writing

November 5, 2015

The One Walking Dead

When I pulled me pants up, and ironed my shirt
Little did I think you were only the hint of the sun on the horizon.
You were simply one road across, in one building too dense, in one circumstance that led to a dead end.

So I put me slippers on, pink and glitter green.
Chucked a couple of notes in my pockets, hoping we’d meet.

Earphones plugged into my ears, music off, so I could listen to all that people didn’t want me to hear.
Because they’d finally say it without fear,
When they smile as I passed them on the street, turn around to look at my back and sport a spot to knife me sweet.

I had to get away quickly
Not because I was afraid of them. No, their stabs were wounds I could bend.
I was getting away from my home– Because home was closest to you.
I was walking in the opposite direction because that meant I was getting away from you.
In the dark dark night, where cars where shiny and accidents were many,
You were a hope I couldn’t dare manage.
So I ran.

I was wondering what it would be like to sit on the side of the footpath
with the beggar in dreadlocks and alcohol in his intestines.
There were worse things to do with you-re insides.
Like intoxicating them with love.

The thought was nauseous and I was too scared to sit– sitting meant I’d have time
to actually ponder and think
about what I doing here
So instead I quickened my pace and walked past that street
the one I used to travel upon for about 10 years of my life, if not more
the street on which I didn’t even know you existed
how did I go all these years not knowing you lived– you lived.

I saw girls who took my place and stood at the side of the wall, smoking.
Girls who were trying really hard to matter. They were giggling and going about
“He said this to me and then that!” Like school really mattered.
And then raised their long fake eyelashes at me, as if I was old and wriggled.
They raised their eyelashes inspecting
just like I used to.
The night was dark and I walked past, I let the girls be. They’d know soon enough.

Or maybe I was the one who didn’t know
what
mattered.

Maybe they did know
what
mattered.

I don’t remember what I thought mattered when I was like them.

So with no appetite in my belly, I went even further down the lane.
People used to scare me, now they just come in the way.

I held my back straight, tucked my stomach in and braved the sudden bright lights.

It was Diwali. or Maybe I had just forgotten what hope looked like.

Then I saw him coming– a guy in a blue t-shirt with too much facial hair for No Shave November.
He looked too old for me. That’s when I realized I was too old for me.
I did what I always did – looked up once, looked down and then sneak– THERE he was still looking at me.
But I walked on
because I HAD forgotten what hope looked like.

Hope wasn’t getting out of the house when you never wanted to
or walking down that unlighted street where no good girl should go
or listening to your best friend and trying to be courageous.

Hope was when you knew everything was dead but you still kept walking on.
One
being
at
a
time.

October 28, 2015

The day I met Benedict

I was one trippy suitcase away from losing the little sanity I had. That, and the ruse of confidence that I had managed to play up during the security check at the airport. I was sure America (like in all those movies) would find a way of making me look like a guilty brown girl trafficking back, um, way too many suspicious skittles. I could almost hear the guard saying, “Miss we have a problem here. We may have to detain you in a shabby prison for the rest of your life.” And then he’d snatch away my precious passport and leave me begging on my knees, in a totally not sexy way.

I don’t know why I’m scared of airports. I mean, when I was traveling from India to USA, I had this disturbing fear that they’d never let me go. And on the way back, I was scared that’d never let me come back. It is safe to say that being alone in an airport terrified the life out of me. The airport was the Big Bad Wolf and I was all Three Pigs in one: Naive, Stupid, and too much of an Ass to admit that I could go wrong sometimes.

So here I was all alone, very hungry and tad bit scared that at any time now I’ll be deported to Antarctica or something.

I decided to settle the important things. My luggage had already been checked in, so even if I didn’t reach India properly hopefully all the books I bought from Barnes and Noble will. My hand luggage had been sniffed by the electronic monster which meant they really couldn’t say I was carrying drugs, yada yada yada, cue CIA movies. So I HAD to eat.

