Mistletoes and Morphine - 3

Part 3.

P.S. Part two is the post below this one.

She drifted across the asphalt and braked right opposite the Christmas tree at Westminster Abbey. It was 11:50, and the interiors of the church glistened with the Christmas mood. She walked up to the Christmas tree, and a wave of nostalgia washed over her face as she saw him standing under the pale light, doing nothing but staring at the tip of the tree with a certain familiarity. His clothes were ravaged, his face sullen, but she couldn't help thinking he was sparkling under the warm lighting the tree bore. She paced forward and stood next to him, and her eyes met where he was looking.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked. "Just the way it was 4 years back. Just the way it has been all these years".

She lowered her head down, guilt building up inside her.

"I never forgot the look on your face, you know", he continued as he turned towards her. "I could tell you were lying to me".

She turned towards him. Her eyes started tearing up. She couldn't keep it in anymore. She sank her face into his chest and started sobbing. He held her tight, afraid to let go. He couldn't afford losing her again. Finally, he gripped her arms and held her up. The proximity between their lips increased, and before they knew it, they were kissing. He held her by the waist and they looked up to the tip of the tree, which was now glowing brighter. They started waltzing to the sound of the carols which filled the atmosphere, her head placed on his shoulders.
"Don't run away next time, please?" he said, as he brushed her hair away from her face, and kissed her on the forehead".
"Never", she confirmed. 
He took two small bells attached to withered leaves of a Mistletoe and placed it in her hands. Her face was then a barrage of mixed emotions. Confusion, awe, reminiscence...comfort. Those were the same bells they'd lost into the river Thames 5 years back. She remembered him jumping in and trying to find it, but to no avail. It's like he knew this day was coming. Her eyes teared up again as she looked into his eyes. It struck midnight, and they kissed again, waltzing swiftly as the melody of the carols became more prominent in the air,

and it was the best Christmas ever..

Mistletoes and Morphine - 2

P.S. The first part is the post below this one.

Part 2.

She sat there alone. Staring out of her balcony which overlooked acres of plush lawns of hazed grass, all she saw were the starry night skies. She wondered if he was looking at the sky at this very moment, thinking about her. Two to three miles away, she could see the streets of Buena Park bustling with activity. She wanted to be there amidst the joyous people, amidst the Christmas air. She wanted to be there with him. She turned her gaze around, inside the room and onto the bed, where her fiance lay in his unperturbed slumber. He had given her this gigantic mansion and the elegant jewellery. He'd given her a healthy lifestyle and a Rolls  Royce to drive around in. But he'd taken away her life. He'd taken away all those joys and cheers. He'd taken away her smile. She looked back outside, and with Christmas being barely two hours away, she couldn't help but reminisce her time with him 4 years back..
'She was standing at the Christmas tree at Westminster Abbey. He was late. She paced back and forth, the nervousness and anxiety taking over by the second. He could be here any moment. Finally, she got a glimpse of him, cheerful as ever. He was waddling his way through the crowd with an enormous grin on his face. Such a charmer, she thought. He came and he pecked her on the lips.
"I need to tell you something", she said.
"Well, I'm here. Go ahead", he blurted.
So she did. She told him she couldn't be here any more. She told him that she'd had it with him, and that she'd found someone else. That she was moving out of here and leaving this place. Forever. She didn't dare look at him, and she didn't dare tell him the truth. It seemed to be more painful for some reason. After she was done, she looked up at him. He was on the verge of tears, with a strange kind of anger filling his eyes. She had to try so hard to not break down, to not fall into his chest and sob for having to lie to him. But she stayed strong and started walking away.
"Every year from this year on, I will wait for you at this same Christmas tree at midnight. Every year", he finally spurted out.
And that's all he said. No farewell. No goodbyes. She looked at him one last time before getting into her car, and she drove off'.
She plummeted back into reality with tears in her eyes. She couldn't take this any more. She still loved him, and after 4 years, she wan't letting this Christmas go a waste too. She stormed out of the manor, got into the Rolls Royce and sped away, Westminster being her destination..

P.S. Next part shall be posted in two days.

Mistletoes and Morphine - 1

Part 1.

          He was devastated. He sat there alone at Bursley's, sipping on his pint. He could see the people around celebrating with big jugs of beer and enormous smiles on their faces. A group sitting at a table not far from him were reminiscing their previous Christmas and how they spiked this guy's drink before locking him in the women's washroom. Another group of two guys sitting a few yards on his left spoke of their encounter with the hookers, one of whom turned out to be...well, nevermind. He smirked. He tried to think of what he did for Christmas last year; Well, nothing different. He'd spent the night at Bursley's after he'd encountered sheer disappointment at Westminster Abbey. But what was he doing there? He didn't want to reawaken those memories. Capering back into reality, he finished the pint. "Give me the best you have. And make it a double", he told the bartender. "Rough night, eh?" he asked. "You bet", he said. Christmas was two hours away. He gulped the drink down and stormed out. Waddling through the streets of central London, he saw a  couple making out towards his left. He walked a little faster. He hated Christmas. He hated this joyous air which filled the streets. Rejoicing it made him feel like he was a part of this colossal facade which sought no reality. By the time he reached Westminster Abbey, he could barely stand. The alcohol got the better of him. His head groggy, he looked up, beyond the 30-feet tall Christmas tree which was blazing with colours and Christmas decor, at the night sky filled with stars forming infinite constellations. He lost his will over his body, his head hit the ground. "At least I have you in my dreams", he muttered, and he passed out..

P.S. The next part shall be posted in two days.

Ray of Light.

It was another stodgy day. I woke up. Amidst the daily morning routine, I looked at myself in the mirror, the beads of water trickling down my face. Staring into those intense eyes, I wondered what this day had in store for me. The weather was intriguing, so I decided to go out to grab a few nice pictures. After contenting myself with an ample number of pictures, I thought to myself that going to the local garden by the shore would be a good idea. Fan of solitude, after all. It was six in the morning, and the dew brushed against my face while I closed my eyes and sat there, thinking..
I have everything to get through the day without any complaints. I have caring parents, and a sister who, as despicable as she is, is always there to cover up for me. Friends, who are there when you need to call that girl a bitch along with the times you're smoking up(Obviously). And of course, that one person you run to when all else in the world has failed you. So I asked myself, "Why complain?". Why do I need to ask for more? All I do is whine about what a miserable life I have, pushing all people away. I forget about everything when it comes to those stupid little wants which remain nothing but wants. So today, I choose to look at the brighter side of life. For once, I decide that optimism is a better pick than complaining.

