Somethingortheother.

Only when you're sad do you crave the once comforting sounds and voices of the past and the images which seem to hug you tight and never let go. Like a long lost friend or your very own soul mate. Together forever.

The warmth and the coziness of the late afternoon sun. The slowly receding warmth of the evening, sitting on the backyard stairs. Feeling the hair on the back of your hand rise up very slowly as a cool wind blows through the air which is thick and dense with the warmness and the love of the dying sunshine.

A bird sings here and there and you have no care in the world except to just stay there for as long as you can and as long as you like. Until something equally, if not more loved calls out for you. It was a time of not people, but feelings. Simple, pure feelings. Which had no twisted complications and gruesome mutations. The now tainted will of the girl was then straight and unassuming.

Watching the ants zoom past her big toe and each one of them following the other. The only lone one was her and she didn't want it any other way. Everything else seemed to have someone to be with. The trio of the cats lazing out on the stones, the couple of squirrels scurrying past each other, running around the old mango tree and playing hide n seek.

The rustle of the leaves from somewhere up above. A dead dry branch falling down through the branches and breaking into two coming down to the ground. I trying to find out if I can notice which one is missing and where exactly was it before. But I couldn't of course. A hollowed out mango falling down the next second, attacked and devoured by a red-beaked parrot which holidayed there up above every summer.

Even a peacock, once seen from the balcony, from somewhere or the other where peacocks live. And another peahen, white and grand. Always made me wonder why the males were so showy. I thought that happened only in animals. But then as it just turned out, hilariously, when I found out that was not the case at all.

Going back to simpler times..
It feels strange that I don't remember exactly what I used to think about all the time then. Like I think all the time now. But knowing exactly what was on my mind, then would've been precious to know about now. Facebook was not waving "What are you thinking about?" on me then. It just makes sense how super duper psychology is used in making networking websites turn you narcissistic and self-absorbed, to make it work for you. It's good though. Not all the time, but. This, sometime later, I guess.

There was a time when all thoughts went out to how the world looked to me and not the other way round.

When everything feels like it's going wrong, down the drain, tumbling down.. I try to catch at these fading memories, flying away from me like an important paper, a currency note or maybe a photograph I adore, cherish, can't live without. The wind is taking it away and it's strong. And just as I clutch at it, it drives it farther away.

But somehow I manage to catch that. Somehow. And I capture it and put it down right here where no one can take it away from me. Never. The golden sunshine on the roof, hungry crows gathering around the bread crumbs I put out for them. The sparrows sitting on the bird rest, rolling around in the inch high water pooled from the night before. The dark, cold nights spent out on the balcony thinking about nothing at all.

The least about the future and what will be in it. The questions were all about the world, not my life. Leaning against a tree, feeling the roughness of the bark against my arm, smelling smells from the day and the night. Walking on the iron pipe which led to the water tank. Feeling the coolness below my feet standing near it. And comparing it to the still mildly hot stone of the backyard.

All this and more, making me forget for a moment of what is the present and what of the future.

Things like the frayed end of the jeans, walking barefoot and letting it get more frayed, showing it off if I felt like. The walks on the gravelly path to the patio. Barefoot and dreamy. The feeling of dry grass under the feet. Or the moistness, the wetness and the ticklish feeling of little pebbles. Catching blades of grass between the toes and transporting it back to the non grassy areas. Trying to catch a high up branch or a lone flower hanging high high up, looking pretty and so unachievable. I gave up on it, I didn't want to have it. And so it is, now. It may be very easy to get it. I might get a chair to get the pretty flower on the high branch but I won't.

Just like that. It's just inherent now, not wanting what I can have easy.

An evening lies vivid in my mind, like it was yesterday. Or today evening, a few hours ago. I heard someone play the flute not far away. I loved it.. every little note. But I was not curious about who it was or if he/she would be here again. I did not venture out to see if it was really someone or maybe was I imagining things.

Sitting on the cement stairs leading into the house, with a glass of salty lemonade, picking up dry blades of grass scattered near the bottom stair. And then throwing them away. It hit me like love, like a breath of fresh air.. it was not sweet or sappy. It was just soul. Bringing forth music, for anyone it may reach to. Or even if it doesn't. It was just so full of feeling. And I believed feeling was all that was in the world. And nothing else.

