Tuesday, December 30, 2014

The final

And the observer concludes. Her journeys aren't over yet, all her tales haven't been told yet.
Her stories crouch in the attics of her memory. They hide in corners, they gently sneak about in her head. Like little, kittens they hide in playfulness, waiting only to be found again.
Her stories are left to you. Left to you to understand. Left to you to write.
This observer is still here, watching from the shadows.
This observer now see you. And only you.

Monday, December 29, 2014

The smile

The observer splayed onto an empty seat on the bus. She had heard sniggering as she slowly dragged her school bag, her nose buried in another book. She ignored the remarks. She had learnt to block out all this. She had learnt to live in another world.
But today, even the snarky comments had been delivered without enthusiasm. Mondays took out the meanness even in the meanest.
She turned her back to them, and watched from the window. It was a cold, grey morning and the observer, wearing just a thin blazer shivered as the winter wrapped its frigid arms around her. The windows of the bus remained stubbornly open despite the desperate attempts made by all those who miserably shivered as the wind lashed their faces.
The observer saw that the whole city was affected by the chill. Fires had been lit at street corners and men and women huddled over the dismal flames as they trudged to work.
Suddenly the battered bus freaked to a halt. The observer looked up in surprise, here's had always been the last stop before school. As she watched a little girl hopped on, her face flushed from the cold.
Little was the only proper explanation for her. She was hardly 4 foot tall. She was slightly plump and her face was sparkling with an energy that nobody around her seemed to possess.
The observer realized with a jolt that the tiny, elf-like being was in high school too. She gaped at her she yanked a gargantuan bag behind her and plunked down beside.
"Hi!!!", the girl yelled and the observer shook in her seat. She offered her a tiny hand and went on to offer the whole tale of her life until that point. After a weak handshake, the observer leaned back in her seat, nearly blinded by the near literal ray of sunshine sat next to her.
Until someone yelled from the back, "Keep it down, tiny! And try and stay away from weirdo!".
The observer instantly ignored the taunt. Suddenly, a little red cannonball shot past and punched the owner of the offending voice.
And then the tiny girl was back in her seat, dusting herself off as though nothing had happened.
The observer turned to her.
She was gifted with a smile that she knew was going to stay with her forever.
Her smiles were like sunshine. Blindingly beautiful.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

The promise

The observer was lying on her bed. Her eyes were squeezed shut. The only thing she could see was the darkness,  the missing light.
Her palm gently caressed the crescent shaped scars on her hand. They were scars that her nails had left on them, when she had buried them deep into her skin, past the protests that the pain made.  Like she wanted to claw out the evil that had embedded itself into the pores.
She shook her head, shook of the covers that she had cowered under.  She tried to push herself up. To get up again. To live again. She tried. But the strength left in the observer was not sufficient. Not enough to find her a better reason to look forward to a better future.  She wanted no future. She wanted no help, she wanted nothing more from a world that had given up on her.
The observer too had given up. The observer too had stopped trying.
She traced her fingers across her arms. Her spidery hands trailed the silvery scars that had found a home on them. She remembered the shark points that had gone swish swash across,  leaving behind much more than a thin trail of blood. They left behind relief, a feeling that justice had been served. That somehow,  some of her flaws had been rectified somehow.  That the wrongs had been turned right. But most of all it brought back sleep.  When the observer could finally close her eyes, the dull thud in her heart vaguely coinciding with the sharper throb across her limbs.
But now,  even the pain couldn't offer solace.  Even the pain had numbed itself. There was nothing left for the observer.  Until she turned and the portrait of a little girl caught her eye.
The girl was tiny, hardly two years old. But her tininess didn't in any way obscure her blinding smile. It was so pure, so innocent,  so happy. The little  girl had so much to look forward to.
And that was when the observer made a promise to the little girl. To find a reason to live.

The observer hasn't broken her vow.  

Saturday, December 27, 2014

The fall

The observer watched him from a distance.
She didn't care about who he was or what he did.
She had known him for far too long to care about that.
She just watched his hands frantically fly in the air as he tried to be the first to answer the teacher's question. He had long, long fingers. An artist's fingers. A musician's fingers. She could imagine those finger gently caressing the strings of his guitar. She could imagine those fingers gently untangling the strands of her hair. Brushing them away from her eyes. Lacing them through her own stubby short fingers.
She stopped. She turned away.
The observer knows all this very well.
She knows that this will never last. That moments are fleeting, temporary.
That feelings are there today, gone tomorrow.
And that emotions could kill.
She knew this because she had died too often.
Because she had felt like someone had taken a piece of her soul. Because they had left a hole in it too.
Because she had felt like the sun wouldn't rise. Because she sometimes didn't find a reason to get out of bed.
And the observer knew very well that she couldn't save herself from a hollowed out heart again.

The observer had covered her eyes with her palms, determined not to turn around and look again. One more look and she knew she would fall. And fall hard, with no ground to prevent her from falling. With nothing to hold her as she fell.
She didn't want to.
Until she opened her eyes and saw him looking at her.
Until she saw his eyes.
Velvety, warm.
And suddenly, the ground beneath her feet fell apart.

She shouldn't have. The observer shouldn't have. 

Friday, December 26, 2014

The monster

The observer flipped through an old book. The pages were musty and brown. They let off a smell which convinced the observer that they they hadn't been opened for nearly a decade.
The pages crackled under her fingers. She delicately fingered them, like butterflies, so delicate that even a touch could mar them forever.
She paused to to take in the words from random pages.
Broken, hurt, lonely........
They swept past her eyes, like a moving vehicle. They blurred past her eyes, all these words that were all to familiar to her. She had seen this words way too many times. Until she stopped where the page boldly proclaimed
I am the monster of the night
Fear me, for I am the one
Your mother warned you against,
When misbehavior danced across your face like a firefly.
The one that haunted your nightmares.

I lurk in the dark shadow,
Waiting to pounce you.
To make every drop 
Of your blood, mine.
To tear you apart, destroy yo
For you have made me this.
You have made me the face the face 
That children cower from in fear. 
The one that's greeted by only
Look at what you have done to me.

Look at me now.

The observer shivered, and the book fell from her hand. The pages fluttered out of the book. There was just one that remained in her hand. 
She had just realized that there were monsters. 
And so many of them.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Tis not the Season

So, I decided to break my 'Observer' series because:

  • I am exhausted. Its basically impossible to whip up ten posts instantly in a row. I have been staying up till crazy times just to get the posts to resemble English.
  • Today's post needs at least 24 hours more of work
As always, Christmas is yet another holiday that I have a major problem with.

Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, murder me. Imagine my face on one of those punch-the-people-you-hate games until my virtual self has no teeth left. Pin my face next to Hitler and shoot steel-tipped darts into it. Break into my house at night, kidnap me and then pull out each hair from my follicle and poke out my eyeballs and get leeches to suck my blood out.
Yeah. I know. I am a world renowned sadist who hates anything that is generally liked and is awesome. But, somehow the holiday cheer never really gets to me. Maybe because:

  • Christmas is yet another of the highly commercialized festivals. Its all about money, money, money and more money. And we are all so willing to part with it because, of course we need a Santa Claus cap and yes of course we need to light up the whole house and waste an enormous amount of electricity and we obviously need to buy gifts for everyone on the freaking planet!!!
  • WE CUT DOWN TREES!! How can you cut down so many tree just to adorn them with tinsel and glitter and angels!! Trees give us oxygen! SAVE TREES!!!!
  • The food. I blow up like a balloon every year around Christmas because of the unashamed pigging out that I never will be able to cease. Just how can a person say no to cakes?
  • JESUS WASN'T EVEN BORN ON DECEMBER 25th!! Biblical evidence proves it. 
I can feel the hate boiling down from the screen. But today, I am not here to write about why I don't like Christmas. Its to write about what I do.
Because Christmas is not about religion. Its about family. And bonds. And friendship.
It is about the carolling well into the night. About lalalala-ing when you can't remember the lyrics of 'Silent Night'. It is about yelling 'Merry Christmas' to random stranger. It is about the one day you can scream without getting arrested for public disturbance. It is about hugging people you hardly know and holding sane conversations with them. It is about getting drenched in snow spray and gagging.
It is about the happiness. 