I believe in that ray of light in the dark. Do you?

The Pseudocopulatory Experience.

"Fuck you", she exclaimed. "Bandra is so full o-".
Okay, save that for later. Now I'll tell you what happened around two minutes before that.
So I walk into my friend's room, and it's like this Charlie-Sheen-emulation factory. There were around 10 of them smoking and drinking. Hell, I would've mistaken them for junkies, but I knew better. Some of them were my friends. A cigarette in one hand, an unusual concoction of rum, water, Thums Up and ash in the other, and their mouths full of figurative shit. Yes, some friends I have. There were these three girls though, who I didn't know. After my friend introduced me to them, I gagged at the last name. It wasn't disgusting or weird or anything, but I loved that name. And coming across it like this...well, it was unexpected. "Excuse me?" she said, her face puzzled with an egoistic edge. "Haha, I don't mean bad. It's just that I've never come across that name", I said. She smiled. It was brilliant. It looked amazing anyway, but her bigger-than-usual nose made her look cuter. And to give you an idea of where I'm going with this, she had straight hair. "So where do you live?" I asked. Before any further details, let me let you know that when you live in Bandra, you develop a certain complex sometimes. I'm a happy victim of it. "Andheri", she answered, and I gagged again. Fuck me, right? (I have this habit of having fucked up first impressions. Ask Renelle.) This time she didn't take it too well, and the argument began:
"-f shit! You think you people are cooler than the rest". "Fine", I snapped, "Spell Andheri". "A-N-D-H-E-R-I", she spelt out. "How do you know it so well?", I asked her. "I live there", she said. "Exactly", I muttered. The surrounding silenced itself, and you would've ran if you saw the look on her face. "Also, we have Celebrate Bandra. Do you'll have a 'Celebrate Andheri'? I don't think so", I said like a jackass, to make things worse. There was like this long, silent drum-roll which was expecting a climax. And instead of abusing, she neutralised her expression and smiled again. A smile that took all the logic and reasoning away. A smile, that made me drop her home later on that night. A smile, that made me fall for her.

And then I woke up.
 

Missing.

"I'll make you proud, Dad", his final words were before he left town for his engineering course in Australia. It'd been almost five years now, and yet that memory was as fresh as anything in my senile mind. He reflected an aura of plush power, like he'd been gifted to the world as my custodian. As I sipped on my green lemon tea, an air of comfort just wafted through my senses.I was going to meet my son today. I walked out onto the patio and looked at the maple tree resting so soulfully in the garden, and my mind couldn't help but slip back 15 years into reminiscence..

He was just seven, tender as the inners of a ripe coconut. "I'm going to plant this seed in here and watch it grow throughout my life, Dada". I couldn't help but smile at the young mind, so ignorant to all the harms this world bears outside the four walls treading on it's conspicuity. "You need to remember, son, that it is your responsibility now to water this seedling everyday, and to take care of it". I remember him nodding like a madman as he ran back into the house.

A wild ring of the telephone hauled me back into reality. I walked towards it, thinking to myself "Yes, son. Finally. It's been a long time". A small part of me was dying to see the ecstatic grin he always possessed. As I pressed the receiver against my ear, a cold voice filled me up with grimace.

He had been the victim of the Shiv Sena rebellions.

                                                                                                 -Aditya Pal, a man who has just his words and memories as a remainder of his son.

The Church Of Illumination.

'His fingers went numb. She knew his weakness. The hilt of his dagger felt cold against his fingers.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "There's nothing in it for you".

"Stop being naive, my child. Your ignorance never failed to amuse me" she said. Her voice had a metallic edge to it. It sounded so distant, like it was resonating from a cavern deep inside her. "Now, now, my child, you have something of mine. Give it back to me. Now."

"Come and take it yourself. I'm not afraid of you." he said, with an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

She smirked. Her red eyes glistened under the moonlight filling the cavern through the cavities. He could feel the amulet against her chest growing warmer and impatient by the moment. If only he could get it off...

"Stultus Filii Christe”, she mused, and charged towards him, her Chrysaor in hand.

The aftermath was a blur. She ran at him, but he side-stepped and dodged the strike. He lashed at her with his Sica, but she long anticipated the move. She dodged, rolling to the side with breath-taking agility, and smashed the hilt of her sword in his stomach. He gagged, stepping back and coughing. He could see that the radiance of the amulet was consuming her as the seconds went by. He charged at her, hoping to crush the amulet with the hilt of his dagger. She tackled him after deceiving him with her sword, and he hit the ground. She’d left a cut on his hand with her poisoned Chrysaor, and he could feel his mortal soul draining out with the blood. Poison crept through his hands, and he knew he had no more than a few seconds. Yellow spots danced in his eyes.

She noticed his distress. “Prognati” she mused. “I told you there’s no winning against me, my child. You could've proved to be a worthy pawn. It’s a shame that I have to kill you. It breaks my heart.”

“You don’t have one” he spurted out. “You’re as despicable as your patron. He should've let it go when he could.”

“Now, my child, I’d watch my words if I were you. Wouldn't want this lovely vessel I'm in getting hurt, would we? And your helpless mother, of course”, she glanced at the table. The amulet’s energy had taken over.

He managed to stand up. 

“Fine”, he said. He lifted the Holy Cross he was wearing around his neck, and her expression went grim. Realization dawned on her face, but she knew she couldn't stop him now.

“You wouldn't do that” she said, horror building up inside her. “I have your mother”.

He knew it was too late. He looked at his mother one last time, who was chained to the table, groaning and unconscious. 

“Forgive me, Ma” he said, as a tear rolled down his cheek. He lifted the Cross, which was now filling the cavern with blinding light.

