tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63642076029291026502024-03-14T10:41:40.445+01:00The West WindThe West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-52371304337831177822014-08-27T23:47:00.002+02:002014-08-27T23:52:58.470+02:00When Love Is Not Enough<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Trans-continental love is not easy. It has
its own set of problems. Two determined, ardent and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">crazy-in-love</i> people can battle them almost every time. But then
there comes a time when you strongly consider tossing all the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we-can-totally-do-this </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">its-absolutely-worth-it</i> right out of the
window. At one point, it is difficult to even determine who or what you are mad
at more. Is it him, for having better things to do than be bound to an
electronic device. Or maybe the different time zones are what drive you crazy.
You could curse the mo**** f***ing cellphone and wi-fi networks to your heart’s
fill. Or you could be enraged at yourself for being so needy. For not being able
to be one of those people, who are happy and content all by themselves. The
blurred line between being pissed off at something rational and an absolutely
unjustified outrage becomes even more fuzzy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You grovel in self-pity, find a million
faults in yourself, re-evaluate your life decisions and drink wine in your bed
while watching the zillionth re-run of Friends. You stare blankly at pictures
from the past, seeking peace and gratification in that blissful smile you have
on in that picture. You contemplate if it is your indiscretion for wishing that
your person could actually be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your-person,</i>
even if you are a thousand kilometers apart. If you should be blamed for wanting
to be a part of their world and make them a part of yours. And you ponder.. what
do you do when you need his benevolent eyes to know that you are stressed
without even saying a word, his affable ear for your ramblings after a tough
day at work or his soothing voice to calm your nerves. Or maybe you just need
him to say how much he loves you.. one more time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You
wonder what do you do when you feel that love is not enough… When you need more
than the satisfaction of having a transcendent and exemplary love waiting for
you at the other end of the world. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Well.. you let it go. No.. not in that
clichéd way where you let your love go and wait for it to come back to you. But
you quit trying so hard. You sit back, give your phone a rest, and replay in
your head all those amazing memories you made last time you took a trip
together. Those memories, every little fun episode and every charming thing he
ever did for you all come handy on a rainy day like this. And you realize how
petty and insignificant the need of the moment was. Your frowns turn into half
smiles in a fraction of a second. Your brain starts producing the same chemical
cocktail, which fueled the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I-can’t-take-my-hands-off-you</i>
phase. Then you miss him so much that you do something incredibly sweet for
him, without expecting anything in return. And trust me.. this will be the
moment, (provided if you are with the right person), when he will do an
adorable small gesture, (or a big one, adorable nevertheless) which will seem
unexpected and touch your heart in a way, like nothing before has.<br />
<span style="line-height: 150%;">Do this.. not because you have to, but
because you both deserve it.. because you don’t quit at every little glitch on
your way.. because these bitter sweet moments confer a unique hue to your
relationship and make it a journey worth having.. and because it will help you
revisit every milestone in your relationship.. Even though you are each other’s
person and try your best to share your worlds with each other, there is still a
large part of your lives which will always be only theoretical for your better
half. And that makes it a challenge to not only survive but also wield the
lesser-known perks of the situation. Trans-continental love is not easy. But it
makes you stronger, consolidates the trust between you and makes you want each
other even more. That first kiss.. when you run into each other’s arms at the
airport is absolutely worth it. And you should do this.. because everyone has
their on and off days and on some days, you are in his shoes and then you would
want him to bear with you.</span></div>
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The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-85832048980238347512014-03-08T02:26:00.000+01:002014-03-08T02:26:35.031+01:00Freedom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To celebrate Women’s Day this year, I
thought of writing about something which is vital and constitutive for life,
development and gratification of men and women alike, but women more so,
considering the prejudiced society we come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Freedom</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> .. a rather simple concept, but with
numerous interpretations and limitations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">For <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Malala
Yousafzai</i>, it is a shot at education. For <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nelson Mandela</i>, it was self-respect and equality. For millions of
people it is the right to be with the people they love. For thousands of girl
children across India, it is simply an opportunity to live. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Fortunately for me, these were not the things
I had to strive for. But as an average girl from a conservative society, with unorthodox
dreams, I do not underestimate the significance of freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">For me, freedom is not<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just my right or a mere concept anymore. It
is personified.. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My husband is freedom personified to me.</i></b> I was born free. But
my greatest fear in life was, that someone or something, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>will put shackles on me. He has granted me
freedom from that fear.<span style="color: red;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He has given me wings to fly.. and at the
same time, equipped me with a parachute, in case I get tired or my wings break.
He has granted me the freedom to chase my dreams… also to waver when I am
unsure… and then to steady myself again.. or just dream a new dream and start
the chase all over again. He has given me the flexibility to go where I want
and do what I want, the immunity to screw up and the ability to fix it. He has
liberated me from the fetters of this judgmental society, the manacles of
female stereotypes and remodeled my obligations into choices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">He has allowed me the freedom to be me, which
is one of the greatest of its kind. And he has done so with unadulterated love,
support and consideration.. without any signs of indignation, cynicism or
disrespect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">This has earned him not only my love and
respect but also immense appreciation and admiration. I hope every woman has a
man like him in her life.. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and every man
becomes a man like him. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p3wRF_vOjdY/UxpxfomXBWI/AAAAAAAABeM/Tp0t58YLzOQ/s1600/Freedom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p3wRF_vOjdY/UxpxfomXBWI/AAAAAAAABeM/Tp0t58YLzOQ/s1600/Freedom.jpg" height="320" width="314" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-41483199072651206242013-10-13T23:57:00.000+02:002013-10-14T00:01:05.362+02:00The Second Act<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4.0pt; text-align: center;">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">“<i>And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the
hour of separation</i>”, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">says Khalil Gibran, a
famous Lebanese poet.. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 4pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">& I agree :D<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Such is my affair
with my writing. My love for it is evoked in waves, and not always do these
waves have systematic troughs and crests. Nevertheless, I always come back to
it. It is my own way of liberating my mind, but only when my heart calls for
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Last summer I started
a new segment of my life. My second act indeed :) I started from scratch and
scraped by :) However, when I think about it, I somehow fail summarize it into an
entertaining anecdote. So my year was rather simple, albeit not uneventful.. Ah
well, I shall get there later. On second thoughts, my year was actually extraordinary,
but still.. it can’t be stringed into one single entertaining anecdote. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">New beginnings are
almost always fun and exciting, garnished with a dash of apprehension though.
But when it’s your second act, the apprehension is a tad bit more than a dash. But
I have an adorable support system, that is nothing less than perfect. So I
pulled my second act together and actually impressed myself with my alacrity. And
my second act has led me to new hopes & dreams… I shall get to those later
too ;) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Maybe that is the
reason why I haven’t written much in
such a long long time. I had been a little too engrossed in my impeccable life.
