Expressing yourself...Insecurity!

23 AUGUST 2014, 05:24 PM
Surreal... that feeling you get, existing outside our bodies..our lives not our own, like observing a play in action where you are not an actor, someone else's life, a life not your own. Its surreal, but at the same time fills you with a heart wrenching sadness. Not being a part of a celebration, feeling completely alone in a crowd...!
Whenever I write my feelings down like this. I have always felt like I'm cheating myself...my feelings exposed for the world to see, and writing them down they seem filled with falsehood, like they don't do these feelings justice.
 And other times I feel as though writing them down for everyone to see makes me someone I'm not...someone seeking attention...someone lost! Writing for me has always been a means of escape. Does everyone have these insecurities...? Have you ever felt that way? Or is it just me?

Lessons Learnt

#5

Someone reminded me recently- “You should take risks Anjana, life is too short not to!”, he had said.

So, thank you for reminding me.

“A boat is safe in the harbour, but this is not the purpose of a boat”- Paulo Coelho.

Building Walls...

One of the unfortunate perks (not!) of being sensitive is that words that might not have carried that much weight or were said jokingly might hit you harder than intended.

It changes you- the knowledge that it hurt you more than intended and you subsequently trying to hide it. You start pretending to be someone you are not, you paste that smile on your face, permanently etched for all to see. They joke and you laugh along, all the while smiling while it slowly kills you inside.

Gradually, the world splits into two kinds of people. One that forever sees you as the happy go lucky person that you endeavour to be, the constant source of reason and joy in their lives.

And then there is these other kind of people. They see the walls that you have built so high around yourself. And they call you cold and heartless. There is a certain trend to them. Some look on with pity, some with censure and some with something pertaining to hero-worship for the stony facade you show them. 

There are times, times when the feelings threaten to brim over that wall you built, you just barely manage to reign it all in, and carve a smile on your face.

Of the Sweetness of Strangers!

At times when life deals out a false hand to you, it is often in the most unexpected of sources that you find joy in.

More often than not, the kindness of strangers makes you find more meaning in life than people you have known all your life. They form the corner in your life reserved for unexpected bouts of joy and blessings.

But most of all, they make you happy and give you hope!

Making someone's day!

That pleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach when you do something special for a friend, acquaintance or even a stranger...
Go ahead, don't think twice and make someone's day!

Lessons learnt

#5
Getting too attached to person is not a healthy option.

Image Courtesy

A story without a moral?!

My early memories of bedtimes are filled with stories and songs. My father would read or tell us a story before sleep. My favourite ones were always the horror ones. My brother hated them, naturally! What isn't natural would be a little girl eagerly waiting to be told a horror story!

I loved all of them, stories from all over the world, prince and princesses, ghosts and demons, stories with morals and stories with a history. Some nights when our father would be away from home, his duty of our bedtime ritual would be overseen by our mother. We would beg and cry to be told a story until our mother finally conceded. But it was always the same one. Always! And till now I haven't been able to decipher the point of the story.

Once upon a time, a long long time ago, a leaf and an unbaked earthen pot decided to go to Kashi (Varnasi-a holy place for the Hindus in India). They met on the way and became fast friends. One day during their journey, a strong wind began to blow. The earthen pot understanding his friends predicament promptly sat on the leaf so that it wouldn't fly away. After the wind stopped blowing, the two friends continued on their journey when suddenly, it began to rain. The leaf promptly sat on the earthen pot to protect it from the dissolving rain. After the rain stopped, their journey continued. A few days into the journey, the weather turned dour. The wind started blowing and it started raining. The earthen pot dissolved in the rain while the leaf was blown away into places unknown.

And that my friends was the exasperating story we were told by our mother again and again until we ourselves never asked for another one from her. So, what do you make of this story? Is it really a story without a moral or just a made up story for nagging children to ponder upon?!

Cheers,
Until next time.

Changing...

