# 9: Lucky Thirteen

A day considered unlucky by many, I wondered why it was so,
The sweetest person I knew, was born on this day many years ago.

When you say your prayers, to keep ill-luck at bay,
I think I'm so lucky to have had her, and I think so till this day.

She went away, but her memories stayed,
We said a 'Happy Birthday'; that's all the respect we paid.

But she never forgot us, she keeps her blessings pouring,
A gush of good news and well-being, we have been receiving since morning.

That is when we notice her again, thinking of us from up above,
We smile and we pray, feeling lucky to have the love of a soul fairer than a dove.

A living fragment of a beautiful soul...

***

Thank you, grandma! And a very happy birthday! I'll be going home, praying, and baking you a cake. Thank you for always blessing us! We all love you. 

# 8: A lover of skies

For a lover of skies,

Up above is always a marvel,

Night or day, hot or cold,

With cotton-like clouds or plain smooth as marble.

For a lover of skies,

There’s more than just colour blue,

A lover knows there can be reds and greys,

As well as yellows, all in different hues.

For a lover of skies,

Stars are more than plain constellations,

They’re also dull and shiny, far and close,

Clouds are spidery or fluffy...

Much more than what appears above single nations.

For a lover of skies,

Clouds are not cirrus or cumulous,

They are spidery, or fluffy enough,

To appear as a dragon or a children’s omnibus.

For a lover of skies,

The moon is never waxing or waning,

It is a spotted beauty, to be sought, each night,

In any direction, in any shape, without naming.

The skies have birds and planes and spaceships,

And things unknown that rise,

There’s always more than meets the eye,

For a lover of skies.

Skies have rainbows too...

#7: Things I like...

Many sweet things make my heart flutter,
With happiness, fulfilment, love, and glee,
I feel I couldn't have asked for anything better,
You'll know it too when you see.

Mother's hands; they work all the time,
They hold me with care and love infinite.
Father's voice; it's the resort of the broken heart and mind,
Always cheerful and uplifting, even after a hard daily grind.

Grandmother's soft touch and patience; 
It makes the world go slow,
Brother's ways of care and assurance;
They create a haven to go.

There are more:
The love of a family, the love of true friends,
The ability to work, the comfort of a home, 
The accepted apologies, the chances to make amends, 
The soulful music, the feel of a heavy tome.

The sound of vehicles, gates, footsteps, 
To mark someone's return to home through a mist.
The moments in old photographs and diaries you once kept,
The loved one's gifts, like the bracelet on your wrist.

The childhood drawings, the childhood toys,
The feigning sleep so Father would carry us inside,
The sound of loved ones' laughter, the heartfelt grin of boys,
The reading of prayers and texts as our guide.

All these, and more, make me smile and glow,
For in their essence, and later their memory,
They remind us of what makes humans so,
Hoping these would bring happiness permanently. 

The moments in old photographs...

Theandric Thursday # 10: Best Friend For Life...

Zack is my best friend. He lives down the street in the corner-most house, right at the edge of the woods, which I find equally awesome and terrifying. He's been my best friend for life since we met in the library three years ago, and I found him clutching the special edition comic I'd been waiting for months! I couldn't resist and politely asked his mother - who never seemed to leave his side, and sometimes it seemed overbearing, if you ask me, especially for an eight year old. She asked Zack to hand it to me to read. I suggested that we could read it together, but his mother seemed scared at the prospect, as if I would have hurt him, so she quickly shook her head, forced a smile and took the special edition comic away from him and gave it to me. Anyway, that's a long story, and Miss Clara asked us to write a page a day. Zack is my best friend for life. Mother tells me that I'm quite an unusual boy for my age, which is twelve years, four months and twenty-three days at the moment, not counting the hours and minutes. I could do that too. I have always been able to do that, which is what made Zack interested in a scrawny boy like me and we became best friends. I'm unusual because... well, it sounds like I lack humility, because I haven't yet learned how to phrase words without seeming self-important, but she says I'm a lot kinder for my age. When I think about it, it doesn't seem to make any sense. I mean, Miss Clara tells us to be kind, and it took me a while to know what it meant. I was rather happy too, I will admit, because from what we were told, I figured I was usually kind. But what was the big deal about it? I asked mom once, and she sighed so heavily and smiled so sadly, although lovingly, that I didn't ask her again. Yet, I want to know. What's the big deal if I'm a kind boy? What's so unusual about it?

Benzie left his journal at that. He had already known that Miss Clara would not be reading whole summer journals by everyone in his class, which would be twenty-five. Even then, since he was one of her favourites - and he knew that despite the fact that Miss Clara didn't show it because she wasn't supposed to have favourties - he hoped she would read his journal and answer his questions. He looked at the page again, re-reading his entry five times over, because he did not want to have any spelling or grammatical error. A page a day is too short, he thought, wondering about all the things about Zack he wanted to write. His heart conflicted on a few things, because if he was honest with himself, he thought they were somewhat rude things to mention, like the strange smell of a chemical that fills Zack's house and which Benzie didn't find very pleasant. Nevertheless, he loved spending time with Zack, and his mother, because his mother never left his side even when the boys were eleven, and he didn't mind a little chemical in the air for that.

'Aren't you running late for school?' asked Grandma from the other side of the table while Benzie swallowed what was left of the scrambled eggs on his plate. He nodded vigorously and plopped off his chair. He made it to the door before turning back and planting a kiss on Grandma's cheek.

'Can I go to Zack's straight after school?' he asked, hoping that she'd say yes, despite having been refused each time.

Grandma's mouth opened and quickly shut again. It seemed to Benzie that she'd been about to say yes, but then thought the better of it. However, when he heard her speak, he couldn't have been more surprised.

'Only if you keep a promise,' she said. 

His eyes shone bright as stars. 'Really?' he squealed. 'Anything you say grandma. You know I never break promises.'

She smiled. 'Before leaving school, you have to apply the recommended amount of Klotin. You will not go without doing that, all right?'

