Her Maddening Delight.

Anne said, the easiest way to fall back in love was the same reason she usually fell out of it. Her eroticism for a breath away, alone, aloof. Her territory, her sacred perch of yellow afternoons, the sound of her ankle rubbing the brown leather couch, or the rings left on the coffee table from the abruptly abandoned cuppas or glasses of whiskey and water.

Her mind was frustratingly similar to that of every book she read, of every spider she chased, of every thread she pulled off the seams of her white sweater. Her mind was everything around her, and so it shifted, as she kept arranging her living room over and over again. Put the lid on the pot back, shut the drapes and opened them again, pulled in the rug, re arranged the wine glasses, shut the drapes, and.. pulled out the rug, again. 
Her mind shifted. She was like the tip that dances round and around on a poly disk. Except her song had all kinds of lyrics, and was her own.

Her last lover; James, was a simple man. Above average intelligence, didn't look to sour and fell short of the need for affection. So he was your average Joe, every third man you walk by in the city. Anne and James took long walks by 5th avenue, they made love almost every night before the night was midnight old, and they went for brunch every Friday to Rose Cafe. It was quite a pleasant companionship if you must only read my narration, but James felt lesser and lesser the man of Anne's heart and more and more the man of her habit. 
The long walks along 5th avenue felt like aimless wandering; amusement lying in the sky, the trees, the birds, the buildings; save among each other, save the pointless fingers entangled almost as if to let their fingers practice bending, curving.. The love they made was a tiring physical act, and yet the steam blew away oh so long long back, perhaps last new year's eve. And brunches at Rose Cafe being the corner of the cafe, table for two, where the menus weren't consulted and salad on number 4 and the steak on number 9 were ordered, or actually nodded to the waiter. 

One fine February afternoon whilst walking barefoot at the park, James told Anne,  "..but my dear Annabelle, do my words even reach you? You seem to enjoy silence much more, than my wonder about your day", to which Anne frowned, after a deep thought that lasted as long as dry sugar on top of hot coffee she said; "Your words are going over my head.. And I'm not even going to look up, to catch those thoughts, my love."

And with that, she turned around and walked along. Leaving James and his words hanging in air, and her brown oxfords on the grass. 


That wasn't only poor James's story, but also of Keith, Gilderoy, Kevin and Simon. All these eligible bachelors wore their hearts on their sleeves and stuck a rose in between their teeth, all for beautiful Anne. But she wasn't too swept by those careless and careful charms. Her feet only pushed the ground beneath harder as she walked around the city, buying cups of fresh strawberries and cones of vanilla, and spending lovely solitary evenings at the city library all by her pleased self, every Sunday.  It was like she was her own maid of honor. 

And during one of those days in the week itself, could be a Monday or a Thursday; Anne would find a Harry, or a Billand and would high tea over Schubert and Bach. They would muse over Donatello's shadow relief sculpture and and Titian's vivid landscape. There would be easy indulgence, which would almost feel too convenient to be romantic.. but they'd meet over brunch or tea another Tuesday, anyway.  Two out of three times, the Tuesday would go lovely. Maybe even proceed to one of their living rooms. But one out of three times, the Tuesday would proceed to one of their bedrooms, and that right there, would be the glitch in the day, following weeks, and ending within a few months. 

Fleeting. She was a fleeting, hungry soul who looked ravishing in her eventual indifference to most people and her sudden (almost abrupt) endearment to objects and people. Ideally, such a girl must be one with a cat, but her petite sniffs and sneezes would drive away any fur around the cornucopia of her mind and home. 

But finally, there came Ruth. Anne met her at the porch of the house opposite hers. Picking up the delicious looking clear bottles of milk, while Anne couldn't decide which one of the two had a better figure.
Did her heart just skip a beat? Uh Oh.

Oh, their days together were ravenous. Walking with a skip in their beat and dancing skirts hovering high around their skirts, the two women slid their arms around the curves of each other's waists, thoroughly enjoying the boldness of each curve and drinking in kisses in the middle of daylight. Devastatingly in love, they celebrated the terrains of the other's body like it was an unfamiliar site and touch; outlining the pouts of their crimson lips, and tangled curls receding into hurried buns. 
It was delightful, absurd and absolutely horrifying. And for the first time in her life, Anne did not want to rid herself of another depression on the pillow by her side, every morning. 

