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February 25, 2012

Holiday diaries: Rewind-Pause-Play...

They say, if you walk the footsteps of a stranger you learn things you never knew before.
While most would prefer to sleep or read a book during a long leg of their journey, I am someone who prefers to keep her eyes open and observe people and occurrences happening around me.This is a trait I have possessed since childhood, thanks to which my journeys have never been drab or boring, even if it means long hours of foot-sleeping travel.

Besides, most of my trips are impromptu because that is when they seem to materialize best.
Perhaps it is just a notion that I like to harbor but a vacation to me, has always been a getaway from the mundane humdrum of day to day life.
Hitherto, a trip always provides the much needed respite and space to get away from all reasons of stress and strain...a chance to see new places, to meet new people, to learn about new cultures and traditions, to learn from experiences and create a montage of beautiful memories before you get back to your routine existence feeling rejuvenated and all ready to kick start life.

Being the travel enthusiast that I am, I always prefer exploring the place on my own and hence comes handy a well prepared itinerary which I undoubtedly plan according to personal convenience.

Coming to think of it, I have had the most memorable experiences and met the most interesting people during such travels.While some of these have gained me wonderful friendships that I hope and intend to keep for life, some have just provided much needed comic relief during long hours of travel by their bizarre behavior.

I remember this particular family that occupied five rows of seats on the Delhi-Goa flight I was on, some time last year.
Apparently, it was a huge clan of loud free spirited people traveling to Goa for a family function.One could not but help wonder if they had jumped straight from a daily soap. What ensued was three whole hours of action packed family drama which did not miss to catch the eye of all the other passengers around (including yours truly) and included bouts of public display of affection, loud yells from family members in the last row of seats to those in front, constant chatter amongst children and women, people opening up handbags which revealed a food supply that was enough to feed a small starving nation---packets of chips and tetra packs of fruit juice passing them around (much to the disgust of the stewardess-who kept passing them dirty looks from time to time-all in vain of course), guys showing off their muscle power by reclining their seat to the maximum and crushing the passenger seated behind them and so on. The only thing short of a Bollywood flick was some loud music and a few dance steps to go along with it.

As I giggled to myself, my co passenger (who belonged to the same extended family)decided to show her hospitality and offered me an apple.
The forbidden fruit from the forbidden family-I laughed in my head and politely declined.
I am assuming she must have taken it rather personally or perhaps it was because she developed a sudden fancy for me---but she kept insisting I eat something and opened up a huge polythene bag which contained an even greater variety of food stuff.

Sensing me panic, the stewardess came to my rescue and served lunch.Hitherto the big fat Indian family (as I fondly call them) enthusiastically put away their booty and attacked the airline meal with equal gusto.The peace and quiet lasted only until the meal ended.
Since I could no longer concentrate on the book I was reading, I decided to cure my intrigue by casually striking a conversation with the middle aged woman seated next to me.A few minutes into the conversation and she told me that she was attending her nephew's wedding in Goa. She seemed to be genuinely warm and very polite. Apart from the fact that she kept munching all through the flight, she seemed to me a very sensible woman.

After a while into the conversation and much friendly banter later, she told me that she was the groom's maternal aunt.I was then introduced to her sister who was the groom's mother---a short plump woman in her mid fifties who had been against the marriage and so had decided not to attend it, initially.Equally agitated were the girl's parents who belonged to similar orthodox households.

Each coming from a conservative Hindu background, the two families had wanted their children to wed within the same sub caste. The couple had almost given up but had been lucky to have an aunt who was not ready to sacrifice their love for petty issues. As she convinced each and every family member for the marriage, the younger generation of the family worked their way into making things possible.

Here, in front of me was a woman in her mid forties with a super huge family along with her who had an equally super huge appetite, but what was more important was that each of them had an even bigger heart that respected feelings and stood out for each other even before themselves and that was all that mattered.

Another stamp ink memory comes rushing to mind when I think about my travels.
It was a simple encounter with an ordinary woman, unique in her own way---a character you do not find commonly in today's day and time...a meeting which leaves a mark in your memory and makes you believe that its not such a bad world afterall.

I remember this like it happened yesterday--it was during one of my trip to Chennai.I had gone there for a P.G program which extended for a period of three days that month.
The seminars usually concluded late in the evening, after which we would go straight to our lodging and call it a day.
Fortunately, during that trip one of the senior doctors who was supposed to conduct a talk got busy and hence we finished off a little early.
With a little spare time on hand, we decided to go see chennai's most talked about beach---Marina beach.
That was where I met Yellama and Shaheen.

