tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17216645535702983032024-02-19T21:24:27.625+05:30Life as it is...Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-2039653895655161592020-08-15T17:06:00.001+05:302020-08-15T17:08:58.252+05:30Random ramblings<p><span style="text-align: justify;">It is 12:31 AM on the clock and my head feels
like a fuzzy soap bubble – you touch it, you lose it...poof!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">There are exactly 7 work assignments to attend
to. One kitchen to be cleared. Few interior design references to collect. A
text to be dropped to check on a cousin and one child to be nursed to sleep
again, as and when he wakes up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">I can see my colored hair from the corner of
my eyes while typing this. They look dry, lifeless, and rope-like. The insides
of my tummy are feeling funny - I had my lunch/dinner at 5:30 PM today. I
think my body is indicating me to eat something. I don’t feel hungry though. I
know how hunger pangs feel. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">While I type this, my brain is also bringing up an
image I saw while video-calling my mom-in-law today – My bloated, double-chinned
face. I had not liked the image and had promptly reverted the camera to show
her the rain-washed greens around. I have gained weight and I don’t feel good
about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">My husband is sitting at an arm’s distance from
me right now. He is attending his office work too. It has been more than
an hour since I put our son to sleep and joined him in this room to finish my
pending work. We haven’t exchanged a word yet. The occasional sounds of his
chair moving, his metal rakhi hitting the study and my keyboard’s clickety-click
are louder than pleased. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">The kind of peace we have in this room right
now is exactly what I crave throughout the day to concentrate on work, but now
that I have it, my mind is again wandering to find some peace from this peace.
This is funny. My head is not processing the expected outputs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-IN;">Wait. Another image is popping in my head - A
switch on my back. If I turn it off, I can save some power. This is good. How
do I reach for the switch though? <br /></span>My arm doesn’t reach my back.</p>Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-29236855189629409652018-02-04T09:28:00.003+05:302018-02-05T11:09:28.800+05:30Adios, Bangalore!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My Darling Bangalore,<br />I’d never thought I’ll be bidding you adieu so soon, but while I was busy falling in love with you, planning a future together, destiny happened. And as fate has it for us, we gotta part our ways...<br /><br />Today, in these final moments with you, I want you to know that I am deeply indebted, will always be, for all that you’ve bestowed me with in the past two years, that is, unbridled moments of love, laughter, joy, bonhomie and of course, marital bliss! It’s not possible for me to express my gratitude for every bit of the zillion lovely things that you’ve given me but, I do want to mention a couple of those in all earnestness.<br /><br />Starting from the top - thank you for introducing me to the person my husband is and making him my pride, my joy, my world, the nucleus of my existence. I wouldn’t have known him any better, had it not been you. <br /><br />Thank you for the roof at house no. 7, Doddenakundi Extn. and the spiral of happy, loving memories within its four walls that I called ‘my’ home, only until yesterday...<br /><br />Thank you for a doting family away from family in Urmil nani, Geeta di, Meenu di, Ashutosh mausa ji and Shail mausa ji. <br /><br />Thank you for fostering friendships that’ll be cherished forever with Shikha, Ravi, Simmi, Ankush, Gaurav, Deepika, Garima & Varun. Not to forget, a sincere thanks for my dearest Amrita and her family, and their ardent services.<br /><br />Also, I can’t thank you enough for the addictive filter coffee in steel glasses, fragrant Kesari Bhaat, crispy Murukkus, flavourful Andhra meals, melt-in-mouth Mysore Pak and the breakfast rescuer dosa batter. Thank you for the zesty breweries and charming rooftop restaurants. Thank you for the bright and beautiful weekend vacays. Thank you for the cozy rainy mornings and pleasant, sublime evenings. Thank you for letting this winter born revel in summery dresses for her birthdays.<br /><br /> While our whirlwind romance comes to an abrupt end here, please be assured that my love for you is everlasting.<br /><br />In the priceless trove of memories that I am taking away with me, I am taking away a part of you as well. And in the joyous moments that I’ve lived here with you, I am leaving a part of me in you too, for, that’s the only way for me and you to remember that once we lived a love story together!<br /><br />Wishing you more beauty, more vigour and more power to pen endless chapters of love, fun and fortune for every individual who comes your way. <br /><br />I, for one, shall miss you terribly!<br /><br />Love you till the sun burns out<br />Goodbye, Bangalore!<br /><br /><br />Affectionately yours,<br />~ Sanchi</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-17994960999618066422016-10-25T11:56:00.000+05:302016-10-25T11:56:10.185+05:30Illusions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
a trail of thoughts, a stream of whims<br />
a flash of fire, a blow of wind<br />
a pool of vices, a bunch of sins<br />
I am everything that you don't see.<br />
<br />
a touch of warmth, a source of faith<br />
a pint of strength, a streak of chaste<br />
a bout of care, a trace of grace<br />
No, I am nothing what you see.</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-33582076728090510922015-04-17T10:36:00.000+05:302015-04-17T10:36:14.658+05:30#Mother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The baby eyes sparkled at the sight of her glittering golden tassel.<br />Placing it in those chubby little hands, the blushing bride beamed with pride.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A virgin <i>mother</i> was all set to become a wedded wife.</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-32480314772567514642015-04-13T14:36:00.003+05:302015-04-13T14:58:47.594+05:30#Airport<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Two cities. Two souls. One future.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In between arrival and departure,</div>
