tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72918941900521331422024-03-21T18:08:35.099-07:00In and Out of the VoidAnd when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-15887333122966122862021-12-22T00:12:00.009-08:002021-12-26T20:30:43.157-08:00A formidable conundrum.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Hello. It's been a long time." Her phone flashed.<br />
<br />
No sooner had she looked at her phone, than her heart skipped a beat. It was the same ringtone that she had assigned to his messages - keys.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Has this sensation been flowing throughout her body, dull all this time? Has it only just been magnified, like a negligent current amplified? Has she been impervious to how he actually made her feel?<br />
<br />
A plethora of emotions assail her. She could feel her faculties rendered useless. The good, and the bad of lost connections, and the realization that - She doesn't own anyone. To reach out, or not. To give in, or not. Natural powers that perceive such sensations, flowing through her body, reveal a fact or two about what all of this meant.<br /><br />She stretched herself over the turbulent waters, only wanting to cover the whole expanse of these emotions with her little body. She sat upright on her bed, contemplating, confounded, excited, awake - and alive. <br />
<br /><i>
Wasn't it just yesterday?<br />What if I'd left everything as it was? What if I didn't bother to pick up the pieces?<br />
Nobody would have said anything. People are always just silent spectators.</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>No one will ever compare to you - that was the magic of you. </i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>You made me a better person,</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>And now I'm struggling - to save our innocence, to save us from this cruel world.<br /><br />So, the dismayed portrait stands still, collecting dust, while I feel the weight of it all.<br />
My trust is broken.</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>
I'm not a saint. You're not a sinner.<br /><b>
I'm a goddess. You're an atheist.</b><br />
It was never supposed to work. </i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>When the world is sleeping,</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>yours is the only voice I hear,</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>explaining every note of the music to me,</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>I still cry listening to Roses,</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>thinking I'd be there again, saying I feel the same.</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i><br /></i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>I miss you. But I don't want you. </i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>I still love you, because there will never be another you. </i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>I crave for the girl I was with you,</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>But I'm never getting her back either.</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i>I miss you both terribly. So much today....that it hurts. </i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i><br /></i></div><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; color: #030303; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I'll forever remember you, and perhaps, that's the only forever we're ever meant to have</i></span></h1><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><i><br /></i></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><pre class="wp-block-verse has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size" style="background: rgb(238, 238, 238); border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #4b4f58; font-family: inherit; font-size: var(--wp--preset--font-size--medium) !important; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 100%; outline: 0px; overflow: auto; padding: 1.6em; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://bonglyrics.com/" rel="noreferrer noopener sponsored ugc" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: inherit; text-decoration-line: none; transition: all 0.2s linear 0s;" target="_blank">একটা ছেলে মনের আঙিনাতে</a>
ধীর পায়েতে এক্কা দোক্কা খেলে
বন পাহাড়ি ঝর্না খুঁজে
বৃষ্টি জলে একলা ভিজে...2
সেই ছেলেটা আমায় ছুঁয়ে ফেলে,
সেই ছেলেটা আমায় ছুঁয়ে ফেলে।</pre>
<br /></div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-54042631821208131942021-06-26T12:46:00.002-07:002021-12-22T00:00:11.073-08:00A Jogan is Leaving Her Country<p> In this
entire hullabaloo, a lot of words have been left unsaid, and unwritten. The
white canvas that I would so lovingly paint with my emotions has been unable to
contain my chaotic thoughts, all in one place. I kept on waiting, thinking that I’ll rue over it later, when I can make
better sense of it all – but everything seemed to be kept on happening, without
any certainty – at full speed. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This was a pace
I was never comfortable moving with, yet this is how, for a change – I went
with the flow; because I had nothing to lose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While there is everything to “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sacrifice”
</i>at one end, there’s everything to gain at the other.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As clichés go,
today I paused; let the phone ring and let the flood of messages come. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I took no responsibility, and breathed,
to write – so that I could comprehend everything. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So that I could finally let go and converse
with the jogan (anchoress) that is my soul, the jogan that feeds my mind, keeps
ME alive, and allows my kaya (body) to keep moving. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTgEaVHxidwwhWf-hMaB_JLKT4S8n86QLHJzh_7_0vHD9gx0CejPxDHvn-rOP0nCOiqWbJMLQbuw4V-dzLv6l4NSAMzejEeRhzx0B0DdCXRcCL224iwyVLWvZqto44FQ0y9ZTdlr-sfdf/s640/IMG_7525.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="486" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTgEaVHxidwwhWf-hMaB_JLKT4S8n86QLHJzh_7_0vHD9gx0CejPxDHvn-rOP0nCOiqWbJMLQbuw4V-dzLv6l4NSAMzejEeRhzx0B0DdCXRcCL224iwyVLWvZqto44FQ0y9ZTdlr-sfdf/w486-h640/IMG_7525.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She has
asked me a lot of questions lately; chiefly she asks if there can be no
happiness, merely because a part of you doesn’t exist with you anymore? Do
ghost of such happy moments then become melancholic inclinations, whose faded
image you’ll call nostalgia? Why does distress seem so much more augmented upon
addition of unnecessary worry and solicitude, why do I feel suppressed when
that’s the case? Is it too harsh, to forget, and move on? If I remain hidden…will
I wither and perish?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Of course, I
have no answers to any of these questions. And of course, I do not want her to
wither and perish. All I can tell her is that I’ll return, a better person –
stable, balanced, passionate, and even more alive. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And this is
where the jogan will always reside – between the present and the future; this is where she'll turn to,
when she is ill-disposed to converse. She will live in another world, a world where she can hide, where all her fears and all her worries fade away as quickly as they
had assailed her. I will not let her wither - ever. This is a part of me I will never let anybody touch. </span></p><p></p>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-41443187670194488202021-02-10T06:23:00.002-08:002021-12-22T00:00:29.868-08:00My Valentine.<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span lang="EN-US">My Valentine<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-US"> </span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember, when I was so happy,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Even the wind stayed as it caressed my shoulders,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember, how I was stuck in time,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">With no rewind button,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">But a future so carelessly imagined?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember, the books without any weight,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">The nights without any fatigue,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">And the light in my eyes, with my pupils dilated?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember, the little apartment in Paris,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">And your scattered movie scripts<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Mingled with my scattered designs?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember the fire, the passion, the thrill of being young,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">The eyes that said too much, and the lips that moved on their own?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember when dreams were more important,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">And acceptance was the dirt beneath our feet?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Remember…do you remember the love, the desire?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">The soul that never wanted to settle…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">…The wings that hadn’t been cut off?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Because I remember it all,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">In my big room, with my big books,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">I often fall,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">On scattered and desolate dreams,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Of yours, of mine,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">But I’m shining bright, alone,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Collecting the torn pieces of our identities,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">My eyes still shine bright sometimes,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">And the wind makes me laugh a lot,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">The difference is that...no one is here to see it,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span lang="EN-US">Not anymore</span></p></div>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-21414146133209324482021-01-30T01:53:00.005-08:002021-01-30T01:55:10.850-08:0024.<p>If
twenty-two was a hurricane, twenty-four is like a slowly rising wave, breaking
up on the shore. And in this frothy blissfulness, I have found my present. I
have found the neglected and abused pieces of my identity, the shattered and
grief-stricken soul. Turgid, from being exposed to the constant palaver of the
sea, the soul now lies in wait for all that could still be.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkz77s4xTxm3n-NBITsUV7_a2F-Okb0oY2nDaHlYHmmpCTZSGvrOgZeON4FbCAcFOalZi_QmKrjjz7x6k8Bra5aNe2yiv6jYiBhbtf2ucqJChM6rcQ5y3RYwwMh0DK5x9FxolNLCgHzB7/s1544/IMG_3979.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1158" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTkz77s4xTxm3n-NBITsUV7_a2F-Okb0oY2nDaHlYHmmpCTZSGvrOgZeON4FbCAcFOalZi_QmKrjjz7x6k8Bra5aNe2yiv6jYiBhbtf2ucqJChM6rcQ5y3RYwwMh0DK5x9FxolNLCgHzB7/w480-h640/IMG_3979.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Being
almost a quarter-century old, I am becoming more comfortable in my own skin.
Not that I never was, but I’m realizing that I always was my own person. I was
responsible, for my peculiar way of life, which I relinquished half-heartedly.
