The little yellow diary.

I would never forgive myself if I don’t mention my last week on this space. Not because I haven’t blogged in ages, properly…but I owe this to myself, cause this blog and you all have been a witness to a side of me since sometime now…
(No no..its not my goodbye speech)
I’ve never doubted the therapeutic powers of writing, somehow as usual, my personal space and peace took a back seat over the months, as assignments and other frustrations dominated. Happens to all of us. Happens to you. me. everyone.
The question we ask ourselves is that whether I’m still the same person? Whether I can carry on? What are the things I wont do from now on? How do i get over it?
The valleys of Panchgani taught me how to look inside.
(No i just liked the way it sounded so I’m writing it like this hehe)
Washing dishes, family group discussions, night time gossips, sneaking away for midnight walks, group games, trekking, the over powering mountains, the cool breeze filling your senses, looking into the depths beyond the edge, the sense of joy when you managed to climb a hill in chappals, opening up in front of strangers, admitting your mistakes, writing letters, talking to people, Mapro’s jam, boiled eggs, Silence, noting down your thoughts, being honest to yourself, wondering if this phase would evaporate the minute we stepped into our usual life, bonding and memories etched forever…
And what about the real world?
Think of self empowerment, you’re just like another drop in the ocean, look beyond, have a vision, be is not easy and when you have fifteen minutes of peace to yourself maybe you can take two more steps forward.

Notes to Strangers..or Not!

Dear Bratty Kid,
You are fun, but so much like a Yo! makes me roll my eyes.
Dear Same Old Wannabe Gossipmonger
Even after all these years ur still soo dumb and pissing off!
Dear Friend
Sometimes I dont like your ways but I cant mention it cause you have a good heart. Its like a conflict situation.
Dear Just Kidding
Your arrogance no longer seems innocent!
Dear Mr. You could have been my good friend,
What can I tell you, when you cant deal with things!
Dear Foolish and Helpless
Help Yourself and her, from her, with her!!
Dear _____
Its like a faint memory now. Maybe not so faint. But..
Dear Motu
I so wish I were beside you while you’re taking a big step in your life!
Dear New Laptop at home,
Why can’t you help me remove the worm from my laptop??!!!!!

I can hear the winds.

This is the third time I’m writing here… 
This colour scheme of mine is beginning to depress me.
How do people deal with change?
a) Change themselves
b) Go into a shell
c) change everything around them
d) burn everything?
For those who know me, know that I dont complain, only crib-which is never taken seriously. Most of the times its not meant to be,maybe..I repeat..Maybe.. For those who know me know that I don’t treat my problems as problems, suffer with them or subconsciously make excuses for not calling them problems. And they also know that I hate taking help about some matters…yeah people don’t know this. i struggle, struggle till i can overcome something, nobody likes to be harnessed, how many people like to be patient? Expressing things sometimes, doesn’t solve things. Depression is not my thing.
Imagine sitting at your desk with airplanes flying around you, and your mind’s switched off, walk on the broken pavement with cars streaming across but you don’t care…Maybe its the sound of silence.


Colours dance in front of my eyes. The glimmering lights, the shining faces… soulfree faces, walking around. Living their joys, trembling in their sorrows, holding within some sadness, and a way into tomorrow. Honesty and sincerity burn out of the souls, mixed emotions and a search for the right roads. Faces appear to betray the colours, the eyes look around for some sort of condolence…Mocking my presence, questioning my steps..crisscrossing my path with faded pages from the past. Each existence is to serve a purpose, but what is the purpose when there is no individual existence? The very same purpose created in the mind, nurtured with the heart and lost deep inside. The words sting and the words the same memory that held its sway.