<div>
sweet nothings penned their <i>airport</i> diaries.</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-17446632187099219542014-12-30T16:01:00.000+05:302014-12-30T16:10:07.276+05:30Keep Walking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Keep walking, keep doing your share of good along the way<br>
Love everything that strikes a chord, love it like it's your last chance<br>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Find peace in what fills the soul, find it more</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Feel it if it feels; do not be ashamed<br>
Lend voice to what the heart says, lend sincerity to that voice</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Be humbled for unconditional love, be respectful to the one who loves</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Keep walking to love, to find, to feel, to lend, to be</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Keep walking, for life is too short to halt and wait for others to catch up.</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-42393515795103617572014-11-27T10:57:00.000+05:302014-11-27T10:59:15.733+05:30#Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
They awed her beauty, charmed her by raining praises and poems,<br />
Poor souls...if only they knew that the only thing that worked on her was --<br />
<br />
<div>
The glide of his gaze and that smitten half smile in <i>silence</i>.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-31880692333991960782014-11-25T18:02:00.001+05:302014-12-02T15:55:50.145+05:30#Lie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
‘Amma your daughter is a well-paid model, so just stop fussing over the five star prices and order!’ she told her mother charmingly.<br>
<br>
<div>
Overhearing her two tables away, his lips curved in a sly smile.<br>
She did charge well for spending nights with men like him.<br>
<br>
Glossy <i>lies</i> often paint the murky realities quite effortlessly.</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-41795861372077487412014-11-23T23:22:00.001+05:302014-11-24T18:07:27.631+05:30#FantasyWrapped warmly in his arms,<div>drifting into sleep against the lullaby of his thumping heart.</div><div><br></div><div>Her ultimate <i>fantasy</i> of embracing death.</div>Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-42296285376998351942014-11-19T12:52:00.002+05:302014-11-19T12:52:56.080+05:30#Betrayal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Eyes shared sleeplessness, lips uttered promises<div>
Fingers tuned caresses, heartbeats rhymed choruses</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Things would have been different, if only the body never <i>betrayed</i>!</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-33151827903483091382014-11-01T14:51:00.001+05:302014-11-01T14:51:30.237+05:30#Circle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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1 Nov, 1994: She entered the world amidst tantrums, disgust, hatred and mother’s tears. <br />1 Nov, 2014: She departed the world amidst tantrums, disgust, hatred and mother’s tears.<br />
<br />
Life had completed a full <i>circle</i> for her.</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-68875522989107045322014-09-07T15:23:00.001+05:302014-11-01T14:51:52.904+05:30#Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
Cloaked in a black robe, the mysterious guard stood still to keep off the world while they explored each other with flaming passions in the darkest corner.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Forbidden love blossomed at <i>night</i> as terrace and stories entwined in each other’s arms.</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-35358419548681102082014-08-23T03:59:00.000+05:302014-08-23T12:35:58.106+05:30Understanding the 'Small' & 'Big' of Rape Cases<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"<i>One small incident of rape in Delhi advertised world over is enough to cost us billions of dollars in terms of global tourism.</i>" – <b>Mr. Arun Jaitley</b> (Finance & Defence Minister)<br />
<br />
I completely empathize with one of our senior most ministers - Mr. Arun Jaitley’s, apparently ‘misconstrued’, remark of referring Nirbhaya’s rape case as a ‘small incident’ which most definitely, had cost our government billions of dollars in terms of global tourism.<br />
I absolutely understand that by the virtue of his gender (which understandably, makes him rather inept at relating to his opposite sex’s issues), he did not really realize how much scope he left for people to ‘misconstrue’ his remark of addressing a brutal rape case as a ‘small incident’.<br />
So much was I intrigued by his skewed yardstick of sexual harassment, that I felt compelled to explain the difference by sharing a personal experience that I generally avoid recounting.<br />
This effort is in the combined interest of ignorant people like Mr. Jaitley who essentially require enlightenment on the ‘small’ and ‘big’, ‘significant’ and ‘insignificant’ types of sexual harassment against women. <br />
<br />
This was a few years ago when I was a student who had to commute to and fro from Ghaziabad to New Delhi for studies. It was the peak of summers and as usual, on a scorching hot afternoon, I boarded the regular blue line bus (route number 543) from South Ex. to Anand Vihar (Delhi-U.P. Border). Since it was during the afternoon rush hours, the bus was jam-packed with school and college students, teachers and other passengers. Anyhow after 10 minutes or so I managed to get a seat in the row that happened to be towards the middle passage in the bus. I settled in the seat and started reading a novel that I was carrying. Being towards the passage side, I, like every other person in that particular row, had to adjust with the pressing bodies of the people standing in the middle of the bus. Now being on the ‘ladies only’ side, I wasn’t too hassled by the uncomfortable pressure from the fellow passengers as most of them happened to be females only. So I was engrossed in my novel, absolutely indifferent to the world around. I was wearing a sleeveless kurti that day and as I kept myself busy reading, I felt a slight sensation of something faintly cool rubbing against my bare arm a couple of times. However, too taken up by the novel, I didn’t really bother to check what it really was. More so, because I had already assumed it to be a water bottle in one of the ladies’ bags who were standing pressed against me and my seat. <br />