As a child, I remember my love for air balloons.I would love to see them blow up into different colors and shapes.I would be fascinated by the way they morphed from small deflated pouches to huge shapes and faces.
I remember thinking that the balloon vendor was a very strong man with iron lungs--one puff and he could inflate the largest balloons in the world, I thought.
My eyes would light up at the sight of any balloon vendor on the beach back then and I would pester my parents into buying me balloons of different shapes and sizes. Just like all other children of my age, I would be pacified with a balloon after which I would run away happily to play with my friends.

That day on Marina beach, I saw for the first time in my life, a five year old not pestering her mother to buy her a balloon but instead helping her to blow up one.
As I watched closely, I noticed how weak the mother looked---pale asif not eaten for days.She seemed poor yet content.Her cotton Saree seemed torn at places but clean.
In one hand, she carried a host of bright colorful balloons of different shapes and sizes.Tired around her waist was a small bag full of deflated balloons that were yet to be blown up. When someone would stop and buy her wares, she would replace them by filling air into the deflated balloons from the pouch. A few passerby's would stop by and fulfill their children's demands. But the woman in the cotton saree never once coaxed or persuaded someone into buying anything. She stood calmly till someone stopped and asked her for her balloons.
"Rs 4/- per piece," she would say and receive the handed over money with a smile. She would always give back the exact change. If she did not have the money, she would ask him to wait and run to the stalls nearby for change. Even if the buyer would insist that she keep the change, she would refuse and implore him to wait until she got the money. If he was in a hurry, she would not let him go without handing him a few extra balloons worth the change. At a distance, I saw another balloon vendor standing with a bunch of attractive balloons, coaxing people as they passed by into buying them. Unlike him, this woman did not advertise her product.It was this very thing about her that made me go and ask her story.

Yellama was a woman from a very poor background.She had three children, Shaheen (the girl along with her) was the youngest. While Yellama strived hard to make ends meet, she wanted her children to lead a life of self respect, and this was her way of teaching them a lesson in integrity and dignity of labour.

She did not want them to beg, borrow or steal. She told me that she wished them to lead a respectful life.While her older children were sent to school, Shaheen would accompany her to sell her wares.
"She will go to school next year" she said with a smile. She did not say why but I guessed that it was because she could not afford it yet. I saw Shaheen's eyes twinkle with joy with the mention of 'school'...the same way they would twinkle every time her mother filled the deflated balloons with air. She knew she could not keep the balloons for herself and sought comfort in looking at them change shape as they were handed over to the children who bought them from her mother.
It was as if by that very action, she could see her dreams ballooning up. Whenever a balloon went up in the air, she would jump in glee---as if that ball of air contained in it her hopes of soaring to the sky someday.

I placed a hundred rupee note in Yellama's palm and told her that I needed fifty balloons.I knew she would not accept the money from me otherwise. She said she did not have as many balloons right then, to which I told her I would come back the next day.
Immediately, she handed me my money and told me to pay the next day upon delivery of the goods.Shaheen was watching her mother with big brown baby eyes. I knew I could not let her down.
Here was standing in front of me, a woman who despite of going hungry for days wanted to teach her children never to beg or accept favors from the world...someone who wanted her children to learn that they had to grow up and earn for themselves and not accept or expect help from people especially strangers.

I convinced Yellama that she could use the money to buy more balloons since I knew that she would not be able to buy the many that I needed with her earnings, in a single day.
She hesitated but then saw the truth of the matter and accepted my offer.She thanked me and I saw her daughter dance with joy on realising that her mother had done good business.I left Marina beach a happy soul, glad that I was able to help little Shaheen in whatever little way I could.Yellama however thought I would keep my promise and return the following day to receive my money's worth.

When I reached my hotel, I was already feeling home sick.As visions of my childhood flashed infront of my eyes, I reflected on how we take small things for granted.Yellama and shaheen had left an imprint on my mind---an imprint on help offered by a little child to her tired mother...an imprint on values ingrained even in dire circumstances...an imprint on humility learned even on an empty stomach...an imprint on hopes harbored even when dreams crashed.

