Hair
In the past four years of my college life, this mane of mine has grown and fallen with each passing season, the amount of shampoo, oil and conditioners that have been emptied for this noble cause are inumerable and yet the problem is incurable. The problem of making my hair straight and silky, just like every other chinki's. Yes, I have straightened my hair once in my high school days and a few guys did say that I looked 'hot', I begged to differ.
Corel Draw
Discovering this miraculous tool of creating small sized imagination into huge posters smashed upon my forehead the day I realised for the umpteenth time that when the going gets tough, I must get going. Disgusted by the complexity of Photoshop, I found a home in Corel that has given me the best results till today and has never ceased to surprise me everytime I open it (or everytime it crashes). For those who never knew what designing is, I suggest you look into it to discover the hidden workaholic in you.
Porcupine Tree
This band in my head always seemed to be a band that comes for folk festivals on special occassions and played to disintereted/idle groups of people but frankly, they have created music so much in the last decade that their songs play to this very moment as I write this. I am priviliged to have travelled 2000kms to see them play live and although I distinctly remember having a horrible cold while screaming out their name, I wont forget that fleeting moment where I was one with them.
Subway Sandwiches
They came to my life as filth and food for the sick but as I grew out of the garbage in the mess, I found new love in the sandwiches of New York, the number of permutations one can have with vegetables, sauces, meats and breads. Phenomenal. I might have more than a 100 subs in the past 3 months now. I even went on a subway diet once to see if it really worked, but I realised that ordering pizza side by side might just not help.
The hunger to splurge
I might have bugged my old folks more than ever in my entire life in the name of money. I can't imagine I used to be a miser once who kept a record of every penny spent, even if it was giving it to a beggar! Now, every ruppee earned is a ruppee splurged upon, be it on food, clothes, food, autorickshaws (Thanks for not giving me a car!) and food again. They say I will learn the true value of money once I start earning, but I have a bad feeling that by the time I realise the value, Ill be in a lot of debt to devalue it.
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Friday, June 18, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Silent Echoes
As the eagerness of returning to a familiar location reached its brink, I stepped on what seemed to be the soil of a place long forgotten. In the humid air of a night in March, I carried my belongings and subconsciously walked to my depot of transportation.
But on arriving at this depot, there seemed to be a change in the chaos that would usually embrace me as I looked the other way with the slightest bit of snobiness. Not disturbed by this slight change in proceedings, which could probably be another step towards reating the ideal world, I grab my wheels and head home. As the shimmer of the street lights light up my vehicle as it arrives on the centrestage of madness and disorientation, the lull seems to continue. It was as if my hearing abilities seemed to have been enhanced or deteriorated. Everything looked the same,smelt the same but somehow the fragment of discontent and disturbance seemed to have vanished. I raised my ears to gather the blare of a horn or the rumble of an engine but of no avail. Maybe it was the wind that was different or the time of the night was too late. But it actually remained the same as it was before. Probably I had changed.
Proceeding on through the streets of the forgotten metropolis, I glanced at the walls and faces of the millions. In the glow of the street light, I seemed to have caught the face of a woman in her late 40s holding her child as her better half drove their scooter. Making use of my ability of deduction, I deduce the age of the scooter, the cause of its dents, the price of the driver's watch the nature of the barber who cuts his hair. But what I was really interested in was what I had seen first. Surrounded in the halo of the street light that decided our fates to cross paths, was her visage with the hair on her face a little more prominent than expected. Not the hair that sprouts from your head and is a nuisance to get rid of from unwanted places, I talk about the tiny ones that are millimetres in size and almost invisible.The ones that seems invisible but are felt at the back of our neck whenever we feel the chill run down our spine. They stood as one and chose to accept me as their admirer. As I smiled at them, they waved back at me.
As they illuminated her aura that was shadowed by the smoke in the air, it seemed to be a masterpiece of sorts that was yet to be signed.