Yet, I found many ways to tie my true identity to half of my heart.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Half of my
heart now beats when no one is hovering over me; it is elated when no one is
around. The passion within me burns brighter when I’m alone. And if this is the
case, it doesn’t imply that the other case has to be true too – that I do not
enjoy the company of other people. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Upon
reading several articles on Introverts, I’ve found that there was never
anything wrong with me, as I had always been made to feel. Clearly, I am a
homebody – but not unadventurous. I simply care more about where I utilize my
energy, after it has been half-drained by my work. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Ironically,
I understood the power of being alone, when I moved away from home. I
understood my limitations, and reaped the gifts of time. I understood that my friends,
who enjoyed sticking together, were different from me. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I realized that their anger towards my personality was not unjustified,
but the guilt that arose in me was.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I realized how much I loved stillness,
calmness, and silence, when I sat on a hill with another introvert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like a staccato arpeggio that lets the
music breathe, our voices never disturbed the sound of nature. I understood
then, how there was no such thing as awkward silence for me, because small-talk
drained me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And now I
am 24. When in the past, these realizations might have casted shadow over everything
that I did; this reflection is now my only strength. I was never angry, but I always
was, and am, fearful of what people are capable of doing to my psyche. Like the
guy I loved, who twisted my own personality for his own convenience. But I am
stronger now, stronger than I had ever been before. I am alone now, but I’m
never, ever, lonely. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Because the
older I grow, the more I crave for myself, the more I crave for that small
empty space with that one good person. The older I grow, the more I see myself
taking a few steps back, the more I lose touch with reality, the more I want to
un-settle, un-adjust. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqchKPg8aXtS1I8Mom25W0LAYid7sba597bOhQkw5JE-21f7xIuKze8MW7k5PGsR329TjhxUCYIe3FTP8mFBgcw6Hntc9I9ZyjusCv60h0sy8VKgzOYcsyNtNEz7JWEuZpCe3Xs66cHWZ/s1280/IMG_4317.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqchKPg8aXtS1I8Mom25W0LAYid7sba597bOhQkw5JE-21f7xIuKze8MW7k5PGsR329TjhxUCYIe3FTP8mFBgcw6Hntc9I9ZyjusCv60h0sy8VKgzOYcsyNtNEz7JWEuZpCe3Xs66cHWZ/w640-h640/IMG_4317.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I am
looking at life through the rose tinted glasses of mine, I am growing old
backwards. I am accepting myself. And making my world peculiar for everyone
else again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-56634114596875087312021-01-05T11:24:00.002-08:002021-01-05T11:28:38.167-08:00Anthropomorphizing<p>It’s freezing, and it has been raining incessantly for the past three days. And even though the weather has been despairing and gloomy, I’ve happily found a reason to stay in bed. My eyes have become accustomed to the darkness. With the sun sequestered behind the clouds, my heart is oddly warm, and my mind, fuzzy.</p><p>And I’ve realized (1) how the sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows is always a blatant alarm. There were many times when I didn’t want to wake up, yet the light which would fill every corner in my room, diametrically reminded me of the fact that, I need to.</p><p>Now as the rain falls heavily on the pavement, I’ve realized that (2) the sun didn’t enliven me. It was the cold, the rain, the cliché romantic stories, and the plaintive clouds – that were all an inlet to a world of creativity. And, love. Because maybe, after all, that was my true aim in life – to fall in love with myself. So with this temporary full stop, I feel closer to myself than I ever have. It has given me a reason to hide (underneath my warm blanket), slightly in pain and slightly because I don’t ever want to do something that makes me feel cold in the cold weather (both literally and metaphorically).</p><p>I have truly felt warm while flipping through the pages of a trite romantic novel, and pondering how utterly silly life is, and how utterly mundane everything else is, and how pathetically dramatic our lives are, aren’t they? As I did everything I could to entertain myself, and entertain the idea of love, it struck me, that it is not what happens to us that hurts. It’s not the heart that breaks. It’s only the mind playing tricks, receiving and transmitting what it <strong>wants</strong> to receive and transmit. And nobody ever <strong>wants </strong>to get hurt now, do they? Then why, I wonder, do we get hurt.</p><p><!--wp:paragraph-->
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<!--wp:paragraph-->
<!--/wp:paragraph--></p><p>Anyway, it is pathetic fallacy that I’m drunk on. And I never want to stop reading. At least until the sun tarries awhile. Or until I find all the answers, played out in real time.</p>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-10164057440964073902020-11-05T08:23:00.004-08:002020-11-05T08:23:47.184-08:00In the Arms of Nature <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">The
carousel of time never stops turning. At this wonderful time of the year, I
found myself surrounded by nature. This was the first place I wanted to go to,
a place of Elysian beauty, a balm for my distrait and weary soul. A place where
I knew that silence would wash over me like an analgesic, a place where my best
crony, solitude, could accompany me too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwo8g0M2sbj2PhvT7nZXlJebM6BH4TvFN2bGDBxUGw6FZggN77IwDCy6XhFubIFMDU5vjXs9wXPrihV24rNpK6IZ8NrVbHP61ia2NY0IYYsmpbqjzg5mQC3zeWoHE-EbdqEbJ09cy-zENR/s2048/IMG_9594.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwo8g0M2sbj2PhvT7nZXlJebM6BH4TvFN2bGDBxUGw6FZggN77IwDCy6XhFubIFMDU5vjXs9wXPrihV24rNpK6IZ8NrVbHP61ia2NY0IYYsmpbqjzg5mQC3zeWoHE-EbdqEbJ09cy-zENR/w480-h640/IMG_9594.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;">Stripped
off of all responsibilities, and the anxiety which comes with the palaver of
daily life - I could tell, this was where I was me, where I could be just by
myself, stand tall without any guilt.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjueY0p1VfkRUUWk-Y-RmtT2_Lc5h_FTLxRz95Zp7ks2WATJRWxomMjPBqIOZJOlu8tWEq2qdyyqmtSRv3l8Epo5VCSrJIP8ITeJ6P06GCV5HGMK4PwDZciBRJdpMYO8MpbsBfw7Vt1vh7w/s2048/IMG_9604_Facetune_31-10-2020-22-58-47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjueY0p1VfkRUUWk-Y-RmtT2_Lc5h_FTLxRz95Zp7ks2WATJRWxomMjPBqIOZJOlu8tWEq2qdyyqmtSRv3l8Epo5VCSrJIP8ITeJ6P06GCV5HGMK4PwDZciBRJdpMYO8MpbsBfw7Vt1vh7w/w480-h640/IMG_9604_Facetune_31-10-2020-22-58-47.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">Consequently, away from the bedlam of a metropolitan
city, these paradoxically disorderly spaces invigorated me. Every step I took
in silence spoke to me, of a wonderful future. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">. </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGlvLPxjOUDE9MZIf5X3vmOsRNriqtH3bss_WTgi4wFExPOCSvuWTXcthzTMx4xbTGaREAwvl8bdLLluOXfVkblm02Jw2QKnhY1uodWqw5eItTOPemkZ323CfCVwAVyGO4tQ7GvB2djhq/s2048/IMG_9600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGlvLPxjOUDE9MZIf5X3vmOsRNriqtH3bss_WTgi4wFExPOCSvuWTXcthzTMx4xbTGaREAwvl8bdLLluOXfVkblm02Jw2QKnhY1uodWqw5eItTOPemkZ323CfCVwAVyGO4tQ7GvB2djhq/w480-h640/IMG_9600.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Absolute silence, it is all I need. Solitude,
awareness, happiness – are all that fill the void for me. Happily tangled up,
in the myriad dreams I have for myself. :)</span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgLFTCnUpHu8Dii7q3LtuULNH6955Z1uIo0uHgdXFT8QAc-ojo6QzkU8lMXOFzDLCFDS0M6e9PhYRmfqMqqJKz6yy_rALb29ziVTDw942j8-LkCkjwoRNrjSyrI7vursuzcuI1ycJl1ON/s2048/IMG_9598.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgLFTCnUpHu8Dii7q3LtuULNH6955Z1uIo0uHgdXFT8QAc-ojo6QzkU8lMXOFzDLCFDS0M6e9PhYRmfqMqqJKz6yy_rALb29ziVTDw942j8-LkCkjwoRNrjSyrI7vursuzcuI1ycJl1ON/w480-h640/IMG_9598.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-73854031669783607892020-07-31T05:24:00.004-07:002020-07-31T05:24:51.339-07:00The Ice-Cream Date<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_cZ61joh7GRGkgRSOeprQsh7uYu27g3KHgz9ITmGcUOJzNt0JjzvLs_kXs-6qQbPJ79zGmZuzljO3F8PmkJFJV0RJ1rY5D5UUgbt8qZlGs3McNE9R6X9VAeM4ynIdMjGx-Nmfy7GhyphenhypheniII/s1500/B1801EFA-7E2A-434F-95B7-BC62E14A2F5D.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_cZ61joh7GRGkgRSOeprQsh7uYu27g3KHgz9ITmGcUOJzNt0JjzvLs_kXs-6qQbPJ79zGmZuzljO3F8PmkJFJV0RJ1rY5D5UUgbt8qZlGs3McNE9R6X9VAeM4ynIdMjGx-Nmfy7GhyphenhypheniII/s640/B1801EFA-7E2A-434F-95B7-BC62E14A2F5D.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">She ordered some coffee and sat down at a table in her hotel
room, it was already past five when she had left the conference. But she oddly
felt more energetic now than she did in the morning. The scent of the room and
the crepuscular scenery from her window were both, salubrious to her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Her phone rings as she starts working on her laptop. She is indifferent at
first, but after a moment’s hesitation, she picks it up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“You left your pen with me.” The voice at the other end says.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“I lend you one? That’s unlike me.” She said, playing along, relaxing in
her seat, her face slowly contorting into a smile.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“I’m happy to be an exception.” He said, in a calm mellifluous voice. She
rolled her eyes when he said this, biting her lip. He was relaxing on his bed,
with his laptop by his side. And the first thing that he did when he freshened
up was call her. She imagined it all, and couldn’t help but feel important. And
in thinking that, she felt that somewhere he was important too.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">It was impossible for her to get out of the habit of attaching certain
thoughts to everything, she was consistent. A part of her wanted to be polite,
yet a part of her would always commensurate politeness with something else.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“I would need that back though.” She said, and got up from her seat when
she heard that the waiter had brought her coffee.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“You’re at the hotel?” He asked when he heard the bell, sounding curious,
as if she could be anywhere else than at the hotel.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“Of course I am, where else would I be?” carrying her coffee with her, she
lay down on the bed. She was amused at herself, and shook her head in
disbelief. This time, she rolled her eyes at herself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“I thought you went to the ice cream shop you were telling me about, the
one with the longest queue?” He chuckled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Oh, she thought. She remembered that she did tell him that she wanted to
go there, and might go right after the conference. She wondered if he had
figured that she implicitly suggested that she wanted him to come with her. But
he never said anything about it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);" />
She felt her chest tighten, flushing at her irrational wish to spend her night
with this man whom she lend her pen to. Truly an exception as he had realized.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“Did you think that’s why I left early?” She laughed, like it was not a
big deal, trying to act cool, like she didn’t want to roam the streets of this
strange city with him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">He laughed, running his hands through his hair, and turning on his stomach
as he took the phone in his other hand. “No, I was wondering, um, if you want
to go now?” He asked, biting his lip.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">She smiled, but she was confused. She thought about why he hadn’t
responded when she’d told him that she would go. So before she could answer
him, she asked him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“You never asked me. I didn’t want to force myself upon you.” He answered,
sitting up on his bed, feeling a light abrasion from this friction, yet,
feeling as if he was becoming a part of something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“That’s right,” she laughed, of course that is why, she thought, “I’m in
room number 203, you’ll come?” She asked him, getting up from her bed. She
realized that she was still in the same clothes from the conference, an emerald
green dress with a jacket. She looked at herself in the mirror as she waited
for his answer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“I’ll be outside of your door when you’re ready.” He said, as he got up
from his bed, hastily running his hands through his hair, making a few strands
to fall on his forehead.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">She heard him rushing, as she said ok. And smiled at the thought of him
being eager to meet her, when all this while it seemed as if he was the cool
indifferent guy she’d never talk to. She eyed the conference brochure which sat
on the side table, and wondered, what were the odds of her meeting all these
people, just to feel a connection with one. It was a conditional probability of
some sort.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">He took his wallet and got out of the room. In his white crumpled shirt
and Levi’s, he looked more like a teenage boy than a man of twenty seven.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">She didn’t want him to wait, so she got rid of the jacket and washed her
face. She put on some lip balm, took her wallet, and got out of the room as
well.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“Hey.” He said. He was leaning on the wall opposite to her room, and
sprang forwards when he saw her. His green eyes were glinting under the yellow
