Not today. . .

"Name?"
"Suzanna."
"That's a beautiful name. Age?"
"Thank you. 25"
Father's name?"
There it was. This is why she preferred written questionnaires. Why she had ALWAYS preferred them. Cause well let's face it, it was easier to conceal those awkward pauses when she was on her own. Much MUCH easier in comparison to the present situation, where there was somebody hovering over her head, waiting for her response with baited breath. It made her extremely uncomfortable. And even though she knew exactly what she would say after another 10.6 seconds,this awkward silence was sort of mandatory. It had a become a habit, something ingrained in her psyche. She had filled in the same response in all the questionnaires, all the application forms, year after year. But each time  they asked her for her parents' name, she faced the dilemma of the prefix. It was a choice she had to make, a choice she would never have had to make, if it wasn't for that gruesome night of her tenth birthday. . .
It was a quiet affair. They had decided to not make a big deal out of their daughter's birthday this year since her grandmother had passed away just a week back. Little Sue was terribly upset, and had been throwing tantrums the entire day. She had even said a few nasty things to her mommy, things she didn't really mean. They broke mommy's heart, but she chose to keep quiet and keep little Sue as happy as possible. Ten was a big number, her little girl was growing up, and she didn't want to make the day worse for the apple of her eye. The world around her was in a state of utmost chaos, and the family lived in constant fear, in case they became the next victims of the riots. Sue, oblivious of the bigger picture,  had been sulking in the living room, when she heard the commotion in the hallway.
They had forced themselves in and had immediately overpowered her father. She heard someone screaming, and then realized the shrill sound was emitting from her own throat, as she watched them drag her wounded father into the living room. Mommy dropped the bowl of rice in the kitchen itself and rushed  into the room, only to be pinned down on the floor by a boy half her age. She had always maintained that the next 30 minutes were a blur, when people had interrogated her years later. But the truth was, she remembered each and every second of the ordeal. For they made sure she witnessed each and every bloody detail. They had butchered her loved ones in  front of her innocent eyes, while one of them covered her mouth with his rough and robust hands. But that wasn't necessary, for she wouldn't have screamed. She couldn't have. It was stuck in her throat, and it remained stuck in there for 30 whole minutes, after which she had collapsed. She still had nightmares at times, and those hands featured prominently in all of them.They always would.
The receptionist cleared his throat loudly. 10.6 seconds had elapsed, she still hadn't answered and he was getting impatient. What was she going to say? Would it be the same? Or would she choose to accept the truth finally and fill atleast ONE  application form correctly. Late? Or Mister? She would have to give in to the shattering truth one fine day, she would have to make it official by stating it in her documents. She would, but today just wasn't the day. . .
"Yeah, I'm sorry. Umm it's Mister. . . . "

This is a part of BluBlubling's Awesome April. Go check her fantastic Blog out! :)

I'll be there for you.

"And your pills? What about your pills?", he inquired, with his right eyebrow arching suspiciously.  The smile that spread across her face reached her wizened eyes. She nodded gently, still smiling at the almost patriarchal look on his face, and his shoulders relaxed. What would she ever do without him? Without his love, his tender care, without his constant questioning? He had been an adept officer in the vigilance department after all, and using his skills at home amused him to no extent. She didn't seem to mind either; coming from a family where women did not really receive the appreciation that they deserved, his anxious queries made her feel wanted. They made her feel special.
Ten years back, she could have filled the silence with a simple, honest "I love you", covering up for the time she had taken to admire him, in his presence. But those three words weren't enough anymore. Words would never be enough to tell him about all the love that seemed to overflow out of her weak little heart. And so, she chose to communicate her feelings of sheer admiration and adoration through her warm brown eyes. He understood, of course and touched his lips to her forehead, making her smile more than ever. Choked with a gamut of emotions, "Thank you", was all she could muster.
"Mom? Are you okay? Who were you talking to?". Jenny burst into the room, apprehension evident on her young countenance. "To your father, of course", she replied with a certain enthusiasm. "Umm, mom. I think you should sleep now. Have you taken your medicines? You were supposed. . . " "Ah. like father, like daughter. Yes honey, I have. You don't need to worry about me so much. he will take care of me. He always has, hasn't he?" The joy that her mother was radiating broke Jennifer's heart, and she chose to leave the room,   trying to hide the tears in her eyes from her elated mother. On the way to her room, she stopped to stare at her father's picture on the wall. Making a mental note to replace the garland of roses around his neck with a fresh one, she reached out for her phone in order  to make a call to her mother's physician.

