Morning Runner- Burning Benches.....on repeat
Let us make amends, we’re not overly good friends, but its not Heaven without you. You can have it all, we’ll see Mountains fall, but it’s not Heaven without you.
It’s the symphony distorting, when were not talking, but its not Heaven, without you.
There’s just something different, With the air about you, The signs, the shapes, the numbers, none of them give me a clue You can have it all
and im not Burning Benches cos the ash would make me choke It was me who always spluttered every time we spoke, you can have it all

Apupa's gone. And ever since that black Valentine's, I've been wondering how to proceed on this blog. I couldn't write about him at all for a while and I couldn't write anything else on this blog without paying him a tribute. So here it is. A tribute of sorts. I've mashed together stories i heard about him, stuff i remember. Feelings distributed themselves evenly among everyone he knew. Good feelings. Warm fuzzy ones. Respectful ones.

Too little, too late.
I wish I'd hugged him more.
I wish I'd sat with him a while or been around more.
But even enough of it all, now i know and believe,
wouldn't've been enough to console me
and make me not 'wish' anymore.

My earliest story about him that i used to tell people with exasperated affection was when we would be far off in a different state and living our important lives and we'd spare a few minutes on the phone for him. His conversation on the phone would be punctuated with millions of questions about things that i thought were silly. My favourite was "Have you remembered to turn off the gas?"
My most recent is him pestering my grandmum to within an inch of her life with the same repeated question said with varying levels of emotion-accusatory, casual inquiry, in-passing, in all seriousness etc. "Are you taking care of Sharu?" usually followed by "Have you fed her?"
When we lived in Bangalore he'd suddenly turn up at home in the morning after we'd left for school or office and my mum was alone at home. Just to check on her under the pretext of having breakfast and then he'd rush back home because all he'd said there was "I'll be back in a bit". Everyone knew of course.

I'm told he was a very soft-spoken man so much so that when ever he raised his voice, even to call out to someone, people thought he was angry. He once gave a speech at a HUGE family gathering, a powerful mic under his nose, and not one person beyond the second row heard a word of it.
He was the only man i knew who literally carried a walking stick. Not once did it touch the floor while he walked. It's like he had it along for the ride.
Once for my mum's birthday he brought home a mini-amusement park.
You knew he was in an affectionate mood when he pinched his bottomlip between his teeth, smiled and patted you on the shoulder.
If he was ever in Charlie's chocolate factory he'd run them outta business. He had the biggest sweet tooth you could never imagine. He'd have dessert before lunch.
He'd blush furiously and giggle or swat at us if we kissed him on the cheek.
He never failed to say 'mind your head' when i walked past the stairs.
Everyday for twenty years he locked the three foot high harmless front gate. Every day.

How can you stay dry while writing an obituary for such a man. I didn't. But i sucked it up. Like I do everytime i leave the house. I feel guilty for wanting this feeling to pass but nevertheless it will. Life goes on after death. It always does.

She's Gonna Break

(A very apt title from one of Less Than Jake's songs.)

I wrote something in class today that I am half disturbed by and half deliriously joyful about.

It was gory and bloody and so unlike what i stick to. I'm usually subtle about violence-depicting the aftermath or events preceding it. This is because i know that nothing make-up and write can rival a person's imagination. So i take the more effective (yet easy) way out.

Point in fact- its not my style to write something that includes the words 'bloody stumps'. Apparently now it is. I feel like its a barrier I've broken. And it feels good.

But of course, as some sort of unconscious response to what I thought was non-existent societal pressure, immediately after the disturbing piece I wrote a 'normal' one. (Well, for me anyway)

A dent in my momentous 'toeing the line' incident.

Eh, I'll live with it.

The Slump of 08

Well, life's full of ups and downs they say. (I must find 'them' and have a chat with 'them')
And i'm in one of em 'downs' people.

