voices in my head

  So when I was making tea the other day, oh wait.  I like tea. I drink an awful lot of tea every day. My mom thinks it's an addiction, and I might die of cancer one day.  Though what I can't tell her is that, if it wasn't for Chai I would've taken my own life a long time ago. Chuckles. So I was making tea and it's nice and warm outside. You know the 4 'O clock light warmness. The sky slowly turning orange-red gradient. Soon it'll be Violet when looked through my bathroom window. It's a cool view, so I sometimes stand there for a while even after I'd done with the peeing. Especially if my neighbor is cooking, the smoke would be all upon the sky, and orange and violet beams gliding through it give a cool view. Where was I? So I was making tea, and all these snippets of memories come back running to me. And the funny thing was that these are memories of events that have never happened, you know. But it felt like events that I'd already experienced,...

Some days, Some days, when my mother comes to wake me up in the morning, I feel like a stranger to her. I feel like a stranger to my father sitting opposite on the breakfast table. I go out and the world feels so strange. Like everyone's been here for a long time and I kinda just arrived, a newcomer.  I feel like a stranger when I'm sitting with my friends and they're all laughing about something. But the strange thing is no one else identifies this. I'm the only one acting weird that too on the inside. I feel like a stranger when I look at myself in the mirror. What am I seeing? Do I like what I see?  These days I feel like a stranger to my life. Like, if my life was supposed to be a movie, I wouldn't be the protagonist or something. Hell, I wouldn't even be the sidekick of the hero. I wouldn't be the dumb guy always walking along with the hero.  Imagine a crowd shot, and I would be one of'em. Blend in the crowd. Out of focus. A chameleon.  And I don...

Posting old snippets from notepad because no matter how bad it gets, I have to keep this ship afloat. Rather a hot day, though I sleep in for three hours more. I like days like this.  You're just sitting there and the room is ornamented golden by swift beams of sunlight. And you just feel alive thinking about the million things you wanna do or you could do. Augusts here are wet but hot. But there's always a decent amount of breeze that passes by occasionally. I stare into the fiber flower vase with fake flowers and fake leaves sitting there. It doesn't make any rustling sound. It doesn't even care to move with the occasional wind. It's like, "Hey, why do I have to be original in this fake world". I'm wearing nothing but boxers. Lying beside the window, supported by two pillows with green floral printed covers. Holding 'The Great Gatsby' paperback on one hand and a pencil, which has been with me since forever on the other hand. I remind myself o...

  Holidays can be fun. I spent my holidays lying down on my bed doing nothing and thinking about everything. I think a lot. I think when I'm eating. I think when I’m walking. I think when I'm running. I think when I'm taking a shower. I think when I'm taking a pee. I think when I'm listening to music lying down alone in my bed. I think when I'm listening to music sitting on the doors of the train. I think when I’m driving. (which eventually led to me banging my face at the speed of 60kmph behind a parked Innova car. Some stitches, and dislocated bones, I think). I think when I'm being stood up by the lecturer for not doing homework. I think when people ask me, “you don’t talk much or what”. I think when my father is lecturing me about the future and how competitive the world is. I think when my brother asks me why are you so weird without actually asking it. I think when my mother asks me, “why are you so silent, you haven't talked much since you've ...

PS: This is not a movie review, this is me casually typing in the words that are coming out of my mouth starting now. And it's mainly about 'Manchester by the sea', but there's some other stuff too.  "I can't beat it" Two years back or something I saw a cut scene from 'Manchester by the sea', it was like an emotional scene involving Casey Affleck and Michelle Williams. It was so heartbreaking and since I kinda have a thing for sad movies I decided to watch it. So I search for the movie and see this poster :  I thought it was just like one of those sad romantic movies, you know like 'Blue Valentine', which I still haven't seen. So I dropped it. Two years passed, it came upon my shoulders to write a short write up about this same movie for a College thing. So I'm like okay, let's watch it anyway. 2 hours and 17 minutes later I am telling you, I haven't seen a movie which has portrayed the image and exact emotions of a broken m...

 You know how fire extinguishers work? Umm... If I remember my high school textbook correctly. They form this blanket or like a cloud of carbon dioxide around the region of fire,  thus limiting the oxygen supply required for the fire to survive. Okay, your point being? Yeah, so I feel like that. Every now and then, I don't know, is it, God? Is it me? Is it the people around me? Society? My subconscious? I don't know, someone creates this cloud, dark cloud of nothingness around me, and it's sucking the oxygen out of my life. I feel like an ember every morning, just trying to overcome the cloud, survive. And I'm not choking, it's like sucking all the words from inside me, making me more silent every day. Also, I don't want to lose them, so I lay it all down here, in papers, in stickies, whatever piece of paper I can pass my final flickers of fire on to. Sayonara. *** Images: Pinterest

I wake up and it's raining. It has been raining since yesterday midnight The night at which we told things we never told each other When we both stood at the edge of the cliff of our fires, Vulnerable. Alarm reminds me it's an hour past midnight and I should probably get some sleep. I say rain reminds me of you. You say I scare you sometimes by telling these kinda things. I sigh. Yes. My thoughts can be a little bit scary sometimes, Deep. You send me poems written on amber papers. Poems. Words. Is that what binds us? Poems about souls, men women holding cigarettes, Me, you, us. I say I wish I could hear you read 'em You want to know why I don't know. Silence. I admit I'm a hopeless romantic. You say that may make my life painful And you're drained of love and may break hearts. I remember Augustus Waters, I say It'd be a privilege. You say sometimes you don't like who you are. I say neither do I. Maybe it's not ...