#18: You're a star!

It was a beautiful light-show
That we saw, when you were born.

Your mother looked at you and thought,
"This will be brighter than the brightest morn."

You began to grow, living your life
With a lot of love and care,

Though sometimes with glitches (as is natural),
Which made you act like you shouldn't have dared.

But know, sweet, little star,
That it is all right,

For stars to face phases, and
Be dull rather than being bright.

Stars may stray their paths,
They might sometimes oscillate,

But not necessarily only when they're out of shape and order,
Also when other stars and particles lead them to deviate.

You must know, sweet, little star,
That these phases can be short or long,

They can vary in intensity too,
But you can always turn it into a song (even a sad one).

You must also know, that you have responsibilities
From which you must never escape,

For they will ensure your energy and power
Are never put to waste.

If you ever feel, the other stars in the constellation,
Are picking and prodding, and you don't like the touch,

Know that it is because they won't see you troubled,
In any way in the future, because they love you too much.

Have you seen how their eyes shine,
With love and assurance when they see you?

Even if you're just one, and think yourself unimportant,
Know that this constellation would not be one without you.

A created, special star. :)
PS- Please don't copy this picture.

***

Yay! This completes my NaPoWriMo, a whole month of poem-making. Apart from the obvious realization (how it was wonderful to write them), I found out how time flies! It seems like I accepted this friend's challenge for poetry only last week or so.

Frankly though, it was fun, and it was rewarding. For a person who had been craving to write something but couldn't, this served the purpose, and it also made me happy. I didn't really stick to the plan: I don't have thirty poems, but I'm oh-so-happy with whatever I managed to write. :D Perhaps some day when I'm bored or inspired, I will end up writing and posting another poem. ^_^

As to the challenge, I declare both of us as winners. I wrote magnificently on some days, while the competitor did so too. Some days we both messed up. In the end, we did put an effort, and that makes us winners. :D YAY!

#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...

Of verandah cricket and scooter rides...

I had been warned about a lot of things that happen in the 'real' world, things to protect yourself from, just like other normal kids who fear being carried away by a wolf if they venture outside the designated area. Or those who know the possibility of being squashed by a running vehicle if they toddle on the roads. I know, they don't really fear all this with conviction, being the little superheroes they believe themselves to be, but you have to admit that they'd possess a little bit of commonsense in between all that bratiness. (Chill. We're allowed to make up words. Shakespeare made over 1700 of them). Lately, though, I've been having misgivings about this assumption, especially when I take Scoot out. Roads seem to be a lot more safer than the narrow galis, because the children of today are completely convinced that no kind of moving vehicle can ever hurt them. If you doubt it, try riding a two or a four wheeler in a residential lane. Honking won't make them budge and giving them cold stares would make you feel ignored. 

As I stood exasperated, still perched on Scoot, observing with near-amusement the group of small boys and girls on bicycles, giggling and calling each other names, choosing to ignore Scoot inches away from them and its unnecessary honks, I couldn't help thinking of my own childhood and what comprised the world for me. Probably it was a lot more simpler, what with the lack of smartphones and what-not, along with managing school on our own instead of feeling miserable in a tuition class. In any respect, I'm sure we all adore our childhood, however we might have enjoyed it. When I think back to those years in the 90s, vivid memories of various forms of enjoyment seem to be those I cherish the most. It feels somewhat remarkable, and sad, to know that we probably never would do the same things again. What's a better way than to write it down, so that even after years or decades, we can go back to them without having forgotten sweet memories? 

Pic credit: Self

My brother and I were among the minuscule number of kids in our colony, so we were each other's closest playmates. That was probably what ignited our protective instincts for the other, along with developing a habit of hardly ever talking to each other without sarcasm. Till the time G was tiny and didn't know he was supposed to rebel the fountain-like or tiny ponytail hairstyles we made him have, he agreed to be the student when I proudly used a chalk on the small, rough blackboard. That was also when we collectively played with our toys, tiny dolls sitting on top of Anand Cola trucks and vehicles, falling off the tops repeatedly as the trucks swished on the floor. G was not to be restrained to make-believe games for long. He soon found a keen interest in cricket and games involving more physical activity. Having amazing powers of conviction mixed with cuteness, he managed to involve me in any and every sport or game he wanted to play. 