The next day was a blur. Time to ponder on life's lessons got left behind as patients and case studies took over. The seminar continued with fellow doctors from all over India flying in and discussing all types of ailments and treatment protocols.
When all discussions concluded late in the evening, some of my colleagues wanted to visit the beach again. I declined the offer since I was very tired but my friend took it up.Having loved the experience the previous day, she was tempted to breathe in the fresh air and rejuvenate her senses after they had been clobbered dead by incessant hours of medical discussions.
It had been a long day and I immediately crashed in my bed upon reaching my hotel room.

I had a flight back home the next morning.I had woken up at 5.00am to finish with my packing.
It was 6.15 by the time I reached the hotel lobby and I was still half sleepy but nevertheless ready to check out.
As I completed the hotel checkout formalities, the concierge informed me that there was something for me. As I stepped aside in the side room of the lobby, I was caught by total surprise as I saw twenty five brightly coloured heart shaped balloons tied together in a neat bow.
When the concierge told me it was a middle aged woman with a young child of about five who had come in to deliver the balloons at five-thirty am in the morning, I was not surprised.Having waited for me the previous day, Yellama had spotted my friend amidst the tourist crowd and asked her where I was staying.
As I looked at the bright play of coloured balloons in front of my eyes, I smiled to myself---nothing could match the colour of Yellama's scrupulous character...the untainted hue of her principles.

In life there are times when we meet people we might never meet again.Strangers who meet across a bend, share notes during the journey and quietly go their separate ways.
Maybe they are there to teach us something. Something that we need to learn...something that we need to believe in.
A brief encounter with a beautiful couple I met during my holiday in London made me think along these lines.
After having had a scrumptious meal at Cafe Rouge, I was waiting for a bus at the stop opposite St Paul's Cathedral, lost in my own little world of unhinged thoughts...when they happened to catch my attention.
The lady was well dressed, had a petite body structure and sharp features.Beautiful brown eyes set in a heart shaped face accentuated her beauty.Her dressing sense was impeccable---with a style that was chic yet not too dandy.
She seemed to be in the mid thirties and had a friendly disposition.The man with her was a robust good looking man and seemed to be in his early forties or so. Together, they made a pretty couple.
Our eyes met and the woman smiled at me and asked me if I was new around.When I told her that I had come from India, both of them were very happy. They told me that they had been to India a couple of years back and had loved the place.The lady told me that she thought the Taj Mahel was the most beautiful monument she had ever seen and that it was a beautiful way to immortalise love.I laughed at that and told her that 'love' like that does not exist anymore. She smiled at my comment but said nothing. The look in her eyes made me a little nervous as I somehow sensed she was looking right into my heart and reading my utopian expectations about love, which lay hidden under a thick dusty blanket of dark cynicism.
After a moments pause, we continued to speak about other tourist attractions in the two countries.

All this while, the man with her had been quietly listening---providing us with inputs every now and then. He seemed a warm and friendly person and even though he hardly looked at me in the eye, one could not miss the happiness on his face when he proudly spoke about his lady love and their marriage of ten years.When I complimented what a handsome couple they made, the lady blushed a little and thanked me.
Their bus arrived in a while and it was only then that I noticed that the man who I was speaking to for so long was visually impaired. As his wife helped him step into the bus, she looked back at me and smiled.
"I might not be able to build a Taj Mahel for him but I am never letting go" she whispered and bid goodbye.Stunned, I could only smile and wave back at the moving bus.On that day, right there on that busy street in London I had met this beautiful made-for-each-other couple who knew the secret of true love...the strength, faith and commitment to never let go.

As I traveled through life, I met a lot of other such interesting people along the way and I know I will continue to do so.To think of it, every person has some element of surprise in them---some strength or weakness that acts as a common link.
We learn lessons along the way and then we share these lessons through our encounters.What we learn might be of help to someone somewhere in a way very different.
Journeys are one way of connecting with each other, may it be only for a while.But the time spent is unbiased.
In retrospect, all it takes to create this beautiful mosaic of refreshing 'rewind-pause-play' memories is a strong connection---sometimes on the basis of similarity and ironically at other times, on the basis of difference.

They say, strangers are friends you have yet to meet.
But in my case, strangers have often qualified as not just friends but philosophers and guides too and

February 16, 2012

In wax and stone lies a story known...


"I cannot take it anymore.You are selfish and cold and will never understand my love," cried the wax statue as it melted into a hot pool of droplets.

Its stone counterpart stared in silence as the world around mocked at it being so unyielding to emotions. As it was kicked around with scornful words and hurtful taunts, nobody noticed it was slowly getting chipped---the heartless one was made of stone after all, they thought.

