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. 

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. 

A tall glass of water.

She spoke much fondly of bees, she often cackled to the buzz and drew yellow and black ones on her palms. Uninterrupted would be the curled strand of lock that played high and low tides on the left side of her face, while her long legs escorted wild thoughts with the pace she sauntered at, in and around the world.
Her bifocals were just as much a part of her face as her arched eyebrows; as sure as the tip of her illustrated nose; which always reached a destination a second before the rest of her chassis.
She often let daylight lick her like a cone of strawberry and vanilla. One would oft see her sitting unusually away from most people; soaking the dissonant sun with her long legs stretched and her face separated from the sun by the blinds of her eyes. She peeked with an eye open, once in a while.

To every one who raised an eyebrow at her vicissitude way of life, she'd say "Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side." in Lou Reed's deep voice, and leave just the way she entered; like a whirlwind.
Apart from the 3 fingers on each hand with questionable rings, the other two would mostly be drawn on by neon highlighters. Her obsession with patterns left an impression not only on her apparels but on the bellies she wore which some times had little metallic balls  filed lines or curly circles doodled on them. Every mote of her existence had an ethereal and evanescent element on its toes, and yet she was as real as her loud Aztec leggings or the little ball of silver on the right side of her nose.

She was a strange girl in a stranger world. Everything bizarre was another route to happiness, every print on a cloth was something she'd have to doodle on her wrist that very afternoon and every page of a book was a paper plane with a lot of words on it. Interesting, she thought.
Interesting, she thought. She stopped the world in her head, stretched her long legs on the floor and spoke to the sun.

- Nil. 

Oh the unspeakable things.

"Oh if you knew what it meant to me,

Anywhere but here."

Hello, World.

It's already the 12th day of the year and not only has everything been racing its pace but I've been running along. College has been immodestly demanding of my time, starting 8:40 am morning classes to theater and Acapella rehearsals after college. By the time I'm home, I'm dead. I have no will or energy to argue or agree. I just like to retire to my space; a quiet dimly lit room, some good music and my laptop.

2013 is going to be the torch bearer of interesting events. The first two weeks have already proven my theory and thus, turned facts it is. But anyhoo, music has been keeping me sane. Lots and lots of music which I listen to, which makes sense and I keep all that sense bottled up inside me and try my best to not blurt it out to the world. Cause it'll only make sense as long as it stays with me. Most things turns unnecessary, as soon as they're peeled by the world, eh?

Book I'm currently binging on- My Friend Leonard.

Random winter-y picture from this week.

So the next few weeks are going to be crazy busy. The next ten days have lunatic hours of society practices, followed by the Lit Fest which I hope to head for this year, for sure. And then we have Comic Con coming up, for which, might I add, yours truly shall be volunteering. Should be fun. Free comics, goodies and friends to run around with. Works fine for me, for now. (OH, and free fruit beer. Jussayiiin'.)










 I'm currently obsessing over this song. It makes so much sense that it's pretty much overwhelming, to say the least. It's just the kind of mood I've been in, and it's just what's been in my head. It's almost like I spelled out everything I couldn't figure out to someone, and she made the song for me. Just like that. There y'go.
So yes, I've been shaking my head all evening and will continue doing so for the rest of the night about how a song can make so much sense. At the oddest time and in the oddest way. But then again, that's what songs do. They make you sing along, and I'm singing along, alright. Give it a shot, it may make sense to you, too.

(Courtesy: Vanta.)

So hopefully, there's going to be some fiction coming our way. I've been slightly stuck with a godzillion stories in my head and yet having a brain freeze when I get down to typing it out. Hopefully with it being Sunday today and me catching up on what I compromise on such nocturnal hours, I'll be able to come up with some more fiction labels. But first; sleep.

Good night, or good morning.
Much loving,
ole 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 have a lot to say.

Greetings, World. 
This is one of the I Have A Lot To Say series. I wouldn't call this post completely fictitious, it's a...different style of writing that I attempted, to free my head of certain epiphanies and visions that were rather vociferous. This post was inspired by a random photo of a lazy cat that came and cuddled next to my foot and I clicked a picture of. Just like the other post of this series, the following is somewhat a cornucopia of strings of thoughts, that came in one after the other while I was in the strangest mood, and I never stopped. It does not follow any order, nor do the tenses. It may not make sense, due to the drastic transitions of odd imagery. But it's raw and unedited.
That should be intriguing enough.

______________________________________________________________________

The lazy cat looked like she knew what she was doing. There was not a hint of abashment or fear as she kept slumping her hilt on a new spot every time the bedeviled waiter shooed her away, making strange noises. At another corner of the world, a boy sat down ridiculing how people phrase regions of the world as 'corners' when none actually exist, when there isn't a literal end to the world, and how in reality, we're all naive early men within who comfort themselves with ancient, impractical thesis. At that very moment, a stand up comedian in your home town makes a cat's purr the butt of his pun and a blink later, the lazy cat stirs next to your foot. While you distract yourself from the utterly boring conversation the lady ahead has to offer, you look down and the cat looks up. And right at that very second, the stand up comedian forgets his punch line.