This a part of BluBluBling's Awesome April. You can check out her blog here. :)

Shooting Stars and Broken Hearts.

A veil of sadness would dawn on her eyes, her lower lip would jut out.And one look at her face would be enough for my maternal instincts to take over, and for me to accede to her childish requests, demands, wants and needs. The protective blanket of my maternal love was the first thing that touched her dejected spirit every time she was reprimanded at school, or lost her favorite toy, or picked up a fight with a loved one. I would take her little hand in mine, give it a little squeeze and lead her to her glass window. Her eyes would widen with wonder and mesmerized, she would leave her callow sorrows behind and befriend the luminous dignitaries of the night.  
Her stellar companions are here tonight, and so is she. Her room remains unchanged, but she is no longer the little girl that once dreamed of fairies and elves and prince charming on a horse, on this very bed. The twisted bed sheet that silently brings her series of sleepless nights to my notice is like a mirror of the glistening universe tonight. The light from the heavens is creating exquisite patterns on her beautiful young countenance in the dark, but only a mother's gaze can notice the burned out fire in those hazel eyes. Her stellar companions are no longer a source of comfort for her, they are the unanswered questions in her tormented young heart, projected into the darkness of the night.
And as she waits for a shooting star tonight, unaware of the silent tears that her mother is shedding at her door, all her wishes will be granted. For she won't be the only one who sends a prayer into the distant skies tonight. So will I, for the stars were enough to distract her from a broken toy, but they will never be enough to mend her broken heart.

Yet again, a part of Kanika's Fantabulous February. Only this time, she was kind enough to put up a picture I thought could be a part of her little exercise. Thank you, Kanika! Love! :)

Learn to read between the lines.

You're like a distant star.

Bright, shining, dazzling me with all your power.

You're like a distant star.

You seem within reach, yet you're way too far. 

Tracing the lines on your forehead with my pinky finger, as you try to decipher the text from a random  person that you just received, I realize I know you as well as the back of my hand. I know your standard expressions. I can quote your standard replies. So well, that while waiting for you to say something, I can form your response in my head which I assure you, would be identical to yours. I could have an entire conversation with myself, pretending to be you. 

Yet in many ways, you're a stranger to me. And I, to you. Today, after years and years of companionship, I feel there's a glass sheet between us, between our hearts. Which allows us to understand our own viewpoint, but restricts effective communication. You're smiling at your Blackberry's screen, and I find myself smiling at you for reasons beyond my comprehension. It's like reflex. You smile, I smile. Or maybe this is where we're going wrong. Today, I am a mere reflection of your emotions in the clear blue stream of our love. Untainted, pristine, yet incomplete. Your sentiments decide the course of my day, your words can make or break me. I look at this stream of our love, and if I see an image of your grief, I reflect it faithfully. I am no longer a master of my own mind, I can no longer shun the sorrow that you radiate and try to become a source of joy for you instead. No. I am your reflection, and I've lost the firm hold that I had over the realities of my own life.

So don't ask me questions. Don't demand explanations. For what I feel now is not something I can weave into words. Words will never be enough to describe this chasm in my heart, constantly trying to break through it's walls. And your words will never be enough to fill this emptiness, it requires something much MUCH more. Something I need you to understand yourself, and not question me about. That something is all I need to keep my feet firmly rooted to the ground, to not crave for liberation from this loathsome existence of mine. 

You're like a distant star.

Bright, shining, dazzling me with all your power.

You're like a distant star.

You seem within reach, yet you're way too far.

Here's a song I felt echoed the emotion behind this post. 

More than words - Extreme :)

Again, a part of Kanika's Fantabulous February :)

The Unique Freak [ Part II ]

This is a sequel to a previous post which you can read here.