<br />
It was only when the smoothly paced bus suddenly stopped with a thud at a red light that I looked up from my book. Looking out of the window, waiting for the bus to move, I felt that cool sensation again on my arm. This time I turned around to see what exactly it was. For a second it didn’t register but when it did, it freaked the hell out of me. It was a bare p***s set against my arm’s skin. I looked up in horror and saw a middle aged man smiling down lecherously at me with his p***s still pressed against my arm. <br />
<br />
I don’t know what happened in that moment. I was horrified to the core, but I didn’t scream or yell for others to get hold of that man, I just froze. Froze and instantly dropped head long onto my lap. No movement, no words, nothing. Like a lifeless rag doll, the upper half of my body dropped onto my lap, motionless. <br />
<br />
The lady sitting next to me perhaps sensed something as she saw that man rushing out of the bus. Don’t know what but, she spoke very loudly to the fellow passengers after that. She rubbed my back for 15-20 minutes and later gave me water to drink. I got back to my senses only so much to identify the stop where I had to get down. In a daze I took another bus from Anand Vihar to Ghaziabad. Numb all the while and scared to death to be stalked by that man, I somehow managed to reach my home.<br />
<br />
It was only when I reached the confines of my home that I felt the sense of life in me again. Without a word, I straight away rushed to the bathroom. There was half a bucket water in there that I started pouring onto my arm frantically while also starting the shower and the tap. I rubbed my arm rigorously with soap to somehow get rid of that disgusting sensation which just didn’t seem to fade. It felt sick and dirty to have stuck to a pervert’s skin, to have momentarily become a means of pleasure for a mentally twisted person. I kept rubbing my arm, washing and when the soap didn’t seem enough, I rubbed it with a hard bristled washing brush…and kept rubbing it till my arm started bleeding. It was only after my arm bled that I felt a little less sick. <br />
<br />
So here is the thing:<br />
What happened with me was a 'small' incident. I wasn’t raped. I wasn't murdered.<br />
<br />
A pervert had only ‘touched’ my skin, which, as compared to rape, is not a big deal. Though despite being a ‘small’ incident, it has gotten stamped in my head permanently. Today, it is because of that ‘small’ incident that I don’t feel confident enough to move around in crowded places. I doubt strangers and have become unreasonably wary of men in general. It’s just that much that a ‘small’ incident of sexual harassment can affect a female...<br />
...and so what happened with Nirbhaya on the night of 16th December, 2012 was certainly not ‘a small incident’, it was not, for obvious reasons.</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-29687153729253121822014-07-16T00:49:00.000+05:302014-07-16T00:49:15.481+05:30For Fair Play<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sometimes you owe it to yourself – the fairness of allowing justice to your very
own self. Distancing from the things held closest to your heart and looking at them
and their repercussions on you from a third perspective. Being neutral,
detached, impartial with your individual self and taking a righteous stand
against the dearest of your belongings.<br />
<br />
Its weird though...vicious so to say. Marking a decision for oneself that
hits the hardest in the wake of rendering justice to nobody else but -
yourself. A funny game where you find yourself swinging incessantly between
pride and pity. Pride of being fair, firm and strong enough to let go of the
most precious of your possessions and then at the same time pitying to see just
how difficult, painful and heart breaking it is to simply let go. You witness
your strength and you witness your weakness, you witness your love and you
witness your hatred, all together at one go. Spinning like a coin when both its
sides blur to form a seamless circle that provides it strength for an
independent movement.<br />
<br />
It takes immense, I-M-M-E-N-S-E courage to let go of things that are skin
deep, that are soaked in your spirit. Guess that is the reason why events
like such are eventually filed under the 'experience' section of life; maturing
you into a stronger person, leaving a dash of wisdom, polishing a darn bit of
your uncouth soul.<br />
<br />
But it hurts. Tugging away the dearest of your possessions from yourself
pains. <br />
<br />
And since the thing about pain is that it demands to be felt, one needs to
bear it. Bear it till it subsides. Bear it till it exhausts testing you. Bear
it till you've proven your point of being hell lot superior than it. Bear it.<br />
<br />
And then once you've proved your superiority, get up, pull up your socks, kiss
yourself and take life by its horns. For you've grown up a bit now; have emerged
one bit stronger, one bit smarter and one bit wiser a person.<br />
Celebrate it!<br />
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Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-32792969066964372962014-07-13T04:05:00.000+05:302014-09-09T21:11:22.553+05:30The Parallel Track<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="_5k3v _5k3w clearfix">
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72xZL5hW_-4hmVQviiN0anvl2uSc-ztHXFs5eFD-jxGjBeUmGF3NKyXHkEwSwECL4BhMxyRafzCmuz6RHh7U08jXZgxXCKVS3ebN69BcTauymUEBSUAI2xFhYZOzgX_WVAnbR0oI/s1600/parallel-tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72xZL5hW_-4hmVQviiN0anvl2uSc-ztHXFs5eFD-jxGjBeUmGF3NKyXHkEwSwECL4BhMxyRafzCmuz6RHh7U08jXZgxXCKVS3ebN69BcTauymUEBSUAI2xFhYZOzgX_WVAnbR0oI/s1600/parallel-tracks.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>She turned around to see if it
was what she thought it was...but no, he wasn’t there, nobody was. She