Cricket was something I never said no to. It had soon become a family sport. The narrow lane in front of our home with the park having overgrown grass surrounding one side of it was not an ideal spot, since the ball (that dad later started calling the do dinn wali ball, apparently because it lasted two days before it got lost) was quickly lost, finding its way in an overgrowth or a gutter. Our dad was our favourite playmate, apart from each other. He moved our game indoors and the thin strip of our verandah became our pitch. He acted as the referee and mostly as the batsman who would hit the ball at just the perfect angles for a whoop-inducing catch. I loved catching the ball the most, just a little less than batting. Since the verandah was really narrow, it did not afford space to score by running, so we made our own rules, the most flexible of which I found the one-tip-one-hand rule. If there were more than three balls I hadn't got to catch, I just needed to gesture to dad and he would make the next one an easy catch thrown my way. 

I miss that tiny verandah space the most. It was where G and I had stood because mom wouldn't let us in. Of course, if both of us were ghar nikaloed together, it would hardly matter, for we would start playing any game G would invent. The harder bits were when it was either of us who had been the naughtier one and hence, accorded that punishment. The only solace in that moment when we cried bitterly, lay in the fact that soon, our sibling would find a way to let us in. Sometimes it was G using his convincing skills, or grandmom feeling sorry for us, or the best of all, the alternate door to the house. We soon found a way to overcome our problems by simply, stealthily opening the lock to the alternate door and let the other in. The only hard part would be those minutes, or even hours we'd have to spend hiding under the dining table, cutting the hours till the time we knew mom would be opening the door to let us in. 

It was also the safe space for skating, something I'd learned to love. Although my first independent 'walk' on wheels had been in our drawing-cum-dining room, the verandah had witnessed thousands of tiny rounds when the uneven road outside was deemed unsafe. It then became our basketball court when we got a small basketball, complete with a red netted basket. Cricket though, won over the other sport, being something we enjoyed the most. The verandah saw our first, horrific falls. It was surrounded by a low wall with a broad base where it met the gate. That piece of wall was the perfect spot to perch on, looking over to the narrow lane, the park and the main road beyond that. It was also easily accessible thanks to a cemented base doubling as a resting-stool-stuck-to-the-wall. When I had first fallen off that wall, G had not yet been born and I had made the drop towards the outside lane, fitting my small self into the thankfully dry naali. G's fall, a few years later, was on the inside. Nevertheless, it was our favourite spot. We would sit there in the evenings without electricity, playing games. 

  

There was the letter-box opening in the cemented wall, through which G and I would shoot our water guns at passersby two days preceding Holi. The only scary moment was when one lady didn't seem to have liked it and had suddenly turned towards our house, angry. It was terrifying as we had quickly ducked and like little soldiers, made our way to the metal door leading into the house as fast as we could, the lady's accusatory shouts ringing in our ears as our hearts thumped madly. A few years later, the verandah was witness to and a participator in making me have my first stitch-requiring-injury. We were playing aankh me choli. It did not occur to my super-smart brain that it'd be better to move slowly and I ended up banging my head on a wall. I thought it was okay once I had paused and pressed my hand to the painful spot and the pain had seemed to recede. G was standing stock-still just where he had been and when I had removed my hand and smiled up at him to suggest that I was okay, he had called, 'hawww! khoon!', looking horrified. The next moment I felt a trickle of liquid down my face, the drops landing in red on the floor in quick succession and I had started shrieking at the sight and unnaturalness of it. 

There was a tap right next to that letter-box opening and our perch, which was used to fill up water balloons and store in the bucket on the mornings of Holi. We would excitedly hand over balloons to dad as he sat on his haunches, filling up those water balloons and depositing them in the bucket till G would declare them enough. We spent most of our childhood Holis spraying coloured water on each other in the lane outside the gate, after mom and grandma would go back inside and dad would supervise the game, or click pictures. Balloons were mostly for ourselves, until we were joined by a couple more neighbourhood kids and we realized that there's more to those water bombs than we had imagined. 

