writing

Ramble On and Laugh

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Growing up with dreams like living on an Ivy League campus, and sipping good coffee every lazy morning when I woke up in my pjs amidst art and history books…

Growing up believing in magic… That there is a reason that no one can define, yet its strong, like the sun rising and the stars just appearing out of nowhere in the night sky…

Growing up, believing that one day I’ll have the money and the funky tan to travel the whole world and call it ALL home..

Yep, growing up like that… it’s just insane!

I remember one of my Where Would I Be in 10 Years visions… riding a bike through Oxford in spring, with a friend, and being fast as the wind… It hasn’t been too long since that vivid daydream, and I already laugh about it. Make me wonder if one day’s dream is another day’s joke.. If the cycle is always in motion, if I will always think up fantasies and later replace them with something more appealing… an maybe something more realistic.

How many of you have ever wanted to be famous? So famous that the whole world knew your face, recognized your voice, and followed your news like fan mail. I have heard just too often about that big aspiration.. to want to be Alexander… it’s what every teenager has thought about once.

Funnily enough, though I romanticise with the idea of having the keys to every door, I don’t want any more people to know me than those who must… I like being a stranger… It gives me the chance to become whatever kind of person I want to, when I want to.. And I can always make new starts that way. I can be a scholar geek to one person, lecturing them about how inappropriate it is to say ‘I’m good’ when grammatically it is ‘I’m well.’ I can be the reckless chick to another, who wouldn’t touch the tequila but acted as if she was high. I can be anything if I’m a stranger. But if I’m Alexander, well, I have to stick to a personality. Boooring.

Today, like many days recently, I’m cracking up over all the weirdly amazing things that happen, have happened, and are happening…

It’s really amazing what can be going on around one if we only just sit back some time and list it..

Someone is busy nursing a pregnant mare… Someone is trying to move to another country within the week… Someone is trying to survive the day and the demanding coaching institute they have joined… Someone is thinking of losing their virginity pretty soon… Someone is so bored they are willing to coach others about Play Station… And someone, is just plain going through every picture on Facebook of every person in their list, to maybe, just maybe find something to report.

Crazy, I know!

Maybe I’m one of the few lucky ones who can actually sit back and laugh at things happen around them, knowing that there’s stuff to do, and knowing that it can wait a while. I’ve always been a great enthusiast for the Audience View… Where you just lay back and watch the world make a fool of itself in front of you… I’ve probably blogged about it a billion times! I’m just glad that though writing these days is turning out funny, I actually am having fun with it… For instance, this poem that makes me split up every time I even think about it.. Penned it late last night for lack of better things to do, and see how it’s turned out. Promise me pleaaaasssseeee, that if you laugh on reading it, you will tell me!

Oh gosh… I’m getting embarrassed typing it even!

You’re buttered guavas with marmalade mash

My risotto on a gondola ride

You’re the dancing fish in the twilight sea

My sleepy turtle after the night

You’re a lone water drop gracing my window

My moon pasted high in the sky

I miss you sugar plum, I miss you so

So come back and make me dream all night

The Oh So Fun thing about writing is, even for the fun of it, it can come to you anytime. It can come without provocation too. It doesn’t always satisfy what you need it to do… write an essay… submit a fiscal report… But it always does achieve something… This one little poem, it is still making me grin and blush 😀 Writing helps me appreciate things.. It helps me to ramble about anything at all, and laugh over it.

Now… The question is… Do I have the courage to post this after all?

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10 Things About Writing Posts

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Well, everything does seem to have a Top 10 or Count Down 10, so why not? And there’s a billion things that go on in the mind of a blogger before publishing, and sometimes these are so funny, that maybe now would be the time to tell what goes on in mine. Something like, Behind The Scenes, only it’s Behind The Mundane Screen That Is The Forehead And Inside The Brain. Yeah.

One.

(I do prefer word-numbering than bullets because bullets really leave no space for fun with formatting.)

Okay. Is the title okay? So I am writing about a fictional prince fleeing his fictional palace and needing fictional water. Should I add fiction to the title. Well, I never did, so why now? Bang. Decision One.

