Riches


A lone figure, she stood leaning against the stalwart tree that gave her solace and support ever since she was little child. A delicate, beautiful girl she was, with dark, almond shaped eyes carefully lined with kohl, her oiled hair neatly braided into a perfect plait with jasmine flowers entwined and a flimsy white veil covering her head. Her plain glass bangles and anklets tinkled with her slightest movement, echoing into the empty night sky.

The glimmer of the moon fell upon her soft face and the wind whispered into her ear, “Dream…”
She smiled to herself, closed her eyes and let her dreams transform her world.

There was the princess, sitting majestically on the royal swing in the garden, with two maids on either side, simply waiting for her command. Her exquisite saree trailed on the ground as she swayed back and forth on the swing. Golden bangles shimmered on her wrist, silver anklets adorned her feet and, in place of a while veil, was an intricately woven kashmiri shawl covering her head. She could hear the faint trickle of water from the large marble fountain across the garden, while the sound of trumpets echoed into the warm summer air, announcing the arrival of the queen.

She knew what the queen would say now. She remembered those words that were repeated to her whenever she managed to drift of into a world of her own.

“Silly girl, riches do not buy you happiness!”

And she was jolted out of her fantasy, as she stared at her mother. She quickly picked up the bucket filled with water, and ran towards home, with one quick glance at the moon. There would always be a tomorrow… To dream…
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(The painting of the woman was done by Raja Ravi Verma. I absolutely adore his paintings, and I hope, whenever you have the time, you will be able to take a look at his amazing artwork).
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Essence


Another event.
Another futile attempt.
Another fusion of dulcet words.
Another manifestation of my perception.
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There exists in this world,
an unfulfilled soul.
Flitting,
from one notion to the next,
in pursuit of an elucidation.

It is unsuccessful in comprehending,
the delight and despair presented.
It is blinded by its hunt,
for impeccability in this world.

It is engulfed by avarice,
to desire only pleasure
from the luminous reflection
of another,
similar to itself.

It is to stay vexed,
till that juncture in time,
where it will learn
to embrace the bitter and the sweet.

The quest to fathom
the essence of an emotion
is an ordeal like no other.
for there is nothing to affirm
the wishes will cease to exist.

Acquiescence,
that it is an inescapable part,
of the voyage
is a divine realization in itself.
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A Play of Five Seconds

A glimpse was all it took, for her to recognize that the play had begun. Petite memoir marionettes danced away on the soft plump cushion of her brain, probing her, forcing her to remember the previous shows. Surprised, she stood, failing to grasp the swiftness of events that formed before her eyes.

Five seconds were simply not enough.

There stood the lead actor, who was oblivious to the entire world before him, performing his role with such confidence and poise that she was left dumbfounded. He knew people admired him, yearned to emulate him. He had created a completely different ground for himself that set him apart from the rest; for he knew where his destination lay and what road he was to follow. She was amazed at this self-assurance, and she watched every single wave and flick of the actor, making careful notes in the corner of her mind.

Yet, there was no applause for such a short play. No record that it ever took place. It was on an unknown stage, performed in front of an unconscious audience, under one watchful eye…

It was simply a play of five seconds.

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What Had Once Occured...


A parched desert it was thought to be,
The ample water they had failed to see.
The saline liquid blocked by the fragile wall,
Prepared to rupture at a swift storms call.

The salty stream would then flow upon,
The broken earth, from dusk to dawn.
An awful catastrophe, everything is undone,
Yet it would dissolve as quickly as it had come.

This desolate terrain the travelers now evade,
Knowing well their misfortune if they stayed.
The marks of the tragedy once occured,
Never spoken about, not even a word.

The wastes of the event still do remain,
A scar never faded, tried to obliterate in vain.
It was a matter of getting accustomed to,
Helpless humans, nothing they could do.