Actually my life had been perfect another year before that. But the last year
also got extremely busy, so I did not, or actually could not, seek my little
joys of expression as much. Many a thoughts fleeted by, some I scribbled down
at the back of my notebook and some.. I willingly allowed to elude me. For I have
discerned that thoughts are like the wind, the more one tries to confine or preserve
them, the more they try to flee. So, hereby, I relinquish my whimsical command over my thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Well.. now that I am
back to writing, it does not imply that I am out of my happy bubble. Indeed I
realized that in between my big chunks of happiness, I still missed my little
drops of joy.<!--3--></span></div>
</div>
</div>
The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-54246125116440193522012-06-01T12:17:00.000+02:002012-06-01T12:19:25.407+02:00Unforgiven - I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">The light of
the day, the dark of the night, even the somber radiance of twilight, mean
nothing to me anymore. My life is enveloped by an impenetrable cloud that
endears an unending gray all around me. Every fleeting moment was tantamount to
the one before, brandished with guilt. But even amidst my immortal guilt, I
think of her. I think of her every moment. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Many people
had been knitted with her in her abridged yet consequential life. Even I had
loved her beyond conception, but I had fathomed her real worth only in death. I
was the one vested with the powers to salvage her, but I failed. My medical
prowess, which I had always deemed as the ultimate ordnance to thwart the
atrocities against humanity, has now turned into a dagger baptized in my own venomous
guilt, stabbing through my heart. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">As my second
born, <i>Isobel</i> was never the subject of
any special attention. Never as much even when she developed the initial signs
of respiratory polio and I overlooked. And it wasn’t until one morning when I
found her conked out in her bedroom that I realized what was on the verge of
occurrence. But alas! It was too late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Since that
unfortunate event, I have been groveling in indignant guilt. Even so much that
I have given up my practice and even to some extent leaving the house. My
entire world has shrunk to a gray cloud enveloping me. I have rummaged within
myself and in the world around me in the quest for redemption, for my failure
as a father, failure as a doctor and moreover for my loss of faith in my
profession. But my grievances shadowed me even there. Thus I sought solace in oblivion.
I have decided to keep myself inebriated every moment of this condemned life.
So what if it can’t keep the guilt away but it sure keeps the pain within
limits. The incessant stabbing continues, but the alcohol numbs my senses.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">In this maze
of my indulgence, I have mislaid myself. And I know that I have wronged Laura,
in depriving her of her father. She had done nothing to deserve a fate like
this. But my remorse for loosing <i>Isobel</i>
is predominant on my guilt over Laura. It is my redemption, to seek salvation
in my guilt. Perhaps I shall remain unforgiven by both, my dead and living
daughter, forever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="color: red;"> </span>~ Dr. Luis Castellano</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 5.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kwsYIwlfhy4/T8iWb2ebwsI/AAAAAAAAAoI/5uX43RRTNJs/s1600/Unforgiven_by_Saskiel_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kwsYIwlfhy4/T8iWb2ebwsI/AAAAAAAAAoI/5uX43RRTNJs/s1600/Unforgiven_by_Saskiel_2.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-72056160574592854282012-05-20T09:03:00.004+02:002012-05-20T09:20:44.732+02:00Thought For Food<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Food.. is to my brain, what Music.. is to my
ears. I am not some bon vivant, who prefers delicate, extravagant and
complicated little food. Indeed I am a very simple <i>rice-curry-eating</i>, <i>street-food-craving</i>
glutton. Most people that know me well, including my parents and close friends,
would indubitably deny any association of mine with such a sin. They wouldn't
even acknowledge me as someone who appreciates or even cares about what I
indulge my hapless taste buds in. But well masqueraded by my callous self,
there is '<i>a little secret me'</i>. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">To be honest, there are days, indeed there are
several days when I simply gulp down the first edible thing I see or nibble on
a piece of bread mindlessly until the end of time. But there are times, weird
times, when that <i>little secret me</i>
rises from the ashes of my epicurean wishes, like a phoenix, and causes mayhem
on my palate. And that <i>me</i> has a brain
of its own. When the mood strikes, it can move mountains, or at the very least
my lazy a** :P<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">So what I am trying to render is that I am a
connoisseur of food in my own unique way. I don't just use it for the
gratification of my metabolic needs or the indulgence of my taste buds, but I
think about it, discreetly, i.e. when I have my brain at my disposal, free from
all the futile worries of the world. And I am fond of cooking too.. not because
my culinary skills are an exceptional knack I inherited.. but because it hands
me the baton to lead the orchestra to play the symphony I want and how I want.
Now where other than your own kitchen will you get that sort of great power..
without much of the great responsibility which usually comes along (as long as
you don’t kill poor bystanders).<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">I spent a pretty copious chunk of my adult life
in 'The Land Of Ideas'. Now that, it sure was.. but what I soon discovered it
certainly wasn't, was ‘the land of assorted delectable and piquant cuisine’<span style="color: red;">. </span>Moreover hailing from the land of spices further
aggravated my woes. My fastidious requisites for ambrosial food rendered me
unable to appreciate the relatively bland food 'The Land Of Ideas' had to
offer. And the exposure to such trenchant and contradicting tastes and flavours
had made it practically impossible to distinguish subtle flavours and detect
hints of <i>little somethings</i> in other <i>somethings</i> (like cinnamon flavoured
bread or vanilla flavoured croissant).
Also, the way we <i>spice-land people</i>
spice up our meat, it leaves little scope for us to relish meat in any other
form.<span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">So yeah.. I spent a good part of my life..
yearning, craving and whining for all the taste-bud ecstasy I was missing. In
due time, I retired to the misfortune of my hapless taste buds and that <i>little secret me</i> inside me went into
hibernation. Although once in a blue moon, I would take a few detours from my
rather engaged schedule and try to come up with some itsy bitsy treat for my
reward pathway. But that wasn't enough. My drab and dreary life lingered on in
a land where I could only fantasize about rewarding my reward pathway.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">But well times change.. And so did mine. It was
just when my taste buds were on the verge of turning numb, that I made a
discovery. The path wasn't easy. I had to pop the bubble around me and dive in
to explore new tastes. I had to wipe the slate clean lest it indulged in
comparisons. To relish each new taste for the way it was, without any
prejudices, was of paramount significance to me. It took a considerable amount
of time. But I got there. And when I got there.. I discovered a whole new paradise
of epicurean delight.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">German food in its own very way can blow your
mind away. It’s not delicate like the French, which I personally, find rather
pretentious. For I believe that the purpose of good food is to make you feel
like you won't need to eat ever again and not just provide a pretty sight or a
savoury whiff. German food may not be as pretty and perfect but it sure leads
you to gastronomical ecstasy and the complacency of your heart. And if you are a vegetarian, my apologies, you have just a few many ways to embark upon the
orgasmic ride to palate paradise. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">Once I had unearthed this awesomeness in
edible form, there was no looking back. And if you are wondering why this
unusual post, then.. the answer is sheer nostalgia. Therefore I would like to
direct you to the following link (which is a fun read btw). It unleashed some good old finger-licking .. err umm..
