Tangled in Thoughts

Here it is, the last post of the year. As always, I am spending another New Year's Eve infront of my laptop listening to "Auld Lang Syne". Every year as midnight of 31st December nears, I wish I were doing something other than crafting personalized New Year messages for friends and family. But every year, that's what I end up doing anyway. It's become my favourite New Year's Eve routine now. The reply messages I get are almost always predictable. There is the plain "Thanks. Happy New Year!", the more excited "Thanksssss!!! Happyyeeee New Yearrrrrr, honey!!!" and sometimes the more festive ones sprinkled with emojis ranging from wine glasses to kissy faces. And ofcourse one or two "Time is just a construct made by us humans that doesn't have any effect on things, man! But anyway, have a good completely arbritarily fixed period!" It's the same every year.  But it's all beautiful. So why should this year be any dif...

Romance is a weird thing. You can never know whether you're doing it right or not. You can only fly where your heart takes you and hope for the best. And I've been flying for too long now, still hoping for the best. The best part of falling head over heels for someone is the sheer absurdity of it and the thrill it gives you. A part of you tells you you're being crazy here and the other says life is all about being crazy and trusting your instincts. To put it simply, it's like a Heart and Brain comic. Except it's all a you versus you that happens here. I have had plenty of such talks with myself and each time the rational me tries to convince the erratic me that the whole act is based on a minuscule of probability of him reciprocating it, my conviction grows stronger that I should not let go. Minuscule or not, there is a probability and that's all that I need! Why am I writing this now? One day if I should feel sad about this,  one day if I should be rejected...

If you are a person who wears bra, has an idea about the concept of cup sizes and has atleast once tried bra shopping in any textile store in Kerala, you will know what I am talking about. You know the drill. You go to any textile store and ask for a bra. It's a piece of clothing, how hard can it be to get a proper one? True, if you have no idea as to what your actual cup size is, you can go home with whatever the sales person tries to show you. But goodness forbid if you specify your required cup size, well there starts the trouble. The salesperson first gives you a look as though you just suggested something direly inappropriate. The next step is usually an awkward pause proceeded by the statement "We don't have anything in cup sizes other than A". If you are a bit fortunate they might have something in B. This is the point where you make a "meh" face, say thank you anyway and walk out. If the Gods are in your favour, the store might just have the ...

Drifting aimlessly like a loose kite Resolves once made floating about Like clouds scattered around. Journals, planners and diaries lie around Giving an illusion that you got things together. Comfortable lies you tell yourself and the world. Give it time, things unravel at their own pace Life begins when you let go. Oh, but never admit you're lazy. Never admit you are not doing enough. Even when you're convinced of it. Keep your cool and believe in them- Comfortable lies you tell yourself and the world.

I'm a sucker for nostalgia. I cling on to the good stuff like my life depends on it (to be honest, I believe, it does). I'm a peculiar case in that the thing I get nostalgic about need not even be in the past. A mere thought of an impending end is all that is required for nostalgia to get triggered. Now that my family has moved to Alleppey (neighbouring district of Ernakulam), my final year blues have hit an all time low. It's as if things are slowly attaining a finality. Friends, family and everyone else will go their ways. If there's one song that perfectly describes how I feel now, it's "Rivers and Roads" by the Head and the Heart. "A year from now, we'll all be gone All our friends will move away.  And they're going to better places. But our friends will be gone away.  Nothing is as it has been And I'll miss your face like hell And I guess it's just as well But I'll miss your face like hell.  Been talki...

Today is the 21st of June, 2016. That means I'm a 21 year old only for 6 more days. Unless I die within that time, there is no forever21 tag for me. See, that's the thing about 22. There's nothing fabulous associated with it, you know. It's just two twos. It's pretty much like 21 minus the fancy tags. There are ages which come with a lot of hype. For example, 13 is your official entry into teenage. For the rest of your life till you become an adult, you're in this category called teenage and with it come tags like "rebel", "awesome", "crazy", "sweet" and a gazillion others. And then comes 18, which is when you finally become an adult. 19 is when you're an adult and yet a teenager. 19 is basically you at your most clueless. 20 is the mark of you finally feeling like an adult, since the teenager tag is lost at 20. 21 is again all sorts of awesome. You are, for all intents and purposes, an adult at 21. And there are ...

I know a girl who used to love art She used to paint and draw her heart I know a girl who used to read a lot Novels and poems and history and what not. I know a girl who used to sing and dance To every opportunity that came her way, she'd prance. I know a girl who could craft imaginative stories She would write poems and tales, all with such ease. I know a girl who was fearless and fierce In her own little ways. She had no fears. Where is she today? Today she has grown up And I don't see her in me anymore. 

