Category: My Days

Letter to a battered, withered soul

Dearmost I

In another world, another time, this should have been the name you must have been baptised with,

As the new adage goes, when was the last time, you did something for the first time, I wonder, when was the first time, I did something for the last time, there are so many habits that one needs to unlearn as they grow old. For people who firmly agree to believe and as well fervently refuse to believe that ‘Age is just a number’; something they overlook,

With age, comes a certain vulnerability. Say a graceful one. At times, they are visible, yet they can render a great invincibility. Being vulnerable doesn’t scare me much, but rather the lack of it scares me, more. The peculiarity, is that in a world mediated by cell phones and being connected, people have lost touch with their emotional side, that days and moments only count for Facebook or for an Instagram picture worthy moment. Just couldn’t help to smile and agree more with Ms.Buffay when she says, “How self-involved are you?”

I wish I was self-involved, I wish I could love me more once, and Hence this letter. To remind that self love can also be a worthy love at times.

To remind oneself the multitude of joys that one can attain, if only learnt how to live in this time, immediate – not the bygone, not-the-to-be-gone, but the on-going time. I have somehow learnt, say mastering the art of staying away from Social media – the way it makes me anxious, I have also realised that twenty fours hours of time is enough and adequate to sit and sulk, to bask in lazyness, to contemplate, to actually get the domestic chores done, to do run errands, to watch a film, or to re-watch-the-many-times-re-watched episodes of a sit-com,

Strange but true, I do have a better re-collection of things that happen in a day, I can cook a decent meal, read an article, read a newspaper, and write mails. ( I really should learn to cut down the number of mails i write to people, who at times, can be so emotionally retarded and unavailable, to even compose a few couple of sentences as a reply)

Stranger but truer, thirty can be quite confounding when it comes to certain conjectures about life, the way time overruns, overlaps, the way it is reluctant and reticent. It does a number on your head, mind and soul and yet gives enough time for healing. The way days plummet forward when my mind and heart race backwards in time and memory, everything seems a standstill

Which is exactly what I cannot afford right now, with work cut out to do and an impending finished PhD thesis. I race along time, day and night, in its stillness and in its momentum. All I need is a refuge in doing now. What needs to be taken care, should be taken care.

With souls departing in a jiff, all it takes is to be a still-home, in Happyness and in Faith.

Oops. Here I go,





A woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.

A woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.

So as known, I slept very early, woke up in the middle of the night, lazed around watching random stuff, read random pieces from my diary, sat across the balcony. Having fallen asleep there, I wake up disoriented.

I get up and I make tea. As I wait for the water to boil, I vaguely go through a few random memories of her from the past.

I am thirty one years old, I have been alone for almost three years now, I have dated no one since-the-last-almost-three-maybe-four-years-of relationship/being-together/knowing her. I know her for the past six years. I fell in love with her, yet. She could have fallen in love with me; may be, she did. But, she avoided it. We were almost in an almost relationship, but we averted it.

Sometimes I like to be alone, I come into my bedroom at the odd time of the day, just to lie down for a moment. I Look out at the light coming through my window, it gives me a feeling of solitude filled with hope. It seems the most human thing, i can learn to live with.

I realise how, some mornings never dawn in a man’s bedroom, the drapes of a morning never unfolds till a woman arrives.

I remember a portrait of us together in a friends house. Probably the only picture of us together; me in a white tee and a black shorts after giving bozo, the chocolate lab, a shower and she in her pantsuit. The picture is a testimony of our worlds apart, Yet S’s mom finds that a cute picture, “No two same people ever fall in love”

There are times, I feel so ditsy, dizzy and disoriented. I do take refugee with some of my couple-friends, Three to two to be precise, for they make you feel better and humane. I remember once at a late dinner at their place, I could hear their baby whimpering from the bedroom. I was about to stop my story-telling as she paused for a second and asked me to finish first. I was a bit taken back, She got up as I finished with the anecdote, Winking at her husband V, she said, “I will get the baby, you take care of this one.” I am grateful in life for a few deep friendships that I had earned till now.