". . . . .so then I told him that Kings was the best beer there ever was and that he could go shoot himself if he hadn't . . .Chayan? CHAYAN?"
There it was. Rishabh had JUST given me reason number 23 to slap myself for having invited him over for just "chilling out". My living room looked like a battle field, where two types of beer bottles had just fought, and Rishab was clenching the only surviving soldier in his hand, while the remnants of the martyrs lay scattered on  my new carpet. One look at the beer trickling down on my sparkling new carpet would have triggered a full fledged panic attack, IF and only if something much more intriguing hadn't suddenly caught my attention.
A battered white Maruti 800 had just entered the vicinity. A very familiar battered Maruti 800. Oh who was I kidding, ever since that day, Little Miss "I need anger management classes" had literally vanished from the face of the Earth. Yes, I was stalking her, in a way. And no, I was not proud of it. But yeah, I didn't particularly regret it either. By now, I knew that she lived in the house opposite mine, on the ground floor, with a teenage boy, probably her brother, and her father. Her father. I had a feeling I knew EXACTLY who had had a major contribution in making her the interesting little creature that she was. For  I swear to God, the man dressed JUST the way I would have. If I lived in HAWAII, that is. They were an exquisite little family, They-Who-Lived-In-The-House-Opposite-Mine., and I knew I was willing to grab even the minutest opportunity of getting to know them. Of getting to know her. Ayatree, Atrayee. Whichever of the two was her actual name. And I had no qualms about shamelessly admitting that for weeks, the first thing I did after walking into my apartment and loosening that noose of a tie of mine, was to rush to the  balcony and wait for her to appear out of thin air with baited breath. But all I managed to witness was her attractive little backside. Or hear someone calling out her name, only a portion of which I could fully understand. The "Tree" in it, as a matter of fact. I could only speculate about the remaining portion.And the "Tree" or her attractive little backside were never going to be enough for me. I wanted MORE. And for once, not sexually. I wanted to sit by her side and listen to her rant about random things for hours at a stretch. I wanted to tease her about her silly habits. I wanted to spend eons of time with her, know every single detail about her life. Her favorite flower, her favorite color, the book she read before she fell asleep, the power of her glasses, the song she sang in the shower...
And as the familiar, much awaited Maruti 800 made it's way into it's allotted parking space, I had eyes only for it's disproportional [it had undergone the worst torture, that poor car] shape in the dark. It was funny how she always announced her arrival with a bang, that girl. For one was heard immediately after she began maneuvering that tormented vehicle of hers. Mrs. Batliwala from the first floor wasn't going to be happy about the   brand new dent on that beloved Honda of hers.
"PAPPAAAAA. I think. . . . ", ". . .Chayan? CHAYAN?", ". . . .tree has seriously injured Mrs. Batliwala's deekraaa." There it was. Reason to kick Rishabh out of my house. Number TWENTY-FUCKING-THREE. What would I not have given to know what preceded the "..tree" in her name. I had waited for weeks for this moment, and the beer adoring jerk had blissfully ruined it for me. But the girl had given him a reason to thank his stars, for the only thing that stopped me from pushing him over the railing was that PRICELESS expression on her face as she tried to tiptoe into her house like a serial killer fleeing a crime scene. And I knew the mere recollection of that expression would be the reason I would burst out laughing in many Board Meetings and depressing movies that I was to watch in the near future.

To be continued...

The Unique Freak.

I had never had one of those moments. The kind where you just stand still, soak in the beauty around you, of the nature or otherwise. Or the kind where you try to clear your mind completely, not think about anything in particular, and just stand still for no reason whatsoever. Not even the kind where you close your eyes and simply try to relax after a tiring day or a strenuous week. Nope. I'm not one of those guys who believe they have the time to just sit back and take a breather in their lives. Time is money, and 24 hours are never going to be enough for me to be able to strike off every single thing from that bucket list of mine. Yet surprisingly, I found myself standing in the balcony of the apartment I had just moved into, leaning against the railing with my eyes closed and listening to the sound of the leaves clashing with the soft breeze. It was unlike me to be standing alone on a dark winter night, smiling into nothingness. The fact that my living room was full of huge boxes waiting to be unpacked  didn't seem to bother me at all. I was at peace in my happy place, the rest of the things could wait.

