I wrote this poem on the Peshawar killings. I don’t know why – most of us listen to so many reports of massacres, rape or torture on a daily basis that we just stop feeling emotions about it. Whether voluntary or not, we become slowly immune to the horrors around us. But this was different – the killings happened in early December, which was a very busy time for me (isn’t that period from late October to early December always the busiest time? That part of the year that just rushes by?) and I was preparing for some competitions or some cultural event or something. It was a bleak early morning, the day I found out. I was always (at least mentally) in the thick of the preparations, and had gone straight to practice from the school bus, but when I returned to class (late), there was absolute silence. After singing the morning prayer – which sounded especially sombre given the air of the forsaken everyone wore – a bench mate informed me, big eyes and hushed voice, that around 150 children in an Army School had been mercilessly slaughtered by some terrorists in Pakistan. I don’t think it was the news itself, as much as the way it was delivered and the completely contrary state of mind I was in until that moment that put me in shock. Today I found a word for it. Kuebiko.

I still find myself staring into space sometimes, filled with pointless rage and unable to comprehend the senselessness of it all.

(If you choose to view images from the Peshawar killings link you should be warned of graphic images. Good Lord, I wish someone had warned me. )


An appeal and reasoning

Statement : When you write, you are offering the reader a glimpse into your life – a glimpse into your very soul. So stop writing, darling. I want you to be all mine.
Observation : When I go to this place I have to go and I am forced to face the awesome person the (current) object of my affections has become, I tend to come back home and write all day.
Analysis: I think it’s because my subconscious drives me to do the one thing it knows I am at least mildly good at, as opposed to the thing that everyone (including myself) told me I am good at when there are so many people who are so much more adept at it.
Root: Every day, every step of the way, I am faced with people who have (had) the same things I have (had). These people do (did) the same things the same things I am doing, and yet they have gone to do such beautiful things with their lives. ‘Yet’ because I know I can never reach that plane of  achievement.
Philosophy: That’s the trouble with taking the well-trodden path – somewhere along the way you loose yourself. You get so busy trying to call that path your own, so busy collecting experiences and memories to define your individuality that one day you find yourself filled with them, and you are terrified because you cannot find yourself in the mess.

P.S. 2nd rewrite


I’ve just been going around WordPress reading a lot of blogs. Blogs my friends have been keeping, blogs their friends have been keeping, blogs from pretty famous blog people. (I’m not mentioning names, but you can see some of them at the bottom of this page. Probably.)
The past one year, ever since I started actively chronicling the stuff I write and categorizing them and analyzing them, I’ve noticed that when I read something I tend to be more observant towards form, rather than just letting my inner voice go whoosh over all the content and get the gist of the idea. A similar thing happens when you learn a new musical instrument, for example. You tend to pay more attention to the sound of that particular instrument in all the songs you listen to, and end up ‘magnifying’ the sound of that instrument. You do lose some of the overall clarity and pleasure gained from just mindless consumption of the song, with the language analysis or whatever, but you end up playing the particular instrument beautifully. So I was unconsciously applying the magnify technique to these blogs, and the one take-home lesson that hit me was this:  To write convincingly, one must write with honesty. Yes, I know, this is age-old advice. Let me attempt to elaborate. You know that inner voice you talk to yourself with? No, don’t try telling me you don’t have one. It’s the voice you make all your lame jokes to, the voice you rip apart the two-line conversation you had with crush with, that voice singing along in the bathroom. Let that voice come to the forefront and take possession of your fingertips, if you prefer the keyboard. I myself handle a fountain pen better. I can be more articulate with a fountain pen, so most of my poetry is written with that. But posts like this? Where you just need thoughts to write about and every point matters and speed is of the essence and your voice is most raw and powerful and unedited and pure? You need a keyboard for that.

