Sleepless Nights

It's 3AM and I lie wide awake. I can't get these damned thoughts out of my head. I shift restlessly on my bed. Drat! It's not even my bed. Some family friend staying at our house has occupied my room. I hate giving up my room.

3:30 now. No signs of sleep approaching. I get up and head to the kitchen to get myself a drink of water. I look around myself as I slowly sip the water. I'm in no hurry to get back to bed.

Everything around me looks the same as it did years ago. And yet, so much has changed in the lives of the occupants since then. I'm overcome by nostalgia as I remember the happier times I've spent in this house. Although maybe, the happiness I think I felt is just a construct of my mind. What I am sure of is that my heart could not have been this heavy back then.

As I trudge back to the bed-that's-not-mine, I remember times when I was definitely happier, nay, extremely happy. The four years I spent at the insti with my friends were perhaps the happiest of my life. The friendships that you form here last forever, they said. I let out a small laugh of derision in my mind. Not so naive, indeed.

I'm really just trying to avoid the deep sadness that threatens to engulf me. I close my eyes and firmly push away all thoughts. Maybe dreamland will be a happier place...

Overcoming Fears

It's been long, too long, since I last wrote here.

It started simply from not having anything to write about. And then there was too much to write about, and I knew not how. Then there were stages where I did not have time, or simply forgot of my blog. But since the longest time now, I've been afraid.

When in school, I was often commended for my writing. I did not think I deserved all the praise I got, but I could not help feeling a sense of pride in all the essays and letters sent my way to proofread before the final submission. I knew I had near perfect grammar, a decent vocabulary, and that I wasn't entirely devoid of style.

Of course, this was more than 7 years ago. Since then, and especially of late, I've been exposed to some really good writing. By friends, acquaintances and strangers alike. Such admirable clarity of thought and expression, as to make me wonder if I could ever achieve half as much through my writing. And so I could not bring myself to write anymore.

Today, finally, I've plucked up the courage to get myself to sit down, and write. And I hope you won't see me next three years later with a post beginning with "It's been long, too long...".

A Lovely Morning

The sound of the rain outside the window. A cold water shower. The sting of the icy cold drops of water. Life creeping into your body bit by bit. A glass of hot milk.

The walk down to the lake. The haze of the morning sky. The quacking of the ducks and the chirping of the birds. The aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wafting through the air by the guest house.

The bench by the lake. The mild breeze in the air. The stillness of the lake reflecting the trees. The colours of the flowers brightened by the rain. A smile and a good morning wish by an absolute stranger. A book to read.

A perfectly lovely morning.

What Goes Around Comes Back Around...

Following the laws of nature, life always completes a full circle. What goes around, comes back around... Sometime or the other, life catches up on you. Its clutches are inescapable. Though I have to admit, it teaches well.

Of late, I have noticed, life always places you on both the sides of a situation. The wounder becomes the wounded; the cheater becomes the cheated; the gainer, the loser. The person involved may be different, the times, the conditions varied. The emotions, however, of the people involved, though may differ in intensity, but in essence, do not change.

The teaching pattern differs. Sometimes, you are given the test first, and then taught the lesson, and sometimes, it is the other way round. You are however, taught every lesson and have to face every test, eventually. Like I said, life teaches well.

The End... or is it?

As children, we are all protected from the cruelty and finality that is death. If all death has ever meant to you is grown-ups dressing up in white and disappearing for an hour or two, it comes as a bit of a shock when you are forced to deal with another aspect of it - the non-existance of the person. And the reality check is even harder when it comes in the face of your mother's death. So much so, that my mind decided to not deal with it.

At seventeen, as my mom's death caused the world around me to change, it suddenly became infinitely easy to believe in a heaven. Infact, it became pretty much impossible to disbelieve in it. There seemed something intrinsically wrong about a world in which she did not exist. She had to be out there, somewhere. She has to be.

It cannot be the end.

Growing Up

Yesterday, while visiting my nani, or moti mummy, as we call her, me and my sister were recollecting the days we'd spent there years ago. Having spent almost half my vacations during school days there, I have a sursprisingly few memories of those times. However, thinking back, whatever few memories I do have, have a cheerful and a carefree edge to them.

I clearly remember days on which our sole aim used to collecting little white flowers from the nearby garden and making a garland of them. Then there were times we used to invent crazy games and spend hours playing them. Each day started with a new, fresh agenda and all our life thoughts were limited to those few hours.

I try and compare those past times to these current ones. Doing things just for the sake of doing them, without caring about their usefulness, not having to think about the important things in life; these seem like a long lost art. I wish I could live life like that again, without any cares in the world.

But I guess that's the thing about growing up, you can't be a child anymore...

A Unique Me

I used to think of myself as a typecasted person. When I first thought of starting this blog, the first thing that occured to me was, "Why will my blog be any different? What will be novel about my writing? What if my thoughts are cliched and opinions uninteresting?"

But then, I realized that no one has had the same experiences as I have, no one has thought of things the same way as me, met the same people as I have or gone through life the same way as me. So it is impossible that I do not have anything new to tell the world. There have to be stories untold that I have to relate, thoughts that no one has thought of before, or expressed before that I may express. Every moment in my nineteen years of life, every thought I've ever had define me, make me the person I am.

I am not a type. I cannot be replaced by anyone. I am, a unique me...