The awkward moment!

That awkward moment when you see this or hear that or realise something out of somewhere! “That awkward moment!”. This is my ‘that’ moment when I awkwardly understand that so much time out of facebook and yet this one ‘awkward moment’ thing would just not go away from my mind! It just kept echoing, “Is this my awkward moment?”, almost every idle moment of life. Until I finally realised it. That awkward moment when I realise, after living thru almost a month into the New Year, I have not turned a page, read a line or wrote a word yet! How could it be I didn’t even a read anything from my latest book fare extravaganza!

Its not like nothing’s happening. The New Year was too eventful. That 24 hours seem too insufficient to do anything at all. Too man resolutions, the struggle to keep them running and so many eventful things! Come on let’s list it out.

1. Pooled in ‘needy’ people like me who needed that one extra push to get things done. Keeping track of eacother’s resolutions and to-do’s, its going good as of till now.

2. Restarted one of the best things from my past. Diary writing. Really treasuring the spirit, holding on to it stronger.

3. Met with a minor accident kinda thingy, which did somuch harm. Disturbed my routine morning walk for half the month. And shook my unshakeable confidence with two wheelers! My hands still tremble. Its gonna take some time, I guess.

4. For the better, contested in college election and won with a huge majority! Now a member of the union, that was almost unbelievable, considering the politics involved. Might even write a separate post on that, one of these days.

5. When all else fails, there’s family and FRIENDS. Started watching the TV series (too late, I know!) and falling in love with Phoebe!!

Now these are big things that happened in the past month of my life. I wonder why I didn’t share anything. May be, the diary is too much replacing the blog. Or maybe, my words are failing me yet again. Half way thru this post, I had a draft saved. My cousin read thru and said, “What a crap! This is so not you!”. See! May be that’s it. Not in form, anymore. Too young to give up already. So let me give it one more chance. A 30 day challenge on the blog, with a cousin. Didn’t lose the first day itself. Good enough, for somebody out of their usual performance scale. 😀

P.S. Writing down stuff in points was always a near impossibility to me.But yay! Here on my 101th post, I did it!


I’m going back in life. To a point I never wished to return. I’m back there, where I think so much and look like I’m always in dreams, rather reverie. I’m so much lost in dreams that I so much lose my words and the wonderful stories that I wanted to share. Recursively, I think of something, think of writing it down, think of the opening sentences, go back to thinking and then think all that I want to write. Writing turns so pointless then!

Recently, I had found a solution to it. I had thought of adopting the typical ‘bulletin’ style of writing. I wished if I could sum up a week’s eventful events and in turn, write something beyond just thinking. And it’s then that I noticed one amazing aspect of my recent life. I had only amazing things to put up on my bulletin. My recent life has no sad stories or huge drama. And I almost can’t believe it’s my life. Pushed a friend into writing and saw for myself how awesome she writes. Stayed at my native and came to college from there, like it was my home. Broke a cold war and now it’s a hot war. Ended another cold war, and now I’m all cosy about it. Hugged my grandma and slept, after long years! Unplugged my headset more often, and listened to more unknown people and became a part of more unheard stories. Small things with infinite implications, happened in my life. Recently. And finally, the last straw is back. Like it was never broken. How much less depressing can my life be!


Has been ages since I wrote something. I so much miss me! So, where was I all these days? Thought I’d have to ask the question and frame the answer, all by myself. But fortunately, I’m elated by the fact that people actually were following me and they did notice my absence. Never have I been so sad that I haven’t written for so long either. Now that I don’t have a satisfactory answer or atleast an excuse, I choose not to answer that question that was thrown at me by people. I am here. Always around. But when I don’t write, something is just not so okay. Something might have just happened, you know. Like, a new semster might have started. Or may be, a relocation might have happened. A friend might have kept me busy. A health issue might have triggered my laziness. Or may be, I might have just lost my words for a while. Then again, what was it this time? No, don’t ask me. It should have been a mix of all of these or some of these, or may be none of these. Now that I’m back, I’m planning to hang on for a while more. An indefinite while. For I have things to share, talk, comment and elaborate. About college, the sober days, the ‘not just another’ days. There’s stuff to write. Once again.

