a terrible painter, a dreamer, a rebel , a feminist and a self certified bisexual Witch. Who is always trying to visualize whats on the other side of the canvas she paints,just another human- Living alive Life. Now also a green tea addict.

Saturday, 26 March 2016


Idle brain is devil’s workshop, an idiom that has stuck to my mind since I was a tyke and was trying to hammer something innocent. My grandfather was the one who used it, it was one of those rare moments when my scatterbrain would register things at one go. I have used this idiom on numerous occasions to describe destructive and lazy brains.

Someone who was once very dear to me loved playing destructive god, they would use their tiny head to bring calamities down because their mind was bored. Another of my friend in idleness thought her hand was canvas and would draw on them with needle, eventually they stopped when geometrical compass was inserted in the palm by a good soul. Few of my ‘creative’ friends love dwelling in depressing thoughts and try to churn out negative capability which Keats may have propagated.

This idleness seizes everyone once in their life, I have seen idleness kill ambition, another friend of mine is yet to figure what he wants with his life. One friend earned a year loss in college because of idleness. This idleness, I have read recently in a psychiatric blog, often paves path for depression. Especially when an active mind goes idle it suffers the most.

I am not the smartest or sharpest mind to walk on the earth, I am observing when I want to and a hapless romantic who hates cheesy stuff. Since I call myself the champion of self-love, I have always tried to keep my mind active. Its either with reading, blogging, fanfiction writing, doodling, fantasying about my future or watching films and series. Many would counter watching films and series is not an active activity for mind. Well I will counter with my brain’s experience, if things stimulate my thought process then they are allowed to keep my brain active be it a movie or television series.

Yet even in this active routine, my mind slips into idleness, sometimes words escape out of my mind, sometimes I just sit and stare at the page of a book for almost an hour and at another moment I just feel things are overwhelming me. Yet I remain unmoved, uncaring and idle. But these slips last for an hour or two. I regain my senses back fast enough.

This slips happen mostly in the non-existent season of spring. Its either my fertile ovaries suffocating because of breeding season or my fertile mind reacting at its incapability of finding a medium to keep me active. In these moments I can see things pile up on my floor, the wrappers of chocolates, empty packs of potato chips, boxes of cranberry cookies, ashes from incense sticks, clothes, napkins, books and books. I simply do nothing and watch them all settle on my bed, floor, window, bookshelves. My brain doesn’t turn into a workshop, but the living space turns into a devil’s lair.

For last five years, I have tried to keep myself engaged, I love being busy, if I am left without a task I would either sleep or wither away into crazy cosmos. Since last Monday, my feet have grown invisible wings. University loves celebrating festivals and the non-existent spring is its biggest craze. Though the town is well lit with green, bushy, healthy and happy trees and houses decorated in well-crafted flowers, the soothing air of spring is not here. Its summer, on top of that a biting one.

Actually my happy go spring self has possessed my head for more than fifteen days now. All I want to do is watch nature and write about it. Sadly, I neither have Wordsworth’s tranquility or Coleridge’s imagination. My poetry is half baked and imagination broken. I have been on the galactic railroad for a week now, I haven’t read a book, I haven’t written a word of fanfiction nor have I studied. For first time in my life, I have a blank of a week to look back at. I have played with colours, I have danced with random people to my heart’s content, I have flirted stupidly, I have partied with friends and decided to fall in love madly. But I haven’t left my room since Thursday. I am cooped up with so many thoughts, so many never happening situations, in an alternate universe I am with someone I hate, fear, hopes, uncertainties, all breaking inside my head, at least I could see my galactic railroad vanish and I crashing down to earth, eventually I broke my second glasses.

I did not go to university today, because I woke up with this crashing dream, I was so pregnant with words, that when I landed on the hard earth I scattered into never uttered or unheard words. I did not die, I just transformed into words. Grammarless and meaningful.

With this image of myself I woke up, sweating and panting, yet I could feel my room breaking upon me. My brain was so idle for a week that the workshop had morphed out into my room. That’s when I got Murakamied. I ditched classes, which will cost me few pearls of wisdom but to get back to my true senses I had to ditch classes.

I began to clean my room, re-arrange the green tea-bags on my window, I killed spiders and their webs, broomed out the dust ants had collected into a heap in the corner of my room, refilled my water bottles, washed my dirty clothes and finally decided to clean myself in hot water. I always use hot water, people find it weird, I agree it is, but hot water keeps my senses alive. Cold water numbs everything and I hate being numbed.

After finally gaining sense of this non-platonic reality, I spent my whole afternoon reading and finally doodling. I really loved being the hippie soul, for one week I was so detached, high strung on moments and temporary happiness that my essentials were beginning to fade. For once I did want to erase me, but who would replace my erased self?

