When i was fourteen, i had an aim to make people proud. I always dreamed that on my eighteenth birthday i would wake up and see my face first. This is would be how i would look for the rest of my life. With one day left till i am eighteen, i dread the idea. I dread seeing my shallow eyes on my birthday. I dread people hugging me and wishing me. I dread the cake. I dread the moment i will break down. Whenver mother and i go shopping, people mistake us for sisters. My mother jokes that she is getting younger. I dread that i am getting older. Not just physically. But mentally. The only thing lacking is the wisdom that comes with age. I dread my eighteenth birthday just like i dread imagining a day without my grandparents. 

I called my old friend, after a month, because i had nothing better do. I wanted to talk to her. Her boyfriend picked up the phone. I could listen to them giggling at something, they were both telling me something, but i zoned out. I could see the contrast. Am i the only one lost and wrecked? Because people around me have a solid ground somewhere. Don’t they? My old friend has her boyfriend. Another of my friend has her blog. One friend has a dream of dancing to her native songs in the middle of New York City. I had a dream of making people proud. I wanted to be the reason of people’s happiness. I remember i once fell down in front of my class when i was ten. I told my teacher about how people laughed at me. She said “it’s good to make people laugh. Everyone Loves someone who can make them laugh” And from that day i made people laugh. I made them listen to themselves. It was in tenth standard that a friend told me “You can make people smile like no one else.” I look at myself now. The patched, shady me. My sinking eyes, and ever prominent collar bones reminding me, i am not eating right. And i wonder if unhappiness really is a choice that people make? I haven’t felt solid ground for so long that it isn’t a romantic Into The Wild concept anymore. I am detoriorating. And the saddest part is i am taking people down with me. I see my mother look at me with an air of resignation previously unknown to me. Because of my desolation, people are giving up on me. I don’t blame them. I am giving up on myself too. There’s a fear that has no origin, no end, no shape, face or name. Yet there is a fear that does not go. And surely does not diminish. Even on the sunniest of days. Even on the warmest of nights. And i have a childish fear that when i become 18, this state will become permanent. Like my face, like my eyes, like my collar bones. I have seas to cross, to reach out to a person. And i don’t even make the effort to swim. I think i am better off constrained within myself. The fewer people i take down, the better. But i wish it is essentially me. Because i can’t imagine how long i can fall, how long i can be lost. Can’t i float? Can i never float? Can i never find warmth? It’s fine. I will find warmth. I just hope people are alive to see me happy. 


I don’t envy people to a great extent. But i wish there were qualities i had. I think I am like whatever i am, but essentially a person who doesn’t like people and whom people don’t like, whatever i am is because of one little problem. And i feel it nowadays stronger than ever. It’s the fact that i lack impulse. I am not at all impulsive. I am a cold calculator of facts. And I decide anything literally balancing my pros and cons. My advantages and disadvantages. And more often than not, end up not doing things i would have done if i were impulsive. I would have studied something else if i were impulsive, I would have gone out of my city by now and live responsibly if i were impulsive. I would tell someone i love him by now if i were impulsive, i would tell people that they are all wrong if i were impulsive. But the sad fact is, I am not impulsive. No matter how badly i want to be. A friend told me today “I wanna win big, you wanna lose small” and though I am not sure what she meant exactly, all i could and wanted to interpret was that, maybe   I would be out there doing things, interacting with people if i were impulsive. I was always cold analytical and fact based. So every decision i took, i thought would be in my favour actually turned into a curse because at the first sign of failure, i analysed myself into believing i was wrong. Even before trying. Don’t you think it’s sad? I think it is tragic. Impulsive people might just be suffering from the after effects of having Done something stupid, whereas i have to deal with the regret of not knowing how even a stupid thing would feel like. I don’t even crack jokes impulsively. People like me….there regret is double than people who are impulsive if things go wrong. The impulsive people just have to deal with the aftermath. But people like me…we have to deal with what if’s and maybes. And i tell you they are worse than “Oh Shit, i screwed up”. I haven’t ever been impulsive in my life, except for the two instances i bunked school. But i see people, impulsive, laughing and smiling and it saddens me how much i never knew about what i can do. I won’t have stories to tell about how i got caught smoking on the terrace because i was too impulsive not to. How i never sneaked a can of beer from under my Mom’s nose, because impulse did not occur to me, how i never went to the party because i wasn’t impulsive enough to overlook the fact that i don’t like the host much. I won’t ever know the thrill of playing pranks on someone because i wasn’t up for it. I will never know about an impromptu movie plan or the thrill of confessing my love to someone.  And yet I have done stupid mistakes, despite that planning, despite everything, i still made mistakes and regretted. So in the end, if mistakes always leave room for introspection, then why do i always waste my time introspecting before doing something  and yer regret it? I am impulsive only when i am angry. And i impulsively hurt people. Or do i? Do i not carefully choose words that drown the other person in oppressed guilt? The fact is i am not impulsive. And i will miss out on so many things i could not be impulsive about. And i guess I’ll have to live with that so that i get exhausted of all the things to lose and then start To “win big” from scratch. To “go to seek a great perhaps”.

