Weary Travails

From the time the Sun creeps up stealthily into the clear sky, to the time when the sky is splashed with a bucket of ink dotted with white stars, I continue a search, an exploration speaking scientifically, a foray into a new patch of Earth every day. Come, take a little walk with me, as I stroll past alien lands. I don't tire easy, I'm a fighter they tell me. Its never easy, never was, coz the weather doesn't stay fair for too long. I usually take shelter under the leaking tin roof in the country side. Keeps me sheltered, despite the soft pattering of rain on me which ceases fire by the morning. I like the songs of the trees. They are the same everywhere. I like the colorful masses of people. Unless I'm seeking refuge, they appear like little children going round and round on a giant Ferris wheel. They don't stop. Almost ever.
Sometimes people look at me for a while longer. They seem to search for something. My weary feet carry me faster. But then, everyone seems to be searching for something.
I pick a dust laden book sometimes. I like you. You are a shade better than the over cast sky. You're a book. In you I travel miles more than my weary, two feet could actually every carry me.
Ahead lies the zenith. Or is it. Yet another adventure. It could be nippy or for all I know I could be braving the Sun. Another silent treatment? Or will the woods speak to me? A parallel world?
It could be the black or the white or the yellow. I don't think I even want to know.
All I want is an all-absorbing land. A trajectory which connects the roots. Of the black, the white, the yellow. My roots.
All I want is the stretch of pan-existence which will let me taste the two spoons of sugar I add to my tea.

The epiphany

I saw it, it didn't have to be,
Far and wide beyond the sea,
I saw what I think I saw,
Sprawled across the black and white sea.
As blood rushes to my head,
As vision blurs around the bend,
The mind plays a trick so illusionary,
That the world looks like a stream of red.
Atop the cliff I am and will be,
A tale so baneful behind what I see,
Hollows of my system saddle many such,
Percussion of the elements around me.
I see it, it has to be,
The realm of objectivity cloaks the sea,
The signs are expeditious in my line of vision,
I see what the world has come to be.

For the thinker in me

There's a place somewhere,
Far far away,
I do not see it, but I feel it in my bones,
I can picture it vividly,
There is a green and a yellow,
a white and a blue,
and some red too.
I see the colors on the horizon.
For it is nothing but a mesh of all the tones of life.
I wander around,
like a lost traveler in search of an oasis,
I don't know what I look for,
I don't know whats in store,
Yet I walk further,
Into the wild forests that lie ahead.
My spine tingles,
At the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead,
But when I see people walk past me briskly,
Its then that I stop to watch the towering trees brushing against the flamboyant stars.
I rest against a tree only to realise that the journey to the place unexplored had just begun.
There's water and there's fire,
Its inferno right before my eyes,
I can see the amber flame in the eyes of my soul,
As an afterthought, I sit and question its role.
The mist, heavy and dense
Is closing in from all ends,
Like the break of dawn which should have never come.
There are signs of life and there are signs of death,
There are signs of wine and there are signs of bread.
I see a flight of stairs at the end of the ordeal,
I see a lamp flickering at the corner I cannot foresee.
There is this place which I know houses all the dreams,
Its far far away yet not as unreachable as it seems.
I hear footsteps of humanity all around,
Its a pity they seem to be getting fainter.