returned to folding the clothes neatly and piling them up in a stack on
the bed again.Smiling to herself again, yet again…this was one of the
umpteenth number of times that she found herself smiling at his thought.<br />
<br />
It
had become a routine. She looked for solitude to let her mind drift to
her golden reveries. His was a thought that consumed all her conscience
and sub-conscience.It was a perfect world with him, her and their
love; his love included. The perfection of that world
surpassed the reality of the real world. She was loved passionately,
acknowledged and celebrated for sharing their togetherness; his share of
togetherness included. She was accepted unconditionally with all her
imperfections, showered with unrestricted affection, secured with
unwavering attention; his affection and his attention.<br />
<div>
<br />
She
looked at the clock. 6:15 pm. About time, she thought. After putting the
stack of folded clothes in the cupboard, she went for a shower. Sprayed
the cypress body mist (his favorite) on her bare body post shower and
then slipped into a white cotton tunic and a pair of ice blue slacks. She could
sense the smell of woods and wild flowers from her body. Hair still damp
with water made her curls go all the more curly. She walked upto the
dressing table and picked up the moisturizer. Rubbing it over her face
and arms she smiled again. As always, it felt good to make that extra
effort for making him smile and lifting up his spirits after a hard
day’s work. Moistening her lips with a fruit scented lip balm, she
looked herself in the mirror. Perfect, she thought. Just the way he likes
to see her.</div>
<div>
<br />
6:30 pm. The doorbell rang. With one final glance in the mirror, she went to open the door smiling.
Her husband stood there busy looking at his cell phone in his hand. She
looked at him and chirped ‘hi!’ ..’hey’ he said, looking at her half
smiling and back to his phone while moving inside the home. She closed
the door behind him and went upto the kitchen to get his glass of juice
and her cup of tea. Placing the glass on the living room’s center table,
she switched on the television and tuned it to the particular sports
channel that was to telecast the soccer finale today. She knew her
husband awaited it eagerly.</div>
<div>
<br />
She picked up
her cup of tea and walked out of the living room to sit on the low cane
chair in the balcony. Looking at the red-orange sky slowly changing to
an ink blue shade, she smiled again at his words -- ‘Had no idea I’ll be
received by a dove today, you look gorgeous in that new white tunic!’<br />
<br />
And with the warmth of his kiss still lingering around her mouth, she sipped on the tea...smiling.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-59645531528777985932014-03-18T02:07:00.000+05:302014-03-18T02:07:47.056+05:30In Between the 'Perfects' & 'Seemingly-Perfects'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>Sam:</b><i> Why do I and everyone I love, pick people who treat us like we’re nothing?</i><br />
<b>Charlie:</b> <i>We accept the love we think we deserve.</i><br />--- <b>The Perks of Being a Wallflower</b><br />
<br />Weird however it may be but, its an unarguable fact that we accept the love we think we deserve and quite ironically, that love most often is the kind of love that’s just not meant for us. We are a part of this mad, mad world where everyone is running after things, people, emotions that are least fitting for them. Wasting ourselves to get hold of our objects of desire, trying every tactic possible to make it work the way we want it to, going reasonably unreasonable with our lives for that one damn thing that we think ‘should’ be ours...but what do all those efforts boil down to? --- Disappointment.<br />Plain disappointment, simply because what is not meant for us would never be ours...no matter how hard we try.<br />
<br />It is indeed strange how we all are submitted to human psyche’s one black rule --- 'Perfect' things shall be taken for granted while the 'Seemingly-Perfect' things shall be adored and craved for beyond capacity.<br />
We are somehow booted not to value the most fitting things for they find a way to us and hence, they automatically lose worth. The desirability quotient ironically stands inversely proportionate to the kind of treatment we are granted. We crave for the person’s attention who never pays attention to us, a relationship becomes an obsession where we are treated like just-another-partner, we fall in love with people who aren’t or wouldn’t fall in love with us…so on and so forth the round world keeps running round.<br />
<br />Lives could have been so much more simple if we were able to see through, identify and accept things that were meant only for us; that fitted best to us. Could have spared so many broken hearts, crying eyes, disappointments, disgust, hatred, irritation, inferiority...if only, we never picked people who treated us like we were nothing! <br /></div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-50893214238015378742014-01-21T01:20:00.001+05:302014-09-09T21:11:47.814+05:30The Language of Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Somebody said it well - 'Sometimes the most powerful thing
you can say is - nothing at all.'<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t know why but, I find silence extremely liberating. Being
a person who most often finds words falling short to replicate the expressions,
silence for me is the most powerful and compatible language. No, am not an
introvert nor a loner, but somehow things that I can’t say in a combination of thousand
words, I can convey it seamlessly through silence, that too in the most unadulterated
form. It is legible – Silence, it is expressive and it is beautiful, if only
you understand it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is something loud and clear about unspoken words, they
spell thoughts and emotions in the most genuine form for, one never goes silent
on things one isn’t passionate about. Sitting against a window watching the
raindrops, walking down the pavements alone, sinking in the wishful reveries –
silence is all consuming. And soothing. And addictive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It caresses the soul like
nothing else; a drug to which the more you get access to, the more you ask for
