,to be one of the people you accommodate so easily in your life.

Teach me how to Be,so I can reassure myself that I'm not working in vain here,and that acceptance will come,someday or the other.

Teach me to Be,for I don't remember how to anymore.

You are my undoing;surely you owe me this much?

Thought for the day # 3 a.k.a Misnomers

You are my melody.You are my lullaby.You are my dirge.

Fast fading.

We're a cliche,you and me.
A habit done to death.
A song on the last note.
The strains are fast fading,come quick,
And maybe,we can sing along for one last time.

We're a story,you and me.
Deliciously unpredictable.
Yet,how ironic,that we must end how most stories end,
Quietly.No fanfare.A clean break.
A few sniffles.
Maybe,for old times' sake,we share a cuppa,for one last time?

We're old news,you and me.
The magic ain't there no more.
Or maybe,they make better fireworks in the world nowadays.
Whatever.But before the small talk sets in,
Surely we can grant us one last conversation,for one last time?

One last time just slipped away,didn't it?Or did it?

Unfinished sometimes=complete

Everyday at 1 p.m. ,this past one week,I've been doing something soul-stirring.I've been having lunch up on the third floor of an unfinished building on the college campus.

Not what you expected is it?

No scintillating conversation,no beautiful music.Well,unless you count the sound of the wind blowing in your ears, at once fierce and frenzied,at once soft and soothing.That ,and the heartbreakingly beautiful silence that resonates within that unfinished space.



I love this building.It's like the agony aunt I never had,the shoulder that never was.This is where I pour it all out,not the usual hair tug-teeth gnash inducing stuff,but also some anguished wondering.It's not a place to vent frustration or something though.Sometimes I also unwind,listen to something Coldplay,and write a bit,like I am now.


What makes it a good retreat is that everything-every emotion that you throw at the stone walls rebounds and returns to you.You would think that this kind of a boomerang sounds plain awful,but it isn't like that.You just have to sit there and drown in the thought that's plaguing you till it engulfs you and you finally learn to accept it.Then,then, the pain,the resentment or whatever it is that's bothering you,ceases.
Quiet.
Eternal,evasive,unattainable quiet.


People aren't usually crazy about a landscape of stone.Not me though.Spare me your rolling hills and your bloody bloomin' flowers.

Give me some raw wet cement,some bare stone, swirls of dust clouds flying about the place and a patch of endless sky to watch.All of it.
Give me a place that's comforting in its constancy,etched irremovably on my course, as if in stone.
Give me a place that is as soulful as it is simple.
Give me a world with no mirrors,save the ones you find in other people.
Give me a world with music everywhere,like an orchestra on autopilot.

And that's why,everyday,at 1 p.m,I have my lunch up on the third floor of an unfinished building.

We watch.We wait.

When is the end?
Everyone faces trials.Trials test people,and reward them with pure unadulaterated joy at the end.The survivor is crowned and all is forgotten as he catches up with long sought peace.
The question is : How long do these trials last?

All of us pay.Pay for our foolishness.Pay for our sins.Pay for our "free" lunches.Pay in exchange for any small glory.No more.I'm broke.I can't pay anymore.

I want to know where my redemption is ,and when it will come find me.

I want to know when the present will become the past and rest ,closed, as an unceremonious chapter in history,forgotten in the wake of a great new beginning.I wait for the day my trial ends,and the jury acknowledges my survival and makes suitable compensation.I don't want to consider the possibility that this day will never come,for hope ..I must.

Hope is all that I have.How pitiful it is that I hope,even as the night fades into a cold dreary morning.Cold mornings are pretty only in Jane Austen's novels and in books about hiking expeditions to Antarctica.Sunshine is what I want for my life.

I want to go ashore,or sink in the deluge.Staying afloat amidst the currents can be very tiring.
Watching and waiting as of now,is passe,and how we all hate anything passe.

Tissue paper

Your warm hands envelop me,
You pull me to your side.
I try real hard to dry your tears,
Disinfect you from inside.

But then crumpled,I come down.
Laugh lines gone,I wear a little frown.
And then the equation sinks in,
I'm tissue paper headed for the nearest bin.

I bet you've heard of phoenixes,though
And how they rise from the ashes on the ground.
I fancy I'm taking on that colour myself,
I prepare to be used again ;the tissue paper waits to be found.

Then why has something changed today?
Some strength has come along!
I'm sorry,but orchestrating to your song
Isn't gonna work for long.

So don't get me started
On your silly lil insecurities,
Our unfathomable disparities.
The sinking realities...

I know you push me down one minute
And give me a hand the next.
I also know you try to apologise
By sending me some hilarious texts.
I know you cried last evening,
When he didn't return your call.
I can sense when you're feeling euphoric,
I try to help when you fall.

I don't know if I'm eligible to be called your best friend.
But all i know is I've been one,from the start to the end.

Why won't you acknowledge my shadow,
I know who you are inside.
Face it ,I'm not tissue paper.
I just might be your real guide.

Awkward silences

Silence is never soothing.Not for me atleast.
When there is something happening,there is sound.
When there is nothing left to happen,that is when there is deathly,hollow and numbening silence.And the thought scares me.

Tell me something new.Tell me something old.
Narrate.Recite.Sing.Laugh.Cry.Whisper.Mumble...just don't offer me that scary silence.

Goddamn it,is it so hard for you to say something to me?
I find it hard to believe that friends can suddenly disconnect.

As a last resort,please tell me you were friggin' kidding me. :|

Bleak mornings

I.hate.overcast.mornings.

This is quite a change.I used to love the sudden rain showers which are something of an acquaintance to people like me ,who live in the Deccan Plateau.However,all the monsoons have been doing lately is ruining my plans.Plans to go out.Plans to meet for lunch.Plans to take a walk in the shopper friendly Brigade road.Plans to raid the panipuri stalls that dot my locality.Basically,all plans which do not involve me sitting morosely at home ,playing Scrabble with myself.Yes,I am aware my life is sad as of now.Big picture please!!!:x

Whatever happened to the rain showers which would last for quarter of an hour,and then vanish quite nicely,leaving behind an optimistic rainbow or two?
Guess the weather is quite keen on imitating the economy,seeing as both have decided to come crashing down.

However,I'm a wee bit thankful to this bleak morning.It's given me a chance to blog,and is that kheer I smell in the kitchen ?

Well...maybe bleak mornings aren't half as bad as I thought they were.
I sincerely hope this foul weather clears up though.I want to be able to resume wandering aimlessly around the city,with my best buds in tow.