Final year of school is tough and hectic. And it’s so hard trying to prioritize. I was in the middle of a sea of exams and only got time to write today. So i thought I’d write about my favorite movie.

Okay. So this isn’t about some movie I’ll talk about today. It’s about the movie that changed my life. And even that is an understatement. It’s Shawshank Redemption. You might argue about it being number one in the imdb list for the past five years, only to lose once to Dark Knight, now honestly…the ranks or the awards does not matter. It really does not. Because this movie is magic. And i watched it at a very young age, well not so young, I was fifteen. So…you might think it was a bit early for me to watch a movie like Shawshank Redemption, but honestly this film opened horizons for me. I was introduced to what is called ‘cinema’ through this movie. Frank Darabont is a director who only made one movie in his entire life and that is this. And he made a movie that blows people’s minds still now. I cannot tell you how powerful each scene is. Tim Robbins acted in that film as if this was the last film he was doing. He put in all of his efforts for that. I still remember the opening scene. And i still marvel at the power of good direction. It’s not an ordinary prison movie. No. It’s a poem. Never for once will you feel that its predictable or boring. All the characters are so deeply analyzed and laid out in front of the viewer. Morgan Freeman never fails to amaze me. And this was no exception. Even the screen play, the cinematography, the dialogues are outstanding. Someone once said to me that “Shawshank is over rated” and i don’t agree. Although i am a fan of minimalist movies, Shawshank isn’t Minimalistic. Its bold, and straight and heroic. And that’s what works for the film. The hopes and despairs and the psychological stigma of prison dwellers are always prominent and loud, but never excessive. I have seen good movies and the very best of them. Shawshank does not have the cinematography of ‘Taxi Driver’ nor does it have the musical storytelling of A Woody Allen or Wes Anderson, it does not even have the best sequential plot as Coppola, but Darabont made something one of a kind. He made us feel every scene and every emotion of the movie. The ending scene is still etched in my mind. This movie is so good that i never risked rewatching it, because i always thought it’d lose its charm. I have also watched Forrest Gump, and Forrest Gump is one epic victory in the face of the amalgamation of talents called “Film making” but it does not quite surpass Redemption. Needless to say, Shawshank Redemption did not get the deserved appraisal solely because it was released alongside Forrest Gump. And it’s not a surprise. Because a film this mature needs time to come out of its shell. 
P.S i have no faith whatsoever in imdb ratings. I have observed that imdb tends to list them depending on the viewers acceptance more than the critical appraisal of the movie. And it really is shocking because Dark Knight is at number two whereas Clockwork Orange or 2001 A Spacteime Odyssey is much below down the list.