better yet fork-and-knife-licking memories.<u><span style="color: blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><a href="http://www.everywhereist.com/7-badass-bavarian-foods-you-must-try/" target="_blank">7 Badass BavarianFood You Must Try – The Everywhereist</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">In conclusion I
would like to say a word or two of wisdom :D
(presented to you as I had once acquired them from a very wise person I
knew)..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">"One should
always keep an open mind to something new and different. That is the secret
mantra for maintaining a scrap book of great new experiences."<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-43414671831803619092012-03-30T20:19:00.002+02:002012-03-30T20:28:31.591+02:00The Other Woman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I watched him walk away, I felt a piece of my heart breaking. Everything appeared ambiguous and bleary as my eyes brimmed with tears. Those precarious manifestations of distress had surreptitiously welled up, scornfully loathing the pseudo smile I had managed to work up. I knew somewhere in my heart, that he had a morbid inclination too, or maybe I preferred to believe so... But somehow it wasn't very obvious. There was a spring in his gait, a sparkle in his eyes and a mirth in his words, which he tried very hard to façade, but unfortunately, I saw right through him, just like every other time. I did not understand it. Over the years, we had grown so fond of each other, shared every secret, sulked together at every failure and rejoiced in each other's every infinitesmal success. Then why have we grown apart now...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He couldn’t possibly have stopped loving me. That morning, when he had walked up to me, I could already sense something queer. I have always had the uncanny knack of forseeing trouble. He, with great reverence, suggested that it would be better if we introduced some segregation in our lives. That way we could both lead our personal lives. <i>Personal lives.</i>. I didn’t have a life other than him. When he was sick, I nursed him. When my husband deserted me, I cried and bellowed in his arms. Every time agony struck me, this face brought a smile on my lips. I didn’t want to, but I agreed because I didn’t want to dishearten him. For so long, we had resurrected each other's faith in the world, now it was time to validate our trust in each other. Times and things had changed.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The first time I descried about her, my intuition poked and jeered at me. <i>‘She is the one. She will snatch him away from right under your nose.’</i> But I chose to disbelieve. The first time he lied to me, it was for her. But I chose to ignore. Then he married her. I thought I could live with that. But then, she went a step ahead, and veered him away from me. He was as impeccable and mellow as wet clay. She molded him into something different and variegated. He was an altered person. His unconditional love for me had changed. And he left me, for <i><b>the other woman</b></i>.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He reassured me that we would always remain in touch. But I was sure, soon he would be dexterously engrossed in his work and his new life with her. And I would just remain a fading figment of his past, en ephemeral sense of nostalgia and an occasional phone call. For him, I would always embody a lingering sense of guilt. And to me, he would always herald a few sanguine expectations.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>My little boy had grown up. It made me happy, but it also broke my heart to see him walk away from me... leave my hand and lead his own life. But as his <b>mother</b>, it was my duty to let go.</i></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EQ4-gdpENq0/T3X5MSJEo2I/AAAAAAAAAjI/td4vttPObvQ/s1600/Boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EQ4-gdpENq0/T3X5MSJEo2I/AAAAAAAAAjI/td4vttPObvQ/s400/Boy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-72886289361443127802012-02-27T21:10:00.002+01:002012-02-27T21:12:46.330+01:00Inconvenient Irony<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“I don’t
think it’s possible to live with you any longer.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Oh good! You almost snatched away that concern
from my mind.” <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Anyways who
would like to put up with a critical bastard like you.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Oh please! You think it’s easy to cope with
your emotional outbreaks, mood swings and impulsive decisions.”<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Of course
not. How can it be.. <i>coz</i>
rationalizing and analyzing is the best way to deal with everything.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“There is no such word as ‘coz’, it is
‘because’.”<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Oh yeah
thanks for reminding me of your favorite hobby, i.e. finding bloopers in my words.
Damn!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Alright! THAT is your problem? How about your
exasperating practice of getting late every-fucking-single time? Why can’t you
ever be ready on time? I am always running late because of you.” <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“So what if
I am a little late, at the very least I can find my own way to places without
getting confounded at every freaking turn.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“God! I don’t understand why on earth am I
stuck with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Damned be ‘Anatomy’
”</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"> </span>-</span><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">And thus went on the squabble between the <i>left</i> and <i>right</i> lobes of the brain :D </span></b></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 3.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWfyMXR6vEI/T0vjKWOJPPI/AAAAAAAAAho/9S6BXGtZGNg/s1600/irony_by_L1rTy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWfyMXR6vEI/T0vjKWOJPPI/AAAAAAAAAho/9S6BXGtZGNg/s400/irony_by_L1rTy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-12293606734260033712012-02-26T08:24:00.002+01:002012-02-26T08:35:15.454+01:00CrossRoads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Say I am a fish. Alright.. that
wouldn’t work for this story. So no, I am not a fish, rather say I am a
mermaid. And I fell heads-over-heels in love with a man, a remarkable man
indeed. However we both pertained to two completely divergent worlds. But for
our surreptitious love to burgeon, we had to find a way to transcend nature’s
boundary. Thus I prayed to God to lead me to a happily-ever-after. After
praying for a long time, God rewarded my diligence and reverence by granting me
only one wish. And this wish would lead me to my happily-ever-after. My
predicament now is what would be the most idoneous wish to make. Should I ask
to be transformed into a human so that I can spend my life with the love of my
life? But then, am I ready to lose my existence for gaining love? Should I wish
for him to renounce his own world and expect him to embrace mine as his own?
Would that be too preposterous? Or should I wish for the extinction of this
ethereal feeling of love from my notion and lead my life as it was? If I pick
either of the options, then will I be able to live with the compunction of my
choice? <i>Suggestions?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y97nq534Jdc/T0ngdFNp5VI/AAAAAAAAAhg/EtIech2gCXE/s1600/crossroad_by_rocketsky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y97nq534Jdc/T0ngdFNp5VI/AAAAAAAAAhg/EtIech2gCXE/s400/crossroad_by_rocketsky.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-50801152714181752872012-02-08T16:23:00.000+01:002012-02-27T21:13:33.133+01:00Sweet Satire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Damn! I am sick and tired of this. It is
turning into an onerous obligation. I wonder how much longer we can keep this
up.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #ffc000; font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Why does He do this to us?
Does He not appreciate us at all?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Huh! His reverence is pretty palpable.” <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #ffc000; font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Men.. always oblivious of what
they have… taking everything for granted.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">“Well.. well.. Life condones none. And when
realization strikes, it’ll be too late and we’ll be gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">One <i>alveolus
</i>in a smoker’s lung ranting to another. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-52275394893083403372011-12-12T21:32:00.003+01:002011-12-12T21:33:46.487+01:00Cradled To The Grave<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not that tall, not that pretty.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Slightly distorted and somewhat gritty.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That old white Plumeria tree poised on its own.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
None befriended it, not a bird, not a stone.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One fine afternoon, between lunch and bunks,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we set our diabolical eyes on it,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
& declared it abode,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
sprawling all over it and springing on its trunks.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Soon it ripened into much more</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
than just one of our dens.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The spot for new culminations,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the spot for all wild yens.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Secrets whispered into its caverns,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
unrequited queries of the young minds,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
as and how the complexities of the world it discerns.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Names and & a <3 carved into the bark,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
or a first few kisses in the dark.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It witnessed it all in turns.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Many summers, autumns, winters</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
& springs passed,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a million differennt days lapsed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We got strewn across time & space.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But one day we all returned,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to our beloved tree embrace.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Alas! It lived no more..</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Years of its eventful lifetime,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the soul of our childhood had been</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
uprooted and persecuted to its core.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Our beloved tree had been cradled to its grave.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And once again to cruelty, innocence was a slave.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mPzNQ-OYLs0/TuZkuKfZLZI/AAAAAAAAAhA/xBzpSGV6Pjc/s1600/The_Tree_Of_Life_by_kkart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mPzNQ-OYLs0/TuZkuKfZLZI/AAAAAAAAAhA/xBzpSGV6Pjc/s400/The_Tree_Of_Life_by_kkart.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-20266001006799428482011-09-23T13:34:00.001+02:002011-09-23T13:41:34.544+02:00Dead.. & Back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Days and nights, nights and days, can always
be counted. Numbered, and then filed as weeks, months and years. But time is infinite,
isn’t it? Or that was what I had gathered from my 40 years of an excruciatingly
tedious life. I had had experiences which rendered the impression, that even
though momentarily, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">time</i> did (almost)
freeze at times. Moments like the first goal I ever scored, when I saw my wife
walking down the aisle or when my daughter was put in my hands for the first
time. At other times, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">time</i> had me fooled
by creating a delusion of fleeting by, like summer holidays, college days and
so on. Well yes.. life has its moments. Many of them I had lived through, but
to think of it.. there were yet many more to come.. or so I thought.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So I was saying,
days and nights can always be reckoned</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">, unless…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Unless.. it was during that brief span of
time when I had supposed myself to be dead. Since I didn’t really have any
prior experience in this regard, I had assumed that the vast chilliness that had
enveloped me, was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death</i>. The dry
coldness, the floating view of myself from above, the engulfing darkness and
all that introspection.. what can I say, but that I was fooled. I must admit,
at first I was pretty disappointed by death’s representation before me. What
about the bright white light?.. The life flashing by your eyes?.. The
satisfaction of dying a man armed with the ultimate wisdom? I wasn’t even
briefed if the rosy gardens of heaven or the dark alleys of hell were going to
be my destination.. Or was all that just a false and theatrical manifestation
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death</i>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I was a little angered, but more deceived.</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">All our
lives we live in the fear of meeting its end, expecting it to be some sort of a
major showdown, like the curtains falling at the conclusion of a great show.