light of the hotel corridor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“Hey.” She said, smiling broadly at him, but nervous at seeing him outside
of work. She felt reckless, and confused, at the sudden eruption of butterflies
in her stomach. Not knowing whether it was out of fear, or something else, she
thought that maybe he was slightly more than a crush. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">She only just noticed that he had green eyes, and that he oddly smelled
like coffee. Like he had drunk enough to keep him awake all night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">He came forwards; his eyes never leaving her face, and then pulled
something out of his pocket. She was confused at his sudden movements, and then
laughed when she saw what was in his hands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">“Here’s your pen,” she took it from his hand, he smiled, leaning in to say
thanks, then he motioned with his other hand, saying “Let’s go on our ice cream
date.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; vertical-align: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Shocked at his forwardness, she gave him a disapproving look. He shrugged
his shoulders, scratching the back of his head, a sheepish grin forming across
his face. But it was a date she had definitely said yes to, she thought, and
then she smiled to herself.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /></div>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-7790873894963980422020-07-30T10:09:00.001-07:002020-07-30T10:11:06.358-07:00A few lesson I've learnt<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span><span>1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKlTttD4FiXMvoz23cYR7oIwDcCvFLA1jVssXiZjI3lnVdRmjVLCi0yg3HH12G5YTFZ3y5Q1Jo-gNZIbBT_oyq_UJZX2LWwc1oEbyaI8oiwbmN3PRUyADESB82mjQmQ4a9oNlTBEydXAN/s1500/66F63C31-372B-4C01-BA6F-C820DBA506EA.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKlTttD4FiXMvoz23cYR7oIwDcCvFLA1jVssXiZjI3lnVdRmjVLCi0yg3HH12G5YTFZ3y5Q1Jo-gNZIbBT_oyq_UJZX2LWwc1oEbyaI8oiwbmN3PRUyADESB82mjQmQ4a9oNlTBEydXAN/s320/66F63C31-372B-4C01-BA6F-C820DBA506EA.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Don’t trouble your mind with some knowledge that
is based on assumptions.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Don’t perplex others or dispute about things
which are beyond your comprehension, let it go. </p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Be cautious of meddling.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Have knowledge of your capacity, and then don’t
do anything which disturbs your peace.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Remember that you can miss someone, and still
not want them back in your life.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Remember that you can love someone, and still
part with them. </p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Remember the good that others have done for you,
not the good you have done for them. </p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Don’t repeat patterns. </p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->The happy and good life are not one and the
same, you can feel good without getting what you want.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->10.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Making the best choice isn’t always about getting
the best result.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->11.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->We can still love people, and not judge their
moral presuppositions which contradict with ours.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->12.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Always prioritize. Shift in one sphere, leads to
shift in others.</p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->13.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Take care of yourself first, then save the
world. </p></div><p></p>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-40941003117369818302020-07-27T06:57:00.000-07:002020-07-27T06:57:11.202-07:00Our First Dance<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Do you
remember our first dance?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Far away
from the bustling town,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Moving
slowly, as if we were in a trance,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You lead me
around.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You
stretched your hand out in front of me,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still
moving backwards as if you couldn’t stop,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I remember
turning bright red when I took your hand,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And you
looked like a kid in a candy shop.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It all felt
like a crime to me,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Yet the
night, it seemed so grand,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We moved
our feet to the sweet faint music,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While the
ground beneath me sank.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then you
twirled me around in my little black dress,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And I gazed
upward at the sky,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">All the
stars moved closer to our little space,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I was so
happy I could die.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVc1F5P9f6rBa0jCS-Kh3hZYrHROSVAkbQYeR0g3p2B3_Tjvzwzg1KxDHAaELjKRuiz_99_WFtY3wN2mVDKpGDya9preh8I6IM7D7dcKhwp0mO93qBQLMNa5UdeLJvDB8uJrgFWAlgw-EP/s560/806655fdeead25c15eebbee20acfa80d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="560" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVc1F5P9f6rBa0jCS-Kh3hZYrHROSVAkbQYeR0g3p2B3_Tjvzwzg1KxDHAaELjKRuiz_99_WFtY3wN2mVDKpGDya9preh8I6IM7D7dcKhwp0mO93qBQLMNa5UdeLJvDB8uJrgFWAlgw-EP/w500-h375/806655fdeead25c15eebbee20acfa80d.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We just
stood there under the unquiet sky,</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">While your
eyes shimmered like a moonlit lake,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My heart
was beating out of my chest,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So many
miles to go, there was so much at stake.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then we
walked back around to your car,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You were
smiling all the way,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So
carefree, you taught me to be so unbound,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I’ll always
remember that day.</span></p>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-38303708633749060372020-07-25T02:32:00.001-07:002020-07-25T02:32:17.522-07:00When the Heart-Shaped box broke<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Love
stretched the fibers within me taut, pulling me back to the center of this
fixed diameter circle. This feeling was a deep transcendental experience, for a
girl for whom love was the principal desideratum to happiness. These emotions
of fear and wonder were so often concomitant with my silence. Because I was unconsciously
drowning where I couldn’t be heard, or saved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It
was like a pitiful boondoggle, its phantasmagorical vision being the
cornerstone of my heart, the sole motivation for my mind to realize it. I
played the game of choices, and it was like trying to solve a puzzle with all
the pieces laid face down. No direction, no plan. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Incontrovertible
to say, the vision obscured my rationality, and like mildew, it flourished
where it couldn’t be touched. But then I felt its guise disintegrating within
my veins, collecting at my heart as heavy dregs of a terrible drink. Its bitter
after-taste left on my tongue being the only alarm to jolt me from my drowse. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Po-yLjVlDNg3re005Ggspd6vhydoK9ePkl-uicBlZLzbgQiZ-O615e5v8ckj1PQZApW87UoZxzcHC8iqhJAyoBu1qGjNW3cJ3MJiUipjprkbGeDpLfUnCnLNYkCEb3IlS1YUdL3konKo/s2048/IMG_0809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Po-yLjVlDNg3re005Ggspd6vhydoK9ePkl-uicBlZLzbgQiZ-O615e5v8ckj1PQZApW87UoZxzcHC8iqhJAyoBu1qGjNW3cJ3MJiUipjprkbGeDpLfUnCnLNYkCEb3IlS1YUdL3konKo/w625-h416/IMG_0809.JPG" width="625" /></a></div><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It
was as if a pianissimo had recrudesced into a fortissimo, so abrupt were these
emotions. Yet, it was a passionate andante in the middle, and a largo in the
end. Now, the heart-shaped box has broken. The music stopped playing a long
time ago. My heart is swimming in the clear water, as the broken pieces settle
on the ocean floor. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br />Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-59048567051378553792020-07-02T12:40:00.002-07:002020-07-02T12:49:17.193-07:00My wings. <p class="MsoNormal">We try so hard, to fill the empty gulfs of our minds with
something seemingly exemplary, something glorious. It’s as if the tiniest crack
in the glass will never strain, as if the wax on my wounds will never melt, as
if I’ll forget; and that you’ll let me, that I should?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Slow down, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">accept</b>, transform.</i> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wondering if I should
paint the glass; paint over my memories, some vivid, some dull? Or clean the
dirt instead? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What should it be, an emotional
color palette or a clear nightly sky?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We can never understand why we feel what we feel. They say
that it’s all from experience, and that what we feel now has already been felt
by us before; in tiny little droplets, of raging emotions. And now the feelings
have become so nuanced and conflated that it’s hard not to feel anything. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">So, get out of that
pool of emotions, and append the opposite. <o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wonder if the tangible can be commensurate with the intangible,
meaning that I can always change the way I think about things, precisely because
I can’t forget. Because it is the sheer physicality, the fact that my experience
casts shadow on the earth, that makes emotions so well cemented and relevant. And
it is this relevancy that I want to spurn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stop being relevant, become.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That is why, I want to feel like the sea, calm and serene, in every sense
of that word. It is so grand, reachable, yet unreachable. Accepting, yet
rejecting, raging and transforming – it’s all I want to be. Listen closely; the
wrath of the Sea is a crescendo of its silence, it is still calm, yet
intractable. What a paradox the sea is, and how balanced. So, I want the calm to
feel like the calm, and the heavy to sink and drown. Not the other way around. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maybe human beings are
not perfect, that is why we learn from the nature, to be as balanced yet never
as much.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to feel like a sepia filter on a colorful picture, not
hiding anything, nor subduing, and nor supplicating for anything. Just existing
under the translucent mask of a wonderful reality, where I am living, and
loving - in slow motion. Forever reaching, arching, curling up, laying down,
standing up; not because I have to, but because every damn cell in my body is willing
to. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHaS3UZjJGXsVadLySLtHZXF1mcWTE210vmXuDmq9t8qCcPEx5VvLa9j4eyUwWocHsF_JZqMKIEHeHLmtO2qFMFoenlyg6At9IKYifd_CQSBiHBapiRAbLumincC0qZ2tH8yPmD3ypqA1/s640/IMG_6229.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="541" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHaS3UZjJGXsVadLySLtHZXF1mcWTE210vmXuDmq9t8qCcPEx5VvLa9j4eyUwWocHsF_JZqMKIEHeHLmtO2qFMFoenlyg6At9IKYifd_CQSBiHBapiRAbLumincC0qZ2tH8yPmD3ypqA1/w529-h625/IMG_6229.JPG" width="529" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">These pages are slipping away from my fingers, whether I crave
what had been or what would be, and what it is that I crave, I do not know. All I know, is that at present, these
fluttering pages are taking me somewhere, where, I do not know. But
for the most part, there is satisfaction in simplicity, peace in purity, and
dignity in walking away from trouble. Maybe the Sea has its own anodyne, and I may never know what. But this is one of mine. My wings. :) </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQPCn_V-yxqqjvAyoYLCIthADZmnrK9jJwzE667r7-ExOwORuHl99facaTZYZMTQdBxqKhiKwFeEQJrj7Jvim2AUO1dQrmj09dSgbBc4qI-zbJ2njOmUExoZXc7CGKEUIbL7Liqw5W5DO/s640/IMG_6244.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="640" height="533" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQPCn_V-yxqqjvAyoYLCIthADZmnrK9jJwzE667r7-ExOwORuHl99facaTZYZMTQdBxqKhiKwFeEQJrj7Jvim2AUO1dQrmj09dSgbBc4qI-zbJ2njOmUExoZXc7CGKEUIbL7Liqw5W5DO/w625-h533/IMG_6244.JPG" width="625" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: wingdings;"><br /></span></p>Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-76798066645351832092020-05-28T01:12:00.004-07:002020-09-11T11:04:10.781-07:00The Heart in Between<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>As I’m typing this, the
rain is beating down steadily against the window panes. And the wind has invigorated
my whole body with its nostalgic smell. I look over at James sitting on the
floor in front of me. And notice how unaware he is of the pandemonium and felicity
of my unobservable world. Engrossed in his work, his eyebrows furrowed at the
laptop in his lap, he is unaffected by the wind that keeps coming back to touch
him, caress him. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>If I keep looking over
at him for long, I’m afraid I’ll move far away from him, or worse, closer. The
space between us is empty, and yet I can’t think about anything but that space.