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

The home

The observer sat on a park bench, sweaty and exhausted. Her hands were angry and red from lugging all her belongings to her new house. Ah, house. It was not home. Never home.
House was empty. A house had nothing in it just. A house had no colours, no happiness, no warmth. A home was never empty. It had everything in it. A home was where you could find little pieces of yourself. It was the place where you feel like you belong.
The observer never belonged anywhere. The observer had learnt a long time ago to pack her life into a single bag. She had learnt to move on, never get attached.The observer panted and looked up. She saw two people in front of her. She looked at them distractedly, sure that there was nothing more she could learn from them.
Until she saw the woman gaze at the man.
The gaze was something that made the observer shiver. It was not just about love. It was about knowing everything about the other. It was about knowing more than what is there to know.
The woman was tall, regal, beautiful in a way that made you want to look at her forever. The man had a face that was impossible to not to like. Open, honest. Happiness shone through it.

Knowing a person is more than just seeing the good in a person. Its seeing the ugly in it.
And the look that the woman gave the man was not just all about unadulterated happiness. It was not one of levitating happiness. It was not of having a perfect life which was filled with rainbows and unicorns and roses and remembered birthdays.
It was about the little things that would go wrong. About things that keep annoying you. The things you want to change about a person. The things that you grow to live with eventually. The little things that you grow to love eventually.
It was about hurt. A lot of heart ache. Of believing that they were never going to make it.
It was about things about everything crashing down at their feet. Of losing their homes. Of losing themselves. Of losing each other.
But it was also about building themselves back again. About fixing themselves up, relying on each other. Depending on each other's strength.
The beauty of true love is that you learn to love what lies beneath the mask that we wear even if we don't know what it actually is.
Together they walked into the house, determined to make it more than home.
And outside, the observer watched, her life wrapped into a single bag. Ready to move on already.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Time changed

The observer gazed despondently at the clock. Her dark eyes filled with tears as she watched the hands of the clock approaching the time. She balled up her little fists and wiped the drops as they slowly cascaded down her face. She willed time not to move. She did not want to finally say goodbye. Not again. She didn't think she could say good bye to her soul mate, her alter ego, her shadow.
No. He was more than a shadow. A shadow disappeared in the light. A shadow wouldn't watch her back for her.
He was much more than that. He was the light that kept away the darkness that slowly creeped everyday. He was the person who taught her that being different was in no way wrong. That being different was never bad, that being teased or disagreed with just because you are different wasn't bad. It was good. He taught her that the light was flitting, temporary. That eventually, darkness would come back. All the wisdom that emanated from his tiny, 7 year old body was better than anything the observer had heard in her short life.
And she didn't want to lose her teacher.
But time ticked faster than ever and before she could realise, her best friend was gone.

The observer's eyes flitted across the clock every few seconds. She gazed distractedly at the person sitting in front of her. Words grazed up her throat as she forced a grin. Polite remarks, sounds of awe, exclamations. Lies. Lies. All lies. All feinted interest.
Time refused to move. Seconds seemed to take hours as she watched her childhood friend drawl out his latest inconsequential achievements. Like she even cared. The observer usually enjoyed staring at a tin of room freshener. She would do anything to get away now,
She watched. She didn't want to because all she could see was the hollow of what had once existed. Of the brilliant boy who could sprout philosophy that could change the world. But it he who had changed.
And left her alone too.
Tears trickled down her face and she ran.

The observer now knows. Time changes everything.

Monday, December 22, 2014

The moon girl

The observer watched from a distance, her little hands jammed deep into her pockets, in an attempt to ward away the approaching winter.
She never spoke. Her lips were constantly pursed as she scooped up sand from the pit. As she fashioned the grains into the castles of her dreams.She never let the other children who curiously inquired her name hear a murmur, a whimper from her. Her voice was a mystery, drowned in some sorrow that no one could understand. Stifled by something she couldn't understand.
The observer watched all of the girls and boys around her, engrossed in their own world.
Except for one.
The girl with a smile that could light up the dampest day of the year. The girl wasn't like others. Something about her, some weird aura. Something.
The full moon. She will tell you this if you ask her what her name means. With a toss of her wild hair. Her eyes sparkling with the kind of glitter that you will find once in your life times, only if you are lucky.
The observer was scared of her. The observer tried to hide. But the full moon eventually always found her.
Sometimes the observer couldn't stand her. She couldn't stand how the girl could smile, dance, laugh like nothing mattered.
It took the observer way too much time to realise that the moon was scarred, cratered. That the moon was falling apart everyday. That meteors struck the moon everyday.
The observer had already turned down the hand that the girl had offered way too many times when she finally remembered that the moon had no light of its own.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Her eyes

Her eyes. Don't look into her eyes.
They will lure you in like Pandora to her box.
You see her eyes and you fall into them.
You trip over the rim of golden black
That circles her irises.
You fall into
The glittery ebony that they are.
Eyes that sparkle like diamonds
In a night sky.
Don't look into her eyes.
You will never
Be able to claw your way out of them.
You will never swim
Out of their swampy darkness.
The biting bitterness.
The soft tears.
You will drown
In her pain.
Because her eyes whisper the tales
Her lips never will.

This observer of the universe has lost her way in these eyes. The observer has drowned in these eyes. This observer is irretrievably scarred. But this observer speaks.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

An observer

There is a silent observer in this universe.
You have seen this observer before.
You have seen her in the darkness of shadows. In the obscurity of the night.
You would have noticed him watching from the depths of silence. From the hopes that he cowers from. From the burden of the dreams he staggers under.
You will find this observer looking at you. Seeing far more than just what you pretend to be. Seeing beneath the mask you hide under. This silent observer sees much more than you know about yourself.
This observer never says anything. This observer will never speak a word.
But now an observer speaks.
(I am doing 10 posts in a row. Do read.)

Sunday, December 14, 2014


So. Yesterday was my birthday. I am officially fifteen.
So by all technicalities I am supposed to write a post about how magical and awesome it was and how being fifteen has suddenly given me a new perspective on life and some emotional crap like that. But as we all know, I am horrible with emotions. And I probably would melt into a puddle of happy tears if I recall how much I love my friends for all they have done for me. So I won't. But to all those who have put up with my insanity for as long as you have, I love you all. You make this life good.
So. Yeah. I won't talk about how they baked a cake that took me 10 minutes to cut up (my friend assured me it was not cardboard) or melted the butter with a cricket bat (Don't ask. Something about kinetic energy translating into heat) or how they mixed chocolate by hand while one of them claimed in a video for "an electronic hand-mixer" or how they forgot to take the camera and had to run half way back to get it or how they gifted me a pack of semi-frozen milk (Something about purity. Again, don't ask) or about thirteen orange dahlias (I never knew this before but dahlias are my favorite. I was in a class called dahlia when I was a kid and it just means a lot to me) and a motion sensing lamp that my friend promptly dropped or a card with a tulip or any symbolism.
I loved yesterday. It felt unreal. Like a dream. I still expect myself to wake one day and land back in August. Or June. Back to the friendless lonely soul whose best friend was a tree. (I am not kidding. I call him Sebastian or Seb for short. He is an awesome tree. You should meet him too.) Sometimes I don't even like the fact that I have so many friends nowadays. I have to smile at people and that is a problem because I don't usually see people because I am lost in my head and people tend to get offended because of that. And I don't really like to smile all that much. I just have too much fun. People know me.
Everyone is usually nice to me. I became really good friends with people who I had only known from a distance. I can threaten to kill people who I didn't even have the guts to talk to last year. I am in charge of stuff.
I really want to thank people for that.
The rainbow in a world without colors.
The walking ray of sunshine who thinks that everything that breathes is awesome.
The fangirl who scarily shares many traits with me.
The light blue who takes a long time to understand even direct insults.
The one whom you can insult and will never get insulted.
The quizzer who has no issues with being painfully blunt.
The sane one who still hasn't run away from me.
And to you all, you make this world a better place. Thank you. 