“Emundat anima nostra, oh Christi. Salutari Nostro” he cried out, as he pressed the Cross to his forehead, closing his eyes. He concentrated on all the good times he had spent with his mother. All the times she simplified the Bible into understandable stories, the times she taught him all the revelations while saying “You’ll face it, one day”. Now he understood what his mother meant. He channelled his anger and grief into the cross, as the demon started wailing inside Prim’s body. The cavern started rumbling, chunks of roof falling everywhere, as he chanted the same phrase over and over. The demon started screaming on top of her voice, but the scream was overcome by the sound of the destruction. The cavern collapsed.’

                                                                      -Page 72,73. The Church Of Illumination.

Yes, the secrets have been unravelled.

October Diaries.

24th October, 2012.

It started off with this stare she held, when she walked into the party where we first met. Of course, things were different back then, and I was quite mesmerised with the aura she reflected when she spoke with such zeal. I really didn't care much, though, but after a while she walked up to me and said "Hi! I think I've seen you somewhere". Being the guy I am, I started talking to her. Bit by bit, day by day, the proximity increased. I realised she was an extrovert, and a brilliant person. Was a writer, was quite smart, and of course, quite the nerd. She was that one person a guy could openly speak to when the rest of the girls on this planet were a little too PMS-y. We grew closer, and a few months later, since we shared similar career goals, landed up in the same medical college. She was never my closest friend, but she was just there. Always. We shared this perpetual similarity, and it was only her I could say whatever I wanted with. Our conversations went on from relationships-are-repulsive to That-corpse-was-reeking-worse-than-my-grandmom's-shampoo. And despite the fact that she bares the name of this candy I used to hate as a kid, I still love her.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Tiffany D'souza.

Blind Faith.

The phone goes crazy as it starts beeping in her ears. She gains her consciousness, a little annoyed, as her hands struggle to find the phone and put it out of its misery. As she sits up, she joins her hands and murmurs the words out. "Oh Lord, thank you for this blessed morning and the warm summer breeze. I hope you bring elation and fulfil my wish of living to see the next day." She crawls out of bed and waddles her way to the washroom.

"Breakfast is ready, Laura!" a woman calls out. The toothbrush still in her mouth, Laura goes next to her and lets the aroma waft into her.

"Don't you get a little sick of making pancakes for me so often, aunt June?", Laura says as she's chewing it cheerfully on the table. Her aunt gives her a pleasant smile, but Laura doesn't see it.

"So Laura, have you considered it?", her aunt asks. Laura chucks the fork in the plate followed by a sigh of exasperation.

"Baby, I know it's been hard for you, but you need to understand that all this is being done to help you out. It's for your own good.", her aunt said.

"I've talked to you about this, aunt June. I am not going to anyone and I don't need any help", she said in a commanding tone.

Her aunt begins, "But Laur-", "I said I don't need help!", Laura cuts her off as her eyes are tearing up. "How many times do I have to tell you, aunt June? I don't want to go to anyone!" She yells, now crying. "You have no idea what it's like! And you never will! Never!".

Aunt June now says in a consoling tone, "But baby, I'm just doing what your mother thought would be bes-". "Stop trying to do what my mother would've done! You're not my mother!", Laura snaps.

She starts searching for anything that's within reach and starts throwing stuff around while bawling horridly. She storms towards her room and hurts her toe on the way by walking into the wall by mistake. She sits on her bed, crying. She looks up at the ceiling, "Why was this done to me? Did I really deserve this? My dreams are all I had, and those too are taken away from me." She sinks her head into her hands, and the memories come rushing through.

She was in her car with her parents. It was just six months ago and yet, it seemed like yesterday. An elated, immature, innocent girl, just wanting to have dreams. Just paint down everything that infatuated her. And so they went for a camping trip to the hills. "Where are we going, Dad?", she asked, while painting a picture of her with her family on a lush field of grass. "To Wonderland, dear. You can sit and paint there all day long.", he said, in a joyous manner. "While me and your Dad are just going to adore your artwork all day", said her mother in a chirpy way. The painting was almost done, but she'd left the eyes for the very end, as she believed capturing the right amount of emotions was the most important and the hardest thing to do. Just as she finished drawing their eyes, her dad took a look at it and started to improvise it himself. Almost done, he looked at the road, and that's where it all began. A huge carrier truck was now speeding towards them. Both of them swirled at the opposite sides of the road to avoid each other in a state of shock, but the lumber form the carrier truck made it's way through and crushed her parents after hitting her spine, rendering the car to turn over on the asphalt, leaving the three of them strewn on the road. She regained consciousness, but it was dark everywhere. She crawled up to her mother, following the sound of her murmurs. "B-baby, are you okay?", her mother spurted out. "I'm fine, mom. I'll get you out of this", she stammered. "Your parents love you, Laura. Never forget that." "Mom?", she asked with an edge of uncertainty in her voice. No response. Wanting to see her mother so bad, she struggled and rubbed her eyes. Nothing happened. Realisation dawned. The doctors say the wood damaged her optic nerve flowing through the spine.

This the story of Laura Black, who didn't even get a chance to see the lights go out of her mother's eyes.
This is the story of the girl whose eyes will remain undone in the painting she made. Forever.


P.S. This sort of thing could be the concept of a story. Reviews are needed.

What's on your mind?

Statuses. That's all Facebook is full of nowadays. And none of it makes sense. Even Mark Zuckerburg doesn't. It's supposed to be your 'status', but you will still be asked in the status dialogue box, "What's on your mind?". But I'm not really complaining here. I'm a part of it. And admit it, you cannot call it a day unless you see a few emo statuses with random letters capitalised and have emoticons flowing out of it's ass.
So I was just wasted one day, scrolling through my homepage and reading all the statuses which asked for my attention, and I just thought what it all would be like when we're old. Like, really old. Like, I'll-die-before-I-can-spell-old old. And I'm pretty sure the thinking of these people will remain the same. Now, of course, one of my close friends would be like "Eh. Didn't mention my son in my will. He called me uncool for wearing retarded shoes when I was young and when he heard that I cried after I got drunk. Twice. Who's laughing now? I need a smoke." While another one would be like "Just caught Qwerty fornicating with a cougar. He thought I was bed-ridden. Shmow! :P". While another one like, "I'd give away my life to spend another day with you. Whatever's left of it, anyway. Because my love for you is red. BURNING, BLAZING RED. <3" *cough-Renelle-cough*

I think I'll go now. Arsenal's playing. Bye.

