Nostalgia Engulfed...

There are days when I'm okay, then there are days when I'm better. And every once in a while, there's a slow, lazy Saturday that refuses to go by soon enough. I make sure I'm always occupied on Saturdays - eating out, writing, reading something calm. But then gradually the day passes and as the dusk follows, it brings the moon along. Full moons are the worst, when the earth's stalker is predominant in all it's beauty. It's difficult to ignore it even when I know I really, really should. Because looking at the moon makes me feel like you're here, and that's dangerous territory. I want you to be here, all the time, we both know that I do - but we choose to deny it because it's convenient, it makes life easier. Well, Saturdays are hard, but Sundays are worse.

"You know what's the worst part about being a writer?" "Enlighten me." "You can't really differentiate between reality and fiction." He looked confused, so she tried to explain - "For a writer there's always a thin line separating the fictional realm from the real one. The scary thing is, at most times the line is a little too blurry. Most of my stories are what really happened, parts of them are made up. Some things I write about, I've dreamt about. Others, I wish would happen." She looked to see if he was bored, but his attention was rapt so she continued - "Over time, you give up all the segregations and start seeing everything in terms of words, in terms of stories. Like right now, you could really be here but could just as well be a figment of my imagination." He pulled her hair - "I'm real." "Oh I know." She said. "Just making sure you do. Anyway, I still don't see how this i...

* I finally have access to my blog again YAYYY! * I wake up. I get ready. I go to work. I'm out of the house before I can properly adjust my eyes to the morning brightness. I book a ride to work. I get to work. I grab a bite to eat so I don't fall asleep again. I work. Work work work work work. I have lunch. Say me have to work work work work work work. I take a break. I work some more. I book a ride home. I have dinner, maybe watch some videos while I eat. I fall asleep before I even realise I'm sleepy. This monotony is heartbreaking. There are mornings where my alarm goes off and I don't want to wake up and wish there was an infinite snooze. There are afternoons where my head feels like it's bursting at the seams. There are evenings where the breeze doesn't bring solace but a speck of loneliness. There are nights where I'm so tired I can't sleep. But every time I'm about to give up, I remember the little things. The morning - just cold e...

She was late for work. She tried to hurry out of the lift of her building, bag in one hand, breakfast in another. Adulting was hard. Ugh! She walked towards the society gate with hurried steps. As soon as she had stuffed her mouth with the sandwich she held, she called home. It was a daily ritual. This was the only time she got where she could call her parents almost in peace. A couple auto-rickshaws stopped in front of the gate hoping she wanted an auto. She took a right from the gate and started walking along the pavement. She liked to walk in the winter mornings. The breeze chilled her face but sun rays beamed on her at irregular intervals from between the tall, green trees. She was arguing with her mom about having forgotten to cover her super-sensitive-to-winters throat with a stole when she saw a baby, about two years old, dressed in the kind of pink fluffy winterwear they have for kids these days. The kid was going round and round and round looking at its pink shoes clad feet. I...