Stop me if you can!

Constant tendency to puke is a disease or physical uneasiness. Same with constant urge to use the toilet. Even unsatiable hunger and sleep are seen as disorders. How is uncontrollable desire to blog considered then? Must be something like crazy! I am likely to be suffering from that crazy streak. I just cant stop blogging despite running short of words! Nothing can quite quench my thirst. My exams or a sprained palm do not stop me from my mission. Perhaps, I should just sit back and knit or something. Or may be just read and dream. I should just somehow stop this writing business and feel light headed. Could somebody buy me a crochet or an engrossing fiction and save the world from this misery!

Writing on..

Why am I not sticking to my new year revolution? I should be posting something everyday. But I am not. Not alternative days. Not even once a week. This is absurd. I should be writing often. I have readers. And I have things to write. Why not then! Recently, I’ve been pushing my friends into blogging as well. And what they keep telling me is something like, writing always demands a drive. Something like a strong and extreme emotion or mental state that stirs the uneventful existence. They tell me nothing of that sort happens in their lives and hence they cant write. In a nutshell, they tell me they aren’t as sorrowful and as pathetic as I’m right now.

Is my depression mode the drive to my writing spree? I dont assume so. I always wrote. And I always will write. The past was successful and the future is promising. It’s the present that I’m uncertain of. I dont know if I actually want to write this. I dont even know if I’m actually writing this or just imagining that I’m typing this. Was I not just discussing about file pointers and object oriented programming a while before? But now am I writing? Or typing? I’m confused. It cant be me writing. I am not supposed to be writing. Writing needs a drive and at the moment, I’ve none. I’m not crying my heart out. Not laughing my heart out either. I’m not particularly at the height of my emotions. Practically feeling nothing other than the stink and damp in the room.

Looks like I can still write. Feeling ecstatic about the idea of not feeling anything, I can still narrate a million stories and sing a million verses. I’d never grow enough to grow tired of them. I may go blank. But never emptied. I may be out of my mind. But never out of words. I’m on with writing. Writing on..


I may not be a seasoned writer. Ah! That’s never the point here. That was so randomly stated just to go along with the title.Seasons are just so praised and so visualised as if they were the nature’s most true essence. Truly though, they indeed are something so. Poetry and literature, as I’ve always seen dearly embraced seasons and the change they symbolise. From summer to monsoon. To spring. And to winter. (I bet I got the order wrong!) The transition has been ever so slow and steady. The blunt curves of temperature and drooping scale of humidity. Seasons always mesmerise, with the awesome relativity we tend to establish with human lives. So much so, I’ve fallen in love with the word ‘rithu’ (In Malayalam, meaning season). Seasons are long. And take large radius curves to never let us feel the abrupt change. Truly a process of gradual transition. And hence it feels awkward human lives are compared to seasons.

People dont change so gradual. The sharp edges of moving on with things pierce everything around us. People are like weather. Short lived, miniature of seasons. The transience is so much similar to people and their contrasting thoughts, that change over an year, a month, even over a single night. Ah! That’s why you have fair weather friends and not fair seasoned ones!

These are a lot more about seasoned. I am really loving those yummy yummy seasoning over my double cheese pizza. I’m planning on making it something like my staple food or so! Rotflol. But idiotically, the primary seasoning that I was referring to, here, was the one that I caught recently in Hindi soap operas. However though, I dont follow the language and yet the ‘season’ was so obvious! Well the season was just about how romance blooms between the protagonists and how that ends up in the usual Indian style dimming of lights and kissing dolls!