The Identity.

I want to grow. Grow, and show the world that there's more to me than just this. I want to breathe. Breathe, beyond what these four walls of my home can understand. The mirror reflecting my inner self, I want to go out there and dent the universe. But I still find myself walking the sidewalks like a ghost, knowing nothing about the motive of this arid life that I live. What am I today? Am I a failure aspiring to be an achiever? Am I just another freak with different perceptions? Am I a writer striving so hard to make a nobody remember my name? I am all of these, but still none of these. Typing 'Who is Nasir Nawaaz?' in a search engine and finding nothing but networking dust and half-expecting a bomb squad to gatecrash my place, I think to myself, "When am I going to be something more than just a shadow?" But guess what? The question remains unanswered. And every day, just like the day before, I reach nowhere further than just a contemplative stage with my dreams. I want to end this inexplicable agony.

I want to find out who I am.

Tribute: Steve Jobs(24.02.1955-05.10.2012).

Gangnam Style.

AYYYEEEEEEE SEXYY LADIESSS!!(And guys, and not-so-sexy ladies)

So, here I am, to discuss a very serious issue with you. Since we all know what this is about, yes, the new Korean video. You know what I'm talking about[If you don't, you have no right to be on the internet. Get off, and go and cry in the corner because some Anonymous(Pun intended) guy insulted you]. There, at present, live only three types of people on this planet: 'Gangnam Style' haters(excluding Justin Bieber fans), 'Gangnam Style' haters(Justin Bieber fans) and 'Gangnam Style' addicts. Haha, I liked the way I insulted Justin Bieber right there. *Does the Oppa Gangnam Style dance*

Damn, this has become such an issue. I prefer doing the dance and reaching my destination instead of walking. I find it cool. But hey, don't judge me. I may be bad at dancing, but at least I'm not like my pal who started watching Korean porn once he saw the girl in the video. Apparently, the girl doing the dance turns him on. He finds it hard to walk after watching the video. Don't ask me how I know. For those of you who haven't watched the video and dispute being categorised as Justin Bieber fans, and the ones who love watching the video, here's a token of Korean sobriety :- www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0

Hell, never thought I'd be addicted to something Korean. I'll catch you later. Gotta resume to my Gangnam Style regime.

OPPA GANGNAM STYLE!!

Sins of the Forgotten.

Look there, and take a walk through the garden of life,
The one which is so withered,
Where the grass isn't green on either side,
Leaving your soul nothing but tethered.

The distaste surrounds you on all fours,
While the dark shadows lurk past,
You get a short glimpse at their faces,
And no longer does your sanity last.

You see the treachery on their faces remembering,
They left your insides painstakingly sparse,
You lie down there thinking helplessly,
How they turned your life into a farce.

You see your existence recaptured,
as the train of events passes by,
Miserable, you think, your life was,
but you're stronger than that, you don't cry.

Now wake up from that ugly reminiscence,
Scour your vulnerability to chide,
Look into that mirror of yours,
and find the dark passenger inside.

You.

You are where it all started. You are the homicidal maniac, and you are the victim. You are the corruption, and the people who give into it. You are the reason this world spends millions on the Moon, but renders the ones on Earth to be famished. You are who complains about a life being taken away, but doesn't scruple to take one himself. You are who brings light to this world, and you are who annihilates it. You are who is being educated, and you are who shows no signs of the same. You are the one who writes the elegies with the heart for the deceased, and you are who stands at the back, yawning, and waiting for the funeral to get over with. You are the one who wants to bring about the progress, change the world, and you are the one who's too weak for the same. You are the influencer, and you are the one who is influenced. You are what's wrong with the society. You are the grotesque face of mankind.

And you are the one who can prove me wrong.

You Deserve Better.

The clouds today lack the silver lining,
the weather so blackballed,
I look outside the window,
even the stodgy aridity has crawled.

I pick up my phone,
this weather conflicting my elated mood,
I wish I had a satirical disguise,
so that this unpleasantness I could elude.

I'm on my way to the station,
after you've confirmed it by calling,
thoughts tripping into my conscience,
thinking about my happiness you're hauling.

I stumble and fall along the way,
whilst my pocket drops the 100 dollar bill,
I can't find myself caring one bit,
we'll enjoy our ride to Nashville.

Distastefulness surrounds me as I enter the station,
I see the puzzled emotions on your face,
and at that moment I know I lost it all,
it's too late for me to embrace.

You drop a note in my hand,
watch you go, my heart needs a pace-setter.
I read the note and look at you,
The fuck does it mean, "You deserve better"?

Oblivion.

I was wrong. About humans. About their behaviour. About their emotions. They suck, I'd still like to believe that. But it isn't true. Despicable as they may be, there's something about them. The elation and the sorrows. The happiness and the depression. The smile and the tears. You don't need to be a genius to understand it. You just need to be...human.
I was introduced to a very heart-melting page by my friend. It consisted of several pictures taken by photographers around the world. It depicts human emotions at it's best. The joys and sorrows are captured inimitably, and, no doubt, the pictures are impeccable and priceless. It is, even for a cold bastard like me, hard to admit I'm inhuman after seeing the post. Have a heart, spare 5 minutes of your time, have a look at the pictures,

and plummet into oblivion.

http://www.themysteryworld.com/2012/06/40-of-most-powerful-photographs-ever.html

(Credits: Aishwarya Mondkar, someone a lot like me)

Udhti Parchaaiyan.

Kis tarah ki yeh khalish hai,
jo meri aankhein hain dikhaati.
Jab saath na ho tum mere,
koi cheez nahi mujhe lubhaati.

In hawaaon mein hai jo chubhan,
dil mein yeh na de sunaai,
Jaise kaale baadalon ki barsaat mein,
sehma panchee na de dikhaai.

Abh udh chalo us duniya mein,
par aasmaan mein tum apne bichaao.
Woh patthar jaise dil pe bharosa rakh kar,
zindagi tum apni rachao.


