THINKING, TALKING, TYPING TRASH

I am a sweet victim of the internet. Some time during mid-last year, someone I am extremely close to, got pregnant. Needless to say, I was more than excited at the news! The first few days were, well normal. Then she started getting all those morning sickness thing and I started getting a bit worried. Now this one is a fragile person and absolutely cannot take any kind of physical pain. So, I thought I could lend a helping hand. Since we spent a good part of the day together, almost the entire week (excluding weekends), I did not think it would be very difficult. So, one weekend, I started searching…vehemently. By Monday morning, I had collected a good deal of information. The internet had enlightened me. I knew morning sickness, trimesters, how the body is gradually changing, in what position the baby is at what week, et al. I even found out this “secret potion” that I’d bribe the poor would-be mommy to drink. At times, even I’d drink it to give her some motivation. Howeve...

I realized something really important about myself over the weekend. I write my best when I am the saddest. The outflow of emotions are at their best. I can think better. The English that comes out sounds great and natural. I am at my eloquent best, you could say. And by now you should have already guessed that I am sad right now. And so this over flow of emotions and words and memories and what not. Yes, I have been sad, very sad, over the weekend. And this is not a very rare occasion for a person like me. I have grown up almost alone, although I can boast of a pair of siblings (they are way older than me, and had already left home for studies or work by the time I grew up). I had been an overtly reserved and shy kid at school. So, no friends either. Hence, i grew up to be great friends with myself, sharing all my secrets with my alter ego (?). I programmed myself to put up a brave face to the world, show them how my life is so happy and perfect. But that is perfectly not the case. ...

I’m not quite sure about what I should write. I don’t even know why this happened. Completely clueless about what went wrong. I don’t know why you suddenly stopped talking. You’re my most favorite person there. You’re the one and the only person there. It suddenly feels so alone, so scary, UNSURE. The first time in 2 years that I don’t look forward to going to work. I still can’t make out what exactly I must have done that hurt you so much, so you stopped talking. Sure you've never been in a situation where someone you’re so attached to,  just suddenly decides to ignore you. It’s disturbing. You must be seeing me all over the floor laughing away, talking all sorts of gibberish to people, but deep down, I am only try to contemplate what I must have done that led to writing this blog in the middle of the night, what wrong I must have done that you thought ignoring would be the best option. I still haven’t found the answer. Is it the file I did wrongly... is...

Abrity di gives a shocker yesterday...Jhilik drops a bomb today...and all my excitement is marred... initially I had decided to call this one 'the most lucrative year" and type in all those happy incidents that made the past one year so precious...but I've finally ended up writing a nameless blog...not exactly nameless though...this phrase 'placeholder for text' has become very significant in the last one year at work...but that's not reason enough for naming it thus...incidents mentioned above have just spoilt all that flurry... this piece was supposed to be everything bout my completing a year at work...(which completely changed everything for me when it happened last year...I remember walking into that huge building, completely sure I wouldn't make it...but I finally did...) it was supposed to be about that long awaited result which finally did come out yesterday...(finally making me a Mass Comm post graduate)...I even thought I'd ping Abrity ...

I crossed a sad Dunlop yesterday on my way back from work. There was no one who’d hold my hand and help me dodge the jam-packed crossing. I have this strange phobia of crossing busy roads – I get confused and end up standing at on side of the road for really long. But every single day last week, Shukla di held me by my hand and crossed the busy road with me (she’s completely spoilt me, trust that). However, yesterday I crossed Dunlop all alone...a bit too late, a bit too confused. And the irony is, I did not want all this to happen YESTERDAY. My shift changes from Monday...so this Friday was apparently the last day (well almost, exaggeratedly speaking) of me being a 6 th floor-ite. So the day had been BAD, what with me staying back after work and missing the 6 PM bus. And I am surprised at myself, at how morose I felt on my way back home cuz I won’t be seeing these faces for quite some time now. There was this uneasy pain in the chest, I cannot locate exactly where. I ...

Yes, love makes you do strange things and poems is one of them. I mean I've always been very disgusted with the idea of writing poem. Thought of it as something utterly girly and poet-ish. But well, here I am. Though what I have done, I would not like to call it a poem. They are just random thoughts I've penned down. Strangely, every thought of you that comes to my mind and then down on my paper, takes shape into something so overwhelming. Somehow, only you will ever understand the true meaning of this little piece I've written. But you might never get to read it. This one's for you, with a lot of love. Don't take the scathing words so seriously :) I want to play the guitar just the way you like. I wish to sing you Dylan like I promised. I want to puff the cigar you so hate, I wanna be on drugs and everything you despise. I'll be a rebel cuz you've taken the love away. But you said you like rebel, didn't you?