Its a freaky place to be. But anyway, at least i'm getting some writing done. :) I have retreated into the literary world of late. And though depressing it is that i can only manage tp put together something literary when i'm depressed, it is the truth. I got out of the funk of writing about depressing things a long time ago, though. I now write what i want to write and not what i feel like. There's a difference, trust me.
Notebooks that i have hoarded like a pack rat and never used have to be dragged out of hidey-holes. And that is not something I'm familiar with. I'm actually thinking about publishing some and that's definitely new. Definitely.

Another world i'm retreating into is that of the cinema. I have watched a shitload of film(yes singular, not plural). Seriously. Five movies after which i truly thank the gods for their existence (the films, not the gods.) I've never given it enough credit. I think its an art; being able to sit motionless, in one place so engrossed in a fictional(well, mostly) character's sordid (or unsordid) life while holding your pee in long enough for you to consider that your kidneys could be failing any minute now. I made it to the loo. Just in case anyones wondering.

As a rebellious action 'gainst my literary inspirations, i'm going to leave all the 'i's from the 'I's and 'I'm's uncapitalized! So there! Depression, i ain't your bitch!
(seriously that was a huge step for me. i don't like spelling stupid words like 'douche bag' wrong. And i have the annoying habit of correcting people's english. Ah well, screw it. If its wrong, its wrong.)

And all jokes aside. I know that somethings going to happen. I'm teetering on the precipice. Waiting for that feather-touch to send me over the edge. Its not a bad thing. Its just.....imminent. And i'm ready for it.

Disgusting

Its disgusting!
I just heard from sources (youtube) that Mcfly maybe signing a strange contract with McDonald's that will put pictures of them on every McDonald's carton in the UK. This in itself isn't disgusting (ok mebbe a tad. They're objectifying themselves!). What is disgusting is that if they do sign the contract then their album release date will be pushed back to September!! ARGH! Its disgusting and I refuse to remove the countdown timer thing i had so painstakingly put up a few days ago. I am going to be a dumbbunny and still hope and pray that the date stays the same. Meanwhile I'm listening to Here's another song for the radio amidst woeful sighs.
Tats.

Three a.m

Thanks to kristopher and pari. Their reactions helped me click the 'publish' button.

I feel like my whole entire life is passing me by. That I am twenty and I haven’t a revelation to my name. I fear my entire life will pass by in replica decades and that I will be left an old woman with regrets that clutch at her throat, bringing her to tears ever so often. Nothing to achieve. Nothing to look forward to. Just a vacuum ironically filled with hope yet reigning back hope to replace it with pessimism.
I am in turmoil. I am in constant contradiction of my pessimistic thoughts. Yet it remains. Like a cold stone in my gut. Immovable, impassable, ever-present. I’m beginning to realize that I am beginning to give in to this stone and its call. It is inscribed with the stories of millions of others, as human and imperfect as I, who just gave up. Who surrendered because it was too difficult to make a life in their world.

I often pray to a god I do not believe in. I pray feverishly for me to be transported back to a time where I will feel at ease with myself and those around me. I grit my teeth as I pray. Knowing how foolish I must sound. For this reason I would never voice my turmoil to a soul. It remains within my being. As though bound to the stone in my gut. The stone of the losers-the people who have given up. Who let fear feed on their persona and let the stone become a cancerous growth that becomes heavier and heavier till it consumes them whole and stiffens the blood in their veins.
Why must I be like this? I believe I have talent. I believe that I am as good as most out there yet I am bogged down by my eyes that register every movement of those I envy and by the thoughts that enter my head as my eyes are feverishly taking in all they can. The thoughts dissuade me. The thoughts make me feel like I have nowhere to go. That I have reached a deadly plateau of ‘average’ and have ceased any forward movement.
My body tingles as I write this because the truth does that. It makes you tingle in places. Your neck, your head, your stomach. It makes you feel like your pores are vibrating. Like they are all alive at once. I have often felt this. When I fall into bed and am still for the first time in a day. Then they vibrate. But that is a good vibration. They thank me for the work I did. For making them feel alive, for making them work together. But this is different. They want to no longer work as a unit but as individuals. I want to give in to them. But all I do is run my fingers hard through my hair to create a rival sensation. To forget their tingling. Or at least to mask it. To mask their traitorous aim. To feel whole again. But they continue. They continue to whisper, to vibrate and whisper pleas of freedom. But no I will not let them go. I will not let them be individual. I will deny them their pleasure as I feel I have been denied mine.
The stone is my gut is feeling warm. It is often warm as it shrinks. I run my hands hard through my hair, over my shoulders, down my arms and over my stomach. The tingling is going away, but it echoes still in my wretched memory, lingering as a warning of it return. But then that will be in a while, when I feel hopeless again. When I think of giving up again. When I am weak again.
For now I am safe. I feel the warmth of confidence. I decide on which smile to smile. The one that makes my one dimple show, I think. That one is a winner on most days, on most people. I square my shoulders. I suck in my gut. I walk into the room and I am me again. No one must ever know.

