Category Archives: notes to self

At cross roads, if not the (hallowed) mid-life crisis.

“Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”
-E. L. Doctorow

Isn’t that how life is? We can only see a little stretch ahead of us at a time on life’s meandering road that we all travel on (with binoculars and maps and other paraphernalia). That too if we choose to move forward on the path( whatever it is and wherever it leads) as opposed to being rooted to the spot in indecision (which happens more often than one admits) until shoved(pushed will be kinder but a gentle push has lost its power in this generation of forced everything) in the proverbial right direction by people who care (or want to wash their hands off you for they absolutely cannot look at your woe is me avatar anymore). One is carried forward by the surge of the crowd all moving in the same direction(mind you the goals are different or so I’d like to think!). Towards death,one day closer to it. Towards the realization of dreams,one step closer to it.

If drawing a parallel between life and writing is easier said than done then how on earth can I call myself a writer.  Has that life  ship sailed ?  I hope not because I’m ready to run with my running shoes . And ipod in tow full of thought provoking songs.

Yeah, right.

See what I’m talking about? Kill me already.

Pull-push of life

“Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn’t. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted. “A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle. “ Sounds like a wrestling match, I say. “A wrestling match.” He laughs. “Yes, you could describe life that way.” So which side wins, I ask? “Which side wins?” He smiles at me, the crinkled eyes, the crooked teeth. “Love wins. Love always wins.” ― Mitch AlbomTuesdays With Morrie

Dreaming all the time

“You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.” 
 What a bad dream I had last night. Probably the worst thing I have ever seen or will ever see.I woke up with a jolt and realized that it’s alright, it’s just a dream. It was a wake up call,both literally and figuratively. Everything that I could ever want and the all people I could ever love are right here in my life. This is the life that I had dreamt of. I had on rose tinted glasses so thick that I didn’t realize that it was real life and not a dream. It’s as if I was drugged and oblivious to my own life. As if I had  been looking from the sidelines waiting for something better to happen and someone better to come along, never realizing that this is the only life I have got and I have to make it count. In this lifetime not the next.
I’m an old soul and a weary one at that. Always have been. I wonder where has all the time gone and is this how my entire life is going to pass by, without me actually living it (for most part). For better or worse I still have the ability to laugh at myself and I believe it’s an important thing. It allows me to survive without drowning in gloom and wallowing in self pity. Time to buck up and go to the department or I will be late and will be made to stand outside the class!!

The present is everything it could be and more if I give it a chance. The message from all quarters is clear-just live.

Have a soulful Saturday folks !

Stupid is as stupid does – Forrest Gump

OK so here I am. Back after ages ! It feels that way even though it hasn’t been quite that long (Theory of relativity anyone?). Either way does it really matter? It’s just enough that I’m back. So the question is what I have been doing with my time? I have two lovely excuses- one, I was ill. Two, I was depressed because of it, which, literally made me unfit of even thinking coherently. Though that’s stretching it a bit (I am not known as a drama queen without reason but that’s also where I get my sensitivity from and also microanalysing stuff!) it’s the honest truth. I can hear my friends scream psychosomatic disorder because of the things going on in the department which I admit was a blow to my self esteem and ego. It doesn’t help one bit when one feels useless on top being close to being an invalid(that’s an exaggeration). There’s no use talking about dignity, not now at least. One thing I do have is a clear conscience. Ergo, sleeping isn’t a problem , which is a relief.

I have been ill for quite a while now. Should I say I am on the path to recovery? Hell no, I don’t want to jinx myself. Oh laugh all you can. I never believed that either but the words have a strange way of getting right back at you, so in this fragile state I am not going to risk it. Although I’m no stranger to chronic illnesses one never does get quite used to it, the tragedy and the monotony of it.  I really wish I could put “it” at the back of my mind (like it’s nothing but a walk in the park with some lovely shoes on to protect my feet) and live unchanged, unscathed by battle scars so timidly fought. I so wish I had been gallant but don’t expect knightly behaviour from me, not when I am at my lowest ebb (really lousy explanation I know). Every little thing changes you and shapes you into being who you are and the process is never-ending and compelling and directional. You learn, you live and you grow and that’s that.

 Illness compels me to think more deeply than usual and I tend to get philosophical (more than the usual craziness). All the big questions start haunting(or is it hunting) me (since I can’t employ my usual devices and run away) and I almost suffocate with the need to answer them. This time it’s time, the final time to GROW UP. There won’t be another call. Either I’m on it fully or dangling off the edges, holding on for dear life or the plane leaves without me. Childhood has long passed and so have the teenage years. And I’m about to be done with university and step into the REAL WORLD (as people keep reminding me every single day). Gee am I that dumb and naïve? Seems that is what most people think( I wish I could care a flying fig about what they thought about me). Yes I’m stupid (at least the blog title is justified now).

