Dream- A Caged Cloud!

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An impeccant dream, missed in time’s leap;

Buried to arouse from the slumber so deep.

Fear swigged and stilled in ocean of my sighs;

Pocked to essence and caged in my free eyes.

Trusting to booze from the realism’s lil stream;

Waitressed in the duskiness to testify its gleam.

Unaware; it was mere a mute and lapsing cloud,

Damned to rain. Rising to stay? No, not allowed.


Image Courtesy: http://www.crated.com

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Voice of a Coffee Cup!

tumblr_mruhkl3X3a1qhu7x0o1_500How many of you e’er talked over a cup of coffee in your life? I dare say, most of you – on zillions of clips, discussing zillions of affairs. What if I paint the coffee cup’s voice for a variety? Yes! You scan it aright…. THE COFFEE CUP, a frail porcelain, with a cylindric body, curvy hand grip, basking majestically on the window sill; savoring a panoramic view of the alfresco. Oh oh… what am I making? I made a commitment to loan my tongue to the cup for a limited time.

Over to coffee cup:

Bonjour!

I am not hither for an interview so I am not carrying any CV. I am a bare coffee mug (height: 6 inches, build: cylindrical, wall thickness: 6mm, diam: 88 mm, complexion: ??????) I am aware, this is not required but FYI. All you dazzlingly beautiful women and handsome men, please do not fall in love with me conning my measures. Ladies! Pardon me. I am already betrothed to a cute little tea cup. And men, you must be knowing by now that I am a male and I am not “36-24-36”. Others, I beg off! I have not devoted any idea to it. (No umbrage intended).

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My lil tea cup hates to see this!

I am imparted a vox for an abbreviated length, hence would let you know the things that matter. Arriving flat to my likes and dislikes…………. I love balmy lips adjoining my rim, particularly the brightly lipsticked ones. I detest smoke dried and chapped lips because they veritably scathe me. More than the warmth of a hot coffee, I love being caressed by clean manicured hands. Men, do not take me wrong. I do not mind if you deal me gently, sparing your stern hands for other intent. Only I hate, you pinking me with your nasty fingers on my body wall. Do realize that I am no playfellow. I cannot abide by its jarring noise.

Talking about the deeper things, the thing that resides in me. Coffee? Nah! Coffee lodges in me but does not make me.

  1. It disappoints me to see my body wall tattooed with cartoons, quotes, weird sketches, your face, his face, her face, etc. Although I am signified for coffee, you imbibe beer, coke, whiskey and what not in disguise but that is within concavity. The quotes and weird faces on my convexity? They are seeable and readable. I just cannot fend this. My body and your nameplate on it? Just unjust! Can you ideate “Coffee Cup” etched on your body?
  2. Alike you, I as well feel. I experience a burning pain while you relish your steaming cup of coffee. I am not prompting you to renounce coffee. I am just giving my honest self to genuine eyes. Please do not entertain any guilt. I am civilized enough to understand your love for coffee. I hold no ill will of any sort. My anguish wears thin beholding the satisfactory smile dancing on your coffee kissed lips, discovering your abstruse aaaaaaahhhs and hmmmms that you make while your lips still compacted against my rim.
  3. The justest thing about me- I neither preferred my love (little teacup) and my friends (other coffee cups) based on their physical appearances nor I discriminated anyone based on their make or monetary value. I hire pride in looking thru the lens of heart. I know this is amusing you a little but I do have a heart and it beats. When in doubt, ask my little tea cup. She knows how my heart hop-skips seeing her.
  4. You call it CONFIDENTIAL sharing your dingy and dark arcana in front me. LOL. You never guessed I would be reading your closed book. I took heed your tales of love, hate and treachery but never dropped my opinion any time. I witnessed your crimsoned cheeks over the proposal and also your wept eyes over the betrayal. I mutely contained your frustration and vexation ‘cause all I wanted was you being unbothered. It never mattered to me how many times you emptied me.
  5. My biggest fear- I am scared to death when I am palmed by young and impish, arrogant teen, scorned woman and scurrilous man. They might flap down me in any moment.
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Hey, what are you doing? Don’t ….don’t you dare to put me there……hey you.  No No No …not there. Not on the edges at least. Please someone help me….

                                                       

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My lil tea cup!

Where am I? Oh great! I am still intact and one piece. You see, my heart slumps to abysmal depths when you place me on the edges. I hate being in such states of affairs because I do not own up an insurance. Please understand that I cannot tell you “please put me safe” and hearing me is not your cup of coffee. Now, do not start editing me. I am aware of the original phrase “not my cup of tea”. I am mindful that even when I am shattered to pieces on the floor, you will not sigh for me unless I were your favorite cup. The most regretful part would be no one being there to console my weeping little tea cup.