There are a lot of people I admire around me, people older than me, my age and even younger than me.  And once I start admiring them for their methods, this slow observation of their skills slowly breathes and creeps into my own way of life. That's how I believe people change, how we become better persons, turn ourselves into something we respect in others.

Image Courtesy

Lessons learnt

#4
Nice strangers do exist. All one needs is  a smile, a friendly attitude and a doze of serendipity.

A Tribute

For everyone who has dared to raise their voices and rise against any prevalent unjust systems...

An ubiquitous silence prevails,
Dominating over the voice Of their fears...
An undercurrent of wanting floats
Wanting to be heard
Over the deafening silence,
Ominous silence.
Sole souls who raise their voices
Suffer sufferings for their act of Bravery and justice,
Solidarity is their crime...
Representatives of common yearning
Have paid the price
With their toil, their blood,
With their souls.
A simple "thank you",
Does not suffice
The extent to which we are indebted to you,
Oh! Brave souls!
Heed our wills
Justice will be done
Truth will prevail.
Our voices will be heard
This silence will be forever broken
And be filled with the sounds of Twinkling, tinkling dreams,
The horn of hope,
Your will, will be done!

Lessons learnt

#3
Inspiration can come from the most unlikely sources...
*Written under the influence of blissful contentment and euphoria.

Lessons learnt

#2
Treat everyone equally. No one is more or less deserving of your attentions.
“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
          -Eleanor Roosevelt

Lessons learnt

#1
Don't direct your anger at someone else, you might end up hurting people you care about.

Absent mindedly...

The scars that mark my soul are milestones of the journey I've covered to reach my destination.

VisDare: Awash

The sea churned violently, the waves rising almost till the masts now. The rains lashed out heavily drenching everyone of us on board within minutes. The storm peaked, decked out on all its fearful glory.
 The deck hands ran about frantically following the orders shouted out. Wave after wave crashed against the bow of the cargo ship. The ship lurched towards the stern as a strong wave crashed against the bow. Desperate shrieks of the unlucky filled the air as they fell overboard. No help was spared, not when each held on for dear life.  Wave after wave crashed into the ship. The hull started rising out of the water. Bodies, alive and dead started slipping towards the stern. The air filled with shrieks of anguish, screams of agony and prayers for deliverance. The ship tipped to the side. Water started filling the deck. The lower floors were already flooded. The ship would tip or break from the pressure. People now willingly threw themselves overboard, death by getting crushed under the ship or drowning, the choice was theirs. The rain had ceased but the waves didn't relent. Despondency clawed at the hearts of the few survivors barely keeping afloat on the pieces of debris floating around.
And just when all hope seemed lost, land loomed in the distance.

The above post was written for Angela's VisDare prompts. Do visit to know more about it.

Devotion

Beside his grave she serenaded

 An Ode to love lost

 Romeo and Juliet's tragic love

Seeking solace in the arms of death

In quest for the lost endearing charm 

A prospect easily ignored, never.

I wrote this after seeing a picture. I could post the picture here, but I believe it's copyrighted.

But here is a description of it. It depicted a young woman playing a harp in front of a grave in the dead of night. 

And the above lines, were my first thoughts...

A thought...

Questions that plague and plunder

The minds of the untainted youth

Each resolution, a stepping stone

To a life seeking truth.

Mummy

The fever had piked up again. It always did, this time around the night. It was the characteristic of typhoid fever. The fever tended to burn a moment and go down the next around the same time for almost a week. My time was around 8 in the evening. But it had been going on for about two weeks now with no sign of subsiding.
My mother had fetched me back from my boarding school that day, and since the two hour ride back, I had been resting. Now she came with a jug of cold water in one of  her hands and strips of clothing in the other. She gently put the jug beside the bed, lifted a strip of cloth, wet it and laid it over my head.
By this time I was shivering quite visibly. It was only October, I was covered with a duvet and still shivered. The digital thermometer seemed stuck on 104* C.
Gradually, the fatigue of the journey caught up with me and I dozed off.
Two hours later, when I opened my eyes again, she was still there, one hand clutching the jug of water and the other resting on the wet cloth on my forehead.