Now eating alone in college is daunting enough. Try doing it at an airport where you can’t even pretend that you’re actually busy. I mean, I’m 18 sans un laptop, with a phone that will have free wifi for only about 20 more minutes and about 10000 copies of my flight details in case they find a reason not to let me on the plane. (Is this phobia even real?!) So I go down, taking a nice stroll, finding no place desirable enough to dine at. Where art thou, beautiful MCDonalds? Then I make the foolish mistake of going into a place that only accepts cards, but thankfully realize so without ordering anything first because then staying at this damn airport forever would be guaranteed. Anyhow I find an okay place and get a wrap (which I didn’t finish eating and brought back to India, a wrap that’s 16 hours stale and traveled across the world) and even got daring enough to get a coffee that I sipped while walking to my gate. After I get my passport checked and done, made conversation with a lady coming to India to ‘discover it’s beauties’ (aka people spitting pan onto the road) (I am not a cynic) I finally think, “Phew I might actually make it home.”

That’s when I let my guard down and decide on resting my bum.

At this point in time, the gates 71 and 72 the former to Mumbai and latter to London are thoroughly crowded. I give up pretenses of being really cool sipping my coffee that has burnt my tongue far too many times, and concentrate on finding a seat. THERE! I began moving toward it, almost running and succeeding if I didn’t have my stupid hand luggage whose wheels never spun in the direction I wanted to go. When I got there, huffing and puffing like a mad lady escaping from an asylum, I see this tall, light browned haired man eyeing MY seat.

Then he looked at me.

I could have fainted but I think the caffeine was keeping me upright.

He then did this little bow and motioned his hand to tell me I should take the seat. I did. Because as I mentioned I was still recovering from a bout of oh-my-god-is-he-cute-or-what?! Then I realized that the seat next to mine was empty too. Phew. At least now I didn’t have to feel bad about keeping him standing. Then, I realized, oh the seat is dirty which is why he never sat there in the first place. I don’t know what got into me, but as he tried to make comfy with whatever the clean part of the seat offered him, I whipped out my handkerchief (which is extremely soft and precious to me) and give it to him to wipe his seat.

Did he have his own handkerchief? Probably. Why did I do what I did? I still don’t know.

After that, I resolved to put my earphones on and pretend like I didn’t care and I was a normal girl whp handed out handkerchiefs to everyone on every airport. Yeah. Yeah. Good cover.

It didn’t work.

He tapped me. I was forced to unplug my earphones but I knew I was hit by relief. I couldn’t just sit there pretending when obviously I have major social anxiety issues and what I did was not only brave but totally not me. I can’t even buy a ticket without getting nervous. Talking to complete stranger? Uh, no.
But here he was asking me what I was listening to and making a big joke out of the waiting area we were in. In due course he told me he was a photographer. (I should have guessed. He had camera round his neck and his hand luggage consisted of two camera bags) He asked me my age – Because I don’t know – I told him how this was my second flight ever and my 1st time being all alone. He asked me if I was going to London and that’s when I realized that he was. He told me he had just come from a photo shoot that he did for a magazine. I never bothered asking which one. He told me he had been to India, at which point I thought he was faking only to keep the conversation going. But then he said he lived at Bandra, got caught by the police at Juhu Beach for filming and was asked to pay a bribe and ended the entire story saying “Forking cops!” (Yes that’s exactly how he pronounced it.)

Too soon it was time for me to board my plane. The funny thing is his flight was supposed to take off before mine, at least half an hour. But it got delayed and he spent an entire hour with me instead. We both got up to queue at our respectful gates, he finally finding his friend who was supposed to accompany him. As I passed my the flight attendant to check my documents, I waved out to him. The tall lad in the wayward suit and tousled hair waved back and he kept smiling at me.

I may never meet him again.

Never. Ever. Ever.

And I keep reminding myself that. Two people at the same place, no matter how much it is planned, is a coincidence nonetheless. And it’s beautiful how moments like these can happen, how you can speak to someone who has a completely different world painted around, almost like a solar system of their own, where they are the center of everything. How they have different words that are precious, different bus handles to hold on to, different purposes to push to limit to. And for one whole second, if you’re lucky, their sun crashes into yours. And it’s chaotic and inconceivable and totally coincidental.

Mycroft: What do we say about coincidences?
Sherlock: The Universe is rarely so lazy.
(The Sign of Three, 2014)

“What is your name?” he asked me.