it. A cocooned sphere where you are not answerable to anyone nor anyone else is put to answering you. A space where you can be yourself and let others be the way they are, where relationships are not robbed off their dignity and warmth, where there are no blame games and expectations...its just a golden space, a vacuumed golden space where you are devoid of all the worldly vices and virtues and find yourself floating in the abyss of a perfect wonderland of your thoughts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...yes, I have and I do wander to that golden field beyond the right-doings and wrong-doings many a times...the place where words are shunned while silence speaks for itself...I relate to it, to that golden field; guess its the place I belong to...</div>
</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-82148408726328397262014-01-11T02:02:00.000+05:302014-01-13T00:15:27.317+05:30One Saturday Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She had always been excited about her birthdays, ever since her childhood. This year she was a little more excited… it was going to be special for her coz her birthday was falling on a Saturday!<br />
<br />
A SATURDAY……of late, the cold wintry Saturday nights had turned into warm cozy conversations for her. She sleepwalked the entire week to stay up all through the Saturday nights for those sweet nothings that made her smile the following days. For her, to have her birthday on a Saturday this year was a small little trick of destiny for fostering the bond that grew, a bit more strong.<br />
<br />
She daydreamed about the events of her special day as she entered her birthday month. With each passing day her anxiety and excitement increased…for anxiety made her stand in front of the mirror and practice the standard replies to the standard questions. Recording and analyzing her voice speaking vague monologues were another attempt at correcting the voice pitch. Spoken conversations had never been her forte and so, she practiced, practiced, practiced and practiced hard; she didn’t want to mess it up at any cost...not this time. As for the excitement, she couldn’t wait for her birthday to witness what the day held for her; how she would be pampered – It was to be a Saturday afterall.<br />
<br />
Her birthday – 12:00 a.m. – Cell started beeping in as her friends and family members poured texts and calls to wish her. She thanked everyone, laughed, chirped, enjoyed the attention with only one thing at the back of her mind – It’s a Saturday today.<br />
<br />
9:00 a.m. – Her spirits were high. She roamed in the house like a five year old kid – singing, jumping, fooling around; excited and hopeful about the day ahead. She was ardently waiting for ‘the conversation’ to happen coz it was her birthday and, it was a Saturday.<br />
<br />
4:00 p.m. – She shuffled her closet to find the most complementing accessories for the clothes that she planned to wear for celebrations with her friends. She then blow-dried her hair until she got them styled exactly as she wanted. The amount of moisturizer was a bit more generous today coz she had to look her best not because it was her birthday, but because it was a Saturday.<br />
<br />
6:00 p.m. – Amidst all the hullabaloo of celebrations with her friends, she had a clear sense of just one simple fact; the day that it was – Saturday.<br />
<br />
9:00 p.m. – Her anxiety was at its peak. This – was the time ‘the conversation’ needed to happen for, the hours of her special day were slipping away. She was sad for not being paid any attention since morning and so didn’t need any other reason to complain or spoil the highly anticipated conversation. Her anxiety, nervousness and irritation didn’t allow her to part from her phone simply because it was a Goddamn Saturday!<br />
<br />
12:00 a.m. – Lying in her bed, she couldn’t believe her cell screen showing a different date and a different day. Her ‘birthday’ which was on a ‘Saturday’ was over…and…there was no conversation.<br />
With a sudden sense of betrayal, she found the flashes of her speech practicing, dressing up, getting herself clicked and more, mocking at her. Feeling utterly foolish and unable to hold back, all her efforts, reveries, hopes came out flooding through her eyes. Heartbroken, at last she kept her phone away and pulled on the quilt to cover herself up; a meek attempt at mentally saving herself of the embarrassment. Her body curled instinctively beneath it as she felt exceptionally cold…and then an afterthought –<br />
<br />
Maybe her birthday was not meant to be on a Saturday, maybe it pained more coz it was on a Saturday.</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-56182432569155676352013-08-14T01:28:00.001+05:302013-08-14T11:08:15.699+05:30A Soul's Twin Sides<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One person - One kind of behavior. That's how it is supposed to be. A person has to react, behave, conduct himself in a certain way; it is a fundamental rule of nature but then how do you deal with split personalities?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With two stark sides within, I feel a defaulter at nature's rule of having single personality in a single body. Quite obviously it is never pleasing or comforting to know that you are different from the normal set of people; that you are slightly abnormal at normal things and so is the case with me too. It is embarrassing, annoying, irritating, disturbing, saddening and more - being absolutely unpredictable and unreasonable at the pettiest of things while taking major issues nonchalantly with a pinch of salt.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At times I wonder if people around me or associated with me in anyway are asked for a brief description of mine, there'll definitely be two stark character sketches at disposal. For on one hand I am identified as an extrovert who is a motor-mouth, talks non-stop about random things, laughs loud, finds fun in the most serious circumstances, gets along with almost everyone, told to be a happy-go-lucky person who apparently lights up the surrounding environment to the extent of being titled as - Little Miss Sunshine.</div>
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That's one side. And then there's a flip side to this popular perception.</div>