Of crunchy Lettuce Leaf and echoing lyrics

I love Subway. Yes, the food joint. Testimony to the fact: I am capable of eating both my solid meals of the day at subway. It beats any food joint, any day of the week and twice on Sundays. If you're actually doubting the authenticity of this claim, then you have not experienced the delights of gastronomy. Pardon me if my bias towards vegetarian food is too much for you to handle, but can you really blame me for drooling at the thought of a sub with mayo and south west dripping from its either ends? That is not all Mister. There is the extremely vital ingredient for this magical staple. And no, I'm not talking about adding toad hair or cat toe nails to it. A great sub, preferably a veggie delight if you ask me, is incomplete without the Mighty Lettuce. Now I have not been the biggest fan of lettuce all my life, but it was one of the vegetables which would sneakily find its way into my food and I would never shower it with all my attention. But the gratitude has finally sunk in. We have a lot to be thankful for, Lettuce is quite high on that list of things. And if its lettuce dripping mint and mayo, it kicks ass of the plain-jane lettuce. The first bite is always the best. The crunch of the fresh green lettuce leaf mingling with the taste of the sauces. Its like the non-cosmological equivalent of the Big Bang. Diverse tastes flying in all corners of your mouth. And you can just close your eyes and let your taste buds do the tango.
On another thought, whats with Rihanna?
No seriously. First there was Umbrella. Where the Ella-ella-ella echoed so many times that it trojan horsed its way into your head and for a long time, thats all that played in my head. Finally, with how much ever trouble did I manage to wriggle myself out of this one(getting addicted to some other garrulous track by then of course). Along came Russian Roulette by R to upset my apple cart. Yes, I like throwing tantrums about a lot of trifling things in life. Why do all her lyrics end in the same way? The last word echoing a number of times till the last syllable! It is emphatic undeniably, but I really doubt that the idea behind her issuing an invitation (or a general offer as my Contracts teacher would call it) to stand under her umbrella was to draw attention to it.
That aside, "So just pull the trigger-trigger-trigger" *descending echo*
Later.

Sleep to live, in my case Live to Sleep.

You know what I like best about that sore, dreadful week where I have been neck deep in work? Hint: It begins with an Ess. Nope, not Saturday. I was thinking more on lines of Sunday. Now I must confess that the wide eyed girl happens to be the biggest self-confessed lover of Sleep. And good food. And I’ll tell you this, Sundays are equivalent to sleeping-like-you’re-dead and delightful breakfasts for me. I’d intended to make this one about Sundays and the array of awesome things Sunday brings with it. But since I have already gone down the sleep lane, let me go further. So let me explain the ‘sleep-like-you’re-dead’ phenomenon(again, I came up with this). When I sleep, in that weird C-wanting to become-S position, with my eyes shut and mouth slightly open(not always, but it just sounds funny), I’m dead to the world! No normal or paranormal activity, no sound of a pin drop or an eruption from a mountain standing right next to me, spewing out its ‘stuff’ on me, no nails scratching on the board, no roomie trying to jerk me awake hopelessly, oh, and no alarms (I have the most notorious history with those) will ever be successful in making me even consider getting up. So this is what I do when my alarm rings in the morning and I’m not even kidding. After an hour of it ringing like a bitch right under my pillow, the sonorous waves filtering in through the fibres of my pillow and striking my ear and miserably rejected bouncing back, I decide that my roomie should at that instant when she’s having a nice, sound dream have my alarm shoved into her face! And you know what, she is not even allowed to resist. One loud grunt from me and she decides that if she wants to live long enough to produce babies (she’s dippy on babies!), she should deal with the wretched alarm, in whatever way. To hell with getting up on time. You see, I have my priorities in place. Now getting back to my original strain of thought on Sundays. Sundays, if only there was ever a thing so ideal! Get a load of this, Sundays work like this for me. I sleep till my brain is on the verge of bursting because it just can’t sleep anymore. It yeans to stretch its arms and rub its eyes but I just wouldn’t have any of it.Let me tell you about the elements which are most conducive to my oh-so-precious sleep:
• Watching some mind-numbing TV with the lights out, the pillow semi plopped against the bed, body forming an obtuse-angle, comforter pulled up to the neck(that is never compromised on). I was watching Rachel Allen’s bake last night in that position and even that seemed blissful.
• Making sure that the comforter acts like an envelope to your body and you tuck in all the ends of the comforter under yourself. That ways, there is no cold corner left around your lair and every inch of you is warm. It must be a sin to feel so good and sleepy!
• Try this: Since the comforter is up to your neck, and you are in the C-wanting to become-S position, draw up your shoulder blades so that they touch your ears. I know it sounds terribly quirky, but believe it when it’s coming from me. It works or what!
• Make sure that your hair does not fall on your face, it irritates the living daylights out of me and makes me all crabby and most importantly, it kills my sleep. *Hmmphh*
• The biggest incentive for sleep to come to me has to be thoughts of good food. I think watching ‘Bake’ last night worked on me. While Rachel Allen was whipping up some lemon tarts on the screen, I could bet I was tasting them when my mind switched off.
• This has to be my personal favourite. Listening to music when you’re all curled in the warmest spot on the bed. Listen to a track on repeat(I do that when a track gets to me) till your mind switches off and the track now plays softly in the background of your peaceful slumber. I could almost fall off to sleep imagining that feeling.
• There is nothing like the shut eye after a day of hard work and elbow grease. The feeling of falling off to sleep before your eyes shut or your head hits the pillow is the most satiating.