Saturday, November 29, 2014


Yeah. Whatever.
I know.  Its been forever.  I wish that I could say that I missed you all but frankly,  I am so busy I might as well need someone to remind me to breathe every now and then. I am like this permanently sugar rushed bunny who you could probably find in about twenty places at any given time. And if you're lucky, you might even be able to see me bounce. Or hop. Or frog jump.
I can't remember the last time I just sat somewhere doing absolutely nothing. Like stare out of a window and contemplate the symbolism of sands blown away by wind and some similar shit. I have also not been finding much time to rant. However I have created a lot of highly embarrassing situations for myself in the last couple of months.
Example: I enter the basketball court to play for my team.  One minute into the game, a girl throws the ball right at my face. It hits my nose and completely blurs my glasses.  Half a minute later,  same girl runs like a frickin kraken and surprise surprise, who into? Your already injured, blurred vision possessing, most clumsy person you will find blogger. I get thrown to the ground. Later on in the game I get the ball and try to shoot bit guess what? I can hardly see the damn basket. I am pretty sure an alligator could have aimed the ball better than me. I kick myself off the team and hid out in the Tartarus for a couple of weeks.
Verdict: 14th most embarrassing episode in the nearly 15 year old life of Niranjana Menon.
I also went and punched an idiot in my class.  He claimed that it didn't hurt but I saw him rubbing his elbow and knee (I kicked him too) resentfully.
I am hardly ever in class.  I am in charge of a bunch of things plus I have also taken on a form of torture known as junior captaincy where I do not just my work but also about three other people's.  Plus I am constantly  threatened by teachers.  I have a pile of work to do and my exams start on Monday.  And what am I doing?  Blogging. If I don't stop now I don't think I will be able to live with myself. See ya.

Friday, November 21, 2014


What's family? The ones that can hurt you, betray you and still make you happy.
Family is not just about blood. Its about the bonds. The little joys and the sorrows that are shared. Its about keeping little secrets. About those white lies, just to keep the other from hurting. Its those broken dishes and the badly aimed balls that crack beloved artifacts. Its being able to read minds by just looking at each other, by the twitch of an eye, the tremors in the smile. It is knowing that something is wrong without any words. Its those bear hugs that nearly crack your ribs and leave you breathless. Its about the sign language, the personalized vocabulary, the inside jokes.
Family is about the broken hearts. It is about the poison in the words. Its about those remarks that are so sharp that they can dig deep holes. It is about not always believing in each other. Its about wondering whether you will ever make it. It is about hating the ones you love with such and intensity that you can feel your heart explode. They are the ones who really know how out of control you are. How stupid, insensitive and beautiful you can be.
Family is about a group of people who hang on together from one crisis to the next.
Its about wondering why you are still sane. Its about crying so much that you feel hollow. Its about the cool hands that caress your forehead as you lie still, spent. Its about the people who can make you forget about the biggest hurt. They are also the ones who can hurt you the most.
Family is what makes us human. 

Monday, November 3, 2014


Her hair looked like fire.
That's the first thing he saw. It looked as though an aura of flame was billowing around her. Little charcoal black strands were tucked behind her ear, but the rest of it flew in the wind. The orange sunlight cut through it like light in darkness. It illuminated her face and made her ebony eyes sparkle.
She was looking out of the window. He sat down next to her in the only vacant seat in the whole train. She didn't even stir. 
The train lurched forward. 
He watched her from the corner of his eyes. Her hands were short and stubby. They were smeared with paint. Her nails were bleeding. She nervously clasped them around a pencil that she was holding.
She was trying to draw something in the book that she had placed on her lap. It was fraying on the edges, dog eared and torn in many place. She had scribbled all over it. But there was one empty page and she was drawing a portrait into it. She kept on erasing it. Again and again she made the paper empty and began from scratch. It took him a while until he understood whose resemblance she was trying to capture. It was self portrait. But it was all wrong. Her eyes were more shapely, her smile prettier, her hair more startling. She saw herself as much less than she was. 
She suddenly stood up, and walked away, leaving her book on her seat. 
He pondered on what to do next. His stop was fast approaching. He gathered up his bags and got ready to leave. 
The last second, he turned around and opened her book. He scribbled something and quickly left it in the same place. 
The girl with the flaming hair returned to take her seat. She was glad that he was gone. He was slightly creepy. She opened her book once again to stare at her own image. Filled with flaws and imperfections and hurt. Just like her. Instead she found something written there for her.
'You are more beautiful than you think.'

Sunday, October 26, 2014


Maybe, someday, we will find our place in this universe.  Maybe, we will find our home where the mermaids sing and call out to you. Maybe, it will be besides the sea girls who dance to the oceans melodies. Maybe its in the shadow of the sun, where the tongues of the flame taunt you, tickle you.
Someday we will learn to breath as we drown in sorrow, in happiness. Someday we will no longer have to be afraid.
Maybe under the shimmering light of the stars, we will find our long lost dreams. Maybe we will find our way back home,  back to the embrace of hope.
Perhaps we are still on the right way. Maybe, the earth's still round.  Maybe time can still heal our broken hearts, our scraped knees, our scars. Maybe, it will be okay. 

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


Okay. Here I am. (Warning: the writer is pretty sick and out of her mind at the time of writing.)
Hello.  Yes I know. Its been a while.  I promise,  I haven't been slacking off. In fact I have been very,  very, very busy. I am so exhausted that I get most of my sleep during classes. My mind too is working overtime.  To top it all,  I am as sick as a dog. (Wait, that is wrong. Dogs are usually pretty happy and healthy.  Maybe I am as sick as a sick dog. But then wouldn't it be more appropriate to say as sick as a sick person.)
I got new glasses.  My vision's pretty much messed up right now.  All the walls are crooked and stairs look longer than they are. I tripped at least 5 times at school yesterday.  But that is not much of a record for me.  If anything that is better than usual. A couple of days ago I was walking down this stupid ramp thing that our school has built and I nearly landed on my butt in front of nearly half the school. I nearly fell backwards from the stairs laughing. I also jammed my fingers in my bathroom door and kicked down a handle on my door.  I didn't mean to really.
Coming back to my glasses. They are really big. And full framed. And black.  My eyes are so bad that I can't even see the frame while trying them on. Also I had been accompanied by my father who is not exceptionally talented at making sure that I don't look like a coyote.  I also got a haircut the day I got my glasses which ensured that I look little like the slightly introverted nerd that I usually am. Instead I look like a crazed scientist who stuck her finger into a socket.  In school uniform.

I got an awful lot of chocolate yesterday. I pigged out completely.  I won't even pretend to be on a diet any more.  I keep on trying to enforce this healthy eating thing. My parents go ahead and purchase some delicious junk right then. Or my friends give out a treat.  Or I happen to have money when I am starving.  Healthy eating goes out of the window. Its like the universe is against me being fit. *sighs*
I have a bazillion tests tomorrow.  My parents are trying to convince me not to go to school. It is all very tempting but I have already missed lots of tests (courtesy my piano exam which I messed up pretty bad and an awesome quiz which too I messed up) and begging teachers for retests is just exhausting.  I have been, in a quest for retests,  unfairly accused of being rude, lazy and slacking off.  It has been almost 6 months since I enjoyed a lunch break by doing nothing but eating lunch.  Ugh.
So, I plan to do one more post this month.  I hope it comes.  Tootle pips!