Benzie nodded, only after a slight pause. 'I'm still not old enough to know everything?' he asked.

Grandma shook her head. 'It's a responsibility to know everything, Zie. Sometimes you're better off not knowing. Be a good boy. Here,' she took out a blue bottle of liquid, a nozzle on top, and put it in an inside zipper of Benzie's bag. 'Rush now.'

Benzie was happy that he would be allowed to go to his best friend's house straight after school, which was happening for the first time ever! Zack used to go to school, but he started homeschooling right after kindergarten. That's also when he started celebrating all his birthdays with his family and no friends. Till the time he met Benzie, that is.

J.C. Valley Middle School was a twenty minute walk from Benzie's place, but Benzie had fifteen minutes to make it. Hitching up his school bag a notch higher and taking care to stay on the pedestrian path, Benzie started running. Thirteen minutes later, he was making his way to the classroom, breathing heavily. Mr Jones was already in class, his back to the room, finishing writing the words 'Maladies of the current times.'

Mr Jones wasn't particularly Benzie's favourite teacher, especially since he taught them Biology, which Benzie wasn't quite fond of. So they'd be learning about maladies today? Ugh. He didn't even like the word.

'What do you know about maladies?' asked Mr Jones, once the class had been settled.

As usual, Kevin's hand shot up.

'Kevin?'

'An ailment, sir.'

'A serious ailment, sir,' Gina replied sharply. Benzie remembered that her mother was a doctor.

'Very good,' Mr Jones nodded to the two of them. 'An ailment deeprooted, or something that's not easy to resolve is a malady.'

Benzie's stomach twisted itself into knots. He wasn't enjoying this at all. Mr Jones spent the next half hour explaining three maladies to the class, after which Benzie was not the only one who seemed nauseated.

'I'm not sure we fall in the recommended target audience for this topic,' Gina muttered, looking angry. Benzie glanced sideways at her. He usually remained silent in Mr Jones's class, but today he was absolutely mum. The wall clock showed seven minutes and thirty-six seconds for the bell to ring, according to Benzie's calculation. He was about to start thinking about something far more interesting, like stories or numbers, when he heard the word 'Klotin'. Mr Jones was in the process of explaining something, and Benzie realized he had missed it. He peeped into Gina's notebook.

Her handwriting made deep dents into the page as she had written forcefully and furiously.

'... protective chemical... perfumed... mask... safety... flesh... similar to zo-' This was followed by a deep gash in the paper, and Benzie could read no more. He turned his attention to Mr Jones.

'... seems like something from fantasy novels and movies, and if you had any inclination and idea about it, I'm sure you'd understand better. This, however, is real life,' his voice had turned grave, and Benzie noticed how he wasn't the only one equally scared and intrigued. 'The victims then lose sense of smell entirely, except for the smell of skin. Of the scent of human flesh.' Benzie's heart started pumping harder. Mr Jones continued, disregarding Gina's look of pure dislike, which Benzie couldn't ignore. It wasn't her look as much as the angry shuffling of her feet on the floor, even as she sat, 'This malady is presently identified in nine people across the globe.'

A stunned silence reigned in the room. Mr Jones seemed to be enjoying the show. 'Now, who says we aren't really away from a zombie apocalypse?'

'What about those nine people?' Gina asked, her voice strained. Benzie could see her hands clutched together tightly in her lap. 'What happened to them?'

Now Mr Jones turned a slight shade of red as he properly registered Gina's question. Or rather, Gina herself. 'Well, you don't mean to say you don't know?'

What happened next surprised Benzie so much, he was sure he wouldn't do that ever in his life, for it could be so scary for everyone around him. Gina stood up, banging a fist on the table with all the force she could muster, a large tear rolling down her angry cheeks. Grabbing her bag, she cried out, 'No one cares for them! You talk about them like they're an experiment! THIS WORLD IS STUPID!' With that, she stomped out of the class, ignoring Mr Jones's feeble attempts to stop her. Benzie's heart raced. He badly wanted to go after her.

'This was an example of how you are not supposed to behave in class,' Mr Jones spoke in a serious voice, scribbling on an orange detention slip. Undoubtedly for Gina. The bell rang. Benzie spent the entire day looking for Gina - between class breaks, of course, which lasted five minutes - but she was nowhere to be found. By that time, he had already heard rumoured whispers about her, including some as weird as Gina being a zombie herself.

He felt uneasy all day long. Many questions came to his head, and he felt that Gina, with whom he hadn't spoken more than a polite 'Hi, how are you?', would definitely answer some. The final class came to an end. Benzie picked up his bag and rushed to the boys' restroom on the ground floor. He was sure he didn't want the other boys to know about him going to Zack's, especially not when he'd be dabbing himself with four squirts of Klotin on his face and arms, eyes closed. No one understood Zack. In fact, and he hated to recall, some of the boys even went so far as to call him a weirdo. While closing the zipper, he noticed with a sinking feeling, a library book that was due that day. J.C. Valley Library did not entertain late penalties, and Benzie did not want to face mother with a fine on his head.

Sighing heavily, he made his way to the library, hoping he would be able to drop the book and rush back before anyone could make out his strong perfume. To his relief, the librarian wasn't behind her desk, so he swiftly dropped in the book in the Returns stand, and turned around to leave. Just as he did, he caught a glimpse of a figure crouched low in front of the huge windows, bent over a book. He would not have bothered to see who stayed back after school in the library, but he knew it to be Gina, so he quickly went towards her, forgetting all about his perfume.

She looked up, narrowing her eyes at him. Her eyes seemed puffy.

'Hey,' he began.

'What do you want?'

'Umm... I just wanted to know if you're all right,' Benzie replied, unsure if he should sit down. 'I was looking for you. Before.'

'You won't understand. Nobody will. This world is so stupid!' She gasped for air as she said that, and Benzie noticed she had crunched up a page in the library book. He wished she would shut it or confess about it to the librarian, but he felt she wasn't going to do either of the two. She just wasn't there, really.

