the man who never ceases to surprise...

The late late, very late almost morning post

It’s been a while since I found myself awake and sleepless so late into the night, to be precise its 4:21:46-47 a.m EST. I never paid much attention to time zones before, but here I am specifying which time zone I am in. It makes matter complicated especially when a country has three time zones and the time changing in every 6 months. We international student have hard time calculating the time back home, especially when you have to remember which time zone you are and then know if it’s day light saving or daylight wastage time of the year. Why to make your life more complicated than it already is. Or then again they are just trying to scare away Mexican immigrants by their complexities of time system. That said, summer is here, I must say it is a respite from the night is dark and full of terrors (you do get to know the actually fears of winter after staying through the most mildest of all winters in a 100 years) but I swear to god I probably smell like a freshly fried beacon the moment I step out from the safety of my damp apartment. This comes from a mumbaikar who has faced the stuffiest of summers and monsoons in more stuffed train locals. Summers in which you actually felt like carrying condensers only so you could breath (nerd joke alert) and also spending some really long and complaining summers in Kolkata, I have been born and raised in humidity and I find it unbearable in here.

Change of topic: pokemon go.. seems to be quite a thaang right now, eh.. (yeah catching on the accent yo,) it has divided the whole of the 7 billion (is it?) into 4 categories.

     1.     Pokemon go craziers- people whose life’s purpose is to be the pokemasters , potentially everyone who plays it dreams about it .

      2.       Pokemon don’t carers – what? When? Bleh……

      3.       Pokemon non getters – people who are a fan but have an incompetent phone. (me!)

      4.       Pokemon wanna bes, pretendzees ( i am really getting the hang of american vocab huh!) – people who know zilch about pokemon but want to join the crazy herd.

The power that pokemon go has harnessed is incredibly freaky. It just proves that a certain “something” is edging towards world domination. This might just be a test trail for the real thing to come into operation. You will blame the heat for my crazy conspiratorial talk, but don’t tell me you didn’t feel the chill go down your spine when you saw masses of people running about crazed in parks and sidewalk when someone claims to see a rare pokemon, or when you hear weird stories about people leaving their jobs in conquest of being the pokemon masters. (no this is not a talk out of jealousy either). Actually I got a pretty interesting idea for a story right there. May be I will publish for the generation which comes after there is a revolution and world domination comes to an end ( a book named, "told you so!", nothing sells better than an obnoxious self gloating title!) 

wake up world!!! 

I really don’t know why staying up late makes my nose an oil field! It will save US lot of trouble to just harvest the oils from my nose than meddling their nose into others affairs. till then PIKA PIKA!!!

Oh and a very interesting theory on the world of pokemon, check it out if you want your happy pokeworld to shatter http://9gag.com/gag/a7dDxQw?ref=fbp

Just can't get enough of pikachu gifs! :/ 

philosopher's ramblings: Part 1

DISCLAIMER: Dark mood ahead.

Remember the time when you promised yourself you will not change what you are, that you love yourself the way you are. But just like the moon morphing itself gradually with time you change too. Whether you like it or not. You are not what you were 5 years ago, hell not even few seconds ago. Some people say “never change yourself” think again are they giving you a good advise or a bad one. Change is happening and whether you want that to happen or not.

Sometimes you feel like the captain of the ship, who has no control on the winds which is forcing the ship go in the direction its not suppose to go. Its strange when you look back to all the things you did and thought you did do. The explanations you had for all kinds of theories, the ample possibility of your kaleidoscopic imagination, when you actually thought you could win the world with your imagination super power. And then suddenly while you were sniffing benzol in the lab you come across a bottle of ammonia and recoil with disgust, but by then the smell stays, obliterating any traces of the sweet scent of benzol. The sting of ammonia knocking on the peeling black door of reality.

If someone asked me why did you change if you didn’t want to? I would answer him by smacking his head with a heavy book of “on the origin of species”(by Charles Darwin). The whole book boils down to this point that “if you ain't changing you ain't surviving”.

