Trench.

Right now, my mind is a malleable trench of emotions and thoughts,

easily swayed as the gust of wind,

but also as composed as a stubborn ox,

maybe it has a mind of its own,

how ridiculous,

if my mind has a mind of its own,

unconditionally untamed by me,

then what is it that I can do?

should I tap into the inner realms of my mind

to remind it of my integrity?

or must I surrender to it?

it feels stupid, of course,

to dictate terms just because I want to,

but then, how do I stop feeling things that I

shouldn’t if I don’t break the silly trench free?

INCOHERENT.

I blink as a blank sheet of paper looks at me, impassively. I look straight back at it as if it would help me conjure some words. Any words. Just any string of words that form meaningful sentences. In fact, I am fine with sentences that bear no meaning too. How can I expect a meaning from nothingness?

Coffee, may be a cup of coffee will push me, invoke my senses, and help me put some words on paper. But hello, how can I do absolutely anything when my mind is soaking in a deluge of thoughts? Thoughts that are strong. Thoughts that are mundane. Thoughts that are half-baked. Thoughts that ache. Thoughts that put me to an ease. And thoughts that don't. If all nooks and corners of mind are occupied with bits and pieces of everything, how can I find a room for eloquence? But I try because that's what I do.

I'm starting to think that a lot of beginnings are paved with endings. And that sunsets signify a life wasted over beauty and charm. What's worth living if you don't witness a sunrise in the hills, over beaches, and in cities that break you down? I'm starting to wonder if you can call your best kiss the first kiss? And if you can leave little notes of goodness each time you leave a coffee shop? I'm trying to figure out if there's more to life than love and loss, and how success is a parameter of achievement! I'm beginning to imagine if there's life somewhere else. And what if nights weren't really made for sleeping? What would we do then? Bare our souls out?

I'm wondering if my curiosity will do me more harm than good like it killed the cat. And how will I know that if I'm not curious? Fudge!

Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cs1e0fRyI18

Growing Up.

A week before my birthday, I used to hand out individual letters to my parents. On 4-lined papers torn from my notebook, I used to write a list of things I wanted for the birthday. Yes, I was totally that kid who loved her birthday. Throughout the week, I used to carefully go through the details of the party, the invitations, and the cake. I fussed about everything. In fact, somewhere between fussing over my birthday to hoping I wouldn't grow up in a jiffy, I grew into a young girl with an ambition of creating something truly exquisite with her life. And now, as I metamorphose into a woman who has reached a certain age in life where her decisions and thoughts will certainly be questioned, I wonder about so many things. So much is running in my mind right now that I'll need tons of perspective to sort everything out.

I was talking to my friend the other day about a little trip I took, and he commented that he's proud of me because I rarely step out of my comfort zone. Well, I guess he's right because it troubles me a great deal when new plans ambush me, or when things happen out of my control. But then, they happen all the time. I'm learning to deal with them. I'm learning to make spaces for my mistakes, desires, flaws, and changing ideologies. However, I must admit, I'm still not there yet.

When you turn 26, you are expected to behave in a certain fashion. I mean, I'm just 4 years away from 30 (the very thought scares me), and I'm supposed to be more responsible, sensible, and maybe even put together. But here am I, grappling with insecurities and darkness. At the core, I confess I'm still selfish and play to please my ego. You'll never find me questioning my choices or decisions. Unfortunately, even the wrong ones. I'm beginning to think if they'll start defining me. You see this whole point of growing up is starting to take a toss on me. And so are these incoherent thoughts!

Some days, I find it truly hard to get out of my bed. On days like that, I truly wish my mother would come knocking at my door with a cup of coffee. I often find myself unsure about myriad things and people in my life. Despite everything, I wake up in the morning thankful for their presence. And then there are nights when absolutely everything seems bleak. Even the brightest possibilities. And yet I find someone I can call and cry to. Someone who just sits still on the other end of the call, listening to my sobs and never uttering a single word. I am certain about quite a few things in life and they are probably these. Now, I even know that growing up is a lot like getting into a battle with your mind. Growing up is a lot like choosing between your heart's desires and mind's sensibilities. It's a lot like picking your fights wisely. Growing up is no fun, especially when you have to make these choices every waking moment in your life and woefully live with them. Nonetheless, we all do, since we have no way around cutting this growing up thing.