And then before I knew it, the silence of the night was shattered. She came like the fierce wind, uprooting all that came in her way. Well not literally, all I saw her doing was kicking pebbles aside with great force, but I was pretty damn sure that had there been a person in their place, he or she would have regretted leaving their apartment at all. Clearly, she was furious. Her face was like that of a tigress, though comparing her with a dragon would make sense too, since she was almost breathing fire. It was  amusing, the way she was trying to trigger an earthquake with every step that she took, apparently in the direction of a battered white Maruti 800 parked in front of the house right opposite mine. Standing on the first floor of the building, I could see her perfectly, but she had no idea whatsoever of my presence. That gave me a marvelous feeling of confidence, and I leaned a little further in order to observe her closely. She was curiously dressed, that I could make out from the time she had set foot into my territory. She wore an over sized shirt over a pair of payjamas. Spongebob, was it? A tiny giggle escaped my lips, and I quickly checked myself before she caught me ogling at her. Her hair were tied in a messy bun and she wore bright, cherry red, thick rimmed frames. She was still audibly growling, her expression still made me wanna laugh my ass off, but there was something melting inside of me. She unlocked the car using a central locking device[seriously, on a Maruti 800?] and began rummaging through what seemed like layers and layers of stuff. Somebody had had a wild shopping spree that day, eh? Finally, she seemed to have found what she was looking for. The bar of chocolate was stuffed into the pocket of her Spongebob payjamas, and she began trying to lift all the bags at the same time. After a while, she managed to hang every single bag on either of her arms, banged the car's door shut with her tiny butt, walked a few steps like a toddler and BANG! This time around I had to press my hands hard against my mouth to stop myself from audibly, and literally, rolling on the floor laughing. There she was, lying flat on her back on the pavement, covered with shopping bags of all shapes and sizes, with the most hilariously startled expression on her face. And then after quickly checking whether anyone had witnessed what had happened, she burst out laughing, all signs of anger or frustration vanishing from her visage, and the sound made me wanna run downstairs and hug her. She was one hell of a unique freak, that girl, and I knew that I'd be seeing  a lot, LOT more of her.

To be continued...

The tables have turned.

Timid, tactful, yet always unsure of his own actions, he was reticence personified.
Loud, righteous, indignant, yet self absorbed in every way, you were in complete contrast.
Like a dark cloud, you hovered over his life.Watching over his decisions, never letting him escape from your iron grip. You ensured that he never tasted emancipation.Never caught a glimpse of liberation.
Being the hypocrite that you are, you buried your own follies under layers of lies and senseless justifications.
Yet he never questioned your authority, doubted your advice. He accepted your harsh criticism, without further argument. You took "taking for granted" to another level,but to maintain peace,he never contradicted your judgement.
But now, the tables have turned, the roles have reversed. And as you stand here, wondering what could have brought about the sudden outburst, you must know for a fact that your definition of "sudden" is horribly distorted. Or maybe you're way too vain to admit that this timid, tactful, reticent person you thought you loved, but actually controlled, has indeed decided to give you a dose of your own medicine. 
So instead of standing here, with your jaw reaching out for the floor, why don't you push your vanity aside for a while and finally ACCEPT. He's the volcano you thought would never erupt, babe, and he's on his way to wash away every trace of your existence from his life. 


I know  A LOT of people who are involved in relationships like this one, both guys and girls. Here's hoping that if your "better" half is reading this, he or she realizes that it's high time his/her equally wonderful half received their share of admiration and appreciation :)

Fantabulous February, Day 15 :)

Now that the love is gone.

She came in like the bright summer sun and left before I could fully bask in the warmth of her presence. I was a blank sheet of paper before she painted my life with the vibrant colors of her personality. I was an empty goblet before she filled my heart with the timeless wine of her love. My soul was like a barren piece of land which bore fruit after her constant efforts at mending the broken person that I was. And then, before I could fully grasp the fact that this magical being was indeed mine, she was gone. Gone. Moved on to a world where she could be better appreciated by the souls as divine as her. And I was left to cope up with my loss.
But I can't. My world is colorless, tasteless, meaningless, just as it was before she touched it and turned it into gold. There is nothing left of her, even her ashes were sprinkled on to the Ganges, making it more pristine and pure than it already was.There is nothing that bears testimony  of her existence, there is no proof of the fact that she ever did make my dead heart beat again. All that is left of her is that worn out white pullover that protected her fragile body from the chill, but could not protect her from the car crash that eventually ripped the life out of her.

I won't wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, readers, for I don't believe in this ritual which brings disappointment for some, heartbreak for others, and a sense of loss for the lonely.

PS. Sorry for such an emo post. You see, grief is infectious too.   