As time went by, the winds of change blew again. The wax statue was remodeled into an exquisite design once again, by the artistic hands of a talented craftsman. Being made of wax, it molded itsself smoothly to the flame of love and passion, and soon enough the world was captivated by its breath taking beauty.

The stone sculpture that once was, however refused to adapt to the breeze of love---for it had already known its brunt.
Being made of stone, it had silently stepped into remorse and self destruction---neither uttering a cry nor offering any explanation, the grief gnawed its way to reach its core. So disintegrated became its personality, that no artist in the world could change it into anything akin to its original self, leave alone something better. The flame of love and passion could only make it hold its self for a while---always until old memories swept in and then it would crumble again to bits, taking down unexpressed hopes and hearts along with it.

The hurtful words of a loved one had slowly chipped it off its strength and splendor.The isolation from someone it considered no different than its own self had eaten away the very essence of its existence, which was once the very reason it stood proud and tall.
The misunderstanding had chiseled out an abyss of pain beneath its tough exterior.

While the wax statue was surrounded by applause and accolades, its stone counterpart had transmogrified into a good-for-nothing pile of grit confined to one end of a dilapidated construction site.
Soon the quarry workers would decide its future.But either way it was doomed.

However, there lied a strange kind of solace.
At least now, no one was complaining...

February 10, 2012

Book Review--"Faceless-The Only Way Out"



Book Title: Faceless-The Only Way Out.

Author: Tapan Ghosh.

Publishing House: Frog Books.

Price: Rs 145/-


It seems like somebody misguided the author with the not-so-secret formula for a B grade hindi flick---characters singing songs at the drop of a hat, trashy hindi dialogues and lots and lots of sex scenes...
...thus "Faceless-The Only Way Out" came into being.

Embarrassed about mistaking a vibrator for a bomb, the anti terror squad go looking for its owner and this is how the story begins.
It then proceeds to introduce each of the characters in quite a crisp and novel manner giving the reader the feeling of a well planned plot ahead.Here, we are introduced to Swapna, Natasha and Sara other than Khush and Shom.

Now coming to Khush and Shom, these are the two of the three (the third being Raima) lead protagonists in the story---successful businessmen in their 40's with families and responsibilities of their own..best friends since childhood.
Although the book blurb introduces Shom as reticent and Khush as the flamboyant one in the duo, one cannot help but feel throughout the book, that both the forty plus men with their swinging life style can be best described by just one colloquial word---"tharkee" (Well,I presumed that overwhelming usage of hindi slang in the book gives the reviewer the privilege to use at least one apt word from the vocabulary, doesn't it?).
Also you cannot help but wonder time and again, whether the character sketch of Khush and Shom would have been more apt for two 23 year old (with raging hormones) college dropouts, instead.

(An insight)
About Khush in his hey days---
"His idea of a gigolo was quite a noble one.He wanted his manhood to be put to use to service a woman in need"

About Shom, the 'reticent' one---
"Shom was a very responsible family man and while he had needs he made sure he satisfied them discreetly."

Raima who is supposedly the 'soul' of the book is a young girl half of shom's age, a part time architect and a part time escort who has an ailing mother to take care of.


As the story unfurls,
---Shom and Raima meet over face book.

---Raima begins to flirt with him on the first chat its self and after a couple of such chats expresses the strong desire to meet up with him.
The notion she harbours about Shom being a genuine man with a great heart and how she falls madly in love with him even when Shom treats her as nothing but a high class escort--throwing money for her services every now and then (with the excuse of staying detached) and making her sign 'no commitments' contracts, is something which is beyond my understanding.But nevermind that.
Raima and Shom (with their differences in age, wealth and background) get along like a house on fire.

---One meeting leads to another and they end up indulging in wild sex every chance they get (which is apparently claimed to be 'sensual' and 'spiritual' though I don't see how since what follows is pages of unplugged passion and corny BB conversations (emoticons et al) which (according to me) qualifies for poor literature-almost bordering on the line of crude porn, which to a limit is acceptable (and if used wisely can add to a good story but not make up for one).

