Scene Three- Music

The drummer in her head had been joined by a cymbal player and a very enthusiastic trumpeter.

Breaking-up Etiquettes

Due to the joyless note that has become the background score of my life (I have no reason for this, most people I know would be happy with the situation I find myself in). So continuing on that note, this is the kind of coffee table conversation I indulge in.

Breaking-up etiquettes:

To you my friends whose identity in these pages is veiled in fictional disguise it is but fitting that I dedicate this post.

What is the right time to break up?

Should you break up with the person when you know he/she has a busy time coming up in their life, so they will have to focus on that and get over you fast?

· Can backfire as said person may screw up the important task.

Should you break up when he/she is with friends and family and has his/her support system around (who can gather around and tear you apart and help said person get over you).

· Or will this cause the happy occasion to turn into a mourning festival?

Should you break up as soon as you can? Or should you wait it out and hope the other person breaks up with you first?

Should you be yourself and have faith in the fact that no one can be with you for such a long time and wait for them to break up with you?

Should you tell said person about other friend who would totally dig them?

Is it your responsibility as the instigator of the break up to listen to the theatrics quietly, if said person feels inclined to resort to such?

Alive

She draws her knees together and rests her head on them; she wipes her tears imagining him doing it. She can almost hear him whispering to her that she was safe now, that he loved her. He wasn’t real, but she could almost felt it. She knew it was stupid, but if her mind could play this trick to make her feel better, she would play along. Sometimes he took the shape of her latest crush, sometimes a character from a story. He has to be the reason I am somewhat sane*. I wish I could make him come alive.

I find it difficult to post, because somehow too many people I know (and don’t like) come here. I will stop writing here, because it’s becoming a chore editing the entries for fear of giving too much away. I wish they would go away. What to do?

Alan Jackson- Remember When

*-( sane? heheh)

Living the Deam

I always knew that I would love living alone. And now that I have for quite a while now, my mother knows it too. It scares her, I should scare me too I guess.

I love being able to hear my thoughts, I love being able to listen to music when I want to. Being able to breathe deeply, to read without interruptions, to look at the stars, to think. To live without hearing someone else’s voice, without sharing my space with someone else. I can’t stand to have someone around me for a long time. It’s not like I do bizzare stuff while I am alone (like walk around naked; case in point P) I do mundane things, like work on the computer, read a book. And when I am doing these boring things in my room and you do happen to walk by, even quietly; I will consider it an intrusion. I have seen that if I don’t get to spend a significant amount of time alone, I turn into a raging ogre in a few days. No kidding. And that should scare me. It doesn’t. What scares me are people who can’t stand to be alone.

The hippopotamus in me.

We go a long way back. Hippopotamuses and me.

My parents were nurturing doubts about my mental growth when at age 4 the only story I wanted to hear was the one my dad had made up. This was also the time I wanted to be a boy. The story was called The Baby Hippopotamus.

There was once a baby hippopotamus, he was very naughty. He did not want to take a bath, but his mother would not listen to him. She washed him, and cleaned him. She made him wear nice clothes and she put powder behind his ears. And she put cream on his face. She combed his hair. She made him wear nice shoes. She told him to play carefully and not get dirty.*impish smile on little girl's face, yeah right*

The hippopotamus went to play out. He saw a puddle.*sparkle in little girl's eyes* The puddle was very dirty. The hippopotamus jumped into the puddle.*SPLASH* *HURRAY*

His mother would see him, scold him and clean him again.He would go and jump into the puddle again. This would go on and on and on, till I would go to sleep, a contented smile on my face. I got over the wanting-to-be-a-boy syndrome, but I still jump into puddles.

So when I read this story, it’s understandable that I feel warm in my tummy.

The Box

When she first got it, she wasn’t very happy. It fact, she did not quite understand her mother's vehement request that she keep the box.

It was a jewel box, a small box resembling a dressing table; with three drawers. You could hold it comfortably in the palm of your hand. Inside the box, within each drawer, were pieces of jewelery. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets made of glass, stones and metal; the treasure of a 9 year old girl. Her sister. Every time she opened the box and saw the pieces of jewelery, which were kept thoughtfully on a bed of cotton, her heart broke a little. She could see her sister’s small hands as she played with the jewelery. She could imagine her sister’s impish smile as she posed in front of the mirror and twirled. She could feel the anger and the pain growing in her heart as she remembered that her sister was not with them anymore. She could feel the guilt growing inside her as she told herself that she had no right to this box, no right to this pain; as she told herself that others were being so brave. She hid the box.

