Tag Archives: amwriting

The Thing About Boys & Men.

I am bored. I mean not that I don’t have anything to do, but I am just bored. Bored with stressful working, with useless studying, with meeting deadlines, with assignments, with reading, with writing, practically everything. So I keep finding new things to do. Now, I haven’t been very successful with it, but I think I am obligingly eating people’s head with my tantrums. But I guess I am so bored that I get bored with that too. And hence, I keep finding things like reading short biographies of inspiring authors, what they have done, listening to music I have never heard before or going out to new places. Now, that last thing that I said is more useless than the word ‘useless’ can signify. Living in such a small city comes with its dirth of new and exciting places to go to. So, I am left to be doing only two things, reading and ranting. I could say I am just writing but I know my writing is not writing, it’s only a rant, a cribbing rant with no solutions which a set of very few loyal friends will read and tell me that it is not a rant and they liked it, but I know better than their kindness.

Just one such rant, actually, a very furious rant with a failed attempt of humor was written after an impulsive decision and was mailed without any eidting. I regretted it the minute I sent it. Honestly, I did. But very surprisingly, the local supplement of Times of India weren’t offended by my rant and they published the column all the same.

I am happy.

Today, I am not bored.

I am sharing the picture below.

Because today I am not bored.

I will rant and keep you bored.

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Book Nerds Will Relate #2

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I do feel so deranged sometimes 😀

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Already Dunk!!

 

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Come to think of it, it is damn ‘Amazing’.

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Kindly consider the seriousness of the problem.

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Definitely my struggle!

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I have had a very hearty laugh using this one on people 😀

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Well, sometimes I get so engrossed in the book, that I really don’t put my brains into it, and I am pretty sure I look like this then 😉

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This is how my mum puts me in front of every one. And, let me clarify, I am not ashamed of it, proud may be, but not ashamed 😀

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Well, this IS true, sometimes (Laughs inwardly)
img_2319.pngPlease tell me, you found this funny,

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This!! True!! Totally true!!

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Believe me, this is the only part of the day which I am looking forward to, most of the times.

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Finally, someone said it…

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Oh God, this has given me a good laugh every time I see this.

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See, and yet people tell me I am confused about everything. My priorities are dead clear. I see the look and we seal the deal! Period!!

 

Hope you had a good laugh, if not, well I am sorry! It’s books we are talking about, so it is important to me and me alone.

Books are and will be a big part of my life.

They have been with me when no one else was.

They have been through me, and been through a lot with me.

When nothing works, a book, empty or otherwise, always comes to my rescue.

So here’s to all the readers and writers, who have a very intelligent and safe addiction of fantasy, having an escape form reality!

More nerdy stuff here: Book Nerds Will relate!

Book Nerds Will relate!

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Somethings that only books taught me 😀

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Correct me, if I am wrong. (But, I know, I am not)

 

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At least I do this all, I repeat ALL the time.

 

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The picture itself feels liberating.

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Definitely a black belt, unless there is something better than being a black belt. (HAHAHAHA)

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This one gets me laughing, every time I see this 😀

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Koi Shakh?
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Again, koi shakh? Of course we live for books.

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When books teach you life lessons.

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Oh the constant, the constant trouble!!!!

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A big thank you!

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This got deep! And interesting! And true! And well exactly how I feel about books!

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Why, why, why! why do they do this to us!

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I hope you are singing along with Ross and Rachel, only with a little alteration. 😀

 

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Absolutely, oh Absolutely!!

 

Books are and will be a big part of my life.

They have been with me when no one else was.

They have been through me, and been through a lot with me.

When nothing works, a book, empty or otherwise, always comes to my rescue.

So here’s to all the readers and writers, who have a very intelligent and safe addiction of fantasy, having an escape form reality!

 

 

One Blank Day!

I have been staring at the infinite space since morning today.

I had a paper to turn in.

For which I cancelled my work and all my other plans.

The outcome of freeing my space was, freeing and or emptying of my mind too!

And all I have at the end of day is, one blank page.

Wondering what I did all day?

 

Drank coffee.

Read.

Wondered.

Wandered.

Over-thought.

Read some pages again. (Fiction though.)

Ate junk food.

Wondered and wandered some more.

Wrote a few words, or to say few lines.

Didn’t like it.

Erased it.

Watched TV.

Didn’t like anything.

Watched stand up comedies on the Internet.

Wrote some more, paragraphs and pages this time.

Hated it even more.

Trashed it directly, this time.

 

Drank coffee.

Munched on a bar of chocolate.