To top it all, Shom's 'butt classification---tori spherical, ellipsoidal, hemispherical yada yada yada' (which he somehow manages to make seem like some kind of well studied rocket science) and Raima's agreement to be a sex toy (all ready to gain weight to look older and at par with Shom and adhering to his advice on butt exercises according to his whims and fancies) rendered her a kind of slutty image and made me cringe and wonder if its the writer's lack of creativity or the male chauvinist in him that is making him stoop to levels like these in the name of 'unconditional' love.

Dialogues like "If you can buy as much as you want of the best quality milk in the market, why do you need a cow?" and
"I think Salman Rushdie has a fascination for shemalesWhy else do you see him with girls who are taller and stronger than him?Look at his ex wives." left me open mouthed at their audacity.
The expletives by Khush and Shom, the topics they discuss and the pick up lines they try further emphasise that perhaps in the bodies of these two 40 plus year old's sugar daddies lie trapped two 'I wannabe a cool stud' ultra desperate retards.

As the story progresses with accounts of escapades in 'The Land Yatcht' and BB conversations, one encounters various exaggerated and half baked explanations clearly overpowering the almost-believable parts which are too few and far in between.

The end is hurried and left loose at the seams.
There are a few instances wherein the author has tried to justify the title of the book.But they fall short to meet the motive.
The plot is clumsy and makes a little sense towards the end with just mention of past life connections, terror attack associations and soul mates---making the reader feel that they are just being used to help make up for the loopholes in an otherwise inadequate script.

The numbers that the characters keep crooning decreases the sensitivity and seriousness of the situation and the 'soul mates' philosophy also seems far from the mark. (If Mr Ghosh wants to use the term 'soul mates', he should back it up with a lot more than just sexual energy between the protagonists.)

Sara, Swapna, Natasha and Aneesha are apparently forgotten along the way and Shoms wife Shantu seems more reticent (read 'daft') than Shom for she is hardly mentioned nor given much thought to.
While the author tries hard to justify why 'prostitution' should be legalised, one cannot help wonder how that would defend the infidel nature of cheating husbands or partners. (Even though legalising prostitution might help decrease the crime rate, it would with equal intensity continue to crumble the hearts and homes of those who indulge in it--on the sly or not.)

The 'Aruna' angle to the story did catch my interest and had the ending been more elaborate than just a mad rush to fix the missing pieces, it would have made much better sense.
The 'soul mate' connection had much more potential and should have been handled with fragility...and so should have the terror attacks.

The one good thing about 'Faceless' is that its a super fast read.The language is easy though the writing is way below the line.
However there is an autobiographical element in the book.With the backdrop being South Mumbai, one manages to catch glimpses of familiarity in the random happenings---a tact which Tapan has used quite interestingly.

The intriguing cover page and book title would definitely attract the reader into buying this book.How far it succeeds in carving a niche, is entirely upto the reader.

As far as I am concerned, I expect better from a book and would personally rate 'Faceless' to be a tad bit disappointing.
However the writing has potential and this being a first attempt, there is surely scope for improvement.

About the author: Tapan Ghosh is an engineer by profession and an adventurous man at heart who has lived life on his own terms.
This is his first attempt outside the field of science and technology.
His website: www.tapanghosh.in

Rating: 1 out of 5

February 06, 2012

Book Review---"The Secret Letters Of The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari"


Title: The Secret Letters of the Monk Who Sold His Ferrari

Author:Robin Sharma

Publisher: JAICO Publishing House

Price: Rs 250/-

Published in more than 46 different languages, Robin Sharma has come up with this wonderfully crafted and brilliantly depicted tome which has made its way into the hearts of more than five million people across the world.
An author of international fame and much deserved accolade, Robin Sharma continues to make a mark in the history of non fiction literature and life's philosophy.

The story revolves around Jonathan Landry, a marketing sales executive who wants to make it big in life and in the pursuit of success and wealth, has forgotten to stop and smell the flowers.
With his marriage and family life at stake, Jonathan refuses to acknowledge the root cause of the problems (though they are forever gnawing at him in some corner of his busy mind) until his mother urges him to meet his cousin Julian Mantle--a former high powered courtroom litigator, whose only memory Jonathan has is that of a weathy successful man who owned a ferrari, the last time he met him years back.
Surprised and bemused by his decision to give up all the worldly pleasures and live the life of a monk, Jonathan decides to go meet him just for the sake of his mother.
What follows is a series of trips which Jonathan feels compelled to make across various countries with the mission of obtaining the talismans from different sources as directed by Julian---which Jonathan agrees to make only because he fears somebody close to him has his/her life at stake.