Matrix and the parker

Gotten close enough to a Matrix Bilt note book? With elegant black cover, and the problem free wiro binding, as they name it, it’s classic and executive. Always had an eye on their 5 subject note book. Considering the price and the number of pages, I reached at the obvious conclusion that’s not worth my ‘lecture’ notes. However, as things always happen, a Matrix three – partition book came to me through a cousin.

Ever since I got it, I was confused what to write in it and hence just kept it aside. Until recently,I assumed nothing worth to be written there. Now though, with my most cherished and chaste Parker, I pen one liners and multiple liners in them. They may be not extra ordinary. But the pen and the book got something of my satisfaction to be engaged with. Upon some ‘elderly’ opinion, those ramblings will also find room in my blog, right here.

More to write. Later.


What I wanted to write on the book and the pen was simple. I was always intrigued by the ‘pen holder’ they offered with the Matrix. I was wondering what on earth did they actually mean by this amazing offer? It took a long time for me to notice the small hole at the back cover of the book! That was disgusting. They present it as though its some additional effort that they took to make the product more attractive. But what do I see instead! They should have given us something ‘extra’ and what they do is actually take away portion of the back cover which should have been our rightful possession. But you know what? I am stupid. Dumber than dumbu. It was the perfect ‘pen holder’ I ever had. The page size and the spacing of the hole was so perfect that my Parker glided through the hole and peacefully held on to the Matrix. That was one fine thing the book and the pen taught me. Taking away of a portion of the back cover was such a brilliant idea. Sometimes, all we need is that. Take away a bit of those things that needn’t be there in life. It will make room to accommodate all those indispensablities of our existence. Look around and learn. There’s a lot to learn from everything, every moment.


There’s this churidar of mine, with red and black stripes. Kinda rustic look and I kinda liked it too. But the tailor ruined the dress and I hardly wear it these days. A single day today, I saw three people in the exact same dress. Saw two yesterday. That’s really really bad. I want to stay unique, everything in me, everyone around me. Glad I’m not wearing it that often these days! Standing out even in what you wear, is something that I have truly cherished in life. Without compromising or taking efforts, things naturally turned out the most unique to me always!

I occasionally walk back home after college. And that I do in a peculiar fashion, jumping across the pavement tiles. Numbering my steps, not crossing the tile joints, placing my leg at the same position in every tile. That’s kinda difficult to describe. I’d rather show you one day than explain it online. Waiting for the bus, I saw this lady with a disfigured face. Probably an aftermath of an accident, it seemed like she burnt half her face. As she crossed me, I had the perfect side view of her other part of the face. Trust me when I say she was elegantly beautiful from that angle. She reminded me of our crippled selves and fake facade that each one of us bear. Symbolism! Lol. I really wanted to let her know how beautiful she was. But yeah, intuitively I swallowed that ‘brilliant’ idea of mine.

Saw a guy today. Have been seeing him quite often and he resembles my long lost uncle a lot. I wish if I could see my uncle just once more and talk to him just once more. I can explain why he walks so brisk all the time. And why he hardly makes eye contact with anybody at all. As if I know this random man and the whole of his life. I wonder how I see the story running through every mind that crosses me. I think what they might have been thinking. Assuming a plot as their life’s story and building upon the vague giveaway of their nature has become my new way of ‘utilising’ time. I meet a hundred people minimum every day. And I have a hundred story lines running through my head every moment of the day. And from those many stories, its my handpicked story that covers my blog post every night.

My point is simple. With so eventful a life, and so much happenings in a single day, I am not running short of things to write. Actually, I have so much to write that I am confused what to choose. I could have written a single post that talked about any of the things that I talked about earlier. I could have just wound it up and moved on to the next. But then, this is what I chose to write. A random paragraph with so much ramblings! This is how things work with me. Obviously.