I should slap myself tightly. Why am I sharing my poignancy with you? It’s weird to anticipate your empathy…………… your hands won’t even stretch out from the pockets to wipe your fellow being’s tears.

Enough of my life’s account because it exacts your time and forbearance. I guess, you have no time to listen to others in your busyness and it is unmanageable for you to re-learn the art of patience in your hastiness. Hence, I am better unspoken.

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I am bubbling to share more and more but I fear my words falling on deaf ears. 😦

Life is moving so fast………………

 

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Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I don’t define my world in black and white

I have a rainbow to see and delight

And a colorful butterfly so bright.

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past.

I am still so young and gay

I have an absurd game to play

And smell an amazing may.

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still an alien to speak

I have a soulful friend to make

And see my loneliness break

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still an immature speech

I have a mighty goal to reach

With a talent, unique to each

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still an innocent kid

I wish to play in mud

And drench in rain, so good.

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still stuck in a station

I have to reach a destination

And stand to my expectation.

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still a caterpillar near the lake

I have a big cocoon to crack

And fly with wings on my back.

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still so slow to go

I have a tiny seed to sow

And witness a giant tree to grow

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still a dreamer in June

I have a boon to hum a tune

And feel the dust on moon.

 

Life is moving so fast

And no time to regret the past

I am still so healthy to cease

I have a desire to end in peace

And happily leave my body with ease.

 

 

 

DIARY OF MISS IMPERFECT!

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FIRST PAGE
 
“I’m Perfect” Oops! I mean Imperfect.
 
This world never had any time to empathize the reasons behind incarnations of my imperfections and it would never have any. I know, I am not good at others expectations of me. But I have my ground and I do not solicit the world’s agreement on this. Masses in and around me has got a mammoth listing of adjectives warranting my imperfections in their own way. Few of the many adjectives often invested for me are IMPOLITE, IMPATIENT, IMPOSSIBLE, IMMATURE, IMBALANCED, IMPROPER….bla bla bla.
If I sit back and review my distinctive day  then it simply appears like this…
 
 I unremarkably get up at any time in between 7.00 am and 9.00 am. The instant I wake up, I go straight down to my mom’s kitchen. Yes, it is hers………as I bear no role to play there. The path between my bedroom and my mom’s kitchen is dented by my granny’s room. There was never ever any day where I arrested any luck to fly the coop; especially my granny’s penetrating eyes. I go, look at her, she reciprocates and remarks IMPOLITE girl. She requires me to wish her GOOD MORNING and  that’s the argue at the backside of her comment. 
 
 I make my way into kitchen to snap up a cup of coffee.  I go along requesting for my casual dose of coffee and mom seems overly engaged, readying breakfast for the rest since 4.30 am. I ask for coffee and she screams IMPATIENT. I ask once again and she cries IMPOSSIBLE. You see, my mom is so benevolent. She affords me TWO adjectives for one mug of coffee. More often than not, I find my dad trying out his noesis about weird gizmos. He expends a big ratio of his morning time fixing up things. A midst all my liberally given personifications, I have a genial heart and I extend complimentary assistance to all. I say, “dad, need any help?” He answers, “nope dear. I am all fine.” Till this point, I feel good and the succeeding adjective narks me a lot. He sums up, “you are IMMATURE to deal with my dealings.” I walk uninfluenced, not learning how to react. I guess, I should take to heart only when I veritably consent with what they say.
 
Anyway, I gear up to my college, where a bunch of my unlike friends wait for me at the gate. They feel that my behavior is ill-timed.  According to them, I laugh when I am expected to turn up a grave face. Yes, I laugh too much because I feel happiness is life and I see the life silently laughing tickling my funny bone.  Not more than ten feet I displace, they echo “she is IMBALANCED.”  
In the Science lab, my teacher asks me to draw some shapeless creatures and label them. For example, an amoeba, a formless protozoan. I draw an amoeba and she says, the diagram is IMPROPER. Blooming heck! She says there is no definite shape to it and how the heck it matters if I draw any form.  Perhaps, she meant creating new form of amoeba………..a kind of evolved amoeba with a definite form.
 