A gypsy woman recites her burglary around the world to a six year old boy, while her scarf hides the source of her dreamy voice. A caravan stops eight stops early to pick her up and away it went, puffing smoke from its choking rear. 

Mars decided to shine a brighter blood red, and that simple celestial decision made an old man very happy. He smiled a weak smile that peeped brighter from behind his half moon spectacles.. He particularly missed his dead wife, tonight. 

While such preoccupations worried the world, the cat purred next to my foot. And when the waiter came to shoo it off yet again, it picked it's hind up and settled on the foot of another distracted conversationalist. The lazy cat looked like she knew just what she was doing. Unlike me. 

-Nil.

 

Dark Room.

Dark Room.

Let's play Dark Room,

where I try to find you,

with devoid cheating with the shadows,

or the Christmas lights that blink too often.

Let's play Dark Room,

let me find you. 

In this dark room of mine,

I find myself in the middle of a sunny day,

when the back of our shirts were wet,

and our throats parched,

from all the laughter that rang louder than the heat,

I find that day in my dark room, tonight. 

The corner of the bed,

oh, how innocent tonight? 

Useless air occupying space,

there aren't any green bottles standing drunk,

though I find your hiccups hanging in the air,

I find our drunk tales,

in my dark room, tonight. 

A poor blue shirt hangs on my chair,

since tonight you aren't complaining,

no complaints about its creaky legs to give away,

no complaints about a fall,

none tonight.

Though, I find the day you did,

I find that afternoon in my dark room. 

If walls could talk,

they'd be silent tonight, they'd weep instead.

They'd want to find every season,

every evening, and every dusk,

when you created a moment here,

in this room that's dark tonight,

Let's play Dark Room,

let me please find you. 

________________________________________________________________

Horrible after midnight mood swing. Kindly excuse the abruptness of such strange poetry but at ungodly hours  as such, the mind is usually not at command. Some times, all you need is just one moment. 

-Nil.

Fragile.

"Fragile." 
Your suitcase is going to have that sticker when you're at the airport, right? I want to be that sticker. I want to be a part of that suitcase that you packed from home, that has that book you kept asking me for but ended up buying instead, that has the orange shirt that has the cologne on from last night's farewell, that has the black bow tie I always wanted to see you in, and the little black diary of yours that's tucked away into a chain.

I want to be a part of that box of home that you're carrying to a new land. I want to sit next to you when you tap your foot impatiently, waiting for your flight to take off. You've been waiting too long to escape this place, haven't you? The ticket in your breast pocket was the one shot you needed, it turned out to be the one shot you finally got.
I want to be standing right there when you step out of the aircraft and see the new city for the first time, when your mind has no curfews and you're all set to run... I want to start running with you.
I want to be sitting across the table, when you have your first breakfast away from the round table with a red and white checkered table cloth back home.
I want to see you quietly put a letter you received a day back at the bed side drawer, I want to see you read it, again. I want to be the last full stop, on that letter.

I want to be each and every stamp on your passport. I want to be every single crinkled bus ticket that stays in the pockets of your jean. I want to count your change while you tip off the waiter at the cult cafes around the world, I want to share the binoculars you see through to see the horizon complementing your new terrace. I want to be the coin you toss in your first wishing well in Europe and I want to be the chop sticks you use so proficiently for Sushi.

I want to feel your pulse as each and every second becomes an experience.

However, I see the ends of your trousers flapping through the gust of air that comes in while you board the plane, and your suitcase goes away with you, while the Fragile sticker stays on with me.

-Nil.

(P.s- I promise and update post, next. I'll spare you the perpetual after-midnight- Fiction OD.)

Where do you go when you're lonely?

Do you walk on that one street with restaurants on the right, glowing a gorgeous warm yellow and buzzing with the clutter clatter of cutlery? 
Do you feel a little comforted when you see people from those big glass windows dining and toasting to company? 
Do you quickly hold on to the cap on your head, feeling the warmth of the wool and wait for it to breathe out cold air, just like you? Or do you blow out that very cold air into the chilly evening and pretend for it to be smoke, just so you're not alone, just so your mouth is in touch with something, if not words. 

Or do you switch on that old sitcom while it starts snowing outside and you're too scared to look at the white outside, to remember last winter..  
I've noticed how you never put out the Christmas cards on she shelf anymore. Don't they make you feel more at home? Don't they remind you of home? 

