Things I Should Accept.

My mother often warned me that my imaginations were too overbearing,

and that I was setting myself up for several series of disappointments,

I assured her that my palms were filled with pixie dust and I blew it into the face of my dreams,

my fingers often traced me back to things that weren't good for me,

books that made me cry, movies that kept me awake in the nights and boys that mercilessly broke my heart,

but I was oddly satisfied

as I went through life with an unapologetic fervour,

I guess I was setting myself up for grand breakdowns and signed up for stories where I never belonged,

she asked me to play safe,

to be cautious and guard my heart,

lock it away from bad things and throw the key away,

instead, I cut my heart open,

loved with a love that was more than love,

bled through my words

built home between the could-bes and the should-bes,

and then, I stopped watering the plants in my balcony,

looks like my mother was right,

I dreamed of nurturing someone else's flowers by ignoring mine,

by opening doors at places where even Sun refused to shine.

Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3AtRBlRQ-I

Monday Morning.

There was nothing enticing about this Monday morning. I wore my usual black pants with a white shirt. I applied my usual mascara and tangerine coloured lipstick. I picked my usual coffee and newspaper from the local cafe before proceeding towards the station to board a metro to my workplace. It was yet another mundane Monday morning and I was definitely not looking forward to it.

As I was waiting for a friend to join me at the station, I noticed a man sitting on a bench. He was rummaging through the contents of his bag as he muttered something incoherent. There was something awfully plain about him. Something awfully regular. I spent more seconds gazing at him as he finally fished a paperback out of his bag. He carefully plucked his spectacles from the inner pockets of his bag and drifted into his own world of reading. He was probably unaware of my presence, of people walking around him, of the man selling tea behind him, of vagrants collecting stray pieces of paper near his feet. He was oblivious to the arrival and departure of trains as I was oblivious to everything around me. Not very often you come across someone who pulls you into their world at the very first sight. Not because they have exotic coloured eyes or great hair. It is mostly because they are your own flavour of people.

I wished I could talk to him, though. It would have been brilliant, wouldn’t it? To forego the responsibilities of work and walk to the closest coffee shop with him. We’d eat breakfast and talk about how much I loved Woody Allen movies while he’d tell me how he did not like a particular movie of his. We’d order more cups of coffee while he’d excuse himself to smoke. He’d come back to rekindle forgotten memories and lost conversations; we’d talk about our first loves and first jobs. And when we’d walk out of the coffee shop, it’s a little late in the day and we’d decide to watch a movie. In the darkness of the movie hall, I’d look at his otherwise imperfect features in awe while he’d run his fingers on my wrist sending tingles down my spine. We’d look at each other in the darkness like we’ve known each other for days. I am afraid, for years! In the evening, we’d spend hours on my balcony staring at the sunset while sharing crammed secrets. He would tell me about the girl that broke his heart brutally while I’d tell him about the painful death of my pet.

It wouldn't have been perfect but it would have been something.

My reverie of thoughts was easily broken with a tap on my shoulder. My friend was here and it was time for us to leave. The awfully plain yet the perfect guy was not to be seen anywhere. He must have left when I was tirelessly concocting stories in my head.

As I boarded the metro with my friend, I told her, “I saw the perfect guy for me.”

“And?”

“I should have told him a hi, ” I sighed.

But some stories were only meant to live in our head while I was meant to ruin my life with some more Excel sheets today.

A Room Without Windows.

I once asked for a room of my own.

Several months and appeals later, I got one.

But with no windows.

As a person fond of windows, I found this deplorable.

Confined to the four walls of the room with a shelf full of books and a painting of a mountain on the wall, I began to make conversations with words on blank sheets and stories inside books with slightly torn pages.

I fell in love with words and together, we realized that we had stories to tell and hearts to win.

It was in this little room I grew familiar with Elizabeth Bennet and her love for Darcy.

Here, I discovered Shelley and her Frankenstein and grew weary of the mysterious things the world held in itself.

The adventures were many, but I was a lover of windows and longed for a room with one.

And when I got one, I rejoiced!

I was no longer a prisoner of my thoughts and imagination.

Now, I had visitors in the form of pigeons and neighbours who took long morning walks.

I began noticing the tasks of the watchmen in the night, and slowly fell into the regular pattern of life.

I grew weary again, and this time, it wasn't short lived.

I wondered if this was what life was all about? Mornings and nights, noons and evenings withheld probably nothing that the stories I read offered.