Leaning against the handrails, smelling the iron. The paint. And the dust. Scratching out a dried drop of tar on it. And looking at the clean, smooth space left behind.

The ever changing colours of the sky and the shapes of the clouds. The colours, the smells and the sounds and voices. Everything that can be seen, felt and sensed. Heard and smelt. Everything which could be lived. Not just survived.

So it just rolled on to me, all of a sudden. When I feel too negative, it has to be taken to positive. Led by the hand and told to sit there. Until it gets too late and they're waiting for you to come have the dinner inside. To the busy dining room, with maybe the TV on and the day's happening being shared with much gusto. A dozen smells, all clashing into each other. And I would settle into this, forgetting all about the quietness and music of the other world.

I don't want to do that. This is much more than evening ruminations and dinner time.

I was going to the bad and I pushed myself to the good. Feelings can change feelings and nothing else. I wish, hope I hold on to the surrealism of life as it is and not give in to the normalcy of business, which people say life is.

But it is the world, for me, which I think about. And not my life. Is that such a bad thing. No, it's not a question. Not any more.

I just hate the moment when everything comes tumbling down on you five minutes after you wake up. I could spend a life time practicing the art of staying there, just staying in a state where you can lay and think about anything and everything except the day ahead and the days to come.

Things around, objects on the floor, the wall clock that is in the darker corner of the room, the time that's dark and cannot be seen. A few lazy moments spent guessing whether it's 12 0r 9 or 6 and then resignedly resorting to looking at the window for an idea. Not wanting at all to switch on the lights. They're too loud. As if someone just blasted out an irritating pop song on the stereo and all you can do is clamp your hands on your ears as hard as you can, and in case of the lights its the eyes. Hand eye coordination here.

Thin slivers of light framing the door, sometimes a little too bright to decide if it's just sunshine or we're having an alien invasion again. Oh, hello. The tiny space between the window curtains which confuses you to no end along with the clouds zooming past the sun. And for one tiny flicker of a moment of hope that maybe it rained, or it's going to. Or maybe it will sometime this week.

Any sound rumbling loud enough is wished to be interpreted as rumbling rain clouds. But it's a sad story. Coming back inside, eyes travelling to the absolute corners of the room, the mirrors and the clock again. Still a little ununderstandable. Shifting to objects hung on the back of doors. Stark contrast against the white. This time it's a lone school tie, dark dark green but looking black out here on the bed. I never liked ties. At all. It does bring up a choking feeling of nostalgia. Pun intended. The tears chokey though, not asphyxia chokey.

Pushing it away and far.

Feeling the comfortableness of the bed and the absolute silence being broken by a twitter of birds or a faint honking horn in the background. It gets better after the a/c is switched off. But not yet, please not yet. That's the final step to getting up. And no one likes getting up. Not here, anyway.

No one likes honking horns either, I don't like cars altogether. It's just coloured metal and machine parts. And simple ugly. I have no idea how people fall in love with cars and and are interested at all in them. I wish someone drew inspiration from the Flintstones vehicles. The world WOULD be a better place. In more ways than one.

Lying there thinking about people and people that matter. Thinking about the comedy routine last night which went something like - Can't sleep.. can't sleep. Why am I so obsessed? Again? Am I in lov-- no. @&#^%#* I just can't sleep. Darned mosquitoes. I'm gonna kill you. And then sighing and revising the whole thing over and over again.

And then repeating it again right in the morning - What? Really? Do you think so? Nah. Naw. No. Dumb. That's dumb dumb dumb. Then just pausing there for a second and holding my breath. Do I have schizophrenia? Thinking it over.. now, how does that even matter even if I do?

Trying to snap out of it all. A mountain of clothes on a chair nearby and some scattered on the floor. A contrast again. Trying to guess what it is. Looking at objects before the curtain. Silhouetted metal stick-figured men and women who act as candle stands after the sun rises.

Ooh, I get a text message. Oh, please do not include me in your stupid chain texts when we hardly ever or NEVER even talk to each other. Selfish much? And now you ruined it. Pretty bad. But anyway..