In such perfection, there was no sense of humbleness. Anne and Ruth were atrocious and misbehaved women madly in love, and they vowed to never stop. No longer did Anne worry about the mundane; for her, every day was a red card of unruly behavior on apparent moral grounds of most people, which kept her entertained and affirmed and reaffirmed that she was alive, and very much.. at home. 

And with that feeling so omnipresent in her heart, Ruth left. 
Just like that. As abruptly as her heart skipped a beat one day; just as abruptly as the first hint of pressured transparent cursive on a paper that follow the blue, that disappeared with the ink getting over. 

Anne didn't try to look for her. Because she found a note on her side of the bed which read; 


"..we were all once young and wild in love, taking leaps of faith which eventually turned out to be a reckless desperation to feel real, and finally ended with revenge in the name of separation."

Ruth was James's sister. 

__________________________________________________________________________

(because I was pissed off with section 377. Come at me, bruh.)
There you go, fiction roll, unrolled. (:
Much love,
Nil. 

Flame fleeced.

History.
The one word that brings back ruthless, bold, unabashed flashbacks of you. And him. Or her. Or whoever. You must have loved, or you must have thought you loved. All of us do, all of us love the idea of falling in love. So getting back to the point; History.
We're often so sure about the concept of it being the past, that we often forget; once we see it staring at us in the present. You see that one face, and there, you find yourself thinking of what was. How you were, how this person staring back at you used to be, with you. You give yourself the liberty to feel appalled at how that face is the same, and yet nothing about it reminds you of the person it belongs to. Perhaps a crease or two more, on the forehead. Maybe some more impatience in them pair of eyes, than you remember. The lips could possibly be more dry, and the ears could seem naked because there isn't any hair sitting on them, hiding away their shapelessness.
And yet, you push your grounds by still considering that your faith on that face may be stronger than its appearance.

But as you blink a few more times and don't let the light leaks of your ridiculous faith blind you, you slowly realize that the face that once moved you so much is gone. The flame that burnt high and low, quivered on top but kept still to the wax...is gone. There's nothing that overwhelms you about that face anymore, there is nothing that makes you want to cry. The expression in your heart is smug. It wants to walk away, and carry on with the life you finally moved on with, in the absence of that face.
You feel like you're sitting on the other side of the window, and the only way you look at the other side is through an old, lace curtain. It flies around with the wind, letting you peek at the real thing once in a while, but it's hidden again, and it stays that way. And you realize, it's not hidden anymore, it's gone.

Flame fleeced. The remains of that blaze are nowhere to be seen around you, for they withered away with that side of you which became history, along with that person's departure in your life, once.

You realize, you slowly fell out of love. Because beyond a point, that face didn't love you back, and you couldn't love thin air, could you now? 

-Nil.

Because you were sure.

Writing, sometimes, can be the most stifling feeling in the world. It robs you of all your privacy, and ruthlessly strips naked every bleak corner of your mind; your imagination, your hopes, your desires, your everything; printed in ink on an otherwise flimsy blank paper.
The stain of ink in coherent intelligible figures can humiliate you, and make reality ten times withal real. It can be the tightest slap you remember all your life, while the slaps in your childhood seem like sweet gestures of warnings by Mother to mend your twisted ways that ultimately lead to your fall; on such a blank paper.

I don't understand why we're so stubborn. Why we're constantly rushing to plunge into every possible scope of entanglement and openly wish, hope and pray we never find our way out and breathe again. We like gasping. I think we like this mess. I think we're so used to it, that fresh air feels wrong, now.
The mind enjoys being in a perpetual state of frustration, and our language seems to be that of constant sarcasm and cocky-ness that only earns some more of the two from the other end of every communication we indulge in.