"Could be much worse"-was their belief,
In this unsettling thought lay their sole relief.
They were thankful for what they were given,
For their aimless lives, they went on living.
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"Hum Tum"- "Yeh zindagi bahut lambi hai, aur hamare paas waqt bahut kam hai"

I was watching Hum Tum last weekend, and I fell in love with the movie all over again. I know, its a complete chick flick, but I loved every minute of it. It was so funny! Especially, the "Hum Tum" cartoons... they are adorable! Saif Ali Khan was hysterical... Just as hysterical as he was in Dil Chahta Hain. And Rani Mukherjee was the beautiful lady she always is... So here are a couple of "Hum Tum" comics that I got in the email that I would like to share with everybody... Hope you enjoy it. And if you can, watch the movie too! :-)


































































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Me Doll

The immensity of the night sky,
In her lovely black eyes,
The fixed pale pink smile,
On her porcelain skin,
The newly woven dress,
Adorning her carefully crafted body,
Perfect she was—My new doll.

A patient listener to my chatter,
A silent guest for my tea parties,
A companion for my rendezvous,
Never did a day go by,
Without her by my side—Reassurance,
Yes, she will be here no matter what,
She was mine—My exciting doll.

New things I had discovered,
Friends, books, and school,
And under the bed she lay—Insignificant,
The once curly hair, tangled with dust,
The dull eyes, the faded smile,
The torn dress on her frail body,
There she was—My worthless doll.

It had served its purpose,
Amusement for a couple of months,
Did it need to be cherished?
Placed on a pedestal for admiration?
Did I love her?
Did I value her enough?
After all, it was just a doll…Was it not?
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Fallacy

Seconds ticked away.
Time dissolved.
What appeared—
was not.
What was not—
had appeared.
An original perspective.
A single occurrence.
Washed away the splendor.
A thought, an action, a word.
Innocent, pure, meaningful.
Had I revealed—
That which had been buried?
Or had I buried—
That which wanted to be revealed?
What was on the surface,
Was just the beginning…
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Like “Raindrops on Roses”- Things that make me HAPPY!

The giggles of babies, the way they squeal with delight when you tickle them, the way they put their arms around your neck and their head on your shoulders when they are really tired, the way they clap their plump, dimpled hands together when they discover something new, their wobbly steps when they are learning to walk for the first time…

Sitting next to the window, listening to the pitter patter of the raindrops against the glass, the way it fogs up the window, the breeze lifting the tree branches, curling up with a good book on the sofa, with soft music playing in the background, “Maula Mere Maula” or “Javeda Zindagi”, listening to the steady beat of the tabla, the plucking of the sitar strings, the sorrowful sob of the violin… No, I’m not the kind of girl who would want to run out into the rain and “play in it”…

Singing certain paragraphs from songs over and over again, until I’m completely sick of it. My most recent obsession is the song from “Na Tum Jaano Na Hum”

Tum, se mujhe pyaar kyun hogaya.
Tum, na mile aur mein khogaya.
Tum, meri khwaabon se jaa na sake.
Tum, meri baahon mein aa na sake.

layouts myspace



And of course… the paragraph that I haven’t gotten sick of till date, is from the movie “Dil Apna Preet Paraya”, sung by Lata Mangeshkar (simply superb!)

Ajeeb dastaan hain yeh.
Kahan shuru kahan khatam.
Yeh manzile hain kaun si.
Na voh samaj sake na hum.
Kisika pyaar leke tum.
Naya jahan basaoge.
Yeh shyam jab bhi aayegi.
Tum humko yaad aaoge.

And as geeky as it sounds, I love the feeling I get when a program I’ve worked on for a while compiles without any errors and gives me exactly the results I want. It’s definitely the best reward for those painstaking hours of thinking up algorithms, lining up brackets, making sure you haven’t missed any, and spending hours in front of the computer until you think your eyes are going to pop out…

Hmm… there must be a lot more things… but so far, these are the things that I can think of… :-)
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Trail

Lost, I wander,
Listening to the soft crunch,
Underneath my feet,
A step backward—I hesitate,
To gather the bits,
Never once, did I recognize…
It was a wasted effort,
To piece together my past.

Lost, I wander,
The gentle wind whispering,
Stealthily into my ear,
“Ramols, liefsbe, ulesva”,
Riddles to solve alone,
Never once, did I recognize…
The answers to those mysteries,
Are lessons of my present.