What are the questions ,you ask? Nothing, just basic stuff.How far have I come? What have I achieved? What is my contribution to the world? Am I good at something?  What is the meaning of my life? What is my role? What does it all mean? Where does it all lead ,if it leads anywhere in the first place?  What is the connecting link? Is this supposed to make sense in the end, all the strings tied up neatly and knots removed?
I did try to write but who the hell wants to read all this, a mass of jumbled intangible thoughts? Hence, no post for months and add to that I have taken to meandering more than is usual (read acceptable). I start somewhere and end up completely different and in between touch some points which become the fodder of many other independent posts (or so I would like to believe so please humour me). So in the end there’s a lot of mish- mash and I end up not that satisfied with “the treatment of the matter and the way it is presented” and so it stays ( read languishes )in the drafts folder and pending till I decide it should be worked upon so that it sees the light of the day, which it seldom does.
Doesn’t make any sense, does it?
P.S. The drafts folder is overflowing so I have taken up the gargantuan and arduous task of emptying it in this life time. Alas, readers bear with me.
P.P.S.- If you don’t already know, the quote “stupid is as stupid does” is from Forrest Gump.

The crux of the matter

“It can never be necessary to do what is not honourable.”
— Oscar Wilde (An Ideal Husband)


“Grief can destroy you –or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. OR you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see that it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time, you’re driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.” 
 Dean Koontz (Odd Hours)


“I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my ”idea of them.” ― Anaïs Nin






Notes of the diary on the diarist

What does she keep scribbling in me all the times?Not that I’m complaining(in fact I love it) I’m always there for her,after all that’s my job.Though the world considers us to have no feelings(being inanimate and all) I feel every stab of pain and every whoop of happiness by the words she chooses to write in me.

I like it when she takes her time and writes lovingly in me caressing the pages and feeling each and every word.The cool handwriting,the light slant of the pen shows me that she’s happy and good memories are being recorded.When the writing is irregular and sloppy and too much pressure is put on my delicate pages and its more scribbling than writing, I know she’s troubled and something bad has happened,which she is letting out of her system the only way she can.I feel sad when she gets like this but I’m relieved that she has me to help her get through any trying time in her life.She goes on and on for pages and pages and I know the end is near when her grip is not that hard and she writes at a slower pace, steadily empty of all negativity and almost always ending on a hopeful note.That’s one of the things I like best about her.She will start out a cynic and end a dreamer which is the only thing definite about her.All other things keep changing.She’s really mutable.A human yo yo would be more apt.One day she’s on cloud nine and the next day she’s down in the dumps,both because of the very same incident.What changes, then, is her perspective which is inextricably linked with her mood,the prism through which she views things and which colours everything.I really wish she’d be more optimistic and also more pragmatic.I worry about her but I know as long as she writes she will be just fine because that is the way she deals.

I wish she would write about her good days more.Not that there aren’t many good days but that she writes very few sentences about them(in comparison to the bad days) and ends them very soon.I wish I could change that.Not because I want to hear about good things more,I  just want her to have vivid memories of good things so that she can go back to them later and relive them.They will be her guiding light,her beacon,her light at the end of the tunnel or her silver lining,whatever you choose to call it, in the tough dark times and bleak moments.And of course it is the only thing that’s worth its weight in platinum  when warm feelings of nostalgia envelope her.

More on her idiosyncrasies later.

I am what I am (am i really?)

Does anyone really like you for who you are?Naah. 
If you could change your attitude to became a bit cooler…morph your personality and you know, become more optimistic,pragmatic…if you change this a bit…tweak that a bit…it would be perfect.The list is never ending !
Is it possible to be just who we are without any masks,shedding all layers, inhibitions and just be simply who we are without any adornments?Can we dare to be who we are both on the inside and the outside?
Of course there are people who live and behave as they choose all the time and it takes guts and oodles of self confidence to stand against the wind and stand for what you believe in.Some  are their own people no matter what.They will not give up on their principles come what may.
But what about those people who are constantly in between personas, moulding things,   situations and people(as they see fit) with their chameleon(sorry you got dragged in between) like character so that they have the better end of the deal.I’m not even going to go into the whole questionable morals and flexible principles part.
How do they sleep at night?Beats me ! I have trouble sleeping even while playing slave to my conscience most of the time,I shudder at the thought of avoiding it or blocking it completely. The answer is not sleeping pills though for some it does work.
There is a probable explanation for that.I think their  weary conscience has finally shut down after being ignored for ages.That niggling voice in the head telling you to do the right thing has fled and for good after being silenced many a time ,even reprimanded for speaking out of turn and not bowing down to your whims and fancies. Chances are it might come into its own again and resurface when it is really needed.