Monday, October 13, 2014


Sometimes, things just don't make sense.
Sometimes, dying is the only thing that makes us alive.
Sometimes, falling is the only way to learn to fly.
Sometimes, not running away is the cowardly thing to do.
Sometimes, fears help us conquer them.
Sometimes, silence is louder than words.
Sometimes, the light is dark.
Sometimes, lies are better than the truth.
Sometimes, hurt is better than happiness.
Sometimes, losing is more important.
Sometimes, time doesn't heal anything.
Sometimes, we break and put ourselves to gether again.
Sometimes, magic really does exist.
Sometimes, we will find the one who is meant to be.
Sometimes, things don't make sense.
But they do exist.
But they are real.

Sunday, October 12, 2014


Okay here goes absolutely nothing. 
My life is unimaginably busy. I have been living on very,very little sleep lately. Sleep has almost become an alien concept to me now. I have been running up and down like a bunny on permanent sugar rush. I have been driving my sane best friend (crazy best friend is not a best friend {or a friend} anymore but I will continue to refer to sane best friend as sane best friend) crazy. 
In school we had this street play competition. The various houses were pitted against each other and we all had to write, direct and perform a street play on the various problems that we face in Kerala. My house picked Waste Management and handed me the responsibility of writing the script. At first my reaction was"Yipppppeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" but it was only later I realised that an actual functional script featuring almost 30 high schoolers can be pretty hard. 
First functional practise- Most people didn't even understand what was going on. It mainly involved me shouting out instructions that were quite conveniently ignored by everyone.
Panic ensues. 
Major script rewrite. (Work on it from 2 to 7 in the night with friends. Stay up all night to complete it) 
Second functional practise- Scarily resembles the first one. I am on the verge of an emotional breakdown after yelling at two pessimistic idiots.
Gigantic script rewrite. (Abandon the idea of sleep)
Third functional practise- We make a human pyramid. Huzzah.
Fourth practise- I nearly murder everyone.
Final script rewrite. The script finally starts to resemble a script. I do my victory dance and cry a few tears of joy.
Day of performance- Everything goes horribly during practise. Our teachers beg, appeal and threaten us. Everybody runs around helter-skelter. Suddenly we realise that we don't have any placards or posters. I hunt down everyone who has more functional artistic skill than mine (=stick figures and purple faces). Our music has the same co-ordination as two clocks on opposite sides of the world. 

Actual performance- Nobody trips. Nobody forgets there lines. I mean I forgot everything but I improvised and nobody even noticed. I didn't puke. One of our headgears exploded right before we placed it on somebody's head. We had to pick its carcass later. Our music doesn't suck. And people actually do laugh at our jokes. I AM ON TOP OF THE WORLD. I tell everyone that it doesn't matter even if we didn't win because we had so much fun doing it.
But we actually did win.

(Screams ultrasonically) 
(Hugs everyone)
(Does a victory dance)
(Cries a few tears of joy)
(Hyperventilates a couple times)

We were ecstatic. I danced on my way back home.

Other reasons for me being catatonically busy include:
  • Piano exams- I just finished my pieces today. I still sound pretty horrid but my sir tells me that I will pass. Fair enough.
  • Short story writing competition-I have writer's block. Nothing I write sounds good. I re-wrote my story thrice.
  • Brother's birthday- He is four. I can't believe it. Time is literally slipping away from my hands.
  • Quizzes- I actually don't suck at it. I still can't believe it.
Above given are the reasons why I don't write much. But I will make it up. I swear. I am planning to do a blog-o-marathon but that depends on whether or not my brain stops getting so distracted 24/7.
Anyway, until then........
(falls asleep on the keyboard and wakes up in a pool of drool and QWERTY etched on my face)
Goodnight. I need sleep.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Mayday !!

Help. Help. Rescue my blog.  It is dying.  I am so busy that I can't even remember to breath. The world has suddenly started spinning way to fast. It also may have fallen out its axis for all that has become of my life. It is a little blurry around the edges and the colours are a little too bright. Otherwise it is great.  Awesome.  Awesome ness redefined. So if someone can guest post for me it will become more awesome.  I will do a writing marathon next week.  Until then however,  farewell. 

Saturday, September 20, 2014


All everybody needs is a little bit of faith.
A little bit of faith to hold on to as we go to sleep. As we dream of the skies, of our lives. As night creeps in, as winter wraps her frigid arms around you. As you fear every morning, every beginning.
As you fall in love. As you reach out to the hand held out to you.
All we need is the faith that gets us through everyday. The faith that makes the sun rise tomorrow.
The kind of faith that makes the next day better than this one. The faith that makes us hope.


(I have always wanted to do a 100 word post. I guess it is here)

Wednesday, September 17, 2014


In the end,
All we are is afraid.
We are shivering,
Petrified hollows of what we were
A long time ago.
We are transparent,
We are shadows in a world without colour.
We are scared of the hurt,
The scars, the pain that never goes away.
We are scared by the
Hands held out to us,
Of love that could go wrong
About how much people care.
We can't remember who we were,
That once our eyes were filled with hope.
We are afraid of breathing,
Of not breathing,
Of caring, of not caring.
We are afraid of happiness.
In the end,
All we want is someone
To believe in.
Someone to destroy the monsters
Under our bed
And the ones in our heads.
Someone to hold us at night
And keep us alive.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014


Pain is a curious thing.
Its unpleasant.
But If you concentrate enough, there won't be any of it.
It leaves you numb.
And craving for more.
After sometime, it never really stops.
There is no ending to how much you want.
You hurt yourself.
Just for satisfaction.
For a sense a justice.
Knowing no longer matters.
It sustains you, the hurt.
You fall, knowing you will scrape your knees.
You jump, knowing there is no ground.
You know you are going to cry,
But sometimes that is better.
To cry.
To let the dam of sorrow to break free.
To feel alone, betrayed.
To feel alive today.
No tomorrows left for us,
Just drowning in what we have left.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Abandonment and Fun

Okay. Here goes a worthless attempt at putting my thoughts on paper. Or digitized text. Or whatever.
School's out!!
Or maybe school's out. I have done nothing but stare at the computer screen, waiting to pounce on anybody who comes online. I am sure I have thoroughly bored all of them. I am the queen of monologues. And of boring people to death.
We have ten days of Onam vacation. Onam is a harvest festival sort of thing in Kerala.
Festivals don't exactly excite me. The food does. I am sure I will be at least 10 kilos heavier by the time school starts. After which I will be tortured by my marks. Oh god, I can't even imagine how awful my marks are going to be. I was sitting hunched in front of my computer, typing up posts that don't even make sense to me. I could have used up that time to be more productive. And have mugged up some crappy Malayalam chapters.
I have been listening to awesome music. I just wish I could sing better. I am thinking of doing a cover here, just so you can judge how awful I am. I will have reached to conclusions at the end of the post, so fingers crossed. ( I can't type with crossed fingers, damn it.)
A day before school left off we had a holiday. So in the afternoon I went to a friend's house. She lives in this awesome place. So five of us had decided to impose ourselves on her.
We went to her apartment on the 26th (!!) floor. It was effing awesome. You could see our whole city from there. We were trying to find out which building was our school and I almost fell out of the balcony. We were speculating what would happen if I did. I was hoping that whoever fell would magically vaporize. Personally, I don't think splatting from the 26th floor is the optimal way to die.
While waiting for a couple of people to turn up, I reminisced the sad story of how I misread stuff in french while writing an exam a couple of years ago. The misreading turned out a bit extreme and I ended up writing, "He eats the guitar." I pity that person.
Later, the friend who opened the doors of her home to us tried to kill us by stuffing us with food. I, being the queen of eating, was delighted. But my other lady-like friends refused the generous helpings of pizza. What a waste of perfectly delicious, healthy junk. In order to burn down what we ate, we took the stairs. 26 flights of stairs ain't no cat-walk.
Afterwards we went to the pool and dipped our feet in. We also took a lot of weird pictures. I almost toppled off into the pool twice and was almost pushed by an awesome but positively evil friend.
The ugly person in a full black ensemble happens to be me.
We also went into a badminton room where even a whisper had a huge echo. So we sang 'Love Story' (only song we all knew) and it ended up sounding so weird while recording it that I almost dropped it while listening back. We also exercised at gym and apparently my pulse went up to 167 beats per minute. Huh. Didn't know that that was even possible without keeling over due to excessive hemorrhage.
In simple words, I had fun. A lot of it. 
In other interesting news, my parents abandoned me in a car without providing me lunch for about 2 hours. My brother had some sort of Parent Teacher conference and I told my parents I would sit in the car and study for my exam. I thought that they would take about 15 minutes. However, 1 and a half hours later, still waiting in the back of sweltering car, dying of hunger. I ended up having some dry stuff that scarcely even resembled food. I WAS MAD. However I forgave them when they got me ice cream.
I am not posting a clip of me singing today. Let's wait till my voice sounds less like than that of a braying donkey. Tootlepips!