(For the Hindi poetry lovers)
Inspiration: Javed Akhtar.

Joker and the Thief.

Let go of that anger. Let go of that pain. Let go of that dejection that develops and grows inside you when someone breaks your heart. When things don't turn out the way you expected them to. When your hope is shattered, though diminutive. You want to, so desperately, destroy the agony it causes. So destroy the cause of the agony. Destroy your emotions. Emotions are for the weak. They make you vulnerable. So susceptible, to the malice intended by the society. Just how extremely sad are you when, for example, you break up when your love for the one held no boundaries and confinement? You feel like ending the agony and self-pity. So do it. Destroy your heart, before someone else does. Spit the anger and enmity out, because it shows nothing but vulnerability. Be a monster. A cold, heartless monster who everyone loves. Who's acceptable by the world even if he isn't. Who lives, even if he's dead. Be that one person, who no one and nothing can break. Take pride, when someone calls you weird. Calls you a freak of nature. At least you're nothing like the pitiful millions of them. Be cold, be heartless,

and put a smile on everybody's face.

That 70s Show.

I lived through one of the best days ever. Dark Knight Rises, of course. Bloody brilliant. The movie is at its best, and so is Christopher Nolan. And the post-climax gives birth to this faint hope inside me which indicates there's another movie going to be added in the chain. I hope it does. I liked Dark Knight better, though. It's probably the Joker effect. How I love the guy and his spontaneity. And just so that the fags who say Dark Knight Rises is better than Avengers know, it's not. Remind me who got a weekend opening of $207.6 million, yeah? And then rub it in your face yourself, 'cause I'll be busy counting the fucks I don't give.
And the fun doesn't just end there. I made friends with these two retards who came along for the movie. One of them loved the movie. Needless to say, she was the cooler one. The other one insulted the movie. And then she said something else. I didn't hear 'cause I was busy looking for my chainsaw which was crying to slice up a fresh head. Dammit, I couldn't find it. Good on her. But she's still fun. Both of them are. And then it all ended with the awesome Venky's Chicken 'n Cheese burger. Sumptuous thing it was. I feel uncool saying I like a Venky's product.
I don't even know why this post is named 'That 70s Show'. I guess I just love the show. It's hilarious. Go watch it. Bye.

Carnival Of Lust.

Imagine we're all living in a world where everyone is a song. No people. Just songs everywhere. Even your parents are songs. You're any song you like to be.
I was in a bus today, going to my college. And there she was, that sexy son of a gun. Burn It Down. Shit, I'm serious. You'd get a eargasm listening to it and earjaculate in your pants.
I'm in love with the song. There's no denying it. It's just bloody perfect. The beats, vocals, everything. And it's not just me who says this. Billboard does too.
When you download it or listen to it today, or whenever, just put your headphones on, and close your eyes. Don't do anything. Just think you're doing something. Make your mind think you're thinking. I don't know if you understand. But if you do, your mind will do anything with the song. And I'm not shitting you. Mine created a whole video in my head for the song. It was quite appropriate. Just saying. Bye. 

A Walk to Remember.

So it comes down to this day,
the word cannot be refuted.
The time you lived, up and running,
with God it shall be disputed.

It started, all, a year ago,
relishing our anniversary, you fainted.
In my arms, you had a painful smile,
I'd kill the Fates for what they'd painted.

Unconscious in your room,
the cancer relentlessly maturing.
It was hard to look right at you,
and imagine the pain you were enduring.

I didn't want you to stay alive with the pain,
but the medic wouldn't listen.
They kept you going till this day, now,
so that you, I wouldn't be missin'.

Your corpse scandalizing me in my thoughts,
I shake my head off of all the illusions.
While I'm holding your hand and comforting you,
the last thing I want are intrusions.

We walk the meadows and gardens outside,
you unexpectedly throw me a kiss.
You fall in my arms and bid your goodbyes,
I know this walk I'm going to miss.

Sympathy for the Devil.

And just as my blog strikes 666 hits, I feel different. Is it my mind? Is it something else? I don't know. Is it the detestable darkness inside of me which is showing itself? Is it all the Supernatural episodes I watched so passionately coming to life in my head? Probably not. That makes no sense.
Then what is it? Why do I feel so impure, yet so invulnerable? Why is my mind playing these cryptic whispers inside me? I have this urge to erase all the colours from my sight. I want it all to be shady and grotesque. I feel like watching an existence getting torn to shreds. I want anarchy. I want annihilation. Acres of land getting beleaguered, right in front of my eyes. I want people to run around, screaming for their lives, while they're muddling their way through the bloodbath the demons have caused. I want a fallen angel to guillotine all the creatures that exist. One by one. Slowly. Painfully.
But isn't that what you're doing? Isn't that what all humans are doing? You fight for everything. It's a cut-throat brawl for anything and everything. Whether it's the grades at your school/college, or for a fucking ticket at the train station. How many times have you exactly let it go if someone has taken a place in front of you in the line when you were waiting for a even a minute more than him? Have you? Ever? I doubt it. You're living in a world where you are the demons and the fallen angel who guillotines the creatures and causes a bloodbath. The same bloodbath, in this 'humane' world is the tears and dreams you and your fellow mates have shattered, of someone else's who deserves something more than you, but was too unfortunate to get it. I am one of them. But I'm speaking up. What about those who can't? You're bored by now, and you'll exit this blog, and get back to the gruesome world where humans are barely human. But have a heart. At least act as if you do. And let someone get in the line before you if they want to, for they may have something way more important to do. That person will thank you.
You're probably thinking it makes me socially unacceptable to portray my motive behind this post in such a sadistic manner. But I don't care. I was labelled 'socially unacceptable' long before this.

I just don't want you to be labelled the same.

You, Yourself, and the Mirror.

