http://thoughtcatalog.com/maureen-townsend/2014/03/heroine/

-

In other news, vanilla ice cream on Lays Magic Masala tastes strangely good.
Really.

Isn't that Something?

When you decide to stop knowing a person,
decide, with all of your vital being,
after a while, the rims of your remembered truths
take on the smoky insignificance of a 
burnt out dream.
And then all that is left of
a (once) favourite person are some involuntary
flashes
that come and go as they please, leaving
the tiniest wrinkles
on the surface of your subconscious.


Flashes: 
a rambling contour of their scraped knuckles here
a whiff of their field-noon chin there.
The lilt of their old-hindi-song voice or
the sunlessness of their retreating back.
May be even the colour of their grin,
at the mention of that one favourite food. :)
Exact, happy, familiar. Familiar still.
May be.


Or may be none of that would 
dare find you. Again.
Ever.
May be the rim of your remembrance will catch
fire,
fire, not smoke, and
all your pretty flashes 
will sizzle out, an
August forest fire that ends only in
ashes.



Ashes.
Colours.
May be.



Isn't that something?

To the Kid(no more) Sister!

From mock-sleep-kicking to get you out of my bed space

to missing your scrawny lump at bedtimes

while you're away cliff-climbing and river-crossing and being

a borderline rock chick (sigh!)
-

we have come a long long way. 

True, I enjoyed my * total domination* (insert Sheldon laughter)

over our room (and family)

for the first six years of my life, but

I'll admit (very grudgingly and ONLY in the nondescript reassurance of my ill-read blog)

that it's cooler, having you around.

WAY cooler. (*okay whatever don't be too happy rolls eyes*)

So. That's about as cute as I can allow myself to get over you,

my EPL-watching, spray-can doodling, Floyd-quoting, annoyingly

adorable

kid (no more) sister.

Bleh.

Heehee

XD

  

Suddenly

A dizzyhead spring noon, chased
into the blue glass
hexagons
of my window
exhaled
her cute little
sorrows
:
suddenly
:
the lake road wore
an ochre-red
poncho, frayed
at the ends and
going-with-the-wind, oh but
pretty, and it smelled
of giggles or
petrichor
!

(where did the fall leaves go?
 where did the fall leaves go?)

^_^

(Arriving at the): Queen

Once in a trifle while comes along that one unsuspecting
Bollywood movie
that makes your breath catch. In between
it's characteristic excess and the customary thumkas,
it turns your heart over,
with the unsoiled essence of it's spirit,
reminding you
(through that adorably-loud Bolly subtext)
of things
you had known all along.
Queen is more than just a coming of age tale
of the Chinese food loving, boyfriend abiding,
tame, middle class Rajouri-Garden girl who
holds her simple ethics and
simpler dreams so close to her heart, that she cannot, for the
longest period of time, hear her own
heart's dialogue.
So that when her "ek se ek achha ladka mil jaega tumhe Rajouri mein" boyfriend
bails on her on the eve of their big fat Punjabi wedding,
she is stripped down to the last thread of her being - all of
her life-long convictions and wishlists now gone for a toss.
Queen, at it's simplest level the English translation of
Kangna's nondescript name, also translates to the discovery
of that fierce, no-less-than-royal sense of
individual identity that so often escapes us.
It is about the walk, that one journey that might
take us from Lajpat to Champs Elysee, from
barfi shops to neon bars,
from wherever, to
wherever, wherever we await
our own arrival.
It is about dancing silly to trashy numbers,
Skypeing drunk with the parents,
driving, when you thought you could never,
accepting
friends out of strangers, and
strangers out of lovers (and
being equally grateful of both.) It is
about meeting
all those people that you could be, without
giving up on the person that you already
are.
It is about friendship, courage, choices -
but mostly, it is about believing,
in yourself, in the
Queen who when robbed by the world of her crown, can
still laugh and say:
"Mujhe Rock Show jana hain!"
It is about the
grace
inherent in every one of us, the
one shaped like sorrow and
smelling of freedom.
So when Rani hugs the man who broke her heart and
thanks him,
you believe her, against the odds. Kangna's Queen
pitches her wise innocence against
worldly bitterness, and you gasp,
as you are reminded, in the unlikely setting of an urban theater,
of the all-reforming power of
goodness.

So. Here's to stumbling upon the movie that hugged me back in the blue dark of a carpet aisle.
To letting go,
and not being afraid.

