A dash of Blue

On and Of

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 14:27:00 +0000

Of August rushes
Of Junes and Julys
Of the raspberry popsicles
Of the blueberry muffins
Of shallow lakes
Of cold picnics
Of locked lips
Of oblivion
Of parting shadows

This love, my love changes over seasons
This love, my love donnes new colours
This love is too difficult
This love is unstable
This love is not true love, my love.

~ Abrupt thoughts ~

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 14:35:00 +0000

The blinds are of a warm yellow shade, blending into the general yellowness of the room. Pictures adorn the walls and doors. Almost every empty space on the right side of the room was taken by those pictures of smiling faces, of silly antics, of puzzled expressions and of those random and candid moments.

The dressing table placed against the yellow wall was filled up. Shampoos collected from an assortment of hotels. Pretty colored soaps packed in inviting wraps. Numerous hair products aligned at right angles to each other. Estee Lauder and Vanderbilt perfumes gathered dust on the top shelf.

The laptop was open. The blue screen of death lit up the screen. The speakers gave out a slight buzz, indicating they were turned on. The sheets of the bed were ruffled, pillows strewn. She lay there helpless, struggling to breathe. Her legs were apart, blood trickled down her thighs. Tears streamed down her eyes. She lay there, violated, unable to move.

Melancholic Celebrations

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 02:28:00 +0000

Mango leaves adorned the doorway, the threshold was painted a fresh yellow with red markings and tiny red feet were painted inside the house, close to the entrance. It is said that Godess Lakshmi enters the house and bestows her blessings. The house smelled of ‘ghee’, many a sweet-dish made appearances on silver plates quite often. The house was bustling with people. Some invited, some uninvited, some unknown. The women hurried in and out of the kitchen, most of them decked in kancheepuram silk in myriad hues, their curly wet hair, tied in loose knots with thick bunches of jasmine flowers. The men kept to themselves, most of them wearing white dhoti’s while some appeared to be in formal western wear. Peals of laughter could be heard often. “They’re on their way, make sure the girl is ready in time for their arrival.” yelled one of the ladies, sitting in the dining sipping her coffee to the women in the bedroom.
-
She looked radiant in the yellow saree, her locks let loose for the world to see, the bride to be gleamed. With all eyes set on her, she set foot into the main seating area. Her proud parents looked on. He father felt a pang, his daughter had grown up in a jiffy. Her would-be was a typical software engineer, “a good catch” according to many. All the people present came and congratulated her and her fiancé. Some faces she knew by heart, some she had to struggle to remember and some she didn’t care enough about. As they exchanged the rings, her eyes were silently searching for a face she grew up with, her childhood friend and probably the love of her life, Aman. She spotted him sitting in the corner fidgeting with his phone, not once looking up to meet her in the eye. Tears filled up her eyes. People congratulated her on her new life, while she was still holding on to her past life, yearning for something to happen rather. ‘I love you’, was that so hard to say? She looked away and her gaze caught her mother’s eyes, which seemed to be reassuring Nalini of her future or the emptiness of it, Nalini thought otherwise. She felt a hand touch hers, it was her husband to be, her fiancé, a stranger she knew well enough to marry.
-

Love, per se

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 08:18:00 +0000

A soulless you and a lifeless me,

Sharing a bed, maybe cups of tea.

Cold sheets freeze with subliminal passivity

Isn’t it an example of our objectivity?

A flaccid romance,

Ignores every intimate chance

An impelled hello,

Isn’t our love but, quid pro quo?

A blistering accusation

But, to indifference, there is no salvation

A happy visage,

Is but a mere mirage

Cold dinners and unopened bottles of wine,

Pinching silences and yearnings of my heart’s confine.

A soulless me and lifeless you,

Sharing a kinship, we hope wasn’t true.

Of you, of love.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 15:46:00 +0000

Refreshing my in-box,

Waiting for your mails...

the humble hellos to make me smile and blush.