And what's terrible, is that this is mistake we're ready to make one more time, and then another time, and the time after that. Because we're just so god damn scared of being free. Of having our own space. Because we think that would be the world's way of abandoning us.
It's ridiculous, loathsome, and repulsive; this constant urge to keep doing something. And when we try to clean some wax off our minds, and sit down to write about the happier things in life, all we pour out are our dark little revelations and regrets. Because you just goddamn can't lie to a goddamn paper. It's powerless; your mind thinks. Who will he tell? It'll just stay. It'll yellow around it's corners and age away, perhaps with ink blots and cigarette burns.

But that's the point; it stays.

And you can't do anything about it, because? You never used a pencil. 
You were just so sure about everything, remember?

-Nil. 

Eve of 19.

My 18th year was going to end with the end of this blog, because I firmly believed that all good things came to an end. And it was best that way, for it left you with the prime of every feeling, and not the remnants of those feelings fading away.
But a rather wise friend convinced me otherwise. And perhaps, she's right. Because I was holding on to this blog for the same reason, all this while; it's the one constant proof of my life to have never waited for all the happiness and chaos. It just went on, and you all saw, along with me. And perhaps, that's what gives us all hope to realize everything passes; every day, no matter how downtrodden or euphoric it may be... passes. And you live through it, don't you? In fact, you cherish most of it. You not only cherish, but you goddamn love most of it. And the bits that you'd rather not say... pass. And you grow, because each and every emotion, each and every thought, each and every blink, and each and every broken smile pealed another layer off you. It revealed some more of you, to the world, but most importantly; you saw yourself even clearer, you were just that much stronger, standing tall.

You ought to unfurl. You ought to wither away. Because only then, would you have gasped for some air, and only then.. would you have breathed.

Here end the first 18 years of my life, and I'm breathing because I'm on my own, and I'm good.
Year 18, you were the longest and the most entwined road I could ever choose. But I'm glad you happened, because you spelled one thing out for me, for sure; that one phase of my life is over, and the one that's about to come will be that much crooked. And I better twist and turn along, to make myself exactly what I want to be made of. I'm glad you happened, because you spelled out disappointments in a way that no other year has ever, for which I'm ready to appreciate every bit of happiness that decides to show up.

It's important to be happy, it's important to be happier, and it's important to be happiest; but what is absolutely crucial, is to be happy. :)

Happy birthday, to me.
I hope I get a New York cheesecake.

-Nil. 

Beauty bereft.

(Photo by Vanta.)

They had been abandoned by the ankles of the woman who became the prayers of every beat resonating around the universe. The woman said they scraped her ankles and made them bleed of bruises. They were accused to have lost a bell here, or two there. Apparently, they didn’t sound as sweet as her dance looked. Just how was she to dance with them on?

And thus, abandoned, they were. Carelessly put away into the unabashedly ignored attic of the gigantic house; the one that they had won her, from His Majesty.

 Every evening, they’d be bitter kissed by another layer of dust... Flies and sly ants would walk past the intricate blue thread work and the gold of each bell which weren't as golden anymore. The edges of the table on which they sat withered with time, and the room would birth nascent cobwebs and the dirge of grey into which every element of the room camouflaged
.

Every element, but them. They sat on that very table like a bold mother, pregnant with a secret. The sheet of dust would only gather in the broken ends of each bell and accentuate the rest of the body which spoke of age and art. Of flawlessness, of music, of dance… of a kind of beauty that ceased to exist once they were taken off her ankle.

They sat on that very table, listening to the woman dance somewhere far away in the court of his majesty. They’d see her taking her first bow and her last; they knew every breath she’d inhale after every fourth beat. They knew every flaw in the continuation of her hurried steps, and yet those steps were birthed in the womb of those; the ones that sat cold in that old, trivial attic.

What a pity; thought an anonymous wise man. A wise man who existed in the motes of dust around the old room, who existed in the aroma of rose water at the majestic palace.

Her feet tremble now with the new pair of golden bells on her mended ankle. They tinkle after her feet hit the ground, not with them. They’re a proud pair of 500 bells, and yet they sound faint, shy, or rather… coward like. And the irony is, the woman knew.

Bereft from what completed her next step from the first, she tussled with her tenacity to dance like that celebrated figurant she’d become in that kingdom of his Majesty; the kingdom where people kissed their fingertips to her rhythm, to her graceful glide that progressed unobstructed on the marble floors of the court, like the breeze of the season of art.