Sometimes all I do is sit at my sofa or lean against the counter in the kitchen or even without realising as I open my fridge or when I am about to leave for work, I start to think about the home that I have made in the last lustrum. The guest bedroom, the way the laundry bag is hidden from the view, the way the bamboo plant is kept facing the sun, the arrangement of rugs.The idea of an hand-sanitiser within the reach as you snuggle onto the sofa. The chair right near the front door so that one can ease into it, as reaching for the footwear. In some ways every little precise detail matched the version of you in my head.

At times, it gives me an immense feeling of a home, a family, when there is someone sleeping in the next room, the way I tip-toe across the entire house, the way a door should be closed with a silent hush. Something I picked up from somewhere,

just like this weird habit of mine – Celebrating either a 10,000th day or Eleven thousand eleven hundred and eleventh day of someone, I missed the first. So i planned the latter on April 1st 2014. How I bugged her all day to bunk, just to cancel my plan on the last minute. Yet Fahadh came to the rescue, planned the whole thing, A cake, a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, I do have the small video of someone, mellowing down, the welling up in the eyes and a slight smile of mouthing the words, Thank you.

I imagine at times, the house filled with people, the two kids and the dog. As I have this space below the window sill, large enough to fit a small bed for a dog. Of her in the study, pacing deep down in concentrating on work, the kids sleeping, me sitting with the dog, talking to a friend/student. May be its a way that one is growing up without a family around.

May be somewhere a home awaits you, as the woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.




In case, if anyone out there is wondering, if I kicked the bucket. Nope. The bucket is pretty much kicking me

It seems like the last time, I wrote anything was aeons ago, I don’t have a faintest memory of ever being committed to a paper and pen in the measurable last seven years of my life. Simple. Life happened. I was not jobless anymore.

I quit Hyderabad. I moved  half-way-across-the-country to Shillong, Trust me, if there is anyone reading out this. I shall dedicate more space here for my lives in Hyderabad and Shillong. Moving into Shillong costed me few precious things in life, Yet life moves on and yours faithfully moved on. On.

It all began, when I applied for a post in NEHU and that was in 2012. As the stars favoured me  “and, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it”. I fell into the conspiracy.

It was not a happily-ever after story. Life’s blues began. The prospect of being a twenty-six year old with a job and the stillness and stubbornness of Shillong scared the living day-lights out of me. It turned out that this wasn’t that bad after all. A new Place, a new Home, a home that I designed and something where I put in  all efforts to build.

And all through this, something that stuck in my head was the odd belief that this was all temporary. Something that I had to put up with, till some better greener pastures comes my way.

Yet the truth was, it was hard to resist and at times, easier to accept and fall into the charm of this small sleepy little English town. It was not a perfect place, but no beauty lies in perfection as I knew and learnt.

Slowly I learnt to accommodate and acknowledge my very presence here. But grudgingly.

Honestly, I wasn’t ready to regard the good side, that Shillong and this new life came with. Yet Shillong was nicer to me, I learnt here to not to heed to pretentious people and the artificiality that they naturally come with. I started painfully to carve and define me in the very solitude I was bestowed with.

It was a painful transformation.

I realised the real reason that I could not like this place was the remnants of Hyderabad that I carried with me,
I missed Hyderabad terribly,
I still miss. I have learnt not to fall into the pit-traps of Nostalgia.

