Wednesday, 12 December 2012
Posted by Olive Oyl at 22:03
Sunday, 7 October 2012
As the windows of the low planes shine bright, a gush of life falls on to the larger-than-life unending sky. Up there in the sky are souls like mine, anticipating a quick landing after a long day, homecoming, and a quick night's sleep which cannot differentiate between a grown up and a child. On a different layer of the universe, a plane slowly trudges along, from a distant corner of the world, and it is just a speck; like the dying star. As the clouds ocassionally engulf its fire-fly like lights, I almost feel that the universe has consumed it, taken it to where it belongs while we are kept wondering what the other side of the picture is like, our dreams limited by the high walls of logic.
May be we are like the distant dying stars. Shining on, where the mad dreams die to give way to reason.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 18:29
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Maturity is all about accepting that life is going to hurl dollops of boredom at you, and you've just got to sit back and watch as it happens to you. I am not quite fond of the existentialist chaps whom I don't understand but I suppose I at times get why they were so cranky about life. Too much of maturity does that to you.
But of course, the happy-and-peaceful romantic comedies of the world are just going to make you believe that what is happening is funny, and in the long run you are going to spend your life crankily-happily-ever-after with the chick of your dreams, or something similarly fairytalish.
This is what I believed for a long time, till education happened to enter my mind like some obnoxiously stingy smell that you just can't avoid on the road even if you put your handkerchief in front of your nose like you are kidnapping your own self. With age comes excessive questions getting thrown at you about life and other profound nuisances. I ocassionally wish to retort that I can't think so much as I am going to die someday anyway. Might as well be peaceful in the meantime. Education and maturity nexus will question you as to what you want to be and become, whether a snooty academician who throws brillianty obscure post-modernist discourses on the dining table, or someone who works for a living, and then utilising the money to live life one's own way. It will be a bit sad if I find myself being defined and redefined by the small number of people I know, on the basis of my education or the lack of it.
Sometimes I wish to be more, or less, than a mere definition of educational degrees and professional jargons. Sometimes I guess one would like to stick to the childhood fairytale dreams that might give one a small life, but a valuable one, to me and to people I appreciate. But if scholastic intellectual brouhahas crept into everyday life, in every mundane experiences, then I suppose much of this world will remain unappreciated.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 19:23
Sunday, 26 August 2012
The idea of staying away from home began late in my life. Bred within the grand comforts of familiarity where even the hostile dogs on the roads are familiar enemies, a completely new city entail much excitement. So my appreciation for all the hardhips of life that hostel life entails is of much intensity. Along with the sense of liberation that you might feel, where several minutes in a day give you the whoopie feeling, the levels of toleration that one is born with is indeed increased manifold, up to a point when a rat is literally doing bungee jumping above your head, you can relax and continue with your task and let the fellow be. I've been alloted a hostel that's supposed to be the oldest in my campus. this entails families of rats that have been raised from generation to generations, and therefore have expertise of sniffing their ways into food like a trained hound. it also entails mosquito repellant resistant mosquitoes, some humble termites that recently made a friend of mine look like he's had the pox all over again and some darned dogs that breed like bunnies and proliferate the entire Earth in order to replace human race, someday very soon. And I am not alone. The jungle here is appealing. There's a joke that if one sees a nilgai in the first week of being in the campus, one is supposed to complete her PhD from here. In all fairness, I wish to run away. But to top it all, I have seen five such so called lucky charms, often in pairs which implies many more unborn nilgais in the making. Strange are the charms of luck. Then there are cats who stare at you, and you can stare back too. It's a game of who bats one's eyelids first. But cats are fine. My balcony also sees - what one of my friends searched in the internet to find out that its called a civet- stealthily climb up. We had a mutual moment of passion where we stared into each others' eyes while it dangled its tail. Then I silently went back, brought a can of baygon and sprayed in all my glory. My revenge was taken, and my uninvited guest has so far decided to run away for good. South Delhi, I conclude, has a lot of animals, human forms included. But indeed, it's fun. the days end when you wish to, the dead of the night is filled with wide-awake people on the roads, and libraries that are stacked with all sorts of books, YET kind enough to let us humble mortals access Facebook to spy on people's life like good old times when we had only studies to do, and some entertainment and the rest, that were taken for granted thanks to the odd blessings like parents, familiarity and neighbourhood. Life away from home is supposedly odd. It's everyone's life away from home out here, some more and some less. But, well, with a good friend or two, it's all good after all.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 15:36
Friday, 27 July 2012
Since I can remember bits and pieces of my life, the city has never let me be alone. I've found familiarity in the air as I trudged along the city in trams and buses, ferries and boats and trains. I've often felt the confidence that if I ever felt alone, the riverside would be there to make me feel that everything's fine after all. As I'll leave, I won't probably go with too heavy a heart. I'm looking forward with much positive gusto. But I'll probably be leaving with some tinges of a confused soul, a little less dreamy about things I were confident about in the past, and strange nostalgia about places that made some moments of my life breathtakingly beautiful.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 21:10
Thursday, 12 July 2012
They wondered how they will be read:
Will they be like all the poets famed
Or the ones that the readers dread.