So this year, as I realize that my mother won't be cooking me my favourite fried rice and aloor dum, I am hoping I can give myself a list of things I should be doing. I am hoping I could fuss about them. Because somewhere inside me is still that little child who made sure everything on her list emerged into a reality.

Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l4WKh5UqtXc

You Signed Up for This.

Every time I say you signed up for this,

I wonder if you imagined our togetherness differently,

Because life is built on unfulfilled fantasies and

unchartered territories,

The idea of love as shown in movies is a fable that we are miles away from,

Even if we're grappling in the dark praying to reach the shores of the kind of love we fancied, we might not,

The standards, I guess, were always a fabrication of our silly minds to mock us at what we cannot score,

Maybe I cannot promise you the fantasy,

Maybe I should not,

Because what I can offer you is, a different kind of love,

The one, that's ours, and probably not a figment of imagination,

On days when the sun refuses to shine and you gnaw your own mind, I'll remind you of the person you are,

I won't be the one rescuing you, but I will turn every dark day into a funny poem that you can recall on a day you'll not have me around,

On nights when you find my reason beyond any measure of sanity, I will rather give you a reason, to look beyond the measures,

Because who decides what's sane and what's not?

And on afternoons when time comes to a halt as we sit facing each other at a lunch table, I will  try not to fill the silence with words,

Even when words come easily to me, I will let you be,

For I don't squander love and words,

For when they are uttered, they ruin the possibilities of fathomable probabilities making way for the ineffabilities that my heart isn't made for,

So, take my silence and inability of expressing our bond,

But don't put them in that big brown box with labels, that is due for a return,

Instead, help me in carving them for our wants and needs.

The Discomfort of Looking At You.

One...two...three...

She kept counting till hundred to avoid the discomfort of looking at you.

With a daylight of difference between what you both were and what you both aren't,

With months of space between being in love and being broken by love,

And now with just a tiny, largely inconsiderable amount of distance from where you sat,

She found her thoughts fumbling and lips trembling.

The sound of your name and the familiarity of your scent did no good to her fleeting emotions. But she had to avoid the discomfort of looking at you.

So, she looked across the room to shift her focus and the broken heart from your twisting fingers. The girl on your side was having her wine with no little interest and the man beside her was struggling with his shoelace.

She counted 5 chairs, two inflated bean bags, and an unkempt bed sheet. There were bookmarks without any sight of books and a box of vinyl records without labels.

And then there was a flickering bulb and shattered pieces of glass from last night.

She always knew your friends were wild but you, you were different. You were the solace to her calamity and the silence to her chaos.

You never liked mess just the way you never knew how to make one.

Everyone around you knew she was regarding things in the room to avoid the discomfort of looking at you. Maybe you did too, but you chose to ignore it. Even when your eyes met, ephemerally. A lot of unsaid, unsavoury words hung in the air and more importantly, the luscious days of youth you spent together brought back flashes of memories she refused to revisit.

One hundred...One hundred and one...One hundred and two...

She kept counting without a pause to avoid looking at you.

But as she sat in this room with you, living and breathing the same air as you did,

She only hoped that she could rebuild her life on words, and this time, without you in between the lines.

Mindless Thoughts.

I just cannot tell you how I spend many nights staring at my bookshelves. I have so much to say and so many stories to tell. But the words that my mind is carefully churning do not reach the tips of my fingers. It's on these nights, I particularly wonder if I can write only when my life breaks into tiny chunks and vanishes into nothingness. There are nights and then, there are these nights. When it is raining so beautifully outside my window and I sit inside, staring at the things around me wondering if I can muster some sentences that make sense or sound warm. I stop listening to music, I stop reading and only pay attention to the raindrops creating a slow pattern of music that I go on and on to.

It's on nights like these that I think what am I going to do if I wake up one morning and fail to put words to paper?

Twenty-First Vs. Twenty-Fifth.

