I shall overcome this. I shall try, try and try even more.

Write. Live. Love. Laugh.

Dance

xxx

Kya yeh zindagani hai, bas teri kahani hai
Yeh jo zindagani hai, teri hi kahani hai..

They called You a drug, my addiction

I know now that You are my oxygen..

I know not the difference between dreams and reality

I know not what to say or do or think

I know not the meaning of love

I know nothing

And yet, I shy away from You

You- my Creator

You. You are all that matters anymore. You are all that mattered before.

It has always been You.

Teri hoon teri jo chahe kasam de le
Sari umar hai mujhko dard-e-judai ka sehna….

A beautiful, beautiful time one month, ten days! People, places, travel, happiness, laughter… yes, the tears came, but this time, there were gentle fluffy fingers who wipes them away.

Updates? Quick ones..

There is J, who has declared that he will no longer be in my life the way he was. *blows a kiss to the wind*

And there is T, the new entrant, who has taken my life by storm and reminded me that I am a Child of the Universe. My soul twin. Muahhh!

Plus a host of girlfriends who are challenging my belief that I can seldom be close to my gender!

A ray of Sunshine, glimmering and sweet, who moves me to tears with her hugs and unconditional love.

My stuffed lion, my mobile dispenser of free hugs!

Books books books, so many of them! Bags and accessories, skirts and perfumes!

And of course…one of my first loves is back in my life in full force, this time to stay with my soul and dance with my spirit. . .

Photography.

I am never alone now. For as Ansel Adams says, ‘There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer. ‘

Happy Valentine’s Day to you, LS, and to my darling 2010- you truly make me come alive!!

A lazy Sunday morning spent selecting books to be bought and devoured. Ordered my fill online, will hunt for paperbacks of some more in my local bookstore. Immensely satisfied, immensely excited!

Which got me thinking…I guess there are a few distinct types of book lovers… I’d like to christen the following categorization the Lilac Sakura Typology Saga (LSTS)!

The Bumbling Bibliophile

When BB was ten, he wrote that books are his best friends in all the slam books and social networking sites. A lone reader, the world of his books and that of reality are heavily entwined and it is a challenge to untangle the two. Reading profoundly affects his work and thought process, and you can be sure that his laundry continues to feel the after-effects of the deeply moving Kite Runner! The BB reads extensively and widely, but could be judgmental, hating or loving characters at first sight.

The Cult Maker

Be it Harry Potter, vampires or alchemists, The Cult Maker’s solace lies in community adoration of his favorite works. She is most likely to fawn unconditionally over the heroes and verge on tearing up the villains to shreds. Hero worship often leads to biased opinions, yet The Cult Maker feels more involved with the book rather than merely witnessing its events like the third-party Bumbling Bibliophile. Students of marketing would tend to label The Cult Maker an alpha leader in the process buzz marketing owing to the amount of influence she has in initiating a fan following.

The Shallow Socialite

Kitty parties and oh-so-hip book clubs. Coffee table books discussed over tea. The Shallow Socialite will read every single book that makes the news- Adiga’s White Tiger, Bhagat’s 1/2/3/5 ___, Brown’s Lost Symbol. This seems like a great category at first glance, but the problem lies therein: a Shallow Socialite is most likely to read the blurbs, book reviews, back cover, and a few pages randomly flipped pages. These qualify her to soundly abuse or praise the book, depending upon the prevailing national or international mood. ‘Oh, James Frey, what a cheat!’ ‘Chetan Bhagat inspired a generation, I’m sure! Why, I had remarked to Sheela when his first book came out: this man is making history!’ Whereupon the much-confused Sheela nods out of compulsion and Bhagat manages continues his undoubtedly overrated legacy. Sigh.

The Random Rambler

..will give anything and everything a chance. From sports to fiction to the not-so-appealing Wolf Hall, the Random Rambler reads randomly, and sometimes few and far in between. He reads with dedication from cover to cover, with a somber expression even while meeting Jeeves and Kushwant! Reading is not in his first few priorities, and he is likely to pick up books which catch his fancy at airport lounges. Would be more inclined than the other types to give debut authors a fair chance.

The Genre Gatekeeper

Such people stick to their chosen genres and absolutely, entirely refuse to open their eyes to the world of possibilities outside their realm! The staunch romance Gatekeeper will refuse to look at the cover of Cosmos, the scifi Gatekeeper stay miles away from Nora Roberts. While this type reflects a clear understanding of the reader’s needs and choices, it restricts his choices like the self-fulfilling prophecy of a lit candle, for Genre Gatekeepers tend to stagnate in their choices, thus defying their need fulfillment.

