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Thursday the 22nd of August 2013


Of course

A laugh can almost make you melt. Like a beautiful nose.

Confidence is a trait I cannot decipher, but when associated with a gorgeous face (pleasant to the eye, I will say), one can almost understand it. What the intentions underlying are, I cannot understand for I am ever so used to masked intentions that when they are laid out for the world to see, it becomes difficult to believe.

Awestruck, it read.

I wish I could identify the level of truth in such statements.

Misanthropy on my part.
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Thursday the 15th of August 2013


The Flag

  • Mood: Patriotic in a personal rejection of the same way
A spoke in the wheel, like a cog in a machine.

Independence, they say.

No, India.
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Tuesday the 6th of August 2013



  • Music: Fireball - Deep Purple
  • Pain Must Be Inflicted On Political Nationalists
I've had a lot of issues with location today. On this very day.

Let me start with my morning.

I woke up on the sofa, where I sleep in my aunt's house. The location is a suburb and is relatively posh for my country's standards.
I packed my bags to leave to go back home, and within an hour, I was in a different state, having flown by plane. The reactions included "that was fast, I haven't even finished this chapter that I started reading."
I now think of the course I am to do, and it is Geography related. Urged by enthusiasm, I started reading online texts prescribed as part of my syllabus. I was saddened to see that I could only access a few of the references as some were mentioned as physical copies. As a result, I decided to loo for an internet copy. On doing so, I noticed that I suddenly have 3 options. 1. Download illegally (easier, but a lot of work dodging that porn). 2. Download for a short period of time after which I would no longer have access to the work (Read a heavy text in 7 days? Ok, that's a challenge I NEED to take up.). 3. Wait to reach that country and copy the physical copies (if not, the police will arrest me should I opt for 1 there.).
I later sat down to dinner with family and over a rather nice meal, had a redundant argument with the father who insisted that opinions may exist and be shared, but none can be imposed. I tried to point out that normalised forms of imposed ideologies exist as they persist as "norms" which themselves are constructed based on arbitrary societal expectations. I do not even wish to present his mainstream argument as I grew up with it and know better. Our locations were different, being from different backgrounds. I also noticed that mum, who comes from a lower class level, but higher caste understood these forces of control better than dad who comes from a relatively higher class but a lower caste. The fight for identity, and the false belief that we indeed have the ability to think in isolation, not being influenced was something mother could point out as wrong, with examples of control in the media especially TV using show timings. Father, however, "could not understand" what I was trying to say.


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Friday the 5th of April 2013


Travelers - Pseudo, of course

  • Mood: Lost
Have you ever felt like a nomad even though you aren't really one?

I wish I were a nomad. Then I'd be and belong nowhere, but claim every place as not rejecting me since I'd just be passing by all the time. Never belonging.

Belonging is a funny concept. Who decides where and why you belong where, to what extent and how? You could do anything 'cause no one could claim you as belonging to them. Falling into their category and being this speck of a larger whole. You'd be an outsider; not necessarily a troublemaker, though. Your own person in a way. No one decides for you nor controls you but yourself.

Were you never fascinated by witchcraft? Their practices and processes? Drawing funnies on the floor, setting fire to things and dancing around it in the moonlight? Brewing herbal remedies that actually work because you know your body's reactions and what happens should you mix saffron with ale or so. A little bong or hookah pot beside you. Or perhaps a cat while you're riding back and forth on a rocking chair.

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Tuesday the 13th of November 2012


Jai Hind(u Hegemony)

I will never understand the celebration of hindu festivals as they do today. Pollution-friendly in every way.  Noise, Air, Land, Water. Today as Diwali goes on, my ears feel like they are about to bleed any second. The skies shower residue from blown up rocket-crackers and the after-stink of something burning swirls into the room as my curtains flap. Do I shut the window to counter these inconveniences? It is past 2200 hrs. Past the curfew set for non-hindus. They pride themselves on being the world's biggest democracy with a secular outlook, when I highly doubt both claims. That book sits, rotting and decadent, and we follow that which is centuries old.