Staring into the blank walls,

Imagining crisp hearts floating around...

A feather pillow is all it takes to take me up into the sky.

Singing half a duet,

Mulling over lyrics...

waiting for a voice to finish it with me.

Sitting by the blue sea, on the wet sand,

Cool waters, caressing my feet gently...

waiting for a quiet peck on my cheek.

Lying on the rocks,

Looking at the stars...

Searching for a hand to hold mine.

___

It's been a long time, since I wrote anything. College, exams and work have gotten the better of me and I just found some own time for myself today. I determinably sat down to write and this is what I could come up with, at best. :| My hello's to you. Yes, you, the one reading. :)

Books. Men. Other Men.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 15:22:00 +0000

I celebrated my 19th a couple of days back, and I am still not done feeding hungry vultures who keep screeching, 'treat'. Well, the best part of the birthday was my mother. Well, not HER, but what she gave me. She gifted me two books.

'The White Tiger' and 'The Inheritance of Loss'[Old one got lost]. I am not going to talk about the books, just yet. I have yet to finish up on Tiger. Loss, I have very well acquainted myself to, take it in whichever fashion you'd like. Fact: I am reading a book after a really long time and it finally feels nice to flip through pages with interest. Thanks Ma.

I have so many things running in my mind right now. I just don't know how to place it all. I can just spill it all out and then maybe draw figures from it to make sense. Lets see.
I watched two movies today. 1. The accidental husband 2. Rab ne bana di Jodi.

I love Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Shahrukh Khan. I love men like them. All women do. No matter how much I try to break free from the shackles of typical handsome men, I am the most drawn to them, or in the least to such characters.
I love Dean Morgan so much, that I sat naked in the bathroom pouring hot water all over myself and thinking of him in his house, did he have a family, what would he do if I went up to him and told him, I left everything and flew from India, just for him, would he leave his family for me? Yes. I love him. I love the idea of men like him. Quintessentially, men like him and the bespectacled and good at heart Shahrukh's don't exist, or do they?

-

The movies were average, some would even call them filthy names. I, however shan't go so far. The movies were average. If you're like me and you HAVE TO WATCH, a DVD version should do. 85 bucks in a stinking theatre ain't worth this Jodi. Swear.

I still love you, Shahrukh.

-
When I am alone, which is a lot. I keep thinking of things and I keep telling myself to blog about it. Or make a record of those things, but somehow those things are never inked, they just keep floating in my head, here and there. :(

[Very incoherent post, I know. Sorry.]

Books : To lend or not to lend !

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 03:50:00 +0000

"Whoever has any of my books, RETURN IT. Includes - Complete collection of short stories by Saki, Franny and Zooey, Ayn Rand, M.P. Jain on Constitutional Law and so on. PLEASE RETURN IT!!!!!"

This was a friend's status message on G-talk. I felt sad for her, I felt sad about my plight, again. Whenever books are mentioned, a certain kind of venom begins to flow in my blood, a vengeful me shapes up. And it is because, it is so easy for people to just stamp all over your library, pick up the books they want and waltz away into a never-ending oblivion. It's pathetic, really.

As a kid, I remember having a lot of baby books. Those Infantile, hard-cover and lots-of-cartoons books. Best of the lot, ones my mom and dad would pick up from every country they’d visit. I read them as a kid; I kept them as a growing child. They were stolen by my playmate. Did I use the word “stolen”? Yes, I meant to. I was in 3^rd Grade I remember, and one fine day I am unable to see that big pile of books in my room. The next minute, I see, Apple[the girl] sitting on her verandah and placing tick marks on some books, I went to ask her if she wanted to play and she was like, No I am correcting MY books that MY CHACHA got me. Hell, your books? And Chacha, who was she kidding. Sure if her Chacha gave her MY books. I haven’t seen her in a long time. We moved to another place by the time I was in fourth grade. To this day, I have dreams of threatening to kill her if she doesn’t return my books back. I wonder which “raddhiwala”, her mom gave away the books to.