Then there was school, of course. I never liked school. It was full of bullies and stupid children who cheated on tests and never left an opportunity to make fun of others. Either this, or the compulsory lessons on classical dance: something or the other was always a flop in my idea of school. I remained in my own world nevertheless, having to come out and act smart only when G started accompanying me to school. We used to make a single-file line even on our bus stop (I still can't believe how they managed to instill that kind of discipline!) and G would sulk, or worse, cry, if he wasn't the first in line. It became a ritual of keeping an eye out on the road as we hurriedly dressed for school at 6.15 in the morning, rushing out to be the first to start the line. I was usually the first one to get ready, so it was an added responsibility to reach the stop earlier to avoid anyone else getting there first, because the not-so-appealing alternative would be to manage an annoying G all the way to school. 

During this time, afternoons were usually monotonous, especially when we returned home. The perks were when we could see our grandmom at the gate to our house, waiting for us. An even added perk was finding our dad along with her. Our little hearts were filled with such enthusiasm at the sight of them that we'd quickly hold hands and cross the road, before G's hand would leave mine and he'd jump over the low wall of the park, cross it and reach dad before I could. Ever since we know, he's always had work in shifts, so we hardly ever knew when he would be there to receive us. If we would be feeling really excited, we'd chant 'scooter pe round' and dropping our bags in the verandah, we'd plant ourselves on the scooter and enjoy the round he'd give. I loved sitting facing backwards during these rounds that probably lasted five minutes, but made us happy for the entire day. Even though I was a preteen already, I don't think I even for a moment considered it as something ridiculous. It's fun, really. It was rather a let down when I badgered dad into letting me sit facing backwards a few days ago and he actually did not move more than a short distance because it was embarrassing. -_- See? That's why I say we need to cherish such things because they're mostly possible only during childhood. :')

There are a lot more stories surrounding childhood, most of which relates to things that were so important to us. Play time was not time pass. It was absolutely essential. It was an important part of our life growing up and made us learn a lot more than watching TV or playing video games ever could. We did succumb to computer games later in the years, but there was always, and still is, that special place reserved for sports or actively engaging games. It's not just something to cherish, but also something to be passed on. It's somewhat disturbing to find kids the same age as we were back then, recklessly driving gear-less scooters in the lanes, or being callous enough to not even consider a motor vehicle coming towards them.  

Do you remember such games or special hangout spots of childhood? Aren't those just too precious? :')

       

The Scooty Story!

Another random post. I should just change my name to Ashna-Random-Banga. 

If you've been a  regular reader of my blog (Hello do chaar log! Okay, no. More than do chaar. The last time I joked like this I was accused by a friend to be such a self deprecating person, which I'm not! I know I'm pretty awesome. :P), you'd have come across some story where I mentioned my scooty. I felt like writing something fun and couldn't think of anything else, thanks to a recent small incident where the scooty played an important role in saving me from a couple of huge cows. Yeah. Cows. I'm scared of them since forever, especially since while I was on my first driving lesson and the car stopped and I was trying to re-start it. The window was open, because of which a cow stuck in its face, very near my own face, with some drool-like gross thing dangling from it's mouth, just like Fluffy from Harry Potter and The Philsopher's Stone! No, I didn't get any on myself because I shrieked and moved as far as possible, which wasn't much and tried to re-start it. Thankfully the cow decided I wasn't good enough to smell (according to a cow's sense of smell, mind you) and it moved away, after which the first thing I did was to wind up the window. Will you believe it? Dad seemed annoyed with me! As if a cow hadn't just tried to eat me up! I don't care if it's vegetarian or not, it did try! >.<

(Let's call my scooty............. Scoot. Yeah alright, I am horrible at naming stuff. Just go along with it!)