Glancing at mirrors to see what they reflect. I plan to set up mirrors in a way that I won't have to get up to see places I can't see and everything just comes to me instantly. Maybe I could mirrorise the entire house. How nice would that be. Or more than just a building. No, no running away, imagination.

We can think about something nicer. Nicer things. Nice-y Wise-y. Perfect.

Then I would talk about going back to a more believable version of reality. And thinking about consequences/ results of the actions/ exams. But then.. who wants to? I'll settle for this much. "Perfect" will suffice. Thank you very much.

Silent.

Silently
Suffering
Slashes of
Sweet sacrifices
Sometimes simple
Something suffices
Silently
Shredded sheets
Stoic squeeze
Sunshine that stoops
Steers
Sneers so, sees
Slipping off
Summits of surety
Surprising smiles
Surrendering to
Scenes of
Silent singing
Simpering, soft
Soliloquies
Settling to
Stuttering lies
Standing
Sitting
Stunned
Silently
Time flies
Someone's left
Silently,
Binging on byes.

Futile.

A hundred hours
Of solitude
Wearing away at the edges
Lost
In the multitude
Twanging
Like
A rusty guitar
Staring
at a
Sad little star
Fear
Draining out
Seeping from
Under the door
You see it now
Now it's no more
A wild
Enigma
Is what's in store
The train of thought
It finally stopped
The life
It halted.
It's all
So faulted.

Blah Blah.

I wonder if how we feel right in the morning is how we truly feel deep inside all the time. Or is that just our reaction to our sub-conscious thoughts that welled up in the dreams. But after I'm fully awake and then "count my blessings" instead of thinking of what I don't have that I start getting normal. But till then I think that empty, sinking feeling of that something missing is the strongest. Right after I wake up and right before I go to sleep.

I don't want it to go away.. experiencing it is a delight in itself. Ironic but, it is.

Then I think of things I have to do and have to see.

Positive people must have a huge capacity to control their feelings and an immensely strong will power if they can do it. Poor positive people.

I think it's better to be true to you feelings than suppress it and bottle it up. And forget about it. They have to be considered one day or the other. Now or later.

I really goof up too much. And I make mistakes. And I mess things up. More for myself than anyone else. Considering I'm left to sort it out. Which is cruel. But it's correct. So let's see..

But I can't understand certain people either. Selfish, selfish people. They can't be both, true and not true to their emotions, simultaneously too. Is it so hard taking a single viewpoint in personal relationships and sticking to it. Is that mature. Or the opposite. I am immature and I stick with my feelings. I don't think that's childish. If loyalty and perseverance is a childish trait. It gets translated to stubbornness. Well, all right.

Saying that one's life is in one's own hands is not completely correct. Some choices are made by others. Free will is a b*tch. Excuse my French. Yeah but then no one can change mine either. So it's fine I guess.

I thought it sounded true that you can't just stop loving someone. When you love a person it is for ever. Love is not a weak feeling. Like feeling like having ice cream after dinner. Nah, I'm way too full right now, I'll have ice cream tomorrow instead.

Relationships are not part-time jobs. Oh wait, I even wrote a cheesy poem on it. Sounds like a drunken pop song. But here it is : (It is no award-winning piece, neither it may even make much sense, But I'll RISK it. This is SO much fun :P)

No electricity
MP3 player gave up on me
Whiling away my time
Writing sh**ty poetry

I want someone
Take me for a 24/7 dream
Not a part time job
To take on
When you need extra green

I'm no lunch break
A break from the job
I wanna be the vacation
That never ends at all

Full time, front line
Paparazzi and the limelight
You can be it all
Just give me a sign

I don't wanna be the
Washed up one hit wonder
A Diva is forever
Which really makes me wonder

Was I a break from life
Just a shoulder when you cried
But your life itself
Is what I want to be

I'm not ashamed to ask
And neither should I be.

This was added later, so not to mess up the flow :

Your life itself
Is what I want to be

You said I was
But things change too soon
You ordered a side-dish
But they didn't have any left

You're stuck
With a five-course dinner
But you're on a diet
Which is really sad

So you go on to buy it
You take a teeny bite
"Man, the food's really fine
But well, I can't sit to dine

I have a lot of work to do"

You rise and without a look,
Go away into the night
The food will be flinged
Right into the dustbin

You'll be at your table, writing
Man, it really, really stings.