Of course lessons like these are not learnt so well by a person like me. I am a people-pleaser. So over the years I have lost many an expensive book. Notably are a huge collection of Maugham and Wodehouse, and Kafka. I keep reminding them to return my books, but all I get to hear in return are muffled hmms and ummms. GIVE THEM BACK. GIVE THEM BACK.

Books and book owners are not to be messed with. Trust me, because if I do not get my books back, I will do what the law forbids me to. Kill. So whenever I see a status message like that, it brings back memories of all the beautiful books I have lost. With those memories springs up anger and resentment. If it’s not yours, it’s not a collection. I don’t know what these people who borrow wish to achieve by not returning! Gah.

Books, you’ve been buying from the money you saved from your itsy-bitsy pocket-money. Books you bought when you were happy, books you bought when you were sad, books you bought when you were bored. Books you were gifted. Books you bought as a gift but couldn’t let go of and kept them with you! Books to remember your childhood by, books with red ink tick marks on them. Books with taped front pages and covers, books you’d hide from your parents. These are all those things that books stand for me.

Those musty old books are precious to me. The smell of books is like perfume to me. On lonely nights it is my cure to drown into them. I love seeing lose colourful covers lined up in my library, I feel like a mother.

So if you’re reading this, OH BORROWER’s, please return my books.

A bitter you

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 15:04:00 +0000

What was gone... has now come back
As faint traces keep showing up here and there...
The past keeps hunting you down,
pushing you to run faster, ultimately getting the better of you
You find yourself submerged in guilt and mistrust,
but face the world with a self righteous exterior,
disguising your sins, your crimes.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 09:40:00 +0000

Congratulations to Vatsap,

Oh and this is my 100+1th post! :))

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 18:48:00 +0000

The ex.
Why should I even refer to you as one? You certainly don't fit the category. All you did was turn the lights on and off for two years. [Nothing pervy, please.]

You're just a guy. A regular guy. Why did I bother ? Gah!
Just when I was falling again, you retracted and I fell, Thud! With my face flat on the ground. Hoping, Ill escape with minor bruises, or not. Lets see.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 17:01:00 +0000

Reading this I got thinking, about things I did as a kid, the numerous 'evil' actions, the things which still give me an eerie feeling. All those things I did, with no sane reason.

I remember as a child, I used to like being parental, at least in that certain phase of my childhood, when I was about 8-9 years old. I loved, carrying babies out on prams, holding them, baby-talking and all that. Both my parents worked, and I was used to being alone at home after school. There were these couple of aunties, who'd popped out babies that time around and I would visit their house and take the babies out, play with them. So, this one sunny afternoon, I asked the aunty, if I could take Ishu out for a ride in his peram and took him out. I took the baby out on the road and wheeled it across, in a swoosh and I kept treating the pram like it was a toy car, I was trying to race. Bad things happen. :)
The baby popped out of the peram and fell onto the road. Strangely enough it wasn't crying but looking around with a puzzled expression. I quickly picked it up, lulled it and took it back home. No bruises, so no confessions, gave him back to his rightful owner and went back home, as if nothing had happened. This other time, I took a 2 year old kid to the swings, put him onto one and "entertained" him, he seemed to like the speed and all that jazz, so I increased it a little and boom! He fell and started crying. Nothing happened to him, but he started crying. Shushed him up and took him for an extra long walk [Yes! I carried him], gave him a big bite of the Toblerone, dad got me and he forgot all about the fall!
I am hoping, I am not this bad with my kids! :D

I was about 8 years old when my dad bought me these amazing red coloured roller skates, I was flaunting them around and rolling my way across the house, when my sister, stopped me and asked me if she could try them on once, I just pushed her to the wall. Nothing major, just pushing her against the wall. But somehow, whenever I think of the look on her face, it makes me feel immensely guilty. Mostly because, she did not react in a rude manner, she just subtly agreed and went about her work, she just looked sad. I don't know why I pushed her. Why did I so meanly pushed her and just left the scene. The thought of that innocent look on her face kills me a little each time.

