The Hazy Road

Time is the loneliest sinner. It renders all injustice, instills inspiration, ignites truth, and oversees plagues, wars, and atrocities. It has seen all, been all, known all, and is all. Alone. Quiet. In the tick of every second, the bell of every hour, the sunrise of every day. How little do we know of Time? How old is Time? How well do we understand it? How much has it seen disappear while we strive to prove our futile significance? If there is an entity, a concept we understand, but cannot truly perceive, is it more powerful than Time? The great equalizer. The thief silently that controls our actions, guides our thoughts, and changes worlds, while stealing from us the life we so closely guard. Time is God. It creates, and it destroys. If God isn't a man or a woman, and It isn't human, well, it's not too fancy to assume that you're reading this right now because Time dictates whether you are free to do so. For it is the loneliest sinner. Time- The L...

They tell you to smile. Here's what they don't: As you walk your miles of life Giving in to your needs, not wants Smiling a bit, in forceful habit Like a stranger's eye contact panic, Your face sheds it's innocence Your skin, its brilliant softness To give way to a skeleton's clothing To make way for the desolation and loathing For the world, and your role in it, And your smile in its poor limits. They tell you to smile Here's what they don't: Human faces grow sadder over the years Time, faster, and without family, slower Walking a daily struggle Confined to your routine bubble, looking up a body's disaster. So walk in the streets At 12 in the morning To notice the sunshine And the concrete warming Notice the man looking at your feet Too ashamed to face your face Too ashamed to show his eyes His tears he hides And ask, once, in all honesty: Would you like help, if you were right beside? Smile Written by Yash Raj...

And we'll walk down city streets we don't know Playing songs we don't know the lyrics to Awkward, giggling, smiling randomly, because we can You'll look at me, and pause And I'll say curiously, "What?" "Nothing," you'll reply softly, And look away Into nothingness Nowhere. And in these nothings you'll steal time  To stare at my cryptic eyes And maybe, just maybe My damned soul. Treasures you hope to find Are not locked away Inside any chests Or hearts. Unravel. Ease in. Breathe out. Sigh. And please, oh please Let yourself dream a miracle. the letter of promises Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: conversations are important]

They talk about us, my love, In books and in trains, In wet window panes of homes, And on streets of the sane, And the papers and morning coffee, All carry the same name; Some hide in their cocoons, Some curse His bloody game, Some rejoice at the mercy Some run for cover, for space; They talk about us, my love, They know not our pain, You left teary when it was raining, And love, it's the same rain. the sky and the clouds (or, confessions likely forgotten) Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: rains fill you]

The walls have ears. The walls have tears. City walls are among the saddest things in creation. They see all, hear all, know all. Yet, they know none who can notice, listen, understand. Take a walk down an old narrow lane in Kolkata, and pause midway. Notice the tattered walls. The not-aesthetic artwork that Smoke decided would look good there. The mould that chose to survive there. The doodled wicket. The artificial stench of old concrete. The cold surface skin. The monsoon tears. Why wouldn't you feel strange in the streets at night? You know the feeling, just not the reason. For you can't hear the silent screams drowning into the night; see the bleeding tears mixing in with the clouds; know the sins witnessed held against their frames. No wonder the sky turns blue with sadness at night. the decaying city Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: you will grow to love Kolkata]

She waited for the sky To weep for his departure And the sun To hide in shame And the grey To fill her world And the leaves To shine with hope But most of all, She waited for the night To hide her dark soul For she knew she had to be The night to greet his star. grey world Written by Yash Raj Talan [note to self: depression, personified as a woman]

About two years ago, Ruby Rose, an Australian model and actress, starred in a video she wrote for herself. All she wanted was to speak her mind. And speak her mind she did. In two days of going live, the video had millions of views, and currently has close to 26 million of them. Her story has changed lives. Ruby Rose is a transgender lesbian. For those who are ??? about this, this means her body was not like a typical woman, and that she prefers women over men. When she was about five or six, she wished to be a boy, but she wasn't. Over the years she struggled with her identity, and had her own journey through which she discovered who she truly wanted to be. You can watch the beautiful short film here(trust me, it's worth it, really): Cut to 2018. Feminism, the dreaded word of internet history, has been the cause of many virtual battles in comment sections almost everywhere. Somehow, the losers tend to be not the ones typing, or fighting, but people whose rights ...

