Different eyes.

We are different like the sun and the moon.

 Opposites they say.

We are different to the point where I can't decide whether I want to choke you for disagreeing with everything I say or stare at you with wonder.

We could look at the absolute same picture with such different eyes, I wonder if you are mad or I.

But if it's love there's no different, no opposites. It's just love. Good ol' love.

And it's foolish to give up.

To give up on the paradise we can have together.

To let go without a second thought.

To give up without a putting up a ferocious fight for each other.

Because you know and so do I - it's worth it. Every damn bit of it.

But maybe like every time, this time too, you just can't see what I do.

Poof, gone.

       'Holding hands and walking down a vacant road, she wondered if things could get better than this moment. Could things get better than perfect? She smiled at that thought. Her dizzying happiness was her little secret.'

       Sometimes, your standing there, peering into his eyes, convinced you would do anything, fight anything not to lose him. You cannot imagine giving up on him, giving up on the one person who brought an infinite amount of happy moments. When you're smiling and playing footsie under the table hoping no one noticed, when he hears something and gives you a knowing look because there's a private joke attached, when he's sulking like an idiot and your anger is evaporating by the second, when his joke is so sad you can't stop giggling - how would you have ever imagined it would end? Even if it did end, it would be under extreme circumstances right? Something dramatic, something Romeo Juliet-y.You couldn't be more wrong, more delusional. Such things don't end dramatically, they end without even making a tiny sound.
                 

                                                                  Poof, gone.


And you're left wondering if it all actually happened or you had just created a utopia in your head. You were wrong; very, very wrong. Wrong about everything you believed. Wrong about how invincible you were together. Because it did not take even a light push to watch everything crumble right at your feet.

The Perfect Concoction

               The thread between believing and not believing, constantly pulled in both directions - you grew up watching all those perfectly crafted fairy tales, with just the perfect figured princesses, and charming, funny and loyal as ever princes, with the perfect summer afternoons and just the right amount of sadness and trouble to go with it all. If only our lives were concocted with the right amounts of happiness, sadness and love...but they aren't. The pain always seems to outnumber the happy times. Love always falls short. Belief accounts to nothing.

               We continue believing. Even the pessimist believe that someday, someone will come and rescue then from their disbelief, just like it happens in the movies. We wait for someone to not tell, but show everyday, again and again, how loved we are. What are we made of then, if not only our unending beliefs?

Coming home.

   He wondered if he should overtake the red car ahead. The mood was morose, he didn't feel like playing games today. If anything, he actually wondered if repetition sucked the joy out of even his favourite games. He scolded himself. He wasn't behaving like his usual self ; for god sake, he wasn't feeling like he usually did. But thoughts could wait, he had a beautiful mistress to attend to.
      Leila wasn't his usual choice. She had been his most difficult. He had had plenty of women before her, but never found one just like her. She was a challenge, and today he hoped that the challenges she brought along would lift his spirits.
   
    He entered the gateway and honked. He liked doing it this way; announcing his arrival. Her flowery footsteps were coming towards him. She opened the door and stood at the doorway. Both hands on her hips, she was a sight for sore eyes. The exquisite beauty frowned. He was late again, and she didn't like waiting. What she never understood was, all his acts of defiance to her usual expectations were done on purpose. It was his foreplay. Or maybe she did know; he could never tell.
   
     He got down and walked towards her. He could read the anticipation in her eyes. He liked seeing the burning desire for him in her. His wife never saw him like that. She always had some kind of a soft, unspoken emotion in her eyes which he could never fully understand. Was it because he never tried understanding? Maybe they were just not his cup of emotions. He brushed aside these thoughts. Leila was what he had now and what he needed, he told himself.
     They welcomed each other with hungry eyes. He walked in; but today, the silence was deafening. He had to say something. Anything.

 "How was your day?", he asked without looking at her.

 "From when did we start making small talk?", she questioned. "Or are you falling in love with me?", she said playfully.

She was right. They never wasted time.

   He grabbed her by her hips and breathed in her scent. The nauseous smell of a beautiful woman. It wasn't long before their clothes were a distant memory, lying in a pile somewhere.

               But today was not everyday and he couldn't think straight. The mind is a strange place. It take you don't roads you seemed to have long forgotten, at times when you shouldn't think about them at all.

