Feeds:
Posts
Comments

It’s all a changin

There is a hint of promise in the air. The light showers and the soft sunlight make me itch to dream of possibilities. And there is so much to dream about.

This is my last year at college, and the number of directions that I can take are making my head spin. Next year, this time, I would have already made all the decisions I need to make. The very thought is scary. And exciting.

I find myself getting more focused. The fact that my answer to the question “What do you want to do?” is not “Start a tea kadai” says a lot. My three weeks at summer school at LSE were incredible. I learnt introductory macroeconomics and fell in love with the subject. Now the question is, is it a fickle love, or something that I want to pursue. Ah so many questions.

Here then, is to the beginning of change.

Cinema Paradiso

I don’t want to step into the real world. I want to live in this world of tantalizing poets and mesmerizing beauty. I want to live in faded black and white movies, in young innocence and restless spirits. In the strings of enchanting violinists. I want to breathe the fresh crisp air of Italy, where each heart beats for the people around, where humour is haled with hearty laughs. Where the sun shines on the fit and the young as they romance in Roma. Where the dust settles on my tongue and I can hear vibrant loud voices of people who live and love with incredible spirit.

My nemesis

I deplore parents who treat their children unkindly. In addition to it being cruel, it also results in producing a man who is sadistic, bitter and deeply unhappy. This is a story of one such being. Perhaps if he hadn’t been as starved as he was as a child, he wouldn’t aim to cause so much pain and misery to the scores of innocents whom he claims to help.

This man practices an age old form of discrete torture. The sinister people of his kind meet and discuss various forms of causing the human body intense pain. They also arrived at the conclusion that Man, in general, is a pretty dumb species. The kind that can be tricked into believing that flab is bad, that sushi is fish, and that Yoga is good for you.

Perhaps I should take you through a daily routine to disenchant you from the belief that it makes you fit and flexible. It doesn’t. The term “a pain in the butt” was solely invented for this purpose. Speaking of soles, they can hurt too, by the time he is done with you.

To begin with, he insists that we should begin at an unearthly hour, when the cock is still snoring away. In some parts of the world, you could be beaten to death with a salmon for waking people up at that time of the day. I am currently applying for a visa to that part of the world. It is a mild disadvantage that they also occasionally eat you up, but that is a price I am willing to pay for an extra hour of sleep.

I’ve never been particularly flexible. Fit, yes, but if someone asked me to swing from a bar during the gym period at school, I’d just hang there and wait for someone to let me down again. I was also quite bad at biology since you had to remember complicated names that had too many k’s in them. It is a testimony to my terrible decision making ability that I managed to choose the one form of exercise that requires extreme levels of flexibility as well as a good memory. It takes about fifteen seconds to say the name of a position, and it takes thirty for me since I have to scratch my head and smile benignly till he says it for me.

He then proceeds to make you kick your legs and twist your hips so that you end up in a position that I am quite positive God never meant for you to achieve when he created you. He also smirks several times, and the smirk turns into an obvious grin when your face twitches in pain. Then he asks you to raise your legs and raise your arms and generally resemble such non living items such as a dining table, a chair, a pair of tweezers and the like. He enjoys demonstrating how hopelessly inflexible you are by tucking his legs beneath his arms and rolling around on the carpet, though why someone would consciously want to resemble a bowling ball is beyond me.

The classes are useful in a way. I have realized that even if the exercise isn’t helping me, the sheer threat of blinding pain keeps me away from that plate of fries and that extra helping of rice. Because trust me, nothing is worth the table position.

Terror

The grenades soar over invisible borders
The arrows will strike, the heads will roll
They know not of the paradox they create
They weaken the limbs, they strengthen the soul

Their thoughts follow no thread of reason
They know not their cause, and neither do we
They charge ahead, burning with vengeance
Injustice, a vehicle for brutality

History, not learnt from but used instead
As seeds to sow irrepressible pain
In the young and restless minds that will
Repeat mankind’s mistakes once again

Of what use is religion, or the path of God
If they head in the opposite route, steadfast
In their belief that the world must be cleansed
His name on their lips, murder in their hearts

Seamstress

I weave a web of fairy tales
The temptress paints a fantasy
Whims dance gaily like little nymphs
Beckoning reality

The nimble needle deftly moves
Seamlessly, through satin sheen
When within a fold, she stops
In or out or in between?

Two colours gently intertwine
Hues if a song are melody
Merrily they spiral around
Taut, in balanced harmony

They move through thick and thin by turns
A lilting echo in their wake
Enticing steps, a charming tune
I hope the thread will never break

Come hither

Do come and watch the show!

18 until today

I found it hard to believe that I became an adult, the whole of last year. Now I find it completely preposterous that this year is my last one as a teenager. I’m still seventeen in my head. I’m still not accountable. I’m still a child.

I still love a heart shaped black forest cake on my birthday. I’m not old enough to be embarrassed by the number of candles on the cake. I still have friends who think that spraying someone purple and dumping cake on their head, while making them wear a ridiculous(and secretly loved) blue party hat on the aforementioned head is an important birthday ritual. I still enjoy being fussed over, and being asked “Who is the birthday girrrrrl?” so that I can answer “ME” with a big grin on my face. And I still refer to people who are on the other side of 20 as “grown ups”.

I wish Peter Pan would appear right about now at my windowsill and offer to take me away to Neverland. I wonder if I’m going to still retain that part of me that loves calling people “a monkeys’ backside” five years from now. I think I will, I think I will.

Here is to everyone who wished me, and everyone who didn’t (hint), and everyone who made my day so special. It was the best birthday ever!

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.