Back to Square One

So after a lot of hits and trials and errors, I have finally come up with a decision as to what all corrections to make. The first thing I did was give proper titles to the last few posts, which were otherwise only numbered and gave little meaning to the post. The next thing I did was redo a bit of my OneNote categorizing, by putting things into their correct places. Seems like I am growing a bit more OCD’ish than I was before.

Today I made a resolution to first complete whatever is left unfinished. That leaves me with three posts of ‘Decagon‘, and to complete the short story ‘Return‘. Yes, I am sure you have already forgotten about Return, but don’t worry, I forgot about it too, so it really does not matter. So yes, I need to get done with them. I also have some plans about publicizing this blog a little more than I usually do. I might put up a page, for all you know. I am inspired by Terribly Tiny Tales, and I want to do something on those lines, but not exactly write tiny tales. I will have to figure that out later. For now, let me tell you a bit about my new wishlist. I really want to check out Windows 10, though I currently do not have that many GBs left in my internet quota. I might install it next month. I also had a self-realization lately, that I need to learn a lot more in Java. I was going through a tutorial and it amazed me to see that so many basics are still unknown to me. I will need to sit down with a book, and really see what all have come up in the new compiler versions of JDK, and get myself updated.

Talking about updating, I am waiting for the L upgrade to come on my Sony Xperia Z1. Anyone knows when it will be out? I downloaded a few Google Apps (Inbox and Messenger) which have based themselves on the new Material theme and they really look clean. I am looking forward to it. It will be a nice combination, Android L on my phone and Windows 10 on my laptop. Hope they don’t dismay me.

That’s a lot of talking for now, see you soon with fresh new posts, and even better genres. Have a great day you!

Winter is Coming

I sit outside in the balcony, sipping from my cup of tea. The slight tinge of ginger in it helps me stay awake. I see the sun, red as blood, uncover slowly at the eastern edge of the sky. It isn’t morning yet, but it will be, in a few minutes. I like this time of the day. It’s the time when the birds chirp and yet none fly out as yet, waiting patiently for the first ray to fall on their nests. The wind is chilly, I need a thick shawl, but I don’t want to go inside as yet.

In another hour, I’ll leave for work. Then it will be nine hours of tough grueling on codes written by big professionals out there, but right now my mind doesn’t want to think about that. I smell the air, a tinge of perfume of the girl in the next verandah, potatoes frying in oil, and gulmohur flowers. I imagine how life would have been if I had been a bird, flying at sunrise, returning at sunset. On a second thought, I kind of actually do the same, only I ride inside a bus instead of flying. People come out of their houses once a while, stretch and go back. Some dogs are awake on the streets, but they seem too lazy to bark, and they keep lying down anyways. I hear sounds of bells ringing. The pious lady in the adjacent house strictly observes an early-morning pray-time, and now I smell the incense sticks too. It seems as if the olfactory senses are the only ones alive inside my brain right now, and my fingers continue typing without realizing what I just finished writing.

Even though I try not to think much, my mind is clouded with lots of thoughts, which are really unsorted, and I make a mental note to sort them based on priority once I am ready to begin my day. I bring out another cup of tea, this time making sure I enjoy every sip, but it gets over, just like the one before. Winter is coming. I can feel it in my bones. It reminds me of Game of Thrones, of the Stark family, of the Red Wedding. Then it reminds me of Lady Stoneheart and I smile a silent smile when my devious mind tells me I should let out this spoiler to a friend of mine. But I dig it in, postponing it to a later time. The cycle of thoughts is a wondrous process, moving from one thing to another as swift as a deer, until you forget how the train started. The floor is cold, and I cannot put my feet down. I check my phone once a while, seeing if it’s time; I could as well put an alarm, but find it tiresome to do anything right now. Yesternight was good, we went to a pub. It has been over ten months since I last went to one, and my entire college life kept creeping inside me back and again all the while, until I left for home, my parents and the regular monotonous life that I lead.

And now it’s time to go. I need to take a shower and then get ready for work. So I’ll catch up later. Bye!

A Sultry Afternoon

I sat in the main hall, flicking through the channels on the television to see if there was anything worth watching at that time of the day. It was unusual for me to stay awake in the afternoon, most of my family prefers a short nap in the afternoon so that they can continue with their work in the evening more efficiently, and so the house was always usually silent, except for the persistent sound that the tap water made on the base of the sink, “Tip, tip, tip.” But after years of hearing that, I had kind of become immune to that sound, just like the chirps of the sparrows who came thirsty, quenching their thirst from the small bowl kept in the balcony during summers.