You've always been searching. Searching for a friend, girlfriend/boyfriend, whatever. Searching for someone who understands you, reads your thoughts before they're transformed into words. You call them your counter-part.
Did it ever occur to you, that you are your counter-part? That the one you're scouring the planet for, doesn't have to be in the shape of another being? You squander all your time searching for someone who doesn't run away, doesn't back off when he sees the abominable darkness inside of you. So what's the harm in believing that you are the same person? Does it make you feel lonely? Lonely is just a word. It's made by the people who failed to connect with their soul. There is no such thing as lonely. Tomorrow, when you wake up, start believing you're all you have. Start believing you don't need people to understand you, except for one. You. And see how the world around you changes. Don't rely on anyone to share your thoughts. Be strong enough to decide for yourself. And if you're unsure about what you're supposed to do, scour inside of you, instead of outside, to find someone who can help you. Look into the mirror, and instead of seeing the despicable being, change your perceptions and awe at the making of someone who is so similar to you. Let the essence of your soul course through your veins, to all parts of your beautiful being. Be in your body, not only in your head.

"Find ecstacy within yourself. It's not out there. It's in your innermost beauty. The one you are looking for is you. You just don't know it."
                                                                                                                    - Anonymous Outlet

Depths of Darkness.

Where would you stand, with all that might?

When it’s him who conquers, based on your fright.

Exhausted in bed, strewn by midnight,

That’s when he comes, and smothers you tight.

Yet in the morning, too unfortunate to be dead,

You still wake up, abandoning the bed.

Disinterest building, the words are said,

‘Good morning’, you say, with apathy you’re fed.

He prepares your obituary, while you conquer the world,

And lays out the master-plan, while the cappuccino is swirled.

Thoughts pacing through, you’re unwillingly quiet,

That’s when his plan ends, with you being obiit.

You’re about to sleep, and he shows up,

He relentlessly stifles you, you drop the coffee cup.

When it hits you, the nightmare, you wake up screaming,

‘Son of a bitch’, you say, and realise you were dreaming.

‘He’s gone’, you think, with your intestines frightened,

‘It’s my mind’, you say, with your senses enlightened.

You’re unaccompanied next night, ‘cause he’s preparing in his lair,

So that next time he can bring you a darker despair.

Fall.

Fall, if you think this life has nothing in store for you.
Fall, if you think you will never be able to make a dent in the universe.
Fall, if all that ever made you stronger was failure.
Fall, if all you ever cared about has turned to inconspicuous dust.
Fall, if you've thrown away everyone close to you.
Fall, if you believe the disdainful alter-ego in that broken mirror is the only one who understands you.
Fall, if the odious and despicable demons in the dark do not frighten you.
Fall, if the only voice speaking to you are the cryptic whispers unbearable to the world.
Fall, if elegies are the only melodies left in your life.
Fall, if you believe the light will incinerate your eyes if the clock ticks once more.
Fall, if you're repulsed by life and too unfortunate to be dead.
Fall. And don't expect to meet the end.

You don't want to..

The Man Who Thought Different.

I went to Crosswords today. Was bored as hell. And another thing. Sick of fiction. Crosswords usually has these 'Top 10' best-sellers in a section, mostly somewhere near the entrance. So I started browsing through the section, with a number of books hypothetically brawling for my attention. Most of them were biographies. Aamir Khan, Shahrukh Khan, Rahul Gandhi, Steve Jobs. Due to my recent oh-fuck-I-didn't-get-into-any-college hassle and because of my amblyopic vision of undetermined future, my Dad advised me to 'find myself'. "Don't let your soul rest", he said. "And for that", he said, "you'll need to read Biographies of people who have risen out of the grimy rubble". So I did just that. Actors' lives didn't interest me much, and I had no zeal for a politician. So I settled for Steve Jobs. I decided it'd be a good pick 'cause I didn't know much about the guy, anyway. So I opened the book. And as I read past the first word, I couldn't stop. An inspirational story of an adopted college drop-out, who loved to mortify people in public, simply because he believed whatever they did could've been done better. A vegetarian Buddhist, who travelled to India in search of enlightenment, but his restless soul didn't let him find any. So he went back, built the Macintosh to start with, and gradually changed the world. He used to go to conferences wearing nothing but boxers and slippers, for crying out loud. Guy had the balls. I'll give him that. But he was a fucking visionary. I didn't think the book would have such a significant influence on me, but it did. Some liquid dropped out of my eyes when I finished reading the book. No, bastards, I wasn't crying. It left me wondering, with just one question pondering restlessly in my mind, and which I'm asking you right now.

What have you done to make the world or anyone around you, remember you?

Step away, bitch.

Do you know what it feels like? To be stepped on, by each and every person in the world? Everyone just treats you like dung on the sidewalk. Hey, maybe you are the sidewalk. Who knows?
You help them cross the road of life and get to the safe side. You help them avoid the accidents which they would repent throughout their lives if it weren't for you. You show them the safe and secure path, helping them avoid the numerous hindrances destiny has laid out for them. You keep their family's hope of seeing their loved ones alive, each and every day. You keep them alive. And how do they repay you? They forget you the moment they're done with you and your help. They don't even know, hell, they don't even care if you cared for them. People are selfish. They use you, and throw you. Maybe they'll use you once again before throwing you,abandoning you, unaware of what you've done for them. They'll never look back at you. They never do. Don't judge me, man.

But being a footpath is not easy.

Credits: Nat.
(for implanting the idea in my head at the time when I was heedless to important things).

The Compelling Economy.

I have to take a big decision within the next 3 days. Whether I want to go abroad for further studies or not. My strongest inclination was always towards medical. Wanted to become a doctor. I got fed up a month before the CET and I screwed it up. Lost all my interest. I didn't feel I messed it up even after giving the exam. Thought I would get a hard 165, at least. So I didn't apply anywhere for those Commerce and Arts courses like BMS, BMM and all that other jazz. All was well till my CET results were declared. With a 118/200, I saw my inclination towards the field of Medical falling like how those monsters fall in that bottomless pit of Tartarus after being pulverized in Greek mythology. I was devastated. And out of nowhere, I wanted to get into Xavier's for BMS. It was a long shot, but I thought I had it. My entrance test was awesome too. That was my only back-up. I hadn't applied anywhere else, because I didn't want anywhere else. I didn't crack it. All the ICSE bastards got in. Rarely anyone from HSC under the General category. My hopes were shattered. I had nothing to do. I have nothing to do. Waiting for my re-evaluated marksheet to make a splendid appearance, banking on it to throw me a delightful surprise in the midst of all the disappointment and despair, I saw only one option remaining. Going abroad. Just doing my MBBS there, getting a bitch-has-done-his-medical-abroad-hence-I-want-him-in-my-hospital hashtag, and settling forever, with a sorted life. I even have my parents supporting me on this idea. It has its price, of course. My parents aren't Tony Stark. So we're planning to settle on this education loan which I'll be expected to pay off once I start earning. It'll be somewhere around ten million. A crore, per ce. I really don't mind paying the loan off. I'd love to have my doctorate. Question is,

Will I be good enough to pay it off?