I have a friend. He says it’s important to not ruin perfection with things. Silence is perfection. Words are limitations, barriers to perfect communication and leave memories imprinted with tags that make things...small. Idealism, isn’t it?  (video at the end of the post)

So there's this woman who is an artist. I mean she is a true artist. She acts and she writes and she performs them so well. She writes about society. About change. About problems. And reality. This video is about the reality we read every day in our newspapers. The reality that is printed every morning in newspapers and the reality that we cannot help avoid. The reality that we ignore in words but see in the world. An ordinary day. Ruined by some people who probably don't even deserve to be called people. This is about us. Please watch.

I think I am in love. I don't know with what exactly. Haven't given it much thought. Maybe it's with the beauty of the world, this same imperfect, unfair world that I had grown to resent once in a while. Maybe it's with the heights of human endeavour I see every day- improving bit by bit, minute by minute, day by day. Maybe it's the smile of a stranger- a small child who has much to know, but manages to smiles at what he does know.

"If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way." Martin Luther King Jr said that. When you think of excellence, words like being the best, being closest to perfect and being exceptional in whatever one does, flash through the mind. It is not a skill that is inborn in some and acquired by others, like writing or painting. It is an attitude that you develop in yourself. The habits that make you, you. Yes, excellence is a part of you. The attitude of being extremely good at whatever you do, and doing it with utmost hard work and dedication, is excellence. You better yourself. Fix mistakes. Do your best. Seek greatness. All the time. That is what marks you from the rest. The will to dream. The striving to achieve great feats. Refusing to settle for mediocrity. Doing what nobody else has done. Pushing boundaries of possibility. Breaking barriers. Going where no soul has been. Excellence gives satisfaction to the heart, and success comes automa...

I love the fact that somewhere in this world, a Grammar Nazi, a protector of languages, exists for me who’ll make my life less annoying and more perfect. Who is a Grammar Nazi? According to the Urban Dictionary, a Grammar Nazi is someone who believes it's their duty to attempt to correct any grammar and/or spelling mistakes they observe. Its earliest known use dates back to January 19th, 1995 when the term appeared on a newsgroup. As long as Earth’s languages survive, the term is here to stay. A YouTube video at the end of this post describes them very well. They take out time from their really busy schedules to fix your mistakes. It’s such a noble job, you know. They bring about change- in writing habits and speaking skills. They teach you how to use a language the way it’s meant to be used. They improve you. Free of cost. A Grammar Nazi bleeding out emotions. Image credit: MEMECENTER.COM I am a Grammar Nazi myself. What do I do when I get angry? Oh, I correct gramm...

I don’t know what to write. It’s a huge crisis for me. And I’m not even writing for a school exam/project. A crisis in the sense that I am not writing down any of my strange, unique, and possibly precious thoughts. Exaggeration aside, I am letting ideas pass without taking a moment to value their worth, let alone make any effort to bring them to fruition. I’m letting the river of thoughts flow into a sea of oblivion without utilizing it by storing some of it through productive means in safe places like in some creation or in someone’s mind, where they may reside as memories. I would have included telepathy as a means to communicate and share thoughts too, but it unsurprisingly never works for me. Perhaps some more years of collective psychological advancement of the human race will bring telepathy close to being a real possibility, but as of now the only way to exploit my river of thoughts is to write. I would have chosen talking for sharing my mind’s opinions, ideas and feelings...

People always seem to be in a hurry on this road near my house. In a hurry to perhaps be on time for their meeting, to reach home after a tiring workday to feed their hunger with delicious food made by their wives, to meet their loved one waiting for them at the restaurant 2 miles off from here, or travel to someplace far, in hopes of success, opportunity, challenges or a new beginning.  The road, too, tries to selflessly cooperate, by helping people get where they want to go, and, in the process, gets worn out, hurt, and damaged. But it does not avoid is duty of serving others. Once in a while, some people take care of it: they appreciate its service, while the more caring ones do their bit by filling the faults and fixing the damage marks. Consequently, the road, worth renewed enthusiasm, continues to guide others and lead them... Somewhere. Safely.  I want to be selflessly dedicated like the road- give my life to caring and helping, and like the road, i too need a...