I watched a movie, a few months ago and I came across a dialogue. It went something like this “The society does not let you express anything. You cannot even express your anger properly, how can we expect people to express love?” And this stuck. It was true. There is something really wrong with the society. It makes us recede into our shell, furthermore. Expressing feelings, or expressions isn’t easy in front of a room full of people waiting to judge you. That is given. But I have been doing a little thinking, about expressing and the problem our generation is facing regarding that. And somehow I believe that our generation has as much,  if not probably, more fault than the society. Somehow people confuse expressing, with big posts on social media, they think love for someone is validated only when it’s on Facebook. They think it’s fine to incessantly post stupid quotes after a break up. What I am trying to say is, expressing is effective when it is understood. A social media account full of people who could not care less, isn’t a place to do so. Expressing is possible with people you are comfortable with, people who understand you, people who don’t give a cold shoulder. Our generation confuses expressing with hubristic declarations. And that should hardly be the case. Besides, expressing needs some…reality in it, some truth, a kind word, a warm tone, solace. And posting on social media could not be a worse choice. I know a person who had a break up and for a month now, is constantly updating her Facebook and Whatsapp status with pathetic quotes and her views about the break up. I am not, for one moment, saying that she should not be opinionated about such an awful incident. What I am saying is, why does she have to commercialise her thoughts? why does she have to spend hours on Facebook, moping, rather than talking face to face with her friends for comfort? There is a thin line between commercialising your thoughts and effectively expressing them in front of a bunch of people who are keen to help. And there lies the problem. The problem that our generation is confusing the former with the latter. And realistically so, I don’t see any respite from that. And it’s sad. It not only destroys the mode of operation of Social Media but also destroys the sanctity and dignity of human expression on a larger scale. In return making our generation think that social media is judgemental, that nobody cares for anyone, when in reality the one who cares might just be sitting beside you on the couch watching a movie. 

P.S. If you know someone who needs to open up or simply talk, be the one to lend an ear. It is important. It really is. Thank you.

I am not here to critique the film. In fact I have no power whatsoever to do that. A film by Woody Allen is the last thing on earth to be imperfect. And so on an afternoon where I was particularly gloomy, I with careful deliberation chose this film. Midnight in Paris. Choosing a film to watch, in my opinion, is essentially like choosing wine. The perfect wine is the only thing needed to make an occasion divine. And a film more so, to make an afternoon divine. So I needed something not much hard wired, or something which needed much from the viewer, something that a film by Wes Anderson or Tarantino would definitely demand. And I happened to stumble across this particular film. At first I was a bit apprehensive, because I thought it would be purely a boring Rom-com. Needless to say, the opening scene was enough to tell me, that Woody Allen never goes wrong. As the drama unfolded in the streeta of Paris, and showed Paris from the point of culture and art, and inspiration, it imparted a warm fuzzy feeling in my mind. I always loved Owen Wilson for his way of throwing dialogues as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, but in this film I loved him a little more. The music, the screenplay, the cinematography is really what makes it a picture, a portrait, more than a movie. There are scenes, hauntingly beautiful and dialogues so scathing that it’ll appear to be a poem. All in all I chose my wine well for the afternoon. The afternoon needed this brilliant story telling. And I suggest you to watch the movie if you haven’t.

Signing off till next time.

I have met many people in my life. Most of whom i cannot fathom for more than an hour. Then there are those who make me look into their wild eyes and make me talk. I think, personally, that mind is a place essentially like a home. Your mind should be at peace almost always. And you have the luxury to decorate and renovate and furnish your mind like you please. I have seen people, watching movies viraciously, refurnishing their mind with the lessons that celluloid often imparts, i have seen people read books, like it’s the last thing they want to do, furnishing their mind with the words that fill thegaps in our lives. I fall in love with people reciting poems, over a smoke. As if the poem is like a painting, beautiful and complete hung on their mind’s wall, making it brighter. I fall in love with strangers who sing songs on daily commute, as if the songs is cleaning up their minds. I love those who, in a whiff make you understand what a black hole is, or why physics is the history of the universe. I like people who constantly strive to collect thoughts and gather information constantly modifying their mind. After all mind is a place we constantly live in. Why not enrich it wity plush thoughts and sprawling lessons? Then there are people who do not think the mind to be any body’s home. People who make the mind an inhospitable place tobe in. These people are loud and clammy. These are the people who vandalise thoughts and deatroy creations. These are the people who think mere mortals are some clockwork toys existing for them to talk about. And I loathe them, for they cannot as much make the mind their home. And they never will be able to make a home in this big wide world. So they may shout and they may talk. But that will be the only things they do. 

(Hey readers, I thought this is a great opportunity and privilege to introduce a very talented young friend of mine. Her name is Silpi. She has a whim for writing and she often writes for a school supplement by The Telegraph. This is an occasion where she was telling me about a song that mattered to her and I thought I’d request her to write on it. I am glad she did. And here it is.)

