Nine to Five

“She drinks pints of coffee and writes little observations and ideas for stories with her best fountain pen on the linen-white pages of expensive notebooks. Sometimes, when it's going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery.”  - One Day, David Nicholls

Sunday Morning, 7:30 a.m. I wake up to a single beam of light on my face. The ray has somehow escaped through the curtain of clouds and the wall of books at my window. I watch the specks of dust, suspended, with my eyes half closed. Somehow in that state, with all the glitter and shine, I almost believe it to be fairy dust.  It is a typical winter morning. You can lick the frost off the window sill. The thought of having to step out of the warm blanket is almost unbearable. The clock reads 7:30. This is early for a Sunday. Too early.  I reach over to my right side, trying to locate my mobile phone. Maybe I could stay in for a couple of minutes more and do a crossword puzzle. Or maybe I could just stay in, the whole day. My bed is my universe. My laptop within close reach. The window sill, a comfortable shelf with all readable books stocked. And side tables spilling with all important things within my arm's reach. What more could i possibly need on a Sunday. A growl. Ah yes! Br

I watch a lot of TV series. Popular ones, funny one, dramas, mysteries and fantasies. The list is endless. They demand no thinking or my full attention. I often can do other tasks while watching them. They are not mundane, but just challenge-less. Yet, somehow, in most of these shows, the intelligence, beliefs, smartness as qualities are often ridiculed. Understanding mathematics is ridiculed. Reading books is ridiculed. The desire and the talent to go beyond the ordinary comes with its own set of struggles. The intelligentsia, is often depicted as a group which is set apart from the rest. Often termed and called a geek. Defined by the dictionary as "unfashionably and socially inept person", yet "a knowledgeable and an obsessive enthusiast." Geek! A four letter word condemning the smartest of our generation to believe that it is better to be "popular" as opposed having brains. When I was in school, I was not the exactly a geek. Not someone who

If you had the option, what superpower would you ask for? For a day, for yourself? And no! Doing the world a favour or getting rid of evil, doesn't count. Think of something selfish, something just for yourself. Thinking??? Until then, i'll tell you my story... Just like everybody else, I work. To pay my bills, to buy unnecessary items i desire, to build a room full of things. And thus every day I go about doing my daily chores, my mundane routine of home to office and office to home. I live the life as me, the sensible one. The physical I in this physical world of money, science, politics, religion and all that makes up a society.  Now don't get me wrong. I'm not going to harp on about how one should love what they do or do what they love. That we shall leave for so many others to decide for you and me. And personally, I love buying all the unnecessary clutter in my life. The clothes, candles, flowers, watches, umbrellas and the never ending list of great 

Have you heard of date on skype?  Well I have one, ever so often with my family. Recently, I 'Skype-d' with my grandmother and she just couldn't get over the image of me sitting in front of her. Well, almost in front of her. Amazed, she asked my mother if my video was a pre-recorded message. Her amazement multiplied when I started a conversation with her. 'Just like on a phone but with video', she exclaimed! My nephew on the other hand, sitting in her lap seemed very comfortable with my digital presence. He started an online game with me as if this was as good as us prancing around the house with his action figures and bat-mobiles. I could start telling this story with the usual 'once upon time', for it feels like fairy tale. A tale we've lived and forgotten so easily. I should begin at the beginning. When I was still a child. My cousins and I used to write to each other, especially during the vacations. I remember waiting weeks for the lette

"I grew up with Tweety. And now there is Twitter.  Everything is a tweet, whether it be a yellow bird or blue" As of now, today, we all have opinions about everything. As we stand and watch the world go by, we point our little fingers at 'everything in our view', say a word or two with intense passion and then on approach of another 'thing in view' forget our previous temperament and move on to passionately support the next big thing. I am currently sitting in my office and reading various articles and forming my opinions as I read. Throughout the day, I appreciate certain things and condemn most that come along. How conveniently does one move from one subject to another is probably accredited to our unlimited access to information and the ability to publicly broadcast our emotions without processing it. This is not an article denouncing the entire system of sharing, broadcasting or in today's world 'tweeting' our thoughts. We as t

Characters in ink became her world, Stories dear to her heart, came to life; Inked words dancing to the tunes of everyday chores, Specks of dust swirling to create the imagined landscape. She and her pen, her pen and she; They could fight the world together now. For they could see a better future, Than the world could see for itself.