'Well, I want to. Something about Mr Jones's class was disturbing me too. I just don't know what.'

Gina looked up at that. 

Benzie continued, 'Do... do you know anything about Klotin?'

Gina stared at him. It seemed to Benzie that she was at first angry, but it turned to surprise, and then for some reason... to shock.

'What do you know about it?' she asked, closing the book and slowly crawling away from him. 

Benzie was tired of questions, and he figured if he didn't keep Gina's attention any longer, she would be gone. He realized his perfume now covered their surroundings. 

'My best friend,' he said in a whisper. 'I cannot go to him without Klotin. He is homeschooled. I've been told he is delicate, so he cannot really go to school and play like other boys. You have to trust me, Gina. I want to know.'

It took Benzie a good part of the next ten minutes to explain and convince her to tell him what she knew. Gina told him about herself - her story, her relation with Klotin, and why she thought the world was stupid. Benzie felt hot tears running down his cheeks and surprisingly, he wasn't ashamed of them right then, even not in front of a girl. Perhaps that was because Gina's face was wet too. Klotin happened to be a protective applicant, to be applied on exposed areas of the skin. It was used to mask the scent of human skin, to keep them safe from those suffering from a dangerous disease called kloetinbititis. Benzie didn't even try pronouncing it right.

'We've got to warn them,' Gina said, getting up determinedly. 'I don't want that to happen to anyone else.'

Benzie nodded, trying to rid himself of the shaky feeling that had enveloped his body. He ran with Gina outside the school, and all the way to the end of the lane where Zack's house stood, right next to the woods. 

'You got any more of that Klotin?' Gina asked.

Benzie nodded and handed it to her. A sinking feeling filled him as he saw, for the first time, the true purpose of its use. 

They went inside. It was chaos.

Clothes, big and small, items of daily use, the silver adornments that always stayed on the mantelpiece, everything lay in a heap. In the middle of it sat Zack's mother, feverishly sorting them out and roughly folding them, keeping them in a couple of large trunks. She looked up at the two kids and for a moment, didn't register them.

'Oh,' she said. 'Benzie! Ohmy. I totally forgot your grandma said you'd come over!' she sounded frantic, getting up and coming over to them. 'You brought a friend?' she asked, glancing at Gina.

'I know,' Benzie said in a tearful whisper. Zack's mother froze. 

'Know what, dear?'

'About Zack,' Gina said. 'You've got to hide him. They're looking for such patients. Mr Jones told us in class today and I checked with my mother right before coming here,' she said in a rush. Benzie noticed how she had used the word 'patients' instead of what Mr Jones used - victims. 

'But... you... You're mistaken, kids,' Zack's mother said, forcing a smile. Benzie had seen too many of those to know what it was.

'We aren't,' he insisted. He looked around. 'You're leaving? Where's Zack?'

'My dad is one such patient,' Gina muttered, looking steadily at Zack's mother. 'He was taken away. He's one of the nine patients identified with the disease. I don't know what they're doing to him, but from what I overheard mom saying, I know it's not something pleasant. They talk about him like he isn't even human!' 

Zack's mother finally seemed to trust them. She looked tenderly at Gina and said, 'Thank you. We got a warning from someone I trust, and we're leaving. I... I'm really grateful to you. I will pray that your father is safe, and that you'd meet him soon enough.'

Gina shrugged. 'Can we see Zack? We've got Klotin on us.' Zack's mother nodded. Benzie ran towards Zack's room, Gina in tow. 

Zack was standing in front of his toy-cupboard, a large trunk behind him. 'You're late, Zie,' he said without turning around. 'I feel terrible, Zie. We're going away. We-' he stopped as he saw Gina.

As for Gina, she was looking at the strangest boy she ever saw. Nearly a foot shorter than them despite being the same age, Zack was a small boy, his legs rather thin. His sweet face was an entirely another matter. His hazel-brown eyes seemed like they were perpetually in wonder and his thin lips presently curved into a small smile.

'Hi,' he said, not coming closer. 

'Hi,' Gina replied. 'My name is Gina, and I'm Benzie's new friend. Nice to meet you, Zack,' she replied politely. Zack nodded. 

'We're going away, Zie,' he repeated, looking at Benzie, his eyes becoming sad.

'I'm so sorry about that,' Benzie replied, going over to where Zack stood. 'Is it far? Where you're going?' he asked, even as he knew the answer.

'Yes.'

The two boys stood for a moment, conscious of Gina's presence. 

'I'll be waiting for you, Benzie,' she said, turning to the door.

Zack's eyes filled with tears. 'I don't want to go,' he cried. Benzie couldn't help feeling a deep sense of sadness. It was a grave sensation, something he had never felt before. He was too young to know that it was grief. The crying boy in front of him had been his companion, Star Wars and Harry Potter quizzer, playmate and best friend for life. Looking at him without his mother for the first time, he realized how difficult his life was. Suffering from a rare disease with no treatment yet, a boy of eleven, unable to meet other people randomly as other people normally did, for fear that he'd smell their flesh and react to it, living in a house full of chemicals just so he didn't react to his loved ones', or even his own, flesh. He was sure if he were Zack, he would have been a very unhappy, crappy kid. But Zack was the best. He was always polite and knew things even adults wouldn't know. Benzie didn't know what he would do if Zack wasn't there.

Zack wiped off his tears furiously and turned to his trunk. He took out a photograph of the two of them. Benzie remembered the day. They'd spent an entire afternoon staying in the tree-house Zack's mother had built on one of the trees from the woods, the one closest to Zack's house. It showed the two boys, aged nine, grinning cheekily from the tree-house. 

'I have a copy too,' Zack said, showing him another one. He flipped it over and wrote, 'I'll always love you, Zie. You're the kindest boy ever. Your best friend.'