You. Are. The Only Exception.

When I was younger

I saw my daddy cry

And curse at the wind

He broke his own heart

And i watched

As he tried to re-assemble it

Friday, January 10, 2003
6:16 pm.

Dear Diary,

He's stormed out of the house again. Third time in this week. I didn't see it happen, ofcourse. I could hear them screaming accusations, followed by the sound of smashing glass[She's not going to be happy about this, it was the last vase from her collection of antiques.]. I began counting, and on exactly the tenth, the door was banged, and in another 20, the car had left the driveway. I am getting better at this with each passing altercation. 

10 pm.

 He's back. And he's drinking again. What can POSSIBLY make him SO unhappy? How can they POSSIBLY find reasons to fight EVERY single day of their lives? His hugs which smelt of his strong cologne, smell of stale beer now. Jumping onto his lap only means inhaling the residues of the twenty something cigarettes he's already smoked, and the smile that accompanies "Here comes my princess" doesn't reach his eyes anymore. He looks ten years older, the charm his words were always dripping with has worn off. Why do people have to get married in the first place if all that comes with it is the smell of stale alcohol and a fortune spent on smokes? 

                                                                   And my momma swore 

that she would never let herself forget

And that was the day that I promised

I'd never sing of love

If it does not exist

Friday, August 17, 2007

Dear Diary,

Fri-Daddy-Day didn't turn out to be so bad this time. For a change, he wasn't constantly texting that bitch from the Finance department. I think I am going to send him an anonymous mail pointing out how "Miss. Rita" is SO fucking similar to the typical vamp from Indian TV soaps. I mean caam aan. The blood red sarees, those cat-like green eyes, the fake laughter, the excessive flirting. And how  can he POSSIBLY not notice how her eyelids are always drooping due to the weight of the dark eye shadow which she probably doesn't even wipe off before bed. Has he ever wondered? Or maybe he knows what she looks like in bed...

*Heebie jeebies*. Must. Throw. Thought. Out of. Head.

Anyhoo, the scene at home isn't very different. Mr. Roy has decided to "help a friend meet deadlines" yet again. My ass. Mum hasn't missed a deadline her entire life. I shoved a hot dog into his mouth to stop all the saliva  from ruining my cushions. The constant drooling is going to be the reason I kill him one fine day.Well  atleast the scenario here is satisfactory. Mum doesn't give a rat's ass about him or the helping hand that he always has to offer. I think I am going to send an anonymous mail to him too and it'll be something on the lines of "QUIT TRYING YOU MORON. SHE'D RATHER DATE A BEAVER THAN DATE YOU". Even though it'll be technically incorrect. Dating for mum is higher up the list than boiling five live puppies. *swells with pride*. Atleast someone around here has a clear perspective on love. *pukes internally*

Maybe i know, somewhere

Deep in my soul

That love never lasts

And we've got to find other ways

To make it alone

Or keep a straight face

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Dear Diary,

So I was going through mum dad's wedding pictures the other night. And it compelled me to think, what on Earth were they thinking? That at 22, they'd found their soul mates? That just because they were happy at that moment, they'd live happily ever after? Didn't they realize that "Bullcrap! We're like chalk and cheese, we're diametrically opposite! HOW can we possibly live Happy-Ever-After?". Whatever happened to good old common sense? To the Head-Before-Heart theory? Love marriage. That's almost like a bloody oxymoron! 

And i've always lived like this

Keeping a comfortable, 

distance, and up until now

I'd sworn to myself that I'm content

With loneliness

Because none of it 

was ever worth the risk, but...

Tuesday, March 27, 2011

Dear Diary,

Okay so this is what it looks like.

1. He appears out of the blue and makes small talk. Annoying? Check.

2. Helps me out with Prof. Richard's project after that bastard screwed me infront of entire damn class. Still annoying? Check.

3. He takes me to this GOD AWESOME library near his place. Like the kind I used to dream  about when I was a kid, and had to make do with that awful version of a library near my place. [They didn't even have Dickens. WHAT MADE THEM CALL IT A LIBRARY?] Still annoying? Uhm not so much.

4. He cheesily asks me whether I'd like to be his "plus one" for the Tribute to Beatles. Can't blame a girl for agreeing to that sheepishly , can we now? Annoying wasn't even one of the options anymore.