I had an intense jealous streak in me, when I was a kid. If my mother would buy two chocolates for me and my sister, I'd crush my sister's chocolate a little before giving it to her. For that matter, ice-creams too. Why would I crush it? I just needed mine to be all neat. Weird and mean, I know. It was a long time ago.

Thanks Mac, for the topic! :)
Cheers.

Jolted back into writing. Tags. #@!!%^

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 14:55:00 +0000

Ashkrish! The idiot, who studies Law in a blue city, tagged me. So here I am, again, tagging more people. Goodness Gracious. &#&#&!*.

My Age :

Well not exactly 18, in another 3 months, Ill be 19. So. Let's just say 18 now shall we?

I am passionate about :

My favourite Place:

Yumthang Valley, a magical place, right out of heaven, probably.

I have a thing for :

Yes, chocolates. Not feeling guilty at all. :)

My comfort zone :

:))

My favourite animal :

My kind of art :

The town where I was born and the town which brought me up :

Warangal

Dehradun

The town where I live :

Not exactly a town, a metro actually. :D

A past pet :

It was a street dog. Sheru, as called by the kids.

A past love :

Albeit it's wrong to call him "past".

Current Love[s] :

Best friend's nickname :

I want :

Screen Name :

A bad habit :

A Dream :

First Job :

I Miss :

It shouldn't have gone off air. :(

What I'm doing right now :

the net :P

It took me exactly an hour and a half to compile this list. ASH!!!! Ur so dead :P :P

I shall send this wrath to :

1. Vatsap
2. Divya
3. Macabradey
4. Abhijit, here's to the interning days. The "kaana-raja" of the office. :D

:)

Flames

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 02:31:00 +0000

The flames still flicker,
the wind causes them to
Hoping for them to burn out,
I wait, in silent frustration

The boat's swung in turbulent sea,
the strong waves rocking it about
Hoping for calm weather,
I wait, in a strange devotion

The rivulet's are gaining volume,
the silt's struggling to keep by
Hoping for the water to recede
I wait, in a silent wail

Why did you have to come back?

Conversations of me...

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 15:09:00 +0000

I just want to be in love.

8:20pm The Mocking Spirit

I want to be loved.

I want to be in a committed relationship.

I want to be kissed.

I want to sms an I love you to someone at night

8:21pm The Mocking Spirit

Well.

Life is a mess that its supposed to be.

8:22pm The Mocking Spirit

You know. It is really sad that we don't love the person who loves you.

Wouldn't it have made things a lot easier?

8:25pm The Mocking Spirit

And sometimes when you keep looking for it, it does not come to you.

It teases you.

8:25pm The Mocking Spirit

Its only when you stop searching that you find it staring right into your eyes.

8:26pm The Mocking Spirit

Its a shame, it isn't easy.

A letter to you...

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 19:37:00 +0000

I love you, more than anything in this world. But things are not turning to the way thats good.

I don't know if you love me enough. I want to believe that you do. Why is that you can't make up your mind? Why is it that for once, you say those three words to me first without being prodded or pushed into saying it. I feel the need to move on. But don't know if I ever can. I feel like I'll always be connected to you.
I sometimes see myself growing older with you. Sitting on the rocking chair, listening to you talk about things. It seems like a sweet feeling. Only pungently sweeter now.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 16:25:00 +0000

A million promises unmade jingle, unceremoniously.
A thousand hopes do raise, adding one more line on the wall,
I made a mistake, I said sorry...
He, who doesn't care, sits there expressionless as usual.
His silence seems to overshadow my inner chaos.

Was flipping through my old journal... found these lines written across, think I haven't published them yet.