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Face Planting on Stages and Other Interesting Rants

I give up. My writing has deteriorated so much that I can't even understand what I bother to write. It helps that I was feeling down a lot. And when I was not feeling down, my head was all over the place. It is like my mind has decided to tear itself apart and go in about thirty different directions at once. Is that even possible? I mean I really am thinking of a billion different thoughts at the same time. My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into galaxies.
But I have decided to rant. My life is very, very crazy. Craziness redefined. And the fact that I have exams does not even play a minor part of it. Speaking of which, WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER WITH YOUTUBE, BLOGGER AND CHOCOLATE WHEN I HAVE A THREE HOURS LONG PAPER ON MALAYALAM TOMORROW!! Malayalam makes as much sense to me German does at this point in time. And I barely know any German other than 'Deutsch'.
My brain can't concentrate on anything anymore. I stare out of the window randomly, daydreaming. If I was distracted before then I probably don't even have any words to describe the span of concentration I have nowadays. I make up stories in my head while I am writing descriptions about the earth's core or the constitution. My fantasy life is extremely rich. I love living in my head. Even though physically that could be impossible. Still, I try.
Tomorrow is Teachers' Day in our school. Since our exams are going on, the captains were told not to do dances, songs, skits or short plays. Basically anything interesting. So the captain, in despair asked us whether we could do anything, or whether we had any ideas. My hand instantly shot up, before my brain could even process it. He looked expectantly at me and I grudgingly told him that I had written a poem for a teacher ages ago. He told me to bring it. And that's how I ended up having to recite a pathetic poem of mine on stage tomorrow. Though, knowing me, I won't even reach the stage. I will probably land face-first on the stairs first, probably break my nose, and read out my poem with blood leaking out of it. At least people won't notice how horrible my poem really is.
We had a cultural fest in between. That WAS THE MOST FUN I EVER HAD IN MY LIFE!!! We went to this school that was a seven hours journey away and we all enjoyed so bloody much! We teased one of our seniors. We dared him either to call a girl who had a crush on him or to name five people he had crushes on. In desperation he started naming all the girls around him as his crushes. I was sitting next to him and staring out of the window. Suddenly he tapped my shoulder and told me that he had a crush on me. I had not been concentrating on the conversation and did not even understand. I had this look on my face which probably resembles the one deer get when they are caught in the headlights. Everybody burst out laughing at my incredulous reaction and someone told the guy to leave poor me alone.
I will be writing a more detailed report o the cultural fest (full of twists, drama, action, adventure blah, blah, blah).
PS We kinda lost. Some girls started crying but I was perfectly fine one ice cream later. Chocolate ice cream should be proclaimed as a magical substance.
I bought a new school bag. Its got a scooter and a guy's picture on it. I don't think he likes me much. he keeps looking at the other direction. But the bag is very awesome. It is got this bag cover which protects it form the rain. Whoo-hooo! No more drenched books. I show off the rain cover to everyone I see, in a vain attempt to get them to be jealous. It hasn't worked so far, but let's see.

Friday, August 29, 2014


A friendship dying is like a fire fizzling out.

You remember how the sparks were. Slow, hesitant afraid. But they existed. And they wanted to burn, become a raging fire.

The sparks lived. They caught. They shined.

The fire became a warm heart. One that comforted you everyday.

It becomes your life source. It becomes the reason why you are alive. The reason you wake up everyday.

The fire becomes too large. All-consuming. Too strong. 

You try to rescue it. But it has already consumed the bonds.

It calms down, cools down to embers.You blow at them, you try to save them. but its too late.

And then the whole things explodes.

And then it dies out.

Thursday, August 28, 2014


There is so much beauty in in getting caught in the rains.
There is an edge of tiredness in the air that makes everybody irritable and angry. Everyone can feel the exhaustion creeping on them as they trudge home. You look up and you know it's going to pour but you clasp your fingers and you pray. But when the drops start falling, a smile comes up. You can feel the happiness when the winds buffet you, the drops caress you as they leave you. You hear your friend screaming in delight as the wind attempts to steal the umbrella. You walk together, not caring if you get wet anymore because, it was worth it. Seeing her smile, laughing till it hurt, running behind the upturned umbrella, holding her hand.
The sky was gorgeous in the morning, so beautiful that it almost hurt. The sky was dark and blue and sunny and deep, all at the same time. There were angry clouds dominating the sky But there was bright blue light shining right behind them. It was like a picture that is too perfect, so perfect that it doesn't look real. The sky was too dark, the blue in it too piercing, the sunlight too bright. It was just too beautiful.
There is happiness in drowning. In not being able to breathe. In smiling too much even when you tell yourself that you probably look like a weird moron. In feeling the world is spinning too fast, too out of control. In seeing way too many colours. In wiping tears of others. In being there and caring. In being worried whether you're cared about. In falling even though you tell yourself that you are going to get hurt, that you are going to end up crying. In dancing when no one is watching. In singing even though you can't sing. In not caring about what others think. In laughing till it hurts. In feeling like the world is about to crash down on you.
An old lullaby. A song you have not heard in a long time but still know the lyrics of. Winds that make your hair fly, tickle the faces of other. Laughing about something that happened a long time ago. Feeling like you have known someone forever. Like your heart is about to explode. Feeling alive again.
That's the real beauty in this world.

Monday, August 25, 2014


She liked to write in the dark. Her words made more sense when she couldn't see them. But they were engraved in her head, they were stuck in head. They breathed lightly on her palms as they were imprinted onto the blank paper with light swoops of her pencil.
Her words could drown het. Sometimes they cared but they usually swept her up in a dark prison from which she could not escape. From which she couldn't claw her way out. She used to feel the unsaid words graze down her throat. She could sense them pounding in her head, swirling around in senseless combinations, trying to escape, trying to sound lucid. This frustrated her, it angered her. She used to curse herself as tears rolled down her scarlet cheeks.
Sometimes the clouds were so intense that they used to suffocate her. They hugged her so tight that she could scarcely breathe. Her eyes would tear up as she struggled to stay alive, to catch a wisp of air. She would lie motionless as all those around her cursed her, taunted her, ridiculed her. Their hurtful words flowed freely, unlike the ones that were stuck in her head. But they never really saw how their remarks would tear into her flesh, how they could claw they way into her heart. All she wanted than was a friend, someone to save her when the words no longer came out, when they began to choke her, when the silence started growing too loud, when the words drowned out her voice and her cries for help.
But sometimes her words, they cared for her. They would caress her as they were gently and lovingly strung into poetry, into laughter, into magic, into declarations of love, into her songs, into her dreams and into her sleep. That's when the words themselves rescued her, that's when they became her companion, the voices that lulled her into her sleep every night.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