             He remembered the day they'd met - a warm summer afternoon, at a coffee shop. She was sipping coffee while chattering excitedly with her girlfriends. He hadn't been able to get his eyes off that young, beautiful, carefree woman. He had waited till she got up to go to the washroom, to approach her. He remembered how, every summer afternoon after that day was spent with her. Swimming, cycling, picnics and  movies; they couldn't get enough of each other. He thought of that starry night he asked her to marry him. It wasn't pre planned. Heck, he hadn't even thought of it, and yet when he sat there looking at her talk like there's no tomorrow, he didn't want her to ever be away for even one more day. One distinct memory was when on a gloomy April afternoon he lost his mother and only reality only sank in when he looked at the understanding in his wife's eyes.

    He pushed Leila away, he needed to breathe. His usual drug was suffocating the air out of him now. He moved swiftly through the room and dug through the pile of clothes. He began dressing up.

What happened, love? What's wrong with you today?, Leila questioned in surprise.

He felt no compulsion to answer.

Before long he was starting his car and driving out of the gateway. He had no time, every passing minute was his life ticking away, getting out of his hand.

                                                                               .....

The door clicked open.

The air smelled of bittersweet hope, of long waiting and of realization. His footsteps echoed throughout the house, as if to match his pacing heart.

 Looking up, after the longest time, he saw the same understanding in her eyes like that gloomy April afternoon. Tonight, he came home.

                                                                               .....

The Wild Child.

         She was like one of those horses you couldn't tame, no matter, how hard you tried. She ran free. Right from when she was a kid, people tried their luck at taming her. Her dad, grandfather, aunt, uncle, everyone. But their persistence didn't pay. She ran faster every time they tried. Into the woods, into the wild.
         She grew up and hoped for a liberal world outside. Waiting to engulf her into its arms. She held her breath and stepped out, but it wasn't long until she realized, it was all the same. Her tiny family represented a large section of the world. This wild child, for the first time, felt lost. The irony being, she was absolutely alone in a swarm of people. This became an obstacle in her running, for she had to go against the powerful crowd. But her brave heart gave her strength. As she ran faster she realized, some one was next to her. Running with her.
       And for the first time she understood, she didn't need people to tame her, rather they couldn't. All they could do was run with her, into the wild.

Dear Music,

             I don't know why i'm writing to you after 17 years of friendship, but better late than never right? :) You know how I usually can't express emotions, specially the positive ones. But you stir within me something so powerful, I just have to let you know.
           Thank you. For being the friend no one could be. For feeling my feelings rather than just understanding. For never ever leaving my side. For increasing my happiness when i thought i couldn't get happier. And most of all for letting me feel sad and cry when i needed to. Coz you know that its better to cry and let it go than stifle the pain somewhere deep inside. Sometimes your serious and sometimes lighthearted. I love this balance of yours. 
           When you are with me, you pulse through my veins. I can feel your rhythm in my body. Maybe our friendship is bordering on love. Or maybe it passed love. 
                               
            Whatever it is, I promise to be with you.  Always.
                                   
  Yours sincerely,
  Rachana.

The Truth.

Random stranger in train.(Hope she doesn't mind i put her pic)  

              I tried so hard to make things right, to act as if everything was perfect. But it wasn't. The truth doesn't change by wishful thinking, right? Today during one more long fight the reason hit me hard and fast. 
 You don't bring out the best in me. We were just never meant to be.

My Life through Images!

Marine Drive.

Puppies <3 

Sunsets.

.Jewellery + Colaba = Perfect combination.

“The Guy in the Glass” by Dale Wimbrow.

When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn’t your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgment upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He’s the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear up to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and “chisel” a plum,
And think you’re a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.

I totally heart this poem. ^_^ Its super awesome stuff!!

The start.

     It all started on some beautiful day when i was just nine. I had an Enid Blyton book in one hand and was tugging mom's dress with the other. I was pleading i wanted the book but for once she didn't say a direct no. She just asked why. I had a simple answer. It had fairies on the cover and i loved all magical creatures,even the trolls (I guess i still do). And for once despite the lack of money to afford it she directly bought it for me. I was overjoyed and couldn't wait to get back home to read it. There started my journey,simple as that. 
     I don't know what it was about that first book but from that day i could never stop. Maybe its the dreamer in me that loves entering the new world every book potentially holds. But more than that i realize its something else. Something that took me 8yrs of reading to figure out. But then,atleast i figured it out.
     Books make me human. In bad times when i feel like i'm going numb a good book full of emotions gets me out of it. They hold the power to make me laugh,cry,smile and think. Every beautiful,good book i read leaves a small part of itself in me.Somehow a book can help me connect to myself. Has anyone ever felt that or is it just me?

    You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend. 

-Paul Sweeney.