The Silence of My Voice

For the better part of the year, most days were dead reality. They came in each day with no itinerary, or an upshot. We really put the motion, in going through the motions; so much so, just an old song was enough on days to unnerve. There are  a lot of people, who lost a thing or a person too many this year. Jobs, family, friends, projects, hopes, dreams... A lot of things, for a lot of us died this year. As one of the smarter species, we're quite brainlessly assaying to depart to better things, only because we couldn't hold on to a good thing. That's a folly. No one ever found anything better by leaving a good thing behind. You find a good thing, feel lucky for having so, and work to the bone at making it better. And, this is an underlying issue with most of us - assuming we'll find a better thing, because we have gotten used to having everything facilely. And, even more of us have forgotten that struggle is what makes that good thing far superior, because you know you...

In my teens, I dreamt about everything materialistic. In my early 20s, I dreamt about money. In my latter 20s, well, there's a lot more. We grow, we grow up, and we place a price on what's vital to have. We put a value to worth in diverse measures. Even ourselves. Especially, ourselves. Whoever taught us, or told us that we're the kind to which a denomination can be placed. It's easy to believe good things about yourself; easier to believe the bad ones.  We're often not very hospitable to ourselves. We're all torn between believing whether we're virtuous of our own love, or not. I'm not very implicit at this point, why we're in a steady battle with ourselves because of others' demeanours. It's an impact, sure. But, I feel we give too much of a voice to others, before we remember to give ours a value.  I've always felt criticism, feedback, and discipline is the healthiest way to grow. And, I hold a deep respect, in a place very personal in...

I love me a Jade plant. The most arresting thing about Jades is that you can shape it any way you like. You prune it one way, and it grows bushier there.  Concoct a scenario of being able to snip parts of yourself to grow in that direction. All of us are  always someplace else. Now concoct another, of a dimension where you are exactly who you want to be.  An isotope of you in another time. What are they doing? Are you already that person? Do you even want to be? If so, are you doing enough to be that person?  Think hard, and think fast about your gears, that hurt you the most. And, then think a lot on them. either you'll start loving those parts, or you'll want to prune them away.  The most sublime slant about our minds is, they're always in a state of repair. And, it doesn't stop because, miserably enough, we don't. We keep piling the trash can, but never take it out. If there was a routine cleansing machine for the mind, you wouldn't be mindful about which of ...

Hello. It's Day One! It's been quite a few months since I wrote  Ink . It's been quite a year up until now, I dare say. I'd also rather actually not, considering my life sets itself up as an appropriate illustration for, if there's ever a book to be written, about the unexpected. This year has most sufficiently (I don't know for whose benefit), has run by me like a speeding train.  2016 couldn't pass any slower, and 2017 just wouldn't halt. The velocity with which it went by, makes me feel as though if I look back, it'll all be painted up in a big, black blotch. Funny, that it isn't. It's really has been one of the most memorable years of my life. It falls under the category of one of those years where every occurrence only led to something else - more and better, or diminishing or worse, are two different stories altogether. It almost felt like I was back in the space where I was halfway through college. I had routine. I had familiar...

Her hands, withered yet supple handed me the little black books. I found her speaking with a voice roughened with wisdom, repeating the same words I'd heard last in a voice much flintier than hers, "Sky is the limit, Barfi. He taught your mother this. You must inherit it."  Aware of everything the books cloaked, anxiety also misted over me knowing I'll be taking them away from whom they've always belonged to, the sky it belonged beneath. I could feel myself sinking into a conundrum by each second as I touched the wilting leather hardback of the diary that held his entire life. "What if I can't crack it?", shilly-shallying my indecisiveness as always. The bleak moment I saw her smile sardonically like never before, I felt a menial catastrophe that slight action instigated enveloping me.  "Must you be so distrusting of yourself? You're quite like him in a way."  Thrown back by her words, I failed to understand if my behaviour, and more...