Now that we’ve sorted that out, here is what I hope is the *drum roll*

Recipe to bake and garnish a good blog:

Ingredients required:
A few eons worth of time.
A box of content
A bowl of a working internet connection, and then some
A single cut of any electronic device with a large keyboard
Four dollops of dedication
Two spoonfuls of love
Plenty of late nights
A single fountain pen
An ink pot
Three bundles of rough paper
Twenty Four best friends
Nine sources of inspiration
A busy life

Spend at least five minutes getting to know your fountain pen. You are soon going to be BestFriendsForLife.
Set up your internet connection and electronic device carefully – this procedure requires no water except the stuff from your eyes. Or other bodily fluids. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. 😀
From the bundles of paper, carefully take out a sheet and write. Words. Random. They do not need to be in any order they do not need to make sense they just need to flow and make sense to you make sense to the poor tired hungry brain attempting this exercise. Find that inner voice of yours and let it yodel. If you manage to screw this step up, you incompetent prep cook, there is always the laptop as back up.
Once your fingers get tired, or your mind gets there before you, give up.
The next morning, carefully take the handwritten notes out of the storage area and reheat for renewed application of mental energy. Spend a little time on it. Maybe two minutes. Catch up with the rest of your busy life. Go home, and waste some time.
Go to sleep. Sleep on your decisions, on your ideas, let the draft button niggle you long enough until you cannot take it any more, and open up the files again to discover emotions that you would have forgotten about if you hadn’t written it down.
More often than not, you’ll have something to be proud of. If there are obvious grammatical, structural or plotline-ical errors in your piece, correct it. If the only reason you aren’t putting it up online is because you don’t think it is good enough, let me stop you right there darling. Let your reader be the judge of that.

Happy cooking. 😀

Oh oh – I haven’t tasted the stuff I’ve cooked yet. Tell me if the salt is right? If your dish comes out okay let me know. 🙂

Day One.

It’s about time I got around to doing this.

Here, I solemnly swear to write at least 600 words every day.
I keep thinking about how much I regret taking science because I have nearly no scope to pursue what I really want to – my words and my music. But what my mum says IS true, at a fundamental level – I want to write, but can I? Will the words accepts me as one of their own and take me in? I’ve been itching to find out. I’m also direly in need of some life organisation. Thus, I have decided that pouring my thoughts out onto the screen is much preferable to having them on repeat in my head. There is, of course, the little thrill I get from knowing that my thoughts are on display for the world to see – much more than usual because this is prose and this stuff is flowing from my finger tips as I think it. I don’t pause, and perhaps that will cost me. I am willing to wait and watch. There isn’t anyone reading this except a few close friends and some disinterested random stranger, is there?

Hey, stranger. I’m sure you mean no danger. Sup? 

Okay. Reason number two I’ve decided to start writing is because I just cannot keep my daisy-eating focus, dammit!  (Daisy-eating being the swear word of choice to replace. Um. Choicier things. I’m trying to quit, stop judging. )
For example, I got caught away in the fantasy of a stranger reading this and recognizing me two years in an airport in Barcelona , because, yes, this is how open this thing is going to be (I hope).
I am scared though. Whenever I open this sweet laptop o’mine, I always end up online, generally on Quora. While that isn’t as bad as Facebook or Instagram or Pinterest or ScoopWhoop or, god forbid, there is a new xkcd comic out, it’s still a time eater (time gobbler. time scarfer. time wolfer.). I sit here right now. It’s nearly 3:30 am on the 10th – oh crap it’s the tenth already!- and I have a fest coming up. I’m in a band where I drum (very badly, before  you get all excited. I have zero formal training and everything I do is by ear),  and I’m participating in a warped quickie debate where you are given a topic, two minutes to prepare and then 5 minutes to speak on both sides of the topic. Which I, obviously, have no preparation for. And then there is the mega-project due day after tomorrow that my partner and I have been working on from the beginning of last year and are nowhere near concluding. I have to type up the algorithms and the report, because we have to print it tomorrow. And finally, I have records to write out and draw diagrams and organize into tables for, that’s due tomorrow at 9:00.
No, do NOT mention that I’m a 12 grader with all sorts of expectations and responsibilities from all sorts of friends and relatives, because I know, alright? I just choose to still sit here and type this stuff out, with Snow Patrol’s Greatest Hits, Young the Giant and Bastille on repeat, because I had more stuff to do that I cleared out. Mental prioritizing is greatly catalyzed by physical manifestations of the acceptance of our current unchangeable realities. Oh, I live in a pigsty of a room. My poor mum, she’s kept mum (ha! :D) the whole past month because we have exams nearly every weekend and public holiday and she thinks I’ve been studying. I must clean out my room, at least for her. Tomorrow evening, I promise you guys —oh dear lord, aren’t promises to the vast empty internet enough for you? My mum just came in, saw me doing ‘some blog stuff’, and talked to me in a tone heavy with anger, sleep and sadness. At her daughter forgoing sleep in the night yet wasting time during the day. But I have no time during the day to waste. Sigh. Anyway. —that tomorrow I will be writing about how I cleaned up my room after coming back home having printed my entire project and band practice having gone well. And then prepare because the day after is HEATS! While I am in no capacity a sporty person, I have been persuaded to make a fool of myself running.  I look forward to it. 😀
Right now though, I’m going to complete typing out the algorithms, write two experiments and salvage what little sleep I can after it’s all done.