And yet, the beauty of that figurant faded as she tried harder and harder… for the essence of her dance lay sitting on an old table; bold, aged, and yet gorgeous; in those blue and golden pair of ghungroos. Quiet, incomplete, and bitterly proud; bereft of those bruised ankles. 
________________________________________________________________________

First proper piece of the summer, written in a strange strange mood. There y'go. Awaiting your feedback :)
Much loving,
Nil. 

Paperplanes of May.

Every year has a particular month that changes how your life has been for a period of time; let's just say that has been the reason for my absence. I don't know how often will I be around now, this summer is going to be a little more of my-space-bubble oriented, but I'll try to keep you guys posted on the happenings of ole Nil's life.

My love for pictures and summer tones be back. The camera is travelling all around in my big white bag, despite the rude heat making life difficult. My fancy phone is away at the repair shop. Thanks to my perfectly normal clumsy self, the screen of that perfectly maintained phone is now shattered. I'm using a phone as good as rock, and as last season as calling glares; "goggles".
But that's fine. There are no facilities except calling and texting, so I'm good. It's done a brilliant job at keeping me away from the human population as such, and helped secrete some serious thought process and ideas from my lazy brain that was sleeping thinking it was still winter. So it's going to be a summer of 8tracks.com, pulling every mote of thought out of my head and working on a fiction project I've decided on, and a whole lot of ice tea and mojitos. Sounds like a plan my alter ego had been craving for. Little boxes of a lot of space is going to be the mood, for this summer. And a whole lot of summer-y pictures. So until the fiction project takes a stand on paper, I'll post them pictures here and keep you entertained.
No promises, though.

Thank you SO much for all the support in the last post. This safe haven of mine breathes because of you guys, who save it from soiling away. So stay tuned. Nil can never really shut up, can she?
And a humongous Thank You to the lovely bloggers who thought of my blog being worthy of awards. I've added them to my hall of cyber fame- y'all are so kind. (:

Until I catch them paper planes of May, open them up, write on the papers and send them back to you, enjoy the obnoxiously immodest heat. Summer is bringing it on.

Muchos of love and all that jazz,
-Nil. 

The embers of a racing mind.

I can almost feel the curvature of my first thought burning away as quickly as the wing of a happy butterfly would ash away to; when inched  to an ignited matchstick. The head of the second thought was the origin of such friction and so has been the cycle of my thoughts, lately. Burnt out; even before one could live. 
A pandemonium of events uncannily containing similar emotions, all of which turn into a chaos inside a breathing room divided into two; my mind needs space. 
Examples of how fragile the think tank of our anatomy is have been in abundance, recently. And some times, I wonder; aren't we all a little tilted in the dark side, at some point?

"A calm man always has a war within him.. which is why, he is calm." ; I heard an acquaintance say, with a smirk today. And the glint in his eyes at the moment convinced me of the autobiographical statement, casually passed to push the puberty of understanding him. 
Since then, a very different spotlight surrounds his figure even in day light, when I look at him. And then I wonder, don't we just look at people? Isn't that all the shallow effort we put in to understanding the immediate wall of concrete we live in, after all? And then we wonder why pity surrounds our existence?

"Atleast this patch of Earth I'm standing on, is my ashtray." ; That was the parent of arrogance, her tongue talking. To our questioning looks, she didn't defend; she stated; that the patch of land she stood on was loyal to her weight, it was loyal to the foreskin of her body and mind. The patch of land was hers to spoil with all her ridiculous and whimsical ideas, to all the forms of salt that secrete out of her brown skin, to the lose strands of hair that fall out of her scalp to rid themselves of the overwhelming amount of turbulence beyond their roots. The patch of Earth was her. It was made out of her, and thus will wait for her slowly ashing body to come back home. The breed of such women was lost, we thought?

" The relevance of the human will and word is tragic, to say the least." ; I thought, after that one friend closed the door behind him. That one friend who was an undertone to the first quarter of my life, who was the proof of my childhood and who was the ear to every voice that made it out of my throat; and the ones that didn't. Years and years of mindless banters and baseless words exchanged in between found their way to my ear drums and I realized how relative human words are; for once the intention changes and the will demolishes, those words don't even exist enough to be called empty, anymore. There is no vessel to them, only tainted air of something that used to be. 
And one day, all those inconsequential conversations will skin the time you lost out on, alive. 