Two.

Title’s done. So… what was I supposed to write? Oh yeah about that fictional bum fleeing his fictional home and needing a fictional drink. Can I make it fiction? Right. So declare that this is fiction. Bangy-bang-bang. Decision twoooo!

Three.

Must I write today? Because I am so tired! What do you expect a poor girl to do now, stretch to the last breath and type a whole long blog post. Here it’s on paper. Someone just type it. Right. Stealthily find someone who will type in exchange for little sacrifices like bribery. Light Bang. Decision, decision!

Four.

Okay. Denial never did anybody good. She’s got a point. I don’t have anything left to barter out and get my work done. I have already given her my tatoos, little totems, things I stole from her… nah, she’s not gonna do it today. Okay paper, come here and let’s see what you got for me. Oh and Bang. Grudging decision.

Five.

Type. Sindbad the prince… Of course he’s a prince! What kind of name is Sindbad but a prince’s?! Wait. Do not think. Do not create the possibility of thinking out something actually quite brilliant, I can’t have people expecting greatness from me on a regular basis. Stick to the script. Bang. GOOD decision.

Six.

Type.

Sindbad the prince…

Sindbad had none of those luxuries…

Sindbad reached for a water bottle…

This guy is way too much of an egoist. But what can we say, he’s my character.
So… don’t criticize my own work. Better still, do not think of my own work. I don’t feel like a bang, so just know it’s Decision six.

Seven.

Oh do finish typing!!! Aren’t there better things in life? Butterflies and poppy fields, rainbows and white ponies… Nah. Typing rules. Only why does it take so LONNNGGGGG? I so got to get that dictator thing that you can out in your ear and dictate to your computer. I so need a smart computer to succumb to that dictating. I so need to finish typing!

Yeah… some bang! Decision, future plans!

P.S. Two minutes in the future is future right? So maybe I should go and find that dictator after all…

Eight.

Sigh. Finished typing. So the fictional dud is finally fleeing his fictional hub and finally needs some fictional water. Man, must I reread? My viewers must already be used to those horrid errors! But damn this ingrain habit of full spellings and British scheme.

Bang. Decision eight.

Ninnnnneeee.

Yawn. Why do I love blogging and hate blog-writing? Nah, it’s just the typing. Okay, fun part! Tag and categorize. So what was this all about? Don’t tell me!!! I got to read it again.

Yeah.. so it’s tagged….. prince? fiction? and and sand? I love sand. But do I tag it? Let’s see if it come up in auto-tagging.

BANG! I’m back with good decisions!

Ten.

Best Number Ever.

Last Number. 🙂

Click it. No you do it Smeagol. No you do it Gollum.

No you do it Ruchika. No you do it… excuse me, what do you think you’re waiting for, my secret nickname? Please.

So… click it?

CLICK IT!

Yeah, yeah, yeah! We published!!!

Now… who’d gonna be the first to Like?

.

.

.

Guys?

No Likes?

Well, you better when I return, I typed it all, didn’t I?

You, Who Left

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So… I see you decided to leave.

You came one glorious sunny day and gave me a certain orange mark on my blog, and even WordPress proudly announced “You have a new follower!” I was overjoyed of course! And I must have sent you a Note of Thanks, as I always do without fail, because I believe in it that much.

You read my posts for a while, and I smiled to see your Likes. You led me on, made me believe you were enjoying what I wrote.

But then BAM! Without reason, without notice, you left me stranded, you left me without a word, and no goodbye! You never let me know the real feelings you went by, did you think I won’t notice and you could simply slip by?

Well you were wrong.

I noticed. And it hurt. So what that I don’t remember your name, I do feel having lost your presence!

Why would you do it? Why would you never say that you were losing the feel in my posts? Why would you hold your grudging even when I say I welcome all comments? Why would you Slander, Mutinise? On my ship, under my command, you chose to sneak out? WHY?

I know it’s your choice.

And I accept you had all right.

But no goodbye?

That seems dry.

Sorry, I get poetic when I am charged. But you didn’t even like my poetry! You never spoke about my work, never made a sound. But with what a loud bang you left!