STOP BEING NICE TO ME ALREADY. Makes me so darn uncomfortable :-/

But darlin'
You are the only exception.
You are the only exception...

Thursday, February 10, 2012

Dear Diary,

Got a bunch of prints for the scrapbook I decided to put together for his birthday. Couldn't fit this one anywhere, so here it is :) 

Okay I admit, I stared at this picture for good three minutes, smiling like a lunatic, before I began writing again. Who would have thought somebody like me would ever have someone I could call my own. Someone I could share my entire life with over a cup of coffee. Wiping off the froth from his upper lip after the first sip has sort of become a ritual. Though I make it a point to stare at him for exactly 0.8 seconds before I make a joke about it and trace his lip with the tip of my finger. What were the chances of ACTUALLY finding another person  who listened to Rafi and Floyd back to back every Sunday  morning. And even though that is the only thing we have in common[He likes his eggs sunny side up, chooses red over black, Lord of the Rings over Harry Potter], it seems as if there is something similar about every different habit of ours. 

Who could have thought I'd fall in love with chinese food. Or long drives. Or the rain. OR stupid mushy romantic flicks[geez]. Who could have thought I'd choose a kurta^ over a smart pair of denim jeans. 

I guess it's true then, all you need is love :)

And I'm on my way to believing,

Oh and I'm on my way to believing...

Again, a part of the Fantabulous February exercise. I picked up this format from a  fellow blogger's blogpost :)
Song- Only Exception: Paramore :)

Denial.

Look at this! I mean just  LOOK AT THIS! Yay moment much? I most definitely think so =D
It's been a good week. I said Hello to my long lost friend, my dear old blog. It was just there, with it's arms wide open, waiting for me patiently, instantaneously forgiving me for having neglected it unintentionally. I wish people around me were like that too. The world would have been a much better place to live in :)
Soooo, yet again, as a part of Kanika's Fantabulous February exercise, I present to you, Denial :)

Yes, go on, look at me again. It'll be the perfect last ingredient in this cauldron of extreme awkwardness. Pour it in, nice and slow. Yes, I've caught you looking at me. Yet again. So don't try to make it seem as if you were suddenly exceptionally interested in that junk piece of art that Liz calls her masterpiece. Cause you and I both know how much we've bitched about it behind her back, sitting on that red couch, which you are single handedly occupying right now. But there was absolutely  no need to choose the spot farthest from where I was sitting sweetie cause let's face it, you might be across the room, but someone could cut the sexual tension between us with a knife. YOU, however, like always, would have a different explanation as to why our "friendship", if you could call it that anymore, at present is in complete contrast to that which we had two weeks back. "I just have a lot of work load at present". Seriously? That is the best you could come up with? You might as well have gone with "It's not you, it's me". It would have at least given me the opportunity to pretend that you really were the biggest moron in the history of the world, and that I had better things to do in life than to sit and watch and wait for you to finally put two and two together and accept the fact that you really were in love with me. Those furtive glances you've been shooting in my direction, yes that was number twenty three, how would you explain those then? Or those moments we spent at your place the other day? Or that walk in the rain? What we had between us then wasn't JUST "friendly" you know. The sparks that flew that night at Jo's party could have set the canopy he'd designed for the occasion on fire. And I am sure that stating that the kiss that happened later that night was just "something crazy and reckless that could happen with any two drunk people"  set your pants on fire, but even if it did, you'd find a way to look the other way anyway, right? Even if your ass looked like somebody's death pyre?
The truth is, you can't get yourself to believe that you cheated on her. Just like you refuse to believe that the love that you both so openly boasted about is gone, and that you're with her only because you don't know where else to go. Ignorance isn't always bliss,love. So I am going  to remain seated here, in this spot across the room, and wait for you to wake up from your reverie and realize, what I realized two weeks back. The signs have been gathering. Still not convinced?