Anyway, just a couple of days ago when I decided to be a good girl and go a little out of my usual route while returning home to get some photocopies mom wanted, I found three cows while coming back to where Scoot was parked. I waited somewhere inside, hidden, until the biggest one was gone to one side and then dashed to the parking. Why am I so cow-attractive? Another one took a right turn, as suddenly it didn't find going forward interesting, which for Mr. Moo was the right way to go, and came straight for where I was! I left my stuff hanging from Scoot and rushed to the opposite side while Mr. Moo came and turned around right next to Scoot and continued on its way forward. That's when I jumped on Scoot and kick-started it (Scoot's old, and hence the self-start doesn't work anymore :P) and speedily dashed out from there. Now let's go back to how it all started....

When Scoot entered our household, I was in Class XI and it was winter 2007. I don't remember how it came, because I most certainly did not ask for it. I was never the child who asked for anything, being quite content with whatever I had. Sort of a model kid, only for the parent-population, though. Still, I do remember asking for a pink colored one. I think I can like anything that's pink and if I had my way, I'd have my home, every movable and non-movable object included, in varying shades of pink and purple! Anyway, I did not get it Pink as my brother didn't want to live in the same household where a pink scooty resided. Even though I was all for having the scooty instead of him, I suppose my parents really have a thing for him, because he won. :| But I wasn't about to go for a black one either. Too dark and depressing for me, so I settled for a nice purple one (it wasn't pink! Ha!), one from the series that was popular back then. It isn't very dark, nor too light. Just perfect. And adorable. And cute. And loving. And a life-saver. :D Yep, I'm still thinking about Scoot! Since then, my life changed for the better. Especially as it removed my need to hail a rickshaw for every damn place I wanted to go to. Especially my tuition classes! Oh what a relief it was. :D

See what it looks like! ;) Gorgeous much? 

My Scooty Pep + ! From the Fashion Series :P

There's a lot to say about it, so to avoid making it into a chapter-from-a-novel, I'll mention some points! ;)

1. Beloved freedom! I'm so a person who loves freedom. I mean, Scoot gave me such an immense sense of independence, that I didn't have to depend on rickshaws anymore. I could go wherever I wanted (initially just to the tuition classes and back. I wasn't allowed on the main roads yet!), whenever I wanted, with who ever I wanted. Okay, that's just my family members, but still. Gradually, from when I started college and had to take the metro train every day and the station wasn't near, I graduated to roads and parked Scoot in the parking. No matter what time I came and went, I didn't have to worry about transportation. Now, after 5 and a half years, I'm a full fledged scooty driver. I can go on any road, any nook or cranny, with anyone riding pillion, at any speed! :P (*Warning* I'm not recommending you to drive fast. I've done it many times, but that was only during emergencies, like when I was getting late). I just can't imagine what I would have been without it. I most certainly would have known even less routes than I now do, and I might not have been that street-smart and confident. Try following me, I can zoom Scoot and make you lose track. ;) (On a serious note, never try that. Following me, I mean. That would scare me to death!)

Grandma with Scoot!

2. There are a lot of family memories associated with Scoot too! One such memory that's the mother-of-all-memories is the time when I lovingly put on my helmet on grandma's head to see how she looked and then I asked her to sit once on Scoot too, which she refused because she didn't want to go outside in the verandah and doing such kiddish stuff. :P But then my dad went, 'Oh. If you don't want to go outside, we'll get Scoot inside!' Off he went and brought in Scoot, inside the drawing room. While we were laughing with glee and excitement, my lovely, sporty and graceful grandma posed on Scoot as if she's riding it. :D I'm putting in a picture! That one, we can never forget. 

3. Scoot used to be quite faithful, too. When I "forgot" to get in enough petrol, it never betrayed me and I always reached home safe and sound even when I checked the tank where I saw just a few dregs of petrol at the bottom. When it gave me a flat tyre, it made sure to do it in the metro parking, where a repair mechanic sat right next to it and did not give away right in the middle of the main road. I'm thankful for all those times when it allowed me to take it over all horrible kinds of rough surfaces, though most of the times I avoided those, but still. I'm glad it never gave away! Now, I used the past tense for Scoot being faithful, because it hasn't been much lately. I've been stranded thrice on the main road whenever my speed became too low and it stopped! As the self-start doesn't work anymore, imagine my horror, because I had to drag it to the side, amid the huge bulk of scary traffic and kick-start it. (Just so you know, I'm awesome at kicks) And this happened on the same day. In one trip! 

