Identity

Why do we all chase 'identity'?
Why do we need our roots?
Why do we need to be unique
What's the colour of your boots?

I'm red. I'm blue.
I'm yellow. I'm green.
I'm brown. I'm purple.
I'm something in between.

Confused? Are you?
What do you mean.
Everyone has one.
It's writ. It's seen.

What do you see?
Do you love me?
Do you hate me? 
Can I be be.

Do I need to change.
Do I need to stay same.
Tell me. Oh tell me.
What's my game.

Why do I ask you?
Why do I care?
You you. Me me.
Get outta my hair.

Identity. Identity
Who am I. Tell me.
Do you know? I don't.
Please. Please. I Plea.

3

I can’t think of anything worse after a night of drinking than waking up next to someone and not being able to remember their name, or how you met, or why they’re dead. —Laura Kightlinger

3 - The number of lines it takes to make a triangle

3 - Athos, Porthos, Aramis

3 - The number of spatial dimensions

3 - The holy trinity

3 - The movie of the song 'Kolaveri'

3 - The first odd prime number

3 - The beauty of a trilogy

3 - The second half of <3

3 - The hat trick moment of triumph

3 - The Wiccan law of return

3 - Does bad luck come in threes?

3 - The principal characters in a joke

3 - The dramatic 'Veni, vidi, vici'

3 - Third time lucky?

3 - The number of bears Goldilocks annoyed

3 - 'The Man, The Texter, The Scribe'

It's not a sense of foreboding. But why am I so afraid?

Of Fairy Tales & Waking up

When I was young, I adored my Disney fairy tales. I loved the princesses, their singing and more than anything else, the -'and then they lived happily ever after...' ending of the tales. It made be believe that every single person, from me to the prime minister to the beggar on the street was destined to a happy ending even if the beginning was filled with unhappiness. I was fond of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and insane about Bella. Actually, I, still adore Bella & her beast. She was probably the only heroine in a Disney tale back in those days with enough bravado to put the beast in his place and give it back in full measure to the villain, Gaston. I seriously <3 Bella.

As I grow older, however, I can't but wonder, about the happily ever after of all of them, barring Bella ( Bella is my personal rockstar and no one can diss her, not even me ). Take Sleeping Beauty for example. She awakens after a hundred years with a kiss from her prince. Seriously? If for some reason I was to go into a coma and wake up even 10 years later, I think I would be too disoriented by the way the world around me has progressed and changed. I would be so totally out of my depth, thrown into despair by being so clueless about things and probably go into some deep dejection. But not Sleeping Beauty. She marries the prince and lives happily ever after with no muscle atrophy after 100 years of sleep, perfectly in sync with the century she has hopped into.

Yeah, sure.I totally get it.

P.S. I know that Fairy tales are meant for children and not meant to be psycho analyzed by adults.

......

Reality Check. Downward Spiral.
Laundry List. Stunted Thinking.Set Apart.
Crack the box. Live Life. Moody Blues.
Hootie and the Blowfish.
Stop.Start.
Rewind. Backtrack.
Silent Scream. Cluttered Thoughts. Hold Tight.
Crippled Mind. Fear of _____ ?
Subtle Sarcasm. Define Inituition. Shattered Confidence.
Deep Denial. Intelligence Under-rated.
Unexploited Opportunities. Unmet Expectations.
Risk Neutrality. Knowledge Unlimited.
Sea of Faces. Integrity. Commitment.
Left Behind.
Thriving on Challenge. Shorted Time.
Cruel Humour. Distorted Morality. Perspective Change.
Unsatiated Needs. Bleak Outlook. Ripped Innards.
Bitter Beta. Matter Matters.
Suppressed Depression.
Peter Lynch. George Soros. Desired.
Futile Prayer. Intextricably Linked.
Raucous Laughter. Split Personality.
Destination ________?
Outside. Looking In.
Remember.Remember.

HALF ASLEEP -HALF DELIRIUM

It's four in the morning right now.
I am awake not because I wanted to wake up early, but because I am yet to hit the sack.
I am currently the victim of a thousand blood sucking mosquitoes.
And I am at work.
I am waiting for some compilation to happen.
I am not bored because these mosquitoes don't allow me to be.
I am half asleep. I am crapping.
I remember. It must have been more than a year ago that I wrote a post called 'Gibberish from the half dead'. I am not as lost to sanity as then. But close ;)
Don't bother to expect words ofwisdown, enlightenment or disillusionment.
Don't bother to expect a diatribe on the latest in current affairs.
Bah!! I am goin for two movies this weekend!! Yippeee!!!
I am also reading a MHC called 'Night time is my time'. It's not all that great. Lately she's become a little too 'obvious'. Not in who the killer is. I can't guess that. But it's irritating when a writer can get as subtle as a sledge hammer and not just carves the road for you walk on ( here, read) but also ties a leash to your kneck and drags you along it like a sack of potatoes!!
Whatever.

THERE NEEDS TO BE A REASON

I haven't written in my blog for nearly a year.
There used to be a time when I was obsessed with my blog. I would make it a point to try writing atleast once in two weeks. Even if I had no idea what to write about. The very obsession to write killed my desire to write.I'm glad. I'm glad that I stopped feeling this intense need to keep my blog updated. I'm glad that I haven't felt an iota of regret for not writing in all these months.
What makes me write today? Because I wanted to. And that is reason enough for me.To do something because I want to. Not compelled. Not judging. Not judged. I don't need that here. This is my space.Mine.Mine alone.
A place no one can crash into unless I permit them.