I feel confined somehow, and as rigid as a stool devoid of any attributes, except
for the ones that other people bestow. Does he believe me to be so? I wanted to
ask him this, but I didn’t want to perplex him about something that he won’t
understand. Why trouble his mind with such knowledge? But I’m exhausted of
resistance, and of being cautious of meddling with such topics. So I opened my
diary to a bright orange page, and wrote –<b>Remember,
you’re not big enough to grasp everything</b>. Content, I took my mind off of that
thought. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>But I have so many
thoughts today, and no capacity to segregate them. One seeps into the other,
like water through a diaphanous material, and gradually all I have is one big
obscure and fundamentally transmuted idea. It’s a miracle that I’m writing,
because lately I have had too much to talk about, and no patience to write a
single word. Thoughts came with such a flurry that I could do nothing more than
to be supine, and let them come over me. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Abandoning my train of
thought though, I got up from James’ bed and walked over to one of the opened windows,
where the sheer curtains hung soaring with the wind. James gave me a fleeting
look, no smile though. He’s too busy saving the world. Had he given me a smile,
I would have turned towards him without even wanting to glance at the beautiful
view outside. But I took the path of least resistance<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I pushed the curtains
away. The trees swayed and swished, leaves falling to the ground like dust
settling to rest forever. I stood there for a long time, inhaling the smell of
the past, looking for something, left to right. As if another missing piece of
this story will pop up to transform my nostalgia into reality. My eyes
moved past the horizon, to the dark gray skies, it was nothing like I had seen
before. I could feel my insides twisting at a perception which transcended my
memory, and annexed anew the experience within me. I wanted to lie down in
the rain, until the blanket of stars hovered above me, until the Moon reflected
the light of the Sun, until the quiet music of the night found me and until…I
found myself again. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I want to write a
book.” I said this without taking my eyes off of the sky, as if the wish will
become sacrosanct thenceforth. I can’t say what his expression became, but I
could sense surprise, for he stopped typing furiously to pay heed to the
passion developing inside of my gut. I’m sure he has heard this many times before.
But this time it was different; I sounded more determined, almost forceful. And
he was sure to be gentle, because when we came over to the window, he leaned on
it, arms crossed, as if he was trying to decide what phase this was, what dream
it was, and how important it was. I hated it when he did this, trying to
calculate and anatomize his replies, qualifying his thoughts for mine. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“A book on what?” He said,
in almost a whisper, impelling me towards him. I was facing him now, and no
longer seeing him through my peripheral vision. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Divorce.” I said,
widening my eyes, so that if he does the same, it’s not displeasing.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I thought we were
just dating…for now.” He furrowed his eyebrows at me, relaxing a bit. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span> </span>“And everything has to be about us! No Jame.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Why do you have such
an inclination, then?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“It seems like the
right one for me. Disconnect, divide, separation.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“What about the sci-fi
one? Don’t tell me you’re fantasizing about divorce.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Everybody knows the
facts James. If space-time curved upon itself, time travel would be
possible. If we were to travel to the center of the galaxy, it would take
us 50,000 years. So, don't try that, unless you can warp space-time so much
that you are able to create a hole in the galaxy! It’s all very interesting but
conspicuous! And no, I’m not fantasizing about divorce. I’m trying to wrap my
head around it.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Write on Life, love.
Write on happiness, divorce is unlike you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I felt frustrated, as
much as I loved him, I hated his utilitarian spirit. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Unlike me? I have
this thought. We are not born with any knowledge. All that we know is from experience.
So when we say that we have a fear of heights, it is just how we have come to
interact with our environment at one point of time and then let it define our
whole life to the point that we think that it is our innate fear! And for long
we let this picture persist inside of our brains and believe that it is a part
of us, that it makes us who we are. I do agree with that but I don’t agree with
the fact that it becomes an irrefutable fact. Then why can’t I write about
something as morbid as divorce? Will that change your perception of me? Why can’t
I be what I’m not? All I’m saying is that it is ok to not be yourself
sometimes, you should try it. Maybe you’ll relax a bit more.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The second I said that,
I regretted it. I know he was just trying to help, and I was too quick to
attack. I didn’t look at him then, and averted my gaze to the skies, which accepted
my wishes obediently. He was not it, and maybe I was not it for him too. How
could I be? We were both imperfect human beings. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>We can harm people in
many ways; by getting them to think poorly of their own capacity was one of
them. And expecting them to be ingratiating was another. We make one bitter
remark, and it acts like a potent poison on all the other ideas that we have in
our mind. We give in to procedures which give rise to such acts and thoughts, and
soon, we develop a tendency. The justifications that we give are not tenable.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I could feel his hot
breath on my bare shoulder, I don’t know if it was anger or just exhaustion. He
took a step back, and then several, gradually vanishing from my periphery. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Silent tears pricked
my eyes, and I made no efforts to control them. I repeated in my mind – <b>remember, you are not big enough to grasp
everything. </b>I said it over and over again, until he came back, with a book
in his hand. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“This is a book on
Divorce and the Effects it has on Children. I required it for one of my law
courses.<span> </span>You should read it. It’s pretty
interesting and will be very helpful.” He presented the book to me, without
looking up at me. Surprised, I tried to take the book, mumbling thanks. Our
hands touched, and he looked up at me, without letting go of the book. I don’t
know how long we stood like that for, but I could feel my frustration waning,
and my heart surrendering. I took the book from him, and hugged it to my chest,
suddenly realizing what had transpired. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_ooAq3hvXIsa3lLNK2k54PaSQJFCDX0EzumsIksD2kkjW4NLoXtrP7_jZr8VRbfDS4YDO4k2ZrWmx6YGEi53xDU7-TR5x1YY6cNVyUStLuTVV_odA6j6s46KsSSWbW2x01RMAd3wu5Ah/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="828" height="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_ooAq3hvXIsa3lLNK2k54PaSQJFCDX0EzumsIksD2kkjW4NLoXtrP7_jZr8VRbfDS4YDO4k2ZrWmx6YGEi53xDU7-TR5x1YY6cNVyUStLuTVV_odA6j6s46KsSSWbW2x01RMAd3wu5Ah/w640-h485/IMG_5438.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“It was such a nice
weather today. You have been busy. I am going to go to my house now.” Absentmindedly,
I did what I always did. I tried to make him feel guilty. Guilty, for having
invited me over and letting the day go to a waste, for imposing his thoughts on
something so sacrosanct to me, for feeding my fury,
for making me cry, and then, for trying to appease me by handing me an old
book that smelled like rotten eggs. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I hoped he had
understood the implication. And so when I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand.
I resisted, wanting to go home and get over our faulty personalities. And
write, on divorce. But he held me in place, grabbing me by my shoulders. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“First, nothing is ever
going to change my perception of you. I like how crazy, intractable and brave
you are. I love that about you. Even if you were not you, I’d update myself
with the new you because I know that there’s a part of you that knows, and will
always know love. It doesn’t matter if you want to write on divorce, or even
zombies. I just wanted the world to know about your heart. Guess I’ll keep that
to myself.” I wanted so bad to leave his place, and not talk to him for a week
so that he and I could both relax, but I kept forgetting, he doesn’t relax. Not
even on his thoughts about me.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>So I kissed him,
holding the book tightly, my arms wrapped around his neck. And the skies
witnessed divorce and harmony, divorce and unity. I learnt one thing. That making
the best choice isn’t always about trying to get to the best possible outcome. It’s
sometimes also about trying to minimize the chances of something disastrous
happening. So I settled, with my imperfect feelings for him, and our imperfect
lives; because if I am thunder, he is rain. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br /></div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-35481678667909085812020-04-08T10:38:00.004-07:002020-04-08T10:48:26.506-07:00A letter from my Dad, I have been mollycoddled! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I have been pampered
in generous amounts here. I hope you read this and know, that someone truly
cares about you. And if like me, you have a proclivity for canned phrases, this
is for you too. :)<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kIYZSB3EF8_TlxfW84JFtFyYyoGd-cf7hLimR7tAdOmXhQzPrKY2qFB0F5yMLaHxmS1tDrqmLghlcXX38hgBoRFQZQspthyE33RH-CAA33F5iaKhaawCM-Ec5u1Eck3swpDGkaImfC0P/s1600/0945e416c87a9d12028144f1fe4a472e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kIYZSB3EF8_TlxfW84JFtFyYyoGd-cf7hLimR7tAdOmXhQzPrKY2qFB0F5yMLaHxmS1tDrqmLghlcXX38hgBoRFQZQspthyE33RH-CAA33F5iaKhaawCM-Ec5u1Eck3swpDGkaImfC0P/s640/0945e416c87a9d12028144f1fe4a472e.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dearest Tanisha,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
It is so heart warming to read your note for your mother. It is wonderful to
know your deep rooted and crystal clear thoughts, these are a reflection of
your persona which is evolving. It is so mesmerizing to fathom your eloquence,
the incisive focus that you have exhibited through your words displays your
approach. As the vernacular saying goes that successful people don't do
different things; they just do things differently. How you approach a subject
in a precision manner is the hallmark of a successful person.One thing that I
have imbibed through my years is that a fine & illustrious person will
certainly have passion, kindness and an eye for detail which makes him/her
reach the goal of life in an accomplished manner.Yes, we realize that you are
growing; by God's grace; the attributes that you possess will assist you to
scale greater height in life.Keep moving; slowly and steadily; keep
assimilating all the good things in life.The blessing of Almighty God (the
invisible power that makes everything move in the universe including us ) and
your mother, father and brother will always remain and we hope to see you rising
like a star.Brave you should be; don't be afraid of failures; these are
stepping stones to success. Somebody who has not tasted failure or defeat is
unlucky since he has missed an opportunity to learn, to gain strength to cope
up with failure, to gain the resolve to dodge the failures.Kind you should be,
the strength that you gain by seeing the smile on somebody's face when he/she
gets what he/she is longing for. It brings up positive vibes.Affectionate you
should be- what you give comes back to you- is an old saying.We can only thank
God for seeing our child blossom into a very fine human being.Keep going
strong; Things work out best for those who make the best of how things work
out.Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important
thing is not to stop questioning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Sometimes you can't see yourself clearly until you see
yourself through the eyes of others.It does not matter how slowly you go, so
long as you do not stop."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Success is walking from failure to failure with no
loss of enthusiasm.""Someone is sitting in the shade today because
someone planted a tree a long time ago."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Once you choose hope, anything's
possible." "Try not to become a person of success, but rather
try to become a person of value." -- Albert Einstein"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It is not the strongest of the species that survive,
nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change." --
Charles Darwin"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot
be seen or even touched -- they must be felt with the heart." -- Helen
Keller"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"No one can make you feel inferior without your
consent." -- Eleanor Roosevelt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Failure is another steppingstone to greatness."