Ok so this isn't a story, just thoughts stitched together... Thoughts that come while i walk to my morning train everyday. They needed to see light and this blog is after all about thoughts that "pop"... So... I love talking and people who know me would agree that I love it. I enjoy telling stories and when i cannot write everything down, I let my mouth take over my writing abilities and typing skills.  But what i enjoy most is "pondering". Not necessarily being pensive... but just questioning things around us. Like who decided the name of the days. I mean what does "Monday" even mean? (by the way 'Monday' is derived from "Moon Day" of the Old English) Or "February"? I cant even say "February" without tripping on my tongue. Why do we even have names for days or months... why not just a number. Well i'm sure someone will trace history and get me the answers, but its not the answers i look for.  What I'

Every Monday to Friday, we start our morning with a rush only to scramble into our desks and then become extremely stationary.  Tick tock tick tock tick tock....  As the clock strikes five, 'The Rush' returns. We reboot our systems to "Seamless Navigation" mode and zip through crowds of people or cars or both. We, the people of this world, serving various corporations and companies, have inherited the power of going through days in 'work-mode'. I, for instance, channelise all my focus on a screen filled with jargons, all my strength in holding my butt in the chair instead of dancing, and all my intelligence in typing mails testing my true sense of English vocabulary. Till this date i hold the record of not having used abuse in any reply, though only my desk-neighbours are witness to how many i would have mouthed while typing those mails. But then comes along a day where it isn't about 'nine to five'... well to be fair, two days... The inevit

I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes. Well I always was. He is the witty, observant, strictly logical, overtly rational and the exceptionally eccentric detective, everyone is bound to fall in love with. The new series (relatively new as compared to the books of 19th century), has put me in the re-reading mode, in an attempt to understand the mind of one of the most famous fictitious detective woven into the literary world. My love for detective stories obviously started with the ever famous "Famous Five"s and "Secret Seven"s. As i grew up, i transitioned to "Nancy Drew", and even dreamed of being a successful detective one day. Truth be told, which of us hasn't thought of such wonderfully exotic careers while we were growing up, right? All the books on detective stories lead me to believe, this was the best profession out there beyond the school years. Alas, what a child dreams are innocent and often forgotten as soon as a better prospect comes al

Saturday morning, 10:30 a.m. I walked down the library aisles, looking for food for thought. From a corner shelf, the word "Foundation" caught my eyes.  I couldn't believe it. It was the same edition, the same cover in shades of orange and red. The author who had catapulted me into science fiction. Isaac Asimov... As i opened the book, i crumbled to the floor and was soon lost...  We, humans, are essentially emotional beings.  We rely on our emotions to guide us through the various experiences we go through.  We are hoarders of memories and love to keep piling on the stock every now and then .  More often than not, we run back to this rather large, infinite castle and feel "nostalgic".  If you were to close your eyes now and rush back to one such event, what do you think the walls will be made of? Well apologies for the building association, it seems to be an educational hazard (architecture has ruined me for all other professions...) What i mean to say

Starting our day with a run to class, breakfasts, lunches and dinners pass. From boots to scarves to juda pins, going about like Siamese twins; Walked together long and far, And laid down with our hearts ajar. Held hands through the dark, And laughed together in sunlit park. Talked and shared secrets deep, Seen each other cry and weep; Setting sun is what others prize, But we always loved our sunrise. It doesn't matter where we are, Place without a plane, ship or car, I'd fly to you across the sea, If the word gets by that you need me... P.S. This is for my "strong one". Because your birthday is always special. Happy Birthday love! :)

Have you ever felt a rush of blood to your head; your mind exploding with ideas and stories; products waiting to make that leap from your head to the physical realm?? If yes, then why do you not make them, write that story, build your idea? Everyday my faithful phone rings at 06:15 a.m. sharp, finding me in my slumber, without fail. Everyday i promise myself, i will wake up earlier than the alarm i set. Everyday I walk to the station towards a work that pays my bill, but in my head somedays i'm dancing, other days i'm writing stories, days when i actually feel closer to the book i'm reading than the people around me. And in-spite of this the day moves on, without a flinch. As the day runs, so does my ability to focus on the work (the one that pays my bill!). Somewhere down the long road, i pullover and set my car on the edge. I look back. I imagine choreographing a song, re-write the plot of the book i just finished. I create. In the simple house of my mind where i