The Magician

He fiddled with his wrinkled hands. He fingered all the burn marks on them, the scars from the tricks gone wrong. He reached out for his hat all torn form years and years of procuring bunnies form them.  He stroked the hat tenderly, as one might caress a wound.  He felt the worn edges, the frying cloth, the torn ribbon. It had been a gift from his father, so many decades ago. He could see himself as a boy, ecstatic at receiving something so expensive, something normally they couldn't even dream of. Only later did he know about how many extra shows his father had had to do, how many meals he had skipped. But his father's exhausted face had glowed as he made the grand gesture. The old magician's eyes filled with tears as he recalled all this.
There was an electric atmosphere all around him. The circus was getting ready for the next performance. The acrobats warmed up the animals were dressed and painted, the knife throwers armed to teeth. The manager was behind them all, urging them to get ready faster, resorting to either begging or threatening or commanding, according to the person he was speaking to. Only the old magician was ignored, nobody asked him to do anything. He was as old as the circus, though gossip claimed that he was thousands of years old and that he used black magic to keep themselves alive. He knew this wasn't true. Even though his eyes carried the burden of one who had lived forever, he too was mortal. But he never refuted theses claims, He knew better. He sighed and reminisced about the time when everybody was his age. Now they were al gone, and he was left back alone. He went back a little more in time and he could remember the time when he was the headliner of the show.
The posters would advertise.  People from towns far, far away would come to watch him do, what seemed to them, miracles. Now he was one of the less preferred acts. Often they didn't even have him on the whole shoe. Children were no longer interested in watching magically produced birds or disappearing balls. They had greater sleighs of hands along with them. The computers they carried were far more interesting. They were so immersed in their world of digitization, they no longer cared.
But today, he was performing. For the last time, he had decided. He lifted his dusty purple cape, inspected it for the magic holes and pockets they had. He grabbed all his magical equipment,. He petted the rabbits, chirped a bit to the birds. He wore his hat and took his wand. He made his grand entrance, in tune to disinterested and scattered applause. And then he said his magic words for the last time, "Abracadabra......."

Monday, August 4, 2014


(Makes a nonchalant face).
Yeah. I get it. I have been lazy. You do not have to digitally reproach me for that, dear computer. Niranjana happened to be busy the previous week. (And lazy too, but she won't admit it, ever). She also apologises for the scrappy post she did the previous day, but she didn't actually do that up for anybody to read so........
Projects (uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh), tests (*repeats*), mock interview, quiz, obliteration of certain friendships, makeshift suicide helpline, free child labour for school, amateur piano, falling and tripping on flat ground, abandonment by family for a week, crap essays in Malayalam, etc. are among the highlights of my previous week. Also we observed Kargil day at school which is sort of a war memorial. All the junior captains had to hold a candle which was fixed onto a cardboard piece so as to avoid the hot wax from the burning our fingers (hint hint, I did burn my fingers in the end). I set fire to my piece of cardboard and smouldered throughout the duration of the program and had to be stamped at later to prevent it from becoming an all consuming fire. PS I also partly burnt a calendar. Our captain's face was rather hilarious when I told him about the incident.
Walking to school has gotten increasingly impossible with the advent of the monsoon. I have to wade through overflowing sewers and broken canals. The ground of my school increasingly resembles a swimming pool. A muddy, dirty, pest infested swimming pool at that. I slip at least three times on a daily basis. My uniforms are perpetually wet and I am perpetually cold. Add to that the fact that my bag gets drenched no matter what I do:. The bag also happens to be torn at about 6 different places. I don't even know how  the he'll it is possible to friggin tear a bag in 2 months. Hey, it's not my fault.
 I have been selected to represent my school for the essay writing competition. So, I have to write essays on crappy topics every single day. Yesterday's topic was ' My First  Stage Performance'. My first stage performance involved me standing at the corner of the stage lifting handmade pom-poms.
On much better, much repeated and more interesting news my blog touched 10000 viewers. So, I have decided to post my pictures in order to scare away future visitors.

Yes, all those who expected me to look like I called Mars my home, I am sorry to inform you that I look like a functional human being. Note the key words 'look like'. Does not exactly mean that  I function like one.
Tootle pips!

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Not really a post

Don't ask me where I was. I was in a world of my own. Flying, breathing, falling. I am happy. Very much so. But just sometimes, it feels like I have this little hole in my heart.  And right now I am suddenly freaking out because I need to finish this post in five minutes and go shopping for cloth with my western vocals groups. Yeah. I can sing without sounding like a jackass sometimes. I am shocked. So I am going to the cultural fest with seven other (much better) singers to represent our school and try and win a prize. Ha. Not looking forward to that part.
I also have been selected for essay writing. So I guess all the ranting on the blog had some purpose. 
Unless you are an idiot or have never come here before you should have noticed some MAJOR changes on my blog. I was actually sick of looking at my own blog. So here it is: 
Yeah. I know. I sound unlike myself. I am distracted. 
I have been reading lots of poetry. My favorites are Prufrock and Daughters.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown        
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Let us build bonfires of those unanswered prayers.
Let us learn how to leave with clean and empty hearts
Let us escape these attics still mad, still drunk, still raving
Let us vacate these badly lit odd little towns
Let us want none of what anchored our mothers
Let us never evolve to be good or beautiful
Let us spit and snarl and rattle the hatches
Let us never be conquered 
Let us no longer keep keys in our knuckles
Let us run into the streets hungry, fervent, ablaze.

So I am going to be around here dreaming, flying singing, dancing. I will try and post a bit of the song we are singing. Then you can judge whether or not i sing like a jackass. So until then I will be with the sea girls till the human voices drown me.

Sunday, July 27, 2014


She was fiddling. With her hair. It was not there any more. But, she could just pretend that it was still there. The curls,her gorgeous curls, black, beautiful. The muscle and sinew of her hair that was no longer there. But it didn't matter. Her old life was over. No superficiality was left inside her., Nothing to support the sense of vanity she once had. Nothing. And she regretted nothing. 
She ran her tongue through her mouth. It was covered with razor edged sores. She prodded them, bit at them, just to taste the coppery blood flow through her mouth again. It made her feel alive. 
She looked at her palms. She blew at them. They were ice cold. She held her hands to her cheeks. But her palms just sucked away the heat from them. They din't get warmer. They made her colder. Her mother used to say that she cold-blooded hands. Hands that changed with the temperature. Just like the rest of her. Just a chameleon fitting into the scene anywhere she went. Sucking the life out of every one, everywhere.
She still remembered the last thing he said. Him "I am sorry". He had apologized for her mistakes. She reeled back from the contempt the three words held. He had looked at her one last time. Hatred. Then, he was gone. He din't turn around to hear the loud crash of her heart. He didn't see her fall. He never waited to see her demise. The death of who she was.
But now, none of it mattered. All that felt like a mere vestigial organ. One that caused a lot of pain. But all feeling to it had been clamped from it. No. She reassured herself that no emotion was left. 'No, no, no, no, no, no,no.....'.
She ran her hand through her scalp. The short hair pricked her cold palms. 
A fire burned in front of her. She looked around. It was the bad part of the town. A place she would never have ventured out to in her previous life. But that one was over. Long gone. Over when he left. Now she looked like a person who would live in the bad part of town.
She stared out into the flames, mesmerized by the way the flames tickled the paper she had thrown in, before devouring it in whole. She watched as a bit of ash settled on her shoulder. She didn't brush it off. It could be her companion. 

She relished the heat for one last second and set off again. No use of staying anywhere.
"Gotta keep moving, gotta keep moving...." she hummed to herself with the stubbornness of a madman. 

PS: I hit 10000 viewers. I am celebrating. Thanks. 

