Deja Vu

~~~~~He has the same curious eyes, that same towering person. The same hair and it falls on his face like yours did. When he is around, I feel as if I am standing beside you. The same air of negligence, those mute grunts of frustration. He looks so much like you that I can’t afford to look at him.
When I see the same person again, a spasm of sorrow clinches my face, my heart twitches, and I feel a lump in my throat. And I want to inflict the sweet pain on myself, again and again.

It’s time I begin trying to find out, whether I really miss you. Or I miss that
craving I had for you? ~~~~

Letters To Myself

Why was I born a woman? It is so damn challenging. Men chasing you like bloodhounds from every possible direction. Looking at you as if you were an object, treating you like one. I am so frustrated. It’s so harsh to know that your gender poses as such severe a problem. Makes me hate all men in general. I am in such a trouble. I am like hooked up. Can’t do anything. Such a pain to be looked down upon, knowing that you are almost equally capable. Being treated like dust, it’s so inferior. When they make you feel like one piece of shit, incompetent, which has been created just to entertain men. It’s like a heartache. Pathetic. Being sidelined in everything you do as a group. Can nothing alter this kind of a sick mentality that men foster? When it comes to interacting with the other gender, many educated men behave like illiterate know-nothings. Just because we use our hearts as much we use our brains, we can’t be taken for granted. Let me pardon all men for being on-your-face flirts, and over -sexed animals, even then I find it unbearable to accept them for the way they behave, as if we have no hearts, we do not hear those absurd whistles, vulgar comments, those I-will-eat-you-up stares. To add to my woes, women are a minority. If they luckily don’t die before they are born, there are butchers sitting right here, to torture them, mentally and physically throughout their entire lives. There is such an acute dearth of good men. Oh! That’s so much like an oxymoron. Do you always have to please a man to rise higher, become better? Succumb to his flirtatious tricks or become a booze buddy? Can’t I continue the way I am? Clear & straight, and as a woman?

About not being in love

and about being twenty...


I like being empty hearted. When there is no one whose name my heart murmurs every now and then, when there is nobody whose thoughts irk my mind all the time. I like being empty hearted. I am at peace when I am not in love. At peace with my internal complexities, and the complex world around me. The equilibrium that I have always tried to find, looks closer and more achievable.

When I am not in love, I am more unbiased about things in life. Where as when in love, it is my biggest preoccupation and never stops kidding around with my subconscious. It affects my perception of things, adding another pinch of melancholy to my already melancholic existence. When in love with somebody, the dearth of that person hurts so much that it is tough for me to get out of the solitary ordeal that I undergo, and sense some normalcy in life. There is a perennial heartache, which I want to come out of, because getting myself rid of love, looks anything but impossible and sinking deeper and deeper into it looks inevitable. The act of unloving apparently lies beyond the last blue mountain…

Being able to feel the sorrow of people is my forte. And being in love takes this elite trait of mine away from me. Love spoils me, wastes me, makes me a good-for-nothing fellow, a melancholic dumb fool, living in another world of which no one knows, and nor do I…love kills me…slowly, so that I can relish every bit of the pain, that I love and loss are endowed with.

Touch Wood! I am not in love. And may it be this way forever…God Bless me…Happy Birth Day To ME…And I am TWENTy~~~~~~

To You,

Again after half an hour I found you sitting opposite me. We were talking to everybody but to each other. You absolutely generate no feeling of love in me. No attraction or appeal of any sort. Nor are you a crush. Not even some passing fancy. Nor do I admire the way you think, or the way you speak, as is the way I analyze the other guys I come across. It is not that I miss you when you are not around. Nor would I die to talk to you.

But there is something about you. I admire you the way a man admires his woman. I love to look at you…that’s it. I want you to sit in front of me for hours, so that I can study the contours of you face, knit words out of the glow of your skin, write poems on your hawk eyes, nibble a bit of that extra large nose of yours. I want to sink my eyes into the pinkness of your lips. Analyze that toothy smile or should I call it a grin…. with all the brains I have.That grin looks so vulnerable, so nascent, when it envelopes your lips. I would look at the smooth flow of words from your mouth. Oh! I would almost drown myself, admiring the way God has made you. You are one object I admire, like I do admire very few things…But you could never generate any feeling in me, thankfully. It’s just your appearance that appeases my senses. My external senses…the eyes…that’s it. Hardly anything but the pleasure of having seen you, penetrates me….the heart is so indifferent to you…

With Love,

From Me

A tryst with myself...

I am just a spectator as I watch my life take new dimensions every day. Frustration ruled my moods from the past couple of days. I had been grilled by situations to a good extent. I begged my patience to stay with me for some more time, some more time and some more time. I drilled holes in my heart, consoled my tears…I learned to face tough things…bad people. I tried to perform whatever duty had been entrusted to me to my level best. I dragged my feet; I tried to have an agreement with life, as it is .It was tough indeed. It wasn’t fun. I wanted things to get over, and then I thought I would shrink into my world, where I would sit alone…and mull over things like I do. I would cut myself off from the people who have disgusted me to no end. I was irritated because of being denied the things I deserved, but tried to hide it under my skin…I wanted to stabilize myself and face the challenge that life had posed before me.

But, nothing else satisfies me as much as hard work does. The definite reasons for this are unknown. May be it is about the sweat I shed. Or the labor my legs do running about, or the stuffed up feelings I discard after dancing till I drop. I love dancing, though I don’t know dancing. Dance is an absolute purifier. I am surprised when I witness the way it purges me. Music bursting my eardrums and my hands and legs moving as if my brain has lost control over them. It is sometime now that I realize what Paulo Coelho meant when he talked about dancing taking people closer to their souls and to God in The Witch Of Portobello.

It is one of those rare occasions when I am genuinely happy. My nerves are calm. There is some peace about this moment that I want to live for a thousand moments more.

Somebody said one should never try to re do and re live the best moments in her life, she would end up only disappointed. Because it is impossible to re invent the charm that fate had bestowed for that instant on the infinite time axis. So I should rather no try to relive this moment ever. Of course, if my memory is promising enough I would relish both the pleasure and the pain forever.

It was during those tough times that I comprehend my potential and learn about my weaknesses. I take feedback from people, if it makes some sense to me. Whether I implement it or not, depends on me. I would rather be unaccepted as I am not, rather than being accepted for somebody I am not. I am someone who should rather cut down on the capriciousness and the ingenuity and should add things as pragmatism and patience to her. People ask me to change a little by little. But I guess it would be something not that favorable to change. This stark difference from the crowd around me is what it takes me to make Me. I love myself and I want some peace to seep into my being. There is some kind of an equilibrium. And I want it to stay for sometime, before it vanishes. That’s all…

Me-Wordified!

Things that piss me off:-

*Sycophants & people falling for sychophants.

*Bossiness in (wo!)men.

*Fake people, fake emotions...i would prefer genuine hatred to counterfeit love;I also prefer people who 'properly' express their feelings to those who hide them, people whose minds i can't read on their face...I wear my heart on my sleeve...

*Men who do not respect women and do not beleive in their calibre.I include flirts here...with this i include almost all men in 0my 'hate-list'. OH! ME!

*Emotional blackmailers.

*Lack of enough patience to be a patient listener...in those people who call themselves my close friends...

*Also those so-called 'close friends' who pour out their unnecessary crap...even whem i am not in a mood to listen...

*Things (except love) that do not have any logical backing.

*Lack of gratitude.

*Sluggishness in action & lack of decisiveness...

*The word-------"Whatever!"...which is like saying'I-don't-care'.I would like to like people who give a damn!

*Unmourned-for deaths...