-- Oprah Winfrey"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you're not stubborn, you'll give up on experiments too
soon. And if you're not flexible, you'll pound your head against the wall and
you won't see a different solution to a problem you're trying to solve."
-- Jeff Bezos</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"If you're going through hell, keep going." -- Winston
Churchill</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings
in disguise." -- Oscar Wilde</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
There are lot of good things to learn in life; lot of things to unravel; keep
going; the love of your family is eternal and will stay with you forever.God
bless.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-21603723592900430192020-04-07T10:20:00.003-07:002020-04-07T10:46:19.397-07:00Pride and Prejudice, between the Sky and the Rose<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Elektrica, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been a bit too happy and optimistic lately, I wonder
where that has come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise this
is not pretense. More often than not, happiness is overlooked and
misunderstood. But the scatter-brained child I knew has been peeking, at a
boundless sea of ideas that happiness has allowed her to see; which indeed has
cleared my horizon off of ambiguity. I hope that you’re keeping your happiness
locked up tight if you haven’t already discarded it. In such times as these,
what shall be left to the admiration of posterity? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I took a leisurely stroll in the garden of such beauty, I
was reminded of my own importance. I wanted to lay it all out, to be useful,
and to be true. In all such misery, the beauty of the world will remain, then
why can’t I foster mine?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_CkWpTFvYoUY71pDyqyGU8LDNSVIyQFGModhtzEGLfGjguf4U0etYprRbUlXcyisx7ZDRqQEhcgz1mxsDgOw2UxPB4kig2A1kt-wx990GkcHbeGi4oiwLEHpm7Hdqudo9ZOQKIJgryw7/s1600/IMG_3779_Facetune_06-04-2020-23-00-38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc_CkWpTFvYoUY71pDyqyGU8LDNSVIyQFGModhtzEGLfGjguf4U0etYprRbUlXcyisx7ZDRqQEhcgz1mxsDgOw2UxPB4kig2A1kt-wx990GkcHbeGi4oiwLEHpm7Hdqudo9ZOQKIJgryw7/s640/IMG_3779_Facetune_06-04-2020-23-00-38.jpg" width="490" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few months back, I had thought that I would never feel
again. But it must be an innate desire to experience all that is good in this
world. And so the past doesn’t scare me anymore, but has uncomplicated my life
to its basic algorithm. I have burned the code into my brain, though done reluctantly;
I have reaped its benefits exuberantly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvX4mbuebUyI5DaB688vBLM6QEToRNtf9osvSlw2SMkeH6OXp4THMJDfpKJwVnTEcIjxfcm7o0ED_1RzHOdVS19uDptwoipM9s1KEgrx9N2-W-jobIulrFfmsNwGy3xq6i6vNMlftOUb5G/s1600/IMG_3782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvX4mbuebUyI5DaB688vBLM6QEToRNtf9osvSlw2SMkeH6OXp4THMJDfpKJwVnTEcIjxfcm7o0ED_1RzHOdVS19uDptwoipM9s1KEgrx9N2-W-jobIulrFfmsNwGy3xq6i6vNMlftOUb5G/s640/IMG_3782.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And even though my spirit fluttered with such feelings, it
wasn’t until I met Elizabeth and Jane that I realized the sovereignty of such
emotions; and more so, the desire to master them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elizabeth’s brazen opinions, her intrepid and gallant attitude were not impertinent as she saw them to be. It is only because being a
woman of such faculty is disagreeable. And though this shouldn’t be the case
now, it is; why else would such a character as hers pull at my heartstrings?
Elizabeth is not tractable, she would never settle for anything less, even if
her circumstances go against such affairs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_vzgz_-ZFbPrEiziA88p_Kq1Hwuh486zF-N13ecwGuKg5wmFGroBHMGlQl22xyf9OflERom9Kf0xZBNn1ZauFYf9-danZHRjMEu91rbQ5yj0f9eKJmJoCd_VKem2I54FlbbXETL732eF/s1600/IMG_3781_Facetune_06-04-2020-22-58-47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_vzgz_-ZFbPrEiziA88p_Kq1Hwuh486zF-N13ecwGuKg5wmFGroBHMGlQl22xyf9OflERom9Kf0xZBNn1ZauFYf9-danZHRjMEu91rbQ5yj0f9eKJmJoCd_VKem2I54FlbbXETL732eF/s640/IMG_3781_Facetune_06-04-2020-22-58-47.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So her resolve became my wish. Her conversations with Jane
instilled a vicarious forbearance into me. Her laugh reminded me of how short
life is, and how very scarce happiness can be in such uncertain times. And how
very perverse bitterness and anger can be, if not addressed directly to what
has pained you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elektrica, I pray that
you hold on to your sanity and rationale, the world requires it, now more than
ever. <span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgfZCcmVHSfcTr6-PLlJl4WB9eUoqYdliLAwp6geLYijrJZPdhIB6HxzTtYrcY70VSj7suQ2EI7HVzIKegecNyb16fIg_R4J1vmI28bPzA8lCIye7xILJ24hqr7nxkoPxYZ81BsHRsXb9/s1600/IMG_3815_Facetune_07-04-2020-16-51-36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="828" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgfZCcmVHSfcTr6-PLlJl4WB9eUoqYdliLAwp6geLYijrJZPdhIB6HxzTtYrcY70VSj7suQ2EI7HVzIKegecNyb16fIg_R4J1vmI28bPzA8lCIye7xILJ24hqr7nxkoPxYZ81BsHRsXb9/s640/IMG_3815_Facetune_07-04-2020-16-51-36.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh look, how much they grow in just a day. :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKl_LpKvoNrSPRkuBAAPBSDcb-vgf17TNR8FHZBvXkvu3GOSoSUdBk2n7gps6T5hGqo3S_hiNN7yY9Q3SXBRHKsnRW3oIvtZv8xTQ33YohqwafuQsieXNoF99kGTpmPSZUw9WIBTMQvex/s1600/IMG_3775_Facetune_06-04-2020-22-59-06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="828" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKl_LpKvoNrSPRkuBAAPBSDcb-vgf17TNR8FHZBvXkvu3GOSoSUdBk2n7gps6T5hGqo3S_hiNN7yY9Q3SXBRHKsnRW3oIvtZv8xTQ33YohqwafuQsieXNoF99kGTpmPSZUw9WIBTMQvex/s640/IMG_3775_Facetune_06-04-2020-22-59-06.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Heroine. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br /></div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-2447893301349471732020-04-01T06:05:00.000-07:002020-04-01T06:05:11.806-07:00Freedom at a cost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a bizarre stupor to be in, with even bizarre palliatives to deal with an overbearing solitude. But I'm safe inside; where this extremely sensitive heart is trying hard to assimilate reason for the gratuitous suffering and misery of others- all is swirled together to betray a system which is anything but ideal.<br />
<br />
All the pieces fit together, yet the heavy metal cells sway tumultuously right in my gut, tearing down the foundation. It's building up facts, where the poor have no security; and unnecessary emissions can always, and could have always been avoided. And almost <i>everything </i>can be done, without shaking up the planet; without hurting any animals, to put it more bluntly (pun intended).<br />
<br />
And while I satiate myself with Jane Austen, and the lovely company of my forever friends, I'm aware. I know that some will perish in this fire that will miss me in its path, and has indeed lost me to my four bedroom walls; where I'm safe and sound. I wait, just like everybody else, for things to get better. Hoping that somewhere, someone, must be doing something. So I don't want to wax scientific jargon.<br />
<br />
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<br />
They say that the planet is healing itself, and some practical anorak might call it bullshit. But I do genuinely hope that it's true. For I can see it in the freedom of birds flying past my balcony, and the herd of cows which come to rest here everyday now. The skies seem to be clearing up too; at what cost, we all know.<br />
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Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-55237324548882561242020-02-14T10:54:00.001-08:002020-02-14T10:54:11.401-08:00Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Love stories- the ones confined within four word sentences and the ones bound to be read between the lines, are the ones that pull you closer, the more you pull apart. The gentle denials closing in every time a remotely good thing happens, is the part and parcel of love stories. The fate of wilted red roses, fed to the yellow pages of pride and prejudice apparently speaks volumes. Feelings running amok in a beautiful cathedral should ultimately be collected in a glass jar, saved up; as fuel.<br />
And oh, I believed all of it. I kept hitting the snooze button, wanting only to be swept off of my feet, to learn everything I know from this one person. And when I thought that he was there to guide me, I was blinded to the fact that he was only in my way.<br />
<br />
<img alt="e20978087d62b0da6f09da17805494d3" class=" size-full wp-image-754 alignleft" height="810" src="https://inandoutofthevoid.files.wordpress.com/2020/02/e20978087d62b0da6f09da17805494d3.jpg" width="436" /><br />
<br />
"You make me second-guess myself, how did I ever manage to find you?" He said.<br />
<br />
I laughed; he ran his fingers through his hair. A sarcastic comment was thrown here and there, my walls came down. Why was I being driven from what I couldn't control? Why was I speechless, nervous, shaky and drained? What was wrong with this so-called strong woman, taking every dumb shit, and putting it on a pedestal?<br />
<br />
I wondered -after all had turned to ashes around which he solemnized his love to a stranger- how hero-worshiping someone had become my duty in disguise of loving someone. Anyway, that's all I remember, because time has healed everything. And now, all I see is a deceitful person, with beliefs that were ultimately south to mine.<br />
<br />
