San(')s Sanity

Goodbye my lover. Goodbye my friend. You have been the one. You have been the one for me. The first time I saw her, I did not know how to feel. There was this emptiness which manifested itself and as soon as I realized that it was there, it was quenched by her. Those days, I spent all my waking hours with her. I was always physically drained but forever mentally charged. Ready for her. I felt her and knew she felt me too. It was one of those miraculous events that change your life. She was. She was beautiful. I've kissed your lips and held your head. Shared your dreams and shared your bed. I know you well, I know your smell. I've been addicted to you. The second time was different. It was a more intellectual interaction. Not many people get to feel what I did. Don’t mistake me; I had the time of my life. It was brilliant. Perhaps not comprehendible by everyone; not enjoyable by all. But our relationship showed shades of reaching places I had never been before

Recently, a friend insisted that I visit a blog on a claim that the posts on the before-mentioned did not make any sense to him. I did grace the blog with my presence shortly afterwards, expecting at most a gigantic chaotic pile of complex lexical convolutions. But fortunately or otherwise, that wasn’t the case. I chanced upon this post whose words though making sense individually, well pretty much *sense*, seemed to be carefully constructed in such a way that a normal human being, well versed in the ways of the English language would find himself despondently hopelessly and downright miserably lost in the mother of all preposterous ludicrous labyrinths. That is mildly putting it, of course. Well, moving on. While reading a couple of other equally entertaining posts, we decided to read the comments, the numerical count of which seemed always to belittle Abraham Lincoln’s oft-repeated figure. Relieved was I as there were many a spam comment dancing away to glory, probably a just com

The difference between reality and fiction? Fiction has to make sense. The deal with reality is that most of the time, quite tersely put, life is funnier than fiction. It sure-as-hell is stranger than it. But alas, as a poet would put it rather sweetly, we have no time to stand and stare. It is of utmost necessity to one’s health, nay, sanity, to relish the simple pleasures that is offered to us as part of the daily life that we live. Iit’s the small eclectic day-to-day delights that overwhelm the ostentatious or substantial successes that grace us with their presences, albeit meagerly and insufficiently. The day a hot cup of tea loses its taste, is the day you lose your soul to the devil… In light of this philosophical knowledge, not really new-found yet perhaps newly realized, I decide it best to recount two interesting and perhaps even humourous anecdotes from the life of yours truly. I begin. (A prelude to this story must include the fact that the following is

Dear Diary, Today school was quite boring save for a very strange happening. As is evident, my rather colourless life in this strict no-nonsense Boys-And-Girls-Are-Forbidden-Even-Visual-Contact-School, has steered away from the mention of any young guys. But today I had the utmost displeasure of meeting one of these guys. The topper of the boys’ school, in fact. Usually I try to contain my disgust at meeting repulsive people but then again who else could possibly be reading my diary. (Except my somewhat rude and brusque brother…) This guy, let us call him ST, can best be described as resembling the underbelly of a frog. Make that an ugly frog. And the worst part was that I think he liked me. I had the funniest feeling he kept stealing glances at me… Yuck! … Dear Diary, After a long time, I am finding some hidden enthusiasm to study! Perhaps it’s because I am doing so well in school that all of a sudden all I want to do is pick up some book and start learning and revisi

I woke up on January the first as usual. Casually I walked around the house, picking up the newspaper to read leisurely as is my daily routine. Needless to say, my sister and parents were already all dressed up and watching television. I think. Is the New Year a very important festivity? The ones debating for the topic claim it represents the blossoming of a completely pristine, hopefully joyous, set of 12 months or 52 weeks or any such numerically acceptable time period. The opposition rebuke that 1 st January is as good or bad as any other of the 365 alternatives and that it need not be entitled to any special status. It represents a time to make resolutions? Resolutions made on Feb 23 rd are as good as those made on New Years. To the best of my knowledge it has no planetary basis and is, much like how the birthday of Jesus, Christmas was chosen to best fit the people’s interests to further the propagation of the religion, celebrated on an universally convenient date. Cl