4. I suppose my brain got a hate-spot for Scoot after that because once, a few months ago while coming back from college, I took a rickshaw and went back home. It was late evening when dad came home and asked, 'Hey, where's Scoot? I didn't see it outside.' That brought my heart straight to my mouth! I forgot Scoot in the metro parking! :P I actually forgot I had Scoot in the parking, that I had used it to travel! *Bangs head on a hundred walls* Then I pleaded with dad to bring it back as I could not imagine it all alone in the parking. God knows some aatma might have invaded it and then that very same aatma came into me? I'm already full with my own soul, thank you very much. I forgot Scoot in some other parking one more time. That was last week I suppose. I'll sue my brain for such hate and carelessness someday.

5. Now this is when I almost lost Scoot because of being clumsy! Back in school, tuition class. I had a new purple keychain, a simple purple heart. I had been using it since the past few days. Then one evening I couldn't find it and as I was (as usual) running late, I took the spare key and went to class. While returning to Scoot in the parking after the class, I tried to open the helmet compartment to put in my new notes when I saw, horrified and all Thank-God-ish, that my old key was strung there, inside the slot, waiting for someone to open it! It was broad daylight, the parking is not exactly a proper parking, but an open space of sorts and the only reason no one saw the key (or maybe saw and ignored it. If God made such people, I'd die of happiness) was that the keychain was the exact color of Scoot and it blended very well. Camouflage. I did get the lecture-of-the-year from my parents that day. Thankfully, I've never done that again. That just happened once again, but Scoot was outside our home. The key was in the ignition. Overnight. Someone shoot me. :| 

There have been more such incidents and experiences associated with Scoot, but I'll stop here for now. That's all my worked up brain can think of. I love Scoot. A lot! :D 

I used to frown on materialistic stuff. I thought they could never be a source of deep happiness. Scoot proved me wrong, and instead of hating it for that, I love it all the more! ^_^ Do you have someone like Scoot in your life?

PS- I did get to go to Landmark again. I wanted to purchase just The Other Side of the Table but ended up buying three more! Including Cecelia Ahern's One Hundred Names, the one with the super-gorgeous cover! :D

Just being me...

... is so not easy. Really. It's also confusing, but I suppose it's more because of what I perceive from people around me. What they say, the way they behave, the things they said they'd do but then don't do it. It was far more easier when I was small and fearless, having only to interact with the limited janta in school or the neighbourhood. It was only when, entering college that first day (Alone. When everyone came with their parents on Orientation. See? I thought I could do anything back then! Jhansi ki Rani! :P) I realized how vastly different people can be. And it sort of confuses you, right? You start losing the sense of who you really are (okay, maybe you also get to finally know you are, but still). You know you want something, but looking at what others are getting, you pause, uncertain, doubting if what you really wanted is what you really want. Don't you start doubting yourself? We can look at the positive side of it and say we get more options and a wider perception and all such philosophical stuff. Even then, you have to admit, it is definitely confusing.

Being totally candid (because caring about what anyone else would think? I stopped doing that a loongg while ago), I'd type down a little bit about myself, the way I register things and events and maybe even people. It may just help me discover stuff I hadn't thought about before and I need a place to write this down.

The first and the most important is the way I think. I'm 21 going on 22 and getting my thought process, perception and ideas molded every day, but the basic foundation is the same. I've had people call me a kid, an innocent little girl, and I think maybe it is true. Because yes, I have that sense of wonder for every damn thing. If I see something that interests me (which can be practically anything. Even the tiles on the floor) I'd start having questions about it. It's not the "whys" that bother me, it's the "hows". I keep it simple. I do not understand (and I really mean it) why or how people can think of ways to behave so as to make something happen to someone else or cook up schemes. I mean, I cannot even cook a papad! Or do you bake a papad? I don't even know what we do with a papad, forget about people! What I do know is that we must be true. What-the-hell-ever happens! Be true to yourself and to the people you love. Even with others, please keep a smile. You never know who needs one and you could just have made a rotten day better for a stranger!