Lost, I wander,
Toward an unfamiliar path,
Squinting, I struggle to see,
Treasures sparkling behind the trees,
Hidden away in a foreign land,
Never once, did I recognize…
The faint glimmer welcoming me,
Is truly my future.
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Gurdwara

We knew we were definitely going to get lost, but we hadn’t anticipated that it would be as soon as we got of the train. My friend and I were searching for the Gurdwara in Richmond Hill, New York. In our search to enter the “House of the Guru” we asked directions from an Indian storeowner, who had a bit of trouble speaking English, and we couldn’t understand what he was saying. And, naturally, we got lost again. We walked all the way to 101st street, when we realized that the neighborhood looked nothing like where a Gurdwara would be situated. So we reluctantly walked up to an old Punjabi man sitting on the park bench and my friend asked him in Punjabi if he knew where the Gurdwara might be. I couldn’t follow the conversation yet again, because obviously, I didn’t know any Punjabi. But I was pleased by his friendliness. He walked with us all the way to the Gurdwara, which was located nearly where we started off!

It was the first time I ever stepped into a Gurdwara, and I found it absolutely wonderful. The serene atmosphere, the calm voice reading from the Guru Granth Sahib and the magnificent Khanda symbol. I followed my friend up the carpet, watching her every move, trying to cover my head with the duppatta, making sure I didn’t look like a complete fool. I donated some money, bowed down in respect, and when I looked up again, my jaw dropped open in pure wonder. From up close, the setting looked so much more beautiful. Flower vases sat on both sides and the yellow lamps next to the flowers reflected off the silver Khanda. The silver fringes on the yellow sheets that covered the Guru Granth Sahib glinted under the light, making everything seem much more grander. Next to this, was a small stage with a microphone where the Keertans were sung, and on the wall behind the stage was a marvelous picture of the Amritsar Gurdwara.

My eyes darted back and forth across the room, taking in as much as possible and at the same time listening to my friend as she explained the history of Sikhism. Then we walked over to the next room to have some Langar, which consisted of Roti, Sarso-ka-Saag, Raajma, Fried Chenna and Rice (which was the tastiest I’ve ever had!). The room had pictures of the ten Gurus, each superb in their own way, painted with bright colors and formal expressions. I was in awe at every little thing I found. I compared everything to Hinduism, how a few things were similar, and how many were different. It made me think about my beliefs, my teachings and made me appreciate so many more things that existed in this exquisite world.
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3rd Year of Undergrad!!


Another year of college,
About to begin very soon,
We kneel down on our knees,
My Lord, praying for a boon.

A plea from every student,
That we may pass every test,
Knowing well in our hearts,
We shall try our very best.

The complicated equations,
Spread along the board,
Names of old scientists,
Of whom we’ve never heard!

Those long, torturous nights,
May they eventually pass,
Hoping we shall forget,
About gravity, force and mass.

Waiting in the office room,
To seek advice from the dean,
Hiding from professors on campus,
Deftly avoiding from being seen.

An attempt to evade probation,
The GPA shall not be a 1.0!
Maybe, this semester,
We’ll be able to get a 4.0!
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Happy Independence Day

The smell of incense sticks… The morning breakfast (idli, dosa, puri…? Could never quite make out what it was)…The soft murmurs of a prayer… My mornings in India always began with these things. However, the commotion truly started when I heard the final shout to get up for school. I would take a quick shower, focusing on the lizard stuck to the wall, always dreading the moment it would plummet to the ground. To my relief, it never did. By the time I came out smelling like Shikakai and Lux, my gray school uniform would be laid out for me on the bed, neatly pressed by the laundry lady. Along with a red and white striped belt to go around my waist, the maroon tie to be neatly tucked under my collar, and the gazillions of badges that I had to pin to the dress (name badge, school badge, class leader badge, first class badge, good pupil badge… It went on…). Then my mother would come rushing in with a comb in her hand and the Parachute Oil bottle in the other. I was amazed every single time how she managed to pull my frizzy hair into a plaited braid with two black ribbons woven into it and how she would “puff” them up in the end, to give it that “extra bow” look. I used to stuff the delicious breakfast into my mouth and run to the front gate to wait for the rickety blue school bus. I would stand there with my bag weighing down around my shoulders, which was filled with carefully covered schoolbooks. (The night before the first day of school, my mother and I, as if it were a sacred ritual, would sit on the floor with the glossy brown paper spread out before us, cautiously cutting and wrapping. I would worry over the colorful labels to go on those books, never sure if the Mickey Mouse sticker should go on my science notebook or the math notebook). In my right hand, I held a white and blue plastic basket with my steel “tiffin box” next to a white plastic water bottle that popped out the straw as soon as I flipped it open. I would look up to see the “Johnson Grammar School—Hyderabad” words materialize into view around the corner… And that is how it always began… My first day of school in India… Ever year…