Having an Indian name I knew he would butcher it. “Salonie,” I said, slowly, feeling the word in my mouth.

“Salonie. It’s a beautiful name.”

“And yours?” I ask.

“Benedict.”

I freeze. Then unfreeze. Because no, even if by some chance I did manage to fall into some time travel shenanigans and meet the younger version, this is not how Ben looked like. Coincidence.

My face lights up silly.

I say, “I’m gonna be brave and presume that your surname is not Cumberbatch.”

“Definitely not that bloke!” he laughs.

-Vee

September 24, 2015

A. H.

I adjusted my tie.

I tried not to glance back in the mirror. I knew how I looked. Ragged. In some ways, handsome. Every man likes to think the same. I tried to settle my wavy hair into slicked back waves, I drew a line of black under my beady eyes with kajal before the embarrassment killed me. I had dismissed my make up artist for the night. I didn’t want the fuss of attending a Gala choke me in ways that I couldn’t cope with pressure and social obligations, not to mention the silly red carpet and the posing.

I was good with it. Brilliant. They loved me. The third person always did.

They didn’t even know me.

It was fifteen years ago when I received my first break. I was doing well even before then. On a small scale.
But when things are tiny, the pretending is easier. Putting up a show of ‘Who I Am’ to 5 million people is brutal.
I think I’ve forgotten too. I think it doesn’t matter anymore.

Hollow.

I close my eyes and snap my fingers. That’s how easy it has become. The next thing I know, I’m seated in my black limo, a couple of women pour champagne and a black guy wearing far too many tattoos stares moodily out of the window. I have tattoos too. They are called scars.

I interact. Detached.

When I get out of the car I smirk. Flashes blind me. But if I can smile absolutely gorgeous in the dead of darkness that is my life, these flashing lights should be a cake walk. I strut on the red carpet, with a famous actress on my side. Tomorrow they’ll debate the depth of our friendship, whether there is something going on, give us a cheesy couple name and resurface pictures of us from two years ago.

Cute.

Clunk, clunk. That’s when I heard her boots hit the ground. I turned to look at her, not realizing how hours had passed and I was sliding my way through the fifth glass of champagne. Broken lights filled my vision, and I don’t know whether it was the whole hilarity of the glam and money in this room, but it did seem to be shinning, illuminating. Maybe it was all her.

Glowing.

It felt like it didn’t take me anytime to see her. Like she had popped in to say ‘Hello’ just from yesterday.
Because she had.
Not to say Hello, though.

The moment her eyes landed on me, round with realization, she ran toward me – boots clunking and all. She was dressed as a black swan. Feathers hit the ground she threaded on and covered every inch of her skin. The actress on my side pinched me and commented about the feathers. I, on the other hand wanted to touch the delicacy.

She didn’t want to say hi. She spread her arms like a bird ready for flight. She flew toward me with a smile that I had known from so long ago. That smile never seemed to fade. I had never known her without that smile. A smile that was happy, that was shy, that said ‘Sweetie you’re fooling no one. Least of all, me.’

I wasn’t fooling her. Not in this moment.

She was here in front of me in less than a blink of an eye. We looked the same, the same tarnished picture from 15 years ago. And I closed my eyes and didn’t snap my fingers. It was that difficult. But she always found a way to win even when she was losing everything. She stood on her tip toes and kissed me whole. Tips toes, because I was at least a foot taller than her.

“I always wanted to do that,” she said.

Brave.

She wouldn’t have ever done this 15 years ago. She never had, anyway.

I let my astounded face stand in front of hers, as for the first time I participated to struggle for words. She laughed, as the actress on my arm strayed away from me with disgust and jealousy. “Is that your girlfriend? She looks a lot like Heidi Klum.”

Her voice had changed. She could be so many different people I didn’t know but once upon a time we used to stay up till 3 a.m trying to figure out the world. She was my friend. An acquaintance. A little lesser than that, perhaps. We were nothing and something at the same time, revolving in different atmospheres, wearing different faces for different dresses. We were nobody together. I didn’t even know her.