There are a lot of things I love. If not love, at least like. My pillow, all the pillows in the house, all the books ever printed (okay, maybe except that trash published under the lame excuse of 'contemporary'- applicable only to some particular books I have in mind, which I wouldn't mention), the birds in the morning, the sun and the moon and the grass and the plants, the way someone smiles, the way some people talk, the mess in my wardrobe, the careful collection in my scrapbook, the monuments I've seen and all those that exist, the perfume I received as a gift, the song(s) dedicated to me, little kids being innocent, smiles on babies, guys who smile....a lot, guys who aren't materialistic and have the sensitivity for nature and the zeal for adventure, people who make others laugh, smells and scents of a lot of things (told you before I'm a smell elemental ;) ) and practically almost everything! But when I dislike something, it's for certain I wouldn't like it to a great extent, ever.  I hate making jokes criticizing someone or something. But I do love giving my thoughts and opinions when you seek it.

That's me. The white one ;)

I know I'm good. I'm honest and lies scare the hell out of me. I don't deliberately want to hurt anyone, ever. I do see it when someone's being a jerk and cheating and doing one of those so-called-clever-but-actually-idiotic things like acting in a certain way or doing a certain something just to make something happen that favours them. Girls do this a lot and I hate it. Happens in 'guy-wars'. The clever ones would deliberately, for instance, say something to them first even when someone else thought of it, strategically place themselves so that they're close to them at all times, won't let anyone else talk personal to them and other such nonsense that gets me worried about the sanctity of it all. I mean, doesn't this seem like a 'competition'? The actually good ones are at a disadvantage as they'd never stoop that low. The only hope that I see is that guys wouldn't be dumb enough to not see through it. If they are, well, they deserve the chant one.

There are things that make me different from the rest. I love teachers who talk about life, and not materialism. I do not even like materialism. The only thing in life that matters to me is being happy. I want to earn just that much that would help me lead a comfortable life and I want to achieve that by doing something I find interesting. Money has never been a motivator, and it's not that I'm some richie spoilt brat. I have thought that maybe if I didn't have a single penny to spend, I'd be motivated by it and maybe that could be true. I don't know. But I honestly couldn't care less about it. The thing that's slightly disturbing is that I think maybe I would feel somewhat disappointed if, in the thick of things (example, during placements and stuff) I get less than my peers, but I don't want to feel that way. If I'm getting what I asked for and what I worked for, I have no right to be disappointed, right? Money may be their motivator, it's not mine!

I am, what you would call, a simpleton. Be direct with me, please. Sometimes I honestly don't 'get' hints or gestures. The only thing I want is to see everyone smiling and happy and I want to be happy myself. We do have some bad days, some things so despicable occur that you have no other option but to feel sad, and I don't think that's wrong. I love my friends and, whether it is right or wrong, I do expect them to have the same love for me. Isn't it just logical and humane? If I'm loving you, you do the same for me! This is the only dimension where I'm the most disappointed. I see fake friendships and discover it only later, after a lot of hurt feelings. I see indifference, which, if you ask me, if the greatest felony in the world! You can't hurt a person as much by being rude as you do by being indifferent. Yes, I feel very sad when I'm ignored, or made to feel not as important as they are to me. I'm born with a built in J-gene and I get jealous, very soon!

I love reading quotes on Goodreads (just saying, read up quotes and books by Jodi Picoult - who was my 'Author of the Day' today at Goodreads - because what she writes is so relatable and so true that you'd forget anything else anyone else says. Trust me), I love long messages and comments some amazing people write, just to say nice things, I love it when something weird happens, I love it even more when it happens with me, I love it when I see a smile that's there because of something I just said, I love it even more when it reaches their eyes, I love books (as if it wasn't obvious) and even more when I read something, even if it's just a line, that I feel is so beautiful that I want to keep it ingrained in my memory forever, I love the "little things", the genuine courtesy of some well mannered people (I loathe those who're manner-less), I love the morning dew drops and the sun in the clouds. I love coffee and I love traditional stuff. I hate technology (except the internet. Or how else would I blog?) and I hate it even more to see tiny kids infested with cell phones and what not. It's enough to make me cry! 