Now the very memory and thought of Hyderabad serves as an elixir to regain my sanity. The places and people, the freedom, the mobility, the teachers of HCU, friends made, friends lost, acquaintances, the trekking in the campus, bonfires, Nalagantla wine-shops, Mehdipatnam, Hyderabad RTC buses, MMTS, share-autos, auto-driver annas,  Gachebowli, mid-night strolls in the campus, buffalo-lake, peacock lake, F hostel, H Hostel, Ladies Hostel Complex, SN School, CCL, Friends in the city, coming home, Hostel food, not being bothered about food, not having to bother to remember to buy and stock up and to decide on the next day’s menu, Biryani and the craving for it at midnight and the fact that it will be brought to you by the lovable roommate Sudarshan anna, Hogging of food with Adil and Winny boy, Lazy Sundays, Mess food, Old monk, Booze, bike-trips, Silences, Reading into the night, watching sitcoms all day, The night canteens, endless chais and conversations, the movies, DST auditorium, birthday circle, classmates, roommates, glass-mates, soulmates and knowing that you will never be all alone and friend-less. I miss the camaraderie and companionship that Hyderabad gave. Truth be told, NEHU did not give me any friendships nor it let me, earn any.

I miss a life, that will never be again. I knew When i moved out of home, that on some levels, that I will never be home again. Its just that these thoughts lie dormant at the rock bottom of my heart and when they re-surface, life just becomes a wishful and wistful longing, It is a phase, a phase that phases me out for a while.

A mild-longing for a warm-familiar something, like a baby that snuggles unto the warm-confines of mother’s cloth, my hearts leaps into the nostalgic memories.

I for one, now know that this fifth year of me in Shillong will be a tumultuous year ahead with important decisions to make. I look forward for the uncertainty. Amidst all this, being a teacher with students gives me a fresh leash of breath in life.

Now I have a different level of comfort with the place, A distant and a detached familiarity, at times, the place suffocates me, yet it makes up by springing its hidden beauty. The sight of a mist clad afternoon view from my window is one, worth living here.

Four-years and going, Hoping to see more here 🙂

in the inner sanctum of the darkest night

an anonymous night

went unheeded…

two souls delved deeper

in the piercing cold,

hot,the glistening beads of sweat…

in the unspent hour hurriedly,

i searched for a known semblance…

of the crispness in the wild air,

the mud patch of the wet earth,

the whining moon light,

the unmistakable sad tilt of your head…

in the inner sanctum of the dark and coldest night,

embers of romance are still warm,

a flame of nostalgic love will now be lit

for the memories of unmade love…

Does the night still possess the love to serenade the moon?

The Book-Broker

He was new to the place; with hundreds of new faces around, he not only felt new, but also out of place. Still he braced himself for what was ahead in store. With each passing day, he became familiar with the new faces. Soon there would be someone to greet him, smile at him, and stop by to ask, ‘had lunch?’ ‘Do you have class now?’ ‘Nice shirt yaar’, ‘Want to have chai?’ Casual acquaintances do happen this way in a new place.

But still there were few people, who do not need such mere casual niceties. But there was something else; Some other people who took him to them. Kevin, The Great Dane Singer, Nagaraj, Swami, Oliver Twist, Range, Henry, Kalyani, Robert Langdon, Jamie Sullivan, Sparks, Jayakanthan, Harry Potter, Erma Bombeck.

And not to forget Alvin, the cute kid, who lost his family on a Christmas Eve. It was Alvin, who showed a different him to others. People by then knew that he was a story teller. And she loved to listen to his tales. She knew, he is different and all that mattered to him was the words and what they convey to world.

There was this guy and the first novel he brought for him. “The pleasant Interlude”; and from then it was their ritual- A book for every birthday.

Oh! Not to forget how these three met on a mid-night to be introduced as hard cotter potter-maniacs. Be it the mess, corridors, Stone benches, the front shop. They were never tired to carry a conversation of what would happen to Harry and Hogwarts after the death of the beloved Headmaster Dumbledore.

There were a few girls, who met him almost every evening/weekend to get/share/exchange/rob books from him. Also they loved to call him Krishna, for they believed he has a way with girls, but not just with words alone. Those evening spent in the stone benches and those never ending conversations at the girls hostel gate. Girls, it seems had to face a tough time with their infamous warden because of him, as how someone later testified.