Dear Friends, Things are starting to change again. That's what happens. Some things eventually do mess up. Many of us will go our own separate ways. The crazy group of guys that the Class 10 Batch of 2014-15 is will be missed. I wonder what will happen of the schools that each of us are heading to. I guess we're going to make history. Hitler vali history nahi, achi vali! Think positive guys! Friends made life worth living. They made it hell on some days, yes, but then they joined you in hell too so that you can celebrate life and laugh again. We all have had our highs and lows. Our days of achievement and our days of failure. The masti. The stupid little things. The embarrassment. The grinned look with which we would see our partners when someone would make some funny remark. The suppressed smiles and laughter. The intelligent excuses as well as the silly ones. The heights of madness. The astronomical heights of awesomeness. Problems? What problems? Hum hi musibat ...

This is the worst post I'll ever write * . Ever since man has known Facebook, he has learnt to laugh at a glaring screen. He has learnt to cry at the screen too. The social animal that he is has learnt to be "more" social than ever before. Today, one can talk to someone miles away through instant messages and share emotions reduced to certain emoticons (which don't even make sense at times). Our feelings, opinions, ideas are reduced to a random Facebook post or comment. People read on. I wonder how many of them bother to understand. I wonder. So, are times so bad that we need to advertise our feelings today? Are people so selfish that they do not bother to even ask us about ourselves? We're spending a large part of our lives doing stuff that does not make sense. Stuff that does nothing to evolve us, improve us, prepare us for tomorrow. I check my News Feed. I see sad people. I see others making fun of them. I see ideas. I see others mocking those ide...

In words I found love. I would play with them, arrange them one next to the other, scribbling them off whenever they did not obey me and convey the meaning I wanted, decorating the i's and the y's with beautiful loops and curves, and smiling with pride once I wrote a beautiful writing. I would throw them around in obscure corners of paper- newspaper advertisements, useless posters, math sums- and my computer. I would be ruthless enough to forget them when I got frustrated about where to put them in my writing, and then, like a reluctant child, come back looking for the same beautiful phrases which I once discarded as stupid. Stories did not come into my mind like a train of thoughts, waiting for me to board it and be carried and led into a new world. They came in my romances with words. I would stare at a word or a sentence for long and out of some unknown fear or perhaps change of mind, the words would convey a different meaning than what dictionaries describe. They ...

I have a question for you: is bravery the lack of fear? Let's find out. Bravery is by definition " feeling no fear ". However, it is far different from the definition. Take an example of the November 2008 Mumbai Terror Attacks that devastated parts of Mumbai. While there were terrorists with dangerous weapons, the army and police fought valiantly against them to stop them. Were they not brave, caring less about their own life for the sake of other people who were stuck in the terror-stricken buildings held under captivity by flames and weapons? Of course they were. Patriotism at its best. Were they fearless? Did they not fear death? Did their hands not tremble when they saw their fellow soldiers getting gunned down one-by-one? Of course brave people feel fear. If you were held at gunpoint, would you not plead for life? As they say, (almost) everything is relative, even truth. What we widely accept as the perceived truth the definition of bravery is ...

It was too much to begin with, and too much to carry on till the end. Words seemed to lose meaning. Emotions clogged his thoughts to the extent that they were not understandable enough to any person on Earth but him: he knew that in the broken English and his faint sense of grammar he had written what would send him to an unforgettable trip down memory lane, where he would wish to live for just an eternity longer, no less. He would want to get lost in those thoughts and forget his pain that was a result of nothing but mistakes. Mistakes which had suddenly found a place in her doubting mind and her heart that was losing trust: everything began to seem different so suddenly, and soon those doubt-inducing thoughts created devils that drove her good spirit into a place where his existence did not seem necessary … the barriers of mind had finally managed to deaden her heart: the heart that longed comfort once, but was now pretending not to need it anymore… For her the illusion lasted lon...