Paper

Red smeared lips, red nails, porcelain body,
Stood still as stone.

Her naked shining skin was draped with paper,
Under the blaring blue halogens.

Her skin trembled under the crumbling crispness.
The paper sheathed her naked soul with value.

Flashlights…darkness…smeared smiles,
Every inch of her papered skin pinched him.

His staunch stare pierced her papered soul,
He burnt inside throwing precious paper at her, 
To possess a small share of her already sold soul.

Time

#1

She loved him all night,

When his fiancé had ran away with his own brother.

He had made no promises.
But she did, only to herself,

To love him only when he returns.

She undressed herself every night to fix her leaking roof,

Shadowed by the dark narrow lanes of the blue tarpaulin town.

He secretly loved her,

He travelled through time to forget about her.

He had paid her for her precious time.

But, little did he know,

She was willing to wait for him,

To love him only,

For her entire life time.

Ride by Lana Del Ray

I still cannot write but the words of this song really did touch me.
Lana Del Ray has been on my repeat list for the last whole month.
No wonder the number of repeats has exceeded the number of days a month has.
I feel like an ice cube. I cannot write if I am an ice cube.

Listen to the song here: Ride by Lana Del Ray

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer - not a very popular one,
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why - but there's no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean...
And if I said I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying...
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

I've been out on that open road
You can be my full time daddy,
White and gold
Singing blues has been getting old
You can be my full time baby,
Hot or cold

Don't break me down
I've been travelin' too long
I've been trying too hard
With one pretty song

I hear the birds on the summer breeze,
I drive fast, I am alone in the night
Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble,
but I, I've got a war in my mind
So, I just ride, just ride,
I just ride, just ride

Dying young and I'm playing hard
That's the way my father made his life an art
Drink all day and we talk 'til dark
That's the way the road dogs do it – ride 'til dark.

Don't leave me now
Don't say good bye
Don't turn around
Leave me high and dry

I hear the birds on the summer breeze,
I drive fast, I am alone in the night
Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble,
but I, I've got a war in my mind
I just ride, just ride,
I just ride, just ride

I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy
I'm tired of driving 'til I see stars in my eyes
It's all I've got to keep myself sane, baby
So I just ride, I just ride

I hear the birds on the summer breeze,
I drive fast, I am alone in the night
Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble,
but I, I've got a war in my mind
I just ride, just ride,
I just ride, I just ride

[Music video spoken ending:]
Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people, and finally I did on the open road.
We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.
Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun.
I believe in the country America used to be.
I believe in the person I want to become.
I believe in the freedom of the open road.
And my motto is the same as ever:
"I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when I’m at war with myself I ride, I just ride."
Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?
I have. I am fucking crazy.
But I am free.

Expected

Parents create complications,

That children need to erase,

They are expected to

By who?

What if they can't?

What if they are dying trying to handle their own lives...

What if they try and still fail...

Children have lived half their lives,

Have half their experience,

Have half their wisdom,

Have their own problems,

Like parents have their own.

But they know the path they have taken,

They take responsibility for every decision they take.

Parents are expected to take responsibility, 

For their own decisions,

They are expected to

By who?

When do parents become like children?

When do children become like parents?

When are they expected to?

By who?

Grey's Anatomy - A Compilation

Sometimes you find expression of your feelings in the world and words of others. Grey's Anatomy is definitely one of them. Compiling some of my favorite lines from the sitcom. Its a must watch.

They say death is hardest on the living. It’s tough to actually say goodbye. Sometimes it’s impossible. You never really stop feeling the loss. It’s what makes things so bittersweet. We leave little bits of ourselves behind, little reminders, a lifetime of memories, photos, trinkets, things to remember us by… even when we’re gone.

Meredith Grey - ‘Going Going Gone’

There’s a reason I said I’d be happy alone. It wasn’t ‘cause I thought I’d be happy alone. It was because I thought if I loved someone and then it fell apart, I might not make it. It’s easier to be alone. Because what if you learn that you need love and then you don’t have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It’s like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever.