I am a self-professed Bumbling Bibliophile, complete with intense expressions and ‘misplaced’ pens! What type do you think you are?

And what have I missed out?!

I found a really inspiring blog: http://violetdiaries.wordpress.com/

I'd like to be here... *disappears amid a swirl of stardust*

Inspiring because the photos Violet clicked are so strikingly beautiful! When somebody loves what they do, you can make out right at the first sight (it’s called peer recognition ). This one is definitely the first on my blogroll! And we seem to be anonymity siblings. Did you notice the Violet-Lilac connexion?!

A huge list of books planned to be bought at the Chennai Book Fair tomorrow. Looking forward to reading The Time Traveler’s Wife, The Idea of Justice, Cutting for Stone, Brooklyn.. I could go on and on. Maybe I should abandon all other outlets of spending money tomorrow and live @ Landmark!

My first project for Twenty10: Learn to read, write and speak an Afghani language. I have been schooling with four Afghanis for close to three years now, and I guess it is an absolute lack of initiative on my part if I do not learn something concrete from our interactions. After all, the world is my oyster

Alright, I need to get to work!

Can’t you see that I had been crying when you knocked on the door and told me to lunch? Couldn’t you sense me kissing you through the door after you’d gone, willing you to understand?

You spoke for close to ten minutes on the phone, couldn’t you sense that I was crying all through? Or is it that you are through with my madness and don’t care anymore?

Do you know how hard it is for me to stay away from you? Why do you use me so? Can’t you talk to me at least once without telling me to do something for you?

Why do you remember me only when you have nothing to do? Why do you promise to buy me perfumes and clothes? Do you want to pay me for those encounters, like you would a whore?

Why do you go away from me so often? You have known me from school. Why won’t you stay when I need you? Why do you remember me only when you are down? Don’t you think I would be down sometimes too? Or are you running away from me because of that very reason- that I am too mad to be sane company?

Why don’t you people realize how much you mean to me? It feels like I am wringing my heart out in sheer pain, screaming hoarse that I love you- and you do not care. When I was in the sixth grade, our counsellor told us it is no big deal if we love. It really doesn’t matter to the other person. And nobody can force love.

I withdraw into my shell so many times. I withdraw again now. The worse part is that nobody realizes it. Nobody whispers sweet nothings and deep confessions and tells me to come out because I mean something to them. Nobody.

I need so many people in my life. I yearn for so many in a million ways. Why doesn’t anybody need me? Why am I dispensable in every single relationship in my life? Why does life go on smoothly and happily for them without me when I can’t stand a moment away from so many people?

Answers. Hugs. Kisses. Love. Your hand in mine.

more piya.. more piya….

more piya keh diya jiya

tera hua

Happy new year, LS!

What a beautiful start I have to the new year! I am entirely in love with 2010. Twenty ten. Melodious!

Should I tell you how it went? I’ve been running after M (literally!) to tell her, but she keeps refusing to listen!

Want me to start at the stroke of the midnight hour? Was very goth last night. Morbidly so! Anyway, typed out two messages and sent them at 0000hrs- the first to J, the next to G. The order was a conscious choice! Both replied, read J’s first although G replied before him. D woke up to do his tarpanam and puja during the lunar eclipse, and I slept soundly and dreamlessly.

There was a homam and elaborate puja at home all morning. And I was happily messaging and chatting with a million people through text and IM! Loved that part. Made many new friends too, and everybody was adorable. My Sl chatted with me after ages and that really did make my day- I miss him so! Surprisingly, I didn’t cough much or get an attack with all the smoke at home. Was really happy! Food was awesome. By the end of it, I was as stuffed as a turkey before Thanksgiving! Personal favorites: kheer and bhendi sambar. Slept for two hours or so after that, and woke up refreshed and raring to go!

Entered D’s entire address book on a website to send greetings on his behalf- usually a chore I don’t enjoy, but with bits and pieces of Dostana and news playing in the background, I ended up having fun! Oh, somebody who visited got me two bars of Hershey’s milk chocolate. Told you I love 2010!!

We went to the Kamakshi and Kachapeshwar (Shiv) Mandirs. I love visiting south Indian temples at night when they’re almost closing. Very peaceful, sans the heat and crowd. Got a really bad asthma attack in the Kamakshi temple, took more than an hour to subside. I was cool throughout, but D got really worried and upset and I feel miserable on his account. Poor baby. He loves me too much to bear anything bad happening to me. Muahh.

Dinner done, chocolate nibbled, and plans to shop all day tomorrow in full swing! Insha allah, will be visiting the Chennai Book Fair, my latest craze Lifestyle at Citi Centre, M’s favorite jewelry store..

My new year resolution: Live each day as if it were my last!