She didn’t even know me.

I leaned in toward her, both of us seemingly suspended in the past. A past that lacked everything this moment had. Connection. Attraction. Us. Nice clothes. She knocked on my chest and not for the first time did she find it… Hollow. Only this time the sound was clearer, sharper.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked.

I held my hand out.

She held her hand to hold mine and in that tiny second, in a frame where time stopped, I saw a tattoo on her wrist.

A.H.

Those were my initials.

A tap on my shoulder shook me out of this void. I didn’t want to strain my bones and turn around, so I let my arrogant posture speak for itself and the man moulded his body to interact with me. “Luke Gallaway,” he said to me. “My man are you giving us a run for our money!”

I bit my lip, shame – sadness clouded my head. My hand was still held out to her. But she twisted her arm away from me, rubbing her tattoo as if someone had stung her there.

Someone?

“Get out of here with you?” She laughed. She disguised everything so well. “Wouldn’t risk getting a tabloid article with you… Luke.” A lump fell down her throat as she uttered the unfamiliar name. She curtsied to the laughing man. And clunk, clunk.

She walked away from the man she didn’t know any longer, just as I had walked away from a girl who was trying to decipher A. H.

I wanted to scream out to her that I was still him.

This was all a mask.

Somehow she heard me and turned around.

We held our breath.

September 9, 2015

Stop for a moment.

Let me take your hand.

And I will smile at you. Because you will fill me with incredibility.

I will stitch your heart to the sleeve of my pink sweater, taking off the rusted silver one that hung there for ages.

Let us run into a place where the sky meets the sea, a holy illusion we will be.

We will swim though our legs will want to touch the bottom of the pits. The pits that contain you and me.

I want to show you the street turns with its pretty interceptions and green street signs, where our names will be etched like ‘5th and Madison Avenue.’

Let me get you to the crossroad where we it will pain us to decide what we want more – you, me or a burger.

and let’s settle on the burger.

I want to pull you up the hill which is not at all steep to climb, but when you roll down you’d feel your whole world collapsing. And then when we’re at the bottom, I’ll show you how the sun beams through the skeletons of the leaves, through the outline of the tree in the middle. You will see different patterns through the hollows, through the light, through the blueness of the sky and the not quite blueness of it too. And it will tell you the truth.

We will jump when we see three fighter planes zoom across the sky, throwing ourselves against fate wondering when the bombs will be hurled by. We will breathe a sigh, because it won’t be today and maybe, just maybe they came to say –

Hi.

I’ll say to you. And smile. Because I wouldn’t need words to tell you, to make you believe, to let you know anything. Hi, Hi, Hi. You are my smile. One syllable will be enough to last us an eternity.

And then when we’ll look out of our window, the tiny lil hole that’s the excuse of it, I’ll show you a rainbow in a place where light doesn’t even reach to reflect. And you will show me how we can see all the seven colors, maybe more, even though black is what the others see.

Let’s run fast, you know, till adrenaline takes over our instincts and you can feel this fire cracker in your chest, it’s bursting wanting to get out of your cage. And you will let it go, and you will let it go into the universe. And it will be beautiful.

Let me hold your face in my hands and pull it closer till I have memorized your breathing, the lines on your fore heard, the craters in your cheeks, the hook of your nose and the listlessness of your lips. Let me look into your eyes and know it’s going to be fine because tomorrow will be another day.

Stop for a moment and let me be by your side.

Stop for a moment, so I- –

-Vee

(Hold Back The River – James Bay, inspiration.)

August 13, 2015

A practical list of why I like America

Ever since I was little I wanted to travel to the United States of America and maybe even live here and go to school and have a high school musical of my own. Movies always seem to glam up the things I found fascinating about this beautiful country and my perspective of what this country would be was vastly altered and cut to seem like I was in a movie too.

After spending two weeks in my dream land, my family asked me what I liked about America and I was left speechless. Honestly, half the time me being here feels like the most normal thing on the planet if not my greatest feat. The other half goes in comparing my mother land to this vast giant, even if it is simply converting currency or wondering if the Starbucks here is better,

So here’s an (hopefully) unbiased list of what makes me like the USA:

1. The sky is beautiful. (COME ON THAT’S A PRACTICAL REASON!) The blue is unlike anything else I have seen and the beautiful combinations of the sunlight and the play of the earth’s rotation up, up, here in the north is simply breath taking.