Meredith Grey - ‘Unaccompanied Minor'

It’s one of those things people say. ‘You can’t move on until you let go of the past.’ Letting go is the easy part, it’s the moving on that’s painful. So sometimes we fight it, trying to keep things the same. Things can’t stay the same though. At some point you just have to let it go. Move on. Because no matter how painful it is, it’s the only way we grow.

Meredith Grey - ‘The Girl With No Name’

Under the cover of darkness, people do things they’d never do under the harsh glare of day. Decisions feel wiser, people feel bolder. But when the sun rises, you have to take responsibility for what you did in the dark and face yourself under the cold, harsh light of day. 

Meredith Grey - ‘Something’s Gotta Give’

What’s worse, new wounds which are so horribly painful or old wounds that should’ve healed years ago and never did? Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us where we’ve been and what we’ve overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. That’s what we like to think. But that’s not the way it is, is it? Some things we just have to learn over and over and over again. 

Meredith Grey - ‘Scars & Souvenirs’

The people who suffer the most are those who don’t know what they want. 

Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy

There don’t have to be harps playing or birds singing or pose petals falling from the sky… And there are definitely days when the romance is dead. But if you look around, things are pretty amazing. So stop for a second. Enjoy the beauty. Feel the magic. Drink it in. ‘Cause it won’t last forever. The romance will fade. Things will happen. People will change. Love will die. But… maybe not today. 

Meredith Grey - ‘Love Turns You Upside Down’ 

Its good to be scared; it still means you have something to loose.

The truth, and reality, hurts. So we lie.. to everyone, but especially to ourselves.

Time flies. Time waits for no man. Time heals all wounds. All any of us wants is more time. Time to stand up. Time to grow up. Time to let go. Time.

It can be scary to find out you’ve been wrong about something. But we can’t be afraid to change our minds, to accept that things are different, that they’ll never be the same, for better or for worse. We have to be willing to give up what we used to believe. The more we’re willing to accept what is and not what we thought, we’ll find ourselves exactly where we belong. 

Meredith Grey - ‘Second Opinion’

For more quotes: refer http://greys-anatomy-quotes.tumblr.com

The Geek

She found his notes in her old house located in the old narrow gullies of Kolkata. 
An old moth eaten black diary of yellow pages and blue fountain ink pen scribbles.

The pages had become yellow with time. 

It was a black leather diary dated 1953 gifted by Mansfield Oil Gas Company 

located on Radhanath Choudhury Road. 

He spent his growing years in these lanes, in the middle of large open wooden windows with sunlight seeping into rooms, before he moved into a flat of sliding glass windows giving him a view of the city, from an elevation, only the very few could afford. 

24 days to Higher Secondary Examination…all his notes were about the sections

of science subjects he had to finish written to fractional details…

Chemistry (1/4 completed)

Physics (1/8 completed)

Biology (1/2 completed)

Mathematics ( 'hoye jabe' meaning not a problem)

There were references of him hating Organic Chemistry and loving Mathematics.

He was a Maths scholar and loved numbers and she could see how painstakingly he stored scores of cricket matches of England vs West Indies deciphered from the strict British diction of the BBC Radio Channel.

Geeks are not nerds. 

As she unfolded the pages she saw how his heavy baritone wooed women on All India Radio while playing black circular records from Beethoven to Beatles.
 Like all other boys his age, he pretended he did not smoke at home and gave excuses of eating spicy hakka noodles in cheap chinese stalls opposite National Medical College. 

This was 1953. Almost 60 years ago from now. Poetry was considered to be written by girls and not boys. She found scribbly lines of poetry scrawled across the gutter space of organic chemistry and calculus problem columns.

60 years later, no wonder his daughter fell in love with a geek unknowingly. 
Surprised to find a new side to a geeks world, she always knew geeks were wonderful and in ways she was a geek herself.

The dictionary definition of a geek brings forward a person who is extremely focussed on academics and sometimes they are ridiculed as people who hate participating in extra curricular activities. 