And here it was, like suddenly the lights went out and the show ended without
anyone noticing.. anything but extraordinary.</span><span style="color: red;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">With time, the feeling had started to sink in
and eventually I was starting to resign to my fate. What was still perplexing
was that even after being dead, I couldn’t really comprehend what being dead
exactly meant. From what I had believed, allegedly being dead meant becoming
numb. Wasn’t it supposed to be the great escape from every dilemma?</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And I had
expected that at last when I would be on my deathbed, enlightenment would dawn
upon me and I would gain the secret key to unlock the secrets of life and
death. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But then, in this whole “being dead” episode,
not much had turned out as per my expectations. Alas! Everything was the epitome
of disappointment. Perhaps being dead just meant being frozen and retrospection
of your life.. for like forever.</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So alright.. if that’s what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Life</i>.. err.. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death</i> had to offer, then<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Retrospection
</i>it was.</span><span style="color: red;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">My early recollections were pretty vague, so
were my last memories. The last thing that I could recall was me and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sam</i> in my car, having a heated row,
swirling out of the control and heading for the bridge wall. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">..Damn..</b></span><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Now wait.. a little flashback. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sam</i>.. wasn’t a male colleague of mine, at
least the male part wasn’t true. She wasn’t the wife I had mentioned earlier
either. So yeah your assessment is pretty much along the right lines. She was a
rather hot.. err.. attractive female colleague of mine. And the argument wasn’t
about work. We were sort of… err.. having an affair. I had contemplated it to
be reasonably safe, just a fling. After all she was married too. Or so I
thought.. until her husband stipulated a divorce and she wanted me to sabotage
my marriage too.</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">..Damn..</span></b><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">
her!!</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">If it wasn’t
for her.. I would still have been very much alive with Sarah and my Emma.. yeah
that’s the wife and the daughter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In retrospection, I wasn’t too astonished
either. I had my share of vices. I loved Sarah and Emma with all my heart, but
in my quest for life’s zest, I had always envisaged them as an impediment
rather than my support system, and they had always taken a backseat. Fun and
money craft such an alluring maze together, that I had willingly lost myself
and led myself into oblivion to everything else. Perhaps this was my eye opener…
Alas! Too late… I wondered how Sarah and Emma would take my demise. Perhaps
they wouldn’t have missed me anymore than when I was living and relishing my
life somewhere else. </span><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">A sudden bolt, at the end of what seemed like
eternity, sent lightening flowing through my veins. A burning heat spread
across my body. The coldness and numbness were swapped by a scorching heat and endemic
pangs of pain. But amidst all that, I heard something which sounded like Mozart’s
last symphony, something I had garnered no hope of banging on my ear drums ever
again. It was the stealthy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">lub-dup</i> of
a heart, hopefully, my own.</span><span style="color: red;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Soon every other sound faded out, and all I could
hear was the pounding of my heart. My eyes flickered, and whoa.. lights, bright
lights, too many of them, flooding my vision… I couldn’t make out anything.
Then I heard a second noise, which made my heart skip its new found beat. It
was Emma meekly calling me out in a murmur. My vision cleared and I laid sight
upon her adorable face. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But there was something out of place. Sarah
was nowhere to be seen. Did she find out about my secret liaison? Did she leave
me? In that fraction of a second, I considered a million possibilities in my
mind. And then the doctor said, “Your wife is in the other room. The internal
trauma had damaged your liver. We grafted a part of your wife’s liver into you.
She is doing fine now.”</span><span style="color: red;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I didn’t feel as proud as I should have,
because in my heart I knew I didn’t deserve this. There was a speck of
gratitude, a tonne of self loathing, but the focal reaction that shrouded
everything else was relief.. Thank God she didn’t know.. (Yes.. the ungrateful self-indulged
bastard that I was). I passed out…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Next morning I awoke with both Sarah and Emma
by my side. We didn’t speak much.. I couldn’t speak much actually. But in my
head, I had pledged to myself that I would leave no stone unturned to make up
for the lost time, my fallacies and all the atrocities I had bestowed upon my
family. I won’t squander this second chance I had been granted by fate. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The nurse handed me the newspaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I turned the page, Sam stared back at me
and the headlines read, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Samantha Nelson
meets untimely death as car crashes on the bridge</i>.” I could feel my colour
fleeing.. My guilt smacking me hard across my discoloured face…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Sarah pressed my arm, looked into my eyes and
whispered in my ears, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Don’t try to look
at the rear view mirror. Look right ahead through the windshield.”</i> Her
words calmed my nerves, but I caught a glimpse of the pain in her eyes that said,
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“I know. I had always known.”</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pnoiGbpgIUo/TnxuipK1VHI/AAAAAAAAAgg/MTIMzA2ErA4/s1600/dead_memories_by_ih8m0r0nz-d2ydmv0.png.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pnoiGbpgIUo/TnxuipK1VHI/AAAAAAAAAgg/MTIMzA2ErA4/s400/dead_memories_by_ih8m0r0nz-d2ydmv0.png.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 8pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-32742133617231155472011-09-22T12:03:00.001+02:002011-09-22T12:04:01.348+02:00Requiem to Freedom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">A lustrous glass door I see,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">my requiem to be free.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I gape through it, and I see beyond it.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But I don’t get its real grit.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Is it the truth or is it a lie</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Or is it just a mirage, for my eyes feel dry.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I stretch my hand</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">and all I feel is a void.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">It’s cluttered and packed yet</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">absolutely empty like a cheap cheap tabloid.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I close my eyes and open them again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Rub them hard and look yet again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">There the mighty gates stand,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">sneering and mocking me like Devil’s hand.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I open my arms and beg thee.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To take me in and let me be free.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I don’t fathom how I am still bound</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Begging to be free,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>yet by
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I know not that freedom ain’t a place that
lies beyond the gates.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But a state of mind </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">which has nothing to do with drugs, alcohol </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">or any princely states.</span></div>
</div>
The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-57479103532234028952011-06-29T01:00:00.004+02:002011-06-29T01:12:01.026+02:00Comfortably Numb<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could love and loose, <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">and escape unscathed..<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could wander in the moonlit night’s blues..<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">and not be in melancholy bathed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could see, but not feel.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could listen and not heed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could hurt and then heal.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could be stabbed, yet not bleed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If I could expect no reaps<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">even after I sow my seeds.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">If my guilt couldn’t give me the creeps<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">when I scorn the decree of the creeds.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Then I would be what I pretend to be.. and not to the deathly hallows of life succumb.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">For then I would be Comfortably Numb…<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M--glTHQeM0/Tgpc5xJSw2I/AAAAAAAAAdo/PXT7usAF6L0/s1600/Comfortably_Numb_by_ABluerWhite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M--glTHQeM0/Tgpc5xJSw2I/AAAAAAAAAdo/PXT7usAF6L0/s400/Comfortably_Numb_by_ABluerWhite.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b><br />
</b><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> Image Courtesy: <a href="http://www.deviantart.com/">Deviant Art</a></span></span></div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-26511553689409667192011-06-29T00:54:00.002+02:002011-06-29T01:11:38.340+02:00Shakespeare In Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Thou teacheth me to fight for what I want,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Be it justified or not.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Thou accostest for what others shan’t,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And showed me to tie the strings as well as unfasten a knot. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Thou madest me to cease being naïve,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And quit being a silly lass.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Thou teacheth me to choose myself over a world to save.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And for me thou didst kick some terrific ass.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">In my joys reveled thee,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Whilst we giggled and laughed my and thy guts out.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">In my sorrows who could’st more disheveled be,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Never once was there any turf for doubt.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">O Fair Maiden, for everything .. I profess my undying love and gratitude for thee,<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Coz’ without you I couldn’t have had my fortitude, and I wouldn’t be me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