Anyhow, this post is long enough, I suppose. There are so many more things I'm feeling like typing down, the good thing about which is that I'd get to know, reflect, contemplate more about myself this way! Woo-hoo smartypants. Nice idea! Oh, the trademark thingy that marks the real me: I blog random stuff like this when I have loads of work pending! I've got a mid-sem test tomorrow, about which I'm sort of clueless. But since I lost the respect and trust over the concept of exams way too long ago, it doesn't much bother me as long as I'm getting at least an average. I just want to be sure I'd understand the concepts, which I hope I do! 

'Award'ing fellow bloggers...

I think out there, they call it 'Random Acts of Kindness', showing love for the bloggers whose blogs you follow and like so much that you feel like giving them some blogger awards! Personal opinion- this blog award thing is so cool! It helps you show your love and appreciation for other bloggers, apart from the usual following and commenting thing. They can proudly display your awards on their blogs and it's a great way to know other bloggers too! :)

I've never mentioned before, but I've received two awards for this blog already (kill me. Now!). The first award ever, was by Rachit (or as he prefers to be called, Leonardo) at Sentimientos. He very kindly gave me this award! 'One Lovely Blog Award'.

Thank you so much Rachit! :)

The next one I received was from Naresh Khoisnam at Blog De Naresh Khoisnam. Sunshine Award! Thanks so much Naresh! :)

And so, you know, I thought I'd start with good deeds and award those blogs I follow and those I really enjoy reading! But how to go about that? Do I have one award for many/all of them? Or should I give them different awards based on what their blog is about and how they blog? The latter seems a better option, as it would be much more meaningful than simply nominating blogs for a single award. So, the idea is, there will be one award for now, and I would nominate those blogs that seem in character with the award. Then, after a while (maybe a week or something), I'll come up with another award for suitable blogs. That way there wouldn't be feelings of guilt within me, that I couldn't link up some blog (just shows how selfish I am. I just care about how guilty I would feel :P). So, if you're a regular reader and if I follow your blog too, you bet you'd get an award, sooner or later. :) This first list is not exhaustive and includes only those blogs that deserve the award considering the kind of award it is. (Makes sense?)

The first award is:

Yes! The Kreative Blogger award! Before I tell you which bloggers I'm giving this award to (and why), let me tell you I'll also create these awards! Meaning, the above picture seems good, no? :) I had clicked a picture of raindrops on an iron railing in Shimla and that picture has been edited with pixlr.com to be turned into this award picture. By the way, pixlr.com is an amazing site for picture editing. I recently got to know about it and I feel it's just brilliant! (Thank you, Kathe for introducing this site to me!). So well, it's not just any copy pasted picture from other blogs! :D

Anyway, enough of blabbering! The bloggers/blogs that receive this award are: *tat-ta-da!*

1. Rachit Gupta (Leonardo!) at Sentimientos : I know I've already given an award to you, but that was from the web and I know apart from being inspiring, you're also very creative! :) You write some of the best poetry I've ever come across (and mind you, it especially feels awesome to me because I'm still incapable of writing any sort of poetry! :P)

2. Usama Sulaiman at Randomized : You can write fiction, reality, your thoughts on different and varied subjects, poems and little somethings (which are not really poems :P), so yes, I feel you're quite creative. And you write really, really well! As in omg-it's-worth-reading kind of well. :) And oh, you're like me when I say 'reject normalcy'! (not that I'm suggesting you're not normal! :P)

3. Abinaya at A Blog to Remember :) : Well, you're into simple-worded-yet-deeply-meaningful poetry, articles on a variety of relevant human psyche related topics, you make cards and stuff and you're also writing a book! Creativity at its best! :)

This is getting hard already, since most of the blogs I follow are book blogs, to which I'm linked through my book blog! :| As for other blogs, they seem to be falling in other categories, for which another kind of award is needed! 

I have more bloggers on my mind who fall into this 'creative' award category, but they also fall into some other, more-relevant category! Gosh, I thought this would be easy! :P

Anyway, congratulations to the three winners! Readers, please do drop by their 'Kreative' blogs and show your love by letting them know how much you like them! <3