She wondered who created such definitions and how definitions were used as a measure for constant explanations or a bench mark for understanding.

Geeks are as human as non-geeks. 

In fact differentiating and humiliating them is foolish enough. 

The Geek showed her that if we all are geeky about what we do 
and no matter what it is…

then these terms and definitions will slowly erase into oblivion.

Home

She came home for convenience

She came home for peace

She came home to escape

She came home to wear shorts

She came home to have hot meals

She came home to hug her mother

She came home to see her father and his grey hairs

She came home to talk to her brother

She came home to stare into her pet's eyes

She came home to eat free fish

She came home for unlimited internet

She came home because she was tired of suitcases

She came home to stretch her legs to sleep

She came home to be tucked under a blanket

She came home to increase her iron levels

She came home to face her fears

She came home to find love.

She never came home.

She was a visitor visiting it.

She came home

Again…to run away from it.

Strange

Its been strange that for the past few months I have not been able to write. Not that I have not tried. But every single time I would try to write something, there were a thousand thoughts in the head that fought for expression and I just could not choose what to write first.  Even the last two posts were found in lost pages written long ago. But today I read these lines posted by a wonderful woman, a very dear professor. Now I know the reason why I could not write. Today first time on this blog, I write lines that have not been composed by me but the thoughts that these lines express are exactly similar to what I feel at the moment. 2 paragraphs of lines written by others that hopefully will make me breathe again. I had stopped breathing. Hopefully these lines will let you breathe, again, too.

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”

― Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum LP

“You can build walls all the way to the sky and I will find a way to fly above them. You can try to pin me down with a hundred thousand arms, but I will find a way to resist. And there are many of us out there, more than you think. People who refuse to stop believing. People who refuse to come to earth. People who love in a world without walls, people who love into hate, into refusal, against hope, and without fear.

I love you. Remember. They cannot take it.” 

― Lauren Oliver, Delirium

Leaving...

The door was half open,

From the partial openness,

I noticed her bags and packed cartons on the floor,

Neatly labelled with black bold markers,

From Hostel Room 303 to Flat 17D, 

On orange post -it notes and brown tape.

The packers were coming in five minutes,

She looked lost among the cartons,

She stared at her phone,

While I stared at her,

Tetris, calendar and the calculator applications on her Nokia E-71

Were over-used. 

She still played tetris when she felt lost. 

She wanted a smoke,

Marlboro lights.

But she chucked the pack last night,

Into the River Sabarmati flowing in darkness,

Right outside her dusty brown balcony,

Filled with the rivers sands. 

She was leaving,

She was getting lost in society,

She was fulfilling her social obligations.

She had a reserve in the grey groove,

Of her Nike backpack, 

Stung with badges collected from all over the world.

I hated her to break her promise,

But I loved to see her smoke,

Of how she pretended to take the nicotine in its entirety,

But almost choked before she released most of the smoke.

But today she was different,

She rolled it herself in a marlboro light,

It helped to ease the pain,

Of tolerating me for 2 years.

She stared at me from the half opened door,

She wanted to stay,

But she also wanted to flee,

She stared at me constantly,

For the last week,

As if her eyes wanted to store my every movement,

In a polaroid snapshot.

She loved me,

She left because she fell madly in love with me.

She decided not to come back

Because Alexander Super Tramp inspired her stupid soul

With his last words…

What if I was smiling and running into your arms,

Would you see then what I see now?

The packers took her belongings away one by one,

As she descended from the cemented stairs,

I stood still like concrete on the striped mattress of her room,

I could not bid her good bye.

The synapses asked for consultation,

Stopping her would be more painful,

Than letting her go.

I thought so then,

But was it vice-versa?

Questions have weird textures.

All questions don't have answers.

And do answers change with time?

Time infects context.

It creates and clears doubt.

I wanted time to help me,

But I fell in love with time,

More than her.

So I let her leave,

Leave me with her shadows,

Intermingled with time.

I loved him through pictures...

I loved him through pictures,

Clicked secretly and cropped at friends get togethers,

And birthday parties.