Benzie took the pen and wrote on the other picture, 'Always your best friend for life, in heart and soul. You're the bravest boy ever. Love, Zie. Xx'

As if on impulse, the two boys came forward in a long hug, and Benzie realized what Gina meant when she said the world was stupid. Here he was with Zack, a little boy who was the best boy if you came to know him, and he thought he was lucky to have him as a friend. He felt all the times they'd spent together running in his head and heart at that moment, and he felt he hadn't ever been equally happy and sad before. The world was stupid because the world didn't know what this feeling was, how wrong it was to scare off Zack and his nice mother who did everything possible to keep him safe. The little boy had never been responsible for as much as a scar on Benzie, and here he was, frightened because the world was after him for something he hadn't done.

The boys tearfully smiled at each other. 

'I'll write you loads of letters,' Benzie said. 'You will have to tell me about any new friends you make too.'

Zack considered that. 'Won't they find me weird, like the boys here?'

'Well,' Benzie replied, 'they're the stupid ones. I think you will find a smart boy like me.'

'Maybe. Maybe I'll get someone who can actually beat me at a Star Wars quiz,' Zack said, sniffing. 

'I did beat you twice.'

'Didn't.'

'Totally did!'

Then they both burst out laughing. After a pause, Zack said, 'I think you should make Gina a friend. She seems nice.'

'Indeed. But I'll miss you, too,' Benzie said. 

'I know.'

***

Benzie found out, a few days after Zack's departure and getting his Grandma and mother to tell him everything, because he knew most of it anyway, what his mother meant when she said that he was kind. 'You had it in you even before we put it there,' she explained, 'while other boys looked at Zack's small frame, you looked at his friendship. You never questioned the dabbling of Klotin if that meant you could spend time with Zack. I can't tell you how grateful his mother had been. Zack had been craving company for so long. You gave a little boy the very thing that's most precious to him - the gift of a true friend.'

Benzie was honest with himself. He respected his mother's viewpoint, but to him, it was entirely the opposite. He wanted Zack to be his friend. So what if he didn't look exactly like others? So what if he didn't go to regular school? He was still a great boy. Gina had been a regular friend from then on, often telling him about her father, after which Benzie missed Zack all the more, but he thought that Gina couldn't really talk about her father to anyone else, and she seemed much happier after that, so he let her talk. 

One evening while the sun began turning a shade of red, and Benzie and Gina were returning from the park, they crossed Zack's house, and as usual, Benzie paused. 

'Do you believe he'll be all right?' he asked bravely, for this was one burning question he needed answered.

'Of course,' Gina replied, taking his hand and leading him away, 'it'll happen when I grow up, because when I grow up, I will show this stupid world how wrong they are. I will find a cure.'   

***

Theandric Thursday is a used to be a fortnightly feature on my blog (now it'll just be whenever I have the time and mind!), where I'll be having fun with putting down those weird thoughts and stories that occupy my mind most of the times. The dictionary definition of 'Theandric' is 'Relating to the joint agency of the divine and human nature'.

If you're interested in participating, write your own Theandric Thursday post and drop your link in the comments section. Feel free to write reality, part-reality-part-fiction or fiction, anything above the 'normality' of our world. ;) You can use this picture on your post and link back to this post.

The stuff we learn...

You know how it feels when you think you're more mature than you ever were, and you think back to the past and want to kick yourself because what you thought/did/talked about was so stupid? I think this feeling is a constant, as we continue to change each day. I was (kind of still am) a believer in the permanence of things, but I suppose it's a silly thought. Even if you manage to preserve something for centuries (ancient stuff found in museums or even mummies), they're not the same as they were. We change, things change, and in the process, if you're receptive, you'll learn to be at peace with it and even enjoy it. The past few days, I've been thinking about the stuff I used to get so worked up about and wished I hadn't wasted time on it. But then, how was I supposed to know unless I've 'been-there-done-that'? This thought is a consolation, and particularly now, I feel lighter than ever, having made conscious choices and decisions and realizing what suits me best.

It's been hard, because I've felt like I belonged someplace else, ever since I was small. Be it any institution - school, coaching centers, colleges - there's always been this feeling of temporariness. 'I'll leave this place soon. Let me make the most of it and ignore the hurt that comes. I'll be free soon.' I'm not sure what to make of it, but I have no complaints. I've always been a happy kid. Delighted, even. Getting upset at things normal kids get used to get upset at. Till then of course, I hadn't experienced sadness or tragedy, but whatever. The point is, it has been now, when I finally feel free to make my life as I want, that I feel truly liberated. And light. And very much normal. Looking back, it's worth noting how, when we're bound to a place or situation, we want to make the most of it and form relationships around. Of course, each experience feels great, even exhilarating because that's how it felt right at that time, but it's an entirely different feeling to feel liberated from all of those, to feel the relief that you're not bound, or expected to do a certain thing. Maybe in some people's perspective, you still are, but you don't feel it that way. Or perhaps it's about priorities. I feel I'm beyond trying to be nice just to be nice, to go out of my way just because it's expected of me, to do what is supposedly right but doesn't feel right. Barring a few close people (family and friends), I'm not bound to anybody. Even those few people don't make me feel 'bound'; just feel-goody connected. It may feel like I'm stating the obvious, but if you've been through this transition stage, you'd know what I mean. We think we always know it, but we don't. Not really.

Pic credit: Google

What I feel suits me well:

1. Keeping true to myself and to the rest: Pretense is just not my thing. Having been in places and situations where I definitely had to pretend to feel good when I certainly wasn't, I had started feeling that maybe I did actually feel happy, and was scared to think of the opposite. But now when I'm free from them, I do realize I was internally, miserable. I couldn't pretend, really. Did I make many friends? No. Did I manage to heavily applaud someone on an achievement when I hadn't really felt like it? No. Will I try to befriend someone just because it 'should' be done? Most probably not. If I don't want to talk you, I wouldn't. Just don't expect me to make small talk or whatever just because it should be done. There are no 'should's. In the same beat, I can't force myself to talk nicely or however is expected if I don't feel like it. I can't just pretend.

