Restart

In the quest of finding the right subject, I think I might have lost my voice.

Expression still requires practice. So thus I restart.

My Battle With Ego & Pride

We're friends,

That's nice,

We talk,

We're fine,

Pride is hurt

Ego is slighted

Every time

You choose her

You pick her

I still come back

I'm there

In the background

Waiting

For your attention

For your care

Its not there

Its never there

Why do I still wait

Pride hurt

Ego slighted

In your presence

They evaporate

When you're gone

They torment me

Letting Go

If saying goodbye hurts so much, why do we say goodbye? Because it hurts so much more to keep holding on to something that isn't there. Like you’re hanging off a ledge and someone is jumping up and down on your hands but you still can’t let go. Like when you’re little and you’re being tickled…you shout for it to stop because it’s torture, but then you go back for more, because somehow being tickled makes you feel safe and special. Holding on is like that…but the torture is painful…and it doesn't make you smile. That’s why we’re supposed to say goodbye. That’s why we’re meant to let go.

The hardest part is letting go when you never had something real to hold on to.

Certainty can also be a bitch.

What you say is valued by a very few people. Most don't even remember.

Shared memories are always incomplete.

It is the most difficult thing to stay on the same page as another person.

You're standing there, apparently unarmed
but yet you manage to chip away at my heart everyday.

Like footprints in the sand...
Did my impressions in your life get wiped out in a single wave?

I associate everything with you...
Nothing bears my association for you...
Did those years actually exist...

har dil thoda khudgarz hota hai..
jab hume dard hota hai tab
kisi apne ke khushi mein bhi
khush hone ki koshish karni padti hai

Healing lies in the silence of the mind and madness of the words.

And the words will set you free....

Every pore called out to him
She screamed
But there was dead silence
She tried to remind him
But there was no memory
She tried to hold on
He was there no more
Her face smiled
Her heart cried
She tried to keep him together
Her soul was shattered
Life moved on
Her days moved on
She moved forward
Or at least a version of her
She stayed in the past
Or at least a version of her
Thinking of the future
That could have been..
That should have been..
She tried to keep sane
She lived at the brink of insanity
She regained normalcy
She was forever damaged
She waited...
For someone to rescue her
For someone to smile at
For someone to live for
For someone to hold again
For a future happiness
While she waited,
She tried...
To not remember him
To not feel for him
To not think of him
To not want him
To not belong to him

She was just there...
She is just there...
She will be just there??

The Natural Order of Things

At one point in time, writing came naturally to me. Writer's Block was somewhat of a matter to laugh about. It was the era when I used to blog like people change Facebook status' these days. I used to specifically make note of things so that I could furnish proper details in my account. I think it also helped make me more observant and more interested in everything.

I think the art of writing is as easily lost as... sugar crystals in water - 

for a little while they survive, 

while yet left untouched in still waters, 

in the whirl of things otherwise,

they get lost in plain sight

Now, it is a labourious task to pen down a few thoughts and more often than not, I end up with an unpublished draft instead of a post. 

When I had begun blogging, there were several people in the blogsphere who read by blogs and I theirs. There was a fairly large web of individuals writing fairly often - of their life, of their happiness, of their angst, of their thoughts and some concocted realities or absurdities. 

My stream of posts has declined drastically over the years from 54 in 2007, when I began to 3 in the last year i.e. 2012. I wondered if my fellow bloggers were afflicted by the same phenomenon. And so I went on a trip, down the alleys of places that were once familiar, their texture, tone and sentence construction reminding me of lives and thoughts that I once knew about. Here's a statistic only 3 of the 16 blogs that I visited were posting with any regularity any more. And even the ones who did post, the number of post per year was steadily dwindling.

It then struck me, I'd just encountered the Natural Order of Things.

Reflect, this happens with most things throughout our lives. Our enthusiasm wanes, games reduce, our novelty with our partner reduces and the list could go on. Without delving into specifics, I ask you to introspect and try, if you can find some aspect of our lives, that does not follow this natural order.

Little things in life

Its the little things in life that we must learn to write home about - a line about the blue skies with the ribbon and cotton candy clouds, a bit about the conversation you had over tea, an unusual journey which seems like a thrilling adventure to you.

The best part is - I'm writing this from a cyber cafe much akin to an MBA student from a middle class home back in the year 2000 whilst preparing my research proposal for my dissertation defense tomorrow.