I return home………….everything repeats, just  with a svelte edition. Granny anticipates an evening wish instead of a morning one and I beg for a cup of tea instead of a mug of coffee. The remaining time finishes in my room; precisely, inside me. Every night, I  feel………….. I am a big hoo-hah. Perhaps, heart of heart, I wish masses to cognize the things beyond their perception. I feel  my mom has time for everyone. She is speedy at doing others’ things except mine because  OTHERS demand a good deal of her time. I never exacted to be her priority any time. I unremittingly prayed for my morning coffee and was invariably the final to ask for my evening tea. Given a moment, I feel my mom takes my conforming nature for granted. I also feel, may be, I am the only person with whom she can be little easy with.
 
I am barmy being greeted by OTHERS. Every time, I be the first to wish a guest, friend, neighbor, teacher, headmaster, anyone for instance. I do not mind greeting my granny but in the deep pit of my heart, I pray others to greet me before I do. 
Witnessing my dad  dissecting the gadgets, as part of his morning ritual, I expect him to count on me and accept my service. I cry out to prove that I may not be that wise like him but I am mature enough to help my part. I guess, not holding yourself back when you see others breaking their heads is a sign of maturity.
 
I love all my friends and I wish they understand the way I feel about things and situations. After all, life is not  about being serious all the while. I pray, they accept me with all my imbalances of  which they whisper at my back.
I respect my science teacher sincerely. She never called me IMPROPER. By improper, she meant the diagram not me. I am so habituated being tagged with words starting specifically with “IM” that I end up taking the remark too personally. When the rest of all tags are categorized in one where should I put the only one meant for my diagrams? So I resign without googling for another category.
                                                                                                                                                                                                PTO.
A NOTE ON THE BOOKMARK:
Oh! I deliberately left the rest of the pages until the last but one page blank because there is absolutely nothing to pen down. Just  Ctrl+c and Ctrl+v needed. Do mind to witness the date changing on every page. 
 
LAST PAGE OF THE DIARY:
A year passed and new tags used in my honor pooled up and the list started fattening. Whatever the tags be, they all meant ‘imperfections of mine’. At this point of nothingness in my life, there descended a special friend.  This friend on a peculiar day, obviously my birthday, read my diary. A day before my birthday, I earnestly prayed for someone to edit my life’s story in my diary. This friend was the first to even out the handsomest blunders ever in the literature of my life. The first line in the diary was a total catastrophe.  My friend counterbalanced the opening sentence and the remainder of lines got switched automatically. The structure was corrected and  the whole story got a new definition and a renewed dimension. The friend executed a very fiddling job but the result was magnificent. It was just about restructuring IMPERFECT to I’M PERFECT. All the IMs were exchanged to I’Ms. Find and replace did a commendable job in my story. It was amazing to witness the result of this command. The adjectives read from Impolite to I’m polite; Impatient to I’m patient; Impossible to I’m possible; Immature to I’m mature; Imbalanced to I’m balanced and so on………
I guess, the first line was no accident. Connecting all the dots surfaced so far, I feel, I wished for someone to  change ‘I am Imperfect’ to ‘I’m perfect.’ May be it was a little business to remove  A between I and M……. put ”  ‘  ” after I . Or its just that I prayed for someone to recognize this  deliberate error of my subconscious mind. 
 
Guessing who is that special friend of mine? Just look into the mirror and you will find yours. It is a waste of precious time yearning for someone special to change your life for good. There is no one as special as you are and as unique as you are and as gifted as you are. No one, ever walked on this earth, can replace YOU. It is YOUR life and only YOU have the unlimited potential to mess or mend your life.
 
THE LAST LINE:
 Imperfect! Oops. I mean, I’m Perfect.
I guess, punctuation is damn important.

Godly Temple or a Ghostly Cemetery?

dilemma-1NOTE : This post is not to offend anyone’s religious belief or personal opinion. This is just a random thought of a troubled mind. I request all the readers to take this idea in a very constructive way. Your respected opinions and answers are always welcome.

Waning of 2012 and waxing of 2013 has taken a toll over my thinking. Abruptly,  my mind started thinking of my body. Without any provocation, my inclination started growing towards deeper subjects of life. I felt an urge to know life after death. My curiosity to know what happens to the soul after it departs from its physical structure was at its heights. I was seeking ways to pacify my agitated mind. To distract my mind from such thoughts, I plugged in the TV.  I watched a documentary film on Aghora. I learnt that the Aghora live on dead and decayed bodies of human. I was literally shocked to learn about such concept. I found the concept of eating dead bodies very insane. How can a human body that is considered a holy temple of God be tainted with the remains of a dead?  Of course, they have their own justifying reasons for their concepts and philosophies. I am not an AGHORA and I do not relish on a dead human. However, a dead is always a dead………….be it a dead body of human or a dead body of an animal.  If I am a non-vegetarian, gorging on dead flesh of lamb, what difference it makes between an Aghora and me.  Should my body that I consider divine, be called a ghostly cemetery if I eat meat of a killed lamb? Will there be any holiness in my body if feed on dead meat?  Do I have any logic to justify myself?