Horrified with the banal reality of life, I wanted to run back to the room with no windows.

Where I went fishing with Tom Sawyer and pictured the view of River Thames in the words of Pip.

It was here that I wrote alongside Ruskin Bond and the likes because they were my only windows to the world I desperately wanted to belong.

But like words, there was a lot in life, that once said and done, had no going back.

Imaginary Friends.

When I was a child, I was popular for having imaginary friends, or as sane people would put, popular for not making any real friends. As a child who transferred seven schools throughout school, I had a trouble making friends and relied on the imaginary friends I had in my mind. It was quite comforting, though!

My mother tells me that I had my first imaginary friend when I was two. Yes, that's right. It was a spirit, that was as amicable and adorable as Casper. I had this friend till I was in the second standard, and in those years, he would help me with my homework, walk me to the school, and gulp down the orange juice my mother would give me every evening. I distinctly remember writing and narrating stories about this imaginary friend to my parents, cousins, grandparents, and anyone who would  lend me an ear. My conversations and inside jokes with my friend would go on and on, and I made it a habit to break down my daily events into funny stories while narrating them to him. Like some friendships that break at a certain point, ours did too. I was heartbroken and took to writing a journal after that.

In the years that followed, I have made a bunch of imaginary (fictional) friends, I have had an imaginary pet, and an imaginary library too. As children, we tend to be utterly sensitive, we can never completely comprehend why we cannot make friends at a new school or a new place that we move to, we cannot entirely understand why we are treated as an outcast at places we are unfamiliar with. We fail to decipher why there are a lot of regional disparities.  It was totally normal to face issues while making friends at a new place, but it was even tough to make and maintain friendships when you transferred from one school to another in two years. We did not even have the internet in the 90s, and by the time it arrived, it was a hassle using it.

I took a lot of time and effort to make real friends, and after I did, I never had to look back. I kept on making friends, I kept on making memories, and I kept on cherishing the time I'd spend with them. I have realized that unlike imaginary friends, real friends respond, they are concerned, and they tell you about things that you wouldn't know otherwise. Real friends stay up late in the night talking you, they bunk work to come meet you when you are down, and they accompany you on your shopping trips. Unlike imaginary friends, some real friends that you make might prove to be unhealthy for you and you are driven to a point where you push them out of your life. Real friends are cooler. But sometimes, I do think, what if I never made real friends? Would I still have relied on the solace my imaginary friends offered?

What If A Ghost Falls In Love With You?

Asisha and I, we take delight in talking about all the bizarre things we come across. In detail.

No, really.

We try and look for humour in every situation.

During one of our conversations, we wondered why we were still single. (The men we shoo away do not count. No offence!) She said, "Maybe, just maybe, there are ghosts who have fallen in love with us, and they keep our potential partners away from us."

Totally illogical. But we found it hilarious.

I decided to take it to the next level.

Just imagine. What if there are ghosts lurking around us? Falling in love with us. And seamlessly hoping we too would notice and fall in love with them.

Wouldn't it be ludicrous and absolutely wonderful if they send us love notes and text messages? I have no clue how a ghost can send us a text message. I have no clue how it works in the ghost world. 

But if we have found ways to explore other planets, I am sure we could find a way where ghosts can send us messages.

I am not sure. Science is not my forte.

However, I can imagine, and this is what I have. 

The messages:

Darling girl, rise and ladle yourself with some sunshine.

Sorry, I had to leave earlier than usual.

I know, I know, you hate it when I suck your blood while you're sleeping.

But I had to. I lost control over my senses. I am no sparky vampire. I am an ordinary guy.

Your blood is the sweetest I have ever tasted.

You are beautiful. 

Totally up now? I hate to stay away from you.

I am sure you must be lounging around in your tiny pajamas, reading Stephen King.

Oh, I totally forgot. You hate Stephen King, don't you?

I am sorry, baby. It is the bestseller in our world.

I saw a human walking towards you in the coffee shop. Took care of him.

What can I do baby? I get insecure.

Can't wait to get home to sing "Suck it and see" by Alex Turner for you. You like him, don't you?

You are gorgeous. 

You are.

Never fathomed I'd fall for a human.

You sweet little human.

I cannot argue with the undead. You win.

Okay. Sorry.

Let me make it up to you. Let's do something fancy tonight. How about a dinner? 

A table for two at your favourite restaurant. Poolside? 

No, you are not fat. You are absolutely gorgeous. Especially with that Instagram filter.