After a while I switched off the television, went to the kitchen, scanned the refrigerator for food, scanned all the cupboards for anything that would take more than five minutes to eat, then realized that I was not hungry at all, and came back, sat down and switched on the television again. I had to keep it at a low volume, not wanting anyone to wake up from their deep slumbers on some stupid songs or probably a wrestling match, neither of which was on television then though. I looked through the window and there was a mynah near the bowl of water. I tried to open the balcony door ever so slowly so that it wouldn’t fly away, but the screech of the door gave way to its suspicions that I would grab it and probably eat it right there and then, and it fluttered away almost instantaneously. I stood in the balcony for a while, the sun on my face, causing small drops of sweat to trickle down my spine, but I had to be there. The plants needed water, or they would die.

When I looked up at the sky, the clouds were turning black. It would rain soon, it seemed. The bear cloud was gnarling at the mouse cloud, and the dragon cloud stood still where it was. Then in a moment, the bear turned into a woman looking down on the earth, whilst the mouse turned its face towards the dragon. A dragon that would breathe out water, I thought, muffling my hair clumsily as a girl walked by on the street opposite. And then the wind started to blow, swaying the thinner trees so that they almost kissed the ground, many of their leaves falling on the ground and swirling up into the sky like a tornado. The smell of wet mud arose from the garden beside and the dogs ran inside the buildings, whilst the pigeons started flocking into the big tree opposite. I turned back and went inside, closing the door so that the dust wouldn’t turn in. I have always been fascinated by the dust, they seem to me a way nature teaches us the value of memories, and how we sweep both of them out at some point in our lives.

Slowly, the dust settled down, back to the ground from where it rose. The rain helped it cool down, get down to where it was, and taught us that we cannot fly for more than was intended for us. At some point, we need to go back to where we started, and restart the process, over and over again. The sky had no dragons anymore, the black being replaced by white, and the grey with a blue, which would soon turn red and then black. I had always been intrigued by the various colors that the skies could assume, depending on other factors. It taught me how we should sometimes succumb to the circumstances around us, and become a little more complaisant, without bearing any grudges. For come morning, the blackness would wither out again, giving way to fresh dew, the chirps of birds, and a light to guide us through the rest of the day. And depend on it we must.

The Journey – 1

She walked through the desert, a dry barren land,
The heat forever taking the toll on her,
But she didn’t stop, oh no she couldn’t,
She kept strolling, strolling forever.
Through sand dunes she walked, her legs forever aching,
Seeped into the sands, sometimes they felt cold,
She knew then it was night, and stopped for a while,
Or else she never knew, her eyes were too old.
Of people around her, alas, there were none,
Sometimes a crow would caw in her ears,
And late at nights, sometimes a snake slithered through,
She wrapped it on her fingers, she had no fears.

A fortnight she had walked, and then another,
And then another, it seemed like forever,
Yet she knew for well the road she’d taken,
And that if she stopped, it would kill her.
She saw a leopard run across the field,
Spotted it mingled with the dust and the land,
A humongous bear, all black and furry,
Slept half buried inside the sand.
Yet she kept walking, none were her cares,
And she kept walking, day after day,
Oases turned into mirages, and her throat went dry,
Yet she walked and she walked, came what may.

The next day she woke up and in front of her,
Stood her lover she had loved for four years and one,
And as she touched him he did disappear,
Became a raven and flew towards the sun.
The sun was above her head and hot,
And her skin had turned to black from red,
Yet she walked and she walked, walked forever,
Otherwise she might as well be dead.
As evening came, she stopped walking,
Her nostrils flaring with a smell she knew,
The smell of the city she had longed forever,
And atop her head the banners flew.

She knew if she went in, she would be contented,
They would greet her as his wife,
As their sister and as their mother,
It would be a pleasant life.
But she couldn’t do that, this wasn’t her place,
She had sworn promises to the other gods,
And for them she had to be at another place,
Fighting herself against all odds.
So she moved ahead, never stepping in,
And she walked and she walked, through sand and storm,
Never stopping to see what she left behind,
Never resting her feet, be it dusk or dawn.

Five and a day later, when she was all but dead,
Her eyes turned moist at what she saw,
The sands of the desert replaced by green meadows,
A lake of snow, which would soon thaw.
She ran towards it, and she ran very fast,
But her legs had given up on her,
She called out a woman squatted beside the well,
Her clothes were all covered in fur.
When she turned towards her, she couldn’t speak for a while,
They both were the same, as if twins they were,
Bu they knew it weren’t true, they were one and the same,
She covered in sand, she covered in fur.

Read the second part in A Journey – 2.


I hadn’t thought I would be as upset as I was right now, leaving my city to go back to the capital. I did not dislike my new city, nor did I like it more than this one. But things happen. Yes, things happen, and they happen in the queerest of ways, proposing the worst of consequences and leading to things, feelings, emotions, duties and responsibilities that you had never expected before. Such was this day.