2.Most of everybody smiles and says hello.

3. There are too many trees. And I live near the jungle area which means more veggies for me!

4. Seeing all these different kinds of birds, flowers and leaves just drive me crazy in the good way.

5. Everything feels organized.

6. Driving and using specific lanes in order to avoid DEATH is the the LAW here. (So at least I won’t die in a rickshaw here, as I always imagine.)

7.Actual encouragement of sports and music.

8. Starbucks is normal here.

9. Everything looks cute in the departmental store isles. Even toothpicks.

10. TEN THOUSAND DIFFERENT TYPES OF CANDY AVAILABLE.

11. TEN THOUSAND DIFFERENT TYPES OF JUNK FOOD LIKE HOT DOGS BAGELS PRETZELS POPSICLES

12. phew, You get to decorate your lawn or backyard or you know. In India I would get to decorate my doormat or maybe not even that.

13. Play dates. Just something about the words play and date together,

14. Mostly brilliant fictional and reality TV shows.

15. EVEN THEIR DISNEY SHOWS ARE ADDICTing. (Watch Girl Meets World)

16. They have actual sidewalks. Pavements. Footpaths. Whatever.

17. There are trails through forests to get to parks. (Aka Salonie goes on a make-believe adventure)

18. Street names. Like Caley. Beidler, Saratoga. I used to keep a watch for every street intersection because they had those cute green screens with the street names on and it was fascinating.

19. Cute guys waving out to you I mean…

20. SO MANY DIFFERENT BREEDS OF DOGS IN MY NEIGHBOR HOOD.

So this is all I could get from my two weeks here. I have another two to go and a bunch of places to visit. New York was fun. And fun is just being modest over here. From 2 am bracing the strong winds on the Empire State to simply trying (and failing) to reenact the Titanic scene on the ferry to the Status, it was like I was just casually dropped in a place where I belonged. But to me it wasn’t so. I was hyperventilating when I saw the skyline on the bus to New York (THE BUS HAD WIFI) and sitting there in that double decker, with so many other whos were going into the city for Memorial weekend, I got to see the glimpse of what New York might gave people. And for me, it was this thirst to come back for more (and probably be neighbors with Taylor Swift, but I ain’t promising TayTay.) I want to say more, about how brilliant things are. But the reality is that two weeks in no way makes me an expert on this. All that I am feeling right now is simply this flow of pumped up expectations turning into solid reality. And I am grateful. Boy am I grateful.

This in no way means that I don’t miss India. Or that America is way better than India. That debate is not something I would want to waste ANY of my time on. But sitting here in my backyard in Philly, as I see for the first time in my life, dandelions growing on a hillside, I know that dreams do come true. You wait a long time, You see despair. But keep doing the good things in life and the best will come to you.

Thank you America for this enlightenment.

-Vee

July 12, 2015

A letter.

Dear Me, in another 10 years,

I’m going to assume that you no longer write on this blog because you now have your own legal website that is handled by a bunch of people your assistant employed and you spend your waking moments writing, reading, watching legit tv shows you can afford buying while sipping margaritas that you secretly hate. Unless you’re still single, lonely and living with a bunch of cats .. which is not a bad thing. Just saying you never really liked living with animals unless they were pandas.

Let me educate you on how you were at 18 years 6 months.

You love sunshine.
Now you were the type of person who was always internally screaming but one slant ray of sunlight on your face and your smile was as wide as this universe. There was something about this light that made you believe everything was fine, your worries were worth nothing and that there was simply no reason for you to not dance in sunlight. Even if you had crawled into the recesses of the deepest pits inside your mind, the sunshine would force you out like a bear out of hibernation. (Is this even a good analogy? I don’t know. Future me, please don’t edit this.)

If you find any typos in this post, know that its for your own good. Or at least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. It’s a better alternative that indicating that I am really dumb.