The memorization… The exams… The Sunday morning habit of washing the hair and sitting on the mat in my parents’ bedroom with my cousin to do some extra studying… The eagerness to watch Mowgli or Mahabharat on T.V because we didn’t want to study… Always waiting… Waiting for vacation time to roll around, because we knew that was when the REAL FUN would begin.

I used to love the trips to Shirdi during the summer, because that was when I could buy the steel kitchen set. They were quite flimsy and would not even last by the time I got back home, but I enjoyed playing with them. I mixed water and sugar together, which was my “sambar”. I would have a small amount of rice puffs, which I would serve to everybody as “rice” and the tiniest amount of pickle, which would take the place of the “curry”. My cousins and I would play for hours together in my grandma’s house with these kitchen sets, oblivious to the scolding about how were wasting her sugar and rice puffs. We would run to the closest supermarket to buy the best snack of all: Maggie Noodles and Picnic chips. Packets and Packets would be bought, only to disappear within seconds. And then came the summer nights… We would all gather up on the terrace, under the night sky, lined up side-by-side whispering to each other, giggling about how we were scared out of our wits to find grandpas’ teeth in a glass on the sink.

I now think about the evenings in India where everybody used to sit out on the front porch, saying hello to people that passed down the street. Someone charmed by the full moon, would start singing classic hindi film songs… I think it always used be jolly old Vijji uncle, but I’m not sure I remember correctly. Whenever the craving to eat pani puri, bhel puri or dahi puri (hmmm… notice how they’re all “puri’s”) overwhelmed us, we rushed to the roadside stand and gulped them down as if there was no tomorrow, eyeing the jilebi’s and rasmalai and wondering if we had any more place left in our stomachs to squeeze them in. It was ironic how even though we knew that all the food was prepared under the most unsanitary conditions possible, we ate them anyway, savoring every bite. After all that chaat, we managed to have enough money left over for a couple of Cornetto butterscotch ice creams, Perk chocolates and Nestle milky bars.

It was in India that I learned the joy of living in a joint family. There was always somebody there to take me outside, play with me or someone to go to when I was just plain bored. I remember the bickering my grandparents used to have over the high volume of TV because of my grandpa’s poor hearing. But they always reconciled because they did not want to miss their daily soap operas in the evenings. I remember my young uncles on their Suzuki motorbikes fetching me from school, driving skillfully through the traffic, zigzagging through the cars and pedestrians. They lectured me on how important school was, but I knew their secrets. Every night, grandma told me stories about the different tactics they employed to miss a day of school, but they were eventually caught. I would always want to try one of those plans, but never actually dared to do so. Then there were those movie nights with cousins, where we all went to Sandhya Theatre or Aradhana Theatre to find out which movie was showing that day. Grandpa’s ranting in the background continued, “500 rupees for a cinema ticket? That’s useless…The movie nowadays aren’t worth watching anyway. Why spend 500 rupees for a movie ticket? In my day, it was just 20 rupees!” Funnily enough, when I mention this to my father, he says the same thing, “In my day, it was just a 100 rupees… 500 rupees for a cinema ticket?”

But the best time in India was during Diwali or Weddings, where the most memorable things occurred. The loud firecrackers, the appearance of relatives that we did not even remember, the mehendi, the sweets, the singing, the dancing, the comparing of dresses, the glistening jewelry, the colorful rangoli, the open doors, the running from one house to another, the gossip…
I honestly say, after visiting and living in four different countries in my nineteen years of life, I have not found any other country like India. I guess its true what they say:

"IT HAPPENS ONLY IN INDIA!"