Happy Mother's Day Ma! 
Even though chances are you'll never see this, I want you to know, I love you. 
Despite of all the childish fights and screaming sessions we have, I love you. 
Whenever I get scared or even when I am nervous, before an exam, an interview or anything inconsequential, I still call you, every single time! Because I know you are always there for me, you are this constant lighthouse in the churning seas of my life...my perpetual light and strength.
I love you, Ma!

Temptation

The calls of the depraved

A million miles away

Beckon

A palate never tasted

Standing at the edge

Peering into the darkness yonder

To what it offered

A new life awaited

Sinful and decadent.

While the old one looked on,

The face of an old man

Writ with the wrinkles of wisdom

And eyes of sadness

And acquiescence.

Butterflies

They danced and they twirled

On petals that curled

Blithesome and lighthearted

Ludic souls of nature

Fluttering unaware

Their wings of flight

In another world

Brew rising storms.

When I was young, perhaps in 4th or 5th grade, I remember writing poems on butterflies and eagerly waiting to show them to my father. After those couple of years, I never wrote any poems, high school promised to be more exciting. And it was during these years that I came to learn, again through my father, that as beautiful as their wings can be, they can bring about death and destruction too. A butterflies wings fluttering in one part of the world can bring about a storm/tornado in another part of the world.

Over the years my father reminded me about the poems I used to write. And it is only now that I have finally taken up my pen to write one on Butterflies again.

So...this is for you Papa!

Pic Courtesy(Click Here!!!)

Z...(A-Z Blogging )

Well folks, this is it! The final day of the A-Z Blogging Challenge.
What can I say? It was indeed a challenge. There were times when I almost, but not quite, gave serious thought to giving up. But now that it's the last day, I'm glad I held on. 
Cheers to everyone who took part in it and a "THANK YOU", shout out to the A-Z Team.

The last story...

My head was killing me. It felt like needles were trying to poke out through my head. I had been working on the case for the past one week without making any headway on it. None of the leads we had lead to anything plausible. We had checked them and rechecked them again, but to no avail. I reached inside my desk drawer and pulled out two aspirins from the bottle there. Working in the police force had perhaps had a role in making me an aspirin addict, but I also believed that they contributed a lot to my high success rate at solving cases. But not for long if this keeps on, the though entered my mind unbidden. I let out a long sigh. There were several bank robberies that had been plotted successfully all over the nation. They were all thought to be connected, considering the way they had been extensively planned and carried out left no doubts in mind regarding this. But no real leads on any one of them.
The phone on my table rang, it's shrill cry splitting the silence in my private office. "Detective Lassiter Sir,, Detective Jacobs speaking,we've had a robbery in A_ _ _ _ Bank downtown. The workforce is already here."
"I am there", I put the phone down and hurried out. By the time I reached there the place was crawling with the police and the public, even though it was past eight thirty in the night. An officer quickly came up and started briefing me up with details. I didn't listen. I knew it would be the same again...no signs of forced entry, an empty bank vault, no details on the camera, the security alarm disabled, the bumped up guard tied up and having no clue how he got there and millions of dollars worth of money missing with no clues as to there whereabouts.  Another officer came running up clutching a forensic plastic bag and handed it to me.
It contained a note.
It said-
Until next time Detective Lassiter.
-Z
Well...that was one clue!


Congratulations everyone! We did it!
Until next year everyone...
Keep dreaming.

Yellow-The color yellow(A-Z Blogging)

My theme for this months A-Z Blogging are short fiction works, they can be stories, descriptions, a journal entry from an individual's point of you or a portrait of someone.