</span></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--reRwwvDqYA/Tgpbk4bwRrI/AAAAAAAAAdk/wyYK67fztBc/s1600/Cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--reRwwvDqYA/Tgpbk4bwRrI/AAAAAAAAAdk/wyYK67fztBc/s320/Cat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></i></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"> Image Courtesy: <a href="http://www.deviantart.com/">Deviant Art</a></span> </span></i></b></div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-75319363357186425582011-06-28T23:45:00.003+02:002011-06-29T01:10:52.565+02:00A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">Perched on heaven’s rooftop, staring down upon tiny flicks of shimmering light underneath, on the balcony of paradise, savouring the sweet smell of the summer breeze.. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I was with you</i>.. Was I dreaming with open eyes? We were so high up surrounded by nothing but nothingness.. not a hollow, not a void.. an abyss of the summer night sky. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And I was with you.</i> The night sky was clearing up, giving way to sneaking & peeking stars. They didn’t seem too far way anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">I looked into your lustrous eyes and thought.. if you smile at me.. it’s a dream. And you cast your mesmerizing smile at me. I slipped my hand into yours and thought.. if you grasp my hand back.. it’s a dream. And then you locked your fingers around mine and pacified my blatantly beating heart. I came closer to you and thought.. if you lock me in.. it’s a dream. And then you wrapped yourself around me, spread your warmth through my veins. I let out a silent sigh and thought.. if you kiss my neck.. it’s a dream. And then you arched your mighty self to brush my neck with your lips and made my insides shriek in silence. I ran my hand down your back and thought.. if you engulf in me.. it’s a dream. And then you snuggled into me seeking liberation. It was moving too fast, my heart was racing and the night was pacing. I thought.. if this goes on forever.. it’s a dream and crossed my fingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">Paradise shook and the spinning world jerked to a stop. Blinding final rays of the setting sun pervaded my vision. And before I could say goodbye, you were gone. Forsaken in a train, reaffirming my sweet dream. I looked out of the window and caught a glimpse of a magnificent edifice, enchanting in the dusk light, rising unto heaven. I glanced up trying to gauge its crest, and just as far as my vision could reach, there was the balcony of paradise. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 8.0pt; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">And there.. perched on heaven’s rooftop, staring down upon tiny flicks of shimmering light underneath, standing on the balcony of paradise, savoring the sweet smell of the summer breeze.. were two white doves.... living my dream. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-8315259091944502982011-06-13T14:42:00.003+02:002011-06-13T14:47:34.504+02:00The Night Clara Actually Died<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">It was a pleasant autumn Sunday. The Church courtyard was teeming with low whispers. But it wasn’t just any other post-Mass gathering.<span style="color: red;"> </span>It was the funeral of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clara Marie Amherst</i>. Dressed in rich white satin, embellished with pink Daffodils, the gentle serenity of her face defied her sorrowful plight. The Embalmer had done a remarkable job. It was only the presence of the two policemen, which reminded the grievers of the bizarre circumstances under which the incident had occurred.<span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Clara, looked the prettiest she ever had ever looked in her life <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(huh.. irony)</i>, off on an enchanting journey like ‘Sleeping Beauty’ in the 3<sup>rd</sup> book on the 2<sup>nd</sup> row of her bookshelf.<span style="color: red;"> </span>No trace of trauma, hemorrhage or even a bruise, which could have led to the untimely and unexpected demise. Who would have believed that on Friday night she walked out of her window on the 4<sup>th</sup> floor… Today she looked like the perfect manifestation of the 12 wonderful years of her life. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Saturday was busy with the officers interrogating the Amhersts, school friends, teachers, doctor or anyone they could set eye on to confirm that there was no possibility of any domestic clamor, depression, issues coping with school or even a mild case of parasomnia. The cops were still not convinced that it could have been the rebellion of a perfectly normal 12 year old. But they had to reluctantly step aside. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Family, friends and foes all clad in the devil’s colour gathered solemnly around the intricately carved coffin to pay their last homage, take a last look or just to make a social appearance on Sunday morning.<span style="color: red;"> </span>The mourners crossed their chests and bowed their heads to join in prayer for her soul to rest in peace. As Father Walters requested each one to remember Clara fondly as she parted ways, each one of the lamenters conjured up intermingled spectra of memories. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Robin and Jane Amherst tried to reminisce their daughter’s pristine semblance and the good times they had spent together. As far as the shackles of their memory could reach, all they could recall was a baby Clara. Suddenly a heart wrenching realization dawned upon them.. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they were missing a couple of years</i>. The last years had been rough on their marriage. Since that day 4 yrs ago, when they had moved here, they had been engrossed in their petty vendettas. While they were bickering and brawling over who takes the trash out, who forgot milk and who had an affair, they forgot to kiss their daughter goodnight, read her a bed time story or take her out to the park. Their heart was gripped by an overwhelming sense of guilt and remorse. If only they had… maybe Clara would have lived to see High School Graduation, have a beer, drive a car or kiss a guy. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe if they had done things differently, today would have been different.</i> <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">In a far corner stooping over an old Willow tree was Stevie, the neighbourhood bully and a senior from school. With invocations flooding the air,<span style="color: red;"> </span>that insolent bastard couldn’t refrain from recalling his last and only memory of Clara.<span style="color: red;"> </span>A chilly autumn afternoon.. the school football ground.. a whining, wailing and bleeding Clara.. a smug Stevie and his swanky patrons.. implacable laughter and ruthless mirth. Next morning the amusing tale of Clara’s mortification was propagated throughout school. It was barely a month ago.<span style="color: red;"> </span>He pondered silently, if that embarrassment had killed her.<span style="color: red;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe if he had done things differently, today would have been different.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Athwart the casket, a tearful Dan clutched a pink Daffodil trying to reminisce his late girl friend.<span style="color: red;"> </span>On prom night, he fancied Esther, the new girl in school, over Clara. Clara had not bellowed or cried, not even a sniffle, but her somber eyes had haunted him for a while.<span style="color: red;"> </span>Now he could not help but contemplate if his blow had hit her too hard.<span style="color: red;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe if they had done things differently, today would have been different.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Emily had known Clara since their mothers strolled them in the park together. She had been Clara’s best friend ever since.. from sculpting sand castles at the beach to erecting tree houses in the garden, from appraising their mother’s jewellery to giggling about their latest crush. Today Emily stood by her best friend’s corpse, bowed head and shameful eyes, recalling the last time she had spoken to her. Shadowing Clara had also ushered Emily into social invisibility. So a contingency to jump into the ‘Queen B’ bandwagon had seemed more than just alluring. She had expected it would turn into a windfall for Clara too. But it wasn’t until it was too late that she realized the agenda was purely vindictive. Holding back tears was getting more and more formidable. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe if she had done things differently, today would have been different.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Whilst family, friends and foes laid Clara to rest with teeming eyes, ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Death’</i> wondered to itself,<span style="color: red;"> </span>if Clara had actually died on Friday night, or did she gently succumb to the atrocities of life, dying an infinitesimal death everyday, just inconspicuous to the oblivious world around her.<span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">In life.. she got Ignorance, but not Acceptance. In death.. she got Regrets, but not Apologies. While family, friends and foes wallowed in regret, Father Walters lodged the gravestone in place, tastefully yet sneeringly inscribed with :</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.’<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 288.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">(Psalm 127:3)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 288.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8K2VLaEBe3Y/TfYGhYZZxPI/AAAAAAAAAdI/QdMOMPTAIXw/s1600/Pink+daffodil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8K2VLaEBe3Y/TfYGhYZZxPI/AAAAAAAAAdI/QdMOMPTAIXw/s400/Pink+daffodil.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 288.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-4129215925693592952011-06-11T01:33:00.004+02:002011-06-11T01:40:45.306+02:00Half Of My Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart’s full of imagination,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">half of it holds on to the truth.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart loves to rock the boat,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">and the other half sails it smooth.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart never knows what to do,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">while the other half is always prepared.