Sooooo, what do you think about it? =D Batao batao, flood me with your suggestions and comments!
PS. The label should be "Fantabulous February", but I just don't know how to change the label now! Bleh! :(

I Hate You(And I definitely don't love you)

Hatred. It's a powerful emotion indeed. It consumes you,takes over your soul, messes up with your mind. You lose your ability to make rational decisions.It's destructive, yet unavoidable.
I had never felt so much hatred in my life before. In fact, when I look back upon my life, I don't think I ever hated someone with so much intensity. So much that my blood boiled at the mere mention of The Name. I clenched my fists on seeing The Face. I cursed myself for ever setting my eyes on anything that reminded me of That Person. I let the hatred rule over my life, my relationships, my thoughts and my actions.I had always been a pragmatic individual. Most of the things I did or said were carefully calculated. I wasn't one of those impulsive, aggressive, easily driven by hormones sort of a person. Known for my timidity and tact, I was one of the last people to ever get into a fight or lose my temper. Till That Person came along. And my life took a 180 degrees turn. All I could do was sit and watch in silent horror as I let all the relationships in my life slowly and painfully crumble before my eyes. All I could do was sit and watch. Today, I'm a loner. I regret, I repent, yet I'm unable to relinquish all that hatred which is till captured inside my heart like a caged bird, desperate for freedom. I've been deserted by all those who cared, all those who loved me, yet the suppressed frustration and rage lingers.Hatred consumes. It kills.

This is a work of fiction as the people who know me would have guessed by now, considering I am ANYTHING but timid and tactful :P

Yet-Another-mother

*Tak*

*Tak tak tak*

*Tak tak tak. tak tak*

*click*

"Heehee"

What on EARTH is that boy up to? What does he need the Computer for at..uhh..TWELVE THIRTY,bless him, TWELVE THIRTY at night?! 

She was another mother. Yet another mother with such a sharp sense of observation that she could give Hercule Poirot a run for his money. And such an immense talent for, may I say, SUSPICION. His phone beeped,he read the text, he SMILED,mind it you, SMILED, and BANG! She could have bet half her flesh on the fact that he had a Girlfriend in school. What was she like? Did she come from a good family? Was she Punjabi? was she INDIAN at all? Was she a sciencee? Was she NOT a sciencee? Did she want to become an engineer too?For christ's sake was she up to any good at all? Was she the reason he didnt score a 90 in this term? Haaye mera pyaara bacha. Kisi chudail ke changul mein phass gya! So yeah,what may seem like ages of introspection was, infact, the mental picture of,well lets say, Yet-Another-Mother,for the short span of about 30 seconds. Max. Thirty seconds were all she needed to declare that  poor figment of imagination as unethical,immoral,indecent,and though she shied away from the word in her mind, slutty. 

She slept with one eye open, and one ear on the room opposite hers. Even the slightest movement roused her,her eyes flung wide open,her senses were on high alert,and if you had night goggles,you would know that lying on her bed,she slightly resembled a cat,sniffing the air cautiously and all, and I'm not even kidding.

So yes, getting back to where we started off from,she had detected that her laadla was up and definitely up to something. But she had had a looong tiring day, and soon, sleep embraced her into it's warm, comforting arms. But folks, we're not done yet. Did I mention she slept with one ear riveted on the opposite door,scanning the vicinity for any sound of movement, or enjoyment? So yeah,unfortunately for her darling Sonny boy,around half an hour later, a slight unsuppressed giggle of his triggered the entire process all over again. 

It's ONE! ONE A.M FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!She noiselessly pulled her blanket aside,placed a toe on the cold marble floor. The rest followed. She almost glided through the floor. She HAD to find out what was up, AND she had to catch him red handed. oh yes, that was essential. She sneaked into the room and  positioned herself in such a manner that any movement of his could be easily noticed.

Caught you.

"ISHAN! What are you doing?"

He jumped, clearly caught unaware.

"Mum what the hell is WRONG with you? Are you trying to kill me one day before my phase test?"

WHY would I want that? Mera beta toh engineer banega.

She peeked into his Computer screen. Well that would be putting it mildly. She made it clear that she had cornered him. Or that's what she thought.

Real life stories Of True IITians.

"Mom I was just reading anecdotes from this book my Maths teacher thought I should have a look at. SO motivating." He nodded appreciatively at the screen. "Just got carried away. Some of them are really interesting. You should have a look at it too, haina Mumma? Mumma?"

Well, "mumma" was having a tough time accepting her defeat. With a sheepish expression on her face, Yet-Another-Mother skulked out of the room, cursing under her breath.

With a sly smile spreading on his face, Sonny Boy reopened the website he had minimized and watched muted porn for the rest of the night. . 

Who says Sciencees can't have a life, eh? ;)