From a perfect 40 you left me and made it 39. So incomplete, so raw! But I can’t really blame you… you left because you didn’t like me anymore. Makes me think… what set you off?

Oh I’m doing it again! Did you leave because of posts like this? Where I whine and whine and cry out insanely and maybe you got fed up! Because we aren’t even married, and you still get a regular dose of my complaints?! Or was it because of jokes like this? That I play too much with the sanctity of marriage?!

Oh then, you must hate me for all the things I say against the government, you law-abiding citizen! If I promised I never broke any law, and swear to never be an iota seditious would you come back?

Oh please come back!

Or tell me what went wrong!

Wait! I know it! You just hated my writing!

So… not even my pics would reel you back in?

Nope? No chance?

Maybe I could….

No?

All right… but if you MUST leave… maybe you’ll write a Sayonara Comment? ONE comment? That would mean…

Hey! You walked out on me! You owe me that much!

No? Whatever you say, you’re the boss.

You’re in charge. Since you chose to act up, mister and leave without telling! Huh!

Post Script: Yes, someone just unfollowed me. But all the rest is just made up. 🙂 I am giving him none of this ramble, and I don’t think anyone will ever get it. So feel free to follow or unfollow! 😀 See ya!

 

Sonnet 55, Shake-speare

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I am in Tenth Grade. And in tenth Grade, we are taught this particular Sonnet of Shake-speare’s. I find it gently pretty, but then, gently. And with all the aura Shake-speare has to his name already, and the added mystery around the Fair Youth and Dark Lady, I find it makes a great blog post- soemthing you and me can talk volumes about. (Remember what this blog is all about?) 😀

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments shall
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmear’d with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
‘Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

Isn’t it pretty?

We are taught in school, that the poet has so much love and admiration for this person he has dedicated the Sonnet to, that he immortalises him/her ( 😀 ) in his verse, and is so confident that this person will find a place in all future worlds, that he is sure to pass the ravages of Time, War and Death, the superpowers, and go on till Judgement Day. Did you understand as much? Frankly, I didn’t expect Shakespeare to be this simple, but maybe it’s the hype that’s more complex that his real work.

Anyway, I love the concept. And I admire the stern devotion, the irrevocable love, but I have questions. These are questions that are often deemed ‘beyond class discussion’, because, let’s face it, not everyone is interested to talk about this poem they don’t enjoy at all, and they can’t care less what the poem really really means. Cool. But what’s not cool is that the people who should be interested, literary geniuses and teachers, are also put-off and are more than willing to just frisk through it, take the Test and get on. Big problem for me.

Who will talk to me now about Shakespeare being gay or not, since his poems to this young, fair lad are at times pretty lovey-dovey? Who will research and decide, with me, who we think Shakespeare dedicated these Sonnets too, since there are speculations, and a shortlisting? Who will do all the debating, and all the deep thinking?

I was furious to find that I had not many people for this discussion. So I planned my revenge. And here it is.

I have a story, fiction pieces, for each of the two theories I so wanted to discuss and couldn’t. Now here, if you like any, all you need to do is write in in the comments and I’ll get back to you. Of course.

Story One; Theory one- Was S gay?

The night was heavy…

It had come suddenly, like a dark veil of ungainly dark, and had enveloped the entire town into eerie silence. There wasn’t a lamp that had burned against the ravages of that deathly dark, and the people sat in their homes, beside the fire in fear. A small winding road leading down the main path was exceptionally ghastly. The pebbles crunched furiously as the hooded figure walked down it. The road was wet, though it hadn’t rained a drop for the past day. The wind didn’t stir, as if it had rejected that part of town. The hooded figure soon gasped for breath. Faint, and pale, it reached the cottage at the end and clutched the rotting handle tight, in fear of slipping down. White knuckles rapped against the sallow wood door, and promptly, a man flung open the door. The frail figure fell with the sudden gush of the door, causing much alarm to the man who was expecting no visitor.

The figure was carried to the sofa and sat down, and water was brought. As the figure slowly came about, it pulled back it’s hood, to show the fair head of a young lad of twenty, and the boy was terrified.