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart cherishes everything too much,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">and half of it never dared.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart leaps for the moon,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">and half of it waits to catch it when it falls.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart wanders in the apple orchards,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">while half of it ravages the malls.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart loves to snuggle and cuddle,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">while the world curses the rainy & stormy day. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">But the other half pines for the sun, </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">and the sand & sea at the bay.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart’s sensible and poised,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">half of it is crazy and wild.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart is like a whimsical teenager,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">While the other half is like the mother of a child.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart senses you want me too,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">but half of it still thinks it’s too good a dream.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Half of my heart.. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">believes there is a transcendent connection,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">while the other half is thinking of..</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">strawberries and whipped cream.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">The only thing both halves know,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">The only thing that is true..</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">As long as the Sahara is enveloped in Sand,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">And the poles capped by snow,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US">I can’t stop lovin you <3<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt;">~</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vq13n2VUKX0/TfKpg1-N9GI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/pO71fenYLWM/s1600/Half_My_Heart_Burns_For_You_by_G2KSurivemors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vq13n2VUKX0/TfKpg1-N9GI/AAAAAAAAAZQ/pO71fenYLWM/s320/Half_My_Heart_Burns_For_You_by_G2KSurivemors.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"> (Semi-plagiarized (read inspired) from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘Half Of My Heart’</i> by John Mayer & Taylor Swift )</span></div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-76003077604424181772011-05-14T23:56:00.001+02:002011-05-15T11:00:19.484+02:00Forbidden Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Why is it the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘forbidden fruit’</i> that tempts my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">heart </i>the most? Psychologically it can be explained.. but I don’t need an explanation. Maybe I need an intellectual intervention, where my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">brain</i> smacks my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">heart</i> and sets it right. Unfortunately, I am much of a biologist to realise that the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">heart</i> is only a pseudo star-crossed scapegoat defamed invariably over time for actions never done. While in reality the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">evil-brain</i> and its conniving partners in crime, the wretched <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hormones and neurotransmitters</i>, drive the whole forbidden-craze enchilada. The<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> brain </i>is the real puppet master, the real brains behind this entire vendetta. But whom do I delegate to smack my delirious, impetuous and whimsical <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">brain</i> into place. So the question actually is why is it the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘forbidden fruit’</i> that tempts my brain the most? Why is it that I can’t take my mind off it? Why is it that my mind hankers for what I can’t see.. what I can’t touch?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Right now.. I really really and really want a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">JD</i></b>. And ‘right now’ is the only only and only time when I can’t have it. All these days when it was sitting right there in the corner of my room, staring me in the eye, I ignored it and took it for granted. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And yeah, you, with the pretty little <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bailey’s</i></b> bottle in your hand don’t mock me and point it at the webcam. As it is.. fate already mocks me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">PS: As you may notice this is all about the ‘Forbidden’ part of the title and the ‘Love’ part was just to seek some inquisitive attention. Now perhaps I am getting ASB issues too along with other mental conditions :P<o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment--> </div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-30469450200365391982011-05-08T17:34:00.000+02:002011-05-08T17:34:23.392+02:00The Walk Of Shame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">One fine evening, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lisa</i> met her ‘prince’.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Honest expression of love, was his evince.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">He descended at her door-step, like a divine sign.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">In his black shiny car,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">With chocolates, flowers and wine.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Extravaganza at it’s best.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Alluring eyes, charming smile, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">One-of-a-kind conquest.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Food, violins and a velvet casket.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Embellished with a brimming pocket.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A common friend had set them up.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">It was just a first date, she better buckle-up.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Blind date, she thought ‘O, What The Hell’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">You never know,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">It might just cast the spell. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">She reckoned he too shared her zeal.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Thus when it was time to</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Kiss goodbye or seal the deal,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">‘The rules of the game’ were put on amend.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">As the eventful evening came to an end.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">One fine evening, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lisa</i> met her ‘prince’.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Next morning,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wrecked and savagely frayed her heart, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">At her inanity, she could only curse and wince,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Gather her clothes and head towards the start.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Smeared mascara and ruffled hair.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The ‘prince’ missed in his manly flare,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">While she let herself out with a delusive smile.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">A little drop of tear in the corner of her eye.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">As she walked home in that dreary morning light,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">She thought to herself, on her morbid plight,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">‘I sought Love, oh I am so lame’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">‘My name will go down the fool’s hall of fame’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">‘Love is nothing but a deceitful name’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">‘And I suck at this pathetic game’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">‘Thus here I am, walking</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The Walk of Shame.’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BxMoh-TXcEY/Tca3cZZIVAI/AAAAAAAAANg/f7-6zXiiZCs/s1600/Walk+Of+Shame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BxMoh-TXcEY/Tca3cZZIVAI/AAAAAAAAANg/f7-6zXiiZCs/s400/Walk+Of+Shame.jpg" width="311" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Image Courtesy: <a href="http://www.deviantart.com/">Deviant Art</a> & <a href="http://www.theeshadowgirl.blogspot.com/">The Shadow Girl</a><o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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<!--EndFragment--> </div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-57034023110688649802011-05-03T23:01:00.001+02:002011-05-03T23:03:27.855+02:00Impulsive??.. Or Insane??<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></i><br />
<i><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Have you ever felt an impulsive force throbbing through your veins, a force that harbors the power to make you do anything? Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff and felt fear being overtaken by a rush of adrenalin, a rush that makes you want to jump off just to feel the wind hiss in your ears? Have you ever driven your bike so fast that you could see nothing at all but a whirl of blur all around you, and watery-eyed you gloat at your luck? <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Today, just leaning on my mundane <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">office desk</i> or laying on my morose <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bed</i>, I feel something akin. There is a constitutively active smirk on my face and a self-threatening menace in my eyes. There is not a single adjective in the English dictionary that can describe how I exactly feel ‘just about now’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lately my mood and state of mind have been as unpredictable and varied as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">American weather</i> (so that explains the just-about-now comment). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">I feel like a soldier to going to his first battle, or a young bird dashing for its first flight, or when the first time you ride your bicycle all by yourself. I know I am gonna crash into the ground any minute and send mud soaring at your faces <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(my pretty onlookers :P),</i> but I don’t give a rat’s a**. So for now, I have braced myself and I am soaring high.. yes high above the clouds (and no I am not high on anything :P)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">All I care about right now, is my flight. And it is like I have set off a time bomb in my head, which keeps on ticking endlessly. I have unharnessed an eternal wait. A wait at the end of which I silently smile to myself, but then post-smile, the wait starts yet again. Not the anxious wait, but a bittersweet sensation in my gut. Like when you wake up in the morning few minutes before you should, and lay in your bed, eyes closed, hearing the soft rhythm of the ticking clock and waiting for the alarm to shatter the halcyon morning lull. And yeah.. I feel baby butterflies forming in my stomach every now and then. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Refreshing web-pages a thousand times in a minute, checking emails every minute, attacking the keyboard to ramble on about random stuff like this and chewing my pen to its death.. What’s up with the world? Is it just me.. or is the whole world spinning out of control? Am I just being impulsive or am I insane..?<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">And yeah.. I AM actually pretty high on the song ‘Jiye Kyun’. It (de)activates my brain and leads me to a trance state :P</div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: .1pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">♪♪</span><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">♪♪</span><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy";">Na aaye ho, na aaoge, na phone pe bulaoge..<br />