Cellphone Celibacy

It is that time of the year again when people jeer at me, laugh and point fingers and call me careless. (other than the other times in the year)
I have lost another phone.

The date: 10th of june (two days after my birthday might i add)
The time: approx ten to nine p.m
The place: The railway station at Delhi.
The company: MM

If anyone sees a light blue cellphone with the numbers rubbed off the keypad please return it to its rightful and mourning owner. It is either on the railway platform at Nizammudin station or in the Rajdhani on its way to Bangalore.
Some people might laugh, some shake heads condescendingly, some sympathize but nothing will bring back my constant companion who served me well through our short-lived relations. He was a dear friend, a trustworthy store of information (ALL those numbers!!) and a faithful alarm when nothing else could wake my kumbhakarna self.
Fare thee well my friend and as a last favour, please electrocute the sob that has you now. Well. As much as you can anyway.

Something that made me laugh hysterically today:

MM suddenly remembers in class what we were trying to in lucknow and writes it down in the middle of a very serious class.
"I just remember what she said! Shellfish! She said 'don't be shellfish' ''
I'm shaking with mirth. And she's sitting beside me, looking politely interested in the lecture. I shake further.

Dubba and me standing outside my home trying to catch an auto for the better part of an hour today. She stops one and they talk and she walks off in a huff toward me.
"What did he say?" i ask, mildly interested.
Dubba says with poorly concealed chagrin:
He said "twenty bucks"!
And i said "why" and he said "to sit in the auto."
So i said "You, bloody, you take your auto and go"
I laughed. Very hard. Hung onto her arm for support, I did. If you didn't find that funny then you're the strange one. Not me.

The Truly Hellish Thing (Title copywright: MM)

First read this. Munch's explanation of the hellish thing we had to do over the last summer.

Sigh. If only i could go back in time. Where would i go you ask? Well, I'd go back to the moment that i was born and then i would take a knife and become "crazy-lady-who-stabs-newborn-infant". yes, i would kill myself. And this is why.
Today was the second day of the hellish thing we have to do this summer and let me tell you I'd be happier in a vat of cockroaches and that creepy boy in ninth standard whom (who?) noone liked.
i was in an ad agency. I'm not gonna name it because, well, i wouldn't want those people to lose business over a post on my blog that has a million viewers. now that that little fantasy is over, the name's Xebec.
*takes deep breath* Because i need this to continue and to not go into paraxosyms(? haha!) of an absolute mental nature! Today's only saving grace was that it was actually a tad, a smidgeon really, no a speck. Wait....a DUSTMITE) better than yesterday. Chronologically ordered account follows. I suggest you take deep breath as well and attain comfortable position for a VERY long rant.