Saturday, July 12, 2014


Hate. Rage. Hate. Anger.
He chanted in his mind.
Ground his teeth.
Tossed in his sleep.
Cried in the deep, dark, dreary, missing night.

She started out into the window,
Into the missing daylight.
She ran her hands through her scalp
Tossed her sunrise, moonlight curls.
Crashed onto another rocky night.

"Mommy, Mommy!", cried the child,
One hand full of petunias,
Other wrapped in a mother's blue fingers.
Tossing his flowers, he grabbed her
Trying to wake her from an eternal sleep.

He watched, clutching a cappuccino,
Not too hot, not too sweet.
He touched his wrinkles, recalling the
Tossed away years of a long over life
As he gazed at old, broken children.

The ship had set sail,
Over an ocean unknown, unseen.
Her sails were torn, hull broken,
Tossed as she was
Across paths yet to be found.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

How Not to do Advertising

I realize that it has been over week since I have blogged, but since that isn't something that never happens, I won't apologize. I have noticed that most of my blog posts begin with apologies. NOT ANYMORE!!! MUAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA!! Anyway since I am too busy trying to revamp my blog today I will be posting a self advertisement I did a long time ago. I find it funny so here goes:
The writer of this generally stupid and maddeningly boring piece is an almost 14 year old weirdo known as Niranjana Menon. She knows very well that big–shot companies don’t hire over-excited teenagers useless at anything but raving about everything ranging from photons to democracy to bad haircuts. But as usual, she feels that writing an essay is way more interesting and productive than sitting hunched in front of her desk completing Physics (or is it Geography?) homework.
She has a vague idea in the back of mind that constantly reminds her each time she comes up with a wild and crazy idea for this piece that she has to advertise herself as a writer. But she is painfully aware of the fact that she is not the ideal person somebody would want to hire to babysit their broken down car. She in her dreamy world would probably let somebody who doesn’t own the car take it for themselves. Nevertheless, here is a list of the things she thinks are great accomplishments in her life and would greatly revolutionize the company if they hired her. 
·         Managed to stare at her Geography teacher while not falling asleep- She was the only person in the whole class able to survive that period and that too with toothpicks propping up her eyelids from mercifully stopping the visual input of the inhumanely boring subject and teacher.
·         Putting a chocolate in her pocket when she does not even have a pocket- Well of course, she didn’t manage to find it later and did manage to drive her best-friends mad in search of it.
·         Writing in her blog once a month (or annually once) - As someone once said, ‘Something is better than nothing.’ The only drawback is that her posts are so weird she herself seldom understands what she writes. 
·         She finished a book in an hour- No; it was not Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. If she is correct it was the Ulysses. Or maybe it was Snow White.
·         Managed to pour an entire mug of water over her dark brown uniform skirt- She was attempting the extremely difficult task of taking a book behind a mug during art class. The rest of the class informed her that she had peed in her skirt.
·         Passing in a chemistry test when she had studied for physics- NOTE: The above mentioned student had not in the entire term opened her chemistry textbook. (So it is an added benefit if you hire her, she is extremely competent of preparing for extremely stressful situations in two minutes.)
·         She came last in the drawing competition in her school- Come to think of it even her 3 year old brother draws way better than her. Even 1st graders defeated her. Nevertheless it was a great experience for her to be the only person in high school to be drawing stick figures and purple faces.
·         The writer attended 7 different schools but never managed to make more than her consistent number of friends, 0 – The number of enemies were limitless but that wouldn’t be her achievement to claim to. They hated me so much that they should write a guide, ‘HOW TO HATE IRRITATING ANNOYING PEOPLE’.
·         She still counts on her fingers- She does know the tables up to ten and how to add 7 to 8. Who needs things after that when we have calculators and cell-phones is her impassioned plea.
  So here, the endless list of Niranjana’s humongous advantages over those desperately begging for this job ends. But she pleads the company that so rightly described her weird inhibitions in their ad; please rescue her from the clutches of her evil history teacher who unfairly calls her distracted when 1% of her brain was actually tuning into her boring descriptions of the constitution. And that’s how she decides to ends this advertisement of her wonderful, marvelous, charismatic self.
PS: You could hire me if you wanted to, you know. (hint hint)

Sunday, June 29, 2014


So here I am. Sick. Tired. Sick and tired too.I have the world's biggest traffic jam in my nose so I can't breathe. I am talking with a voice that sounds like a crow that has been strangled. My mother said I sound like the singer I hate most. I have reached a point in my education where mathematics has stopped making any friggin kind of sense. And history. And geography is so increasingly boring that my eyes start tearing up with exertion from not letting them close. And I have become extremely unlucky recently. I have been injuring myself at an alarming rate. It is a surprise that I haven't reached the hospital. With multiple broken limbs, at least four sprains, head injury, broken nose, cut hands or third degree burns. But that's just the optimistic me speaking. Here goes the realist.
I have become so ridiculously clumsy that I don't thing I should left alone with anything that is even minutely dangerous i.e. pencils (I might poke myself in the eye with them), small things (lest they get stuck in my windpipe), electronics (I might electrocute myself), wires (I might strangle myself with them by mistake) yada yada. Most of these actually did happen, or are bound to happen soon enough. I have had a huge list of self made mistakes this week. I tripped seven times in a single day, three times as I was walking to school on absolutely flat ground, landed face first on the first step in school in front of a lot of people, once in the slippery ground of my school after which my feet were bestowed with clumps of dirt, once on a slope while coming from school (rescued by sane best friend), and landed on my knees in front of my house. The same day I managed to unknowingly doodle poetry on my school skirt. I also got hit by a basketball twice on my head, once on my nose. I poked myself with a pen about five times and refused to go near the kitchen fearful of any culinary injuries. Nevertheless, I burnt my hand by keeping it on a pot of really, really hot water. A couple of days before that I fell over a plastic cover that I inexplicably slipped on. I also tripped over a ladder that I had been standing guard to, so as to prevent anyone from falling over (irony). Is there some kind of record for this thing? Because I would win it hands down. Or I should say falling down.
While writing this post, I banged my skull on my bed's headboard about four times. I also got some glue on my feet and eyes. But for some reason I am insanely happy. Mad grin is plastered over my face.
I have for some weird reason attached a photo of my extremely clean desk in there. So, yeah.

Saturday, June 21, 2014


There was once a person. A person like any other. He disliked doing anything difficult, had enough friends, a boring, normal family, and studied only because he had to. An unremarkable person. Completely ordinary. But he wanted to be different. He wished that suddenly he would be endowed with something that distinguished him from this world, this world with no edges. He would stare at his hands that contained no magic. He couldn't create anything out of them. There were no beautiful words strung together to form beautiful poetry. There weren't any smears of paints on them, nothing to show the hard work he did on his invisible canvasses. There were no long, gracious fingers which could produce gorgeous music that enthralled people with their sheer greatness. There were no hands which could solve equations claimed to be impossible. No Nobel prize was to be received by them. He would look at his short, stubby hands each time he crossed her path. She was the personification of uniqueness. She was always bouncing around, apparently full of energy, even after questionably long days. Her hands were permanently covered with scribbles, to-do notes, stray bits of literature, hand drawn pictures and calculations. She was a force of nature, always ready to protect what she believed in. Somebody to be reckoned with. She was a flurry of colours that overwhelmed him each time she brushed past him, apparently not noticing his existence. She walked alone, but that was enough. She was wonder.
In the same world there was she. She was not like anybody else. She didn't believe in what others believed in. She didn't know or care about what the society expected. She was just like that. And no matter how much she tried it was not going change. In this world where a sky you can reach out to is the limit. But sometimes she disliked herself. Sometimes she used to wonder how it was like to be ordinary. Just a part of the crowd. Oh, how she yearned to stand in. She was so much that most people couldn't put up with her. She who talked to a tree, she who wouldn't realise if the world ended in front of her. She who sang weird songs even though she knew she couldn't sing to save her. She who used words nobody really understood. The person who was greeted by awkward silences and half-hearted smiles. A person who could simply be nothing but herself. But she didn't care for this. She wanted to be cared for. She just wanted to be a part . She never wanted to be alone. She just wanted to be invisible like that him. He always had two or three people around. He would just blend in perfectly unlike she who stood out like a sore thumb. He never needed to be doing anything. People just liked him. He was a shadow in a world without colour. He was the preferred good enough. And that's all she wanted to be. Enough.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Blah Blah Blah