And I want to tell her, that the red and pink glittered hearts on Valentine’s Day cards shouldn't oblige you to make a start. That gentle kisses on collarbone titillates, red backless dress with black high heels invigorates, I understand. But in your cathedral of love, there may not be a hot first date; there may not be a perfect cafe with a perfect view. There may be questions, several of them, touching upon subject after subject, made complex by complex love stories. And you'll begin to wonder, if the time and energy that goes in keeping a relationship tethered and together, is really after all worth it or not?<br />
<br />
And when I didn’t want to answer that question, I turned; swiftly, with dignity. Paying heed to the exigency of the short time we spend in this world, I want nothing now but to be invariably happy, and unapologetically myself.<br />
<br />
So, I found it all. I found love in my favorite hazelnut coffee. I found it in the yellow pages of a George Eliot book. I found love in the middle of a lonely street, in the cold winds that pacify the incubus of monotony. I found it in my sweat, in the ache in my bones, in the pain in my arms- in my main signs of progress. I found love in my plans - of skydiving in Argentina, writing a lengthy entry in my journal in a cafe in Amsterdam, holding a koala in Australia, crashing a wedding in Las Vegas.<br />
<br />
Our whole lives, we search for the missing pieces of the puzzle that just refuses to come together. But you just make it work. Because that emptiness can ultimately be filled by something different, something more interesting. :)<br />
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-84442832906741115612020-01-23T07:12:00.000-08:002020-01-23T07:13:26.862-08:00Set me free<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Alone, as the ire quells, I entangle myself from everyone
around me. I take two steps back into my own world, to reflect upon words which were never meant. Everything was a lie, to fit best into the sleazy world,
which will pass you by the minute you flounder. I thought you'd stand by me,
but my one mistake- and you were gone as fast as you'd come into my life. My desire
had gone from borne to a bane. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I would have never thought that it would come to this, how
the heart tends to saturate with everything after a few trials. In the
transience of life, is nothing really permanent? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Because all that remains now
are the words that he refused to speak. The pain is vivid still, and the
disbelief is unrelenting. Segregate- dreams from reality, tears from laughter,
hurt from salvation, love from hate - and my whole heart should be divided in
two pieces; one, for how he made me feel, and the other, for how I feel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhMfuKtRfNJFb5qpW3gvrLlO8Qvefkzks0hfhg4JjfAwaTmDYhZW5eSreBhJQELETole0pQ_OBx0fjLQXYvwzbWwk_HHu2K46qyehV5-Jjs0-kZTmmENZdpEJe8ej6W6Z4C7CW8eAOv_pA/s1600/21597b81bd44683f0e7dac0658a7893e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="564" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhMfuKtRfNJFb5qpW3gvrLlO8Qvefkzks0hfhg4JjfAwaTmDYhZW5eSreBhJQELETole0pQ_OBx0fjLQXYvwzbWwk_HHu2K46qyehV5-Jjs0-kZTmmENZdpEJe8ej6W6Z4C7CW8eAOv_pA/s400/21597b81bd44683f0e7dac0658a7893e.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Take my hand, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Untangle me from you.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Set me free, <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Don’t keep holding on,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Don’t hurt me. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For the raconteur once recited a nebulous
story of love and hope to me, they turned out to be a dissembler, and I was a mere
mirror - a pariah. So, these colorful images of the imagination must
ultimately be dyed in colors of black and white, positive turning to negative,
pixels turning to dust; and all of it, forever etched into my memory.</span></span></div>
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-85615177037565686352019-12-10T11:31:00.001-08:002019-12-10T22:00:31.794-08:00Unrequited love. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The veritable reality of the reasons that once clouded her
judgement, and played her as easily as a game of cards, became as clear to her
as a crystal; there is no yearning now, to get back what is gone. But there is
a wish, to get back that mental peace, which tethered her to him. There is a
vulnerability, which is not more than an effect of a humiliation, by the
ignorance of a man she held in high regard and spurned the likelihood of him
ever, ever hurting her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3E406384E6uqAArWzqoiwcX6XhPGy3nBS7uw-srgFm5_SDzdMB0r6tI46bxztHxcdPltVN-MVDHM5tBsTWWoky1cwIw1P9C4crEvXhgnxn6aNGoFCuFNLQqfyx73M6HoY1z50IDfTntD/s1600/b3ad4fa832724e4f6d389e4653b9779a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3E406384E6uqAArWzqoiwcX6XhPGy3nBS7uw-srgFm5_SDzdMB0r6tI46bxztHxcdPltVN-MVDHM5tBsTWWoky1cwIw1P9C4crEvXhgnxn6aNGoFCuFNLQqfyx73M6HoY1z50IDfTntD/s640/b3ad4fa832724e4f6d389e4653b9779a.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As she declared her feelings to him, she started to shake to the
hysterical throb of her heart. It was an extremely cold feeling, of being
abandoned by your own flesh and blood. The emotions were so overpowering, that
she was stricken into a sobbing mess as he said "It's ok". <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"I just don't understand
this", she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"I absolutely know how it
feels." He said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"I don't want to be a part
of your life anymore." She said angrily, as she cried her heart out, but
not meaning a word of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">And he abandoned her, just like
that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tV4d2bjwSOyL3njUB3FS3wh1btOClZrxMlNcuq-I1NegkMOQ-4IsQzQkZtzknwGLhX6h-6RofaYEaWQ01CcxY8tKUhEBLBZyUfFVZED3G1fRXNtkPKHxWyIc9VmVTzsF5Vn10WiVLf1h/s1600/df2d3b707f7332033dd201091a95869a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tV4d2bjwSOyL3njUB3FS3wh1btOClZrxMlNcuq-I1NegkMOQ-4IsQzQkZtzknwGLhX6h-6RofaYEaWQ01CcxY8tKUhEBLBZyUfFVZED3G1fRXNtkPKHxWyIc9VmVTzsF5Vn10WiVLf1h/s640/df2d3b707f7332033dd201091a95869a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Wasn't it the </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">cruelest</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> thing, to awaken so much love without any
intention to do so? What a tragedy it was, she thought, to perceive things as
they were. A bright conniving smile, tales of the memories that revived love
and hope, and signs, that meant everything; yet, nothing. She wonders, if the
language that he spoke had a different dialect than what she had interpreted.
And if all along they were not only on two different pages, but also characters
of two unquestionably antithetical stories. That love was never hers to keep.
Because the girl he loves is not her. And this is a sublime echo of a past that
lingers on for hours, the one that she wished to return from, but would not
dither to get back to at the first gesture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">And now she must live in a world
where she would be triggered by the memories where he would tender the best
advice, and cry sometimes, knowing that he is never going to be there ever
again. All that she did now, is going to be...just different. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">It was in these moments that
she learned what made her bleed, what tattered her soul, and what tainted her
cheeks. She was not flushed this time or hardhearted as he called her. She was
standing tall at the altar, engulfed in a funereal atmosphere, ready to
sacrifice; yet again. It was in these moments, that denial pervaded every
neuron, every cell of hers, that hope became inevitable. It was in these
moments, that there was bewilderment so strong that no question matched its
answer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">She had been part of a movie
for the better part of these 4 years, and the theater had been eerily empty all
this while. Because who would watch Sisyphus rolling a huge rock up a steep
hill? It wasn't worth it in the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">And now, two angels have fallen
to the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYz2eYc-34EuoRNRJaR2oD0TDq69XOHqayP-ryn0Z1k7F6cAkGx7ke26qW1CgtQnYjCVwQXLSIfgJ003CrENWfI0nDdBG2yTu2nTVqR66p1k5HqkaWPHpjlI44X3vdEO667NyOl8RzAAJ/s1600/60a8d115df732a68d17eb82a3223412c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYz2eYc-34EuoRNRJaR2oD0TDq69XOHqayP-ryn0Z1k7F6cAkGx7ke26qW1CgtQnYjCVwQXLSIfgJ003CrENWfI0nDdBG2yTu2nTVqR66p1k5HqkaWPHpjlI44X3vdEO667NyOl8RzAAJ/s640/60a8d115df732a68d17eb82a3223412c.jpg" width="448" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">But the thing she should
remember is that, love just happens, and that loving someone is the most
beautiful thing in the world. But sometimes, people part their ways. Their
stories change. And eventually everything transforms. She longs to die, if only
she could rise again, like a candle in a pouring rain, transformed, to a
flickering lamp in a pouring rain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">The music inside is still ringing;
she is in disbelief, because things that mattered once, don't now. <b><i>And she is
sorry, for what was, and not is.</i></b></span></div>
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-31295779026196432192019-10-28T23:52:00.000-07:002019-10-28T23:58:11.624-07:00Idee fixe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Ten thousand words, are stretched upon the vast expanse of time
I've spent revising what is lost. And I’ve discovered the gems of past time,
encrusted deep within the memory of my machine, unfiltered, and undoubtedly me.