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The side which is highly vulnerable, where everything happens to be at extreme - joys, sorrows, love, jealousy, possessiveness..everything. That's the side which doesn't like to talk at all, is under-confident about striking a dialogue or taking up things upfront, the side which avoids people deliberately for the sheer fear of being judged by them; thus, being inaccessible to most of the people around.</div>
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Basically there's one self which is supremely confident and optimistic about everything in life and then there's one self which is extremely vulnerable and pessimist about every single thing under the sun. </div>
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And so what happens when such polar sides exist in the same frame? One tends to flash these sides on and off as a part of the routine life. How? Well, one talks, talks, talks, talks at one hour and then without any reason falls silent for the rest of the day. One goes crazy partying, boozing, fooling around with people and then feels uncomfortable and difficult to the core to pick up their simple phone calls. One pours ones heart out to a person one day minus any nudging and then feels disgusted at self for letting all the secrets out without any rhyme or reason. That's what happens when you have split personalities, and when does it become most awful? It is when people who happen to know you in and out with a chance of getting a glimpse of both sides of your soul tell you that you are 'abnormal'. When they spell it out for you that you are 'not-so-likingly' different from 'normal' people. That's when it hits real bad because it is never a deliberate effort to behave 'abnormally', neither anyone takes pride in being identified as an eccentric case but then if one is, so to say, naturally booted with a split personality, how is one supposed to behave unlike it!</div>
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So for all the normal janta I just wanted to put it on record -</div>
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I am a person with a soul which has twin sides, if you can't deal with it that's not my problem. Sorry to put your opinions about me at bay but, I think I am absolutely normal in an abnormal way.</div>
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Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-17110386919075756232013-07-24T19:51:00.001+05:302013-07-26T09:35:37.308+05:30The Cycle of Deeds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6BrsA274Mwg9icyaewSet2AyhQUH0qTzEe_OuqQauqMisy6S7VhivM_98rkzmEeBYqvnPL7zKzSCHFQbvLIFf9naVveUg5PVT5CZz3Luovbj_wYs8Lwy9Oh6TPSlvLGDKOA2OXM/s1600/ZenCircle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6BrsA274Mwg9icyaewSet2AyhQUH0qTzEe_OuqQauqMisy6S7VhivM_98rkzmEeBYqvnPL7zKzSCHFQbvLIFf9naVveUg5PVT5CZz3Luovbj_wYs8Lwy9Oh6TPSlvLGDKOA2OXM/s200/ZenCircle.jpg" width="197" /></a>Life comes a full circle and how! What you do, does come back to you, especially the wrongdoings. Guess this 'Karma' thing is not just a make-believe term, it actually does exist, in its truest form. Either that or there's some weird rule of this world that you would be sharing the shoes of people connected to you at some point in time..why? Well, just for the heck of feeling how it feels to be stuck in a certain situation that you put them in sometime..that's when the dormant guilt of wrongdoing catches up like never before..and then when you look back for forgiveness all that you receive is a mocking expression as if saying - 'this-is-how-it-feels';'this-was-how-I-felt';'it-feels-THIS-bad!'<br />
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Though isn't it just human to take a stand..to make a choice..to take a decision that might be against the other person, no matter how clean your intentions are? The task of refining your own conscience at the cost of others' emotions (knowingly) at times becomes indispensable..one just cant escape it..you take the decision, make the choice but then after a period of time, one fine day you find yourself standing in that person's shoes with somebody else playing your part..returning every bit of what you gave to that person; in similar fashion.</div>
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Its a vicious cycle..circumstances change, characters change but the core remains the same - You get what you give.</div>
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Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-63955181019075555062013-06-12T12:49:00.002+05:302013-11-17T23:08:58.631+05:30Monotony Scribbled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8I-PxjsIIF6I_XTUKLzeMY_zRaAqtdlFEHD20LKvYuSgbto37VU7Esihf-MCRu5HiK3VUG7lbUfaFycQrwmdedwhLaePtJaaZ37hOAcRL6D1z3TbpgopQZFXOebiK-2VCICn95qQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8I-PxjsIIF6I_XTUKLzeMY_zRaAqtdlFEHD20LKvYuSgbto37VU7Esihf-MCRu5HiK3VUG7lbUfaFycQrwmdedwhLaePtJaaZ37hOAcRL6D1z3TbpgopQZFXOebiK-2VCICn95qQ/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a> I get to my active senses with the morning alarm on phone, sharp at 6:30 a.m....hands fidget to get hold of that mean gadget and swipe it to snooze off only to be buzzed again at 7:00 a.m....the alarm does solves its purpose this time; I get up and sit for a while on bed - closed eyes - blank state...Ears pick up Ramdev baba's wise words on yoga asans from the television in the other room...If not paying attention to her favorite show, mom is seen moving around purposely doing morning chores...I take in all, get up and make an effort to get ready to start yet another day...by 7:45 a.m. I am all set for office...7:50 a.m. phone rings for a missed call; indication that the cab is well outside my place...I gather my stuff, check for anything missing and rush out of the home...after an hour long drive, some good-bad music, plain silences/chit-chat, 8:55 a.m. I am dropped at office...its always a snail pace to enter office...unenthusiastic, uninterested, mechanical...I punch in my I-card at the attendance machine - 9:00 a.m. - Sanchi Kala - Accepted...there starts a grilling day...work load, deadlines, meetings, differences, cribbing, ranting, assessing, processing, sweet talk, hate talk, gossips, opinions......6:25 p.m. phone rings for a missed call again; indication that the cab is waiting
