Made of glass,
Reflecting your smile
And your frowns,
Playing the game
Just as I think, you want me to
But I am not a mirror...
Not like it matters, nothing does
I'm getting numb as the wind
Pierces through
Drying the kohl filled eyes
Don’t point at me
No longer please

I saw a peacock today
Wished it would leave me a feather or two
Hovering over my eyes
Are the fingers that point
I've tired so hard
To learn
To be
So forgive me for all I'll never be
And maybe someday
I'll forgive myself too.

Poetry they say is a song that arises from a bleeding wound or a smiling mouth. The song that immortalises feats of bravery, captures forever the fleeting moments of ecstasy, comforts the soul of the forlorn poet, and paints vivid pictures of the world before the eyes of the reader. Poetry has been my friend when words otherwise have failed me. When feelings overcome my being, rationality diminishes into insignificance and sleep comes only once I've poured my angst out onto a sheet of paper. The truth is when I'm writing my thoughts down it's a completely selfish act, I don’t give a single thought to the reader. I suppose that’s the difference between amateurs and professionals. I've officially entered the world of these professionals. I finally resolved my dilemma and chose the option I knew I would enjoy the most, that of a writer. I'm treading the road less travelled as opposed to the more safer option that had confronted me not so long ago, which I talked about in my last blog. What remains to be seen is how successful I will turn out to be, or whether this would be only the first of the seven careers of my life! (I'm referring to Ailyn’s comment in my previous blog)

The world of bloggers has brought me onto many people’s pages who've expressed themselves through rhyming, through verses that take innumerable number of meanings for each of us. Scores of faceless people, posting their poems on the internet…

For a second just stop reading this and think of the names of the famous poets that come to your mind…..the ones that come in my mind are Shakespeare, Homer, Keats, Wordsworth, Milton, Rumi, … the thing that strikes me here is how none of them belong to this era…Where are the poets of this generation? Who are the poets of this generation? Thousands of faceless people, putting their thoughts in verses…. Yet where is the beacon of light who speaks of our culture the way Homer immortalised that of the Greeks? Or are there people among us about whom I'm blissfully unaware of… there must be surely poets among us that a large number of us enjoy reading, a favourite of people like you and me... So tell me, who is your favourite poet?

“And we’ve come so far,
And we’ve reached so high
And we’ve looked each day and every night in the eye.
And we’re still so young….”

This song’s in my head and I cannot remember for nuts the rest of the song, or the name of the artist whose sung it… For the last few days, I've been caught in a dilemma, to put it as simply as possible- career choices. Two words that can make me brood for endless hours, and at the end of such reverie, I still find myself exactly where I started. I read in GK’s blog a quote where Alice asks the Cheshire cat which of the two roads she ought to take. The Cat asked her if she knew where she was going, and well Alice was clueless of where she wanted to go. Therefore, pat came the reply of the cat, in that case it really doesn’t matter which road you take! I can so sympathise with little Alice, I feel as confused and lost as she does. My question for everyone reading this, how did you decide which career to pursue?

I have two options staring at me right now. One is marketing. I applied for the post of a Management Trainee, in a company offering integrated marketing solutions. Got through the Group Discussion, gave the interview yesterday, as of now waiting for the list of the shortlisted candidates who will appear in the next round. Point here is even if I don’t get through to the next round, just the fact that I got through to this point means I have a pretty good shot at making it in other companies as well. Until here, it sounds good.

Now for some more good news- my Professor working in a consultancy also run by my college’s management has offered me a job. The job requires me to do a lot of research and come up with articles for the Lifestyle segment of the magazines published by the company. Growth within the company would include rising to editorial positions, and would require me to put my little nose into a number of other avenues as well, for example teaching in the institute. I've at times thought of doing a course in Mass Communications and Journalism, except I don’t have much faith in my writing abilities. The line that I choose is going to earn me my bread and butter for the next forty years. Suppose I later realize that I am just not good enough, what do I fall back upon? There are doubts gnawing at my head, and well I'm tired of thinking!

The work my professor is offering is something I know I enjoy, I’m just doubtful of whether I will be able to sufficiently improve myself in this avenue. Marketing may require me to move to any part of India. It's work I know which is going to be very taxing and demanding, but I also know that it's nothing I cannot handle (got a taste of it during my internship).

Told ya…no matter how long I think about it, I always find myself right where I started! I have to make up my mind, and make it up real soon!

A ring made of five metals, specially concocted in some obscure factory, to allure us all, making us believe of its power to empower the one, on whose finger it rests upon. I'm the one who searches for the fakir, to tell me tales of a beautiful tomorrow. Sure it had sentimental value as well, but as I felt it slipping through my finger, I realized it was time for me to finally let go of it. It was meant to bring me luck, and I liked the way it looked as well. For three years I've had it on, not relying so much on it, but my faith in hocus-pocus simply did not allow me to let go of it!

New Year brings along with it a lot of new things with it. One of these things would be the new editions of the astrology books predicting the future for millions of people categorized under twelve broad categories. Not to forget the scores of magazines and newspapers, minting money as well, counting completely on the curiosity and implicit faith of us mere mortals. I read each and every single one of them, not sure exactly why. Entertainment? Faith? And If so, then faith in exactly what, and in which one of those several versions of my future?!

