Unconventionally, at its best.

It's like waiting for the sun to rise
And then watching it all along
Until it leaves.
Leaving the music of oblivion all over.


They're on the same page, for sure.
Thinking on the same lines.
But the words refuse to replicate
What they have in mind.


All they could think of
was nothing.
When they could be this forever.
But it's true, forever never comes.

illuded

It's not just about the words, is it?
Not even about the images, or was it?
About the songs we heard, and took for truth. Really?
No it was never about them.
And it isn't.

Other Side Of Me

It's a weekly carol,
I shall sing it everyday.
I shall withstand the transience,
of what I understand.

When my shadow chose to impersonate
you, I knew
It's pretty how words mean so much to us.
Sometimes, the sound of them speaks much more,
than they could ever mean.

I wanna stand where it rains on one,
doesn't on the other side of me.
'cause it is that other side,
that is a drowning fish.

To Sir, with love.

The meaning of the word “teacher” has evolved as much as I have in the past few years.

When I was a child in kindergarten, I perceived it to be someone who gave me guidelines relating to anything and everything from ‘how to sit’ to ‘how to stand while singing the national anthem (which was also taught by her)’, from ‘how to speak’ to ‘when not to speak’ and going even up to ‘what to speak’. The word ‘teacher’ automatically created an entoptic image of reliability. One of the few conversations that I can recall exactly from that phase is of my 1^st grade teacher declaring this in a P.T.M that she was not just a teacher. “I teach them Hindi. I teach them English. I teach them Maths and Science too. But I’m also their servant, their mother and their friend.” She said.

Things began to change as I approached high school. The bond I shared with my teachers became more formal as ‘how to walk’ was no more a subject of concern. Other more important subjects such as history, geography and chemistry came into existence leaving little room for the evaluation of that bond. But I did learn from quite a few of them the concept of a “guru”. Even though I couldn’t relate to it, but it was somewhere there at the back of my mind.

The only time when I actually understood it, was a few months ago while taking classes for English from Akhtar Sir. Yes, it’s funny. I never thought I’ll take English classes. Easiest subject right? But I did, in the hope that they will make me even better. And they did. More than I knew. I was in a dismal tune that time. But he motivated me and made me believe in me again. On one rejection in a stupid college, he said-“Don’t worry. It’s not your loss. Life surely must be designing something better for you.” And as it is said, people don’t come to know but their words have a much greater impact than they can think of.

Thank you sir.

For welcoming me to a world where butterflies carry the colours of a rainbow even into the darkness of gloom

Where stars twinkle day and night

Where one tells a million lies

To discover a fake truth.

Thanks a lot, you’ll always be my favourite teacher! :) Believe in yourself, and believe in what you do. It never goes waste.

Happy Teachers Day.

y du ppl typ lyk dis?

Hey people!!
Yes I know I'm not keeping up with the promise of posting everyday, but well...I'm probably the only visitor of my blog, so who cares? :P
But in any case, if you ever make the mistake of entering my blog(thanks to my adverse publicity) and the destiny is such that you land up on this post, please answer my question
ie.-WHY do people type so pathetically while they're chatting/texting?
Does it make them cool by any chance??
Or does it make them feel young and in tune with the popular fashion??
Well then grab a piece of mind from me, and stop it.
It is not only annoying and deceiving the very idea of communication, but also projects you in a very unprofessional light with streaks of unawareness. It is NOT cool. It is NOT young. On the other hand, it is LAME! Very LAME!

I'll give you a few interesting examples-
A friend of mine, Radhika, types in this hysterical way.
of becomes o
on becomes n
and also becomes n {So you have to be very intelligent to figure her messages, luckily I am}
is becomes s
to becomes t
that become tat

Another friend of mine, Akriti has an amazing drunk way of expressing herself. I have known her for about 4 years now, and I do not get her on text, EVER.
two, to and too too becomes 2.
drink and drunk become drnk.
plain, plan, plane become pln.
And yet if you don't understand what she means, you are the one who is sleepy.

Yet another dear friend of mine(Yes I'm surrounded with these people), Aakanksha is the best case.
She signs off by saying-
byeeEeEEeeeeEEEEeeeeeEEE
LooOOoOOooo0oO0o0OO0Ooo0OOooOOOOooOOoOOoOOove yoOooOouUuu
aknsha


When I talk to my dad on text, it seems like I am talking to my future son.
Even he uses this acclaimed language of the aliens.

And well what to say about Akhtar sir. He is an ENGLISH teacher!!!! And a pretty good one at that. He writes amazingly well, and you can refer a few of my earlier posts for his comments on them. They're sufficient to be called as a post on their own. You'd want a teacher like that all your life, but of course not everyone is as lucky as I'm :P
But, it's disappointing to read his informal texts. They make use of this brilliant literary concept.

i h8 t. jus s mch. plz dn uz t.

The new beginning of a possible end

I see all these amazing blogs and they inspire me so much, to blog more often. It makes me look down upon my blog and see the number of my posts per month. Then I look down upon my life. What do I even do all day?
1.I have to get up at 7 in the morning. (Never happens)
2.Get ready by 8.10. (Never happens)
3.Respond to Aashna's textual ultimatums and phone calls by saying "Just a minute! Am coming downstairs!" (Always Happens)
4.Reach college at about 8.45 for the 9'O clock class (Yes, surprisingly, always happens. Thanks to Hitler Aashna)
5.Text Tavleen, Radhika, Gautam, Suveer, Akriti, Shreya etc etc etc.
6.Survive through boring lectures. (Thanks to Facebook)
7.Go to the canteen (which is the best BTW) and eat something-just anything.
8.Take an auto back home (Now this is the worst. Given the amount of rain that has been flooding our college gateway, the auto wallas get to throw all sorts of tantrum, as though they are paying me for the ride.)
9.Reach home, eat lunch, sleep.
10.Wake up, switch on the computer. Waste time. Do the assignments/Journo Junction work.
11.Go back to sleep at about 3 A.M.

Not too much of an exciting day, is it?
It is so boring and frustrating. In fact I've started hating it now.
So I might as well start writing. It really is something that makes me feel better. It makes me sane.

So this is it. I will move on from publishing just my poetry and write about anything and everything from now on. I have to survive the DU life after all. It can get pretty insane.

Oh and I have to submit an assignment on "Barriers to Communication" by 10th of September. I hope I get the mind to do it.
Cya all,
And as it is customary (Well from now on :P)
~Cheers~

I judge you on your Judgement

Blogging is fun. Isn't it just comfortable to spill out everything in one go and not having to think for a second that the person who is being entrusted with this knowledge is judging us? Even though, it's worse because I'm letting out my entire day to you, without having any clue about you reading this but it still gives me a sense of satisfaction that I may never know about how you judged it. Whether you raised an eye brow or two, or projected an expression that I might just hate, or probably stuck your red tongue out--Doesn't Matter Really, because I shall never know!!
But yes, I confess. I am a part of that world too. I judge. And I hate it. It's an involuntary reflex. No matter how hard I try not to judge people-because eventually my opinions get thrashed badly by what's real- I just cannot avoid it.