Spending time in Istanbul, Paris, Japan, Mexico, Sydney, Halifax, China, Phoenix and finally Delhi, and meeting up with the talisman bearers (who each have their experiences to narrate to him) slowly but surely affects his course of thought and help him make some much needed life altering decisions.
Each talisman has something new to tell Jonathan and it is these wise words that focus the readers attention to wisdom that the heart is aware of, yet doesn't always see.

"The secret letters of the monk who sold his ferrari" is a tome of simple phisophy and life's learnings wrapped in the beautiful tapestry of interesting travel involving the gleaming towers of Shanghai, the grand spice markets of Turkey, the haunting catacombs of Paris, hte sensual tango halls of Buenos Aires and not to forget, the beautiful Taj Mahal in India.
With each place, is described its accompanying culture and custom---which gives us a futher insight into not just its history but also (in subtle ways) into the phiosophy the talisman will speak about.
Also the style of writing takes you back and forth into what the talismans speak and you are reminded of the wise words on the pieces of parchment paper, lest you forget them.

What stood out besides the wonderful secret letters, were some carelessly strwen about quotes which got etched in my heart along the way---
"Courage is the only way to live and remember, bravery is not something you feel.Its something you show"

"What holds us back in life is the invisible architecture of fear.It keeps us in our comfort zones which are the least safe places in which we live.Indeed the greatest risk in life is taking no risks.But everytime we do that which we fear, we take back the power that fear has stolen from us---for on the other side of our fear, lives our strength."

"It doesn't matter where you are going, just who you are becomming."

"Why is it that we allow ourselves to treat family in ways we wouldn't treat friends or even those we dont know? Probably because we assume they will forgive us.But that's no excuse"

"If we are mistrustful of others, we are distrudstful of ourselves."

These besides so many others, which add to the magic simply because they are something we all can relate so well to.
Ofcourse the story features majorly around the message each of the talismans had attached to them---simple yet important...general yet life changing.

The journey leads to whole lot of improvement in the life of Jonathan Landry as he discovers his flaws at every step and proceeds to correct them.
Understanding the importance of accepting his fears and embracing them, he moves on to overcome some of his greatest apprehensions.
The realisation of what true happiness actually means, the fact that he needs to forgive others as much as he needs to forgive himself, the secret to living an authentic life, the small deeds of kindness and self improvemnet, the basis of life being love, the choice of positive influence, the simple pleasures of life and last but not the least, the mission of making a difference---succeed in making Jonathan Landry a wiser man and more importantly a happier one.

After realising what he has been missing all this while and after reflecting and retrospecting (in the journal Julian has asked him to pen his thoughts into), he is now able to step out of personal dilemmas, decide on priorities, work towards tasks he has put off and stop avoiding the one major guilt that has constantly been haunting him.
As his life falls in place, one cannot ignore the small nudge coaxing the reader to do the same.
The tome ends on a very interesting note, opening up a surprise that leaves a smile on the reader's face.

On closing the book, I realised what Robin actually wanted to say.
Perhaps each one of us has a secret to share---an experience we need to live, a story we need to tell, a talisman we need to recover.What is often missing is the time to search, reflect and pass these on.
Albeit, one can easily say that Robin Sharma is one man who has clearly proved to make a remarkable difference.

About the author:
Robin Sharma, LL.B., LL.M., is one of the world's top experts on leadership and personal development.He is the author of 11 major international bestsellers, including The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari and The Greatness Guide.
He is CEO of Sharma Leadership International, Inc, a success coaching and training firm with clients such as Microsoft, Nike, IBM, GM and Panasonic.
A highly influential blogger and social media celebrity, Robin is also a much sought after speaker who has helped millions live a better life.
His personal website- www.ROBINSHARMA.com

Rating: 4 out of 5 (in the genre of non-fiction)
Highly Recommended.

February 02, 2012

Untitled---for the one who need not be named...

Unaccepted apologies...

Silent tears...

False allegations...

Hesitant explanations...

Stony indifference...

Blame games...

Uncomfortable numbness...

Elusive memories...


Friendship that once was...

Friendship that always will be...

Ego that never was...

Ego that now is...


You hesitate to accept my apology because you think history might repeat itsself...

I hesitate to try too hard because I am sure it will...

You think i dont care enough to change...

I think you have changed too much to care...



'Me' missing 'you' hurts but not half as much as 'you' misunderstanding 'me' did!!!