My heart too yearns for a little praise
For which I sometimes selfishly write.
But Alas, that requires a great flair,
Which I lack, I must surmise.
So while the clock ticks away to eve
And boredom has gripped my senses,
I am sure to keep my readers peeved,
As in poetry doesn't lie my talents.
An uncalled for holiday had left me intensely bored. Hence. :|
Posted by Olive Oyl at 15:28
Saturday, 7 July 2012
Of course, the mind looks for greener pastures that proverbially always remains on the other side which you can see but never prance upon with equally glorious feelings. I mean, the sight of the mud, the roots and the discarded chocolate wrappers stuck between one or two dead grasses do not make the best of pictures, if you know what I mean. So, while you know that the love in hand is way more boring than hunting for the two coyly tempting from the bush, you might also deduce that when the bush twit is perched upon your forehand, after a day or two it will sing in the same boring tune.
Seven billion people, and eternally hormonal enthusiasm do make the world terribly dense with people. So, there are probably millions of perfect persons out there that the cosmos decided to not meet with you because of the lack of common place in the time space continuum. So the picture ain't that romantic comedy like all the time though with apt perception you can turn your life into one, at least a mere comedy if not a romantic one. There's not much uniqueness in reality. It's charm lies in it being common, mundane and everyday. It's all in the perception, I suppose. And I guess, the sooner we learn to appreciate commonness that has in it the ocassional streaks of uniqueness of our perceptions, the closer towards peace we shall be.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 13:21
Tuesday, 19 June 2012
We live multiple lives, clearly grouped into two, but sometimes fuzzy in between. The lives we live, and the lives of the mind.
But perhaps the life of the mind is a farce. One wonders what will happen, and what could have happened. But in the end, that life is nothing. Because that life does not exist, except as an intangible corner, of the intangible mind.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 14:01
Sunday, 10 June 2012
I don't like to write with quotes. I feel that it is a sad publicity of knowledge, as well as an inadequacy of the self that has to borrow, to express. But sometimes, some are worth borrowing. Sometimes, in defence of myself I shall say, it is absolutely fine to admit one's own shortcomings. (I have plenty of those, but admitting to them is not one of my strong points).
Too much education makes us rely on words more than anything else. Sometimes, a polished, poetic sentence of love is deemed higher than a crude, animate expression of affection. But then, is poetry only the trickery of words, or is it also elsewhere, and everywhere? Sometimes, it seems, that words are merely the tools that expressions use, when it's bursting out to be expressed. It is inadequate. But words are all that we have equipped ourselves with.
There are times when one feels that one has not expressed oneself as ardently as one would have wished to. To burst out with passion every moment, is madness, they'd say. With unbridled scope of expressing love, happiness, comes unbridled scope of expressions of hatred. And to stifle the evil, one sometimes has to stifle the good as well. Like, the Bible said, young Jesus gave up his good life to pay for the sins of mankind.
'Tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity'. The necessity of strong vocabulary aside, words are only a poor man's arm to guard himself against too much of expressiveness. All to maintain the cosmic balance of good and evil. After all, what in this world is worthy, the wise shall say, if not moderation, sophistication, and decorum?
Posted by Olive Oyl at 01:25
Saturday, 2 June 2012
I was always glad that I've missed out on the Emo aspects of teenagehood. I seemed annoyingly at peace with the world around me. At the obscure age of two and twenty, I realise that it's not something that I've missed. Just that my maturity progress has come in late.
Yes, I've finally reached the level of depressed teenager syndrome. Better late than never. :|
Posted by Olive Oyl at 13:09
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
Posted by Olive Oyl at 19:26
Sunday, 6 May 2012
There's no dearth of talent in this long wide world. There's the rockstars with lovely manes and guitars on every street, who enthral some amount of people or the other due to some talent as well as abnormally large population of the city, there are those talented experts on cinema to whom watching anything short of a Fellini or other directors with obscure European names is sheer blasphemy, and then there are those intellectually superior beings who combine all the intellectual forces available in the society and become some sort of a Nietszchean Superman.
My forte of intellectuallity, I proudly surmise, rests in my cluelessness. Before one can ridicule me for my lack of exquisite taste in intellectual exercises, I must say that being clueless is an art that many can be the Jack of, but hardly the master. To imbibe the art requires immense perseverance before you can proudly, when someone asks, 'where lies your passion', reply a bittersweet smile, 'Darling I've got no idea'.
To have clarity in the aim in your life is the new cliche. It's what everyone does: Celebrate each day in ways that can render perfect photograph moment for the social networks, Go somewhere good to study. Go where the moolahs are overflowing, meet the partner who's so much the embodiment of social perfection that the fellow can be sedatively boring, etc. It's not at all that I am aimless. But the art of being clueless entails so much more. We can forget things we read, sleep, daydream, and remain completely unaware about how time works, and write anything for the sake of writing without any objective or aim.
Such writings, read by a few unassuming readers, have no rationale or purpose behind them being written, and leaves a feeling of irritating distaste for the aforementioned unassuming fellow. Herein lies the quintessence of the art of being clueless.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 19:33
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Being practical is an art that many hankers for but can never master. Some who does manage to reach a high point in life, where others can look up to them and admire for all their displayed glory. The idea of never bunking school during examination years was a strict No-no in bold red in the How To Succeed As a Super-Geek Guide books. Life has been simple, dreamy, untextured with intellectual brouhahas which, lets face it, kind of spoils the fun. I mean, one really would'nt plan to woo a pretty girl with a quote from Tolstoy and hope to get away with it. In brief, times were not always textured with pragmatism but were quite cool nevertheless. Of course, then we didn't worry much about life and all that in entailed. It simply meant living for the day. A bit too immature a thought I'd admit now. But of course time and tide waits for no man. Before we know it, what passes off as wordly wisdom stifles a lot of old-school mush that our minds, nay, our hearts grew fond of. Pragmatism and the progress of time is a great spoiler. But dejectedly or not, I must admit that wiithout it, life amongst the wise wise men shall be tough.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 21:07
Tuesday, 6 March 2012
Posted by Olive Oyl at 02:25
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Honesty is not always my forte, I succumb to exaggerations because I love to be the good talker. But my skewed sense of honesty often pricks in positions of discomfiture. I see this time of my life as a critical juncture. There's the hovering idea of where I might land up for further studies, compiled with a distaste for the thought that critical beings are going to make, well, critical remarks if I don't land up in a place that is not ostensibly good. it makes me feel scared of judgements. But then, to think of it, of all the judgemental people I know, I'm probably one of the most prudish of them.
That brings me to judgements in the first place. Of course, there is an evaluation body everywhere. If not in the glares and appreciations of other people, then your own degree of conscience which is not adjustable because it in itself starts to judge the adjustments. Quite the Big Brother. But like all those big preachy words that fall flat when confronted with a reality check, I'd like to believe that keeping our own conscience and humility in place, we can only succeed if we learn to evaluate judgements dispassionately.
Posted by Olive Oyl at 14:26
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Posted by Olive Oyl at 23:23