2. Always having something to work on: Staying idle is a nightmare. So is non-clarity of how I perceive my present and future. I want to know everything that matters. It's difficult to stay idle even day-to-day. I sometimes feel irritated when someone says they're getting bored. More often than not, they'd complain that they're getting bored, as if it's our job to keep them entertained. I used to feel guilty whenever someone in my company said they're bored. Bullies and stupid kids in school called me a bore, whereas I hardly ever get bored myself, even in the most yawn-inducing lectures or situations. Mind it people, it's not other people, but your own capacity and mind that makes you feel bored. It's your own outlook and what you choose to feel.

In a larger perspective, I always need a larger goal, whatever it is, so I can stop feeling idle and work towards attaining something. Of course, nothingness has its own charm, but it works for a little while. Getting one of the top ranks, or crossing a particular score as my personal best, finishing formal education with as little pain as possible (I've hated most of my formal education years. However much you try to improve the universities, it won't make much difference if you don't start improving the early schooling years), getting into the publishing industry because working anywhere else seemed like a nightmare and incredibly terrifying. Of course, you don't always achieve what you set out for, but knowing what you're working for gives an immense amount of satisfaction and higher chances of succeeding. Sometimes you may end up worse, but mostly you'd end up much better than what you thought. Like I luckily did. Most people don't get it; why I'm happily settling for something so different from my peers, or from what is the norm, and I don't feel obligated to even attempt to explain why. But now that I've been where I wanted to be, I need a new goal, however small it might be.

3. I can't write, for long, for other people: I've attempted being a part of some webzines, but in most of them, we're required to write on specific topics or by fixed deadlines and I realized I just couldn't manage that. I'm having to ghostwrite a bit even now, and although I've learned quite a lot from it, it's not something I can manage for long. I am a firm believer in writing as an art; it's not something mechanical. Plus, good writing is always in which the author truly believes, not what he should be writing because that's what people want. People don't actually know what they want, like how Steve Jobs proved it. I'd happily write what I believe in, even if I have a minuscule readership. In this industry, I've unfortunately observed how sometimes people write just for the perks of being an author. There's no morality involved, no love for writing, no consideration for what's being put out in the market, in the hands of people. I don't care if anyone calls me old-school or whatever, but I strongly believe in the power of good books and good writing (like many others before, please don't ask me to define 'good'. You know it as well as I do) and it's important to see what you're putting inside other people's minds. Books have a power to influence and it's a responsible job to be an author. I'm not against entertainment, but I'm definitely against mindless production and consumption of entertainment.

4. I have a thing for not following strict schedules and deadlines: I think my fetish for having it all planned in advance is just so I can break/bend the rules. If I do it on impulse, I'd feel totally 'unplanned', and that's not a good feeling, but if I'd do just a little part of the whole on impulse or in a sudden mood swing when I'd planned something different, it'd feel like an adventure. It's the same with deadlines, although I try very hard not to break those deadlines, but when it comes to setting them up, I'm known to have accepted quite unrealistic ones. Like right now. I'm seriously supposed to be working continuously and that is how I'd be able to reach the deadline with completed work, but I just cannot get myself to work. It's not that I have an aversion to dates; in this case it's the work. I'm certain that if it's something I don't like, no one, absolutely no one can get me to do it. :| However, I do feel the need to become more organized. I have a tendency to take work home, and then I can't give in to those bursts of want when there's a book I want to read instead.
     

Just the thing we need to do

5. I'm independent and I want to stay that way: I don't even want to be dependent on anyone about how I feel, not even a friend or someone in the family. This doesn't mean I don't want to consider them at all, but I'm not particularly inclined towards having people tell me how I should feel. Like that one time a well-meaning friend was adamant that there's something wrong in my life and I can't see it. I know you mean well, but I feel alright and you don't know as much about my life as I do. I've had bad moments, but I'm an optimistic person. I neither have the inclination, nor the energy to feel negative for long. There's a lot I have to do in my life, and I can't let small things matter so much that it takes all my focus. I want to have a fantastic career, in the sense that I do what I enjoy, to the best of my capacity and in a way that benefits others. I want to travel a lot, and document it all and use it well. I want to laugh and make people laugh. I want to enjoy all sorts of adventure sports and meet new people from different places. I do not want to look at anyone and get a stereotyped thought. So yes, you need to know that I wouldn't give it a lot of thought as long as I'm happy.  

6. Not trying too hard to be unique or make a mark: I used to spend time thinking about creative ways to make my blogs and posts different and interesting. It was definitely fun then, and maybe when I feel like it again, it would be nice, but it's a free feeling to know that I don't really want to do all that. I believe that being ordinary is so rare that it is actually what extraordinary is. I want to stop being so dependent on social media to feel knowledgeable, when all I actually end up reading is stuff I won't remember or have much use for. It feels like an illusion. I want to spend time talking to people in real, to go out in the evenings and enjoy good weather with those I love. I want to stop worrying about things that don't matter and how I feel left out or backward when I don't know the Facebook latest and all those silly things. I guess I've started feeling that way already. I'm light, free and I intend to stay that way.  

Now. Now is the time when I should seriously get back to work. Praying that I manage to complete it well on time! Please pray for me and shower some motivation, people! I so so so need it right now!

PS- “There are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson 
I read this just now, after having posted this post. I feel somewhat relieved with this!

What happened to my love for TFIOS...

*TFIOS - The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

I believe myself to be one of those cranky people who're obsessed with everything absolutely original and genuine. I don't like spoofs, or fan-fiction, or technology that quickens the age-old techniques that made people patient. There's evidence in the way people behave, about how mindless use of everything that we feel makes our lives easier is only making us lazy, unkind, liars and generating such needs we never knew we had. I miss the time I did not have a smartphone, which was only a year ago, yet it seems like ages. It's only a small device, yet it brought so many changes that makes me feel like I've spent a lifetime doing nothing important. It's a difficult realization, because the convenience it gives is too much to let go, so that if you want to reduce the wasteful time, you've got to know how you can avoid it, and work on the way you've figured out.