You are selfish. Not in the most hideous way. But just in the way that every human on earth is. You think about yourself a lot. Talk to yourself way too often for it to be normal. And always daydream weird things like being on Ellen. Sometimes you think that people don’t care for you enough or that you’re being used and no one cherishes you but I’m pretty sure that we both are just avid fans of conspiracy theories that will go up to become brilliant books/movies.

So remember even if you feel like people are not giving a damn about you, it’s mostly because they REALLY aren’t giving a damn about you and instead of being a pussy about it, just get up and get a life instead. No one really owes you any attention. Whatever love, concern and time you give others is entirely your own decision and you have no right to hold them against it. You were the damn fool who decided to love anybody and they are the damn fools who decided not to love you. That’s how life works.
That being said, you right now have the most brilliant friends. No matter what happens always cherish the people who take even a moment out of their day to remember you, even if it’s a jerk who’s getting on your nerves, hey he chose you to irritate! How lucky is that. (It’s not, just trying to sound optimistic here)

The next thing is about love.
Right now you are thoroughly confused about everything from restaurant menus to crocs. Love being included on that list should not be the main of your concerns. You should realize that people do love you even if they don’t show it. (And I hope you have at least 5 million followers on twitter to remind you of the same.) And the other thing. You are a beautiful lover, you’ve always known that. So remember that everyone is worth it. Everyone deserves love. If you choose not to love someone just because they’re a horrible person, how pure is your love anyway. Remember Jesus loves you no matter what, and you know that we’re not the bunch to preach by the bible, but we do have a doctrine. If anyone is being harsh in your life and is giving you the worst time, don’t think about it. Don’t believe that your love is going to waste, because it’s not. Nothing bad can come from love (Unless you try to kill someone for love, so please don’t do that no matter how good a plot twist that may sound) Love will hurt even if its good or bad. So what do you have to lose?

I right now love McDonalds. I hope you don’t. Because that will cause a lot of problems in our future and too much money on liposuction. Everyone knows that we’re not going on a diet anytime soon. I hope in 10 years you have read over a 1000 books which will be Awwweeeesome. Let’s beat our own record okay.

Lately I’ve been feeling more brave. You have anxiety issues. You are scared in public. You are scared to talk to people. You are overly conscious of how you walk, dress and blink. And you are way too scared to hope. A good day is a rare day in your hope book. But this is all possible. You can talk to people. Just the other day you spoke to a compete random dude just to see if you could and you PWNED IT.
Don’t be afraid to make a fool out of yourself because people have a bad memory and they are so caught up with their own embarrassing moments that they have no time to remember yours. Its okay to have an opinion on things, but don’t be judgmental. Be open.

Don’t be afraid to fight for what you believe. What don’t afraid to look indifferent. Don’t be afraid to look completely immersed in yourself. Because at the end of the day if you’re not proud of the tiny broken pieces that make you up, how can you expect others to respect you.

Sing in the bathroom more often. I know you have stopped singing lately because you think you’re a horrible singer (which you are.) But you can still sing. Paint. You love to paint. And sometimes sketch even if it looks like a freaking ugly caricature. I hope you’ve traveled a lot more of the world. And I hope you’ve made more friends. And you remember a little bit of French, otherwise that tuition money would have just gone down the drain. I hope you’ve been to one formal dance at least, with some really cute guy who didn’t forget to get you a matching corsage. I hope you’ve eaten all types of cuisines, but please no snakes, cockroaches or rats, that kind of thing. I want you to experiment… but not experiment that much. I hope by the next 10 years you are happier with the world, that humankind has given you lesser things to complain about and that you have done something in return. Instead of you just running away from all the evil problems that our race faces and pretend like they don’t exist, cause you know they do.

I hope that you are safe. That you don’t think of jumping off trains anymore and that you still aspire to walk on the moon and/or have a tour of the universe, probably escape a black hole and let The Doctor hold your hand and show you a brave new world.

I hope that you still daydream. Still hope. Still believe. And still smile even if everything looks bleak.

Love,

Salonie.

January 3, 2015

The New Year.

I will never get the fuss people make about The New Year.

