I don’t like it. Not one bit. I can’t tuck it away in a corner and just work around it. It doesn’t seem possible. Hell, it simply isn’t possible. So I’m just going to let it linger and ignore it for a while. Get something done, anything at all. And then get back to it. Because it, this strange feeling, doesn’t like being ignored. No siree. It will come back and hound you worse than ever.
Scariest part is, this strange feeling just found itself a beautiful stranger.
(Source: observando)
It is quite unfair how we belittle the word. Almost anything is paradise now-a-days. Eating a piece of sinfully delicious chocolate isn’t paradise! It’s just….wonderland maybe. If you really want to call it something. Even Coldplay didn’t commit to calling it paradise. This could be para-para-paradise, is all he said.
I’ll tell you what paradise is. That one place that gives you happiness…. the sort of joy you can’t really describe. Blind and gushing. Glee. It doesn’t have to be a place really. Just a feeling. A memory. That you can keep going back to. You want to know where I found my paradise? Somewhere in the corner of someone’s heart.
(Source: observando)
A question of principle.
Who doesn’t like a good movie? Almost nobody. Unless you’re one of those haters of a certain person - the actor, the director, the spot boy. Whatever. But then arises the question,
What is ‘good’?
Ah. That’s a tricky one. Taste levels, genre likeability and such things come into play. And let me tell you, whatever be your taste-level, you’re not going to like a movie it goes against your principle. And a pretty straightforward incident comes to mind.
My mom told me she hated The Dark Knight.
*silence*
*staring at mum with mouth wide open*
What…. I….. Why… wha…. WHAT!?
“Ma, this is a movie that took something as silly as a guy in a cape and made it legendary. He made it real. How can you not like it?! It was epic. And the best part was of course the Joker. I mean, you remember him? I don’t think anyone will forget him.” *look of sheer awe*
“Well, I just did not like it.”
“Too much violence?”
“No, a man died after being in this movie.”
“Umm…. are you talking about Heath Ledger?”
*sudden increase in voice pitch and intensity*
“Yes, this is a movie that claimed this young man’s life. Is it worth it, Shradha? Hmm? He had his whole life ahead of him, and because of THIS movie, he is now no more. Do you really want to support a movie that has done this to a person?”
“But he…..”
“LET ME FINISH! Do you also want to end up like him? Well, I hope not. God knows with you kids. That’s it. You will not watch such movies ever again. Heard me?”
*more silence*
“HOLI” mother of God!
Follow Through
I made it a point to follow this one through. I mean it was only fair that I give a decent shot, right? I never really went out of my way to do any such thing before, but there was something about this one. You know? This feeling…. call it an inkling if you must. That this might actually turn out alright. Since I am on my way to seeing it through, there is no way to tell if it will actually work. But then again, what is life without blind optimism?
Memories, they’re like strings. I have so many, sometimes I feel like my head is twisted and entwined in them. Funny thing is, we have so many different events to remember - co-incidences, catastrophes, joys, people, moments….. The colours keep changing. Just like moods. Neons, tints, rainbows probably with some greys and blacks. And I am a cat in this story, chasing around my never-ending string of memoirs.
Sometimes I want to disappear.
Come at me bro. :D
Chaos. Quite amazing how Sparky never felt even a smidgen of it. He was standing right there, at the edge of the terrace, on the cement parapet wall. He looked down at the throngs of people signalling things, coercing him to come down with looks of panic on their face. He even noticed Laura. There she was. Shiny golden waves of hair and a crimson sundress. He smiled to himself. He didn’t think she would be here. But Sparky felt nothing but a strong sense of calm. This was how it was meant to be. He hadn’t felt this calm in the longest time. He waved at his mother. She was screaming his name. He smiled and yelled something back. She didn’t quite catch it, but it didn’t matter. He was gone.
(Source: sine-poenitentia, via davesingh)