Haha... Nah... I was just kidding... The following pictures are the REAL India and I'm absolutely proud to be an Indian! :-)
"THIS DEFINITELY HAPPENS ONLY IN INDIA!!!"






Celebrate the 60th anniversary of India's Independence!
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Forbidden Love

He dwells in the heart of the blue sky,
Rising majestically like a king- up above high,
Spreading his velvety warm rays,
Bestowing us with beautiful days,
But he yearns for the one and only,
Spending his hours alone and lonely,

She enters the night sky as he leaves,
Tears rush forth as she grieves,
Their love was cursed, you see,
Together, they were never meant to be,
She waits patiently for his return,
Never- she will never learn,

Oh what a joy it would be to see,
The perfect pair-like a flower and a bee,
Yet, on the forbidden day, they do unite,
Yes, it is an outstanding sight,
But you have been warned-keep this in mind,
If you witness the meeting-you will be left blind.
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Chain Email- "Ever Been To An Exam Without Studying?"

I absolutely LOVE this chain email because it manages to make me laugh every single time.

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"Crazy Thoughts"

I was looking through a website yesterday and I found a couple of questions on there that were quite amusing. I would like to share it with everybody and maybe you can try answering these questions for me... because I am still thinking about them... :-)

- Why is the show called "Unsolved Mysteries?" If they were solved, they wouldn't be mysteries.
-Why did Sally sell seashells on the seashore when you can just pick them up anyway?
-Why do we sing "Rock a bye baby" to lull our little ones to sleep when the song is about putting your baby in a tree and letting the wind crash the cradle to the ground?
-If a doctor suddenly died while doing surgery, would the other doctors work on the doctor or the patient?
-Why do we say we're head over heels when we're happy? Isn't that the way we normally are?
-Why do sleeping pills have warning labels that state :'Caution: May Cause Drowsiness'?
-What happens if you get a paper cut from a Get Well card?
-Why are elderly people often called "old people" but children are never called "new people"?

Just some stuff to think about... More stuff can be found at this link... Enjoy! ;-)
http://bored.com/crazythoughts/index.html
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A Line

"हम ने जो सुन लिया, ऊसने कहॉ भी नहीं..." (My hindi writing is a bit poor. Please excuse any mistakes)
"hum ne jo sun liya, usne kahan bhi nahin..."
rough translation: "I have heard, what has not even been said..."

I was listening to a hindi song a couple of days ago... and this line caught my interest for some reason.
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Familiar Beings

listen patiently, produces happiness from places that were never known never existed a shoulder to cry on yet aggravating beyond belief the hums the jauntiness the flaunting the continuous reminder have it do not have it a longing to shout enough but no it is not fair not fair at all after so much it was a justification the false dreams allowing to hallucinate would it become reality someday the chastising the past remember the past, listen patiently, the petite appearance yet incredibly strong the droning about things which did not matter or did it would never know the intellect humble or not a pretense to hide immoral judgments thoughts about caricatures very random an attempt to veer away from essential matters afraid to tell trying oh so hard to bury rules a need to break away to run away, listen patiently, bizarre consideration no troubles at all viewed as a façade no its not true it is said but it needs to be appreciated completely understood it is honest not a pretense or maybe not was it right to criticize maybe a fear of being hurt yes that was it family always there an immense affection for family, listen patiently, the mastermind the cautiously crafted beliefs dangerously penetrating seems ordinary but is it the persistence the perseverance no its not right believe yet relentlessly stubborn the unusual situations the desperate need for a tolerant ear, listen patiently, the stupidity the enjoyment the illogical conversations the spirituality relations avoided a simple flick the deceit or accident fury hush long silence did something happen, listen patiently, the last one the biggest liar of all the hypocrite never speaks the truth a mask a falsehood yes misery but nothing other than that picked up gathered together tied up in a knot no never to open again yet it comes back in all forms love hate anger jealousy joy envy whatever it might be forever veiled, realize patiently.
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The Ultimate Deception