It struck me last night, I miss sharing certain things that I could not speak to anyone else about but my ex-boyfriend. Well my blog may not provide me with the anonymity but it certainly provides me with a platform! So screw what anyone else thinks of what I'm saying, I'm going to say it anyway.

Cheerio!

The Slow Reader

While we read together we reached chapter 11 of the book..

Alone I was a slow reader and covered only 2 more chapters..

The memory of chapter 11 was still fresh in my mind...

But you moved on to chapter 18 all by yourself..

Where chapter 11 became just a part of the book..

When you looked up, you didn't find me there..

It is understandable that you got baffled..

Leave behind the slow reader my friend...

And read on.. you must always move to the next chapter..

Each reader will finish the book in their own time..

I broke up with...

A break up is never simple. It entails a lot more than just ending your relationship with a person. You lose a lot more than you anticipate in this bargain. I recently broke up with my boyfriend of two and a half years and over the last 2 weeks I've realized that I've broken up with a lot more than just him. I must mention that we parted mutually and on fairly good terms due to some irrevocable issues, hence I probably don't have a completely bitter hangover like American coffee (seriously, those guys DO NOT know how to roast their beans) its more bittersweet yet strong like perfect South Indian filter coffee.


Not as a sob story but as a set of observations, some of which are even funny in an odd way I would like to enlist everything and everyone that I broke up with along with my boyfriend.


So, I broke up with...


...my best friend
However cliché this might sound, it happens to most of us. Your source of comfort, your confidant and the buddy who would sit beside you in the hypothetical jail cell - very obviously gone.


...myself
I have to find a version of me without him, that I can recognize and relate to. All versions of me currently seem inextricably tied to him. This philosophical search for self is damn weird because my question then is - where was I all this while and who was I all this while.


...common sense
Oddly it seems like my common sense, whatever little I did have, was an external entity which was linked to my ex-boyfriend! I'm incapable on making the simplest of decisions without a momentous inner struggle followed by a moment of enlightenment, which has unfortunately led to some extemely un-enlightened decisions. The dumbest things have been done... For instance - a *paper* bag full of *books* was carried on a train journey. I ask now, what aesthetic or rational function did the *paper* bag serve? But of course, the bag tore! And with 5 other bags, packed to the brim, at hand it was a travel nightmare. Hopefully my common sense will eventually find my way back to me.
A message for it: You are sorely missed. Please return home at the earliest.


...the black magic woman
He had unleashed this crazy woman who looked just like me. She was me and she was everything I was not. She was sexy, naughty but definitely not bitchy! She had this intoxicating effect on people which I couldn't produce even if I tried! I liked her very much but, she seems mighty miffed that I drove away her muse - the one who unleashed her! Although I didn't know her before him, now that I do, I want her back - that beautiful, enticing, enthralling creature!


...a future that once was
Two and a half years is a long time and when you are in a serious relationship you tend to imagine a future together. What these imaginative sessions leave you with are images, plans and hope for a future that could be. All of this crumbles as a result of the break up. Images fade, plans become defunct and hope is lost like a straw hat that is not secured in a whirling beach breeze. I had once written a poem which ended with "...there's still the future bright with hope and many a rainbow to find". I would like to like to tell that silly little girl that she would sooner find a leprachaun and his pot of gold than find a rainbow! Yes, a new rainbow will be found but it will be preceeded by a turbulent storm, thunder and lightening. Hopefully the rainbow will be sweeter and prettier for all the effort that will go into finding it.


...*his* girlfriend
There was this girl, who cared so much about him and everything she thought and did was connected with him. When I broke up with my boyfriend, I also broke up with her. This was no accidental breakup. In fact I broke up with her with a peculiar vengance. Meanness is an understatement... I was malicious to her! I near well did everything except push her down a cliff! She is also the only person I'm not sorry I broke up with. She is also the only one I don't want to even try and find again. The same place where she came from will come another loving maiden when the right prince beckons.


After all the destruction with the "break up", I believe its time to be constructive. Lots of rebuilding to be done. Confidence, hope, friendships, magic and Sneha...

