To A New Beginning

We FINALLY, after the zillion bandhs had the COFEE investiture today. And hesitant and unsure as I was initially to apply, today I'm so grateful I did. Because it makes me look at college in a way I never would and that famous college spirit- oh I never thought I would say this, but yes, I'm actually glad to be a part of college! Because when you do the things you like, its not that bad. :) And I'm grateful that I finally got that chance to look at college this way, because its my last year here, and these are supposed to be the best years of our lives right?! So we might as well live it up!
COFEE 2011-12 It's going to be EPIC!

Why Don't They Just Rename Sundays Already?

Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi is by far one of the crappiest, most clichéd and just unbelievably stupid movies that I’ve seen. And while I can accept this on days when I’m in a slightly agreeable mood, I cannot stand anyone else in the world sharing my opinion. And despite actually accepting that on a scale of one to ten, rationally (not emotionally, I can’t help it if I’m a right-brain person) I’d give it a negative score, I still sat around watching it. On television, nonetheless. With never-ending ad breaks that had all the extended nonsensical ads revolving around rabbits playing in the grass and fridges and penguins and washing machines. (Okay fine, one rather nonsensical ad. The others were just annoying. But really, penguins need to wash clothes? I’m sorry I must have missed the class where they taught us that.) Yes, so I sat around like a stupid grinning idiot the entire time, watching RNBDJ even though I had several other, extremely important and urgent, like top in the priority list kinda things to do. Why? The answer is as simple as the question, and it’s a three lettered word too. (No prizes for guessing!) Obviously~ SRK.

I don’t know what it is, I simply can’t put a finger on it and say that it’s this one thing that makes me love, adore, worship, idolize (and every other synonym of these four words) SRK. I wish I knew. Because it would go a long way in proving my sanity. Because you know there has to be an explanation for the hysteria he causes all over the world. It doesn’t matter if you’re in Bombay or Canada, Delhi or Egypt, Germany or Hyderabad. It doesn’t matter if you’re 15 or 55, man or woman- you can’t not love this man, or you can’t not hate him. Because there’s simply no one else quite like him. I’ve NEVER met a person who is divided on their opinion, never met someone who has said ‘Oh, he’s alright’ and simply shrugged their shoulders nonchalantly. Mention his name and either you witness someone blush a deep beetroot red and get that twinkling dreamy filled look in their eyes, or get a murderous aghast look and an ‘I’m going to kill him and then you’ glare. It’s always one of two extremes, proving my point that there is something about him, something quite spectacular.

October 26th and December 23rd~ Hurry up already!

One Grammatically Incorrect Sentence to Celebrate the Freedom!

So I officially no longer care or give a damn about the gramatical correctness of this sentence and this entire post. And yes, I also do not care if the information provided by me is sufficient enough for you or if it does or does not solve your problems or if it actually lets the reader comprehend the passage by not essentially being an unending string of words and longwinded sentences that have no meaning in the end. It may just be that you have to read every single thing that I've read in the last two weeks to actually just get this post but oh well that certainly isn't my problem and no amount of logical or critical reasoning that you use will change my mind so you might as well give up. Your issues with this post and arguments that you might set forth really dont matter anymore.

Also, I don't know why I bother to crib about change- because two days after my last post, I went back to absolutely detesting and hating the place I rather tragically call college.  

P.S. My apologies to the readers. This is what studying and not writing MY book when I really really want to does to me.

The End?

For the longest time now, despite my many attempts, I've had absolutely nothing to say- nothing whatseover to write about. I can't think of any topic that I want to write on which is a shame really especially because I have been thinking so much. And maybe its because I can only write when I'm annoyed which again isn't a very good thing if I want to seriously pursue this as a career. Because what am I supposed to say- I missed a deadline because no one annoyed me to the right extent at the right time? Really?