Overly sweet coffee, and the underestimated bland tea, Broken spines of a book, and fallen leaves of the gingery tree, Boisterous silences, and the straining piano notes, Broken phone networks, and prudently hearted notes, Loquacious senses, and sardonic tongues, Unknown ignorances, and methodical glances, Stolen truths, and concealing lies, Surreptitious smiles, and reluctant cries, Starry nights, and tacitly retired drives, Solitary overhauls, and conjoined cautions, Supervised footsteps, and the agreeable wind chimes, Blistering softness, and the disquieting light, Fleeting sheets, and dented bolsters, Desiccated  throats, and clammily sultry bodies, Unkempt love, and the copious confessions, The incessant denials, and the fate's laughter in your face.  Oh, the inevitability of things. Reminiscent, Ak.  

What am I doing here? What is everybody doing here? What if I'm the only actual human and the rest are my mind's projections? What if the world doesn't exist? What if we were manufactured out of a machine and hoisted upon a matrix mind device right after the machines spit us out? Okay, moment-of-crisis over. I keep wondering all the time if what I'm studying for, isn't what I'm supposed to be in life.What if I'm supposed to be a writer, and should've pursued English(Hons.), and spent my life writing and drinking coffee with a cigarette in my mouth, carrying expensive hand-crafted diaries with fountain pens holding onto its cover? What if I was destined to be a secret agent? Or, maybe a guitarist?  They say, we're born with a purpose to pursue, and it's up to us to figure it out. Often we're faced with multiple choices in life, and narrowing them down to one, when you love all of them, is a soul-crushing act. Well, Sanya once told me that...

Things we do not expect happen more often than we wish. Anticipation of something that's never going to happen in your hopeful possibilities is the worst form of human torture. Ask a dying man his last wish. Seldom would you find one asking for nothing. Sounds hilarious, doesn't it? Someone dying with all their wishes fulfilled. And that's where the crux of it all lies. The entire gist of it comes down to letting go. We, humans, take immense pride in embracing what mutilates us. We're nurtured with the notion to endeavour whatever it is that we want till our last breath, and if we don't achieve it, die trying. I'm sure the grass is always greener on the other side, and when I reach there, I can see the weeds up close. Until then, I'll try watering my own premature grass. You'll be told to attempt harder, but none will appreciate if you find your own America. We are used to seeing results, but the effort is what we ignore. We brand those strong who try to...

Amarillo todas las.....!!!!!!!!!!! Okay, so maybe I was able to put through the story of The Chronicles Of April Levesque  forward in a bit more convincing way. It had been a boiling night when she saw him. She was on her mission. Clad in a red evening gown, she crossed through the security undetected- as usual- toward the crowd. She was too beautiful to amputate your eyes from. She approached the bar and chose a goblet of white wine. It had always suited her fine- light, sweet and easy on her nerves. It wasn't long till Chenkov set his eyes on her. Being the reputed Don Juan, he tried flattering her with all he had. Contrary to her sensations, she played pretence. The last thing she wanted was to be identified. Knowing the satyr he was, she easily made her way to his suite. But then slipping in a pill was never the hardest of jobs she'd done. That was the basics when she was being trained. Drooling over her as if wasn't enough that he fell on the bed with a thump! E...

Hola   compañeros! So, first hand I'd ACTUALLY thank Ruhani. It's been almost an year since I wanted to blog, but never did I gather enough energy to step out of my oh-so-dearest POOH BEAR blanket (you don't need to laugh on it). This little freak is strikingly inspiring at times; best part is that she remains unaware of it half the time!  It's my first blog, so you'd rather want to pardon me for being silly or boring or any interesting adjective you'd like to impose onto me.  For all of those growing confused about the Spanish post title, since I'm talking of the beginning of my blogs, thence, it clearly means 'THE BEGINNING'. No, I'm not a Spanish pro; my dad taught me a bit which he learnt during his MBA years. I've always been taught of the significance of a 'beginning'. It's funny how people always talk of it in all ways they can't even comprehend. What I find funny is the fact of displaced mystery of an end. They ...