I kissed the pictures,

So that he could feel my warmth,

Through the distance.

I collected tea bags from expensive hotel rooms,

Because he adored tea.

But I never got a chance,

To make a cup of my favourite tea for him.

He remained silent,

In a room of loud chatter,

Thinking about things,

I wanted to know.

Then one day,

The crumpled white paper napkin,

Scrawled with a black pen,

Was pushed into my fair hands.

He wanted me to make a heart,

And write I love you,

With curvy typography,

On the cream card chosen specially

For his most loved one.

I laughed in my head,

That finally the dream has come true,

The man I loved for 633 days,

Will propose under the moon lit skies,

And melt my heart with his warmth.

He gave the card to my closest friend.

And gave me a huge smile.

Yellow Shorts

She sleeps in her yellow shorts,

The ones she bought with Him,

In the yellow Bennetton shop,

When she found her right size,

Number seven.

She baked the hilsa fish,

Wearing her yellow shorts,

As he smeared mustard paste on them,

She never washed the stains,

Fearing she would lose His only touch.

She found her fears a month back,

When her frail body failed to fight her fears,

The world told her, 

That a body once sold to love,

Can never be loved again.

A month back,

She sold her body to love,

For the first time.

Now she sleeps alone,

Under a blue striped blanket,

Wearing her yellow shorts,

In a white washed room,

With white wires in her ears,

Listening to Floyds Wish you were Here.

She had found, 

Her same old fears,

After waiting for years,

She wished for Him to be near.

Her slumber,

Her yellow shorts,

And white headphones,

Gave her a new world to dream.

She ran away from reality,

The claustrophobia made her scream.

She could not fight her fears anymore,

So she slept till reality came to knock on her door,

Reality posed a question,

The answer to which she did not know.

If love wanted your body today,

And after loving it,

Threw it away,

Would you let love,

Come tomorrow,

To love it again,

And give a chance,

To shatter it, 
A. g. a. i. n.

Fighting reality,

With her same old fears,

She chose to love Him,

Without Him being near.

She gave love a chance,

To shatter her again.

She washed her yellow shorts,

In a bucket full of water,

Mixed with antiseptic fluids,

And strong detergents.

She loved to hold on to her dreams,

And for the first time she loved her body

Even if the world didn't.

She slept under the blue striped blanket,

With white wires in her ears,

Wearing her yellow shorts,

And dreamt of Him to be near.

The yellow shorts may have lost His stains,

But her dreams remain embedded with them.

She chose not to get rid of them,

Even if it meant

That the world chose

Not to love her body again.

If you don't have hatred…

It took me a second to hate the

Stroganoff on the cream colored menu,

And ten minutes to hate the

Strawberry peach yoghurt shake.

But hating people for what they do

I just don't think that is in my taste.

We come across multitudes,

Some we love, and some we hate,

But what…

If you don't have hatred?

Does it mean,

That you are a saint,

Or saying a lie,

Or fooling your inner soul,

And suppressing the truth inside.

Or does it mean you never had

The power to truly love?

If you don't have hatred

You don't have love.

Protected

I cannot talk anymore,

I just hear people chatter,

So I chatter in the noise.

I float across 

White cement,

Water pipes,

Grey cubicles,

Glass windows,

Central air conditioning,

RFID cards,

6 latte's,

White paper cups,

Keyboards,

Clicks,

White hair,

Bitten chapped lips

Dark circles,

Dairy milks, 

Black pigment liners,

and Tyrells,

Knowing how alone can a person be.

I hear them talk,

So I talk,

About black plugs,

And good design.

I cannot talk anymore,

So I listen to Blackfield and Lacuna Coil,

And soak into Sigur Ros,

And write down lines,

From Into the Wild.

Others tried to define my identity,

I tried defining it too,

But while defining others identity,

I lost mine way too soon.

I cannot talk anymore,

So I scribble scrawly lines,

To know that I have my identity,

Protected,

In cream papers of my notebooks,

That will get lost in time.

I don't want to be protected like my lines.