Keep Walking

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 04:23:00 +0000

That tag line, always makes me redirect my thought process to 'moving-on'. Isn't that something we all do? And when we can't, we have a zillion friends who pop out from nowhere, prodding us to. To move on, that's what we are all expected to do. See something sad? Move on. See something good? Enough of the show, move on.

That phrase is so stuck up and so necessary, that all my life, I've told myself to move on, yet found myself hung on to past memories in an inexplicable fashion. I tell everybody, I've moved on, but there I am, trying to win the game, to prove it, when I haven't. I have pretended to move on so much, that I am unable to move on from the things I wish to.

Dad gets a transfer. Have to leave a place with people you've grown up with, played with, fought with, cried with, shared with. But it's okay. Move on.
Come to a new place. Make new friends . Schools over? Move on.
New college. New friends. Some old. Still move on to fresher memories in the make.
Moving on. Is it a part of human nature? Or a 'nature' forced upon. What if, this once. I don't want to move on. I want to live in the past memories. Then?

This moving on that we do. When does it stop? When can we not 'keep-walking'? Is it the sole purpose of our life? To find newer retentions?

Yeah you and I both know the damned protocol. Just Keep Walking.

Let me know...

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 14:28:00 +0000

I am looking for signs all around me...

One hint, a warning maybe?

Make it easier. Why don’t you just tell me?

The stars are shining at their brightest. Only, a little too bright.

My eyes hurt, looking for clues, connecting the dots...

It’s hard reading between the lines.

Your antics bother me...

Your sudden silences, trouble me. Why don’t you just say it out loud?

This game, this maze is falling apart. It’s fun no more...

Because somewhere down the line, I feel like I’ve lost you and much more.

Let’s end it here. Right here.

I’ll call it quits if it pleases your ego.

Please just let me know. Make that closure from your lips.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 16:38:00 +0000

Sometimes, it helps to talk.

Go away...

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 17:23:00 +0000

You should have left for Bangalore. It's going to be a hard day's work, with you and I both in the same city.
With you some miles away, memories would have faded into oblivion a lot faster. It's going to be hard to control myself from sending you a message, to feel like a fool each time.
To feel that love stinging every vein in my body. To want to forget, is just not going to be easy.

Oh! So you're staying back for that girlfriend of yours? Well, that makes it all the more painful for me doesn't it? It's unfair, what you are doing to me. I still haven't healed, you are taking away the chance for me to. You're going to be happy, I still haven't healed.

Don't offer me your balm. It really burns.
Just stay away. Please go away to Bangalore or at-least lie to me that you're there. Keep those snippets of yourself with you. Change your number, do something, rid me of this affliction/addiction.

Office romance, pure day dreams. Unadulterated.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Wed, 21 May 2008 11:51:00 +0000

It was 8:00 am by the time she left from home to the workplace. It was her first day as an internee. She reached the office by 9:15am, she knew she was late. As she went to the second floor, the office boy greeted her and she explained to him unasked, the purpose as to why she was there. He acknowledged it with a smile and went about with his coffee cups on the sparkling blue tray towards what seemed like the kitchen.

She walked towards the single door labelled, 'Editorial'. It was a big, centrally air-conditioned room with the state of the art office decor and latest desktop sets. She looked around and found no one in sight. She silently seated herself on the sofa there. She wondered where everyone was, right when the office boy then told her, everybody came in late. She continued sitting silently and she flipped through the newspaper kept in front of her. News interested her and so did this news organization. Her thoughts about the Congress were interrupted by, 'Are you waiting for something?'. She looked up and she almost lost her senses as he she saw a lanky yet handsome guy looking at her in a puzzled expression. She did not say a word, in fact, she couldn't muster up the courage to. He asked again. This time she told him that she was the 'new intern' and placed a file in his hand. He looked through it and pulled her into his arms and said, "Will you be mine forever?"

She said, 'Yes'. She felt her heart lighten and her hands grow unassumingly heavy. A stack of press releases were thrust. She looked up in confusion, it was her mentor, prodding her to go get some work done.