I don't like the color yellow.Yellow is sickness. Yellow is death. Yellow is all things that will come to an early end. The color yellow has it's own diseased odor. Perhaps this unnatural fixation of mine started when the yellow fever plagued my village. Although the color yellow had nothing to do with the fever, I had always associated yellow with illnesses and when the yellow fever came, it only succeeded to enforce my beliefs. It was the name I think.
They called it the yellow jack. I was only 9 or 10 at the time. My grandfather caught it, and so did my parents. My sister and I were by some fortunate plan of destiny spared. Grandfather succumbed to the disease followed by my mother. The village lost half of it's population.
Maybe that's why...that I hate it...the color yellow!

Happy Reading!
Criticism is always welcome.

XOXO...(A-Z Blogging Challenge)

My theme for this months A-Z Blogging are short fiction works, they can be stories, descriptions, a journal entry from an individual's point of you or a portrait of someone.
I sincerely hope these stories would succeed in their endeavor to entertain one and all. 


The following series of letters/notes were found tucked inside the journal of Ms.Ellie Jacobson, a murder and abduction victim by the investigating team and is found to be the reason for the same.
Letter 1:
Dearest Ellie,
You don't know me, but I am always there. I have watched you day and night. Don't worry you'll know me soon enough. I'll be waiting for you to notice me.
XOXO
P.S:Did you like the little presents that I have been sending you?

Letter 2:
Dearest Ellie,
How are you today? I watched you yesterday night as you went out with your girlfriends.Don't you think you were a little late coming back. Next time, don't be late.
Anyway, you haven't noticed me till now. I have a little present waiting for you.
XOXO

Letter 3:
Dearest Ellie,
Didn't you like the flowers I sent you? I found the roses in your trash. Why were they there, Ellie? why? What you did was wrong, and you know right?! That wrongdoers must be punished.
XOXO

Letter 4:
Dearest Ellie,
See...I told you that you'll be punished. All right I admit, maybe hanging your cat's body over your bed was a little extreme, but I had to show you...that I didn't like you throwing away my flowers, you had to be punished. So, why did you call the cops?
Maybe it's time we finally meet Ellie.
XOXO

At this stage, at her request , Ms.Ellie Jacobson was provided with police protection at night, when she was home after work.
The last letter was dated _/04_20_ _,. Ms.Jacobson was abducted 24 hours after this letter. It is believed that the abduction took place while she was returning from work.Her body was found 6 days later in a ditch beside the highway with signs of extreme torture. The reason of death was certified to be excessive blood loss and failure of certain organs.

Leave you blog links in the comments and I'll definitely hop on over!
Every day is a new story.

The Hero

The Hero

The sepulcher of joy 

A never ending quest 

 For the panacea of death 

Where alchemists have fallen 

He will rise.

I wonder...

"Rebel children I urge you to fight the turgid slick of conformity with which they seek to smother your glory"
       -Russel Brand

I wonder what my university(ahem!), and other alike(similar!) institutions will think of that?! For my part, I am all for it.

Wars(A-Z Blogging)

My theme for my first ever A-Z Blogging Challenge is fiction pieces. They are a bit amateurish but I hope to get better! 
 Happy Reading...

I walked across the battlefield. We had won. But at what price? The question stirred my mind until it was nothing but a cloudy and misty mass of twirling and dancing thoughts of burden, death and destruction. Most of the bodies that lay on the ground now were of the enemies. Mutilated, twisted, body parts jutting out at awkward angles, heads cut off...We have to give them a proper burial. I sighed. The rusty tang of blood filled my nostrils. So many....dead! Wars...,dirty plots by the privileged , why?, to satisfy the vanity and ego of men too afraid to sort it out themselves at the price of others lives. I picked my sword up from the ground where I had dropped it and walked back towards the encampment.
With a final look back at the battlefield, I heaved with all my might and stuck my sword deep into the earth and took it out again to wipe out the stains of blood. But I was afraid that these stains would never fade.

It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.

-Buddha

Vacation(A-Z Blogging)

The sun shone down and the the sea slowly lulled me to sleep. The sand stuck in my swim suit made me feel ticklish all over. My book was lying open on the sand beside me. I stretched and yawned. Sea gulls circled above me and the blue sky reflected the sea beneath. Time seemed to crawl by and I slowly succumbed to ennui.