A couple of weeks ago, I was looking through my folder and I found a story that I wrote for my 9th grade english class. I don't remember what we had to write our stories on, and I don't remember the circumstances under which I made up this story called "The Ultimate Deception". But I guess nostalgia overtook my senses, and has forced me to put it up here on my blog. Hope you enjoy it...
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An eerie silence enveloped the house. The stairs groaned under my sneakers, while I stealthily treaded upstairs. My pulse quickened and my heart began to race. The only thing I could hear was the faint jingle of change in my pocket and the soft rustle of my pants. Where could he be? He should be at home by now.
I walked toward his bedroom and pushed open the door slowly. Everything was normal. I rushed toward my room and shoved the door open. Nothing was normal. Clothes were strewn across the floor. The lampshade was tilted and the bulb broken. Papers and folders were scattered everywhere. My throat was desiccated and arbitrary thoughts swiveled through my mind. What happened? Where was he? Did somebody kidnap him?
I hurried downstairs toward the phone. I picked it up and punched moms’ office number. It took me five seconds to realize that the phone had no dial tone. I smacked it down hard and picked it up again, half hoping that the firm hit would miraculously make it work. I was losing my train of thought and I had no idea what to do. I sprinted across the hall and up the stairs to my bedroom. I ran hysterically around the room searching for traces—of what? I looked under my bed, behind the desk and then I suddenly turned toward the closet. It was slightly open and a pale blue piece of cloth was protruding from the gap. I held out my hand and touched the knob. The cold feel of it was like an electrifying shock.
“Oh, please no…” I whispered to myself. I tugged the door open and suddenly froze before a grotesque sight.
He stood perfectly straight against the closet wall. His eyes were rolled far into his head. His face was pale and his lips were parted slightly. The left hand hung lifelessly while the other hand was twisted into a monstrous shape. Blood trickled out of a slit in his pale blue shirt and onto the floor where a glistening knife lay innocently smeared with blood.
A weak whimper escaped my throat while I stood rooted to the ground. Tears sprung into my eyes and blurred my vision when he suddenly dropped to the ground clenching his stomach and laughing shrilly.
“Oh, my camera… I should’ve… your face…so funny…you thought…I really… dead?” he gasped. Random words were flying out of his mouth while he cackled madly.
“Ray, if you don’t get out of my bedroom this instant then you’re really going to be dead!” I screamed, lunging forward to grab him. He ducked swiftly and ran out of the room flailing his arms wildly over his head like a barbarian.
I looked around the room and let out a long sigh. Why in world did I have to get stuck with such a brother? I was trapped in this world of immaturity forever. Everyday, the walls seem to be closing in inch-by-inch, till that day when I was probably going to snap under the pressure of his brainless shenanigans.
That was the first time that Ray pulled the ‘dead guy’ prank. The second time he did it was when he didn’t come home past his curfew and mom sent me looking for him…
I peddled across our deserted lane when, toward the end of the street, I stopped abruptly.
He was lying in a pool of blood right before my eyes. I dropped my bicycle and was about to run towards him, when I stopped myself.
“Ray! Stop it, okay? This is not the time to play one of your dimwitted pranks!”
No reply.
“Look, it’s nearly 9:00. We have to go home. Mom’s really worried!’ No reply.
I could feel the cold aura around him. I knelt down and shook him, making sure I rattled every organ inside his body.
No reply.
“Ray…” I whispered. I put my finger under his nose to detect any sign of breathing.
Nothing.
I pulled his chest to my ear, knowing that I’d definitely hear the sound of his heart.
Nothing.
“Ray, this is enough! Get up Ray!” I knew he wasn’t going to get up this time. I knew he wasn’t going start laughing or giggling. I knew he was dead.
I held him close, rocking him back and forth like he was little baby. Tears flowed down like a river and I screamed for help. The last thing I remember was a blur of blue and red lights flashing constantly and the soft murmurs of people who surrounded me…
The police said he slipped on the ice and probably swerved and hit the curb with his head. The doctors said he probably would’ve been saved if he wore a helmet. The neighbors said he was too young to die like that. I didn’t say anything.
It was just a matter of wearing a helmet, but he didn’t. He thought that he was the ‘cool’ guy if he didn’t wear a helmet. He thought that he was the ‘stunt master’ if he did dangerous tricks on his bike. He was just like any other kid.
Now, I walk toward his bedroom and push open the door slowly. Everything is normal. I rush toward my room and shove the door open. Nothing is normal. The clothes are neatly folded in the closet. The lampshade is upright and the bulb is not broken. The papers and folders are carefully stacked on top of each other on the desk. My throat is desiccated and imperative questions swivel through my mind. Why, Ray? Why didn’t you wear a helmet? If only you did. If only…
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A Solution