:)

Tacenda

lost-coin air
rolls
down the
high
cracks
of old window
bars, just
in time
to cover
his eyes
:
(night mist)
:
too proud
to
run,
too kind to 
watch
another
sun
bloom 'cross 

her 
wrist

So:

I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it's about to end.

And if you're never going to see someone again, it'll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, "It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now."

And maybe if you're never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it'll shine and you can order everything off the menu you've never tried. Maybe, if someone's about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you're with a group of friends who'll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you'll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, "This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good."


:)


http://www.iwrotethisforyou.me/2014/03/the-voices-in-house.html
Author: I Wrote This For You.


Glad, glad you did. 

Sidebar Treasure

Boyce Avenue
!
 :)








http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9geBjThzwI

:)

: Arre obviously toke mone ache. Amader farewell e tui geyechili?
: Umm. Hain.
: Nabarun on guitar, na? Innocence, Avril!
: Haha. Hain. Moneo ache tomar.
: Ache. Farewell toh.

True. Farewell toh. :)


"Sometimes, the person that you
had stopped being 
is  preserved, 
against odds, 
in old faces."


*I wouldn't change a thing about it*
I wouldn't.
:)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xoG0Xv3vs0

Woohoo Feminism

So stumbled upon this one while researching for a
Tobacco advertisement report.
Eve cigarettes, apparently.

http://pzrservices.typepad.com/.shared/image.html?/photos/uncategorized/2008/10/18/1971_evecigarettes_3.jpg

Well.
*Smoke pretty*?
Really?
:|



So much for Miss Wolf and de Beauvoir.

*Heart of Life*

:March 14th, 2014.
Yet another of those days in life that take on a sepia tinge, 
that pretty, hazy, movie-palate sepia, 
when you look back, years later.
No clue where I go from here. But well.
That's always kind of the idea, 
isn't it? :)
ISC,
Entrances,
Presi,
Graduation,
and now, this.
Another little (may be not SO little, after all) sign, gently
nudging you in the ribs, telling you,
there goes that funny-sad chapter of your life, girl.
Hold on to what you can, let go of what 
escapes your grasp, remember, to
remember, and, well,
breathe
breathe
breathe


Breathing, I am.
Breathing in the seconds as they 
fade out 
into that infinite mist of the humble 
human memory.
So many bright-light moments to 
remember,
so little head-space.
Not fair, eh?
Never said it'd be. :)
Yet, I try.
I try, like you do, pretty city.
To remember all the places 'cross
your body that's been kiss-scarred by
people
and moments
that never
are, 
for long enough.
I try.

Presi Merit List: Orientation: Amy Lee Seether: Room 23:Paradise Lost: MG Metro: Freshers: Avril Lavign: Faces: Zombie: Dj'arum Black: Friends:Tank: Film Fest: Viva Cuba: V for Vendetta: Winter: Presi Greens: Quadrangle: IC: UNO: Bluff: Milieu: Best friend crushes: Accidents: Sanskriti: Love?: Linda Goodman:Elections: Firsts: Songs: Songs: Great Gatsby: Glass Menagerie: Araby: Look Back in Anger: ACM Ma'am: PM Sir: Firsts, last time over: songs: hazyhazyhazyhazyyyyyyyyyyhazyyyyyyyy: break: scar: Graduation: Ad job: break: scaaaaaar: strength: grace: hazyyhazyyhazyyyyyyyy: repeat: mistakes: quiet:strength:Delhi: dreams: ink: reporting: truth: snap chord: lost:Test: PI: March 14: Chennai?
: hazyhazyhazyy:

Like I said, Pretty City.
Like you, 
I try.
*dusty lane hug*
-
Just another girl, 
inlovewithyourflaws :)


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4m71L2oAT4

sunshine almost always -

: said,
 see the crack 'cross your soul?
 The one right there.
 It doesn't speak of faith . It
doesn't speak of  memories and it
doesn't speak of let downs. It just
has that sad smile on, like
the unblued edges of a notebook
at the bottom of a lake. The kind of smile you might
see on an old soul, a mumbling fakir. 
The kind that carries the 
sinking
weight of knowing that 
nothing
was,
is,
will 
ever
be

worth

breaking your heart over.
That you'll be fine, fine,
fine. Fine
with, and
fine without.

That, kid,
is what the crack is all about.