Huh. That looks pretty long. I wonder how many words I wrote today.
All this typing has made me hungry. :/

P.S. WordPress tells me this is 787 words.

On Writing.

I am a very lazy person.

I write poetry not just because it comes so easily, but because I don’t even have to think. With prose, there are grammar structures to consider, the exact words in those dialogues, the plot twists, chronography – oh, the trouble!
Honestly, the only reason I am even writing this is because I really do not want to study right now. I mean, I do. I want to immerse my mind into wrapping it around a concept it has trouble with, and then apply said concept in a million different situations just to see if I got it right the first time. But what happens when I don’t? I get lazy, and I don’t do it again. Result? Failure.
I started this blog as a way to express myself, to calm my mind. You know, to shut myself up just half a minute so I can concentrate on something IMPORTANT. But typing only serves to piss me off with all the typos. The act of writing is beautiful (my handwriting is another story). And then I’d have to transcribe it onto this thing anyway. That is boring and also, (I cannot emphasize this enough) I’m really lazy.  I cannot ignore typos – however, I do not know why I taught myself to half-touch type. I can’t backspace fast, but I have enough hand room to press any number of keys and have the cursor execute a little jig in just 20 characters. Argh.
And maintaining a website? Don’t get me started. I’m a computer science student, so I thought that CSS and HTML on the site would be a breeze. I’m doing C++, however. (Yes, I know it’s outdated, I know no one uses it anymore. It is also the most preferred language to teach in most colleges for their computer science elective. It’s nothing I can do anything about) and according to my parents, the next six months I shouldn’t  be caring about that anyway. Despite wanting to speak to computers for the rest of my life, the educational system I am in requires me – nay, forces me to excel at Physics, Chemistry, and Math to do so. What is the logic in that?! Sigh, the story of my life.
(Before the rest of you get on to me, I know. #FirstWorldProblems, but hey; I have the right to moan)

Another reason why I don’t write prose: I keep getting distracted by all the ideas floating in my head (just read the above and try and keep track of all the jumps), so I can never keep track of any one thing. In case I DO write an article (on paper), it’s huge – generally 8 A4 pages long. And by the time I’m done transcribing it all, there are a hundred different changes and the entire point of why I started writing it in the first place is lost. This is not to say I’m BAD at writing (I think) ; The final product always LOOKS good, and gains appreciation. But there’s something just wrong inside, ya know? You just don’t feel happy with the way you’ve brought up that particular baby.  There will be something just fundamentally pissing off about it. Is it the way it sounds when read out loud? Is it the over-obsessive amount of thought put into the sentences? Can NO ONE get that inside joke that I find so funny? Damn.

Okay, I’ve written THIS much. But only because this is the first time I am typing my thoughts out. Despite being surrounded by all sorts of wonderful tech, this is the first time I’ve had unquestioned, all-time access to it – more on that later. Time though, for this post. The first Bloggy-Blog post in what will hopefully be a long series of it, until I’m well-pickled and ripe-haired in death.  Cheers!

P.S. I do NOT know why I ended with cheers. That is such an 80’s baby thing to do.

P.P.S.I wrote this nearly two months back. I am so sorry for the late post. :/

P.P.P.S 4th rewrite