Especially with that make up on. Though you use #NoMakeup #IWokeUpLikeThis

No one would believe you. But I would.

You get me, baby. All day long.

P.S. This is just a figment of my imagination. But wouldn't it be delightful to fall in love with a cheerful ghost? 

No Internet. Just a Getaway.

“We refuse to turn off our computers, turn off our phone, log off Facebook, and just sit in silence, because in those moments we might actually have to face up to who we really are.” 

― Jefferson Bethke

What happens over the weekend stays with the weekend.

I've always wanted to say lines like these when I was a teenager, but even as a teenager, I was a pretty normal (Actually, boring) person who really chose books over anything.

This weekend, I've tried doing things a little differently. For starters, I traveled to a place I love a lot. And I've survived two whole days without my phone and laptop. 

I would not call the experience overwhelming. But it was a much coveted break from my otherwise monotonic weekend.

I read, ate, consumed copious amounts of coffee, watched TV (Actual TV. I do not know when was the last time I actually enjoyed watching TV), played Scrabble on board all by myself. I did all these things without taking pictures for Instagram, or tweeting lame stuff like, "Coffee time!"

Of course, things like eating ice-cream go unsaid. Because I just cannot do without it.

I watched the sunrise and the sunset without any filter. I scribbled a lot of things in my notebook, and read a magazine without any interruption from WhatsApp. 

I made real time conversations with people. I have decided, no more WhatsApp for me. If I want to make conversations with people, it has to be in person. If people want to make conversations with me, it has to be in person or over a call.

Perhaps a year ago, I met this man who suggested me to try not using WhatsApp, but I mocked him in his face, and I still remember he was a laughing stock for my group of friends and me for at least a week. He did not have a Facebook profile or WhatsApp account.

Looks like he wasn't entirely wrong!

Ever since its inception, Internet has been killing our imagination. All I do on the internet is read some good articles (which is a great thing), watch movies or sitcoms, but I waste most of my time on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.

And I think, I will stick to enjoying the aroma of coffee rather than posting it on Instagram! (Not all the time, of course.)

I've made a resolution to keep the Internet (My phone and the laptop too) off every weekend; I do not care even if the world is falling apart, I will not waste my time on the Internet on Saturdays or Sundays.

I'd rather live them for the simplest pleasures of life!

P.S. It is Monday. I am on the Internet and I hate it.

So What Makes Us a Better Writer?

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” 

― Robert Frost

Truth to be told, we do not have any rules to turn into better (or say, awesome) writers overnight. But how I wish we had, you know, drink some magic potion and voila! You are a better writer. Unfortunately, it does not work out like that. Sigh! 

So, this is how it all started, I look at my old (like, really old blog-posts) and go, eww! And the current posts seem to be doing better than the previous ones. And well, it works for all of us, nay? We keep getting better with every post/article. Though we do not have any rules, there are some practices that we can adopt. For instance, here we go:

1) Read a lot:

Reading is such an inspiration, isn't it? We all learn a lot from reading. You know, whenever we  write, we must take sometime to read a good book before that. The books by your favourite writer, perhaps? I read Austen, Ruskin Bond, or some random articles by Manu Joseph and oh boy, do they help me or do they help me? ;-)

2) Experience:

One must experience everything they do. I say, feel everything you do, feel the aroma and the taste of the food you eat, feel the places you visit, feel the emotions, the pain you go through and all. And put down those feelings on paper. The exact feelings!

3) Write everyday:

One of the best practices of writing is to write everyday. We should make it a habit to write five hundred words a day. The more, the better!

4) Meet different people:

Every person has a story to tell. Meet different people, communicate with them, share a tale or two and analyze everything. You have so many different stories now. And if you think this is plagiarizing, let me just tell you one thing-SHUT UP!

5) Imagine a lot:

Imagination is the driving force behind everything. Be it art or creativity, imagination is everything. At some point of time, we need to let go of our thought and surrender ourselves to the power and senses of imagination and you know what? It works all the time. Perfectly at that. 

6) Coffee, my love:

No coffee, no creativity! Repeat. No coffee, no creativity.

Your brain so works well when you drain down some coffee into your system.

7) And what about movies?

Of course, movies add so much. Yes, the crappy ones too. They teach you what a bad story is. But honestly, no story is bad. Every story is meant to be told.

And the good movies, your favourite movies inspire you SO much. No, really!

Now, I am done and if you guys have any ideas, do share them. Ciao!