Then came two Psycho Seniors. Remember Kevin, not just a problem child in the case of high school shooting, but someone he held close onto and someone who grew on him. She knew that behind this stupidity and Vainokki, rather Bada Jollu Party, there is a sensitized guy.

Not to forget the beautiful world of Malgudi that R K Narayan weaved with his words and imagination, which brought us together and also the hatred of you for poor Ginny, I have never seen anybody so much drooling for our Harry.

Oh! And then the senior and the sister, with whom he had real tough time, when it comes to make her read books, and had to throw up real emotional tantrums to make her read books. Someone who got him Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on the first day and the last day of his life in Coimbatore.

Pray for me Brother, Gone with the Wind, My Days, and a Readers Digest Edition of A Walk to Remember were their last exchanges. Rather the meen curry and Kari meen at Neyyattinkara.

Have you ever sit on a public place reading a book? Well you would. But have you ever snatched a book from someone when they were deeply immersed in it? And then call your friend and show, “Hey Look, Nicholas sparks.” And still forget that there was a guy standing in front of you, mouth wide open and little intrigued. I know someone, who just got lost in North Carolina then.

A junior, who was introduced as a fellow Potterian and a co-Aquarian, someone who shared the equal madness and passion for books. Someone who made him gift her, Tuesdays with Morrie

And then someone else walks into his life, a junior to start with, and then turning out to be a precious little brother he always longed for. They grew together without books. I remember those Friday evenings when he went to see him off. Those old book stalls, where he leisurely spend an hour or two buying half of dozen of books, only to be snatched/robbed, when he is back to campus.

It rarely happens that he gets to read the book first. It was always made sure that the book is circulated among their reading circle; read by everyone and then promptly returned to him.

Such was the life of The Book Broker.

P.S. To all my Book-Lover friends from PSG… Love you folks…

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All I want is…..

A few thoughts that I couldn’t actually let it flip by, time and again, I take out time more to contemplate on the lived life. I wish I could have lived that time, but greater the time is needed for me to sit still and let life pass by in minutes to regale in the moments passed by. There are certain ways of understanding the uncertainties. Accepting the uncertainties whole-heartedly gives the re-assurances to face them. It is umpteenth time that the romantic in me is set out for a leash. I take all that I have in me to detach from life with a passion that I realize which is set on a blaze in me.

Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving as Erma Bombeck points out rightly, plus I realise that guilt is also an element that keeps the going on. For that matter, I don’t set out on a propaganda that I’ve stopped feeling guilty, but I don’t necessarily guilt myself for I have also realized the guiltiness of nothing and the nothingness of guilt is more dangerous than the guilt itself. There are things that matters as they are something that I have learned to appreciate. For I remember a few glimpses that which compels itself to be told and to be shown.

The myriad of memories that oozes out from me turns me numb in pain. I wish I could cry out loud and let the despair out than to be gnawed inside by the memories that are set on a painful blooming inside me. They create a pattern, a pattern that would set my mind to a roller coaster ride through the times I have lived. What I couldn’t do is to muster enough courage and say a Positive NO and be out of the maze. Photographs are not mere memories of the past frozen to future. The shadows bring in a cocktailed tinge of nostalgia and regret and set us to a brink. What can one possibly trade with time to go back once to a moment and re-live them? No wonder, God is cruel. And Fate is crueller.

Have you ever sat alone and listened intently to the rain? Have not you ever realized that the rain drops falling on the roof with a clutter actually long for an intimate conversation? Have you ever looked at a child watching wistfully at the rain outside through a window? Why would we distance ourselves from such beautiful moments of life? I realize the beautiful rain, which rains inside me, when I sit and watch the rain that rains rhythmically to the music of my solitude. And then I do the loveliest thing. I let it rain and I let myself rain.