“I am sorry sir, that you should find me in such timid a state, but I was rather hoping that you would dedicate all your Sonnets to me, henceforth, because you see what you write already pretty much sucks and you copy from here and there, and writing on me, hence, will give you the edge of being the first famous homo. What say you?”

And the man, for it indeed was Shakespeare, threw up his hands, and hugged the Fair Youth and danced and did a jig, and became famous.

There you go. Nothing great about his sexuality after all.

Story two; Theory Two- If S was gay, why the erotic mentions for the Dark Lady? Were they smart enough to invent Bisexual?

So Shakespeare wrote the Sonnets and people couldn’t understand half the context and half the mystery of the youth so they named him a maestro, and Shakespeare became famous. In fact, he got so famous that the Queen called for a meeting. And here, our story continues, which I remind you is fiction, and I have no clue what queen or what era or what fame.

Shakespeare looked outside the coach-window, and wondered if the people would like a Sonnet on grass and bees. He decided to ask the queen, as he was going to see her shortly. The queen. A nervous frown appeared on his intelligible forehead. What did the queen want to see him about? Surely he hadn’t yet won her heart. Was it to punish him? Had he gone too far? Was it the end of his career, was he indeed going to be sacked o his job? He tried not to think. Instead he tried to write and though the thoughts came easily, as he just had to twist famous tales, he soon felt tired. He admitted to himself, he was scared.

But Shakespeare arrived at court all sound, with no mishaps. And when he finally saw the queen who had asked for his presence, his heart melted. Such fair a lady, such beautiful a face… he would embrace death if that was what this holy entity wanted today. The sun fell soft on the queen’s small face, and it only brightened her deepest beauty. Her eyes, wide and dark and her mouth, so red and so firm, Shakespeare knew at once that his contract with the Fair Youth was off.

When he returned to his dismal cottage later, he remembered not what the queen had talked about, but set off dedicating his other Sonnets to her, and to save them both from the careful scrutiny of the king, he turned her fair white skin as lush but dark and wrote on about her.

And that’s how Shakespeare completed his Sonnets.

I do wish he had a smaller name, I would like him much better.

Anyway, this was me being ridiculous, and I expect you not to put much judgement into these words. I most certainly have nothing against the man, as yet, and I am very much willing to listen to critics or lovers alike. As I said, just a little piece of revenge.

😀

This was added on the 21st of August, in response to certain comments and queries made to this post-

When I was writing this piece, I hadn’t thought of this aspect actually, that such a question could come up- whether I was questioning Shakespeare’s credibility on basis of his sexuality. I confess it was lame not to. However i intend to make it very clear it does not affect the work of art one bit if the creator is ‘straight’ gay lesbian, bi or trans; or for that matter, white black grey pink blue green; or Hindu Muslim christian atheist or the devil himself. maybe not the last, if there is a devil, but the point i was really trying to make, and the revenge that i really wanted was that in schools generally we ignore any topic that may be even remotely ‘uncomfortable’ …. that is a shame. So much for holistic development we boast about. So much for curiosity, so underrated, so much for wanting to think.

Ironee

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Manuel was having a hard time creating his second vamp. She only needed to live a dozen pages but she had to be good- sultry and mystical, she was the character who would create his hero’s first obstacle. And it needed to be splendid because that was going to be the root event of the entire book. He already had the perfect set up. All he needed was the perfect girl.

Diaz watched his father crumble yet another ball of paper and and throw at an invisible target at the opposite wall. Diaz giggled, just as he had done after each misdirected shot- seventeen till now. He didn’t understand what daddy was doing, all he cared was to see him frown funnily over and over again, and mutter inaudible ramblings and write furiously and throw the paper away again. Diaz would later collect all that paper and straighten it out, and keep it in daddy’s desk again. Daddy had taught him never to waste paper. As the eighteenth cannonball striked the wall, Diaz giggled louder and rolled over on the floor.

Lea lost the grip on her pen when Diaz laughed again. She had been tense all evening. She was often lost so deep in thought that she would zap back to reality with such a jerk that she felt disorientated and dizzy when she did. Lea knew the things troubling her were serious. She was not doing well in school. In fact, she wasn’t doing good in anything but writing, but then that had been her natural flair. Having an author for a father has it’s benefits.