A Cute Little GUEST or HOST?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIt was mid-January, when I switched over to my new home. Sterner and fussier work schedules did not tolerate for leisure packing. I could not afford help from any of my friends as they too had their schedules tightened up to the heights. To my bad, few of the people of whom I was certain were plagued with some or the other pressing errands. The regretful part was with the left over acquaintances that were out of town when I demanded them THE MOST. Whenever my family or any other known family chanced sequential troubles, my granny used to spill her celebrated consoling words, “Miseries comes all at once with their kith and kin.” This stating evidenced true many a times in my life. My granny popped off but her expression stayed on with me, surfacing repeatedly, bearing witness to its existence.

That impuissance experiencing circuitously made me dive deep into my ocean of emotions. I left no stone unturned but all in vain. The awful fibs told by my friends and relatives about the great losses they ached because of the Packers and Movers’ arrogance, ignorance and recklessness made me steer clear of them for few weeks. The more you resist the more it persists held true in my situation. Left with no expected help in my unexpected situation, I had to honor the packers and movers option. I called them early in the morning so that I can brood over the after damage leisurely during the rest of the day, digest it by night, and sleep peacefully until the next morning.

The queasy hour came and they stood in a row in front of my old house’s gate. I lavished an unintended welcome. Just like robots, they came, packed and they moved. After loading the van with my cherishable household items, they posed on those packed boxes. Although the pressure was exerted on those packed boxes, dent was engraved on my heart. The more weight they put on my things, the more heavy my heart grew. Every moment, the van’s tires bumped against the speed breakers on the way, the boxes derailed abruptly causing me feel to jump off the bike and hold the boxes in place. Regrettably, I was not a superwoman to do that stunt. However, I exhibited the agony, the poignancy, the frustration, the depression and my thoughts, squeezing vinu’s collar so tightly that it choked off Vinu’s throat. The more heavy the jerk my boxes presented, the more tightly I squeezed Vinu’s collar. Vinu just sounded out, “No hurry dear! Have patience. Do not rehearse killing. You can do that tout de suite when you reach them.”

Finally, my anxiety ceased the moment the van stepped on the pavement of my new apartment. I evaporated from the site of offloading, as I was certain that if something is damaged, my eyes will deluge with tears. When all those damage creators left, I realized that my cot’s hinges came out loose and two of the legs are broken. Fridge got nicely decorated dimples randomly. These were the notable damages. I did not dare to clear up the bundled boxes.

Alas! I just pulled a chair and sat with a heavy heart in the balcony. The sorriest part was to be alone, with no one to welcome me and no one to be welcomed at my new place. I guess God really found that I need someone to make me feel at home. From obscurity, a little brown puppy hailed running towards my balcony. It dint pay any heed to my presence. It behaved as if it knows the in and out of the house. Several times, it went in and out checking all the boxes, as if it was supervising all the things. Usually I do not care pets but this puppy absorbed my attending. Its conduct afforded me a feel that it is the puppy’s house and it was receiving me into its house. I was even more delirious witnessing the puppy warding off other people who were queer looking into my house. That egged on a secured feeling. Upon inquiry, I learned that the puppy belonged to a petty shop owner who stays half a kilometre away from my flat. This shows that the puppy came all the way from there to my place. I fed few biscuits and it played merrily for a while and then slumbered near the balcony railing. It traveled to us for few consecutive days and then it held back. I guess it smelt out that we are happily settled and are in need of no company. However, the puppy do visited us occasionally and when it did not appear in the vicinity sometimes, Vinu and I made rounds to the shop to feed biscuits to BROWNY, the way we call that puppy. Whenever I felt the damage incurred by the packers and movers, I masked it with a good feeling yielded by BROWNY.

I guess it was this cute little guest cum host that made my day which could have turned into a doom’s day had it not been there for me to welcome.

Gimme Your Fat!!!!

I have a skinny sister”Mahi” who always sinks into depression whenever she encounters healthy and fat people. I used to sit along with her while she wonders…….. “What is that which makes them so fat?”  At times I used to fear what if, by any good misfortune, I become fat and Mahi wonder looking at me and say, “What is that which makes her so fat?” This sheer thought was enough for me to keep check on my diet.