Letters to Appa

Dearest Appa,

27th Jan' 1965

Hope this letter finds you, Amma, Raji and Seenu in good health. The weather here in New York City is icy cold. But Avar sollraar - I have missed this winter's biting cold. I still wish I had seen the snow…But then, I still wish I had not left Trichy at all. I do miss Trichy, Appa. You, Amma, Raji, Seenu, pakkatthaathu Rama, Vikatan, Ucchi Pillaiyaar Koil, filter coffee, Holy Cross College, the Physics Department and of course Sakthi. I know you wish I hadn't brought his name in this letter. But not to worry Appa, I understand that you got me married to Visu because you thought it was best for your daughter. I still remember Amma wiping her silent tears with her madisaar thalappu and you shouting at me the day I told you about Sakthi. Later, when the initial shock wore off you patiently listed umpteen reasons why I should not marry Sakthi. I agree Appa, that 20 is too young to decide, that Raji and Seenu would have been affected greatly by my 'mistake', the Agrahaaram would have scoffed at you…a meat eater was not a good match for someone who had never even tasted onion and garlic. The reasons were innumerous. I knew you'd still have objected and offered other reasons even if he had become a Dhigambara monk. Visu on the other hand, wore a poonal, he is the son of Neelakanta Sastri, an Engineer and he researched about computers which is what made you jump for this alliance. Am not complaining Appa, Visu is a nice man. Tell Amma that I could not try her kozhakkattai recipe this Pongal because coconuts were too expensive and Avar nenacchar that it was ridiculous. Anyway, we went out on Sankaranthi day and dined out. He thought it would be a good idea to invite the Chatterjees also. But I didn't speak Bengali and Mrs.Chatterjee spoke English in an accent that comes with living years in America. Hence I made myself busy with the menu card. They ordered various species of fish, shrimp and a lot more of items I had never seen in my life. I ordered orange juice and a sandwich. The other diners thought it was queer coming to a seafood restaurant and settling for a sandwich. That day, I learnt that Avar prefer pannradhu beef, pork, bacon and seafood. Do you know, Appa…Sakthi gave up meat because of me? I didn't ask, he just did. But then, Sakthi is not Neelakanta Sastri's son and that made it imposible for Subramania Iyer's daughter Kalyani to marry him. I will keep you posted on what happens here. I don't think I can make it to Seenu's Upanayanam. Tell Amma not to get me a pattu podavai for the poonal, I don't use them here. I wore it once and felt like a clown here.

Your loving daughter,
Kalyani.

Dearest Appa,

20th Oct' 1968

We are fine here. Gautam is speaking his first words and I swear they sounded like 'Dosai'. But Visu claims it's just gibberish. From your previous letter, I gather that pakkathatthu Rama is married and settled in Jamshedpur. Nice to know that. Please find out her address from Saarada maami and write it to me. I want to keep in touch with her. I hope Raji is happy with her husband in Madras. I spoke to her last month, great to know that she has a phone. Do tell Seenu to study well and prepare for his school final exams. Raji also told me that Sakthi is married now. I wish him good luck, but I could not convey the message to him. Raji refused to be the messenger and I know you have severed ties with Sakthi's father, your long term friend Sankaravel, thanks to me. I hear his wife is his cousin…He must have succumbed to his mother's wishes. How did Avani Avittam go? Visu's mother gave me a bunch of new poonals for Avani Avittam but Visu was in Boston that day. He wouldn't have used it anyway, I haven't seen him wear one in the last three years. Gautam is now playing with the spool of thread - mere thread it is, what else can I call it? Gautam will not even know what it signifies, I guess. Visu is making sure Gautam grows up listening to English only. He says it will make his life easier. But I do read out passages from Ponniyin Selvan and Bharathiyaar's poetry when I am alone with him. It's more of reading to myself, I guess. I actually got that poetry book as a present from Sakthi, it still has his scrawling signature in the first page. By the way, Visu saw that book and asked me about Sakthi, I told him. Hold your breath Appa, he didn't throw me out of the house. He is a good man, no question. He said it is okay and that he doesn't mind. And then he told me of his American girlfriend whom he was once in love with, when he first reached America - Amy, a fellow Researcher who was in a brief relationship with Visu when she was in New York. They lived together for 3 months and decided against marriage, somehow. Amy once dropped home when she was in New York. Nice lady, she was. Ask Amma to send me Sambar Podi for this whole year. My friend Sudha is coming to Madras next week. Ask Seenu to catch the Rockfort Express and give it to her. I will collect it from her here.

Your loving daughter,
Kalyani.