I wrote this also for the five sentence fiction challenge. Yeah, hitting two birds with one stone. I hope you enjoy!
Click Here for the FSF Challenge!

Unsung Heroes (A-Z Blogging)

Living on the streets of Chandni Chowk in Delhi was a new journey of discovery everyday. Life never stopped and things were always in motion. Everyday brought something new to look and wonder at.
 So many colors, aromas and people from different cultural backgrounds provided something to look forward to everyday for 9 year old Geeta. Her days were spent roaming and exploring these streets. Her nights were spent curled up inside a thin, worn out blanket with holes with a bunch of other young ones on the side pavements. Food for these souls was an uncertain subject. There were days with one whole meal and there were days with nothing to eat.
On most days Geeta and her friends managed some scraps from the food galis(streets) there. But today was one of her bad days. She hadn't eaten anything since yesterday evening and the sun today was already setting.
Aromas of chaats, dahi wadas, puri sabji's arrested her nose and made her stomach growl. She was very hungry.
She walked along despondently, her shoulders drooping and her eyes staring at the ground. Perhaps that's why she per chanced upon that twenty rupee note. Her grubby hands eagerly reached out to grab it. Clutching it she immediately ran to the nearest shop and ordered puri bhajji. Her hands carried the plastic plate containing 2 puris and some bhaji down to a forlorn color.
"Didi please..", a quiet voice stopped her. "Do din se kuch khaya nahi hai...I haven't eaten anything in two days". Her stomach growled in reply as she looked at the little boy, who looked barely 6, sitting curled into himself. She glanced at the plate in her hands and then at the the little boy.
Her shoulders straightened and her eyes took on a light of their own. Without looking down she placed the plate in front of the little boy and walked away without a backward glance.


Shine your light so others can see through their darkness. - Carol CC Miller

Triggered Reactions (A-Z Blogging)

Thoughts kept pouring into my head. I sat in the ambulance clutching her hand in desperation as its siren wailed and dispersed cars. In my mind I registered some machines beeping vaguely. I was dimly aware of EMT’s talking and shouting orders. If I had held her a minute longer. Now they put the oxygen mask on her. I still clutched her hand. If we had been a minute late. I registered someone shaking me...If the driver of the car hadn't been drunk. The siren still wailed, in agony i thought, how apt, as the vehicle weaved through traffic. If I had held her hand. The ambulance had stopped. They were now carrying her out...away. I followed. If the driver had stayed a minute longer at the bar. They took her into the operating room. I waited...I prayed, for my darling baby girl. If...

And the possibilities of ifs floated and drifted endlessly in my mind...

I have always wondered and stood amazed at the sequence of events and coincidences that have to take place for a certain moment to occur...it could be anything, from a simple perchance meeting, missing the train or in this case an accident to take place. This has always left me astounded and dazed when considering the various possible courses of action that could have taken place if a single minute detail was out of order...how a simple series of triggered reaction can change or impact someone's life so invariably and often permanently.

The Universe...

A wondrous thing to be wondered at.

Steps...Elixir for Eternal Youth (A-Z Challenge)

My theme for my first ever A-Z Blogging Challenge is fiction pieces. They are bit amateurish but I hope to get better! I hope you enjoy. Happy Reading...

Fear no more ladies and gentlemen!
Afraid you are getting too old too fast, found a grey hair or a wrinkle? Well...look no further you have got your answer right here.
We bring to you an article by the noted witch and innovator of the century Ms.Regalia Regulus taken from the infamous magazine Witches,Warlocks and Broomsticks, a magic potion that's going to leave your beauty and charm spring forth eternally from the fountain of youth.
And it's very simple, all you have to do is follow the very short instructions.