As I sat in the drawing-room, I looked around. The house was all but full. It made me remember those days when our home was being built, when I used to tag along with my father. I had been so interested in seeing the progress of the house. I saw it built from scratch. The pillars first, only the pillars. It was one big room back then. Then came low walls, bricks, but they just marked where rooms would be. Then slowly the walls got higher. And then, the walls kept growing. Not just in the house, but everywhere. The doors and windows came much later, and the washroom I think at the end. It was such a long process. I remember coming each weekend. It was sunny at summer, and pleasant in winter, and I kept coming. The floor was all rough, the walls were only cement then. Then came the plaster of Paris, then the whitewash. The mosaic. I liked the mosaic floors. Red and blue and white they were, small stones, different colors, yet they kept it unified. That was the beauty of having different colors together. They helped it look different, yet they were the same. And wasn’t it supposed to be the same way for man?

And now it stood, almost the same as then. Only the walls have faded in their color, and the floors have turned grey from white. That’s what use changes in things, in people as well. You fade. Sometimes more than in color. Much has changed. I have changed. Let me write a bit about myself; I realized I write a lot about others, but I never give time to myself. So let me ramble a bit about me. Not really about me though, rather how I’ve changed over the years. There was this trend being followed in between when people were digging up old posts on Facebook and commenting on them. They helped me remember how I was three years back. And then of course there is this blog. The content, the style that I wrote in three years before. It makes me sit and ponder upon the thoughts that I had then, and the dreams too. Yes, the dreams, they were very important. Six years back, when I was in my eleventh standard, all busy ‘preparing’ for the IIT JEE, those moments, those days, the tuitions, the coaching classes, school and how everything happened, they come to mind. Sometimes I wish I could go back and lead them a little differently from how I had. But then now I think, what if I did it differently? Would I have the same life as now? Well no, of course not, that is the reason I want to change it, but then, am I not happy with my life now, or how it has turned out to be? Well sure, I could have studied more and got into a more reputed college, but that would snatch away so much of my life that I don’t want to lose. It was destined to be this way, and so I shall let it be that way.

But it’s okay. My life has somewhat turned out good. Except my English, which has become really bad. May be, just maybe, I should take up a course on English again. All those things aside, what am I going to do now? I have written too much in this post. I always end up writing more than I want to. It’s kind of like George R R Martin and his set of books A Song of Ice and Fire. He meant it to be a trilogy, ended up making it a set of seven books. Yet that is where the similarity between us ends. I am no great man as he is, and he has kind of become my idol. Back to this post now, I think it’s time to stop. I will write more later, when I have something on my mind that I want to clear off. I am doing that a lot these days. I keep thinking a lot, and then when I realize I should stop over-thinking, I sit down, and start writing. That helps me keep my mind off thinking about all those stuff, and for the fact that I really don’t think about the next sentence when I am writing. I just write. That makes me happy. Happiness has become a recurring thought in my recent posts. That ought to be a happy thing again, ain’t it?

So long so good. You’ve spent some time reading now, and I think you should get back to your work as well. For me, well I will just go off the laptop and maybe read some pages from A Feast For Crows, or maybe sleep, or just sit in the balcony for the last time. No, I am not going to do the latter because it’s really hot out there and it’s more comfortable in here. I will see you soon, with another post, not mind-boggling, simple one like this one. Maybe I will talk to you about me, or ask you about yourself. Maybe I will talk of dragons, yeah, I like dragons. They aren’t true, but so are dreams, people still aspire to achieve them, don’t they?

Hot Winds

Hot winds blow today. Fiercely. Ever more than before.

As I sit inside my room, a copy of “A Storm of Swords” in hand, which does not seem to end, I wonder of the future. I have been trying to finish the books of late, so that I may overtake the series on television, but to fail. Yet the summer outside presses it in, chaining me to my room, leaving me with no more options than to read and write. I sit in an unknown city, and through the verandah peer at unknown faces. They don’t bear smiles for me, neither glares. Absent emotions, they move about robotically. I go back inside the house. The roof presses its entire heat into the room, so much that the air conditioner doesn’t succeed in cooling it. That was one town where I lived ago. Now I live here, trying to make this as much of a home as the former.

Delhi, the capital of my country. I was not so excited coming here, for pain of loss of friends stings deep to those who have but a few. Yet now I confine myself to the city of Westeros and its problems, forgetting mostly the issues and problems dwelling around me, pressing ever as a box full of books does to the thinnest book at the bottom. Time has much changed since the last time I wrote of home. My notes date that as 17th December 2011, seems a lifetime before. Jamshedpur remains but a fond memory, longing to visit it, in dreams as well as in reality. Soon I will be there though.

College has but ended. I can call myself a graduate now. Yet leaving the city where I spent three and a half years of plentiful life, seems to burden me with more grief than I can partake in. The last goodbyes, knowing I would never meet them again. It seems so queer now that they were people from all parts of the country, heck, from all parts of the world, and that when they return to their homes almost a universe away, the only solace I would find is by pinging them on Whatsapp or looking up their new profile pictures on Facebook, glimpsing at how much their lives have changed since we last met.