They <i>follow the bliss, just like a summer song. </i>These words
take me back to a time germane to the voice that rose and fell in the deepest,
darkest crevices of my heart. These are the gaps I could fill with nothing more
than edifying words - <b>I am a goddess, you are a heretic. When has it
ever done any good? </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Though the silent accusations
spilled hastily on 23rd September, followed by intense happiness on 24th, makes
me wonder, if anything that is put out in haste, true or just a negation and
that's it? Are words only exploited to satiate an insatiable cupidity for life?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">There are ten thousand deleted
bits, and a hundred half finished stories - all lost to restiveness. I'm caught
in a never-ending maze of unreality, for I fail to come up with something that
is real. I have a fixed idea of what I should be feeling, no matter what the
situation is, for facts fail to faze me. Just like you fail to faze me with
your pronounced weirdness, trying to obfuscate an idea that is so inherently
engineered into your being that you end up being nothing but ordinary. Just like
my words. You're trying to hide what is real, and substantive. Press delete,
and do it all over again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">You're incomprehensible,
just like a really tough reading comprehension on an English test. Are the
answers even there? </span></b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Ten thousand words have been
fixed on an idea or two. And I've sketched my whole life in a paragraph; mostly
in the space that is void of any words. Because how can I ever, ever, figure
out what goes there? I am complicated, and vague, and a hypocrite. I move in
circles with my words, in a garden inundated with my impatient thoughts. What
do I pick, when one is synonymous with the other? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I have written a story, which
is riveting to only those who are ethically compromised. And I don't mind this
moral failure. How could I? But they know why I don't simplify myself; because
I'll fall apart if I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">But let me remain so. Let me keep
pilfering notions from my own banal philosophy of life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-56815499100568064252019-08-17T04:28:00.001-07:002020-02-25T07:46:51.702-08:00To collecting new treasures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I’m the haunting presence on a lonely road, and a dramatic
warm feeling on a cold and windy night. I am the unexpected ignorance. I am my
own judgments, my own constraints. I am the sad related content. I am the
failed experiments, unimportant and incomplete. I am a reflection of grey mornings;
I am a hot and humid feeling. I am the rude one word reply and the
indifference that comes with it. I am full up to the brim yet empty within. I
am so very cliché and meaningless, like the canned phrases on happiness and
success. I am the gaudy one bedroom apartment, and the shiny party tinsel in it.</div>
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But <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been athirst
for an escape from it all, to find the long lost self; to find a kinder more
magnanimous side of myself, to find the brighter and uncontrollable contortions
of my face, to find those inscrutable and seemingly furious yet innocuous fancies
of mine I’ve always been too afraid of. Just like ending sentences with a
preposition.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to end
everything by dissolving into the background inconspicuously, and with it- all
the self condemnation, all my judgments, all the unkind conversations, and all
my doubts and apprehension. I want to live with the propriety of my eight year
old self. I want to bloom again, unchecked, yet more aware. I want to be loved by
the people closest to me, and love them, almost foolishly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8PitbRiHbxbbx__UroR-XGDrD238LQsX9RsmzHCe5VOJmWPLp-8RIRl_HKqOFf83VGKcKeXu0PUU5qi2Rzx6nLAX_PnmeFL8XD8V3ZRC-Drhyphenhyphenfkm9w1ja-nwZyEDsfS5ud5kBwfDfnJG/s1600/IMG_E0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8PitbRiHbxbbx__UroR-XGDrD238LQsX9RsmzHCe5VOJmWPLp-8RIRl_HKqOFf83VGKcKeXu0PUU5qi2Rzx6nLAX_PnmeFL8XD8V3ZRC-Drhyphenhyphenfkm9w1ja-nwZyEDsfS5ud5kBwfDfnJG/s320/IMG_E0341.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWK7MUD-1Cba80nzoUsuKTMGeftOpgVOD7EBCdLHdm5Bttb-APjLKKEJxuM0if9iuxIUmGIMRAgcuWhTApdhFD3xEUrlHV7HyeKUO53M0R1zwDJihiE9PJvIWI0EI0_ZSP6sw7e-nnTgz/s1600/IMG_E0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWK7MUD-1Cba80nzoUsuKTMGeftOpgVOD7EBCdLHdm5Bttb-APjLKKEJxuM0if9iuxIUmGIMRAgcuWhTApdhFD3xEUrlHV7HyeKUO53M0R1zwDJihiE9PJvIWI0EI0_ZSP6sw7e-nnTgz/s320/IMG_E0342.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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“But if nothing
changes, what could happen?” Nothing will change with a preternatural speed. I’ll
have to plant my own roses, and accept the thorns too. It’s a hard earned fact
of two days which are exactly the same; like consecutive integers whose difference
offers nothing interesting, and ironically nothing different. My wants and wishes
keep flourishing as my body breaks under the weight of time. And up until now,
it has felt like I’ve waited all my life, for someone to tell me...something. Out
of breath, I’ve been searching...for something...a stepping stone, a starting
line, the origin or the center...I don’t know.</div>
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No wonder then that the starless black sky is so alluring,
beckoning me to open up, creating an illusion that everything is as calm, as
quite, and as beautiful as it is. But there is a kindness in nature which is so
welcoming, so harmless, and so accepting. And two exact same days can be patently
distinguished by the charming full moon, obscured by grey clouds. So charming
it is that everything down below on earth starts feeling illusory- a contriving
complication! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvPDjlPVoo_Zp7Yu8Htywb0GYncivJY_rgPhKY493HxkobttgZRYDQkczZQfTDBYuGfJbATNScE46Dcgc8bpMY9k6-Jwtv2N55dqF5YMGCILOe_0xCRGzhtpXYS5hDNRAVv06E9cZPA7H/s1600/IMG_8536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvPDjlPVoo_Zp7Yu8Htywb0GYncivJY_rgPhKY493HxkobttgZRYDQkczZQfTDBYuGfJbATNScE46Dcgc8bpMY9k6-Jwtv2N55dqF5YMGCILOe_0xCRGzhtpXYS5hDNRAVv06E9cZPA7H/s640/IMG_8536.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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So, tell me. Tell me
that all that I write and disguise means much more to me than the brazen and unnecessary
facts of my dear life. Tell me that for all my contemptuousness that stays so
hidden yet not at all, I haply betray my sensitivity. Tell me that I should
forget what came before me, and explore several beautiful places for myself; the
ones with heavy rainfall, the ones with the most beautiful azure skies, and the
ones inside of myself- the very places I keep exacerbating with the garbage I
garner from outside. Tell me that I shall not to get too attached to people. Tell
me about the ecstasy and the agony of unwelcome decisions, unknown difficulties
and distresses. Tell me that home is nothing but a sensation of being whole,
and wanted. That it is the place whose environs give you warmth, and shade.
That it is the place where you feel comfortable taking a dump. Tell me that
reciting a windy paragraph of a classic novel to my crush is something I’ll
laugh about in years to come. Tell me that it matters not how happy I make them
feel, but how happy I myself feel. Tell me that what I am not is exactly what I
am. </div>
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And like this, I know myself so very clearly, yet not at
all. The difference must be in the contrast, even 0.25 is a lot – blurry or
clear, I must decide.</div>
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“It’s your
perception. For some 0.25 is absolutely nothing” </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
That was a good way to know how much of a histrionic I was. I
need to go on an adventure and find small treasures again, like I used to when
I was a kid. I need a new collection. I feel like I’ve exhausted every single
fiber of my older one. </div>
<br /></div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-45603005731718703962019-07-17T07:03:00.000-07:002019-07-17T11:10:09.760-07:00My heart goes cricket<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What a nail-biting, highly strung, cricket world cup final!
How many days has it been? It seems like it was only yesterday. I’m not a cricket
romantic, because I only watched the matches where India played and highlights
of other matches. Because gosh, it’s time consuming and heart-breaking at times!
So I always sat with a book or two to watch the matches, for 6 long hours on 9
different occasions. That is 54 hours of cricket! What’s wrong with me? I could
almost hear my teacher’s voice, saying “Practice your guitar!” But you’re
sitting in a different city, leaving me striving. I’d hear my
dad say, “Prepare for the exam that’s coming” but no, that’s precisely what
made me a worse guitarist. And all these things always ran in a loop! So I came
out of it! </div>
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I almost didn’t watch the final match, being sad over the
fact that MS got run out by Guptill and Matt Henry taking wickets after
wickets! But I’m glad I decided to watch the match, and in the end, not even
question the fact that Kane Williamson is a superhuman. And even though I was
supporting New Zealand half-way through the match (upon being triggered by the
fact that people were underestimating New Zealand!), I was still awestruck by
Ben Stokes. He really fought like a warrior, didn’t he? But oh future people!
Don’t just memorize the fact that England won the men’s cricket world cup 2019,
because NZ definitely has one hand on that cup. </div>
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You wonder, when Trent Boult stepped over the boundary line
after almost getting Ben stokes that is there such thing as fate and destiny. The
overthrow by Martin Guptill, the substandard umpiring, awarding of 6 runs when
15 were needed from 6 balls, when NZ had everything going for them, their world
crumbles. The smiles wipe off, the scores tie.</div>
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I’m an emotional fool, but I’m not being emotional because
it was the “underdogs” who lost, as technically, no one lost. So why does one
team get to celebrate while the other rue the day? Then the dreaded super over,
just six balls to decide who wins the world cup. And even then, both teams
showed their resilience. Especially New Zealand, instead of feeling dejected,
when Jimmy Neesham hit that six, I honestly thought that nothing can stop this
team from winning that cup. But well, the scores tie again. And a very unsound
rule regarding the boundaries did shatter that dream of NZ. </div>
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Why am I so sad for them? Because they don’t deserve to lose!
This humility, perseverance and their kind-heartedness is so infectious and so
rare that I can’t stop wondering what and how in the name of god have you preserved
such good qualities in this dog-eat-dog world?! One bad person ruins my day,
one stupid conversation – and I start drowning in the whirlpool of my problems!