Yesterday: I call the 'man' at nine thirty asking him what time "would be best to come into the office". He says very politely, "any time". I should've gotten a hint from that vague answer but i'm a little thick when it comes to things like this. In retrospect, I'm amazingly insightful. But in the moment i'm thick.
So i saunter into the office at around ten thirty and am greeted by a clueless receptionist who looks absolutely thrilled when the phone rings mid-conversation with me. So it went:

"Yes, hello! I'm here for an internship"
(and i quote) "EH?"
I was very eloquent at this point. "Internship? I'm here for that."
"ah" he pretends to understand but then there's an awkward pause where i am staring at him and he at me and we both come to realizations at the same time:
I realize that he, in fact, hasn't understood and he realizes that I know he doesn't have a clue.
*phone rings*
Man looks utterly relieved and picks up. I'm just standing there, counting to five while he sticks up one supercilious finger in my face.
Finally, after much ado, I am met by the general manager, the very sweet and vague man whom i had spoken to on the phone and he tells me he doesn't have time to brief me since he is very very busy with a project. i reheally didn't mind considering that if he was VERY VERY busy, then his second-in-command was VERY busy and that meant that the bottom feeders in the office were just plain busy. Then at least some of that 'busy' should pass down to me right? I was good to go! Raring to learn, you might say. (Yes, me)
He introduced me to a woman who took me to her desk and gave me a small talking to. Then she gave me a small stapled bunch of leaflets and asked me to come up with ideas.
Task assigned : 11:01
Task completed: 11:35
Outcome: Twiddling of thumbs till 2:oo pm.
I didn't do ANYTHING for the next two and a half hours! Just sat there, wishing the office would explode in a shower of ash and screams. (In most scenarios i was the suicide bomber)
At this point, the woman notices that my thumbs are sore bloody stumps from all the twiddling and says "You live nearby no? You can go home for lunch if want"
Me (mid explosion in imaginary suicide bombing no 74): "Reaaly? Ok! For how long?"
"One hour, one and a half hours" (my god! these people want to get rid of me BAD)
"Ok, I'll be back at three thirty?"
I returned at three forty five to find that the building had been blown up. No, that was just vile imagination.
I got another task in the afternoon that went on for the better part of the next morning as well.
I got to: *drumroll*
look through a HUMONGINORMOUS bundle of Times supplements for real estate ads of some Bangalore townships.
Someone should've just struck me with a lightning bolt.

Today: A dustmite better than yesterday.

On a completely different matter, I am working for another ad agency starting tomorrow.

They're here.

I know whats happening when:

The walls begin to close in. The ceiling sings a nasty Basckstreet Boys song as it lowers to crush me.
The windows become tinier and tinier, blocking out all light and sound(except that goddamn song)
My friends vanish.
Nothing is a comfort.
And all in all I have the overpowering need to ESCAPE!


Oh god, the exams are here.

Cheerio!

Once Upon a Blog

• Once upon a blog i was actually funny. The funny bone has left. It packed its tiny polka dotted hanky, tied it to a stick, blew a raspberry in my face and tottered off down the road to never-lay-eyes-on-me-again-land.

Once upon a blog i wanted to update this here page every single day. I had to force myself to do it today.

• 
  Once upon a blog there were four. Now they're three.

Once upon a blog i could write about sheep and make people laugh. Uh, I'm a little glad thats over.

• 
  Once upon a blog i had no aspirations but only needs. Glad that's changed.

Once upon a blog i was content, now i'm not. I'm drained. Its a phase i hope it'll pass soon.

An update is an update. I hope the template is well recieved. Until next time.

Gubai Lethargy

I'm starting my internship today!! I can't wait! I've been moping around the house making life hell for me n ma family. For once in a long time I had absolutely NO assignments or tests! I went into laziness mode and haven't surfaced from it for a week and a half! At least some good things have come out of it:

1. I've read six books full blown novels. (The intelligent ones not the crappy ones. *did neone say m n b's?)
2. I mastered the art of staring into space for prolonged periods of time without passing out or without appearing to be passed out.
3. I have never eaten so much in my entire life!!!
4. I don't think i remember how to write.
5. I have added numerous dimensions to the art of surfin the net
6. I am officially a couch potato (I know the TV schedule by heart. Whats that? "When does ER come on?" TUESDAYS @ 10 and then the repeat is at 10 in the morning the next day.)
7. I learnt that if you walk real slow them people don't really ask you to do stuff.
8. I learnt that it is only when you really wanna iron your clothes and go out after AGES that the power goes kaput.
9. I've learnt that it is possible to sleep from 11 @ nite and get up at 6 a.m only to go back to sleep at 8:30 and get up at 3:30 p.m. (This I'm proud of)
10. And finally, it has come to my notice that I am destined never to successfully drive anything more than a two wheeler.