-Nil.

Sunday enthusiasts.

Sitting in straight lines of disorderly sequence,
they fit next to one another,
a feather long gamut between each.
A different flock, each day
and Sunday seemed their favorite of the lot.

One would fly away,
only to circle around and settle next to another.
Another would clumsily flap in protest,
though the order of the makeshift lines were taken much solemnly.

One or three would ash away,
the criminal phenomena of electricity was common a knowledge,
they'd complain of its ruthless deeds,
and yet settle on those black wires, indubitably.

Perhaps it was how the rest of us looked from above,
tiny, black and feeble stick figures;
running around doing things that were humorous to them,
they all fancy a good laugh,
our kind was a curious one to theirs.

They weren't wanton sadists,
neither were they reckless optimists.
They were fond of the sky that was intimate,
and Sundays, that favored clear skies.

So sit, they did,
and watched over us.
Flew away once in a while,
however absconded, rarely.

And so finally, the poetry block is over :) Hoorah.
-Nil.

Thank you for not making sense.

A pandemonium inside your bony skull and within your heart that's the size of your mere fist can some times, absolutely paralyze you and hold you still in the middle of a hot, working and busy day. The kind of day when even your subconscious mind should ideally turn dumb, deaf and blind; to ensure no manifestation of mindful disasters. Mindful, mind you; not mindless. 

Such a pandemonium usually means a lot of noise which only gets louder once you plug in your earphones, and every song almost sounds satiric, mocking to your misunderstood misery. 

But say thank you, for not making sense. After every file of obviousness that's been neatly stacked into your mind, and every little box tightly packed away into quiet corners of that coffer throbbing inside your chest.. after such achieved order, we often trash away the not so obvious which wasn't highlighted with a neon marker in the rationality of your mind or consideration of your heart. But often, those little eightysixed details end up actually being the full stops to years worth of bemusement. 

What happens when all those file are scattered on the floors of your mind which is used to being in an apple -pie order? What happens when all those little boxes are blown off their lids and all the four walls fall apart with everything inside meanders out?

Beautiful happens. 

Because all of a sudden, every orderly detail stands next to the ones that are not. And like trifling chipped ends of blue tiles, you connect the dots you thought that were already connected, only to form a completely new pattern, and you witness the same story you thought was over; from the same pair of eyes, except this time, with a sensible mind. 

Yes, I said sensible mind. For in all the chaos of nonsensical shenanigans in your head, all they did was form a nebula of affairs; from your mind, and from your heart. 

It gave you a chance to make sense, once again. 

- A much tranced out,
Nil. 

Untitled, for once.

Have you ever had that one stretch of uncounted hours when your mind shuts off to all the sense in the world, and you find yourself in a boat; a boat, in the middle of your mind. You can see the walls of your mind but all they ring of being cold air. The seams of the white in your eye have a tinge of red, your throat is chocked but you're biting your lip as hard as you can to not cry. You're a strong girl, strong girls don't cry. That's not what the world said, no. That's what you told yourself.
The little lamp of white light next to you gives you no comfort. If at all, it reminds you every minute that there is not a single door present in the valves of your mind, there are only walls; which do not even listen. No matter how much you speak aloud, you'll just bite your lips harder when your words ring back to you.

You don't understand this. You don't understand this confinement, you don't understand your mind. And you know; this too, shall pass; though this one sure is doing everything it can to make you ridicule a hopeful belief, such.

You're a strong girl, though. You're not going to cry.
Tell yourself that, just one more time. 


-Nil

Still alive who you love.

Origin of this post: 

It began with a quiet hum, almost like a silent conversation in the back of my mind. The hum was low and melodious, though abrupt and began out of nowhere, not a single origin was in sight. As the hum grew vociferous, a beat caught up, and some sense began to unwind from its slumber. As soon as I began understanding today, tomorrow ran in; as I tried to understand tomorrow, day after tapped its foot impatiently. So I decided to unlearn what I realized, and I decided to listen hard to the music which made no sense to me, at all. Though that music felt like a part of my world, and even though the melody grew into something stronger, that faint hum of abruptness didn't leave me. For that hum, was my discovery. 