outside my office...I gather my stuff, check for anything missing and
rush out of the office...I punch in my I-card again at the attendance machine - 6:30 p.m. - Sanchi Kala - Accepted....after an hour long drive, some good-bad music, plain silences / no chit-chat this time, 7:50 p.m. I am dropped at home...I am welcomed by my elder sister at this hour warmly/coldly - depends on her mood; it is very unpredictable...Mom can be heard chanting an aarti in the kitchen, I pop in to get a glimpse of hers, everytime, to catch this moment...it is comforting to see her ensured presence after a grueling day...by the time I freshen up, she's ready with tea, refreshments and her 12-hour day updates...she talks and I hear but not listen...I scroll through the channels, Rahul Kanwal / Arnab Goswami / Some reality show - the general halt points...10:00 p.m. am eating and watching television, surfing FB, scrolling through phone, mindlessly...11:00 p.m. am still watching television, surfing FB, scrolling through phone, mindlessly...11:30 p.m. eyes start drooping...I get up to check my wooden wardrobe, look at the pile of clothes, pick up a set that is closest to hand, iron it for next day and go back to bed...12:00 a.m.<br />
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A day lived; A day wasted.</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-63581245819908227692013-06-08T01:33:00.003+05:302015-02-16T16:45:10.916+05:30French Window<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The mirror reflected an unpleasant sight...she herself couldn't take it in for long...those burn marks and scars could make anyone look away from her face. It was not his fault. She felt guilty for blaming it on him...nobody could in all physicality 'love' that sight; her appearance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPrTvv2kyejrI683d67_CWo4OXvkwxYQ8H9epJWkXesSz2FZ9csHw6mPzt7_F9q980IAofT5tuwZZ3RUz5-pkasxR4hQ9aW0K3WNUkt5kIZJ1RoSYnib3aj9kCpfYhHRzpYn_Axg/s1600/FrenchWindows051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPrTvv2kyejrI683d67_CWo4OXvkwxYQ8H9epJWkXesSz2FZ9csHw6mPzt7_F9q980IAofT5tuwZZ3RUz5-pkasxR4hQ9aW0K3WNUkt5kIZJ1RoSYnib3aj9kCpfYhHRzpYn_Axg/s1600/FrenchWindows051.jpg" /></a>She sat on the French window sill...looking at the landscaped open spaces ahead. Memories started rewinding...what a day it was when they bought their dream home and moved in...after all that incessant planning, exploring, saving every penny, they were finally able to book this house and then own it...this French window, how can she forget the argument that they had, to get it done...she had to keep ranting about her wish and reason it with him to use that space for window and not for his customized bookshelf. He was annoyed yet gave in with a smile...ever since, so much they had shared on this window sill..talked away those breezy summer nights, cuddled up in winters...those coffee and music sessions while enjoying rain...how can she forget...but she does remember it all...and he ought to remember it too....if only he remembers it...</div>
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Curtains moved..she turned around to see who it was..he walked in with a glass of water in his hand...she tried to welcome him with her half, painful smile but he didn't seem to notice...may be she didn't really seem like smiling...or else he would have acknowledged it..he always did...prior to that accident. </div>
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He gave her the glass of water..she moved a bit to make space for him to sit as well..he didn't seem to notice that too..he kept standing, handed her the pills and waited till she had them all...she looked at him, he looked at her hands holding those tablets..was it really so difficult to even glance at the person whom he so passionately loved only until a few months back? She without a word, took her tablets...he took the glass from her hands and went....She kept staring his back from that French window...</div>
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...he was gone and she was left there sitting at the window sill alone, with just some extra space...</div>
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Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-91765247237262664422013-06-06T12:39:00.001+05:302013-06-06T21:23:16.461+05:30Dialogue - I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Head:</b> ..so..after soo long, how have u been?<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Heart:</span></b> .. :) ..good, good...you missed me or what?<br />
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<b>Head:</b> Naah...was just wondering if you still exist in this bodily world..you know what I mean ;)<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Heart:</span></b> Oh come'on..! I am still hale & hearty ..very hearty.. ;) cant’ you listen to this – lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub.. ;)<br />
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<b>Head: </b>Yes of course! You so do sound hearty mate.. :) ..so how had life been all this while..? you were virtually non-existent!<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Heart:</span></b> Life was just as usual..I am ok being a solitary fellow dude…don’t really crave to socialize like you…so yeah..it was good…happy & content in its own way.. :)<br />
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<b>Head:</b> Such a loser that you’ve always been! Get a life dude, get a life!<br />
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<span style="color: red;"><b>Heart:</b> </span>Sure…the only thing that you’ve got to tell me...like ALWAYS! ...don’t you feel shallow partying, boozing, indulging with strangers...running allll the while like that...? it must be taxing!<br />
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<b>Head:</b> Shallow? Are you kidding me? I am ‘living’ every second of this life…savoring it…not like you loser…wasting it away with that crappy-solitary-philosophy!<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Heart:</span></b> Living and savoring it for others…to fit into the crowd of that oh-so-happening-people…how many moments have you actually lived for yourself..really?<br />