Dearest Appa,

3rd June' 1974

We have arrived here safely. After two months in India, I find it hard to adjust back to normal life here. Gautam and Ranjana demand vadai, paayasam and vaazhai ilai here. Visu's relieved to be back in America. I left a set of my books there. If it's not in Trichy it must be in Visu's parents' place. If you find them, safeguard them until my next trip. They mean a lot to me since they were gifts from Sakthi. By the way, Appa, I found out Sakthi's present address in Madras from Rama and Saarada maami. I wrote to him. I am extremely proud to know that Dr.Sakthivel is a cardiologist much in demand there in Madras. He was thrilled to hear from me after so long. You know what he has named his daughters? Kalyani and Raagamaalika. He called me. You know what, he's still a practising vegetarian, Appa. He didn't revert back just because he lost me…He asked me if I still sang and whether Gautam and Ranjana could sing. I could see a proud father in him, when he claimed his daughters could sing upto Ra ra Venu Gopala. That's when I remembered that I was once a good singer. I wonder why I stopped singing, wonder why I never exposed the kids to Music and Dance. But then, I realize that I had buried all that deep inside me when I left Trichy; after bidding farewell to my best Rasika, actually. Sakthi. After the call, I tried singing 'Kurai Onrum Illai'. I could not rquite reach Charanam, because of the lack of practice and more importantly because of the tears that filmed my eyes and the constriction in my throat. I sang to Visu and the kids one of these days. Though Gautam was impressed, father and daughter could not just wait for me to finish! By the way, next time some friend comes to India, send me a Sruthi Box. I would like to start singing again.

Your loving daughter,
Kalyani.

Dearest Appa,

14th Aug' 1978

Just back after our tour to California. Find our photos, picture postcards attached herewith. After you are done with showing all family members, relatives, friends and neighbours, pass them to Visu's parents. It was a welcome break for the four of us. But I missed my paattu class students all along and was happy to resume the classes again last evening. Did I mention in my previous letter, before we left on the tour - I finally got my driving license here. I sent a few photos to Sakthi too. He has sent me quite a few records and cassettes. I loved it! I'm reminded of AIR, almost! I'm circulating them among my friends too. And of course, playing them for my students too. They are picking up beautifully. Funny news is, I, a Tamilian, is teaching Telugu and Sanskrit kritis to a cross section of Tamil, Malayalam, Kannada,Telugu, Marathi, Bengali students in an English speaking nation. The music sessions have resulted in a reborn Kalyani, Appa. Thanks to Sakthi, really. I would have never taken it up had it not been for his reminder. I am now thinking of what life would have been like if I had indeed married him. I would have of course lost you and Amma. But right now, with this life in America, Visu and these monthly letters to you, Rama, Raji and Seenu what have i gained? I don't find an answer, Appa. Neither do I think I ever will. Again, as I have always reiterated, Visu is a good man, no complaints there. He is every bit the son in law you wanted. Researcher, American Post Graduate Degree holder, a dutiful husband and father, earning a comfortable income. I know it is too much to ask for anything else. That is a fantasy I left midway in my life…Once upon a time in Trichy with someone else.

Your loving daughter,
Kalyani.

Dearest Appa,

14th Apr' 1984

Met Dr.Sakthivel after 19 years…He had come to New York for business purposes and paid me a visit. Visu and the kids welcomed him home with great pleasure. And they liked him too. In fact, they did most of the talking initially. And of course, he got me a whole load of books, cassettes, Mysore Paak and lots more.

Your loving daughter,
Kalyani.

Dearest Appa,

20th Jan' 1990

I just went through all these letters lying in my closet draw for years together. These are letters I started writing to you and then decided not to post. For obvious reasons. I could not mention Sakthi to you even though I was itching to. Not because I was afraid to invite your wrath. I just did not have the heart to hurt you, I know these letters would have hurt you. Because deep inside, I know you were disturbed - You knew Sakthi was a good man, you knew he was a man of substance, yet you didn't want to go further. Society, I know. Family…I know…And all these letters would have only wounded you more. Today 2 years after your death, and 6 months after Dr.Sakthivel's untimely death in a road accident, I somehow felt like re-reading all these letters. To me, all these unstamped, unposted letters mean a life that could have been.

Kalyani Viswanathan.

Note: "Avar" is a respectful "him".

Mortality

The mortality of life hits you at the most unexpected moments... As I sat idling away at my computer trying to follow the news of the blasts in Mumbai, I got the news of someone I whom I had spoken to just hours previously pass away in Mumbai. My first assumption was that it was in the blast that this person had lost their life but to my enormous surprise it was a natural death! The heart attack - which seems to strike at any age these days.

What struck me most about this scenario was that even in the aberration of terrorism which causes death... death still remains a natural phenomenon!