Another blast. Were it an Islamic festival, the Hindus would think it to be an act of terrorism. Were it that of any other minority, it wold be looked at as an attempt to step out of line and not respect the views of the State (bloody anti-nationalists.) I read in the paper today, that sugarcane farmers made an attempt to protest during this festive day, against the low prices of their crops. They blocked roads to make a point, to make people realise that while they are busy burning fuel (and thereby money and resources and adding to the pollution) there are sections who have nothing. It could easily be an attempt at being heard. To ask people to consider them. But they were silenced by guns. The state approves the use of arms in the face of danger. Oh yes. Danger. The population traveling from one region to another to "celebrate" a new year (what for, I will never know) is in danger of not being able to add to the crackers being blown up. Such monsters must be stopped. Monsters who do not respect the hindu culturally hegemonic way of celebrating their greatness. Kill them. So that the rest in their cars may be pacified and can join in as their families (fat, alive) can sit around with bottles of alcohol (blame those Christians) and set fire to bundles of money, carefully mashed up, in a crafty manner, to form crackers by the sweat and blood of little children. Little children who sit in factories and use their ever so nimble tiny fingers to spot in very dim lit rooms, the correct place to insert those seeds of gunpowder. Because children need to work. Must be those lower caste ones. Those ones who never make it in life. Those ones who have never been educated thanks to the brilliant system in place. Those ones who struggle to get by daily and hope to never have to put their children through the same. But they work. Because their knowledge is not valid knowledge. No, sirr. You need to go to a University to get a Degree. And a Masters. To be smart. You need to be able to sit at home and depend on others for one of those. So that others who have access to those facilities can be fat and pretend to be liberal. And pretend to care.

So kill those farmers who dare to disrupt the peace and harmony that we intend on maintaining as we blow up crackers. And let those children work in dimly lit areas and get paid next to nothing, and have no future as we switch on all the lights possible, waste as much electricity to signify our devotion to some mythological creatures who apparently fought against evil.

Who are the evil ones, again?

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Saturday the 22nd of September 2012


Caffeine and Fungus

  • Mood: Upset

You can’t expect your day to go brilliantly if you find fungus growing on your coffee. Yes, it was my mistake. I just left it there.

Which brings me to think. If you take things for granted, why can’t you expect it to turn mouldy and allow itself to be fed off and just form a layer over it’s self to keep it from you?

Yet again, what if it has made various attempts to communicate and get your attention, only to be ignored or conveniently listened to? When you find the fungus then, it always seems to make sense to trash the whole thing and not just scrape the top off. I think I planned this little.

Constant reminders around me, like taunts, get me to realise that I should probably have sulked less. That when I thought of something, I should have acted upon it.

All I have now are misplaced thoughts. Just here and there. Joined together by stops. Punctuation.

“Okay”s and “Yeah”s

Good Morning to me. And Good Night too.

From me to my own self. Selfish. Always. :)

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Monday the 3rd of September 2012


Who Names Their Child Rusty?

Perhaps a waste of dressing up, but I was given a gorgeous book from the outing. I started reading it today. Listening to Grasshoppers.
So this colour makes me think.
According to Gandhi, when coming up with the Indian flag, he considered Red(Saffrom) as implying "renunciation or disinterestedness". To represent the Hindus. Green was to be for Muslims, then. The Ashok chakra was added later to "eliminate sectarian views".
However, the Ashok chakra is related to Buddhism. Sure, I agree with Buddha's agnosticism, but it is enough to just include a minority(Perhaps all?) in the middle of the war brought about by the lot on top(Saffron- Hindu- Majority) against the bottom(Green-Muslim-Second Majority)? Are we as secular as we believe?
Perhaps I need to get more facts in place. For saying what one feels is usually considered ignorance.
Or perhaps we need to watch a new flag fly. Only, when we talk about Red, it won't be for a religion. It will be for an ideology. And maybe that chakra can convert itself into a huge, circled 'A'.

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Monday the 27th of August 2012


Who Doesn't Love A Clean Slate?

In an attempt to measure how far I've come, or just how much I would change, I kept up my old blog which had terrible 16-year old poetry. As you may figure, it isn't the best kind. I cannot tell what it is that I expect to do with this blog since I already have a few so called blogs, and I haven't a clue as to what to do there either. Therefore, as and when I feel motivated to say something or share something, this shall be where I do it. Not a fashion blog. Not a photographer's blog. Not a blog for tea nor coffee(although, it may have a few coffee accounts to deal with.)
That is all.
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