Anyway, why do I always divert from the essence of the post I'm supposed to write? Back to TFIOS. I don't even like short-forms. I started using TFIOS for The Fault in Our Stars since it became all too common, and I hate myself for succumbing to it. I remember the first year of book blogging. It was the most enriching, lovely and transforming phase in my life when it came to books. I had found a way to express my love for books, share my thoughts, and interact with people who shared the same love. I was one of the few Indian bloggers who had pure, bookish blogs and I was proud. I learned A LOT. I read a lot. And then the phenomenon of book blogging became popular, or I reached my saturation, or there were just too many fellow Indians blogging about the kind of books I hated, that I simply stopped hopping onto other blogs unless they really intrigued me.

During that period when I used to get all excited by the new releases and read lots of YA, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green got amazing reviews. I was naturally entranced by it, although owing to my natural aversion to anything popular, it was a long time before I actually got down to reading it. Just like most of the world, I loved it. I loved it even though it was somewhat a love story (which I find difficult to read), even though it defied all rules of a 'good book' in my criteria. I loved the smartness of Hazel and Augustus's talks, I loved the places they visited and I loved the sadness in it. I was so used to (and preferring) happy endings in novels that I was surprised to find one that wasn't happy, or necessarily hopeful, yet I had loved reading it. I was sure I'd re-read the book a lot many times later on. 

My reader-blogger friends read it as well, and we discussed the book. Looking back, I now feel probably that love was only a phase. Probably. Because then we got news that it was being made into a movie, and were we excited! I was ecstatic. That was still the time when I enjoyed movies from book adaptations. With feelings of anticipation, I watched the trailer, and was immediately disappointed. Now, I don't have any issues with any actor, or people who made the movie or people who're watching and loving it. It's entirely a personal thing. I felt it was too much like a love story, and thinking that movies are commercial and would be molded to fit the audience's interest did nothing to make me feel better about the movie. My reaction at first was, 'This is not the Hazel I imagined. We made plans to watch the movie anyway, but got busy. I was somewhat relieved. I didn't want to watch it anymore. 

The original love spitter-spattered. :|
Pic src: Google images

While the movie was being made and before any visual came out, I was still in awe of the story. I saw a girl in the metro wearing converse shoes themed The Fault in Our Stars blue, with the white clouds and "Okay, Okay" written on them. She told me her friend had made those for her. I admired those shoes and the girl and her friend all the way. I gushed about Gus with a friend for months, and then it all suddenly stopped. I am not sure why, but I partly feel it's because it got too popular, and all sorts of people were seen with that book in the metro. Although I was glad that at least people are reading something good instead of those crappy novels I usually see as popular metro reads, but The Fault in Our Stars then became TFIOS. Everyone knew about it, everyone loved it. Even the wrong sort.

A group of friends(?) planned to watch the movie, knowing, (or most probably not knowing) how much I had loved the book, conveniently forgot including me in their plan to watch it. In all probabilities, I'd have refused, and it most certainly did not matter then, but maybe it did, just a little (that's why it occurred to me to write it here, didn't it?). It made me go away from TFIOS all the more, because I realized that everyone was watching it. Everyone was aware of the story I once read so carefully, tucked into the covers and marking the beautifully written phrases. It ceased to be special, or at least as special as some other stories are. I still haven't brought myself to re-read it, or watch the movie. Probably I won't for a long long time. 

It's a strange obsession, I tell you. One of my closest friends once remarked how I might be missing out on good stories this way; not reading or watching something just because it's popular, or worse, all the people I don't like are gushing about it (read Game of Thrones). I agree, but I know I'll eventually get to those stories sometime. Later on when people have forgotten about it, perhaps. Or maybe I'd make some exceptions that don't even make you feel like you're one of the many, like Harry Potter. It's not easy, especially not in my now-adopted profession, because I'd need to read as many popular things as I can get my hands on. But essentially, my nature stays the same: I want all the amazing books to be read and loved, but I don't know how, because when they do get popular, I sometimes feel uneasy, like a special part of myself has been opened and taken by random strangers. 

***

Hiya peepul! I haven't re-read this post, but if it came out as gloomy or whatever, please don't take it like that. I'm totally cool, like always. *_* I've missed posting on my blog for so long! *wails like a banshee* I've promised a friend I'd put up a tutorial for making papier mache objects, but it's still not written. Will do that next, in all probabilities! What's been up with you guys? :D        

Some Awesomeness!

Y'know you're a goner, a pure victim of injustice if you're in a college where they take your Sunday and exchange it with a fully packed day and you still go to every single class because one, attendance issues and two, you're saving the holidays for later. You have any idea how such 14 days can be? 14 straight days of classes from 8.30 to 5.30, with every single class requiring you to take some tests or assignments or presentations or cases? Total stupidity. So when a teacher takes mercy and postpones his assignment's due date and you get one day when you don't have any submission the next day, you're so confused that you don't know what to do! You feel sleepy but you feel that'd be wasting time :P You sit down to send sane replies to pending emails, you feel emotionally awesome because an email would be from someplace you don't know, sent by a person you don't know, saying how they can connect to what you write and what they feel about it. That is when you feel like you're actually achieving your goals in small increments, because that is what you really wanted. :D

Anyway, that is also the time when you know you desperately want to blog but you're in no state to think and write. You would then consult your writer-friend and he'd give you a really awesomely weird prompt. This is what I got as a prompt:

"Write ten things about yourself that make you so proud that you want to hug yourself!"