This in no way detracts from the gravity of either the terrorist attack or the death but with an ailing grandmother and granduncle its something that does stays forbiddingly close to the mind and hence the resignation to the naturalness of the phenomenon.

Scream!!

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

I Belong

Entering her new world for the first time, she gasped, a sharp intake of breath; in fear that she might wake up and find that this is all a dream. But the lab was real and to Shiela immensely beautiful. Spartan, surgically clean and wildly futuristic – bathed in luminous white work lights there were gleaming work areas, state-of-the-art equipment and most of all brilliant, brilliant people working away at their stations.

Somewhere on the floor Bryan Adams crooned softly from a cell phone ringer -

‘Let nothing come between this and me,

‘Cause everything I want – is everything that’s here’
“Oh yeah baby! Definitely all here!”

‘This place is paradise – it’s the place I call home’

“My new home...” her eyes gleamed.

Mrs. Mather, the lab director, was giving them, the batch of newbies, the Grand Induction Tour.
Mrs. Mather had short, cropped, chestnut hair, sensible pumps and surprisingly glasses that
screamed Prada with a deep, rich voice; far from the frump was expecting, drawing from the image of Mrs. Mather’s counterparts back home.

“And this is the neo-physics section, completely Mr. Gupta’s domain. Marion and Julio – those there, are your stations. Miss. Newson will be your mentor.” Mrs. Mather ploughed on through the tour and allocations.

“And here we have the, entrance to the Chemistry wing where Mme. Scherbatsky rules.”

“Ah Chemistry!” Shiela loved everything about Chemistry, right from the sound of it, to its ever evolving nature; just as much as she loved the man from whom she had inherited this love, Appa, her father.

She thought back to the cataclysmic argument a year ago – Strains of the Cranberries from her brother’s new Bose speakers were punctuating their argument.

“With their tanks and their bombs,
And their bombs and their guns.”
 
“Appa, I really want to go! It’s a great opportunity! The scope for research here in India has become
so limited, it’s almost meaningless.

“Oops!” she had thought immediately; “Now I’ve had it.”

“Are you suggesting that my work is meaningless?” her father roared. She wasn’t able to find the words to explain herself. After what seemed like an interminable pause he said, “It’s your life Shiela.” Turned and walked out of the room.

She was brought back to the present with Mrs. Mather’s deep voice smiling at her, “And Shiela Pundit, you’ve got lab C with Mme. Scherbatsky herself. Lucky you!”

While Dolores O'Riordan was still screeching from her brother’s room,

“But you see, it's not me, it's not my family.
In your head, in your head they are fighting,”

Concealer

She sat in front of the dressing table and unscrewed the concealer, the same brand that she had been using for the last 5 years.She poured out the the ususal copious amounts of concealer and began to carefully apply the liquid on her face.

Remembering back to the day of her wedding when she, who had always been envied for her beauty and her flawless complexion, didn't require any of this unsavoury stuff. She now sat with intense concentration to hide that very skin behind a clayey concealer. She remembered her wedding day nearly 5 years back - the beautician was amazed to see a bride so beautiful without the bridal paraphanelia.It was her face that had captured the attention and consequently the heart of her future husband.

This beauty which she was once so proud of was today the bane of her life. The challenge to hide her pain and still measure up to the standards of the world had become a matter of routine for her.Touching up the makeup she realized this careful regimen for her had now become a sad necessity.

Just as she finished and turned, the pallu of her sari caught on the bottle and it crashed to the ground. She saw the mess caused by the gooey liquid which was for her; not a whim, but a necessity. Suddenly she found herself crying, the broken pieces of glass reflecting her state of mind and something in her snapped and she thought, "Till when will I paint away the streaks of pain??"

She walked into the bathroom and washed away all her makeup to expose her peaches and cream marred by black and purple bruises. Purposefully, she picked up her handbag and strode out of her home into the world without her concealer!

This was the first step in the fight to get her life back!

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I had written this a long while back. Original Location:

http://idlichutney.blogspot.com/2008/12/concealer.html

Time

The earphones fit perfectly for a change, snugly, warm and comforting in my ears.

I reached into my pocket and turned up the volume of my iPod. Dido began to sing a little louder than one second ago.

'no white flag, above my door'

oh no baby, I thought, no white flag.

'...go down with the ship...'

indeed you will, and so will I.