</div>
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I know all is said and done, but I learnt that it is
important to do what you love to do. Regardless of the failures, regardless of
what anybody says, regardless of the probability of you making it. And most of
all, realizing, that nothing is certain. Not even winning, when you ARE
winning. You keep holding on.</div>
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-48569823497646141012019-07-07T02:35:00.000-07:002019-07-07T02:47:26.934-07:00Tar of memories <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<img alt="IMG_E9503" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-689" height="478" src="https://inandoutofthevoid.files.wordpress.com/2019/07/img_e9503.jpg" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Yesterday, I decided to accompany Joy out in the balcony while he waited for our mother to come home. I carried the book which was coming near its end, making me read every line of its last few pages, twice. Believing that on doing so, its words will graft onto my memory, like mathematics formulae which have never left me.<br />
<br />
The weather was a bit gloomy, and the air had an eerily nostalgic smell to it. And the flecking paint of the balustrade eerily reminded me of our derelict house in Delhi, which is now partitioned and divided. <br />
<br />
It had a similar balcony, the house. And as kids, I and my brother would spend an inordinate amount of time hanging from it, watching the passers by walk through its extremely narrow lane. Joy watches every person passing by with the same inquisitiveness of a child, shifting glances from one person to the other, searching for a familiar face. And I guess that euphoria of finding a familiar face in a sea of unfamiliar faces has never left me. It has interwoven itself with intangible things which do nothing but make me feel nostalgic. A complete waste of time it is, I’m told- to live in the past, to seek familiarity, to search for smells, to search for places, to search for love.<br />
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<img alt="cats" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-690" height="244" src="https://inandoutofthevoid.files.wordpress.com/2019/07/cats.jpg" width="640" /><br />
<br />
And so Joy waits, while I’m overcome with nostalgia- of what will never come back to me, will never be mine and pacify me. A text jolts me out of my reverie; it’s the same as ever, now come to join in the mire of my own complacency and lassitude. I’m stuck in a rut, a cycle that never ends. And he must inevitably be a part of it, an interloper I’ve so carelessly fallen in love with.<br />
<br />
<img alt="cats2" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-691" height="228" src="https://inandoutofthevoid.files.wordpress.com/2019/07/cats2.jpg" width="640" /><br />
<br />
I’m jealous of this little soul, who tirelessly waits for my mother to come back, without any promise that she will. I’m jealous of the house that stands beaten in the middle of a market, capable of igniting a forgotten past. Because here I am, being overpowered by it all, hiding behind the book lined walls of my room. I’m collecting these memories, as evidence of what I was denied, of the promise that was never kept, of the harsh games of reality, to be shown in the court of life. But Joy waits loyally, expecting nothing, wanting nothing. Maybe that is why humans are sad little creatures, stuck in the doldrums of memory.<br />
<br />
Joy, as you wait, I’ll wait with you. And we’ll forget everything else (and I literally did forget the INDvsSL match yesterday! Caught up with it later, phew!).<br />
<br />
Finally, reunited. And I'm eternally stuck in the tar of loving memories.<br />
<br />
<img alt="IMG_9113" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-692" height="640" src="https://inandoutofthevoid.files.wordpress.com/2019/07/img_9113.jpg" width="480" /><br />
<br /></div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-21117712089830598342019-07-01T07:08:00.000-07:002019-09-13T01:43:42.616-07:00Deathly hallows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7peKmgA9-2CSAx1rBtH8d0tCu9XkecTDD8mpcS_KeR7cyFme41yLDCQz9Qq9bPHsZGsNK_9vz6zD034ufg8i7xmTMMDlnY2TkfkDjdiSOeQWhnT-cKydXN7K-qhtJiyx-zL7WpfIn6AnR/s1600/f3cdd5db1ff8ad9259e01e932a527076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="407" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7peKmgA9-2CSAx1rBtH8d0tCu9XkecTDD8mpcS_KeR7cyFme41yLDCQz9Qq9bPHsZGsNK_9vz6zD034ufg8i7xmTMMDlnY2TkfkDjdiSOeQWhnT-cKydXN7K-qhtJiyx-zL7WpfIn6AnR/s640/f3cdd5db1ff8ad9259e01e932a527076.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Like shinning stars,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Dead inside,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Like wilting lily flowers,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>The depicting story of death
resides,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>In the cankerous urban towers<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Pallid, ashen face smiles,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>As the tides of anger ebb,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>The midnight train is passing
by,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>The weight of hope is shed.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Hopeless, dejected, she roams
alone,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>In the bleak mid-winter
weather, <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Alas! A part of her is dead!<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>As the other is put together<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>For the fire within is still
burning bright,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>She is fighting under the
raging light,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>To claim what her body denies<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>And live until the fire
survives.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>So when she's gone don't mourn
her death,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>For every flower that once
bloomed,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Should die,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Mourn as she withers fool!<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>Mourn as you deny her, her
right. </b></span></div>
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-76303066822636074872019-06-26T01:51:00.000-07:002019-06-26T10:36:37.230-07:00Happiness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://www.indiblogger.in/post/happiness-0d6ad520da" title="Top post on IndiBlogger, the biggest community of Indian Bloggers">
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<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will the tattered pages stay tattered forever? What good
will these fragments be when the mind is too old to think for itself and the
heart remains anchored to the past? Lying crumpled in a corner, when every
touch hurts, do you think it’ll do good to dwell on dreams then? So get down
from your high-horse man, it’s time you realized that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> little world is not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">our</i>
little world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dad, I won’t be just another branch in your family tree,
your benign insinuations and seemingly innocuous opinions have eaten at my every nerve
and sinew like termite. My aspirations are shrouded by the guilt of having done
something terrible; the ignominy of being a misfit. I’m not playing the blame game;
I’m just laying out the signs of a society which is so obsessed with awards
that it oversees the fact of the matter. Yet, I’m overcome with shame, because
you have sacrificed your life for us, and I want to repay you with the very
same sacrifice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re an all-rounder!” No, I’m not. I don’t intend to
integrate everything that I do, just to be given this trite tag. I’m compelled
to be an “all-rounder”, in an Indian house hold, where being just one thing,
isn’t enough. Failure is an absolute feeling that persists as cancer to your confidence.
So no, I’m not modest. I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">made</i> to
be modest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So clearly, I don’t want to be the good girl anymore. I don’t
want to fall in line with millions others who live to earn and die. For getting
a nice car, a nice house in the suburbs, travelling abroad once a year, a gym
membership, honor and respect of being “important” in this society, is not
happiness to me. And never will be. I shall perish before I have to “settle”,
in some way or the other. But I shall. I shall be like a phoenix, rise from my
own ashes. Die, before I have to live again. Shan’t I? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89S4_XjMeQ62_9TbFBF6hN47T4LHblNknoHQ7IgDGsNyqoJwDI-wNaMGle-rdCH4Pm1OllrcWwdVc66FEyu6_3DfGXxafth_DA1ih4TPth4imR6BaiWrDOym4d1LGGZJ5OhmD_uBtg4Il/s1600/7349cb0692b78626f8b83299b4f40427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="564" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89S4_XjMeQ62_9TbFBF6hN47T4LHblNknoHQ7IgDGsNyqoJwDI-wNaMGle-rdCH4Pm1OllrcWwdVc66FEyu6_3DfGXxafth_DA1ih4TPth4imR6BaiWrDOym4d1LGGZJ5OhmD_uBtg4Il/s640/7349cb0692b78626f8b83299b4f40427.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh happiness, how you live in fissures now that the bulwark
of innocence has been broken. Afraid, of the fear that lingers over you, fear
which exhilarates at every chance it gets to come close to you, constricting
the throat and distracting the mind by erupting butterflies in the belly. But
the heart is not a fool. It shall protect you, whenever it has to. And when it
gets hard, it shall bleed in tears. And let me know, that I should try harder
to keep the forces away from you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until I have to rise again, happiness, please stay .</div>
</div>
</div>
Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7291894190052133142.post-89886467127081330872019-06-10T01:30:00.000-07:002019-06-10T05:30:58.554-07:00Freedom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Feeble sunlight streamed through the windows as soon as she retired to bed. Murmuring the tasks she had set upon herself for the day, she
snuggled down with her blanket; in the hopes that she falls asleep before her
dog comes </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">gamboling</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> into her bedroom, or of course her mother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">She fell asleep in minutes, entering a world entirely her own. And how
bizarre a world she enters; just like a puzzle whose pieces are hastily
put together. All of her thoughts during the day, misunderstood by her own
conscience. You see, she's not a good Quidditch player. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">The strong smell of Jasmine and Rose agarbati woke her up. Shocked to
see 11 am on the clock, she rolled out of her bed instantly, and fell down. Her
mother who now stood in the doorway, laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"This smell gets up my nose." Kaya complained as she lay down
on the cold floor, not bothering to pull herself up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Here, have a Jasmine, fresh from the garden." And her mother dropped
a bunch of Jasmines near Kaya's face. She got up, seeing her dog come running
towards her to eat up all the Jasmine flowers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kaya sat back down on her bed, and told her mother of her night's
adventures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Get some sleep! Only warlocks work at 5 am!" Her mother
billowed as she looked down at her daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"I'd prefer witch." Kaya mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Well, you do look like a witch. Look at you, you've become so
gaunt!" Her mother said, frowning,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Ma, I was reading a book on Mata Hari." Kaya said, her eyes
now accustoming to the brightly lit room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"What about her?" She asked, sounding interested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kaya sat up straight on her bed, and recited the story of the lascivious
Mata Hari, cogently. Her mother gasped as Kaya told the tales of Mata Haris'
dances, her libidinousness, her freedom, and her unfair execution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"What freedom is there in being lascivious?" Kaya's mother
asked disparagingly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Mother, it is more about our choices, and them being respected.
People fear women who are free, in every sense of the word. People fear women
who are just human, so much so that they retaliate with assault." Kaya
replied tritely, fearing her mother won't understand otherwise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"What kind of freedom do you want?" Her mother asked,
inquisitively. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejh3PwZ2ykKv44BG3_8wZHm51eBONSgYF-FbIeztuDKEwQGt1L3tKRquNibTE6RR3kAjXb6HRmV0Vw1ak0ZuYOiY91LAaN0PeK5SoSq6XwRMREmhkzfiBZJ9ivhznCELj8dukcQZwMG7C/s1600/2db1991bdbcf6d82827e5382974345f3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejh3PwZ2ykKv44BG3_8wZHm51eBONSgYF-FbIeztuDKEwQGt1L3tKRquNibTE6RR3kAjXb6HRmV0Vw1ak0ZuYOiY91LAaN0PeK5SoSq6XwRMREmhkzfiBZJ9ivhznCELj8dukcQZwMG7C/s640/2db1991bdbcf6d82827e5382974345f3.jpg" width="425" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Remembering the dream she'd had just hours before, Kaya smiled her widest, and said, "Freedom to be whoever I want to be, Ma, without being
put on a pedestal." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"You want to be average at everything?" Her mother inquired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kaya knew her mother would say that, because that was the truth. We tend
to move from one thing to the other, paving our way to what we believe is the much
cleaner and greener pasture, because we see everything that's within our reach,
forgoing happiness and satisfaction, as doable. But for Kaya, these weren't
entirely her choices; rather they were handed down to her, in pity when she
wasn't even drowning. Her choices weren’t respected. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Yet Kaya knew that it ill behooved her to drop the baggage of blame,
which in actuality kept her afloat, it attested to her an important mission- to
save herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"I'll be on the cusp of everything, until the day I decide to let
go of the person I'm not. But you see then it will be my decision, since I'd
have gained my freedom." Kaya articulated, feeling a sense of pride in
living an ambiguous life, led by the dictum of the sun shining on the
righteous. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"You have the freedom." Her mother said dismissively. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kaya laughed, almost derisively, and said, "Not yet, Ma. When I'll
have it, you'll know. Because then, I'll glow, I'll laugh more, I'll love more,
and I won't be gaunt anymore!" She threw her hands up in the air and fell
back on the bed, closing her eyes to the upsurge of emotions that made her
heart beat fast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Her mother never understood. Maybe the subtle </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">derision</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> to her freedom
was too subtle and recondite for her mother to understand. Or maybe, ignorance
is bliss. Any which way, Kaya couldn’t help but respect Mata Hari, for her
boldness and her pride. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">"Be whoever you want to be" and with that, her mother left the
room, chanting “Om” as she went to offer the few left Jasmines to the deity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Kaya opened her eyes as soon as her mother left the room, and once
again, she was dreaming. If only it was that simple, she thought. She wondered
what price she will have to pay for her freedom. And soon, her thoughts were
swimming, in the uncharted vastness of her mind. Whereas, dreams, real and
unreal, danced upon the ship that remained painfully still. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Tanisha Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06765222873742459679noreply@blogger.com0