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<b>Head:</b> Wow! See am not in for that retrospection track now! forget about me ...you explain what have you gained being a lonesome? How have you like really, ‘lived’ for yourself…any soulful insights there?<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Heart:</span></b> At least I am at peace! And anyway I am comfortable in my own space so just let it be…you wont understand…<br />
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<b>Head: </b>Of course I don’t understand this loser like attitude of yours..! Staying comfortable in your own space is one thing dude while shutting yourself up in an air tight box is other! You know what I mean? GET A LIFE!<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">Heart:</span></b> I’l get a life, you go get some meaning into yours! Wonder why we are at loggerheads every time..stop wasting time with me..am sure you must be having better things at hand to indulge in…<br />
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<b>Head:</b> Yeah right...F**k Off loser!</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-8993520578477093412013-05-31T01:31:00.001+05:302013-05-31T12:41:25.303+05:30Lost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She ran.....kept running....in those dark woods...feet were wounded by those small seemingly unharming sharp slivers of dried leaves...arms and knees scratched all over by a couple of falls...fast her heart was losing hope and her body the energy to pursue the lookout....she was following the same track as told by the old lady she had met outside that party hall...it was a streak of light in the midst of woods that was supposed to be her calling...her eyes were frantically searching for that ray that was to guide her to the land where she belonged; if she really belonged.... <br />
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It was such a beautiful evening...everything was just perfect...she knew she was looking her best, she knew she was behaving her best...people were enjoying her company and so was she..enjoying all the attention with elan.......until it was this old wrinkled lady whom she saw staring at her from the glass window across the hall....it was a meaningful look...of all the people in the party it was her that the old lady seemed to lay eyes on....she excused herself and walked past all her near and dear ones, leaving the hall behind to meet the old lady...she was received with a pair of wise grey eyes....the old lady didn't say a word...she turned back to again stare at the party hall...she too turned to see the same...it was a different perspective from here and was apparent that the old lady wanted to show her - her world - from a varied viewpoint.<br />
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Where had all the fun, frolic, smiles and laughter gone? She was sure she enjoyed all that and more while being a part of that party herself! Every color from the party seemed to have been washed away...the atmosphere seemed pale and gloomy...her folks walked around like machines - smooth, structured, lifeless. This was not what she was a part of only a few minutes back...the realization was sickening...she turned to face the old lady who then turned and slowly pointed her finger at the woods; the dark mysterious forest that lay ahead...'amidst the darkness lies the ray that follows to the land you belong' those were the words...<br />
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She belonged............the sense of completion that the thought carried was enough for her to dare the darkness of those haunting woods...she left for into the woods...and the forest gulped her....</div>
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She is still running....stumbling.............fumbling with her steps on the way......the darkness seems to multiply layer with every passing minute...she is scared to the core for now there might be an inevitable danger that she could no longer dare...................<br />
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...defenses lay low.....vulnerabilities soar....</div>
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Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1721664553570298303.post-74309094086403440862013-05-29T22:02:00.001+05:302013-06-02T23:44:16.277+05:30Acting Strange for Strangers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Strangers....perhaps the most mysterious term in itself it is...heavy with uncertainties of all sorts and yet ironically, few of those 'strangers' at times end up becoming the most integral part of our lives! Doesn't that fact echo hypocrisy at its very base level? Best friends, lovers, enemies, untitled bonds - A 'stranger' can be all that and of course more...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHTFmGAbogrUSzQA4Euy-hysdh86wLXgIKsQqBZPhApMNvWbrunlaSj20sJods-XvkMuifEppEWxZlG0q_EMtxLU0SBdQocMY-k8wvInUC59hXerVsW0VsAKSuYCU_9lx-yqIWuU/s1600/faces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHTFmGAbogrUSzQA4Euy-hysdh86wLXgIKsQqBZPhApMNvWbrunlaSj20sJods-XvkMuifEppEWxZlG0q_EMtxLU0SBdQocMY-k8wvInUC59hXerVsW0VsAKSuYCU_9lx-yqIWuU/s200/faces.jpg" width="190" /></a>Today while catching up with some 'me-time' on my way back home, I wondered why as humans we have this general tendency of automatically slipping into the defensive mode on coming across with a 'stranger'. Being one of the typical Capricorns who are known for not trusting people easily, I always end up in being way too pessimist about every 'stranger'. Its this instant denial mode that shifts gear and pulls the wheels onto a by lane track... may be that's why the common perception - 'Quitter'.<br />
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I guess I've got a separate self-made dictionary in my head to comprehend strangers.<br />
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- A stranger who is cordial - Pretentious<br />
- A stranger who is easy going and friendly - Fishy<br />
- A stranger who doesn't talk much - Snob<br />
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Now That - pretty much explains my narrow minded approach towards 'strangers'...high time I broaden my mental horizons...indeed!</div>
Sanchi Kalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01757193204187314745noreply@blogger.com1