Georgie, You wanted me to write a review of you. If this were a "slam book" (remember those?!) or an autograph book, I would have crafted brilliant best friends forever quotes for you. But this is my blog. So I honestly don't know what to write, man! How do I review someone who has been a such an inseparable part of my life as you? I'm clueless. Would my life have been the same without you there? No. It would have been a whole lot different, a whole less crazier, a whole less exciting. Who would have given me the green sign to mentally date Daniel Radcliffe and obsess about marrying him one day? Who would have been the first to read all my Harry Potter fan fictions if not for you? Who would I have shamelessly narrated all my dreams involving Dan to? Who would I have created an orkut fake id with?! Who would I have shared a normal (?) teenage with? Fact is, you know me in all my glory and all my ignominy. And I know you the same. If I start listing down the thing...

It’s been months since I wrote something other than academic related works. So I decided to pen down my thoughts at the moment. Maybe this is the Pink Floyd flooding my room talking, but I am attempting an introspection. And what better way for introspection than write them down, right? We tend to make assumptions of others easily. We judge, assume and then do not even try to understand people from their side. By we, I mean humans. So, today I’m turning those unwanted skills to look into myself. What about me sucks? If there is one thing I absolutely suck at, it is expressing my feelings. I am fine at expressing happiness and laughter and maybe irritation to a limited extent but I struggle at expressing delicate feelings such as love, sympathy, or even sadness. I have lost the count when I have been surprised at how easy the same is for people around me. Expressions of love come naturally to everyone except me, but how can it be? Part of the reason could be that I’ve only bee...

Do I love myself? I did. But now I have become my own worst critic. I am a bundle of all things mediocre tied loosely and untidily by a thread of insanity. This represents my life. Comfortable chaos is the way I like it. And perfection is not my niche. Maybe that’s where the average Jill in me comes from.  From the chambers and ante-chambers of my mind to my bedroom, it’s always been chaos, disarray. What could a mind spinning in chaos produce but certain clichéd thoughts? And what happens when I try to pen them down? My pen simply regurgitates those thoughts. The thoughts thought by billions before me and will be thought and articulated better by billions after me. So where do I stand in the grand scheme of things? I’m that obscure link between thinkers before and doers after me. I am that insignificant flicker of time. I am the middle child of poetic penury who came here in silence and will leave making no discernible mark. (From the archives)

ചിറകുകൾ മടക്കിവെച്ചെത്ര നാൾ? പറക്കാൻ കൂട്ട് തേടി ഇനിയെത്ര നാൾ? കൂടുവിട്ടൊരു നാൾ പറക്കും, കുഞ്ഞിക്കിളിയുടെ ശപഥം. ഇവിടം മടുത്തോ, എന്തേ ഇവിടം സുന്ദരമല്ലാഞ്ഞിട്ടോ? അല്ല, ഈ കൂടും മരങ്ങളും കാടും എന്നും  സുന്ദരം തന്നെ, കുഞ്ഞിക്കിളിക്കറിയാം. ഇവിടെ പൂമ്പാറ്റകൾ കളിക്കുന്നു, കാറ്റു വീശുന്നു. ഇവിടെന്നും വസന്തമല്ലേ? എങ്ങും സന്തോഷമില്ലേ? ഇവിടെ നിനക്ക് എന്താണ് കുറവ്, കൂട്ടുകാർ ചോദിക്കുന്നു. കുഞ്ഞിക്കിളിക്ക് പറക്കണം, അത്ര തന്നെ. ഇവിടുത്തെ മരങ്ങൾക്കും മൈതാനങ്ങൾക്കുമപ്പുറം  ഒരു ലോകമില്ലേ? അവിടെ ജീവിതം വ്യത്യസ്തമാണോ? അവിടെ കിളികൾ പറക്കാറുണ്ടോ? അതറിയാൻ  അങ്ങോട്ട്‌ പോവുകയല്ലാതെന്ത്  വഴി? കുഞ്ഞിക്കിളിക്ക് കൂടൊരു ചങ്ങലയില്ലാ ചങ്ങലയായി. പറക്കാൻ അറിയാത്ത ചിറകുകൾ  ബന്ധനങ്ങളും കുഞ്ഞിക്കിളിക്ക് പറക്കണം, അത്ര മാത്രമറിയാം. സ്നേഹത്താൽ കെട്ടിയ കൂട്ടിൽ കുഞ്ഞിക്കിളിയൊരു ഏകാകിയായ്‌ അകലങ്ങളിലേക്ക് കണ്ണും നട്ടിരുക്കുന്നൊരറ്റമൈനയായി  പുറംലോകം സ്വപ്നം കണ്ടു വളർന്ന കിളിക്ക്‌പക്ഷേ    പറക്കുവാനെന്തേ ഇന്നും മടി? കൂടുവിട്ടു  പോ...