GIBBERISH FROM THE HALF DEAD

Have you ever tried to control yourself from sleeping? I don’t mean the heroic utterings of “ I shall keep awake all night!” but those moments be it night or day when your eyes start feeling heavy, a languor creeps over you and your lids begin to shut. And just as they do, you jerk awake and open them again. It’s more a losing battle, actually. You versus your eyelids. They succeed more often that you do. But then I guess you do know. Anyone who has had an education would vouch for having experienced this.

Take me for example. The reason I write this blog right now, is because I suffer from the self same malady. So please excuse any excess of mediocrity. Do not rush to your nearest police station or make frantic calls to my dad in an attempt to inform them/him that I have been abducted and all my passwords have been stolen. Shall I tell you a secret? It’s something that I should not be saying on the internet because hackers might take note of it and cause irrevocable harm to me. Don’t ask me “What irrevocable?”. I don’t know. I just used the word because it sounded real good there. Anyway, I was talking about controlling sleep the way I desperately am right now. It’s a good thing that I type very fast. The one satisfaction I derive from it is that were the IT boom to become a bomb I would at least have a back up career . The other I can type what I am typing with my eyes closed. Isn’t that nice?

Controlling sleep. When I was in the 10th std, I had a fantastic chemistry teacher. She was extremely knowledgeable and explained concepts exceedingly well. Still, that didn’t prevent my eyes from closing. The sad thing about your eyes closing is that opening them again is an arduous and seemingly Herculean task. On the other hand, were you to give into the temptation and close your eyes, your desire for sleep would either vanish or just as you would give up and succumb to the ‘Draught of Soporia’, you would be caught by your professor for sleeping. At least I was. Not once. Many times. I used to sometimes sleep during sleepovers when the conversation would start become interesting. I would be responding to whatever my friends would be saying ( sometimes utter irrelevant crap) when suddenly I would drop off. My friends would find it exhausting. But then the ability to control sleep requires either genius or some trick in the book. If it is a trick in the book, don’t loan it to me. Gift it.

The worst part about feeling sleepy is that you end up writing gibberish in your answer papers.I had a civil exam to write.. And I wrote the lyrics of Hindi songs in my answer sheet. I know people have been known to have written their life story in their answer sheets. But that they do when they don’t know the answer at all. This I did when I knew the answer but my mind was quite detached from my fingers. Anyway, need to sign out so as to write some better stuff next for which I have a ‘requiem for sleep’. If it weren’t for the delete button I don’t know where this article would have gone. Forgive me for this piece of trash.

THE CRACK ON MY WALL

There is a crack on my wall. It’s not a small crack and it’s not the only one. But this particular crack seldom fails to get on my nerves. I had it painted once. But it would not be deterred. Within a couple of months the paint on it flaked and it appeared again. What makes it even more irksome is that it has some gibberish scrawled across it. I did not scribble on that wall. It was my nephew. A boy, I think, who fancies himself to be Pablo Picasso creating ‘Guernica’. It was four years ago, when in a burst of inspiration he decided to decorate (or was that desecrate?) the wall. I was sorely tempted to box his ears. Unfortunately, the fact that my cousin sister, his mother was also staying with us then made me desist. I was not too keen to have my ears boxed, which is what would have happened if I had succumbed to temptation.

I deviate. I was talking about the crack on the wall, not about the scribbling on it. Remember the earthquake that hit Chennai some years ago? No one died. No buildings fell. Actually, nothing happened. It was more the novelty, of being an earthquake in Chennai that made it hit the news. Well, that day I was lying on my bed reading a novel when suddenly my bed started to shake. For a second I thought I was hallucinating. Then I sat up and stared at the walls. Realized that the walls were trembling too! My reflex action is not too reflexive. It behaves more like an afterthought. After a few seconds of contemplating whether or not to crawl under the bed, I remembered that my grandmother was in the house too. So I went to her room and there she was, sitting on the bed, her fists clenched together, white as a sheet. When she saw me, she immediately asked “Is it just me? Or do you feel it too?” She was petrified that this was the sign of impending death. My grandmother was 92 back then. So I can’t really blame her for thinking so. I said “No Patti, It’s an earthquake”. She said “Oh, ok. Fine. “. I could see the colour seeping back into her face.

Once the tremors stopped and I decided it was quite safe I went to my balcony. I live in the second floor. I could see almost every person from my apartments standing on the road. I could hear them discussing the earthquake each one interjecting the other. Exclamations of horror, secretly tinged with excitement. I watched them for a few seconds wondering what they found so fascinating about the earthquake that they had to; en masse gather to discuss it for so long (It was more than an hour that they stood there for). Later I would rue my stupidity. Aren’t everyone supposed to get out of high rise buildings the microsecond they feel an earthquake?

Anyway, I deviate. The reason I mentioned (Didn’t it seem longer than mentioning?) the earthquake was that I believe that it was this earthquake that caused the crack to form on the wall. The crack I so detest.