This past one week was spent procrastinating in happiness. But now it’s time to burn the workshop and scatter the ashes.

P.S- I need to step out and redraw myself. 

thanking you to bear with me

Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Whistle Catchers

Since the age of three my legs have loved paddling, first it began with a red three-wheeler. I would sit on a tri-cycle and give ride to dolls. Well since that tiny age I had great taste in women, be it artificial or real hence the last ride was reserved for the most beautiful woman made of plastic. The Rapunzel inspired Barbie in pink, she too loved travelling around with a trustworthy chauffeur. Her long blonde hair riding the breeze and the auotist giggling down the sun-soaked veranda in the afternoon. After that ride to the sunset, the owner of the doll behaved like a typical rich father from Bollywood movies of 90’s and made a hue and cry about seducing his innocent daughter. The only problem is, the true patriarch and villain of my life has been one woman, who has been named in this blog too often.
The graduation from tri-cycle to bi-cycle took few years. Eventually I got the jackpot between my legs in fourth grade. Ever since then there has been no turning back, the path on bicycle has been a linear one with my education graph. I completed my school riding cycle, I graduated from college riding the same vehicle and eventually in two months I shall finish my Post-graduation riding cycle too. Hence my life has been a ride on two wheels so far.

From fourth grade me to the me till date, the rider self has picked up few habits and quirks of her own. Some are conscious and some are unconscious. Whenever it comes to road-crossing, in general I step down from my chariot, take few breaths, look on my right, scan my left and again look at right and dash across the street. I could easily flow through the crossing, but the curse of obedience placed by the mother of mine makes me do these actions.

Again when I see empty roads my legs decide to paddle faster no matter how much my mind yells "NO". After joining my post-graduate classes, my road ethics and sense of rules have improved. Now on every left turn I indicate my roadmates with my left hand stretched out like a plane curving in the sky. I even let huge monkeys pass me, well they scare me.

The blood of the scary drivers run thick in me. At times I want to fly past the slow To-to’s on road crowding my path. Then I realise I need to control my deamons, so I bring out my frustration through abusing the bell which yells out ‘TRING TRING…. TRAAAANG….. TRAAANNNNGGG….’ That poor black bell must hate me.

I too have my fair share of accidents, the past month made me skid on the sand one fine morning because I tried to save few goatlings sleeping under the blanket of fog. I bruised my knee and wrist, broke my watch, my basket contracted spondylitis and the handle has decided to indicate towards left no matter how much right my path is sat on.

So on these lonely, uneventful rides I have picked up some unladylike qualities. Whenever some stupid brats speak rudely, I retort in harsher words. When a man passes a comment deliberately on my jumping beautiful breasts I have classy words of thanks in return. At times the roads are empty, in my happy moment like a man, I whistle to my heart’s content. A tuneless tune I created for my stray dogs. Like the pied piper lost in his thoughts with children behind him, I often find my strays following me in hopes of biscuits under the mass-murderer sun. Their tails wagging and tongue palpitating.

For last two years, this has been an unconscious ritual, where I whistle in the wind and my dogs end up following me. But the careless soul I am, if I am not observing my surrounding, that means I don’t see anything. While I was lost in my own tune, a particular house on certain right on my return path was being agitated and irritated afternoons after afternoons. A faceless individual was whistling past it more or less on same time, every day. The inhabitants of that house are girls who are acutely aware of the follies opposite sex harvest. Every other afternoon for a month they tried to catch the whistle blower. But missed the offender that harmed their privacy and ears with a terrible tune. Each afternoon was allotted to single girl, the culprit of senseless music was at large running by, daring to hurt their sentiment with a cheap tune, yet they missed the musician by a second's strike. 

At last individual initiative turned into a collective plan. Nights after nights of talks made them decide on a day, a day when they would catch the whistling man. So at cost of one day of university, almost a year back, they decided to get hold of this stupid guy whistling past their castle of security. They all sat in the veranda, waiting with word weapons to shower at the idiot man. When the first syllable of tune was heard, they all rushed towards the entrance and eventually they saw road where the offender would be. But when all stood in the garden with huge hue and cry, they froze on their ground. Before their eyes, a shortie in green harem pants and black t-shirt and messed up bun was riding her cycle on and her lips curved into a pout which was letting out stupid tuneless tune and her strays following her in happiness.

They stood there, stuck on whether to shout at me or let me go because I was girl. Till this date I whistle past them and they stare at me from the balcony. But It does make me wonder are we treating our men right?

P.S- Today is International Women's day, and I won a debate competition. 

thanking you to bear with me