But where on earth or heaven can I expect a shower in this arid Hyderabad April? All I want is to rain outside my window and me cosily sitting with a book? For a change my thesis this time, as my countdown is set to write and submit. Here I come, to you, the world of academia….


Well… I’m just desperate enough now to write something here!!! because, i was absent/missing here for the last say three months. its long ever that I’d been away, except for reading a few posts, well I was quite off the hook, and now i’m back here in Hyd as a research scholar, re-searching my way… well guys,, keep tuned. catch ya all soon… Love to my Blog-friends and family….

P.S. My mom’s birthday today!!!! Love you lady mommy!!!!

P.S 2 Raul, a John Ab look-alike joined in HCU…. MA Mass comm. way to go juns!!!

addthis_pub = ‘barathwillbe’;

Alive n Kicking

yeah! For the one who craved for holiday n travel… had been roaming like a God-forsaken soul…. Had a fantastic trip in God’s own country… Next post… The Monsoon Holiday
… first post with pics.. soon on the go…

In a major Holiday-hang-over

Went to coimbatore… My college n old times…..

Met Amazwi, Blogger Vignesh….. More on that .. soon

Oops! Off to hyderabad tomorrow, Got an interview. wish me all good luck…..

Sorry, been away from many blogs n blog friends-family… This post just to keep informed, am alive n kicking. catch you soon on your blogs…

Had a great trip with my lil bro after a long time….

On the way to be a research scholar soon….

Then! What if; then, what?

There are certain questions, one should refrain from asking, especially when you happen to travel with someone who calls and considers him/her self a writer.

“What kind of a writer are you?”

Well. I never had a clue, all other times; it was either a warm or an I-don’t-encourage-such-questions smile. But that day, to the most unfortunate despair of the interrogator, I had this answer, spontaneously brimming up inside me.

“I just write, hence I’m a writer, but my writings and my being of a writer is multi-layered, rather a multi-staged process. I’m a reluctant writer and when I’m past my reluctance, I turn to this compulsive writer and keep writing, only to end up as a voluminous writer. I cannot help identifying the little things and people prefer to call this labeling. So I’m even a labelist-writer, in a way.

She had this what-wrong-did-I-ever-do-to-you look on her face. For the greater good, I excused myself, “It is quite sultry inside. I’ll just go, stand near the door for a while.” And I left my window seat.

Pre-script: This post can be lengthily lengthy! Read it at your own ease.

Then I did realize the importance rather the necessity to traverse in the depressing murky narrow lanes of human mind. I did make the journey. In a shorter while, I stood face to face with him. He was tall and nude. I glimpsed down at Him, sensing his faltering hesitation, I averted my glance. I found out, he was shy and got intimidated by my presence before his naked self. It looked pale. It didn’t bother me anyway; for I had a mother’s eye. I was not disgusted by his nudity. His sudden appearance brought out the rather dormant motherly instincts alive in me. I reached the door of his grief-stricken soul and gently knocked to wake him up. He understood my silent plea to unburden his sorrows on me. I still got a chance to identify my own self in him, overcoming all my possible short-comings and human weakness. I can hear his prayers. I prayed/wished there were fewer burdens and more people to help him with his yoke. For the first time, I looked at his eyes, to see the fear blooming away to a smile.

When any mind is dug, the depths are seen to be filled with the acid, frustration- the source of hatred ness, which gets accumulated due to the needless and endless rush to no-where. People don’t let the flow of base, literally and chemically i.e., assurance-the source of love, to neutralize this and so as to stop the mind ending up, thoroughly eroded and turns to a scathed monstrous inside spitting words of venom outside.

What could I possibly tell, to let him learn that nudity is sacred and so are every private secret. No god/human-made-god is sacred. Believing that thy gods are sacred is the absolute Blasphemy. Nothing is more sacred than/as sacred as Human spirit.

When you sow love in life, you reap only smiles in return, the other synonym of love, which is pure and blissful, like that of a baby, which arouses a desire in you to touch and caress in rejoice.