Music heals. That’s a fact that demands to be accepted and sometimes, say, by the stroke of fate or the insistence of a friend, you come across certain songs that seem to depict your exact state at the moment, in some way. 

          This is something that has happened to me quite often. And when nothing has been able to give me peace or calm me down, it has been those very songs that have put my mind at ease. And whispered to me that I ain’t alone out there.

           One such song is Mr. Tambourine Man by Bob Dylan. I found it on a night when I wasn’t being able to focus even on my own breathing, let alone anything else. A friend asked me to listen to this then.

            The first time I heard it made me fall silent. May be, because I needed time to absorb the words for they had struck hard. 

             “Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me

I am not sleepy and there’s no place I’m going to.” These were the first lines that entered into my ears and were exactly how I was feeling at that time, and how I feel often. 

 “My weariness amazes me. I’m branded on my feet.
I have no one to meet “ 

At the end of the day, sitting alone in my room, feeling exhausted beyond words without having done a work of any labour couldn’t have been expressed any better, possibly.

              Yet amidst all these weariness and tiredness, the desire to be able to escape to some other place, out into the middle of nowhere, is something that never fails to make its home in my heart. That longing to lose myself in the surging wave of the next moment, to fade into the oblivion yet not being able to do so is something that becomes too hard to bear sometimes. 

My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heals

To be wandering 

I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready to fade.”

               It’s the shadows that we are chasing. The laughter all around is nothing but a façade for something else. Because it’s easier to smile and let it all go than having to explain why is something the way it is. The past never leaves our back, clawing at us with its huge paws while the present never seems to stay with us. And the future is always busy making us rock on a broken boat on a turbulent ocean of uncertainty. The smoke from its laughter suffocates us and the more we try to break free from it all, the more it grasps and drowns us.

“Then take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind

Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves

The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach

Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands 

With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves

Let me forget about today until tomorrow.”

                 May be, to me, my Tambourine Man is the very song. Or may be, the friend who gave me this song on a night that changed my upcoming nights. Because now when I am lost, I know somewhere down the line, there is light at the end of this tunnel and till I find it, I am going to request my Tambourine Man to play a song till I fall asleep. 

Does the past haunt you?”

“No. What’s done is done. Future haunts me”

“But past is the mirror to what you were and … What you are”

“The future is the looking glass of what you are and what you should be”

“Then does darkness haunt you?”

“No. Light does”

“But darkness baffles people, they lose their way!”

“Only because they don’t know where to look and what to find. Darkness reveals only the necessary objects of ramification, light confuses you,and tricks you into believing things of the most preposterous nature”

“I see, then, do delusions haunt you?”

“No, clarity does.”

“But people get misguided by delusions, they are robbed of the capacity to think”

“Not all people who think, can accept the greater truths that clarity heralds. People think, but with clarity they understand the enormity and strength of truth, and this sudden realisation incapacitates them”

“Are you haunted by defeat?”

“No, i am haunted by victory”

“But isn’t it a shame to lose to enemies?”

“Enemies are our own creation, and victory blinds us to glory then shoves us down the spiralling path called ‘doom’. Defeat is our true friend. It helps us focus on the tough path ahead.

“Oh! Surely must you be haunted by hatred!”

“No i am haunted by love”

“But love conquers all evils”

“Seldom does that happen. More often than ever, love gives rise to hatred. Hatred is the absence of love. But sadly absence of hatred is not always love,  love is the mother of hatred. And mother of wars, murders, and violence! ”

“Tell me then, does Satan haunt you? ”

“No,  God does!”

“That’s a blasphemy! God is the protector of all”

“And also the cause of downfall of most. Crusades were waged in God’s name, sins were committed in gods name, with a thought that God would forgive all,  people sell their conscience, their rights, their views in God’s name. But Satan, savage, and violent, is the keeper, of the conscience, the gaurdian of human indulgence”

“Surely there are some people who haunt you? ”

“No. I am haunted by myself”

“But that’s absolutely beyond understanding! ”

“But as it seems i am myself beyond understanding. A person is the greatest mystery to his own self. His thoughts, his purpose, his motives are always unknown to him, is an enigma to the world. All his life he is guided by some ulterior yet uknown motive, to serve some ultimate purpose oblivious to him. A man does never quite know himself. That, in all entirety is a terror”