If you had the power to be how you were, would you go back to your old self?  A Penny for your thought.

notes from seas apart

I am finally here! Can you (random)guys believe it! (pretending i have regular viewers) all the slogging and tantrums and mood swinging to moon and back, the sweat drenching anxiety ridden long wait has finally FINALLY bought me away from home. Just not away, but seven seas, 13,568 km, 10 hours away!! It just doesn't set into me. Every morning i wake up and see it's 11 and wonder how come my door hasn't been broken down yet by my early to rise parents, i just groan at the time and stuff my head back into the pillow. You do realise while reading this basket of jumbled sentences i have finally set my foot out, out from my loving over protective very happening bengali family, from the city of dreams and love to some place strange and wonderful and adventurous.
I am over romanticizing. You are hit by the ruthless and demanding nature of grocery shopping, the attention seeking laundry and the requirements of doing the dishes. You get the picture right?
But alls not that dull and dutiful. There is the amazing weather if you like -20s! And dazzling white-white skins if you are a racist. And a loving (south) indian community who seem to think telugu is the language of prime importance. So yeah, I am in paradise. It's like someone just cleaned your dirty specs. It's like you were living in a room where you could see brownian motion and someone just switched on the vaccum cleaner and the air was clean. (i know horrible joke) 
I am home sick and euphoric at the same moment, most of the times. It's so surreal that i feel its inception. My nightmare being I have picked up their lethal drawl. Next to the aussie's rotten accent I think American drawl tops the list. Cross your fingers that I don't pick up with the top 3 disgusting accents which includes overdone american- indian (NRI wannabes) accent.
I thought i should fill in with tit bits of life. I had the most filmy farewells(truly), the most teary goodbyes (yeah right!) and the un-happening flight (other than when i was expecting breakfast they give you lunch!) 
The only reason why i suddenly got time to write this rambling done is cause i seem to find time when i am always short of time. Amazingly me! I amaze me man! chalo I hope to catch up with you soon my ""imaginary"" "regular" readers. No I don't think i am some psychic kid having imaginary friends, atleast i hope not! :/ 

Kolkata footnotes :the probashi feels:

DISCLAIMER: The following content doesn’t describe the best places to eat or any tourism related content. I might write something about digestery (no such word) adventures.

On my last day of my unplanned extended so called vacation i finally sit to write something down after a heavy push from my high inertial self (surprisingly!). To begin with “Kolkata Footnotes” the term footnotes came into my mind for the want of less clinched and less bollywoody wanna be hollywoody use(hint: Dairies, no end to those!) “footnotes” has a simple explanation. We have been famously known as paye chaka deva (translation: wheels on feet) as far as my memory goes, i have been travelling to a new place almost every year since i was a few months. Each place is a sub chapter and Kolkata is footnote seen every now and then.

My stays in Kolkata have usually been short(very short according to dimu, no one can satiate her in terms of staying back at kol). Every visit is first welcomed with a short illness of some kind followed by irritated dad running around with a topping of fussy mom. A fast recovery of a day or two and then starts the relative visiting ritual. A probaashi bangali (NRB- non returning bong) or not, relative citation is a must. My visits are usually strenuous and tedious on the stomach muscles. Every relative one meets one has to devour a series of mishtis(Sweets) with a side plate of bengali samosas, beguni, neemki, teele bhaja, fish fry, mutton cutlet, kochuri, moglayi (drools). Even though while listing down my mouth waters, but when you have been made to sit through all this with minimum of four sweets, and have to go atleast three more houses and been offered food fit for a regiment and assumed to have an appetite as that of descendants of “kumbhakaran”, even a fist full of gelucil and digen won’t come to your rescue. Apart from the usual relative stuff, of whom she looks like and how small you had been there is nothing more to list down.

Coming to the city, i find Kolkata a small bundled up city, more like an ant colony seen at cross section (might be my Mumbai perspective). The city is dominated by narrow lanes and often will make you feel an outsider for the lack of knowledge of its lanes. The air of past hangs heavily over it. This time the whiff of nostalgia settled on me and i took to rampaging of old photos and dusty junk. Finding black and white photos, age stained photos, photos of high end parties, of gentlemen in suit and horn-rimmed glasses with whiskey and cigars, of ladies with elegant silk sarees and highbuns. I even found records of abba and boneym of old hindi songs and some Bengali too! Oh! How i wished i had a gramophone! The city i have always imagined with horse carts and vintage cars. People with suits and gowns with their little fragile umbrellas, people drinking tea with their little finger sticking out. What contributes more to the heavy air of nostalgia is the still existing trams, and hand rickshaws even cycle rickshaws.

Every street will have a tale of your grandparents or parents telling how they ate at that place or shopped on that corner. For me Kolkata is a city of tales, i relate places of this city with tales of others. When i was small people thought it amusing to ask me which city i like most, Mumbai or Calcutta.. even then i was more diplomatic than my age and i would sweetly answer both. But if you ask me truly i would ask you back, would you question whom you love more your biological mother, or the one that raised you? 

lehrein ayi, lehro mein beh gayi...