The hum became an epiphany, it became a dream that should have been seen before, it became a possession  it became a performance... it became a masterpiece.
The song was never staged, though. It resonated much too often along the veins of my body which helped more revelations travel, than fluids. A feeling was the perpetual invader of my existence, irrespective of which one, but there always lived a feeling.

And perhaps, that is why a faint hum eventually turned into a marched progression of a sense of strangeness, though a strangeness with a twisted smile, the one that looks beautiful on a face.
And while I live on along with this strangeness and a constant hum that feels abrupt in all its glorious continuum,  my existence will resonate nothing but blessedness, for the beauty of discovery is such that the unfamiliar becomes and acquaintance, crony, and some strange day I shall realize; it's become a part of me, and its existence is seen, felt, and heard every time I sit alone on a quiet afternoon, feelin' blue..

For that hum was my discovery,
and for me, that hum was you. 


-A happy feelin'
Nil. 

I'm the baffled king.

Greetings to my readers from India, Russia, France, Ukraine, United States, United Kingdom, Thailand, Malaysia, Spain, Mexico and Jordan! (Well, according to my Blogger Stats for the day anyway.)
And a big, frantic hand wave to everybody out there who's reading this up right now. =)

Life's been pretty darn hectic. 8:50 am classes everyday in the morning have coerced me to sleep every walking talking minute when I have the time, that is. I get free from college soonly, but then I have society practices which are making me run up the wall, too. In between all of that, add in hour long metro rides to and fro, chills with homies, some sulking and some thing or the other that crops up eventually.
OH, and let's not forget the DUSU elections which have resulted in mobs of angry (not so much), young college students yelling their lungs and throats out onto the road and into our ears (ew, too visual?) and shoving pamphlets with a zillion candidate names into our mouth (well almost anyway) with the most formal smiles. (If that's even possible?)

Mostly, I have pretty good days, and I'm spared the horror of days such as today which by all means and in all practicality sucked monkey balls. By the end of the day, I almost crawled back home on all of my fours. I can't remember, it's all blurry, that memory... (Okay, over doing it.)
One of the   The only high point of my day was the brown package from Flipkart that was waiting for me at home, nicely sitting on my bed. I had ordered Mitch Albom's latest; The Time Keeper.
Thus, we all know who's my date tonight.
Look at him, isn't he preeeeeeedy? =)

cool purple specs win win, eh?

In other news, I got my first two assignments for this semester. Which means I should really stop treating my books like pillows and get crackin'.  -,-

This week is going to be tragic and awesome. Don't ask me why. Long story. Not blog material. And muchings of drafts saved up to (hopefully) be published soon. 

On a completely unrelated note, I've been craving to go out for a photoshoot. I can't decide on a place/ theme. Any suggestions? 

So yes. I think I'm done ranting here about the trivialities of my immodestly significant life. I shall cut you lovelies some slack and catch you here next week, with some fiction, perhaps =)

Good night, my date and a bowl of cereals be waiting. 

Much loving and wishful sighs for Cheesecake,

Nil.

BOO, stupid MOO.

I have always, always wanted to drive an auto. As in zoom away like a boss in full speed, y'know? Wear those cheap golden framed aviators with a wide ass grin and scoot around the city. And fixing the meter would give me cheap thrills of another kind altogether, I can literally feel it :D
An auto version of Crazy Taxi is what I have in mind (a slightly deranged version, actually) but you get the feel of it, right?  No? Not at all? Well, I'm just too cool to be understood so yeah, whatever.
Uhhuh, yah. That's right, I'm giving you attitude -,-