Where do you go when you're lonely? 
I've seen you get nervous even when your shadow follows.  
Do you go to the town's carnival, buy yourself cotton candy and eat it while your eyes descend to London's big eye and the time you took a tourist friend on it? Or the one time you had your first kiss in one of the cabins in it? 
Do you remember your old high school corridor? You never felt lonely when you walked on it, did you. 
More so, because you were too busy driving away her blues every morning. 
You often wonder about her.. She still wishes you went to college together, in the same city. Even though it's been so many years to those times.. But  yes, you both still do think of each other. You hope so.. 

I've seen you walk into one of the big games with a single ticket too, at times. I've seen you keep quiet while the whole stadium went wild. 
I've seen you sitting in movie theaters, half listening to the dialogues and half smiling over youthful shenanigans in the theaters back home, with her. 

Doesn't everything about this new city remind you of those times? 
Every street is different from the ones back home, and yet you can see the same things happen at every corner, at every cafe, every colorful door on the white walls. 
She loved colors, didn't she? She also loved long walks... long walks, with you.  

So where do you go when you're lonely?
Somewhere.. where you hope she follows you?
Haven't you both... just been following each other all this while, sweetheart?  
______________________________________________________________________________

The inspiration to this post :

So yeah, I promised some fiction... Sorry about the abstractness of this piece but aah well, Rem sent me this version of When Stars Go Blue, and I just wrote ahead with a smile. It's alright if you felt a little lost... This post was a little cuckoo in the head, and even more in the heart :) Much loving, Nil. 

If irony were a hint, I'd be in trouble.

It's been a strange night, not a quiet one in particular, not a silent night. A usual night, with every prerequisite element of normalcy. Except an epiphany; 


If irony were a hint, I'd be in trouble. 


What do you do when a realization of sort awaits you, like a person walking quietly to your door and is about to knock; what do you do when that realization is something you'd want to be hit with later, in future, in good time and when you're a few more days older?
That realization's waiting outside, it's presence has been realized by you, for you can see the hovering shadow of its dense existence outside the door of your acceptance. 
You've had thousands of people nudge you, to think, to consider; some even spelled it out for you-- but you let it go. Why? Because the subject of that realization had dismissed its rationality. It's proof. It's...being.
And you let it go, you asked a valid fact to scoot away, so life would be easy and pleasant for the two of you, without troublesome shenanigans and you'd still be at that safe harbor, with nothing to risk, and everything gained. Almost, every thing gained.


Now, what do you do.....when the very subject of that realization nudges you to rewind and realize in the past, but doesn't ask you to alter the present and yet promises a future?


What do you do, when the only answer whispered through that door is simple; What is meant to be, will be...
While somebody, is waiting, beyond that door?

-Nil. 

Fearless.

This was a long due post. Something that's been pent up. Gone through over and over again within me, with some nights as silent as a funeral, some days that were brighter than sunshine.
It's the thought of being fearless.
This isn't fiction. This is an honest confession. To who? I don't know. Not to the world. Not to myself. But I.. have changed.
Over the past two months, life's been nothing close to usual. It's been a ride, of the worst stuff and the weirdest of epiphanies. I've been really loud and a vocal person, but I seemed to have sobered down over the last few months. Things happened. Situations changed. And I chose. I chose a lot of things, a lot of ways, a lot of things that I might have ignored before. But, somewhere, deep down, I know a lot in me has changed,too.
I wouldn't say there's an absence of fear in me. But I find something greater in me than that today. I have the strength to walk ahead, aware of things that might hit me hard on the way. This isn't anything new to the world, I bet you've read tonnes of articles of people around the globe about these epiphanies. But to me.... it is something new. Nascent, in a very fragile sense that touched my mind tonight, and was brewing in my heart for a while.
I'm not scared of getting lost anymore. Because I know I can find my way back. The world isn't as hostile as we think, at the end of the day, we all suffer from the same insecurities and grievances. They just come in different forms, to different people.

I'm not scared of people walking out of my life. I'm not scared of losing out on people. It's alright. I'm not scared of losing my place to another person in  any body's life. I'm not scared of not being missed. I'm not scared of facing facts as they are.
Cause I've figured it's alright. It's really alright. 
If you're needed in a person's life, that person will fight to death to get you back. Otherwise, deal with the fucking fact that you're not required.
Try to understand that you deserve more, and really, learn to echo the thoughts- Screw this shit. I've had enough.


My father told me a few weeks back, "This is just the beginning sweetheart". And I could see it hurt him to say that to his daughter who he never wanted to see grow up into a lady. He wants me to be a kid, he doesn't want things to change.
But he also knew that I'd grown up. Grown up just enough to smile to his words and nod in honest agreement.

Something has grown up in me. I feel fearless. Maybe it's just one of those nights when you rant on to the billion fights going on within you.....but maybe not.
Maybe, I've learnt to see what I deserve and what I don't.

And just maybe, this confession will stay in me, for the times to come.

"Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for."
-Bob Marley













-Nil.