The unreal at times is as real to me as the chocolate ice-cream lying in the freezer of my refrigerator :)( I sincerely revolt against the idea of ice-cream being treated as if it were a seasonal fruit!). At times I wonder if this virtual world is our attempt to set up an improved imitation of real life. Is it the pursuit of things deemed unreal in the light of the day that brings us dreamers to live this dual existence?

Networking, people, relationships, soul mates….our relentless pursuit to connect; belong, unconditionally- if there could ever be such a relationship. Alexander’s (Alexander, the movie) mother warned him to be most careful with the people closest to him. She compared people to snakes, the minute you hesitate, they will strike you. People like snakes have the capability to turn against you when you least expect them too. The thought provoked me; no I've not had someone turn on me. Just that I'm loosing the faith I used to have in people, I'm beginning to trust people as little as the trust I have in snakes. People from Orkut, in case I don’t reply, which will most probably be the case, don’t take it personally. And if you’re just another one running after a pretty face, you’ve landed up at a completely wrong page. Click back on your window and begin your search all over again!

There isn’t much respite for people who refuse to sleep when the clock sternly points out to you to well hit the sack. And much worse is when you’re up at 2 deciding to say hi to some ol chap you used to know once upon a time over the net. Especially if the topic goes to how much fun he’s having in New York and goes on to diagnose my lack of being in a relationship or the presence of pals who prefer going to parties as stags, by the reluctance of Indian girls to shown a lil skin. To be more precise we don’t know how to dress up, the Europeans n the Americans r well just so much more happening. I'm not sure why I was talking to such a prick in the first place. But I remembered him to be a pretty decent chap, once upon a time. *Sigh* Assumptions… we always end up cursing that one word don’t we? Well there wasn’t really much to say, I'm the last person to pick arguments with people, plus well I really didn’t care to explain anything to him. He was ofcourse quite happy in the judgement he pronounced, announced me to be obviously ruffled by his comments…I simply wondered upon how people develop such lack of respect for anything vaguely smelling of India.

Time and again, the same enchanted eyes meet mine and tell me stories of how beautiful everything is once they step out of India. I stepped out too but was glad to get back home. Home…gimme any part of India n I love it with every breath in my body. Not like I have something against other countries, my sister tells me I will fall in love with Europe once I go there, no doubt about that. Sure there are plenty of chances that I most probably will, but nothing could ever make me hold my nose up at the land I've grown up in. US was cool, frankly I'd found the people as cold as the wind that unceasingly blows upon your face there. People are trained to be polite and hence they are, but the look in their eyes….

My friend told me my diary had reminded him of Bridget Jones diary. I mocked at that ofcourse- for one I'm way thinner than her n two c’mon there isn’t a thing common in her life n mine. Or maybe I don’t remember the movie well enough. It's still bugging me that that guy on the net presumed I'm this shyte looking gal who needs the advice to go out and have fun. Well I suppose my lack of a social life (I'm saying that inspite of havin a lotta friends) does indicate that. There are questions in my head, and well no I'm not sad or particularly bugged, I'm just sitting and picking threads of my life and wondering how the present patterns ended up there. Almost like at times I wonder how or why exactly I'm here at all in the first place. I'm one of those romantics who paint their pictures with utopian dreams in their eyes. Trouble is when confronted with the way things are I'm left absolutely clueless about how to go about them. And I'm confusing everything up, muddling everything up… all I want is the clear bonnie blue sky, and nothing inbetween.

New year resolution – break free.

Engulfed them all…not one, or two but thousands together- satisfied, or will you strike again to bring more of us down, down to our knees to beg you to stop trying to annihilate us all. You had to strike back, to remind us all of how exactly fragile we really are. For we have ignited your passion against us all, your wrath demands all of us to be washed out, annihilated, destroyed, until we become just another civilization that inhabited this third rock from the sun. So God you just sat and watched all of this? Or are we all the bereaved children who refuse to believe that you no longer are there for us. Or did you simply loose faith in us and move on…. you are the one who created the universe and all of us, or are you only the creator, who has moved on to create better versions of this world. Are we perhaps nothing but a rough draft for the perfect world?

Today I’m praying for all the people we’ve lost yesterday, I'm praying that the death toll will stop climbing, that the normal politics resumes the headlines of the newspapers. Today I mourn with the mothers who’ve lost their children, the wives who’ve lost their husbands, and the thousands on whom Mother Nature turned and who experienced her rage against our race. Today I’m wondering how many people’s faith in god wavered, as mine surely did, did they wake up and give thanks to him for being allowed to live, or did they spend all night raging against him, or did they finally realize that they’re banging on the door of a house whose owner moved away a long while ago?

Been standing on quicksand for a while now
But no, not yet will I succumb to this muck

Unconscious of my ignorance
I'd convinced myself that I was a part of that clear bonnie blue sky.
Merely looking up, doesn’t make you a part of it.
Will you dare to struggle,
Or will you wait until you eventually sink?

Clad in pink, asleep on her mum’s lap
Peacefully ignorant of all she will face one day
Chasing the ultra blue colour winged butterfly
Singing along with the world…
To think we were all that naive once

Take me back into that world of dreams
And no, don’t call me back from there ever again…

Tuck me in just once more daddy
And close the blinds so I don’t see the monsters outside.
Blissful again
Enough maybe to even stop feeling…as I continue to sink.