Human Emotions and Reciprocation, among other crap.

I suck at human emotions. I really do. If you want to share your life chronicles with someone and want appropriate reciprocation, and if I'm the only person remaining on this planet, then you should probably talk to a tree or something.
^See what I did there? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Human emotions are not easy. Especially reciprocating appropriately when someone is sharing their worldly issues with you. Cookies or Bournville works best for me. But when it comes to offering verbal comfort, I suck.
For example, my friend came up to me a few days back and told me he broke up with his girlfriend who he'd been dating for 4 years, since he found out she'd been cheating on him for the past year. And guess what I said? But you're not guessing, are you? Nevermind. I told him to suck it up and live with it and stop whining like a 6 year-old on drugs. <---- Another senseless reference.
I found this awesome way to find out how no one listens to me. I'll tell you how. Firstly, close your eyes. But you didn't close them, did you? You're just going on reading this and smiling like a dick. Exactly. This is how. No one ever listens to me. I should go have Bournville and head to college. I'm late. But I'm not in any college. Shmow!
Bye.

Christmas in June.

It's Christmas. The blissful breeze, wafting through the atmosphere, making my stomach go all funny. All kinds of sumptuous delicacies around, with people raving over how good their day has been. It's evening time. Gentlemen suited up, with their gorgeous looking partners with them. Age groups varying. The event is about to begin, with the atmosphere so convivial.
And there she is, beautiful as ever, with the elegant black dress and high heels. The glimmering lip-gloss, making my mind go all fuzzy. She can't stop smiling. She looks stunning. As the music begins, the melodies waddling through the dance hall, making each and every being smile, I take her hand. She lets her body loose. She has done this before, even though she doesn't know how to. And we begin, just like how we had promised each other 10 months back, unless we were dating anyone else. We jive swiftly, as the crowd makes way for us. Each couple in the dance hall, joining us, as time passes by. Everyone silently dancing across the hall, not taking their eyes off their partner, for this is the happiest memory everyone will hold. So will I. Time flies past, and we continue despite being tired, for this might not be next year. We relish each moment, till the lights go out. 'Dirty Little Secret' is making it's way through and getting louder by the moment. I open my eyes.

Stupid fucking dreams.

P.S. Don't think so much. I don't like her. Cunts.

Smells like Sobriety.

I felt damn gay in the head yesterday(Not homosexual, just damn emo. Just saying), so I switched on my laptop and visited Facebook. Some dick had posted a link to 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'. I don't know why. Maybe he thought I was hibernating for the past 50 years. I wasn't. But I clicked on it anyway. And there it was, the super-fucking-legendary song penned down by the legend Kurt Cobain himself. I listened to it. I was re-infatuated. I fucking loved it. No one was at home. I played it on my woofer system, and I went crazy. With all the adrenaline coursing through my insides now, I was all over the place yelling my balls off and head-banging. I head-banged to it like 10 times in a row. Sorry, 15. Maybe 20. I lost count. My head started hurting, but I went on till it went numb. And then I just fell down, semi-conscious on my bed. 10 minutes later, I got up and I started head-banging again, to those fucking senseless yet legendary lyrics like,
"I found it hard, it's hard to find,
oh well, whatever, nevermind".
What the fuck is that? Yes, it's motherfucking awesome! I was lost in the not-so-melodious melody of that song. All the gayness in my head was flushed down the toilet, and that's when I saw a flying fuck outside the window which I wasn't going to give to my depressing emotions.

Go humor yourselves ----> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hTWKbfoikeg

'Smells Like Teen Spirit' is emotion sobriety.

Intoxication.

Do you ever get that feeling when you want to smoke? When you're having a hard time coping up with things in life, and all you've been doing is ignoring them, but the predicaments still make way to your conscience and start strangling you. When all you want to do is just light up that bland, toxic thing and shove it in your mouth and clear your mind, just for the moment? When your flawless choice is to choose anger over pain and misery?
So someone once told me that a cigarette is the best way to forget your sorrows and shove them down the drain for the time-being. Nicotine, they said, is that miraculous substance which shuts your doorway to the agonising thoughts you have in your mind. You feel light-headed. And the best part is when you feel the nicotine    surging through your veins, giving you that piece of comfort you deserve.
So, I took their word for it. I tried it. Smoked one, no apparent change. Smoked two, still no change. They said it was enough for the day, but I as hellbent on feeling the 'rush', so called. I kept smoking, for what seemed like an eternity. I didn't feel anything. But you know what? I kept smoking everyday. Because I wanted to stereotype the concept of that cigarette, just like anybody else. Difference was, I didn't feel anything. I don't feel anything. It doesn't give me that peace of mind. But I like smoking.

Notorious bastard, aren't I?

Destiny.

So it all comes down to this day. The day, which was destined to fuck me over. The day, when I was sure that before I could wake up to dread what lies ahead in this day, my heart would give out. My nightmares full of Chemistry mixtures and Quantum Physics formulas, and my dreams consisting of putting two and two together. I was half-hoping that before I could wake up and all hell breaks loose, I'd be sedated into the Null Void of fantasies. But the nightmare doesn't just end there now, does it?
I wake up, appearing to be the guy I am, just like any other day. I walk up to the washroom, my heart pounding against my ribs, while making it's way up my throat. My skull, being eaten away by my brains, to draw more energy to open the gates for my gushing thoughts. Each uncontrollable thought of mine, holding a specific number, waiting for me to see the number withheld by them on my computer screen, and leaving me comatosed. Each thought, like having a mind of it's own, taunting me with the score they hold. And the taunts become louder and louder, as I near 200, the highest score in my exam.
I can't take this any more. So I walk to my fridge, gulp down some cold water till my hyperventilating brains go numb, and just settle for a bar of dark chocolate. It's 10 already. I walk up to my laptop, that fragile piece of technology, which displays my future decided by some anonymous bitch. I switch it on, with my brain losing it's numbness, and hyperventilating again. Search for the site my results are being declared on, enter my hall ticket number, only to find,

I'm not getting into any college.