Elixir to Eternal Youth

                                     -Regalia Regulus

Ingredients: A standard cauldron used for making potions, water from the fountain of springs, one pair of bat's wings, a goblin's ear,a pinch of fairy dust, 2 hair from a dead werewolf, 1 fang of a vampire, 1 eyeball of the Kraken and 3 nails of the pepper-necked Hungarian dragon.

Step1: Put the cauldron on the fire and fill it 3/4th with the water from the springs. 

step2: Heat until it boils and then proceed to add the pair of bat wings and the goblin's air.

Step3: Wait until the steam turns purple in color and spews forth a foul odor and then add the            pinch of fairy dust and stand back a safe distance.

Step4: Don't worry about the explosion that will take place a short moment after you add the            fairy dust(it's normal!). After the explosion add the hairs from the werewolf and the                fang of the vampire.

Step5: Heed to patience until the color turns an unnatural color of brown to add the eyeball                and the nails.

Step6: Expect the potion to turn an unhealthy and sickly yellow, then pour exactly 579 ml of            it into a glass and drink for eternal youth.

Let your imaginations soar...

Ring around the rosie...

Ring around the Rosie

Pocket full of posies...

The voices howled across the park. I walked across it and sat near a bench.And I watched. They are so happy.

The Black Plague had hit Europe and destroyed a large chunk of it's population...men,women,old,young,rich,poor,..no one was spared. 

Ring around the Rosie..that's how it started,a dark ring on the skin.

Pocket full of posies...Herbs shoved into pockets to protect oneself from the Plague.

Ashes..ashes..,the bodies of the dead were cremated.

We all fall down.

And I watched as the children fell down.

Although the story isn't true, the theme it revolves around it is! The nursery rhyme Ring Around the Rosie...actually has it's origin from the Black Plague. I know...creepy right?!
Oh well....I hope you enjoyed....!
Happy Reading!
Do leave your blog links in the comments and I'll definitely hop on over.

Queue

19 APRIL 2014, 22:13
"God...Kitna time hogaya yaar, its been so long, this queue isn't moving forward!", I muttered under my breath as I stood in the queue for train tickets. This is what happened when you have a three day power cut and the invertor decided to give out. No net for two days...hell indeed! I gave a wistful sigh as I looked longingly at the ice cream vendor on the opposite side of the street and then turned to focus on the queue instead. There were three people ahead of me. At position no.1 was a wrinkly old man,supporting himself with a worn out stick. He was hunched so low that he wouldn't have made it past my waist. He was shouting into the talking hole in the glass and repeating everything twice. I wondered about his story. Why was he here alone? What about his children? Where does he want to go?
The heat was overwhelming . Flies buzzed over the open food stalls. The constant hum of the crowd lulled me into a static boredom. I let out a yawn and resumed my observations.
At position no.2 was young man,probably in his college. He apparently was going for the cool look with his jeans literally a pull away from falling, a tight shirt to show off his muscled body and wearing earphones through which even I could hear the rock music blaring through. I sighed again, the state of these youngsters these days!
At no.3 was a middle aged woman carrying a baby on her hips. She looked distracted as she spoke into the glass. "Dilli tak ki ticket chahiye bhaiji, I need a ticket to Delhi brother." Crease lines marked her forehead. The baby started crying. I wonder if she's okay? Should I ask her?
"Next please", the sharp voice called my attention. And I lost my window of opportunity.

The Porcelain Doll

18 APRIL 2014, 19:50
Amy just sits there in a corner enclosed in her glass castle. Her blue unblinking eyes seem to stare at you. They bore into you and seem to hold a treasure of secrets. Her frilled dress give a different illusion. But remember its just an illusion, its there to distract you from the coldness of the eyes. Those weak of mind buy her, those strong stay away. You ask me where I got her...? I was given this by the relatives of a deceased family, a family who was murdered. No one survived.
They say the doll killed them.

Ostracized!