On New Year’s Eve (which is apparently abbreviated to NYE, I did NOT know that) I decided to spend my entire day with my best friend Rochana and a few others which included her fabulous cousin and my annoying neighbor. I’m usually the girl who has no plans for any sort of occasion. I hardly leave the shadows of my room, and only venture out for food or my laptop charger. So going out for the entire day – roaming the streets, bracing the Mumbai heat and sun, and enjoying the stink of the common air was a real task for a lazy fangirl like me. Everything was laaaaaid back and I remember thinking, this is exactly what I wanted to do when I was in school.

Be free.

But all these feelings aside, I just thought of all the plans we declined and all the plans we tried to make in order to spend the last day of the year perfectly. But was it really that important to make it perfect? Like if you didn’t have a party to go to, did it mean your new year’s eve was lame or shitty. I don’t think so.

It all lies in the perception of things really. And the confidence you have in doing what you believe.

I think a lot of partying notion comes from the fact that it is considered ‘cool’ to do so. I remember a month ago I was planning a New Year’s Eve party just because I didn’t want to look like I didn’t have any cool plans. Also because I thought getting sloshed would be a great idea for the night. But two nights ago, when I did have a NYE party – I didn’t really do any of those things. For one, I realized the party, the drinking was all an act. I wasn’t really excited for a new year. If I was really stoked for an event, these things would make sense to it. Instead after a whole night of partying, I realized I enjoyed more when I wrote down the stuff in my head and edited a long due video.

At midnight, we lit lanterns and set them off into the sky. To find their own way. To take our problems and insecurities far far away. I think I like the idea how people believe a new cycle will help the become better individials. I like that they believe it is still possible to have a do over.

But mostly, as this new year seeps in, I want to tell you that you don’t necessarily need a new year to have a new chance. You always have another chance, you have to have the courage to go look for it even if the 5th of May or the 28th of October. A year new doesn’t mean things are going to change automatically – you have to make the effort. And mostly, this new year should make you understand that you don’t have to do things that you’re uncomfortable it. Yes, you must experience and explore and experiment. But never on the cost of being untrue to yourself.

Phewwww, updating my blog after months took a lot of convincing. But thanks, Namrata, we all read blogs on a Saturday night, just like you do.

Until further inspiration,

Vee.

October 22, 2014

True Sense of It

We are what we dream to be.

Where’s my pen? I cannot bend because my back is broken. Flying amongst the forgotten in a naked disclaimer. I sought to find the answer of questions that waver. I wanted to write something good – something average – something everyone could see but didn’t really see. And then it hit me, all I was doing was sitting on my arse  and dreaming.

I was looking forward and backward, matching past with destiny. I was trying to make sense of the different routes of monotony. Get up – guard – sleep. Guard what was yours – make it known, this is what I’ve written and its all that I own. I bursh my teeth and never see them white, I begin to wonder why even try.

If I can’t fix my brushing, why try and fix words – words that have been complied and spitted, arranged and gnawed by so many authors. When what I do is just the burp of another martyr. I’m leaving my actions to be chewed and scutinized by someone else who’ll sell it on eBay or probably improvise. It is evolution, the inevitable way they say. How am I to escape this, how am I supposed to keep my insecurities at bay?

Cause baby, they eat me and leave me feeling used. Deviod of art. After all how can you show the world a rusty hollowed soul. Who would want to hear the creaks and squeals… The shrieks and banters? And how can you let your ghosts escape and line up to possess a being innocent like them.

For they, all they want is a holiday home

They need an escape, not a short cut to dementia. Don’t load your dirty masks onto their faces, it will only hurt ya. Instead give them something they can hold or stem. Give them wings made of your disfigured feather hem. Give them something to think about, not someone. Give them an idea, not a character.

Everybody has everything.

Even the largest spec of the universe lies in us.

We are therefore everything we want to be with even being it.

And therefore we are nothing in the true sense of it

-Vee

August 11, 2014

My Teenage Dilemma

It all starts off with this little need to belong. We as humans, though sometimes boast about our solitude, often need the company of others like us to make ourselves feel loved. But love, in my experience is an illusion and the only sure way of telling if someone really loves you is that either you learn about it over time, or you see it immediately.