Ever patted someone’s cheek with love, when they smile? You will know.

Sitting on a beach, feeling the coarse texture of the sand against my skin, with the music, plugged in, either Savage Garden/Bob Marley, with Italo Calvino unveiling the secrets of the Invisible cities, sipping apple juice spiked with white Mischief to be lost in the magical orange hues of the evening sun.

How romantic! How rejuvenating! NOTHING ELSE MATTERS

Only, when you’re in Pondicherry, Marina, Marine Drive, Kovalam, Goa or Gokarhna.

Not when,

Sitting in the living room, awake at an unearthly hour, with four other souls deep asleep at the dead of night, I look out of my window and heave the usual sigh!

I found myself awake to the deserted sight of my bedroom. No clue! When I fall a prey to Insomnia. I get up all by my self, prepare the most-cherished-I-made-my-own-chai and sit at my dining for the morning my-alone-mono-conversation. Brother would have left to Bangalore, remembered seeing him at 7, when I tossed around. Heard dad’s voice and spotted him in his usual I-don’t-see-my-spectacles-anywhere look, when I blinked and adjusted to the morning light entering through the window. Listened to mom’s daily set of instructions, “Keep some milk for puppy, you have your breakfast soon, clean up the kitchen, put away the used dishes, keep the house tidy, pay the grocery bill”, when I got up to switch off my alarm and sleep again.

Watch Television, sit at the PC, listen to music, stare at an empty space, sit idly, read, pick up a novel and start umpteen times, sketch/scribble/cook. Mono/multi/juggle tasks. Do nothing/everything. A day is gone. I spend my whole day regretting not being early, missing the jog and curse for being lately late every night. And naturally you grow around the middle.

Vacation does this. No matter how well you plan to finish novels, jog/jinx/jingle everyday learn guitar/music/cooking, watch movies plan a thousand trips. Nothing happens. Believe me, been through it badly, madly and truly.


When you’re an adult
1) NEVER EVER holiday at home, you’re past the age of summer camps/cramps
2) Home is meant to be missed and not to SPEND vacations.

Orkut and face book even bores the hell out of you. And you turn the most perverted poet. G talk status – a testimony to this statement

With all this now going in for a more while. I plan to write books/scholarly articles on the following topics

1) The Ignored Psychology of the Blissful Boredom
2) Being the second born – boon or bane.
3) Ten sure and safe ways to seek instant attention
4) An Introduction to holidaying at home.
5) The Psycho-analysis of bored-minds: A socio-cultural approach
6) What not to do, when you’re Home Alone.
7) Understanding the problems of the Youngest Kid.
8) How to be a successful attention Seeker
9) The nuances of being a nuisance at home – A beginner’s theory

Efforts are been given at a full fledged pace and wish me all luck.

As Erma Bombeck quotes, “Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.”

And as JB ma’m puts it, “You’re home-sick, you reach home and soon, you grow sick of home.”

Yet, how I wish, I get up every morning to the beautiful sight of the snow-clad Alps Mountain on the meadows with that special dream-girl rather my-kind-of-girl cuddled up beside me.

No! No! NO! I’m a single, and not that desperate or waiting to mingle-single. It is just that I wish, to know what it is to get committed and to flash my COMMITTED status in Orkut and face book.

No Shrings! I’m still the committed single. Remember we can flirt, flirt and flirt, No worries, we’re still committed to our single hood status. We’re The Committed Singles.

And you T**** Now don’t call me a predictable pervert, you Pakistani *******U**. I miss my campus life, BIG time!!!!

I abstain form the temptations of running away, deserting my own self. I just cannot imagine my own self deserting the precious me.

The best way to overcome temptations is to yield into them – Oscar Wilde.