17 APRIL 2014, 18:14
Meera lived with her joint family which consisted of her parents, an older brother and scores of uncles and aunts with their families. Their house was a cluster of mud houses spread among the dusty plateau in a remote village. It was a village where technology had yet to spread its shady reach to.
But darkness struck the life of the bright girl, blowing out the brightness that shone inside her. One of Meera's uncle came home too drunk. No one was around. Everyone had gone to the temple to pray for the oncoming harvest celebrations. She had been left behind to take care of the one year old and look after the house. The uncle too drunk to heed to inhibitions call didn't hesitate. In a matter of seconds Meera felt strong hands clawing at her clothes. She fought, and clawed her way out. Her nails touched skin and she tore madly, caught in a frenzy to escape. The uncle fought back. But he was too drunk and she escaped. With her clothes torn and hand prints showing on her skin, she ran out of the house. Sobbing, she saw her family returning. Relief flooded her heart. With sobs racking her body she fell at their feet. Her uncle had managed to follow her out of the house. Her family saw what happened. She reached out for her mother, only to be pushed away by her. Her brother looked away with disgust and her father turned away his face.
Her own family disowned her.
She finally realised... She was now an outcast.

Nighttime

15 APRIL 2014, 18:08
Its when the creatures of the dark come crawling out. Its the time when decent folk go inside and shutter there doors and windows and sleep peacefully enclosed in their closed homes. Its the time when only very brave and foolish men go out to search the secrets of night. Only a few come back though, with haunting stories of death and madness.
There is one legend that has been going around for centuries, gaining its own layers of truth and falsehood. There is a beautiful lady that stands beneath a certain beautiful flowering tree on certain moonless nights waiting for unsuspecting travellers. She waits there and then entices them with her siren voice and charming looks. And when they are near enough, she changes...a terrifying beast, with hair that flows out behind her, nails that seem endless dripping with the blood of its last victim, protruding teeth yellowed and bloodied over countless centuries of use, decayed skin and bulging eyes. There the travellers remain stuck, unable to move. A very very few escape and live to tell the stories. So if you ever go out at night, beware or the creatures of the night!

This was a myth/story that I was told by father. On my insistence he used to make up many stories about innocent passerby returning from some temple functions(like Kathakalli). Many of my nights during my childhood were spent on various stories revolving around this mysterious beast. Although there were many points I missed out on, like she attacks only men(something I am sure accounted for many a sleepless nights for my twin brother and for me as an endless source of amusement by scaring the wits out of my twin), any article of iron like a pocket knife,etc suffices to scare her away(although the reason for this particular aversion is not known) and she only stands beneath the flowering tree(called paala maram in Malayalam) on Fridays. Oh, and she also has a name, Ekshi(Malayalam).
Suffice it to say I found this as an effective way of torturing my twin by scaring him at night, making up stories, pretending or making weird noises(yes I know immature, but I was young too, besides it was fun!).

I hope you enjoyed reading.
Do leave your blog links in the comments and I will definitely hop on over.

Marriage

15 APRIL 2014, 22:18
We are proud to announce the wedding of the happy couple
                                               Jeremy Woods
                                                           &
                                                 Esme Ledger
The days have been crawling by. The wedding is scheduled to be on the day after tomorrow. But tomorrow is the day I have been waiting for. Tomorrow will be my escape. Jeremy doesn't suspect anything. The marks that he had inflicted on me the last time he hit me are almost healed. My wrists still have the cuff marks though.  Everything is prepared. The car, the clothes, save money...enough to get me far away from him. Only have to wait for tomorrow.

Letter to no one- Letting Go.

14 APRIL 2014, 10:27
The following scrap of paper was found in jail in M_____ in the year 19_ _.

Revenge ain't gonna help you buddy. I tried that and look where I got mahself locked up. Ain't no man that can be happy after landing up in a locker. You gotta keep it real. I knocked up that ol' man plenty badly and turns out that man got connections real high up. That's why I'm here. Beating up that man gave nothing to me. I'm no more happy than I was before that. You gotta trust me when I tell you revenge don't answer anything. You don't get over it and let go of what happened. Letting go don't happen that way no more.