Obviously you've done the math by now and figured I'm in a sliiightly random mood. And no, it's not sugar. It's probably all the Pepsi binge drinking I've been doing. (Or as Zeebster puts it, high on Oxygen, yes.)
Anyway, so imagine this- I'm in my room, with pretty dim warm fairy lights, a good mood, absolutely killer playlist calling out to me and then the speakers decide to not work. Now, imagine one of those exasperated looking memes you find on the internet going "FFFUUUUUUUUUUU". Yes, that's how gawwjuz I look right now.
OH and Gawjuz reminds me- got a pre birthday gift from Chiki today. Insanely pretty freakishly long feather earrings. I'm slightly obsessed with how loud and downright crazy they look, so excuse me while I go shove a camera into my face and super glue my index finger to the shiny silver click button. Which reminds me, I've always wanted to own a Polaroid camera. And might I also mention, the sound that a camera makes after every click gives me the cheeeaappest thrills. (Some times when I'm bored, I put the camera on Sports Mode and run around the house. But you weren't supposed to know that, no. )
I have a lot of cheap thrills. And pet peeves. Did you know?
Irrelevant. Everything about this post is so irrelevant :D

OH. It fiiiinally rained :') I had the Yabba Dabba Doo face for about a whole minute when I saw them rain gods being generous. And did you know a 75 year old person will have slept 23 years? I want to eat a lot of carrots and see if I actually turn orange. And for all of you who drive- the average person spends about two weeks waiting for a traffic light to change [Now you look like that meme from the internet :D ]
Did you know it's impossible to lick your elbow? Or that if anybody ever calls you a twit, they're actually calling you a pregnant goldfish? (and now you'll imagine one- go ahead)
Oh, and 75% of the general population will try to lick their elbows after having read this. #Fact
TURTLES CAN BREATHE THROUGH THEIR BUTTS.

Must.Stop.Now.
I've just been having consecutive good days, OKAY? sheesh, stop judging me. Pfffft. Go JUDGE COWS. They're weird as fuck. Big. White. And they always chew. And they MOO. Who moos? I mean why MOO? Say it out loud- MOO- it doesn't even make sense.
Stoooopid intimidating animals who can't be led downstairs once they're up.
MOO.

And if you're still reading this, you're obviously equally jobless (and a very cool person.) I'll get along with you just fine.

I'll go watch Youtube videos on the Hula and try to copy them. And air guitar to GnR (that's another secret-ish cheap thrill of mine that I encourage.)
Bye you guys.

Did you know-- ?

Ok, just bye.
-Nil.

Popkinz Poptarts.

I work under pressure, I've realized. I have a dance recital in less than a week and I decide to even consider working on it when I get a call from one of the organizers who casually mentioned the dress rehearsal is on 16th. A Hiroshima Nagasaki happened in my brain, considering I didn't even know the name of the second solo I was to work on. So yeah, finally when I figured I was screwed did I manage to finish one part of it, in an hour and a half. Hell yes. And then I turned into an overconfident areshoool, so I left it at that. And well, tomorrow's the dress rehearsal. And. Well, lets just say I don't even know the other song by heart let alone remember and dance to it. So for the next two hours (or more), I plan to work my rear bones off till the choreography stands at a respectable place. And I think I'm going to be a work-o-holic, once I start working. Irrelevant.
Now playing: Forgotten Dreams.

In other news, I won 2nd place in the 27th Blog-a-ton that I participated in! I got a fancy cyber Silver batom and everything =P But thanks you guys, who voted. Awfully kind, I say. I be so thrilled. Free cyber martinis for you guys, as always =)
And to add a tiara, thank you Bumble Bee for the lovely blog award! Much too niceness you are, Bumblezz. =)

My tiny cousins were over last week. Went slightly berserk hitting the TV screen for no apparent reason with the 2 year old while the 8 year old spoke gibberish in the Garfield style into my ear. There was food flying around the house and the voice levels of tiny children were sure underestimated by everybody in general. It was a disturbing surprise. But aah well, cute kids. Slightly apeshit crazy, so I got along just fine.
Ye-p. That be them.

Other than, the weekend was. Well. A mess. Everything sucked monkey balls till yesterday, but Tuesday's been OK so far. Tomorrow's quite a day to reckon with; 16th! (Yess, I know you're reading, saxyface. Haaah, go stuuudy.)
So we'll save the chaos in my head for a rainy day. And for now, I shall take your leave, reader. It's time to give the overconfident douche in me some dance lessons. The next post...might be a photo update. There are a bunch of photographs I've clicked since January. So I was planning on some change from the fiction and my mindless rants.  Anyhoo, that's for later. Later, amigos.