Na shaam ki karaari chai, labon se yun pilaoge..<br />
Na aaye ho, na aaoge, na din dhale sataoge..<br />
Na raat ki nashili bye, se neendh mein jagaoge..<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: .1pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy";">Gaye tum gaye ho kyun, yeh raat baaki hai..<br />
Gaye tum gaye ho kyun, saath baaki hai..<br />
Gaye tum gaye hum, tham gaye har baat baaki hai<br />
Gaye kyun toh, jiyein kyun.<br />
Na aaye ho, na aaoge, na dooriyaan dhikhaoge..<br />
Na thaam ke woh josh mein yun hosh se udaoge..<br />
Na aaye ho, na aaoge, na jhoot se sunaoge..<br />
Na rooth ke sihane mein, remote ko chupaoge..<br />
Gaye tum gaye ho kyun, yeh raat baaki hai<br />
Gaye tum gaye ho kyun, saath baaki hai<br />
Gaye tum gaye hum tham gaye, har baat baaki hai<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gaye kyun toh, jiyein kyun. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">♪♪</span><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">♪♪</span><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment--> </i><br />
</div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-45319603418114178422011-03-16T09:47:00.002+01:002011-04-21T17:10:16.937+02:00Without The Invisible Wand - An Eulogy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">My first stories, my first songs, the first words I said, the first alphabets I formulated.. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> taught me all. And with it, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> imparted to me several minuscule lessons of life, admonitions of the dark, appreciation of the light and recognition of the disparity between them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">But.. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> wasn’t there when I got my first degree or when I got my first job. And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> won’t be there when I get my PhD or when I win my first award. Neither would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> be there when I get married or have my first child… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">well not physically at least</i>. But in spirit, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> looks upon me and shares every trivial achievement of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">In every milestone of my life, I see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> in the crowd. In my dark times, I see<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> her</i> in the shadows. And in a crisis, I hear <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> voice, leading me out of it. When <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> left us, I did not cry. I did not feel her absence. I did not feel the void. In my mind I always envisaged <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> as I had always seen her.. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">powerful.</i> In my heart I always felt her presence.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">She was the first representation of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Monarchy</i> I apprehended. With an invisible wand she governed her dominion with an almost-dictator-like regimen for over half a century.<span style="color: red;"> </span>And she harboured an unbiased and unanimous affection for all her subjects. But she fostered each one as they were worthy of. And ever since I can recollect, I blissfully wallowed in the status of ‘The Cherry On Top’. She was the first <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Visionary</i> I met, who always looked at the big picture, at the greater good, rather than the instantaneous joy ride or a sweet treat. She was the first moral of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Justice</i> I learnt. In my eyes she was always as fair as practically possible to everyone in one way or the other. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Justice is not only blind itself but also invisible sometimes.</i> She was the first embodiment of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Perfection</i> I witnessed. The spread of her sheet.. or the alignment of her jars, the pleats of her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saree</i>.. or the braids in her hair, her hospitality.. or even her hostility.. marked perfection in highlighted bold letters. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">She was the first epitome of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Rationality and Acumen</i> I discerned. Amidst a crisis, when all the young and dynamic lot gave in to utter desperation, she was always calm and collected. With her apparent phlegmatic approach she always held the boat afloat. She was the first lesson of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Independence</i> I imbibed. In the phase of life when all her contemporaries had given in either to younger generations or to modern day machines, with a little difficulty she skilfully managed her everyday regime, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">well with the occasional exception of a glass of water.</i> She was the first paragon of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Determination </i>that I perceived. The bane of age and deteriorating physical state could never dwindle her avidity or diligence. Fixing-up things here and there around the house.. to erecting a fairly huge edifice in the middle of nowhere.. she did it all.. when and how she wanted to. At times, she was a little too headstrong and persistent. And some of her ventures may have seemed pretty irrational and futile, but in a free world,<span style="color: red;"> </span>those were her choices.<span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">They say there are some people who shine like a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Star</i> to impart light to the world. But there are also others who like the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Earth</i>, bounty and flourishing, yet unkempt and downtrodden, lay beneath our feet to provide hearth for us to grow and flourish. And such was my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Grandmother</i>, teaching the lessons of life to many, yet inconspicuous and unappreciated.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">I know a thousand hands may stand up to disagree, but that is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> in my eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘To Be Great is To Be Misunderstood.’</i> (Ralph Waldo Emerson). <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">I might be naïve, prejudiced or blinded in love, but I am sure that nothing I have said here is untrue. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">“In retrospection, I am grateful to you for pulling up my flat and stubby Nose every second when I was little, and today if it stands sharp and smooth its only because of you and your unmatched efforts. And I regret not expressing myself when I could, for I had no clue <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Time</i> would fall short.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">In every failure, in every success.. in light, in darkness.. in joy, in sadness.. I shall always remember you fondly. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">To come and go.. is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Life</b>. But to live in one’s heart forever.. is <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Love</b>.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-10904217163543660162011-03-15T18:14:00.003+01:002011-03-15T18:15:15.250+01:00Status Quo - Day #16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">Like my life, my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">relationship</i> is neither black nor white. It isn’t the gray in between either. It is a vibrant spectrum of varied colours. Sometimes its glowing red like the morning sun and sometimes its dark magenta like flowing blood. Sometimes its clear blue like the sky and sometimes its black and gray like a foggy night :)<o:p></o:p></span></div></div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-26629625039844921352011-03-09T16:09:00.005+01:002011-03-09T16:17:32.885+01:00Shuffle Up - Day #15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Lets see what my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Music</i> has to say about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me</i>…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just The Way U Are</i> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– Bruno Mars</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jalpari (Coke Studio Version) <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You Belong With Me</i> – Taylor Swift</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lips Of An Angel</i> – Hinder</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">*</span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Faraway</i> – Nicleback</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Man Lafanga <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Somebody’s Me</i> – Enrique Iglesias</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">*<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dooriyan Bhi Hain Zaroori <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sun Is Up</i> – Inna</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Berlin City Girl</i> – Culcha Candela</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bin Tere <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Telephone</i> – Lady Gaga feat. Beyonce</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* </span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shewolf</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- Shakira</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">*</span></sub><sub><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chandni Raatein<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><sub><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">* <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></sub><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You Are The Only Exception</i> – Paramore </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">PS: I know I had wandered off.. caught up in work.. and didn’t keep my promise..