CHEERS!

Wells dry up for heaven's sake

"Sharanya! Hey write me a poem yaar! Here's the pen and paper and everything!"
I stared at the human who had dared disturb my silent appraisal of the sky. I became completely transfixed, noticing flaws that weren't there before.
I looked at her and then the pen and the measly scrap of paper in her hand that she erringly had referred to as 'everything'. She looked a little like a lost puppy dog-forlorn and hopeful at the same time.
"What?" I managed to mutter.
"I heard from ***** that you write poetry! C'mon man!"
Apparently she was gender confused as well.
I held my breath to avoid making her the subject of an outburst she probably didn't deserve. I stayed still hoping that if i did she would stop seeing me. It jus barely managed to work-the first i mean-not the second.
She was still looking at me(It occurred to me that she could be looking through me but I'd resigned myself to my fate a second later). I wondered if she had blinked, or even moved in the last five minutes. I decided that she hadn't. I tussled with two unequally appealing options-telling her to buzz off and never bother me with creative requests again or write her a poem and be done with it. She was still looking at me.
When she looked like she would collapse from exhaustion I took the stationery from her shivering hands, grumbling silently, with a half smile on my face. I stared at it for a while. Nice time for my 'endless well of creativity' to dry up. I was tempted to tell her that my three year old cousin would be a better bet right now.
I finally put pen to paper and was silently congratulating myself when she chirped somewhere near my left cochlea-"What'reyouwriting?"
Refraining to state the obvious I looked at her for a minute then looked down. Damn-the pen had lifted-I'd have to start all over again.
Needless to say-or is it?- I survived. I did manage to write her a poem-the work I'm most ashamed of to date. She seemed quite pleased(It had her name in it) and it made me a better person, at least in her eyes. Alls well that ends well! Ciao for now! I have things to do-write bad poetry for one.

MIDGET UPDATE

The midget is missing. He is number ten on the Interpol's Most Wanted List. Apparently that isn't enough. He is reported to be in hiding with another fugitive(I'm not hinting at anything here) in some mountains North(or was it South) of Afghanistan(or was it Argentina).
His description is---small ruffian-looking, vertically challenged, semi Homo-Sapien with a scruffy beard and a hammer the size of China (as mentioned before). Sometimes answers to the name 'Hagar'.
If spotted please contact nearest Interpol headquarters(I know they're hard to locate. Stop whining) or me because there is a HUGE reward in store for the lucky man/woman/co-conspiring midget. (I'm not saying the reward is really huge, but it ain't small either...unless you compare it with something else...smaller...maybe then. But its not huge-huge...maybe you could say big..not big-big. Something like that anyway. Confused? So was I. Just call in you greedy pigs.)
More updates later.