Does this as a fact completely scare me? The answer is an absolute yes. What if I've written every single thing that I am supposed to, and there will be nothing more. (Well nothing good in any case, because I am quite the expert at writing utter rubbish as this post does prove.) What if this is it? What if I never finish TUCS? While it would certainly explain why I go back to writing the same thing again and again in a different way in my book, I'd rather be clueless and writing, than aware and not writing. This inability to write something worth reading, something that actually makes me happy and stupidly proud, is terrifying. Because I can't help wondering if it is really the end. And I know its probably just writers block (again!) and it will go away eventually because its stubborn as hell and there is nothing I can do about it, I can't not worry.

And all of this brings me to yet another question. What happens at the end? We all know that there is an end to everything, nothing really lasts. And no, I'm not talking of death here, but the peaks and the decline. There will be a day, I don't know if that is today, or a few years down the line- where I really will have nothing to write about. When my writing will not be what it is today. And that's a part of life right? So what happens then? What happens when you're done with what you love doing best? What happens after the end?

Selective Memory

It’s easy to forget things.
I should know, considering how I forget where I keep my post-its. Sigh.
It’s so easy to let things just slip out of your mind. To let other things, other moments occupy that space. It’s simple really.
It’s easy to forget. Easier to make newer memories.

We’re humans. We forget birthdays. We forget to buy things. We lose our lists. We forget the time. We forget to call people.
And sometimes we forget who we are.

And that’s all okay. Because you will always remember something else in return. That balance will remain.
And if you forget who you are, you’ll find yourself again, or someone will always be around to help you. To teach you how to walk all over again. To remind you of who you were and what you believed in.

And even if that doesn’t happen, then maybe you’ll simply just change for the better. Because change is the only constant right?

So forgetting things- that’s okay. It’s easy. Simple.
What happens when you can’t?

We've all got memories we'd like to forget. Things we wish had never happened. Words we wish we'd never said. So what do you do when you can't forget?

Waiting For Godot?

As much as I hate waiting, I know its an inevitable part of life.
And if you really think about it, life is made up of a lot of waiting.

We wait for a new day, we wait for the nights that follow and we wait for the weekends.
We wait for love, for family, and for happiness.
We wait for endings- both happy and sad, and sometimes we even wait for death.
We wait for people to come, and for people to go. For the seasons to change and for time to fly.
We wait for answers even when we know we won't like them, we wait for results and we wait to ensure that we don't get them.
We wait, so that tomorrow can be brighter, happier and simply unforgettable.
And if you're like me, you wait for Grey's Anatomy, SRK and a few zillion ads.
All through our lives, we will be waiting for something or someone. It could be happiness even.
But at any given point in life you cannot be not-waiting- even if it is for something completely small and stupid like a sequel, or shoes, or the next episode in the show you're obsessed with. Because if you truly were completely content and at peace with yourself and everything around you then what would be the point? What really would be the point in existing if we weren't hoping and waiting?

We're humans. And it is only human to want.
And so, we wait. We wait for what we want.
And the truth is~ its completely worth it.

The Not-So-Write Way

The sad part about being (or rather wanting to be) a writer is that nobody thinks its a real job. Or even considers the possibility that it might be. Which is a very insulting thing to think, but I'm not going to get into that. Of course there are several professions that I think don't deserve to be considered as real jobs, but I'm polite enough to keep those views to myself.
And, no tweeting things does NOT make you a writer.
But my question is, if nobody had ever sat down to write, the world would have been a very boring place to live in. Really. I could say~ can you imagine life without 'The Zoya Factor' or 'The Undomestic Goddess', but I think most people can. But everyone has that one book, or that one article or that one line right? That they simply cannot ever give up on.
Words are what we're made up of, or rather what we want to be made up of. Thank you, for the skin and the bones, but I think most humans spend a large part of their lives in TRYING to tell people what they think, or feel, or believe in. Life is a constant struggle where we're trying to say things, trying to express our stupidity in words, and if more people wrote, or read, they would realise how easy it is to do that.
Not to mention what would we read if no one had ever written anything? And considering how I have the memory of a goldfish, I'm not exactly a fan of the remember-everything-you-say/hear school of thought which is how it was until writing came about.
Of course I would be extremely grateful if no one had ever compiled or written a Banking or a Programming textbook, but well you can't always have everything your way.
So my point really is, what's so wrong in being a writer anyway?