Thought and over thought.

Made weird faces.

Clicked pictures in those weird faces.

Thought of writing it all over again.

Wrote- erased- ate- drank (drinks changed since the evening.)

Hated myself and turned off my computer.

Went back to my novel reading in the night.

 

Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow.

I think it will creep with its own petty pace..

But nothing happens even tomorrow.

I give up finally, and write whatever comes to me, and submit a paper, which I am really unhappy with! So much for trying to become a writer?

Living In An Illusory World.

Writers and readers are hopelessly romantic. They live in a fictional world, and tend to be unacceptable to the real world. They immerse themselves so much in a world, which does not exist that they deviate and forget that they live in a world, which does exist. They seek pleasure in something, which is unreal, and shirk their responsibilities towards reality. They live in denial; they live with indifference. They do not live in actuality. Myth engulfs them so strongly that pragmatism and logic become their adversaries. These writers and readers do not know how the real world works.”

This, my friend, is an allegation on me today. But what can I say to this?

May be I am irrational. May be I don’t think practically. May be I shed off my responsibilities, may be I do live in too many worlds at a point of time. May be I am hopelessly romantic. May be I do live in denial. May be I live in a fictional world, and may be I really do not know how this “real world” works?

But does anyone actually know the difference?

All I got to say about this is,

“I have lived a thousand lives and I have lived a thousand loves. I’ve walked on distant worlds and seen the end of time. Because I read.” –George R. R. Martin.

Yes, I read and I write and most of the times I immerse myself so much in these two things that I forget the real from unreal. I can barely make what was true and what was a dream. I forget the real world in the process of making a beautiful world for myself where I can live. And many a times I don’t want to come back from there, well, most of the times. And what’s more? I can’t. I can’t just do that. I have to come back.

So is that not enough? Is it not enough that I have to come back, and I do come back into the so-called real world and try to live in it.

Is it not enough that I live a life, which I don’t want to?

Why do You Hide From Me?

I have my own doubts and reluctance when it comes to this poetry, if at all it can be called one. I wrote it almost a year ago, and have never come about to posting it. So now you know how much I was hesitant to share this with anyone. It has taken me a year and another three days to have the courage to share this with you or anyone for that matter.

So now before I change my mind, I am going to hit publish, and let you guys judge me..

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Where are you hiding away from me?

Why, dear love, why do you hide from me?

 

Are you hiding beneath the sky?

The sky that is dark and gloomy

The empty face

That is raining down on me?

 

Are you hiding betwixt the stars?

The stars, magnificent and twinkling

A beautiful constellation

That is shining upon me?

 

Are you hiding behind the full moon?

A moon, calm and comforting

The complete façade

That is spreading its borrowed light on me?

 

Are you hiding among the woods?

The woods and trees that seem all lonely

The empty silence

That is lumbering down on me?

Are you hiding behind the sun?

The sun that is bright and radiant

The blinding fury

That is scorching down on me?

 

Are you hiding behind the mountains?

The mountains that are far and away

The scratchy road

That is soaring upon me?

 

Are you hiding among the seas and oceans?

The oceans that are waving in

The tumultuous uproar

That is really trembling me?

 

Are you hiding among the winds?

The winds, rapid and raw

A soft touch

That is truly whistling down on me?

 

In vain you hide from me

Why, dear love, why do you hide from me?

*

Thank you once again, if you have come this far!! Did not expect you to.

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A Writer Without Words!

Today, they introduced me as a writer, and honestly, I did not see that coming. People keep telling me, that I am a writer, but there is some part of me that still does not believe that.

Anyways so there I was being introduced as a writer, and then the irony struck me. The very same morning I was struggling with words to describe what I was feeling, and I failed. Then I tried completing my assignments, failed! And then I started working on a fictional plot, at which I failed again.

I am not talking about the writers’ block, I kept writing, I kept taking notes, I kept typing, but I was not satisfied with it, I still felt that the feelings were unclear, and what I was saying were mere words. But if they were words, then why was I feeling the absence of emotions. And if I had words, then was I not a writer after all? But then only putting words isn’t a writers job, his job is to bring even fiction to reality. So where was I going wrong?

I had words, but still I felt I was not a writer.

On second thoughts, I felt I did not even have the words, all I had was the feeling, the love, the hatred, required for being a writer. The words that I say I wrote, were not mine, they did not justify how I felt, how I wanted things to come out, they simply did a job of being portrayed as a writer’s work. They were just there on paper.

So now, I did not even have words, and yet I was a writer?