Diaz was troubling her. She was having a hard time concentrating on the lesson anyway and Diaz’ sudden bursts and gasps and giggles were pinching her more so. Lea had noticed that daddy wasn’t disturbed by Diaz. It made her even more determined to focus better. She was doing an assignment on Figures of Speech. It was, honestly, very lousy. Lea could use whatever figure of speech required in her writing, she just couldn’t work with the technicals…
“Irony, Metaphor, Simile, Hyperbole…” Lea was reading the list again.

Diaz laughed again. This time it was a high pitched squeal because daddy had hit the paper ball right on top of the fan and there it lay, resting on top of a blade.

Manuel saw his flicked ball and smiled at his son. He motioned Diaz to turn the fan on so that the ball may drop. Diaz ran for the switch and when the fan moved, the ball dropped down and landed on Lea’s head.

Diaz rolled on the floor, clutching his sides. Lea frowned at him and threw the ball amidst daddy’s pile. Manuel got back to writing.

‘He was walking along the pavement, stepping into each pool he passed, but not caring. He had too much on his mind.’

Lea read the example given in her text. ‘It’s ironic that she posted a video of how futile Facebook was on Facebook and is sitting there tracking Likes.’ Lea didn’t understand that. What was the difference between irony and mockery? She would have asked daddy but he was obviously very busy.

Manuel was still writing.

‘He thought about her. How she had picked him up easily, at the bar. How he had shown no resistance. How he had been wishing she leave her phone number. How he had liked it, he had really liked it, when she did.”

Diaz had been waiting for too long. He was getting impatient. Daddy had got an idea at last. How boring. Diaz picked up a paper ball from the mounting heaps, and tossed it in the air. He tried to catch it on the tip of his nose but it fell off. He played with more balls… dropped some… rolled some far across the room… and he kept playing till the entire room was littered with crunched papers. But the game was really off when one ball went and hit Lea in the face.

“A large dog called Tiny is an- OWWW!” shrieked Lea, as she caught the ball in her eye.

It was war.

“Diazzzzz! What do you think you are doing hitting people with paper balls in their faces when they are doing their work and minding their business!!!” Diaz stood still. Manuel looked up. He didn’t want a fight now.

“You don’t suppose any one has anything to do, do they?! Just because you can sit around and do nothing and laugh and play doesn’t mean everyone can! Have you ever thought about studying?! Or letting others? Of course not! You are just a lazy boy, who knows nothing! And here I have to sit and learn the most useless of things like Simile and Irony and what not-”

Diaz smiled, all of a sudden.

Lea stopped, shocked. Then she burst out- “WHAT?”

Diaz giggled. “I-run-eeee?” He giggled more.

Lea looked on, quiet. Was he really giggling? Manuel was just as silent.

“Iruneeeeiiii! What a funny name daddy!” Diaz giggled.

Manuel looked at his son. Irony. I-run-eee. Ironie. Ironee. Irounie? No… Ironee… yes, he could make her Russian probably. Or just tacky. Yes… she would be his own personal joke. His hero’s joke! Her own joke! And then, the name he would laugh at and call his own would turn out so alien and the joke… it would be on him… yes… his second vamp… Ironee.

But was it a winner name?

Diaz danced. “Ironeeeeeee….. Ohh Ironeeee….. funny name! Ironeeee!”

It was. Manuel could make it as sultry as he wanted, even as much as Hell. She could be so much. So powerful. So evil.

Manuel threw up his arms in joy. “Yes!” he shouted and scrawled his pen across the blank sheets with a maddening rage.

Diaz joined in his father’s elation, and did a little jig to a tune that comprised majorly of variations of Ironee’s name.

Lea looked on, awestruck.

What irony, she thought.

Her eyes widened. Irony! I know irony!

The brother she had been scolding had come to her poor father’s rescue, and he knew nothing what so ever of writing! Ad he had explained Irony to her!

Figures Of Speech 101. Surprise. Specially when you have a darling brother.