It was 2012. My twenty-first birthday was slowly approaching. I carefully picked a pink dress and a got a haircut I regretted for weeks. It was just around four years but it indeed feels like a distant time with everything different. I was a different person too.

It was a significant year of my life. I was graduating, I had a couple of college admissions in hand, I was yet to take up my first job and I was highly indecisive about what to do with my life. I was not willing to settle down for mediocrity but my twenty-first year was just about that -- settling for mediocrity - in terms of love, life, friendships, and more importantly, the career.

It is 2016. My twenty-fifth birthday is fast approaching. I carefully picked a lot of dresses this year and was wise enough not to get a haircut like every birthday. I'm such a different person now. From choosing mediocrity to fighting adamantly for what I truly believe in, I sure have evolved into a person that was alien to my twenty-one-year-old self.

At twenty-one, I was largely apprehensive about the new path of life, bigger responsibilities, and tougher challenges. I was worried that I was growing older and that the best years of my life were simply behind me. Now, what can I say about turning twenty-five? Four years older, wiser and with more feathers in my hat, should I be more worried that I am soon hitting the later years of the twenties and life is just never going to be the same again? But why do I feel like the best days of my life are right ahead of me? That they are beckoning me with sweet promises and bitter miseries. All of it would still be worth it, though. Won’t it?

When I was a child, I was told sternly that time does not stop for anyone. Sure, I believed it for a lot of years only to realize that the myth could be altered. Time would stop, walk, and run with you only if you value it as much as you value yourself. If only you grow along with it.

Now I know that being twenty-five isn't being old.  There is so much to see. So much to learn. So much to live. And not to forget, there is so much time.

At this point, however, I'd like to worry about the birthday dress that a certain someone picked for me. It doesn't zip up well, but I am completely in awe of it. Oh, the little curveballs life throws at us in the middle of happy realizations and moments!

Greed.

We are all greedy people.

We are barely content with the things we have. We always run behind the things that seem attractive. Momentarily, but not forever.

The should haves, the could haves, the would haves -- we talk about them with such a desire in our eyes failing to notice the beauty in the things that we already own.

Why do we never appreciate what we have? Why do we go blind about the wonderful people in our lives?

And more importantly, why do we lose sight of the shore while mourning over a fleeting glimpse of a distant land that will never shelter us?

Growing Up.

The longest and most productive weeks are often the ones that breeze past us in a jiffy. You cannot fathom when the week begins and ends. And all of it in the blink of an eye. When I was a lot younger, I always assumed that when I'd finally do a job I love, time would stall. I figured that I would be able to taste every moment of it just the way I enjoy my cup of coffee. Funnily I also believed that the job I love would come only with the choicest of work that suits my interests. You assume a lot of things when you are young, don't you?

Lately, a minor part work that's coming my way doesn't interest me and maybe, just maybe, it's largely influencing the paramount of work that I otherwise enjoy.

So, what's this all about? When you finally take up a job you love, do you generally expect it to be brilliant on all days alike? Do you always hope that it comes in the form that is acceptable to you and only to you? I mean, I always hoped for it -- especially because I could be quite rigid and adamant when it comes to doing anything that doesn't thrill me. It might seem to be an awfully painful experience to convince me to write something I hate. Something I don't want to be associated with. Something that tests my patience even during a good night sleep. And more importantly, something that pushes me out of my comfort zone.

It just does not work that way.

The slightly older, almost 25-year-old version of me definitely knows that even the things you love come with a lot of flaws. Just like how your favourite triple chocolate sundae comes with a bad case of cold. You still savour it. You still crave it.

That's exactly the thing about growing up. Despite knowing that it comes with cons, you still adore it.

SUNDAY SUNDAZE.

When I was a teenager, I terribly wanted to be treated like a grown-up. When I was fifteen, I wanted grown-ups to appreciate me for the kind of books I read instead of treating me like a kid. When I was sixteen, I wanted them to ask me for music suggestions than treat me like a clueless teenager. And when I was seventeen, I could not wait for my eighteenth birthday. To be eligible to vote and to be officially entitled to do all that I ever wanted. When I turned eighteen, I would shove it in everyone's faces that I was an adult. Every time, I had an argument with my parents, I would strictly tell them that I was eighteen and that they cannot talk to me in an indifferent tone.