A song, a feeling, a scenery, a painting, few lights, a misunderstood joke, a lizard perhaps (i miss my marley) urges you to write a line or two may be. Suddenly while doing a very clerical and tedious job i stumble into a song which makes me want to write. An urge i had lost in the hum drum of this ordinary chaos. So 2014 is at an end, and one more circle completes of the many rings that forges into a man's life. It would be interesting if a man wore a chain forged by no. of years lived (i am sure the ladies would not approve of it!)
To review this year, is something that frightens me. A year of drama, of tears and happiness of shocks and despairs, of guilty pleasures and partying :D a mini TV serial, (a hindi soap drama for sure) A year of lost and found. I always get melancholy as the last week of the year approaches. Apprehensions of the coming year eats up the joy of a year successfully surviving with head over my shoulders. or may be it's just the blues. And sometimes life creeps you out when you have your friends boyfriend's misc tape and see his name and picture in album art (AWKWARD!) instead of Nickleback's.
I think my refill of writing has exhausted. I need to get a new refill from the inspiration shop hopefully he has one to fit my miracle writing pen. :/
CIAO!

the fight for friendship and beyond

The fight for friendship and beyond

A time of roses and thorns

I was sparing a lad with his armor on

Couldn't see his face as we sparred on the lawn

A rose for every slash i made

A thorn for every bruise that would fade

People watching would find me ungrateful

A knight that answered every slash with a rose

For me i saw a thorns of the rose

And forget about the petalled core

soon the lad took off his armor

And i could see hurt in the clamor

As realization dawned it was too late

The rose was of petals and not thorns of fate

My blunder was irrevocable and unpardonable

But oh! I had fallen for him hard, which was undeniable

And all i could ask was for forgiveness

 For a knight like you doesn't deserve a girl like me in such foulness 

smile :)

Smile me through a path that's harsh
A Lil by Lil as we march
Through these treacherous road we walk
Waterfalls on one and and cliffs as white as chalk
But you make me smile on every single step
As we bound over the bridges and leap
Soon the road stretches too far
May be into a mad kings lair
But its an adventure i would like to have for a while
Cause you always make me smile.

turmoils

there is only so much a man can take
but i give up, for once i wished i didn't have watsapp.. for once in the many times i wish i was in an era of letters. where people took no liberties of staying mad forever, or where there was no space left for misunderstandings, or where feelings meant much more to dash them away.. i wish..
why my post.. i have had a tough day and a night emotionally taxing.. trying to save friendships , apologizing to people.. why i do? i don't know.. cause i care? i guess.. i do.. no matter how much i try..
does the time spent hold no value? does caring for some people whom you hold dear, not enough?
i am emotionally exhausted and spent.
seas are never smooth.. but when they are rough.. often the ship wrecks. the ship, the crew, the timbers all washed away swept to be never seen or found.. perhaps a few debris sweep up the beach.. painfully reminding of the once majestic ship with a crew of many...
friendships are similar... built with love and care the timbers.. the memories the crew.. whole together the ship.. once shattered is never placed back, never glued back.. and someday when you are sitting on a beach and sudden memory flashes by.. and you are painfully reminded of a once friendship, of a bond that once was so dear.
and when there are three ships sinking together at the same time.. its hard.. its more like a 100 typhoons raging over, howling but you are there trying to stire clear of it.. tugging the ropes hard.. holding on to the ships.. but will the hold stay? shall you see a new sun?

just coffee (2) :the road

My note: i have been meaning to write many short stories with the title just coffee.. so here is the second installment to it.. hope you like it (cross my fingers)

The only constant in my life seems to be coffee. My life till now has been like the rickety shack that is on the main road, surrounded by the buzz and hum of the on going traffic but still afar from all the hustle bustle, within it’s own private bubble. And such is a place i frequent to. I am a working girl in a different city almost every year  i have to shift my base. Do i mind? Not yet.. am i a loner? Not by choice! And my coffee?? Such a loyal friend.