“Who are you? ”

“The wind and the sea, the leaves and the stars.  I am stardust, you are stardust. I am the creation. The cthonic monsters that rule our mind the conscience. The balance the equilibrium and everything in between. I am the UNIVERSE. what can possibly haunt me? ”

Being given a choice” this phrase is something I find unendingly enigmatic. Being given a choice. For many of us, a choice is a luxury we cannot afford. It’s like a commodity on eternal price hike. While we constantly make choices unknowingly, there are times when choice chooses to leave us. Somehow people think it’s automatic enough to choose between right and wrong. Is it? What if you don’t have the luxury to choose the right path? What if you were like the school kids from Dead Poet’s Society, who had to betray the trust of their teacher, to so as much  stay in the school and not be expelled? What if? What if now, on a more refined note, you had to choose between being right and being happy? Maybe chosing happiness is a luxury that you will be guilty of. Just like Atticus was, in To Kill A Mockingbird. Atticus could have chosen happiness, but he would always be guilty. He realised that one is happy as long as one is right. Being right has it’s own stakes. The phrase “You always have a choice” is so absolutist and so escapist that sometimes you really ponder. Do you? Do you, indeed have a choice ‘always’?

 Maybe it’s easier to blame people saying “he chose this” than “he had no choice”. Seldom do people find themselves in positions where they have no choice. And i can assure you that those are the times people contemplate dying. So suicide might just be more of an absence of choice than a choice to escape. But I also believe that bad choices lead to no choices. I think to choose is a luxury we always take for granted. 

To choose to do the same mistakes, to choose to be the same worst version of ourselves, to choose the easy way out. I think absence of choice is because primarily of the exploitation of the same. Choice is a luxury. Choice is the currency to make mistakes and get rescued, choice is the currency of a healthy enriched way of living. But gambling of choices is the worst proof of intelligence one can manifest

You are my Demon

I am scared of many things. One of which is a song – Demons by Imagine Dragons. It makes me realise all that I am capabable of losing. And most of which is you. And its foolish to rant this out.

You sit opposite to me. I am thinking. I am looking into your eyes. My mind goes back to “no matter what we breed, we still are made of greed”. Yes i am greedy. You are too. Greedy for one moment more, for one conversation more. You sit opposite to me. A wind is blowing. Nobody knows from where. ” i wanna hide the truth, i wanna shelter you”. So we will keep playing nice to each other. We will keep on believing that this is how we are going to remain, in a mutually deluded figment of imagination?  “But with the beast inside… ” what happens when it comes out in the open? Will you run away? Will you leave me alone? Because by then the beast will have transformed itself into memories. In all the time frames we are captured. Forever. “When you feel my heat, look into my eyes”. Your eyes? Is a paradox? Is an enigma? Is a nightmare. My nightmare.. Of change. Of losing you and everybody.  But you did warn me. ” Don’t get too close” but… I cannot deny that i am as close to you as that darkness you hide. And funny how ” its dark inside.” Because to me your warmth radiates to the Andromeda. Its false then? “Oh this is all for you, don’t wanna hide the truth” But wait!  Tell me the truth when i am ready. For once let me chose happiness over being right. And for once let happiness be the right choice.  “So we dug your grave” to keep the masquerade from coming? Are you afraid? Afraid that we will make a mess of things beyond repair? Will we render ourselves beyond repair? Will your  demons Find me? Will your eyes those that “shine so bright” reek of demonic existence lurking in the shadow? But my eyes they shine bright too.

And you sit opposite to me. And you think “your eyes they shine so bright, i wanna save that light, i can’t escape this now, unless you show me how”. But, do you not know, that the shine stays  just as long as you do. And you are my demon. I am inexperienced you see. I don’t know how to get rid of my demons. If i help you get rid of your demons, is there any uncertainty that i won’t let my demon go, that i won’t let you go? But with all my existence i don’t want to. So are you sure, that whatever is ” woven in” your soul,  I’ll help you? Because i will. I will do that. But what if in the process, your soul along with everything replaces me? 

And you sit opposite to me. And you smile. I think. I overthink. And i ask you to look into my eyes. “Its where my demons hide. Its where my demons hide.”