Clearly, I could not wait to grow up. Clearly, I did not realize being an adult would be only about buying brilliant pairs of clothes and shoes while trading the little joys of life. Clearly, I was quite signing myself up for a grand disappointment.

At 24, I am doing things that I should have done as a teenager. I read Young Adult fiction and enjoy it. I watch sappy teenage drama and sitcoms of the like. I mean, being an adult might not be as bad as it sounds, but being 17 was a lot merrier. At 17, you are spoilt for choices in myriad ways. Something that being an adult doesn't offer you on a silver platter, and the worst part is you want to behave like you are still seventeen. Reckless, with no responsibilities and lead a life where you don't have to think twenty times before you act.

On the contrary, I was rather organized as a teenager. I was one of those geeks who finished college assignments on time and did things with a conviction that 24-year-old Sunaina hasn't mustered yet. I had all these amazing plans that I would wear only black and white formals to work as an adult but I wear Spongebob and Batman merchandise often. What's worse? I hated Taylor Swift as a teenager, but these days, I listen to her more often than I should.

I could go on and on with this list, and there will be no end because what the hell, I am Benjamin Button-ing!

Wow.

Goodbye Blue Monday!

“It's just been a long week, that's all."
"It's monday night, Jess."
"My point exactly.” 
― Scott Westerfeld, Touching Darkness

As you read this, I am sure most of you must be heading home from work; some of you might be still stuck at work; some of you could be striving hard to meet the gory deadlines, and some of you might be thriving in your dream job.

You might be listening to the radio jockey's banter, or listening to Coldplay on your iPod; you might be sending a long message to your girlfriend, or you might be just musing over the details of your day. It does not matter. Most of us had a not-so-good day.

To talk about my Monday, it has been nothing short of a disaster.

But that is alright. I call it the change in the season. 

However, I will give it you straight--my mind has been a barn of thoughts and negative ideas today. 

Too many internal conflicts.

I did not let that affect my work today. I did not let it deter me from meeting my deadlines either.

There were a lot of things that took rounds in my mind. I decided to write them down instead, and get it over with.

This is to all you people, who are trying to come out of your dreadful day. (You might relate with a few.)

1. The last book you have read will give you sleepless nights and unwanted ideas. It will make you a better person if you let it. 

I have read If On A Winter's Night A Traveller by Italo Calvino, and I found myself being the protagonist on quite a few instances.

It gave me sleepless nights.

2. The coffee from your favourite place might taste bitter today. It is okay, your favourite waiter is having just another terrifying Monday morning.

3. The man you love will break your heart. You will feel lost beyond imagination. It is okay. He is just a human being, who finds it rather difficult to deal with his mess too. 

There are moments when it pains to even look at the person you love. Do not let it turn you into a person you aren't. No one gets to the top without being broken and beaten on their way.

4. Only love can heal love. Stop being that sulky little brat, and spread some smiles. Even if you cannot.

You got to do what you got to do. 

5. Your pet does not wish to play with you today. Do not whine. Maybe it has been too long since you treated it with something special.

We all can do with some love, here and then.

6. It is not even the 15th and you are already broke. You wish some funds would magically appear in your bank account. 

The next time, you might as well plans your investments better.

7. The pair of jeans you ordered from Forever 21 looks utterly boring and so not your style. Maybe it is an indication that you should make time for yourself to buy a pair of jeans from Mango instead of shopping for clothes online.

And if it makes you happy, buy a plenty of it. Never compromise on your luxury and happiness.

You deserve it. You know it.

8. How often have you been longing to watch a movie? Scout your watchlist for that romantic comedy or comedy drama, and watch it today. 

Laugh your heart out, or weep your guts out. You deserve a little drama along with an ice cream on a Monday.

9. No matter how hard you try, some people will leave. You will leave.

They will just turn into a lost story in your torn journal. Someday.

Let the good old memories stay.

10. A year ago, I was so badly stuck in a corporate firm doing miserable things. Even in the wildest of my dreams, I did not imagine I would come out of it and take up an actual writing job.