Source: Google

Weird, right? :P I actually had to consult this friend who gave no more than one point, saying 'You're supposed to do this yourself.' Consulting with mom led to simple but cool answers (and I feel awesome my mom thinks so ;) ) And as much as I believe and think we're supposed to stay humble and not mumble (it's okay dudes. We are allowed to write words just to make them annoyingly rhyming :P ), I also feel like doing some self-motivation thingy and list some things about myself I feel are awesome! ;) I mean, it's cool, you guys. Please don't run off to the International Commission for Searching and Awarding Insanely Awesome People to nominate my name. I'm above all such materialistic stuff. ;)

# 10: I love to read. Many people love to read, I know, but I love it. I love more the fact that I have been reading ever since I could. In a place where there is hardly any culture of bedtime reading, I'm lucky that even as a kid I had the brains to read books my age :P (Yeah, it's obviously because of my parents who encouraged me, but still). I read children's stories and classics when I should have, Enid Blyton and Nancy Drews, and yep, I was 12 when I started reading the Harry Potter books, so that is awesome! And people who read are nevertheless awesome just by virtue of being readers, so that's an added plus!

# 9: I have amazing blogs. And I find them amazing because I completely adore them. This blog contains my evolution as a person, witnessed through the stories I've typed here. This is where I have always come when I needed to bring something off my heart, where I felt awesome while writing. This here, my second baby, is where I can freely (and super-enthusiastically) talk about my favorite topic: books. And it led me to many more book lovers, including an amazing girl from another country who is now a pen-friend. :D These blogs are not popular, nor do I wish for them to be. Popularity brings with it too much noise and distractions and yes, spam, and I'm better off without having to deal with those. ;)

There's one fact I love about these two blogs, that I don't actually do a rigorous promotion for them, because of which they tend to have people who are genuinely interested. This holds more true for the book blog, because I'd rather have a few reader, book-lover, genuine review-seekers to be on my blog than many random people just because I know them from somewhere. Genuineness adds such a feel-good factor! :)

# 8: I'm one of those 'old-school' characters. I've never really understood the term properly, but despite being the kid of the 21st century, brought up in co-ed educational backgrounds, among super-fast technological developments and super-fast people, I'm the kind of person who'd have been happier living in 'the good old times'. I rarely identify with the modernities, I refuse to believe in changing roles and behavior of people where everyone is convinced that being fast and chant is the way to success. I'd prefer to go slow and steady in any kind of relationship. I'm aware of everything new and modern, but I'd rather not live that way.

# 7: I love writing. It's one activity that never makes me feel jumpy or anxious when I have to do it. I feel nervous about a lot of things, including group activities in class, presentations, and wherever else I'm supposed to answer. But that's not the case with writing. It's something I've always been comfortable with. I don't write great, I don't have a good vocabulary, but I'd just always prefer writing in simple words (because okay, no great vocab -_-) for everything I need to convey. Well, maybe not everything, but most of the stuff. I was that weirdly awesome kid in school who loved English classes and looked forward to them; the one who loved doing grammar exercises, who never had trouble writing answers, who wrote short essays that got read in class. :D #nerd mode on. 

# 6: I don't get bored. Seriously, that makes me a boring person for others but I don't get bored myself. :P There's always some thing roaming around in my head, for my brain never sleeps, and if there's nothing (or no one :P ) interesting enough to observe, there'd be whole sentences forming in my head, as if it's writing a book on its own. It's crazy, but I love it. Considering how I anyway don't get much time to write, at least my brain has taken it upon itself to practice. ;) And yeah, lack of boredom tends to make you patient because you're not restless when nothing interesting is happening around you. 

# 5: I have interesting interests. Y'know, they're interesting to me. The thing I've noticed about people who're patient, and weird and fun, is that they have interests outside or not strictly based on their main area of academics. There has always been something I've had when I got bored of studies. Books, art and craft, some online course, blogging, learning and practicing photography, reviewing books, collecting clothes' tags, etc. One more reason I can't get bored! 

# 4: I'm 16% tomboyish. Mostly girls might not like to call themselves tomboyish and count it as an 'awesome' thing about them, but duh. I feel awesome when guys in class play cricket and I can ask for an over to bat, when we have a fun play-thing and I am the rare girl who actually can bat and ball and catch (seriously. Some don't even know how to hold a bat. o.O ). I loved my childhood days when I played with G all sorts of games; cricket (how I loved it), basketball (making a swiveling motion and saying 'Basket!' was awesome), cycling (I still would run off on a bicycle if useless dogs don't run after me), skating, taking the remote controlled Renault awesome car to the park and operating it with ultimate cool-girl attitude, etc etc. I can seriously go on and on. :D 

# 3: I'm kind of above the trivial things. I don't mean to dismiss those who do talk about such stuff, but for me it's cool and I feel awesome that I can't be bothered about little things like who's hot on TV, or what's "in" in fashion, or how someone acted because someone told them how someone else said something about them. o.O This took a while to think to form the sentence, I can't imagine how people get the energy to gossip about it. I'd rather discuss the book I'm reading with someone who seems to understand. But when people themselves tend to be critical about everything, I don't feel like they'd understand the point and so I'm left with just a few who allow me that liberty. And I love it! :D

# 2: I'm the slimmer, older, pink-loving, cheesy version of an amazing girl with an amazing blog who happens to be one of the closest friends and my soul-sister. :) 

A note to those who don't believe in making friends online: I used to think like you too, and then I discovered blogging. And if you are at the right blog, you'd get to meet and talk to the most amazing people. Evidence is here. ;) I have awesome people in my life. Those who love me even when I seem to behave like the craziest person ever, who actually laugh at my jokes (and they are actually good if you have that awesome level of understanding 8| ) and these people include my family and best friends. Thank you guys. ^_^ 

# 1: I have faith in my dreams. Even though from where I am right now, I can't see the destination, I do know I'd get there. And I'd make most of the journey, because the means is important to me, not just the end. I make achievable goals and aspirations too. For everything I love. I always wanted to see more people reading, not just because "I" like it, but because it is an amazing thing. Sometimes unfortunately it might not work, if you ask and force someone to read a book, but I got to know how one can indirectly influence people and facilitate their discovery of books they love. Whenever someone says that they started reading more, or have read books based on my reviews, I have felt that feeling of success and happiness that I really can't describe. :)

***

I started writing this post almost a month ago. This prompt was given a month ago. After the introduction, I had points 10 to 1, numbers written. I did not know what to write, I couldn't figure out the awesome things about myself. Even today, I had to take help because I was sitting blank. I asked the two best people, I asked my mom (who invented a term called 'negative awesome things' because she wanted to point out the bad ones too -_- Thanks, mum.) and then when I finally started writing, it came to me. I have a lot more points in my head now!! And I can't really say a lot on it because the fact that I felt so good after so long, is something no one can understand fully. I just need to say Thank you to all who facilitated this. Keep looking out for more awesomeness! It's sure to come! ;)

From the Journal of a self-confessed bookworm...

