I often wonder which would one be given a chance, the 
art or the artist? But since I have hardly had the 
'chance' , this question is out of question. 

Nevertheless, the artist reflects in the art. The 
protagonist of the story has shades of the author. 

I am told, that no matter how hard we try, what we 
ultimately make is us. 

When I write I get emotional with my characters. The 
central character is almost always me. This I perceive 
as unhealthy. It's one lacuna. 

I wonder how people get dispassionate when they 
write. They write like they are one neutral third 
person watching things happen, from a safe distance. 
They don't involve themselves in the story much. And 
this I find a very likable trait. 

So when I get dispassionate enough, I am gonna write,

Meanwhile I am taking pictures/..



I am up after an eight hour sleep. It's a sunny sunday 
morning. Sleep refuses to leave me alone. But anyway
I am perched on my bed and wrting this. 

The day before yesterday, late in the evening, I was 
supposed to walk back alone to my room. If 9 :30 is 
late in the evening, that is. When out the road I saw a 
mini storm. If this is the end of autumn, all the dead 
leaves from all the trees were out on a 
merry-go-round. I didn't know what to do. And then 
the lights went off and my heart stopped beating...but this, I guess is another story!  

Off late I haven't been writing much. And that is not 
that good a sign as writing is a natural vent for my 
emotions. And yeah, I am not writing because I don't 
have anything to write about. There is a dearth of 
matter in my head. It's on mode_snooze! 

But again, I have been reading. I am reading now to 
catch up on the reading I missed because I started 

And I am going out on walks, real long walks. Twice 
round, thrice round the campus...all my evenings are 
spent walking. Also on a fruit diet, to de-tox the mind!
Meanwhile I have been listening to one song a million
times over/

And I have been breaking-off with friends. But have I 
been making friends also? I wonder if I believe in the 
concept of friendship. Love, on the other hand, is 
totally out of question. Long time since I last fell in and 
out of it. 

I have become a cynic. I was cynic-in-the-making for quite 
some time. But it is now that I am at peace with it. 

And my blog has frozen into somthing! But I am not 
dead yet. I am just taking my time. My sweet-bitter 
time. There is hardly anything that dictates me, these 


I turned and now looked at him in the eye. Since we 
had been lying there, doing nothing that foggy 
afternoon, such thoughts had been doing rounds in my 
mind. And I didn't quite know if I did it with any prior 
thinking, but I said, I love you. And again for a 
moment we were staring at each other before he 
planted a kiss and left for the terrace. 

I followed him after sometime. And as I sat there 
beside him, I did know that he didn't love me. And 
how I wished I had not known so distinctly, so truly 
that he never loved me. 

Looking down from the thirteenth floor, we saw the 
whole world was getting back home. Don't know about 
him but at least I did. I didn't know what he was 
thinking. If he was thinking about me, it hardly did 
matter, because my feelings about things and people 
happen to be fixed, numbly. 

It was getting dark and in a few minutes, you won't 
see faces on the streets at all. The mist hid everything. 
So I thought I would rather be leaving. Didn't wait for 
his goodbye. Just gathered myself and left. 

~the happily ever after thingy is the most cliche'd ever~


-When I turn twenty-six I will invest in books. I am sure by then my fingers will have become tired changing hundred and fifty five TV channels that show nothing. My mind would have got tired of having written the same thing over and over again, about sorrow & pain. My eyes would have got tired of looking for companionship. So I would invest the rest of my life in books. -


sigh time passes so fast
i wish i met you before
wish i could've loved you more
one more winter of hands held

you owe me umpteen dances in the rain
and i owe you a thousand splendid smiles

but tis now we depart
half said words
having half loved each other
tis a lon' life you know
and life will outlive our memories

memories of the dew-kissed yellow chrysanthemum
memories of lon' summer afternoons
of cracks in the walls
memories of a dead youth
& even so much more
won't last me a year long
life, tis too long

memories will give way to pain
to a subtle ache that'l persist
in shy corners of my heart
once we depart, my sweetheart!

~now u, forgive my crazy poetry~


XYZ:So tell us one weakness that you've known?
Ms D.:
Weakness?? Arrgghh!! I've so many...too many...i am a bundle of weaknesses/
*I've no sense of logic about anything..
*I'm umpty-dumpty emotional-To the xtent of being weak, vulnerable, i can break down just any moment~~
*I PANIC--i go nutzzz weneva nythin serious pops up
*I'm laZY(How lazy???)Aww..u've no idea..poor yuuu
*My energy levels r pathetically low! i get tired after moving, say, a matchstick!
*I've AN EXTERNAL LOCUS OF CONTROL/..Do yu knw itz a crimEE to hv 1?
*I'm simply frustrated-no explanations..i jus AM
*I m nt a good talker...i mumble such things tht screw everythin up :(
*I aint diplomatic/shrewd
*I've an inferiority complex, & think it's justified I have one
*I'm an INSTICT driven individual. So most of the times don't know where I am headed. I don't plan my future, simply bcoz planning is ouch-so-tiring
*I'm not a good leader, I'm not a good follower either. damn! what-am-i?
*I brood all the time-yeah-like for the past 2 decades i've been doin jus dat
*I can't hide, if yu understand wht i mean
* & finally, the icing on the cake