Much amour,
Nil.

Mid week cry-sys(tem)

Playing now: Saibo.

Hello there Thursday people.. It's been one long and tiring week, and it virtually kills me to think it's not even over yet. But I ditched school today and slept till about lunch time, which hadn't happened in a long time. And now I feel drugged,because I just slept for 13 hours straight and I can't think right now.

But first things first- Weekend trip was fantastic. I was out in the heat practically all weekend, walking with my Jaipuri jootis hehh. I didn't have to reach out to my phone buzzing, because it was back in Delhi sleeping its happy butt off. I didn't read much,cause I do that a lot in Delhi.. and yeah well, I wasn't in a mood to read, for a change. I'm officially in love with Johri bazaar, holy hell that place is like wonderland for anyone who likes to shop junk, and Spice Court is the place.to.be if you like to eat good food. I saw an elephant from this close for the first time in my life. It creeped me initially, but hey it was pretty cute :P I sound like a retard so moving on.
  I ate like a pig, walked like a hippie, clicked like a lunatic, and wrote like a lover.
That pretty much sums up most of the weekend.

There are like, a zillion pictures. But I'll stick to a few to just get you the feel of the weekend :)

Stepping out of the weekend, the week was an equally crapped up week. Bullshit at school, there's a riot ladies and gentlemen. And obviously Delhi seems like such a curse after any vacation at all. Oh which reminds me, my plan of boycotting Delhi this summer is finally coming true :) The whole of June, I'm off to Calcutta, and the trip is absolutely fixed. May....I'm still trying to work out.

There's this Spring Concert happening tomorrow, for which I was real eager to go. But looks like I can't.. I have my first round of exams startin' up this Monday :/

But then again, knowing me, I might just crash the concert for an hour anyway.. lets see. I hope you all come, I hear it's going to be fantastic. Details on Google/facebook.

Anyhow then you guys, I should make a move for lunch now. I have an afternoon of Political Science awaiting me. Joy :|

So while you guys are at it, grab a quick mango shake. They're awesome during summers :)

Ciao World,

shall come back with maybe some fiction, next post :)

-Love and free vacations,

Nil.

Another blabber.

Good morning, Thursday people!
I know I promised to resume my train of fiction in the last post, but it's the middle of the week, I had an off from school, I just woke up, cranky as ever, and I want to blabber and rant. And so, I resign to my faithful blogspot and your tired ears.

This week.. has been eventful. Told you guys about the weekend. On the 12th, I went to IHC for the big horn festival where Hari and Sukhmani were playing. Heard these guys for the first time, although I've been stalking these guys on Youtube for a week now. They have good stuff. But I'm in love with their track "Boohey Barian". Please listen to it, and furthermore, google the lyrics. They're beautiful.. It's the only track that's been playing on my computer since three days. (It's the seventh time I'm listening to it now) yeah,I have OCD with this song. But it's just the lyrics that set me flying,and listening to this song live was.... I don't even know what. I went into a trance. IHC has some amazing memories, and it all hit like a heavy bolt. Anyhow, listen to the song you guys. It's amazing.
Here are some pictures of the show -

So all in all, I went for a gig after a looong time, and it was awesome. Now there's a dance recital coming up this 16th at Kamani- Prayog 3. Google it, and try n be there. It's going to be a fantastic evening of contemporary choreography :)

I have Saturday off,too. Ma and I were planning on doing a quick getaway to Jaipur, keep your fingers crossed. Which reminds me, she called half n hour back calling me for brunch. And I should get going now. I shall hog on brunch, read some, finish my econ notes (need inspiration.), and sleep again. And then go out, I don't know where though?

Oh oh and I changed the layout of my blog, as you guys must have noticed. I needed something new, and I guess this one's the best for my mood lately. I hope you guys like it? :)
Anyhow, the week's going to end in another day guys, so hang on to your jobs a tad more!
I promise the next posts shall be fiction updates, for sure.

So ciao for now,
as always,
Nil.