Her

Hallo! How are you? Nice to see you again!

I would like to thank Sasha Mahuli, Tanvi Joshi and Tanaya Shivname dearly for their thoughtful and efficacious present. Thank you ever so much.

No matter how much I tried to believe in Robert Galbraith (I scratched out the circular sticker on the book, that falsified his existence, and covered the letters at the back of the book that did the same), you cannot erase from your mind what you already know unless you forget it with time.

I did my best to read the book without any prior judgement and pretended to myself as if I did not know who Robert Galbraith really is. But only if we all could exercise even a tinniest bit of mind control!

Am I happy I know who Galbraith really is? 

No.

Why? 

Because I wasn't supposed to know! She didn't want anyone to know. (that bloody law firm!) Yes, even though I am fully aware that if not for the stupid publicity-seeking law firm I wouldn't have ever held the copy of that book in my hand, I still wanted it to go as she wanted it to. (that's fandom for you)

How was the book? Did I like it?

The book is great. But I like to believe I would have guessed it's her even if I hadn't known. I mean when you think of it, she stares back at you through those pages, unmistakably.

Is the writing manly?

Well, no. But then again, I already knew. And that is my sorrow. But why did she use Galbraith anyway? I mean I would hate it if I randomly overlook a book written by some Tony Clarkson or Andrew Fielding when in reality as in my oblivion, it has been written by her. How dreadful that would be! 

Like millions of other readers I want her to keep on writing and keep on giving birth to characters aching to take birth. And I would also like her to choose better lawyers.

All hail the Queen!

 

Have a bad day!

YOLO guys! What's cooking?

Please, don't say meth. x''D     (sorry)!

I had a really bad day yesterday. Nothing exactly happened. But does something bad have to happen for your day to be bad? I mean a day can go bad even when you've spent it lying in your room. Outward forces hardly matter if you have to have a bad day. It's all inside.

The sun shines with the same vigour everyday. But today you wake up, and you are simply not in the mood to see and acknowledge its beauty. Why are you not in the mood? Well, there's no answer to that. You are not in the mood because, hey, you don't want to be in the mood. You go and make yourself a cup of tea and guess what, it tastes horrible. And maybe it actually tastes okay, but hey, you don't want it to taste okay, it's horrible. And then you take a pack of *Pickwick and sit in front of the computer, put on an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S and then it's all okay until you realize you have finished the whole pack of Pickwick. On any other day you would be proud you finished the whole pack. Today you realize it can make you gain a couple of pounds. And actually, that pack hasn't really made a change in your weight, but hey, you want to feel fat today. You log on to Facebook and sieve through the news feed, you realize people are out and about, doing things, leading a happening life, being happy in what they perceive as happiness while you are here gobbling up wafer biscuits, drooling over fandoms, doing absolutely nothing productive. And in reality, you might be doing hundreds of productive things which are even more creative and stimulating than the activities of those on your news feed, but HEY, NO. 

Today is a crappy day and you want it to be like that. Nothing can touch you today. You shall trample all the good that comes your way and raise your fist in victory! You go meet a friend and she says, 'Did you see last night's match?It was AWESOME! Roger won!'
You make a face which says you're irked and say 'Huh, PLEASE!' The friend says she'll see you later. And the thing is, you have seen the match and you are delighted about it and you know you love Roger Federer, but HEYY, NO, man.

Today is a bad day. You have decided it. And you have no qualms about hating everything that is in front of you. Sometimes it feels nice to pity yourself, to go in the dark cocoon of your mind and ponder over how miserable your life is. And it's actually not miserable, but HEY.  Bad days are not exactly amazing. But they aren't half as bad either. You realize that when you wake up on the next morning and feel absolutely brilliant. Because all your mood needed was a lift. A lift from hate. Now you are lifted, and ready to love the world again.

Have a great day, guys.


*Pickwick is a popular brand of cream wafer biscuits manufactured in India.

Robert Frost's

Tree at my window

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Vague dream head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.

But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather. 

by Robert Frost

Remembered/found a beautiful poem in reference to the earlier post.

The window and the tree

Hi again :D

The very kind reviews of my first post from my dear friends have misled me to write again. I didn't believe I would return.

I have a beautiful window in my room. What makes a window beautiful is not the panes or the sill or the tapestry, but that what lies outside the window. You can see a pomegranate tree outside mine. And anyone who has been in my room can tell you that it is not just a pomegranate tree. It is The pomegranate tree. Of course, it does things and behaves like any other pomegranate tree- it has pretty green leaves, it bears bright red flowers which then turn into luscious red fruits. And that is perfectly normal. So what makes it The pomegranate tree? What makes it so special?

Well, nothing except my bias towards it.

I love that tree and so does each person that has seen that window. The room holds many beautiful pictures of beautiful people and beautiful places. But that window and that tree are the ones who get all the attention. The tree is full of life, songs, and refreshments. Birds come to it everyday, to eat, drink, and make merry. They don't sleep there. I think, the tree doesn't let them. It wants everyone to be wide awake, to know they have little time. The birds eat the fruit when the summer is on and eat the insects in the flowers for the rest of the year. That tree is where the squirrels make love and the turtle-dove rests its wings.

And if you are a bit of a poet and know that Hogwarts exists, you might even be able to see through the gaps between the branches. You can see an old man and his old wife helping each other to remember how they reached there, while desperately trying to remind their legs how to walk or stand or just be. They seem oblivious to the tree even when it's right next to them, but they are not. They are as aware of the pomegranate tree as the tree itself. But what can they do but take its help to remember how they reached there?

It would not surprise you to know that that window is how I don't get time to study. The wretched window!

Our heroes, dreams, and the silliness

Hi. How are you?

This blogging venture is inspired by my friend, Sasha Mahuli's blogs. Her blogs are amazing. Do read them. She does a great job writing about music, life, and pretty much anything that strikes her mind.  http://sashamahuli.wordpress.com/2013/11/13/let-the-clouds-build-you-a-daisy-chain/

We, that is me and my friends, are at a stage in our life where we hugely depend upon our heroes to show us what life truly is. 'Heroes' meaning all the beautiful people on this planet (or beyond ;) ) who inspire us through their work, their interviews, and just their existence.

We don't exactly know what we want to be yet. We don't even know what to do with our lives right now. There is a void, a hollowness, a large deficit that can only be filled, covered or hidden with time.

We spend our days immersed in watching, listening or reading what our heroes have created, lost in the beauty of their creation, not knowing what use there might be of this indulgence.

We spend our mornings reading Wilde, Hemingway, Rowling, Tolkien, and even a casual Wodehouse or Dahl. We spend our noons listening to the magic of the Beatles, Clapton, Dylan or even the melancholy notes of Adele. The evening goes by, watching a random match of Roger Federer. And in the night we dream of going on romantic outings with the modern Sherlock or the mischievous Loki.

Dawns are meant for brooding and doubting and questioning whether dreams do come true. And then the bitter-sweet morning comes again with all our wretched heroes showing us how 'a single dream is stronger than a thousand realities'.

But how can we go on living like this? After all, 'it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.' We have put ourselves in the dangerous situation where dreaming has become as primary a biological act as breathing itself. And the heroes in our dreams have become an inevitable part of who we are and who we want to be. But the truth is, our heroes did not become who they are by whiling away their time in daydreaming. Any of our heroes never even wrote any blogs about how they didn't know who they were going to be. And that, I think, explains everything. o_O


Thank you and have a great day.