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But life is all about getting through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">broken promises</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shattered hearts</i>.. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">What matters is that now I am back again .. (My days are longer than any of yours :P )</div><!--EndFragment--> </div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-85696374726835639692011-02-19T19:33:00.001+01:002011-02-19T19:35:13.846+01:00The Kite Stealer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">As a young boy, I was very unhappy. I was not poor, but neither was I rich. My father, like millions of other middle class bread-earners, took great joy and pride for being granted the chance to serve our great nation. To me, he was<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> just</i> a clerk in the East Coast Railways. Years and years of hard work in his dinghy office, his earnest allegiance and fortitude to never accept a bribe, earned him nothing more than a good name among the 250 other clerks and a few white collared officers. My mother was a humble housewife, and there were no two sides to it.<span style="color: red;"> </span>She took redundant pride in it as well. I, on the other hand, after 12 years of my existence had learnt that there was nothing in my miserable life to boast about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">I always had enough of everything, but just barely enough. We belonged to a class of the society, a tier in the financial pyramid, which comprised of two types of people, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the dreamers</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the fighters</i>. My father belonged to the latter type, everyday he strived to provide for his family. He never desired for anything more. All his life he was a content man. But I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a dreamer</i>. I wished for everything, wove kaleidoscopic dreams every night. Unfortunately, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the dreamers </i>were the most unhappy and restless people, for they were equipped with only dreams, but no means to fulfill them. So all they could do was resign to their fates and pretend to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a fighter, </i>happy and proud to be just able to provide for their families. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The dreamers</i> embodied one of the greatest paradoxes in the society. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">I went to the only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">English-medium</i> school in the town and so did all the rich kids from uptown, only I didn’t have their freshly ironed attires, sparkling boots, trendy water bottles with tic-tac-toe or themed stationary.<span style="color: red;"> </span>I strode into those walls everyday donning one of my two pairs of soiled uniforms with my broken pen in my pocket, dragging my rugged cloth bag behind me, trying to evade as many banters as possible.<span style="color: red;"> </span>While they proudly shared their pasta, chips and muffins, I gulped down my modest <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">roti</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">achaar</i> before any of the scrutinizing eyes caught me. I could never put behind me the abhorrence and disgust that reflected in their eyes while they cast a demeaning look towards me when I wasn’t allowed to play football with them because I didn’t have the ‘right shoes’. All I could do to retaliate was stand there mortified summoning all my strength to prevent tears from welling up in my eyes.<span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">That day I had pleaded my mother to let me go to the local government school, where most of our neighbour’s children went. But she wouldn’t listen and said that English-medium education would make me a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">babu</i> one day. People attending on me, big cars with chauffeurs, VIPs congregations… (I guess that was the source of my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dreamer</i> genes). But her dreams seemed as inane and mocking as the demeaning looks of the rich boys. I lamented my life and I regretted being myself. I indicted my parents for the miseries of my life. I failed to comprehend the significance of life without the fashionable clothes, classy accessories and pricey videogames. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Once every year I forgot all my miseries and set out to conquer the world. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Makar Sankranti,</i> The Festival Of Kites. Kites were my passion. The fervor I had for flying kites was incomparable. Fortunately enough, I was equally gifted. And I left no stone unturned to master my inexpensive hobby. Watching my kite soar high above, untouched, unrestrained, beyond anyone’s reach, rendered an inimitable pleasure and pride, something I lacked in my life otherwise.<span style="color: red;"> </span>It carried me to an alternative world, where I could fly freely with my kites in the boundless sky, while infinitesimal people of the world could only gawk at me awe-struck. The Kite Festival<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>was the day when I had the chance to prove myself to those haughty rich boys. <span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">On the fateful day, I awoke just when the sun was starting to peep at the horizon, emptied half a bucket of water in my attempt at bathing, donned my best pair of clothes, parted my hair neatly and set off<span style="color: red;"> </span>to the tapering aisle between the old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Post Office</i> and the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Town Engineer’s house</i>. Flying kites in an open field is a cup of cake, but launching my soldier into the air amidst that jungle of old dilapidating houses, was an extraordinary challenge.. and every time triumph was enslaved. My game-plan that day was to camouflage myself among those archaic edifices, masquerade my attack on the village ground and vanquish the rich brats there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hkJ7SGYaeZU/TWAMEpbfRaI/AAAAAAAAANc/JrKxs7Hu4OY/s1600/Kite_by_Twang_Nerd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hkJ7SGYaeZU/TWAMEpbfRaI/AAAAAAAAANc/JrKxs7Hu4OY/s400/Kite_by_Twang_Nerd.jpg" width="366" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">My rainbow-coloured minion soared high in the sky, while I steered myself through structural barricades. I knew those lanes like the back of my hand. The countless afternoons I had spent there, sharpening my skills had to account for something. My gaze was following my minion as ardently as a kite watches its prey. I was right behind the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hanuman Temple</i> when I noticed an unpredicted falter in the gait of the bearer of my honour. I tugged at the line, but the tension was gone and it slumped back lifelessly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">What a prodigious blow at my pride… I thought while I watched my fallen soldier vagrantly drift towards the ground. My vision was shrouded by desperate rage and utter shock. Even more desperation struck.. This was the end of my dream to vanquish my adversaries.<span style="color: red;"> </span>In my quest for the ‘despicable being’ who took me down, I turned around the corner and the veteran banyan tree confronted me. Under it, was a humongous rock and reclined on it was a four-feet tall, ebony-coloured, shabby little boy, candidly gloating in pride. In one hand he clutched my captured and trampled pride and a humble white kite slung on his other shoulder. I was crippled by a spiteful animosity. That distasteful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">imp-like</i> creature had made me bite the dust. I was torn between mortified embarrassment and indignant exasperation.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">He grinned at me, exposing his yellow stained teeth. Before I could translate my feelings into words, he extended his idle hand and said ‘If you give me a rupee, I will return your pretty kite.’ I glared at him without moving a muscle. ‘I won it, I didn’t steal it. It’s mine now. But I know how much you love it. I have been watching you everyday. I learnt flying kites by watching you. You are so good.. But today I cut your line, ain’t I good..’ I felt like roots had grown out of my feet. I stood there impassively. He went on, ‘Come on.. I know you have 25 rupees, I saw you counting it earlier today. I have had nothing to eat in 2 days. I really want to buy a cotton candy at the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mela</i>. Please <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bhaiya</i> give me 1 Rupee.’<span style="color: red;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">In a split of a second, my perspective changed, my eyes softened, and I was gripped by a sudden pang of sorrow and empathy. But the embarrassment was unaltered. He had no tangible assets and perhaps no kith or kin to look forward to, yet he stood there so calmly, appeased at the prospect of a cotton candy. And I had treated him with nothing but abhorrence and loathing. Suddenly I felt like he had stepped into my shoes and I had been looking down upon him through the eyes of those rich boys I deeply despised. We were similar in so many ways, yet there was an enormous disparity. He wasn’t accusing others for his miseries, sulking or whining, instead he was availing his skills to earn his infinitesimal reward. It dawned upon me that the world was deluged with less fortunate people who would kill for a life like mine. I was imbued with the serenity of my ‘kite stealer’ and he taught me that just because I failed to acknowledge what I had, its significance did not diminish. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">Since that day I wasn’t apprehensive about being judged anymore. I refrained myself from perusing what I did and didn’t have. I focused on doing my best in everything I attempted.<span style="color: red;"> </span>Today 20 years later, I have done pretty well for myself, but when I discern my parents.. aged and senile, I wallow in remorse and guilt for having blamed them for all those years, for holding them accountable for my miseries, while I chose to be unhappy.<span style="color: red;"> </span>I have replenished the lives of my children with everything they need, but I sincerely hope they learn to appreciate it. I hope they meet their ‘kite stealer’ soon.<span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment--> </div>The West Windhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08284244734112046605noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6364207602929102650.post-31300711150849596482011-02-18T17:43:00.007+01:002011-02-18T17:53:30.998+01:00Familie Bilder - Day #14<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;">'A Picture is worth a thousand words.'</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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