I should be happier, I know that, deep inside somewhere. I did not fare that bad after all. Finished off with a decent score in college, made quite a number of good friends, but alas, I had thought the same four years ago, and where are those friends now? Remnants of them remain, like the left over crumbs of the bread a crow ate up, slowly yet fully. I have a job now, I am employed. It’s a big company and their work is big too, affects a lot of people. I should be happy my work will affect so many people, but alas, they’ll never know I have changed their lives for the better, or for the worse, I don’t know; thinking about it now makes me both happy and sad, like two faces of the same coin, fallen on the street amidst dust, never to be looked at again, unless perchance someone kicks it, and then lifts it up, dusts it down and keeps it in his wallet.

I want to tell people I will miss them. There are those who I’ve talked to and known for four years now, but still refrain from bidding goodbyes. Why do I do that? Just to keep people stood up to the notion that I am not sentimental, and forever a stoic, when in reality, I am but nothing of that sort? I don’t know. Questions forever bewilder me. What will I do now? What my future holds for me, I have no idea. Am I supposed to make one of my own, or only embrace whatever comes my way?

Hot winds blow. They remind me of summer now. Summer days in school, when we would rush to the kiosk at recess, buying Coke and clanking bottles. And then go back to class. So many promises we did make on the last day of school. This one friend, just stopped talking, and never told me why she was upset. I still need an answer, one that I will never get. I have been but long forgotten. Summer. Reminds me of the long vacations, and trips to relatives. How small I was then, with nothing much of import to take part in. Only if I could go back there, and sit, like an idle guy, just sit. Reminds me of the coaching classes too, ones I took in order to get into a good university. Wouldn’t comment on that; I am happy with what I got out of it. No complaints, yet, sometimes, I wish I could complain a little more.

The rains will come in soon. And with that, everything would turn better, as it always has.

We Stopped Looking for Monsters Under Our Bed When We Realized They are Within Us

To begin with, the title is not original. I read this saying somewhere, and I liked it. Next, a very Happy New Year to all my readers, though I know it is a bit early. I wish this new year bring in lots of hopes, happiness, success, and a new ambition in each of your lives. It has been a ritual for some of us to make New Year resolutions, which we definitely take care to not keep; however let me not delve deep into criticizing you, because it’s you who has made me what I am today.

We stopped looking for monsters under our bed when we realized they are within us. Well, we all know where this heads too. A world, where corruption is our biggest possession, where our children inherit it from us happily, and move on to pass it to the next generation, is where we live, is where we love. There have been people who have tried to remove portions of this corruption, but, all in vain. For there is this conscience of ours, which has got used to corruption so much, that it has stopped pricking us; it thinks the way we think, and does not stop us when we do something wrong.

I studied in my junior school that whenever we do something, whether it be wrong or right, our conscience speaks to us. Well, to be honest, it has never spoken to me till today, and it has never decided what is right or wrong. If it would have, then I would have been a holy person, devoid of badness, devoid of ill-thinking, devoid of evil. And if there is one in this world who is devoid of evil, is the one who dies now, is the one who smiles after he dies, because as he died, he gave up his evil to the world, and the world embraced it and distributed it amongst themselves, happily.

Then who is to blame for all this? Is it those small children in the school who learn it while walking on the streets? Is it those college students who do it because they had wished to do so since they were in school? Is it those people sitting in the office who consider it their profession to practise wrongdoings? Or is it that grandfather who sits in the room reading a newspaper, on one hand saying loving words to this grandchild, and on the other hand dirtying his mouth at the Parliament? To blame are the elders, the older people of this country, who consider it their asset to practise corruption. They are those who say that we should stop corruption at grass root level, and themselves manure the grass. They are those whom little children hear whilst sitting in the other room, and decide to be like them when they grow up. They are those who slap their child on hearing that he used a slang, and have nothing to say when the child says he learned it from his parents. Our “sanskriti” speaks of respecting our elders, of considering them next to God. Does God go about murdering people? Does God go about plotting against his own family? Does God go about smiling at people and stabbing them behind their backs? Does God discriminate between people of different castes, creeds, and religions? If yes, I consider all elders as my God.

The whole point of my writing this is demeaned if people do not take a correct step towards the right after reading this. Saying things is easy, committing yourself to doing something for the betterment of this world is difficult. Kill the monster who harms you tomorrow; kill the monster who is within you today, because he harms you more than any other monster can. A very happy new year to everyone, and this year, let us walk on the path of righteousness, on the path of justice, and on the path of truth, once again. I hope this year we write more, we read more, and we encourage more.

Satyameva Jayate! (Truth alone Wins)