For I know, there are less and less worthy things in life to run after and more and more beautiful occasions and meaningful things to look forward. “Everything Waits”. As Samby puts it, “Nothing great has been achieved except by those who believe that something inside them is superior to circumstance.. And I continue to believe..”

addthis_pub = ‘barathwillbe’;

My evading musings

Curse the good god, (if there is any). What’s happening with my musings? It is like; I had been ditched by muse. Ages since I had immersed in thoughts, No I don’t count my exam days. They are far worse, but best when it comes to exercise my mind. For I imagine a lot, when I write exams. Probably you have, when you have no clue about what’s been asked in the question paper. Half my answers are hypothetical and the other needless to utter, non-sense. Well that’s how I had been till now. But my best memories include exam days, be it the board exams, entrance examinations or semester exams. I can never forget those days. There’s apparently something magical about exams, that only an average under dog can know. The thrill of being ignorant about what you need to know and still make it to the exam hall. And spending a considerable chunk of time, day-dreaming-looking around, reading the instructions, hall-tickets, question paper, what ever available to read, randomly looking around, wool-gathering, reliving memories, pretending to think and acting as if you are smart know-all and write some crap to fill-in pages. Those days are now gone. Me on a way to be research scholar soon, Heaven willing…..

Life is quite different now, outside campus and especially being at home. feels like am deeply grounded and living in an island of lost abyss. I wish things were a bit better. Have got loads to do, don’t where to start to sort out things. Feeling crazy yet unreasonably depressed. Let’s see.

And Well I have exactly never spoken about this, The coming of a small town boy to a metro. It has been two years now. and I remember the day, when this small town guy landed in hydreabad, about to cry when his dad wasl leaving. Thanks tto Rajitha akka and the timely offer of pav bhaji! from then it was a journey, mostly the journey of the self into the self… and then I started blogging! well, That was one another thing that happened to me. well the other thing is the meeting of people. People from various parts of the country. I learnt a few things and well even un learned many..

And this i9s how my musings have been evading me for the past two months. I honestly couldn pen down a single thought! there has been a block/clog in my space… and Of course things were nt fine at my end. Not keeping for a long while. All i know is my search grows bigger in my life and as Known to a few, I just want to give up everything…

And this wonderfull thing happened… Lets just call her N, for a few close folks of mine know, her! It was exactly in my first year UG I met her in coimbatore bus stand. She then was in her secomd year English literature. well she is my Kinter Garden sweet heart. Well. My first ever friend, The first person I consciously loved outside my Family. We were been this inseperable pair, well everyone knows that peopel till tease me, for I did everything to be with her, sneaking her out of the class in UKG and going for a walk in the school garden while class hours, spending the noons with her while we were supposed to take rest. It was innocence of love with pure bliss and joy. I remember the time when I prayed that I should be put up with her after my fifth std. And How she prayed to Mother Mary to change me to a girl so that I can be with her…

And we didnt meet so ofetn after that. and the last time I met her was a few weeks back, most unexpectedly. I heard she got married to a guy she fell in love with. Her parents were really nice ecought to let her marry a guy from another religion and I met her with her husband. Well All I remember about N is her dimpled smile with her trying to tuck a strand of hair. She remains the same. and then after a casula conversation, when we were about to leave, she smiled and told me, “Sure da bharatha, You will like V, he knows you well. and he is more like you.” and she looked into my eyes and smiled. God! I love her. and You know I smiled inside, a knowing smile of seeing her happy!!! when you love someone, you smile often… and Guys! I love you. V and N. My sincere wishes are prayers for a happy life…

Well Nothing much! am not still out of my writers block.

Jb ma’m gonna finish her thesis soon.
Haven’t spoken with anyone, should call and speak…
Got three more exams, well Thats counts more important
My trip is waiting and so is my friends
HAvent spokent to Mano, asish, Raku, Raji akka, sudar anna, winny, and a lot more
Been a year! I met Raul…
Should meet Vicky this time, no matter what happens..
Should visit my old school and college…
Samby would be back soon…
Well a lot more
Hoping against hopes That I would resume writing soon…