More will follow as I re-discover the magic of sleep everyday. I need food now. More later.

Chronicles of the wide eyed girl

All those times when I saw plays and thought about my big Broadway dream, I could never really figure how close would I actually get to living that one up. So let me start from the scratch, I was not what you would ordinarily expect from a girl who was passionate about acting to be like. Lets break the "Oooh I want to be an actress when I grow up" stereotype, shall we. Undeniably, I had my share of stand tall(but of course! I was wearing my mom's stilettos), wear mother's red lipstick and spritz her perfume and stare at my image, posing in the mirror for hours, phase. But I NEVER wanted to be an 'actress' when I grew up.I had a panache for acting from the time I was very little, or at least I think :) "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven."It was not exactly a colossal feat playing Portia from Merchant of Venice I would say, as much as it was to have played her in Class 4.
The wide-eyed girl weaved a parallel world full of plays and Broadways for herself. The dreams got bigger and shinier. With every performance. With every compliment. I almost felt my acting prowess in me :)
Stage II of this big wonderful dream: This is when the bubble bursts. That is how the cookie crumbles. Law School happened to me. Suddenly the wide eyed girl peddling her plays and scripts recoiled. Not for long, though. Like they say (or do they not?) that don't find your dreams, let the dreams find you. And so it happened.
You know how the processes of familiarization and socialization work, right? In law school, its quite like the plonk-your-posterior-on-the-couch syndrome(I came up with that). When you are new and unaccustomed, you are uneasy. Extremely. (You're surrounded by every specie of nerds there ever was, what the hell were you expecting.) And soon, you find 'your spot'. It is this nice cushy-jammy place. Comfortable. Extremely. Your posterior fits that spot on the couch just right. Read:you know where you stand and you have made your peace with that. And in my case, I found that I could, almost like an intrinsic instinct find theatre back into my life. Of course it came with all those practices at ungodly hours(Yes, we practice at 6 in the morning).There is more a possibility of the security guy who sits at the college gate of being late, than there is of our practices beginning late(Or thats how it was initially :) ).
And you know what, the dreams are just getting bigger. The theatre accomplishments in my journey so far make me happy, sure. But I get this tingling feel that this is not the end.Not so soon. The wide eyed girl has a lot of stories to tell and to act. Reveries plentiful in her backpack. All the woolgathering is a little too much, you'd say. I think so too. But its funny how when you try really hard, you cannot ever for the life of you figure out what life has planned for you. But when you are not trying all that hard, you see a pattern.
I see that pattern and hence I tell you. I will somehow find myself in a Broadway play. I mean I should, right? The musical sorts. I like musicals. And when that happens, I will find myself sitting all alone in the theater, just a day before the play kicks off, thinking about this day when the wide eyed girl, 20 something, hair hastily twisted up right at the top of her head, sat in front of her laptop screen typing all this out, watching the dream unfold in her head as she wrote.
The wide eyed girl and her phantasm live on.

Disturbiaaaa

There are certain things in life you write about, and certain things you don't. Writing is an urge..quite like an urge to pee..do it or else.!
So today when I'm finally down to writing what I want to, words escape me. Emotional upheavals do that to you =) But my writing is not going to mirror the undercurrents of my state of mind. Or so I think...
I like deja vus. Sitting huddled on my bed, earphones plugged in, sunlight streaming in(I always look towards sunlight for inspiration, sort of sunflower-ish tendencies)a characteristic writer's-something in the air. Weather's warm and placid, not the nauseating sort of heat. Yes, its clearly not a first.
Lights and sounds define a moment in time for me.. and just like that, I get sucked into a hurricane of memories. Memories so clearly etched out in my head..
*you don't have to put up a fight,
you don't have to always be right.
Let me take some of the punches,
for youuuu....tonight...*
And with goosebumps tingling my skin, all senses chipping in, coupled with pangs of nostalgia..I shut my notebook.
You're right, not all deja vus exude cheer.
And not everything in the world can be written about.