It was a Sunday afternoon and I had nothing more to do except imagining at my heights. I was fond of imagination since my childhood. All the memorable things I cherished in life, I accredit to my task of imagination. I was with all my elegance, lying on the couch. Mahi was just out of her slumber and was hunting for some place to lean. The room was all-empty except the couch on which I was lying and a chair that was overburdened with Mahi’s MBA books. I was closely watching her movements. I was sure that a girl who is not able to bear the content inside the books would definitely fail to bear the combined weight of the content, pages and hardcover of the books. I was always fortunate with my guesses. Finding nothing to lean against, she came to me, stood for a few seconds, stared directly in to my eyes, which kicked my imagination. I imagined almighty bestowing her with super power that can engulf anything with just a stare. Her warm back that she rested against my semi warm shoulder blades shook me out of my imagination. I asked her, “You are completely done with your so called sleep debt but why are you still looking grave?” To which she answered, “Yes! I am done with my sleep. I am worried about my skin. It has no fat underneath to back up. Even the stupid computer thing has a back up. Why only me…………..?” Hearing this, I was propelled to invite her into my world of fantasy, where I just bask under my imagination. I promptly asked “Are you interested in being fat like others of whom you wonder?” She just jumped on her knees, held my hand and said, LETS GO PLEASE.

We spared no second to lie down, side by side, but in a reverse direction on the small couch. If someone happened to view from the top angle, we would resemble two matchsticks side by side with two black spots opposite to one another contrasting on a white couch. I nudged Mahi’s right cheek with my right foot signalling the start of our journey. She gently reciprocated – her right foot to my right cheek. She always reciprocates everything-especially the insults! There we took off graciously bidding sayonara to the reality and escaping into our imaginary world. Surrounding things cordially waved at us and we shut our eyes, they too reciprocated by shutting off at us. 1-2-3 and done! There we landed on a fantasy ground with our eyes still shut. Some unpopular voice kissed our ears. It said, “Buy 1Kg of fat and get fat fixing glue free.” Mahi looked at me in utter amazement. I could observe all her senses exchanging glee. Before I could utter a word, she just ran chasing the voice. All I could hear was Mahi on top of her pitch saying “Eureka! Eureka! I found him.” Grown greedy of fat, she was not able to contain herself seeing so much of fat out there. There were only two stores- one store selling the fat for thin people and the other store buying the fat from the fat people. She immediately bought all the fat for herself. Her happiness doubled the moment the fat vendor handed her the fat fixing glue free. While she was busy sticking all the fat to her body, I being little business minded, was wondering what if I put a third store for both selling and buying. I was sure no lazy bums would hesitate to coming to such store, as they do not want to run their shoes to different stores. They would be happy to have a one-stop destination for their buying and selling needs. I would buy the fat for a lesser price and sell it to others at a bit higher price. This business thought was interrupted by the hefty shadow that was overcasting me. It was the Fat Fabricated Mahi. She was not able to walk without support. The unseasoned and instant fat dampened her gait completely. She held my arm while taking steps. I questioned, “Are you okay?” She promptly remarked, “I could feel my fat but since my bones are not used to carry such weight, they are just shaking underneath. It takes some time anyways for them to be adjusted with the new inclusion.” We were so engrossed that we failed to notice the wide pit ahead. She stumbled to ground. I guess she wanted a company even there. As she was holding my arm, she drifted me to the ground. We were living our imagination to the core. Thinking how could anyone live so? Here is the proof. Mahi literally slipped from the couch. It was timely tuned, Mahi falling in the pit with the heftiness of fat in the fantasy world and she landing on the floor from the couch in the real world took place simultaneously. Then I too followed her in the real room – real couch – real floor. The reality stacked me exactly over her thin body. Hearing the thuddddddddddd, mom cam running, trying to understand the scene. She sternly asked pointing at me, “What did you do to her?” I answered with my eyes diving deep beyond the flooring, as I was scared to face my mom’s unsatisfied look. I murmured saying, “All the self help books I read taught me that one should feel what we want in life. Mahi wanted fat and I was making her feel fat through the imagination technique so that she would one day become fat in real.” Mahi was lying on the floor in complete and perfect stillness. To me, she resembled a completely even CHAPATHI (Flat Indian Bread). After a calm of few seconds, there came a storm. Wondering reading the word STORM? Its synonym of my Mom’s taunt. She came so close that I could hear her heart beat and in that anxiety, my heart skipped a beat. She held my arm so tightly that all the nerves, veins, muscles beneath my skin cried for help jumping out of their usual place. Pointing her ever-ready index finger at my motionless sister, she stated – YOU HAVE NOT MADE HER FAT. YOU HAVE MADE HER FLAT ON THE GROUND INDEED.Image