Sunday, November 24, 2013


The thing about writing a blog is that if you don't write it will haunt you. It follows you, inhabiting the fat textbooks that my bag are burdened with. They silently scream at me when I open them when prodded by my even-eviller teachers. They come with me in my dilapidated van, squeezing themselves in the gap between me and very fat 10 year old. The leaky pen looks at me like a mini, very-angry Medusa, wanting to punish me for not using and making something more useful than equations and pancake suns. My MP3 sings the song 'The Writer' permanently despite desperate attempts to change it from repeat. I think it is because on last checking Google says that there is no song called 'The Blogger'. I mean the reason why it is playing the song called 'The Writer'. I wake up sweaty after failing in blog-o-exams. Which means that all my good posts would be deleted and the all my chemistry notes would be automatically uploaded online. (Yaaaaaaaaaargh!!)
Yeah, the blog-o-exam nightmare is much worse.
 Blog writing needs more motivation than doing a million somersaults in a minute (even though I have never done more than one in five minutes). It is even more addictive than cocaine or alcohol (I have never tried either so basically this may or may not be true). So if anybody thinking about creating a blog... RUN!! RUN FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR SOCIAL LIFE!!! RUN FAR AWAY IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE A ZOMBIE PERENNIALLY STARING AT A COMPUTER WHILE YUKKY DROOL COMES OUT OF A HOLE THAT USED TO YOUR MOUTH!!

That is exactly the same advice I wish some kind zombie had given me before I became the victim of the blog-addict-social-life-less-zombie disease. Also know as BASLLZ syndrome.Though that sounds kinda cool. I have the BASLLZ syndrome. Run away from me before I turn you into BASLLZ Zombie!!

Saturday, November 9, 2013


I guess I am not the most motivated person at the person. I don't even want to list out the things that I procrastinated for the end of time to come. And there they shall stay till the end of time. NaNoWriMo for instance. I was desperately desperate to do it till the 31st of October. Day One 'November 1st': Plan dropped and labelled as 'The Endless List Of Niranjana Menon's Failures". Day Two: Despair. Day Three: Despair. Day Four: Despair. Day Five: Forget about the entire thingy.
I am easily the most forgetful person on the planet. I received a chocolate from a not-really-good-friend. But chocolate is chocolate. Unless she poisoned it. Then it is not good chocolate. I vaguely remember putting the chocolate somewhere. Later in lunch break: Crisis mode activated. I am in hysterics. After all I LOST A BAR OF CHOCOLATE. My best-friends attempted to play Sherlock and asked me where I kept the bar of chocolate. I told her "I kept it in my pocket but I don't have a pocket." with a very mournful expression on my face. My friends stared at me incredulously. One banged her head on a wall and the other shook her head. I am obviously the wrong person to find things from.
In other words, everybody on the planet sucks except me. Feel free to take this personally.
I do not have a single complete pen on me. I think I have a cap, a refill and a body of pen all of pens belonging to different brands. I usually end up borrowing a pen worth ₹ 3 (or 0.05 USD) from my friend. I usually mange to lose it too.
I am reading four different books right now. All by different authors, set it in different times, all with different styles. And I have a gazillion tests. I have not opened a single textbook this term. And my marks have suffered. I have swore on all my internet privileges that my exam marks will be waaaaaaay better.
Or else I am toast. With internet-less butter and novel-less jam. Kindly ignore the pun.

This is is where I will run away if my internet is cut. It is almost as good. ALMOST.
Either I am depressed or hyper. My best-friends are not sure which one they prefer. One replied very diplomatically, "When you are depressed I like the hyper you. But when you are hyper, I prefer depressed." Either way I am not very stable. And not the ideal person to approach. But as of November 6th I am hyper. HYPER. 


I AM BACK. Really really back. I mean not from the one week blog-o-break, but the depression-o-break.
I feel happy. And its a long time since that. I mean really, name one person not dipped and roasted in depression-o-sauce after reading my recent posts. And by recent I mean a generous 10 posts or so. And I have with 'increasing unhappiness' when I was unhappy and with 'increasing rearing to undo that when I am happy' noticed my fast falling viewer list.
Graph of Blogger page views
Up, down. up .down, just like my moods. But I am always happy when my ratings are down and unhappy when the ratings are up. Huh.
Don't worry. I am stopping this post here because this is not really the post I mean to share or post. A better one will be out in about an hour. So till then.

Friday, November 1, 2013


Notes, marks, teachers, friendships, best-friends, lies, death, music, sad, grades, tests, breathing, sleep, love, hate, forest, darkness, crushes, pasta, rain, internet, sad songs, tears, fears, poem, novel, circles, depression, backstabbing, clouds, pizza, essays, exams, characters, lost pens, computer,  books, mistakes, maths, idiots, stars, lost, birds, tremor, earthquake, disaster, chocolate,watches, deserts, mistakes, flowers, language, pages, writing, paper, trees, feather.
Wings. Birds. Sky.
I want to fly away. I want to touch the blue skies. I want to feel those demeaning clouds that try to scare me. They can't frighten me away. The monsters of the night are much worse.
I want to fly away. My mind soars all the time. But I want wings. Delicate wings that I can't see. I know that they are there, but I can't find them.
I can't see anybody. I feel blind. Things change faster than time passes. The things are not staying still. They are blurry. So blurry. I can't see any edges. Everything is so vague. I can't see at all. I am blind.
I don't see myself anymore. The mirror shows somebody else. Unknown eyes stare back at me. The eyes once so filled with curiosity now loathes the day. Sometimes it is hidden but the raw pain still surfaces,
I find ugliness when I see things. Beauty has ceased to exist here. I feel that, because I don't have beauty in me nothing else should either. I think I need something to show me that there is still beauty left in what I am and what I do. Somebody. Anybody.
Everything hides. My mind hides. My imagination hides. My pens hide from me. Reports, books, help, friends, myself. Everything dislikes the thing called me.
But I still think my wings are there. I still think that I can fly. I think that I won't cry.
I will fly far away.