I frequent a place just like the shack i mentioned. Middle of nowhere and everywhere. Its location is very convenient for me. Somewhere on way to work. Not the CCDsa nd Baristas, but a typical Indian Nescafe doodh marke with diabetic inducing levels of sugar. It went light on the pocket and its location, perfect. Like every tea and paan shop located in India this was run by a man being the namesakes of half of India , Ramu kaka. I was his favourite customer. Needless to say i was the only women visiting his shack on a regular basis and taking compous amount of coffee. Ramu kaka’s place was frequented by all types of people.. the “shehar wales” (city people) dropped in for some cigarettes, the drivers for paans, the passengers for chai, the kids for wafers and chocolate, the teenage girls for juice and the rich brats for mountain dews. You named it and ramu kaka had everything one needs when it comes to road trips. During the shaddi season you would see truck, bus, tempo loads of people in eye numbing glittering attires climbing down these oven hot boxes and pilled over ramu kaka. You could see whole of india just sitting in this blow away shack.

Ramu kaka is like all other ramu kakas in the world. Tanned dark with sun, a small man with flashing white smile and eyes that crinkle in the corners. He had a missing a lower tooth and if ever asked how he would fall into a different stories each time.I never knew which one was true or if all together had bits of truth in it. But he was a man of the world. Happy and content at this moment with a wife and 3 children all married. He had a lame dog too whom he had named Hitler.When i asked him does he know who he is. He simply shrugged and said someone told him it’s a german shepherd. And all he knew about Germany was Hitler. Yes, you might think that’s a bit estranged piece of information for someone named ramu kaka. But that is ramu kaka to you, a man full of tit bits.

I was an esteemed customer for ramu kaka. He had a special rickety stool set aside for me which seemed to come from baba adam's era. my orders were always taken first, tho i rarely had to even ask him. I was his only customer drinking coffee and he showed me off to any new regulars who would drop by. I loved sitting there in dirt and filth of the main road and watching cars pass by. It was like spa to me after a tiring day at office. With the warm cup cuddled in my hand all the memories floating up from it with every wiff of the sweet smell. Sometimes when it was a slow day ramu kaka would sit and ask me all sorts of questions. At times i had a book in my hand and he would want to know the whole story! He was inquisitive by nature.He was a father in a far off distant land to me.

My parents were dead against about my stopovers a ramukaka’s chai shop. The news they hear all day long about all kinds of heinous crimes. They are not to blame. Inspite all that i never left going to the place. Another regular was shakti ji.  Given to his herculean name he was nothing but it’s opposite. A man in his 50s with scanty grey hair, a hooked nose and bulging eyes. In the first look you would think he is the middleman of some smugglers ring passing up messages inconspicuously. But in reality he was a band member in barati.. Those who play loud instrumental versions of bollywood nos like munni badnam hui, sheela ki jawani (my knowledge lacks on tacky nos)  for the dulhe raja (groom) barat to dance to the doom of two people. He was a man with worries, a man you often see buying desi daru from a wine shop. Thankfully shaktiji had enough shakti to have come out of the alcoholic red zone. A man who played the trumpet and made music for happy people to become even more happier, himself suffered from deficiency of happiness. He had two daughters. One married and the other yet to marry. His fingers had rhuetism so he couldn’t play much of the trumpet without killing himself with pain. But yet he did and everyday he came back to ramu kaka a confider and friend ,his guardian angel. To his chai. Ramu kaka sympathised with him and nodded sadly at his worries.. about the dowries one must pay.about the inevitable evil that is society. But as he said  wisely“hum toh aam adami hai, humra kaam hai jhelna” ( we are the common man, its our duty to suffer)

As the days went by, shakti ji chattered about the upcoming marriage. Even after the mega shock he was about to receive financially for the marriage there was sunrays of happiness and hopefulness for his daughter. This cheered him up considerably and i wondered how easy is the heart. All was settled and set to go for the big wedding of shaktiji’s daughter and he politely invited me to the wedding, which flattered me to some extent. But there was one element missing in the marriage. It was the band baja. The “ladki wale” (bride’s party) are suppose to arrange for the band. And it so happened that shaktiji had no money left. The irony. No band for the daughter of the band wala. He was in pieces. The ijjat and even the marriage was at stake. Yes, they are so fragile. Confessing about his new found troubles to ramu kaka. Kaka silently contemplatively gave shakti ji some chai. His eyes watching me , watching him. Like he was looking for some approval. Then he suddenly leaves having a quick chat with his wife, who lived just behind the shack. He returned with some money apparently sufficient for the band and forced it into shakti ji’s hands. A reluctant shakti ji  accepted the money and promised to return it full aware of the uncertainty of the promise and the depth of gratitude.