As I open my mailbox or inbox every morning, I end up receiving a lot of good offers, and messages from the readers of my blog and people I work with. You have no clue how glad I am when I read them, especially when I wake up to them.

Maybe your life will be absolutely beautiful if you put in an effort and truth in your work. I am not certain how long I will be here, but I am sure I have earned the courage to create and do what I love.


I hope this would make your hopeless Monday a little better. If it does not, I insist you open a notebook, and write down your thoughts and reflections. 

You can also share them with me. I will be totally glad to hear you out.

Writer's Block Is Not Really A Real Thing!

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
― Sylvia Plath

OKAY.

I haven't been writing much these days. I mean, for the blog. I cannot literally claim that I haven't been writing anything at all because I make a living out of it.

I opened my laptop to write today only because I could not handle the conversations between my sister and her best friend. The conversations about relationships and breakups of their juniors in school.

Seriously, the only thing I cared about as a schoolgirl was having a set of Faber Castell’s colouring pens or math homework, and my world was all sorted. But the children these days, I tell you. They talk about serious relationships.

Girls, give me a break. Serious relationships are not something we decide on. They just happen. And I am not really sure if they happen when you are 16. But if they do, God bless you. You are missing out on all the fun.

Take it from a 23 year old. Alright?

I digress.

Alright, so, like I said, I haven't been writing much on my blog. I would like to blame my work for it, but, I cannot. Because I find everything so drab these days. You know what I mean?

It is just that 50 shades of grey is far more interesting than my life. 

Anyway. The first thing that came to my head was writer’s block. But writer’s block is not really a real thing. It does not even exist.

The second thing that came to my head was–maybe I needed major drama in my life. Or experience melancholia.

Rubbish.

I was just looking for reasons to avoid doing the one thing I love the most and I have no clue why.

So here's the deal-I am letting the hibernation mode go off the hook, and I will write a little more than often. If I don't, just send me some hate mail. 

That drama would surely slap some sense into my head.

Also, I am sorry to break your eternal bubble of imprecise thoughts. Writer's block isn't a real thing. Just pick that pen and paper and brew some stories today.

Because you need to.

Hello, grumpiness!

“I speak to the broken halves of all ourselves and tell them to embrace, loving the worst in us equally with the best.” 

― J.M. Coetzee

I stepped into my workplace to see my workstation in havoc. While the poster of Harvey Specter looking all dapper in Tom Ford smiled at me, I knew it was going to be one of those languid days. I grabbed my laptop and occupied an open place and started working while muttering, "Creative jobs need some privacy and all that." No one really seemed to care.

I got home with a bad case of sinusitis and common cold. Hello, grumpiness! 

After a long hiatus, I decided to logon to Blogger and write something. Anything. Just anything. It doesn't have to mean something all the time. Also, I figured you need to vanish from the face of earth quite often. You need these days or the nights to take long walks pondering about things that absolutely do not matter, laugh to yourself or cry even at the slightest rush of memories, reading some classics, and curse yourself.

You need these nights for yourself. For self adoration and unrestrained tranquility!

I've also detoxed my contacts list. But some numbers, they are just hidden somewhere, beneath the thresholds of your skin and brain, and therefore, your memories--so you cannot forget them already. But detoxing is not an overnight process. I'll get there, eventually.

I digress for now.

I was at work, typing out words and sentences, while someone paused the incessant flow of my writing. It was my colleague who was sniffing and wiping his tears profusely. Like an idiot, I uttered out these words, “Life is like an onion; you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.”

He didn't appreciate it. It was a bad line. I mean, whoever wrote it, has blown their mind out of proportion. I SWEAR.

So, yes this is how my week turned out to be. And this time, Elle.com astrology didn't turn out to be quite true.

I will watch Interstellar tomorrow morning and yes, I might have a tough time sleeping tonight.

Because. Christopher Nolan.

P.S. Amidst all the chaos, I've started reading J.M. Coetzee's Disgrace and I am bewitched by its prose.

(Thanks for reading my not-so-radical, incoherent thoughts. You are awfully sweet.)