This piece was published in my college's annual magazine in 2012 (yep, that same year I served as the Student Editor. How awesome were those days! ^_^)

They stood in a colourful row, some with gleaming titles shining in the suffused light in the room, some with dark covers, but equally loved, adored and well-maintained. The shorter shelf held varying combinations and designs in the way I had stacked them; after all space was sparse and the books too many. For years I had dreamt of owning a huge room with wall to wall bookshelves stacked with volumes of a variety of books. This one was just 1/20^th of the dream fulfilled and I was proud at the achievement.

Looking back, I saw myself as a tiny kid fascinated by all the colors and beautiful characters smiling out of story books I got from Mom. She was a teacher in the kindergarten wing of a public school and regularly brought those treats for me. I would pore over the books and force myself into trying to understand the written words. I sometimes wonder I could have easily been an autodidact, a self-read person, though I know that could never have happened. My parents not sending me to school, I mean. I knew all about Cinderella, Snow White and Ariel long before they started calling them ‘Disney princesses’ and when kids in my class referred to them as cartoon characters. I loved the cartoons too, but for reasons I still cannot decipher. It gave a weird kind of satisfaction, knowing I’ve read about them before and a personal sense of victory that I knew more than the ignorant kids! Lion King, Panchtantra stories, Akbar and Birbal, The Cat in the Hat, 101 Dalmitions were my friends and it didn’t seem fair that kids who only loved to play all the time would know about them too, with all those funny movies made about them; movies that sometimes frustrated me, for not keeping in sync with the books and tweaking the stories to suit fickle-minded audiences, like the Harry Potter series. They’re good movies, but not good enough! They’re not like the books and I develop a dislike to the people who say it’s a bore when they don’t even read the books!

All through the years, I lived in stories- about little orphans or wizards, about pixies or nymphs, about people who found magical places or people who found magic in their own selves. The written word fascinated me and it wasn’t long before I looked forward to the library time in school. While students gossiped behind magazines, I took out books carefully by their spines and read through them. Charles Dickens became a favourite, followed by other classics that swept me through their vivid descriptions of beautiful places and equally enchanting stories. Mark Twain, Charlotte Bronte, F.H. Burnett continued to inspire me to read more classics and Enid Blyton and Carolyn Keene sparked my interest in reading mystery. But I was a picky bookworm. I didn’t like books with violence, with sad endings or with gruesome stories. I still don’t.

That's one shelf I have! 8|

Always being a bookworm came with its share of troubles. I would frustrate kids when I openly preferred books over them, hurting their blown up ego. I didn’t like to socialize and preferred to be alone. I would lose thread of the chats because my mind sub-consciously drifted to the story that was in a crucial stage and I didn’t know what would happen, since I hadn’t read the whole of it. But it gave me much more than I had lost, if I had lost anything, that is. I had a place where I could immerse myself in when I wanted to get away from the boring life and its troubles, emerging a happier person. I knew better than my peers and didn’t need to study for the English subject, knowing I would do well. I wasn’t a victim of embarrassment that many people faced because of their big mouths. I knew things and that gave me a wicked sense of pleasure. I was superior.

If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s the fact that Indian system of education is hopeless, especially the schools. As higher studies took a toll, I was gently reminded by concerned parents and ridicule-loving-relatives that novels and ‘other’ books weren’t important. Though I was grateful that they’ve always encouraged my habit of reading, learning from teachers that it’s a rare quality, I felt betrayed when my time with those books was cut short as ‘important-exams-that-would-decide-my-future’ came into being. Seasons changed and soon it were whole months before I read those ‘other’ books; but my love for them remained steadfast as I graduated school into college.

I was free, at least metaphorically. I regained my lost time by reading volumes of books that interested me. I spent my pocket money on them, while my peers thought it’s a waste but I didn’t care. Books had been my saviour in all kinds of situations possible and I loved them. Soon I discovered something about myself- that I liked collecting books, a fact evident since I had refused to give away a single book, including the magazines collected over the years. I had graduated to harder-to-uncover mysteries, chick-lit and Young Adult genres. I visited the annual Book Fair in Delhi every year and asked for specific books on birthdays. I got them all and I’ve always been happy and grateful about it.

The only thing that’s kept me sad about all of it is the pathetically small number of people with the same interest. I have always got a group of friends who weren’t interested in books, or at least not as much as I have been. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I’ve always felt gloomy at the dearth of like-minded people. This is no longer true! I mean, yes, the number is a handful but ever since I have been blogging about books and reviewing, I have found friends who share this fascination. And it has been exceedingly amazing! I always felt the need to have at least one person who would understand why I like the unique smell of paperbacks or would argue why I oppose the idea of e-books. I feel depressed seeing kids glued to their iPads, some saying they like to read virtual versions of the traditional stories, some tapping away at some App that’s supposed to make “Alice” of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ small enough to get through the door. Maybe they’re right in their own context. Maybe I’m too ‘traditional’ to accept the new changes.

It was then that I realized that the cold from the marble floor was getting harder to bear. I let my hand hover over the colourful row, deciding which one to pick for the night. I chose a gleaming hardcover, pulled off its dust jacket and curled myself into the bed with the book.