Souvenir.

"Happy Birthday, stupid.
I hope this year brings along with it loads of happiness, peace, blah blah blah, and ooh! Hot girls! With the exception of me, of course. *teehee* Part of me hopes that you come to Xavier's. Together we can chill and you can set me up with hot boys. And chill, mostly the second thing.*giggle* Love and and all that other jazz."
                                                                                                               
                                                                                                      - The girl with the crystal eyes.
                                                                                                                    22.05.2012

These elated, joyous words, were written by a person who I once mattered to. Who cared for me. Who sacrificed her joys to comfort me in my time of sorrow. Who put my problems before hers. Who reciprocated. Who knew exactly what to say when needed. Who knew everything about me without me having to tell her anything. Who I scarred forever. And who I am just another face in the crowd to.

And all I have is, a souvenir.

Poor bastard doesn't even know how good he had it.

Poor bastard doesn't even know how good he had it.

He had the perfect life, and he threw it away. He had this perfect friend for 11 years. Fucked around with his girlfriend, fought with him, threw it away. He had his best friend, the person he values the most(the girl with the crystal eyes). Fucked around with her, threw it away. He loved his parents. Grew this new attitude towards them, threw it away. He had the perfect life. He had everything.
Everything, but one. A girlfriend. A soul mate. A person who understands him, has intimate moments with him, and pulls him back from this endless void of loneliness and self-pity. He took off, in search of her. Outgrew everyone around him with his flawless ego. And in search of her, he lost himself. He changed. He changed so much, there was no turning back. Fought with everything moving around him, assuming the involuntary sacrifice would pay off. Assuming he'd get what he truly wanted in the end. But he didn't.
He still wanders the streets. Hangs out with the same friends he thought he once outgrew, thinking he'd find better ones, for what it's worth. He didn't realise he couldn't. His days are the same they were before these predicaments. Only now, he isn't as happy.
He still wanders. His brain, crumbling away with an endless number of thoughts. His insides, eating him away without realising they can't put him out of his misery. He still breathes, with every breath bringing along a new wave of regret and remorse. Every bit of him wanting to crumble away to lifeless dust. But he doesn't give into it, for he knows, that the one is still out there.

Poor bastard doesn't even know how good he had it..

The birth of a ray which makes the light a little brighter than what it already is.

So it was this day when this brilliant guy was born. His ideas, his thoughts, and his opinions, all so enlightening, but all with this slight, needed, tinge of immaturity.
We all threw him this surprise(assuming he didn't see it coming), right towards the end of his birthday. We ate, we danced, and we enjoyed our asses off. Just the usual thing you'd expect at any cliched celebration. But it all mattered. It felt good to see someone so happy, with his girlfriend right beside him, his parents so proud and remontant over giving birth to a guy so perfect in most aspects, and him having all the people he loved and valued right with him.
Only if there was something which could capture the moment and enclose it forever, especially that smile, showing utter satisfaction at its maximum. It was probably the best birthday one could ever have.
So happy birthday to that one pathetic ass sonofabitch, who I can share any thought with and talk to about any damn thing in the world, without expecting any appropriate reciprocation, simply because I'll never feel the need to.

Happy Birthday Ferns.

                                                                                                       -Anonymous Outlet.

The girl with the crystal eyes.

It's all crap, actually, the girl with the crystal eyes. It's just my insides being gay since hormones are coursing through them. So let's just agree that the girl with the crystal eyes is the girl with the crystal eyes and continue this...
You're probably thinking why I'm being emo today. Well, maybe you're not. But to make things quick, I am. I'm being quite emo today.
I just had this fight with my best friend. She was like my bestest friend. And me? I was just a dick. I was so hellbent on making things right, that the other things fell apart.
She had this...this exhilarating smile, which if you were the cause of, you'd feel that the motive of your existence is fulfilled. And even if you weren't, it'd make you feel like everything in the world is perfect for those few moments. It's addictive. It's more addictive than downing 50 tequila shots, because you'll pass out within 15 anyway, but you'll just be lost in that smile forever, and there's no coming back.
Her facial features, so meticulously grafted, were the second best thing in the world (Hey, hey, you, I'm still a guy. I like Fifa better). And hugging her was like free-falling into this bottomless pit with her right beside you, forever...
And what did I do? Got drunk, and fucked everything up. She probably hates me now, more than anyone or anything in the world. And I wouldn't be surprised, I'm quite a fucked up guy.
I've apologised, but to no avail. I wish I could just sleep endlessly, because staying awake is not easy, especially with your brain processing a 100 thoughts at one moment, out of which 99 are related to the girl. The thought of never being the cause of that smile ever again kills me on the inside, but maybe I just have to suck it up and live with it.
There's a fine line between her being your bestfriend, and girlfriend. You're probably thinking I like her. Probably thinking she's the love of my life. But the appalling part is, she isn't. There aren't words to describe what we had between us(it kills me to use the past tense here), and if there are, I don't know any. But I can tell you one thing, it's at some place very special between friendship and a relationship.

I wish to God she saw this, I do. But let's be realistic and not kid ourselves here, such miracles don't happen.
So maybe I'll just sit back, wait for her reply, while this post of mine will age by the day and disappear someday, without her ever coming across it...

The beginning of an era for my inglorious existence.

I'm a blogger now. I should feel good. I should feel great. But, I don't.
I heard blogging was a good way to express yourself, so, here I am.
People change. People changed. I changed. That's why I'm here. And the best part? I'm not even sure if the person I'm doing it for will ever see this. But it's good to puke it out.
You're probably thinking another emo bastard has made his way through to this exhilarating site you own, you live. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe you're not. I don't know.
So maybe you should just suck it up and deal with it.