~ Peace ~

2010. I adore you before you are born. I am in love with the prospects you hold, the people you will bring to me, the promises of a beautiful new field of learning. I am blessed to begin to love you with my love in my mind and heart, if not arms.

2009. Let me relive you in your last hour.

I began in confusion. I remember the desperation with which I begged G to give me another chance to be the best slave he would ever had. I will never forget that train journey as long as I live. I lay crying for almost the entire night, only comforted by the train’s rhythmic chug. I awoke with a steely determination that I would change my life, beginning now.

And I did. February was a month of creating my beautiful new space, learning Spanish, donning dresses and perfumes, strawberry ice cream from the new upbeat supermarket downtown and lots of M-me time.

March. Torturous all the way. On the eve of my nineteenth, I didn’t want to celebrate. I had nothing to celebrate, for it’s birthday is in September, not March. So thus began the saga again. I cannot let go, still can’t. Anyway, March 9 was a fiasco, and I don’t remember a worse birthday.

April saw D& me in Dharmasthala. A sister found. Lost now? The fish in me swam again.

I am bored of this month-by-month review. Feels like I am doing my year-end balance sheet.

I love blood. To see it flow. To trace the marks it leaves on my skin. I feel like licking dark chocolate dipped in my blood.

How much did I love in 2009? I loved unconditionally. Anyone, everyone. Until the C came along. Actually, I didn’t realize it then either. I begged him to return to me. That walk, that knife, I remember it all. I remember those corners. I remember that room upstairs. I remember my childhood’s innocence melting into body fluid. I can feel hands and lips crawling over me even as I type.

But my J- you were 2009′s greatest gift to me. Doesn’t it seem impossible now, the way we fell in love? Yes, it is not conventional. Yes, there are times I cry and cry and cry that we cannot have a life together. But we’re here now. You showed me the immense beauty of the moment. Of this moment. And I can never thank you enough for filling my life with such precious moments, passionate ones too! I am myself with you, sans the role-playing I used to do. You and Sl are perhaps the precious two who know how difficult it is for me to stay away from G. And you are definitely the only one who is still sticking by my side through everything.

How many times have I cried on the phone with you…how many times have you been at the ‘receiving end of my tantrums, mood swings, bipolar tendencies..’.  I am not nice company. And I don’t even try to pretend that I don’t miss you when you are away. I don’t try to make you feel okay and tell you to go home early. I interfere in decisions you and your love take and pass judgments when I have absolutely no say in anything in your life with her. I whine, cajole, sulk, fight. And I wonder why you love me. I really, really wonder.

Sorry, LS, I digress.

When I pause, thousands of images and voices and sensations come back to me. They’re jumbled. I don’t want to revisit them, yet they draw me irresistibly. It is like cutting open a raw wound. What immense satisfaction I get from cutting myself. I do not know why I am thinking of it so much tonight.

I am not even writing coherently. My flow of thoughts was clear before I started writing, and got completely muddled up on the way. This was supposed to be a highly moving piece. The only thing that will be moving is you off your chair.

Such small things. And I cry. I cry from the bottom of my heart for every wound that appears to be a scratch to everyone but me, because I know how deep it pierces.

Oh shoo. Stop being melodramatic.

Crude. I want to do something crude, primal.

In 2009, my resolution was to be the best slave to my G. He was the first person I wished. And the world knows and I know that I have never been as unsuccessful in any resolution as this one.

Goth. Tragedies. Blood. More blood.

Now I sound like a vampire.

I feel like a slut every time I flirt, even lightly, with anyone except J. I feel like a slut at least once every single damn hour. It is so hard to live with myself, knowing everything, accepting everything.

It is terribly lonely to bring the new year in alone. Like the world is celebrating my funeral. It reminds me of two days: my nineteenth’s birthday and the day I got that grande award when nobody turned up for me.

Pain. Tears. Blood. An ex who would rather sleep drunk than bring in the new year with me.

What if I fizzle out with 2009?

Been up since eight working on something or the other. Mailed across a project, further immersed myself in Yale and brainstormed on the Yale statement of purpose.

Now I am really, truly bored.

Fasting today for a religious purpose, so I can’t cook something to kill time. Nothing on TV, and I do not feel like watching a movie. No books to curl up with. Music seems blaring today. I am not even remotely sleepy. No inclination to paint. Or write. Or talk.

There are two main reasons why I am this listless, one which I will freely admit and one I am fighting not to, because acceptance will make it worse. The first one is that my LSAT results might be due later today. Just a feeling. And people discussing it obsessively online hint towards the scores coming out today as well.

The second.. I am trying to forget that a time like 1630hrs exists. Obviously, it is not working.

No, I am not gloomy. There’s a difference.