Sadly, i had to shift my camp again and would not be able to make it to the wedding at the cost of humanity. I bid my farewell to my dear ramu kaka and left. A few months later i was passing by ramu kakas chai shop and thought of having that old sweet coffee once again and of course to chat up with ramu kaka. On my arrival i saw her wife recognise me and immediately make me a cup of coffee and clean up my stool. Even hitler came wagging his tail and sat by my feet looking longingly at the biscuits. I glanced questioningly at ramu kakas wife whom i always addressed as ramu kaki. She gave me a pained expression with watery eyes and i knew. Ramu kaka had caught the dengue. There was no money left after he offered his help to shakti ji and no hospital would take him. He was too proud to ask back for his money.

 He was now just a spec in the memories buried somewhere dusty in the minds of the many travellers he served. The chai shop witnessing an act of benevolence and generosity , of humanity against the stringent rules of society. In its own private bubble. Going unnoticed by the speeding cars. As the whole india past by it few knew the stories that makes human humane. Of so many stories of bravery we read this one finds it’s own niche. his fervent soul now inscrutable matter on earth.  My dear friend ramu kaka.. “aam admi such as you are never aam” ...

ship of life

Some words left unsaid

Some touches left unfelt

Sceneries left uncompassed

A love left unconfessed

Some flavours left unsavoured

Few smiles left unshared

Some canvases left blank

As the ship gently sank

The ship of life i thought

In the sea of forgot-me-nots

                                                              

Some fights i regret

An incomplete novelette

The apologies left refuted

Some relations left jilted

Innumerable memories unperished

Inspite of time unblemished

Further my ship sailed

Sinking with every breathe exhaled

A many left in the to-do list

Some left in the must-have done list

But isn’t that life i rambled

A many happy hellos

And a many tearfull goodbyes

The ship of life i thought

In the sea of forgot-me-nots

Here Comes The *SUN*

As Mumbai was in the brick of an zombie apocalypse caused by incessant rains in more animated words –“raining blue whales and brochiosauruses” and filtered sun rays through dense almost opaque clouds.. to save the day, oh no the month, humanity.. came the sun! The pale mumbaikars who had started limping and looking for dry roads stared into the warm rays like they were stunted by the warmth.. a whole month ie 30days..ie 720 hours ie 43200 mins ie 2592000secs ie 2.592X10^9 micro-secs ie.....

In came the blissful excited protons (rays) piercing through the clouds proving whose the boss of the skies and shooting right over the morbid grey port hole riddled roads and waterlogged rail tracks. A few more days and i bet on my happy soul that there would have been a zombie outbreak.. with commutators waddling through knee deep water  and infecting others by just looking at them.. their damp clothes that refuse to dry clinging to their bodies which have gone pale, leathery and wrinkled due to the absence of vitaminD and constant osmosis taking place.. it would have been zombieland revisted!

May be i speak too soon. Hopefully the sun comes and stays for a day or two. Cause it wont be long before i start missing the splashing about dirty water and complaining about truckloads of rain!

PS: when you have nothing to talk, talk about the weather. 

the Oswald fix!

why does it feel like all the cosmic elements are plotting against you, to do even marginally well enough to pass in a totally useless subject such as E-commerce! why do engineers even have to study that?! adding to the already slippery nature of the subject plus the first signs of rains and the sweet breeze.. tell me.. how can anyone even think of looking into the book!!
crappy non-sense text book language over first rains.. need i say more??
even the last moment panic induced adrenaline seems feeble against this surreal climate!
i like to refer this fix situation similar to Oswald's (the big head blue octopus!) he had to either save the overflowing popcorns or the bubbles from the bubble bath... the "kya karu kya na k
aru" situation!
it's always a war of the mind and the brain .. but you know you are doing the wrong thing when both consent with each other..
the funny thing is each year there is always this one time i have faced a fix like this... and each time the wrong thing will be chosen to be done.. and each time there will be bubble joy followed by regret...some priorities are always messed up! =D

a story.

A story about me and you,

A story about life that’s simple

A chapter about childhood                                             

About love and struggle

The untangled words of the ancestors

Profound and wise, as they were

Of life that’s simple

Of life that’s small

Of a play of many acts

Of an end that’s known

Of a heaven that’s expected

A story of me and you. 

Little Missings..

The little missings

The countless pens and erasers

The one piece of the jigsaw you never find

The safety pins and clips ,

Reported gone in times most needed

Keys, which go Houdini each time you get late!

Ever wondered as to what happened to them?