Don't tell me that I didn't warn you. I quote directly from my previous post 'See you in the next century.' So at least be pleased that I am here before that.
I honestly swear, I am so busy that I don't even have time to day dream. Especially in school. You see I volunteered for something known as 'Junior Captaincy'. Don't let the name fool you. We do 5he equal (if not more)amount of work that (than) the senior ones do. At least I do. My friends have jolly time in the rain, gossiping. WHILE I RUN BEHIND ABSOLUTELY HATEFUL, BEASTLY 2nd graders. I don't know what has gotten into them. (The 2nd graders, not my friends. Though not one of them has paid as much as a little glance while I work my butt off.) All of kids were angels last year for the brief time I had worked there. But this year I have strong suspicions that the Satan has gotten into possess them. (Does Satan possess people? Or are those poltergists ('bracket inside bracket- mission accomplished.' Is the spelling correct?)?) They act like absolute jerks who have no respect for the fact that I AM 7 YEARS OLDER THAN THEM. (However on a similar context my brother is 11 years younger than me but still acts as if it was the other way around.) They run around somebody has set fire to their invisible tails. Then I have classes. Ah, absolutely horrid classes, welcome back into my top list of things I detest. Even though I opted out of science (Whoopeeeeeeeeeeeeeweeeeteeertteeffeeffeedffdedcsssd!!!! Best decision ever. Ever.) I still have to endure tortures called by the name of mathematics and geography. If it were up to me I would only have commerce and economics and drama and poetry and psychology and sociology and history for people to study. At least then it might teach them to be less of machines and more of humans (says the person who is addicted to bad reality shows and The Big Bang Theory).
I have been writing poetry like a...... a......... crazy poet. I produced about five in a week. It is the opposite of a writer's block. It like a pipe that has been stepped on for too long and now it is spewing up stuff like a broken candy machine with infinite candy granting capabilities.
In between I have a couple of debates too which I am pretty sure I will lose but trudge on unstopped.
I am having withdrawal symptoms. I haven't used my mp3 for 3 weeks and I am finding it very hard to get on without the matchbox size device by my side. A friend borrowed it. I need it. My dear mp3. My best friend.
Currently my best friend include my humongous SAT guide with which I fall asleep, my rough book covered with poetry, my pillow who hugs me, my wall with which I have philosophical discussions, my desk who I converse with and food. Oh, I have a very close relationship with food.
The good thing about junior captaincy is that nobody notices the fact that I have very, very few friends. It also makes me too busy to think about it.
The Fault in Our Stars comes here on July 2. Yaaay. I would have died if I had to wait for it to come on DVD. Yaaay Nymisha. I hope you are celebrating too.
I know that my post is quite idiotic. It helps that I have been frowning at my computer even when I was joking. Well. Anyway, tootlepips. Peace out, jerks.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Thanks for an award a lazy blogger doesn't deserve

After that long a title I am wondering whether or not to write anymore.
But then that is just the procrastinating part idiot of mine. At least I am going to have three posts in the whole May. I mean I lost time and unless I posts two posts ( = impossible) I can't have more. I had been planning to write two other posts, ( A: Consumerism in India B: How to manage psychotic friends).
Anyway I have been nominated for THE LIEBSTER AWARD. I am not gonna pretend that I have been hoping that somebody..... anybody would nominate me for it. I am not that modest. I can't. I have been nominated by Nymisha who writes this awesome blog called This Is Nymisha which I swear makes me burn with jealousy. Just kidding . But then not really. Have you noticed this phenomenon where people say just kidding but they really do mean what they say? So whenever anybody says just kidding THEY ARE NOT KIDDING. Your blog looks awesome though.

Now I am supposed to list out eleven random facts about me. Huh. I am so random that I doubt that there is anything left I haven't said. Here goes nothing though.

Eleven 'Random' Facts

  1.  I love to eat. 
  2. I generally get crazy carsick. Sometimes it gets so bad I don't let anybody even start the car. Or go above 10 mph.
  3. I am as blind as a bat without spectacles. The problem about spectacles is that you can't exactly keep them when you need to find them. So every morning I have to grope through my whole room to find them.
  4. I like the smell of rain more than rain.
  5. I have lived in 16 houses
  6. I have attended 8 schools. No, I didn't get kicked out of any.
  7. The first book I cried over was Mockingjay. The second one was The Fault In Our Stars. Each time I read The Fault In Our Stars I melt in to a puddle of tears and snot with an extremely red nose.
  8. I am finding this very, very hard
  9. I am currently listening to Shades of Cool by Lana Del ray and it is crazy cool.
  10. Almost done. Okay. I get awesome marks in science but I opted out of science and took commerce. I want to make a bit of change to the world and re-reading things people found out centuries ago may not help.
  11. I think water is extremely tasty. 
Okay. That's done. Phew.
Now here are Nymisha's questions to me. (Looks at the screen with wide frightened eyes)

Nymisha's Questions

    1. What is your favorite color? - Probably orange and purple and white.
    2. What or who is the best thing that ever happened to you? - My ex-best friend and my blog
    3. If you saw two people physically fighting on the road, what would you do? - Depends. Are they gonna kill each other? Are they just play-fighting? Is it a cat-fight?
    4. Do you believe in an afterlife? - The concept of heaven after life is kinda dumb. In that version you just do the same thing you used to love for eternity. I do believe in something after life though.
    5. If you could be any fictional character, who would you be? - I would have liked (LOVED) to be Hazel if Augustus had not died. Now I would prefer to be Tally from Uglies. She had a comparatively easier life than Katniss anyway.
    6. Let's say there was an opportunity for a dying person to live...but only if you volunteered to sacrifice your life. Would you? - It again a depends question. I would have sacrificed my life for my closest friends and family and maybe Augustus but the rest have to be considered first. I most definitely would not volunteer for the Hunger Games.
    7. Your house is on fire! What's the first thing you grab as you run out? - My brother. He is only three. So no matter how much he tears of the pages of my books he is the person I care most about in this world. Otherwise I would grab my Mp3.
    8. Do you like teaching things or learning things? - Learning, definitely. I suck at teaching.
    9. What's the one thing you've been dying to get your hands on?  - Some money. I want to get a thousand new books.
    10. You have exactly 1 day to live before you die. What would you do in that day? - Eat. Atleast I don't have to worry about becoming fat.
    11. What do you pick: stars or flowers? - Stars. They are are like flowers in skies. And they always remind of the song Stars by Grace Potter.
    I think I did pretty well on that didn't I?
    Now the Nominations.

    And the Nominees are.........

    Well, technically I am supposed to nominate 11 people. Virtually impossible. I will do as much as I can.

    Yeah. That's about it. Five. Now I have to ask them questions. Oh dear!

    Questions to the Nominees

    1. Who are you? (The philosophical side of the question)
    2. Who is your favorite person in this whole world?
    3. A book that makes you smile or cry?
    4. You can change the world. How will you?
    5. Favorite memory?
    6. Favorite blogs or bloggers?
    7. Chocolate or vanilla?
    8. What does freedom mean to you?
    9. If you could be anybody (including fictional characters) for a day, who would you be?
    10. Organised or disorganised?
    11. What makes you happy?
    Ouch. I know. They suck.
    So yeah. That's it. See you in the next century.
    PS- School reopens tomorrow. Can't wait.