And it was in the middle of my admiration for the picture I had just captured that the baby chose to intrude and cut the strings I was attached to. A wailing cry leapt up in the air and grabbed hold of the chaos ready to erupt. And it was then that I caught a hold of my own belongings and found myself back where I belonged, the epicentre of noise and cacophony.
It was good to be home
But on arriving at this depot, there seemed to be a change in the chaos that would usually embrace me as I looked the other way with the slightest bit of snobiness. Not disturbed by this slight change in proceedings, which could probably be another step towards reating the ideal world, I grab my wheels and head home. As the shimmer of the street lights light up my vehicle as it arrives on the centrestage of madness and disorientation, the lull seems to continue. It was as if my hearing abilities seemed to have been enhanced or deteriorated. Everything looked the same,smelt the same but somehow the fragment of discontent and disturbance seemed to have vanished. I raised my ears to gather the blare of a horn or the rumble of an engine but of no avail. Maybe it was the wind that was different or the time of the night was too late. But it actually remained the same as it was before. Probably I had changed.
Proceeding on through the streets of the forgotten metropolis, I glanced at the walls and faces of the millions. In the glow of the street light, I seemed to have caught the face of a woman in her late 40s holding her child as her better half drove their scooter. Making use of my ability of deduction, I deduce the age of the scooter, the cause of its dents, the price of the driver's watch the nature of the barber who cuts his hair. But what I was really interested in was what I had seen first. Surrounded in the halo of the street light that decided our fates to cross paths, was her visage with the hair on her face a little more prominent than expected. Not the hair that sprouts from your head and is a nuisance to get rid of from unwanted places, I talk about the tiny ones that are millimetres in size and almost invisible.The ones that seems invisible but are felt at the back of our neck whenever we feel the chill run down our spine. They stood as one and chose to accept me as their admirer. As I smiled at them, they waved back at me.
As they illuminated her aura that was shadowed by the smoke in the air, it seemed to be a masterpiece of sorts that was yet to be signed.
And it was in the middle of my admiration for the picture I had just captured that the baby chose to intrude and cut the strings I was attached to. A wailing cry leapt up in the air and grabbed hold of the chaos ready to erupt. And it was then that I caught a hold of my own belongings and found myself back where I belonged, the epicentre of noise and cacophony.
It was good to be home
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Agony Aunt
A cycle ran past him. Then came a car. He wondered who sat in the car. She always wanted that car. He wanted that cigarette.
Sitting in his room that was clouded by the rings of smoke. His eyes red with exhaustion and that speaker in his ears. The others weren't any help as well. Eddie Vedder was ledbettering. A day of fears had just passed, his head was not here, neither was it there. He got that cigarette, the last bit of it. Pressing it between his fingers as he finally got that heat from the burning tip to his lips. The smoke stung his throat but he got his last puff. A bucket of ash and chicken bones waited in solitude at a corner. Aimed to the edge, the butt bounces and dances and finally falls to the oblivion. Whiskey was waiting for him too,he chose to stay sane.
His friends were leaving one after one, a girl has been dumped, a bird has just died. She hasn't been seen ever since. She flew south one day for the winters and never chose to come back.
The cigarettes can't seem to end. His worries somehow do.
He aimed at the skies
He never really got high.
He was blue and yellow
He chose to stay mellow
Sitting in his room that was clouded by the rings of smoke. His eyes red with exhaustion and that speaker in his ears. The others weren't any help as well. Eddie Vedder was ledbettering. A day of fears had just passed, his head was not here, neither was it there. He got that cigarette, the last bit of it. Pressing it between his fingers as he finally got that heat from the burning tip to his lips. The smoke stung his throat but he got his last puff. A bucket of ash and chicken bones waited in solitude at a corner. Aimed to the edge, the butt bounces and dances and finally falls to the oblivion. Whiskey was waiting for him too,he chose to stay sane.
His friends were leaving one after one, a girl has been dumped, a bird has just died. She hasn't been seen ever since. She flew south one day for the winters and never chose to come back.
The cigarettes can't seem to end. His worries somehow do.
He aimed at the skies
He never really got high.
He was blue and yellow
He chose to stay mellow
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