May be swirling in some lost and found abyss

To be found someday, by their rightful owners

Or perhaps they were found and owned by someone-else

And if ever were they given a voice...

My! The tales they would have had to tell!

The little missings

Important yet ignored

Sure does makes life hell !

road trip wrappers...

Music ,wind, sun and please! not to forget my wayfarer glasses. It looked like a scene right out of ZNMD! Keeeeerrkk.. just, instead of the sky blue Buick, picture a truck in dashing orange. And oh! Say tata to the smooth roads of Spain and helloooo to the Indian grameen roads giving the pot-hole ridden Mumbai roads a tough competition.

It’s peculiarly common as to how these road trips come out to be the little lessons in life to which you look back and smile and say "Manh! Those were the days!" . My road trip taught me a few.

1. Always carry more jeans. (avoids the shocked expression of ma saying “did you sleep on mud?!”)

2. DO NOT drink outside water. Never. period.

3. Take the liberty of packing a first aid kit for a regiment.(cause most of the time you turn out to be travelling  with a group of ignorant hypocrites who are ninnies when it comes to health)

4. Check under the beds before leaving/checking out (it just might turn out that you left your charger there, doesn’t really matter how it landed there)

5. Always and always eat icecream whenever you are shivering to the bones!

6. Kick box anyone who is around.. (well ..cause it’s fun!)

7. Not to sit beside your NSP in an overnight bus. (cause if you droll while you sleep, chances with him/her will be down the drain forever!  )

8. Always have a dabba (dabba- old fashioned sans any fancy OS mobs) android people are cry babies when it comes to charging!

9. DO NOT carry camera, cause believe it or not there would be atleast one more guy who would be clicking same pics as you. So why do all the work?

10. This is one of the biggest lessons I have learnt.

 Acceptance.

 Acceptance of defeat. Of a better luck next time. That trip back to the hotel from the track was hardest most silent one, one could have ever sat through in a otherwise noisy group of 26. The moment of acceptance, that we had been disqualified. Of all those long nights in sparks and dust and grease and nuts equaling to nothing.

All stories aren’t fairy tales.. i guess.. but in the end there are always lessons to be learnt and memories to be wrapped for some far away meeting many years from now, when you sit with a glass, preferably bottles of drinks with the old college buddies and unwrap those discoloured boxes from the attic, to see that the flowers you had packed were still fresh and still full of tingly pollen to make you laugh over all of it. 

Cheers to a dusty luck and a clean tomorrow! Clink !

kuch ehsaas yuhi...

the limitlessness

Pighle neelam sa behta ye sama,
neeli neeli si khamoshiyan,
na kahin hai zameen na kahin aasmaan,
sarsaraati hui tehniyaan paattiyaan,
keh raheen hai bas ek tum ho yahan,
bas main hoon,
meri saansein hain aur meri dhadkhanien,
aisi gehraiyaan, aisi tanhaiyaan,
aur main...sirf main.
Apne hone par mujhko yakeen aa gaya.

-zindagi na milege dobara

being infinite..

This one moment when you know you're not a sad story. You are alive, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you're listening to that song and that drive with the people you love most in this world. And in this moment I swear, we are infinite.

(perks of being a wallflower)  

the finality of it all...

31st has always been like the end page of the book. As the story ends and you reflect on all that happened in it. the lagging first half ,the climax of the middle and a weird conclusion in the end. A good book would make you want to re-read the good parts or may be make you think of the a sequel or perhaps search for a more deeper meaning..
31st nights have always been the recap of the whole year(partially cause i spend it flipping through channels of extensive glittery and shine of the bolly nos.) and my conclusions have always been "i have been bad this year" (yes, strong conscience there!)
The fun part comes when you have to decide on a new year's resolution. No matter how serious, one is about it by the 2nd of the month it shows no signs of ever having made one!
So i end up calling a few friends, texting the rest and watching the fireworks at the expense of other's pocket.A generous world indeed!

 CAUSE IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT HOPE..

with the torn one-eyed teddy bear..

A tomorrow that had come and gone

A future that had become past

A bloom withered

The tears withheld, untouched

Rains painting  grey

The colourful pyre

Flesh to smoke

A ritual as ancient as man

The child lost in the grey

A tear or a smile

She didn’t know

Staring with a torn one-eyed teddy bear

Both as blind , both as innocent

Staring at the bewilderment 

From their own corner of the world

A child's and a glass eye.. 

Staring and wondering...