Walking through the aisle, I looked at the passengers on both sides. They stared back mat me scared, faces pale and it struck me a little funny. I positioned myself and began my performance, I'd rehearsed my lines well and knew I would kill it. I realised though, that I was talking a bit too loudly, like headphon'ed' people normally do.

Same can be said true for people with 2 Kg RDX trapped on their bodies. One of my two brothers was done with the praying and he tapped me on the shoulder saying that it was my turn.

I walked into the pilot's cabin and sat in the co-pilot's chair. I smiled at the pilot's blood streaked face which radiated hate at me like a brilliant heater, the kinds we could ony dream of back home on cold winter nights. I sat there looking at the clouds, Strato Cumuls the passanger next to me had called them and the cities standing tall and far far away.

Not for long though.

I did not pray, just skipped to my next favorite song. The clock at my belt slowly ticked to blasting point.

Just enough time to squeeze in Floyd.....'Time'.

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I had written this a long while back. Original Location: http://idlichutney.blogspot.com/2008/12/time.html

The new piece of paper for peace

Another year has gone by. And what an eventful year it was! For those you have B-school interviews lined up...there is a minimum of an event a month in the bygone year to acquaint yourself with. I'll probably do a post on that summarizing everything, since I'm hopefully going to have some interviews coming my way as well.

On a more personal note the year was devastatingly eventful and I'm turning back to this space, my blog, for some solace, strength and the will to stand and re-build again.

In some matters, prior experience just makes the situation worse because you know that this is not the worst there is and that it will be a long while before the sun will shine again.

Without anymore moroseness... here's a wish for a good year in life, in every which way.

The hope for dreams to finally materialize....to win friends back....and as always...to overhaul and better the self.

The healing lies in silence of the mind and madness of the words...

Drafts...

Some of the posts I initiated but never completed -

*Oxymoron

Life had always been good to young Lauralie, a swanky apartment in Manhattan, parents as normal as they get - a call twice a week and her imminent matrimony, or the lack of it, was the only issue they had, a job she enjoyed and friends who never gave up on her. Walking the streets of Manhattan by night was a far more appealing option

*Old Girl...Old City...

Watching a movie has always been an engaging movie for me as irrespective of how abominable the movie might turn out to be I try to live it and relate to the characters while watching it (even the absurd comedies...my imagination is pretty crazy!)

*Growing Up..

Growing up is something you would probably expect a teenager to be doing; but its actually something we all need to be doing each minute. We should not just be "growing older" we should be "growing up"!

Every day in a small way a part of me grows older; but its up to me to see that this part is now also wiser and more at peace with the world. On the suggestion of a friend, Madhuri, I read this piece called Quarter Life Crises. This, my friends, seems to be the absolute flavour of the season, we lot being(me and most of the people I know) being in their early twenty-somethings.

*Untitled

Its strange sometimes how we click with certain people without an iota in common apart from circumstance and that these equations end up lasting a long long time to come. *touches wood*

I have always been greatful for the friends I've had and have and feel glad that there will be more people that will come along to enrich my life.

We have also now come a long way from the traditional methods of making friends

*3 Part Dream

The Incomplete Dream…

Even in life have I not seen a vision so vivid, as when I saw her walking by me in my deepest REM cycle of that glorious afternoon! All dressed in white with a scarf in the color of the sky, and

What matters...

It’s not the words but people who write them that matter,

It’s not the words but from whose mouth they are uttered,

It’s not the kisses but the heart from where the love springs,

It’s not the kisses but whether they make your lover sing,

It’s not the time but with whom it is spent whilst it flies,

It’s not the time but till when you can bide your anguished cries.

Words again...

In a sudden flash of realization that words, whether written, read or spoken are a form of solace for any and everyone!

For some its reading their favourite psalm from the bible, for some its a verse from their favourite poem or a letter from their sweetheart. For a few its the comfort of spewing their emotions on paper or for that matter web space. And yet others feel better when they talk about what they are going through or maybe even talk about anything at all. Most commonly people would need to hear words of comfort.

Its so strange...the power of mere words. Although they affect the actual situation in no way. It is pleasant to drown in the relief that they provide and let them ease away all that's troubling us. But I wonder whether they are just another form of escape from actually facing the situation or do they act as medicine for the lacerations when handling life. Then again I remember... Sometimes its these very words that can leave you scarred for life!

Just us...

A thousand words are not enough for all that I want to say to you,

Eternity is not long enough for the time I want to spend with you,

But in this world where those things are hard to come by,

I will be happy with but a smile and and a moment where our eyes speak...