Headaches, Midgets and Munch

It's such a strange feeling when you're happy after a long time. Its like meeting a different person-metaphorically speaking(whatever that means). It is also very strange (but not uncommon) when you have a truckload of work to do but you just couldn't be bothered. (just couldn't give a #&*@ #%+!! to be clearer) Listening ta music and adding nonsensical things to your blog, eating copious amounts of ice cream and twiddling yout thumbs become extremly important activities. Seriously! I haven't had such time for myself in so LONG!(my thumbs hurt)
My back hurts (adding to the agony in the thumbs) and don't ask me about my head (i know you won't so i'm gonna tell you without further ado) My head hurts. Tumor bad. The entire left side is pounding! Yet i have to sit three inches away from the computer screen for as long as i can, squint at small print books in bad light and and watch TV avidly. Self pity is the best way to go during times like these. Its a HUGE comfort. Helping yourself is just plain loserish.
College was hilarious today. I got a 'WOW' on my paper from LV. If you're thinking thats a good thing then you're highly mistaken.
Munch had a nice.....uhh lets say-discussion...with Kana in the middle of the staircase with a large crowd being entertained on the sidelines. I managed to sell a few tickets here and there-all in all quite a profit. Osh was too busy cowering in a small puddle of embarassement so I cashed in today!!(haha! my evil plan of taking over the world economy is within reach!)
Stayed with mortified munch for a while, then returned home to wallow in self pity and the splitting headache.
My dad has this interesting theory that having a headache is quite like having a small vindictive barbarian in your head, who just keeps pounding away inside there with grim satisfaction. He has a mallet the size of China and takes great pleasure in thumping you with it. The mallet goes down,the midget goes up, the mallet goes up and the midget goes down, then the mallet goes...oh you get the hang of it-i think. (If you haven't then stop reading my blog)
Me n him (the barbarian) have become quite good friends over our week long companionship. I christened him Hagar-Headache Hagar recently. ( I know the name is taken. Deal with it.) There was a party and everything. I even managed ta sneak a bottle of Champagne in and crash it on his head when he wasn't looking. (Don't worry, he's fine. The stitches are almost completely healed.)
For all my complaining we manage to exchange pleasantries between thumps( he is a busy man-what with all the thumping and all)
THUMP!
Shar: "Hi there hagar! Back again are you?"
THUMP!
Hagar:"*Grunt*"
THUMP
Shar: "Oh I'm doing perfect!! Almost can't feel you in there!"
THUMP!
Hagar: "Grunt grunt*"
(Well he's not a conversationalist, not one for small talk, or any kind of talk for that matter but he is a busy man)
That was our last conversation. Will keep you posted. (haha! get it!? "will keep you posted" I crack myself up i tell you!)

Holy **** its Holi

hello world!
its me! Utterly bored and regretting every minute of this agony..I have been a social recluse for two days now. No that is not what I am agonizing about or what I'm regretting. I have writer's block!!! Thank god i have my blog to write utter muck in! Which is my second favourite activity after lazing around in front of the tv.
The Idiot box has completely taken over my life!! It has I tell you! Today is Holi(The festival of colours) and all i can think of is whether its time for dinner yet (my stupid cellphone tells me its 3:25 p.m) I officially have had writer's block since 10 a.m and its still going strong-hence the boring post. Maybe if i copy one of my poems here it'll inspire me. But i'm too bored to do tat so i think i'll jus stare at the screen for a while.....*stare stare stare stare sigh stare stare sigh*
It dint work. I notice my screen is disgustingly dirty though. I think its still displaying remnants of a bug i swatted on it a few years ago. Rather than describe the dry, flaky substance i visciously scraped at to clean my murky screen, I'm gonna change the topic. My research paper is due tomorrow and i don't think I know how to spell the title leave alone write twenty pages on it. Two marks a day are going to be deducted for the late lathiefs. I wonder how they're going to mark me if they don't have a positive total when i do finally give it in. My right shoulder aches savagely and all i can do is stretch which jus makes me more lethargic. Tis a viscious circle i tell you. Hey i have a poem about being lazy..I'll put it up here. For real this time. *stare stare stare sigh scrape scrape sigh* I'm gonna post it I tell you! I will I will! Here it is, you bunch of sceptics!

A stretch, a yawn

a purr of lethargy

horizontally i adorn

my bed like an effigy

Verticality? Tis a myth

I know no such thing

All my kin and kith

are as lazy. Its astounding.

I'm a sloth you say?

Why thank you, my dear!

How can i repay

your statement of truth so clear.

Well you can name call or whine

but sticks and stones'..

vehemently say "Fine!"

but I'll always remain a LAZYBONES!

I'M BACK BABY!!!