:P

Interior Monologue III

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Tue, 13 May 2008 17:29:00 +0000

You are 6'2".
I am 5' 4".
You still are the smaller person.

I love you.
Send-Via multimessage
- Via standard message
To: A bag of crap.

I love you. I don't.
I do. I don't.
I don't. I do. I do. I do. I don't.

Too bad your life is a confusion too.

So you think you can be an asshole?
Yes.
Correct answer. You win a penis.
Two more questions to go before you get your balls and you'll be on your way to become a man for real!

Please turn over a new leaf.
P.T.O.
'Wait let me bring my old notebook'

You have a charming smile, bitch.
You do too.
331 rupees: full talk-time, what a waste!

Tashan

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 15:31:00 +0000

Who? What? Where? How? How? How?
It is not a bad movie. Its plain ajeeb. Ek dum wierd.

Why a short post ?!
I don't have much else to say. Well, consider it to be my 'tashan'. :P

Update**
Mail today -Disclaimers

Sripuram, Golden Temple/Swarna Devalayam

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 11:50:00 +0000

After what seemed like two hours of boredom, stuffed in a Qualis with a bunch of adults, and two boys, whose sole intention in life was to kick around a spherical sack of air all over a field. Oh yes, 2 packs of Kurkure and 4 packs of Bingo, we reached Vellore. Sripuram Swarna Devalayam, was the place where we were headed, by the way.

Honestly, from the outside, the first thing that caught our eye was this humongous palace like restaurant, Sri Annalakshmi Hotel, pure vegetarian :P. Well anyway! That was not it. So my folks got down to take the Darshan tickets and we waited barefoot, hoping we could get in faster. All around, it was like a typical Vaikuntham Complex scene, and as we went in the scene changed into being something which was totally out of this world, like some Mysore Maharaja's palace and those long free courtyards in Jodhaa Akbar. We walked and walked through a star shaped pathway and by the side, these spiritually enlightening boards kept our eyes some company. The area enclosed in the star shaped pathway was beautifully landscaped. With stone sculptures from the bygone era and stragetically placed flowers and crafted highs and lows. The blue mountains in the backdrop brought more appeal to the entire setting. The inner parts of the temple complex had the main "Gopuram" set in the centre with water around it. And the walk towards the "Gopuram" made into a natural circumambulation. The line moved slowly then and I was only glad, because overlooking the pool of water and the pure gold Temple reflecting through it was treat for the eyes. It kept getting darker and the more beautiful it kept getting. Coins and Notes were thrown into the pool and to my surprise I even saw some business cards floating around! And as we walked towards the main deity, it was only more pleasurable than Tirupati, because the staff was genial and the at the same time had control of the crowd, as each volunteer smiled and told us to move on in English, Telugu and Tamil, we only felt obliged in a nice way! :)

Post darshan, we recieved Prasadam and then we walked back through the same star shaped pathway, which looked all the more beautiful with the lighting.

This Temple is a photographer's delight. Trust me. If only they allowed cameras ! :(

***

View photos : Arun Vijay Kumar

Mail today : Disclaimers

noreply@blogger.com (The Mocking Spirit) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 15:35:00 +0000

Mail today : Teenage Chennai girl vents her angst .
LOL.
I feel the need to put up disclaimers.
I am NOT a depressed soul :P
I am NOT going to commit suicide or any such thing. I love the life I am living. Its kinda fun.
Poetry is just a way I vent my pent-up emotions, Once they are out, they are OUT. I am an aspiring Journalist and one day maybe a fulltime poet! :D
"the suicide of a 16- yearold- boy whom she knew in school sends Mocking Spirit further down the abyss as if she wasnt half- way down already"
No. I am sad he had to die such a way. Usually people get upset when people they knew die. Period.

Anyway, thanks Mail Today for calling my blog, an interesting read and I sympathise with you in all ways about the issue you wanted to cover. :)
Thanks for the free publicity. Really. :)

Update**
The Link is back. :O