Amidst the laughter, an awkward silence reigned. Permeating through the air, into every crack. So many riddles implored to be unraveled, so many secrets needed to be uncovered; yet everything was left unspoken. A hope existed—hope that this silence will recite the familiar answers. Hope that it will explain these unfathomable emotions. Yet, the frantic search for words produced no satisfactory results. Nothing seemed right. Every word that seemed so simple before had become difficult to utter.
Yet, beneath the perplexing sentiments, the truth resided. It screamed, and its voice shook the silence, shattering it into pieces and blowing them off the surface. “A few hours of laughter do not promise a lifetime of happiness. A few seconds of bliss does not mean eternal satisfaction. The atmosphere that seems enchanting right now will not be so tomorrow. This will not last forever.”
Reality lunged forward and pulled the weeds of fantasy from within its roots. It was an on-going battle between honesty to oneself and practicality. And where was the solution that would solve this predicament? The one and only, time. It held all the strings, pulling and pushing the beings according to its whims. It held the power to heal or to worsen a wound. It had the strength to solve all the riddles and uncover all the secrets. And it possessed the supreme ability… To aid in forgetting. Hope will be extinguished. The answer will materialize. Everything that appeared inexplicable before will make perfect sense years later. And eventually, it will be forgotten.
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Russett Death

The only joy and consolation-
stored in a bottle,
The voracious thirst yearns for it-
refusing to settle,
The liquid rushes down the ravine-
drenching the desire,
The intoxication spreads like venom-
quenching the fire,
The knot of contemplation turns numb-
detecting nothing,
The slurred words roll of the tongue-
meaning nothing,
The whiff of breath scathes the nostrils-
piercing knife!
The uncontrollable stagger leads nowhere-
rotting life!
The sightless eyes fight back sleep-
for so many days,
The smirk spreads across the sunken face-
as the body sways,
The sand granules stream down-
no more time to borrow,
The being ceases to exist-
drowned in sorrow.
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Curse

A change with the sun rise,
Last nights forgotten cries,
No visible sign of the tears,
Of the gut-wrenching fears,
A new day, A new lie,
A forlorn sob, A despairing sigh,
An evil begins to spread its dark wings,
Over remnants of broken promises, lost things,
Loneliness rushes forth from every nook, every corner,
Oblivious to the faint cries of the mourner,
Darkness sets, the ghost performs with ruthless tact,
Once again, a silent witness to the treacherous act.
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Layers of Life

I have put far behind me the stories of fairies, princesses and brave knights. I have realized that the moon is not a creamy white cookie that can be plucked from the sky to satisfy my eating desires and I have come to know that no ghost or boogeyman dwelled under my bed.

I became conscious of the fact that in gym class, the fear of getting picked last for the game of dodge ball was petty. The fretting over the little pimple that surfaced exactly on picture day went unnoticed because everyone was scavenging through their own backpacks, praying that the miracles of make-up would work again. It did not matter who carried the best purse or who smelled of vanilla, because someone managed to find “a brand new flavor” the very next day.

Everything was long forgotten and put aside in a dusty old box in the corner of my mind. And right now, the familiar feeling creeps up again. It rushes through my body, telling me that what I am experiencing right now is another layer of life. The worrying over midterms and finals… The rapid AIM messages about the group paper on “A Static Analysis of the Physical Variances in Spinal Structures”… The excessive amounts of frappucinos… The unnecessary questions about the suitability of my major…

Yes, I have unraveled the mysteries that life threw in my lap, peeling away the layers and delving deeper and deeper. And I have the confidence that I will emerge unscathed and with a better understanding of my identity through this college experience…
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About Me!

To escape from the humdrum existence people call "life", I explore the jungle of my mind. A meandering path, with thoughts as my obstacles. I put aside the smiling face of my mother, snapshots of holidays with friends, lost memories of my childhood... All in an attempt to find answers to my branching questions.

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