Not just recently, but ever since I started writing I’ve been accused of one thing. That I dont know what to write in a blog and what not to write. Back then, I was so offended by that statement and I totally abandoned my blog and swore to resurrect never again. But I came back. With more vigour to express and more experiences to vent.Even the last time somebody read my blog and immediately reached me to warn and advise on what to and what not to write. But seriously, I dont bother anymore. You think I shouldn’t have said this is in open? Tell me that on my face in public. Only then am I even gonna consider doing something about it. Back then, it was the censoring of a teenager’s crazy ramblings. But if you think you can still do it with me, you’re gonna regret thinking so. I’m a person. I know what I’m writing, sensibly and sensitively. Having a lot to write and limited time to spend on it, I’m already filtering a lot of things that’s running on my mind. Filtering it again makes it drab. Nothing more remains in the essence of my passion to write.

I’d want someone to genuinely tell me what they think of the things that I write. Are they things worth anybody’s time? Are they worth any thing at all? Tell me if I shouldn’t have written this. Tell me if this offends you. I’d quit again. Stopwriting forever. And resurrect again if you let me. For you, a thousand times over!

Just a word

Words are few. To describe all life’s joy and sorrow, pain and agony, love and hate, words are too few. I have had the most of them. The best awesome wonderful words. People give it to me. Knowingly and unknowingly. Over the years, ‘people’ have contributed more than ‘reading’ in building my vocab.

The most amazing and most cherished words are given to me by my brother. I still remember how he used to make me run for the dictionary and search the meaning of every new word that he shoots at me! The abysmal fall to the oblivion is often broken by the obvious concurrence of our fragile existence and the omnipresence. Well, the sentence wouldn’t have made sense to many of you. That’s so many words that he gave me bound together! He told me how rendezvous is just rondayvoo, how sarcasm and pun are similar, what gerunds are and finally how beseech is the best word of expression! It doesn’t end in a single post. Half the words in my writing are stolen from his treasure. How many of you even know the precise meaning of vocab? Its not just a set of awesome brilliant words. Its the skill of using the right word at the place. He told me that and he gave me that.

There are more contributors. My mom gave me the second best word, solace. She instantly knew the word I was searching for! Lol. Reimbursement also owes its credit to her. My dad wasn’t any bad. He handpicked the toughest words from all available English write ups he read. In neatly folded chits, the language was flowing to me every evening, as a brook, as a river and now finally contributing to the ocean itself. He brought me paper cuttings which had English that he failed to assimilate. He’d still come to me for drafting and editing his official letters. Dad, you never knew how proud it makes me!

There was Neha of course, my closest ever friend or listener or chatter box. She called me a git and it took me five min to get the meaning! And I called her naive. And more words returned finally stuck at a loss of words. Not forgetting to mention Rahul for bringing back ‘status quo’ and ‘au revoir’ after long. More words. More people. From ‘alma mater’ to ‘iconoclast’.

Words are yet too few to thank them all and tell them how happy every single word makes me. Looking out for more words. Or may be, just another word!

Random thought!

Most that I write are random things. Everytime, though, I manage to channelise what I write so that it fits under some category and title. But today, I dont feel like hiding the randomness. Its just too huge to be hidden. I’m in love. With my letters. My words. My phrases. My clichs. My accent. My writing. My language. So with yours. So with theirs. So with everybody else’s. Does that sound vaguely insane? Practically, yeah. Its kinda absurd that someone likes all that they say and read and re-read them . Its like licking your own ****. Lol. Or is it? I dont care however it is. I’m just all in love with what I write. They make me happy. When I read them again and again, they give me a tickle in my stomach. I take pride. 🙂

But now, is pride wrong? Vanity is. But pride isn’t. It makes a person. How can it be wrong then! But what you take pride in, is also important.
Words are precious to me. I’m proud coz I still have words for myself. May be not eloquent. May be not elegant. May be not appropriate. May be not even linguistically correct or socially accepted. May not be worth a read at all! But they are still mine. Having them as mine, and mine forever, with no one to claim over, I’m proud. I take pride in myself. Regain it for me.