The love I’m talking about isn’t romance. 

It’s the love of letting someone fit in with your thoughts and doings. It’s in letting them share your ice tea or making them get a chicken roll for you. Or even lending them a hundred bucks and not bothering about having it returned back. 

I’ve found these friends.

But is there anything wrong in going beyond and finding more people, being with others who don’t make me quite comfortable with my situations? Just with my bunch of happy, saint like friends, I also have those people that I hang out with, who in some way distort the values I was brought up with.

While, my -let’s call them- Good friends are most reliable, these other ‘bad’ friends are ‘THE Popular Crowd’ that everyone wants to be a part of. But what really makes my set of Bad friends, bad? They are really nice people, genuinely. They can be just as empathetic as my Good friends are. The only problem is that they either always stink of smoke, talk about getting sloshed or even flirt with the idea of drugs – all which I’m staunchly against. I have no issues with others practicing what they like to do. But my only concern lies in the fact, that maybe my set of ideals hinder our friendship.

A keen philosopher would say, that if the relationship is true, nothing else but you and them will matter. But in reality, nothing is a definite color – so neither is this. I will never be called to their parties, because they think I’m a goody-too-shoes, but hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t like having fun. And if I do hang around with them, then my Good friends might distance themselves from me. 

I’ve found that people need a system of classification in order to function. I cannot hang out with the good group and the bad group. That’s just not acceptable. In the eyes of society, one has to conform to only one category. It gobsmacks the entire mind of person when they find two contrasting qualities in a people. In such a place, where I cannot be in two very opposite teams, I’m left to be only one thing – The outsider. 

July 31, 2014

Him.

You have to remember, the first time I saw him, I wasn’t really looking. The second time he was a back up plan. But the moment I actually looked at him, I saw how beautiful he was.

Not in a very conventional sense, but then again you don’t always find boys who look like Chris Evans or Ian Somerhalder. But for me, he was close enough. But I didn’t really know him. I knew OF him from glances, and whispers, and sneaked peaks and gossip that floated around the air of the college.

And maybe that was the first mistake – trying to get to know him.

Because I’m not a pretty girl, in any sense. I’m insecure, and shy, and weird and awkward, and if you think about it everyone is. So why should I be scared of anyone’s judgmental eyes? But I was, and I still am. I didn’t know how act cool around him. My heart would beat a thousand to a moment when I saw him. And most of all I thought I didn’t deserve him.

But the biggest element in the story that I forgot about was him.

Nothing about me mattered to him – I was like a tiny speck in his universe that most of the time lost attention in a span of less than a minute. There were no second glances, no reminisces, no memories in his mind that had my name as their title.
Oh, except the ones that were deemed as ‘That weird Girl.’

Now, a year later I still see him.

His roaring stumble and his definitive eyebrows. I even love the scar-like lines that doom over them. His stature, his hair, the way he walks like a freaking mare. I hate him for making my breath falter, and for making me search for his face through the crowd. And you know what? For all the romanticizing I do, he’s not even the greatest person I know.
He’s a douche who won’t even make the effort to talk to me, because I don’t happen to be the popular person. And he’s an idiot for thinking he’s oh-so-cool even if that occurs subconsciously in his mind.

Let’s just say the person I think he is, isn’t the person he really is.

And boy, in my imagination he’s a lot nicer, and sweeter and more human.

And I wish I could say I hated him, but everyone including him knows that I haven’t found a way to get over him yet. Every time I look at another boy, its his face that flashes across the screens. And it’s not his fault or his responsibility. After all this time, I don’t even hold that brilliant smile against him. Because it’s not him, it’s me.

I’m trying to let go. And its not easy. Specially when I have to endure his presence everyday. And my hugest regret isn’t not making him fall in love with me. It is not even being able to be his friend. To see him laugh, to know his vulnerabilities, his favorite songs, what his freaking shoe size is.
And the worse part is he’ll never know what my favorite color is, which quote makes me tick, what food I love to eat because I just love eating, and whether or not I can smile.

He is everything I’ve wanted, everything I’ve seen him to be. But he’ll never be him.

-Vee