Two years later.

The beautiful young woman sits at the coffee house waiting for her friends. A soft smile lights her face as she strokes and kisses her bracelet. It still hurts. That, she knows will never go away. She is trying to get over the guilt she feels about hurting so, when she knows other people hurt more. She goes home to open the box again. She sheds a few tears but these are happy tears, born out of the knowledge that she was blessed to have once known an angel.

Feeling guilty about not calling her aunt enough, she dials her number.

music: Wake me up when september ends ( Greenday)

Scene Two-Screwed*

Him:“So, what are you going to do now?”

Her: “Laughing like a madman is a possibility. Screaming like a banshee is another"


*Screwed- completely mishandle or mismanage a situation.Completely.

se7ev

Se7en-The Tag, courtsey of Rajesh. Thank you.

Seven things that I plan to do:
Adopt a child
Own a house
Go to Rome
Do a course on psychology
Go deep sea diving
Get a tattoo
Travel on the Palace on Wheels, Venice Simplon-Orient-Express and The Blue Train.

Seven things I can do:

Smile

Eat a full cake.

Love

Take charge, when things go wrong.

Hide what I am feeling.

Rationalize.

Hope.

Seven things I can't do:

Not stand out.
Forget.
Make the first move.
Remain calm when being photographed.
Decide exactly what I want in life.
Have conversations with puny-little-arrogant-stupid-ignorant-selfish-pseudo-confident people.
Be serious.

Seven things I say most often:

(I am more of a sound-person (if that’s a word) I don’t say words, I make appropriate sounds.)

Hmmmmm
Accha ( Alright)
You think so? ( when I don’t think so)
Seriously * while I am trying to stop ROFL*

Sure

Homie * :-p *

Thank you

I Woke up in between,a memory and a dream

A mob attacked the city hospital, breaking all the equipment, hurting doctors and patients. They were the supporters of a local goon, who succumbed to injuries earlier in the day. Went to the city hospital to discover the extent of damage caused by the mob. Discovered that the mob also attacked the dead bodies in the hospital. Dead people.

Pessimism-4

Hope-0

A friend, whose father died in kargil, called. The house which was allotted to her family, after the war, is unlivable. One wall is about to fall.

Pessimism-1

Hope-0

Grandmother fell down the stairs, hurt her hip. This is her fourth operation in two years, she was operated on last month too.

Pessimism-1

Hope-0

Found out that the next exam is a killer. Nobody is sure about what the professor plans to give in the exam. Sadistic laughter is heard from the department office.

Mood: Morbid

A dog sleeps in the middle of the college road, while kids angle their vehicles around him.

Flowers blooming in the garden.

Grandmother is singing again.

Sunrise.

Men and women make a human chain to save the doctors from the mob.

Over all tally:

Hope: 27

Pessimism: 6

Earnest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I believe the second part.-se7en

Scene One

Him:" You're acting like a pigheaded boar!"
Her: "Isn't that redundant?"

She ducks the flyng pen.

Pride

We will speak our minds.
We will be kind, only if you deserve it; not because our mothers taught us well.
We will not respect weakness.Being pseudo-intellectual does not make you wise.
We are not sorry that we are successful.
We do not think anyone has an overnight success or a stroke of luck and all that jazz.
We do not think that anyone conspired to make you fail, no not even fate.
We will not "help" you. You have two hands; we will help you get the tools. Rest is up to you. You will get what you deserve.
We will not play your game.
We do not mind when you call us selfish. We do not consider it an insult.
Everyone is living their life as they want to, we do not think we know best. We may not know anything; we respect your right to live as you do.
Being kind, honest, open minded and hardworking is very important to us.
We do not expect anything from you, you shouldn't either.
We value our time.
We do not care to answer questions like," Will you save a man or earn money"
We don't believe in discussing our choices or sugar coating them for you.
We try very hard not to judge anyone.

Posted on 27th October,2005

I think my heart jumps every time I hear the first few lines of this song. I realise this makes me a dork. I hate the rest of the lyrics. I do. But dear GOD the first bit, sung in such a sexy, deep voice. *Fans herself*

Public displays of emotion are alright, only if the people in question are beautiful. Otherwise its just gross.

Guess who has a huge crush on Craig Ferguson. Wicked wicked accent.Wicked.

I just heard Ronan Keating's cover of Iris. I think I died a little.