This is the first June that I’ve not spent groaning to get up early to get to classes on time. It is the first June where I’m not worried about the evening rain and walking back in that horrendous road to the bus stop. This is the first June where I’m sitting at home and enjoying myself, reading and helping out in my family.
And this period will probably end this week.
This was the first June where I’ve been so emotional. I was just reading things that made me feel overwhelmed and inconsolable and I just sobbed through the night. My new refuge? Colleen Hoover. Even though her books aren’t any happier or on the more positive side, I feel safe reading them, because I know they got a happy ending.
This is the first June that I have written so less. I’ve blogged so less and my poetry has almost come to halt. I should get back up to writing poetry before I completely lose hang of it. I miss it so much.
This is the first June where I run out to the balcony every time I hear rain and smell the fresh tar and petrichor.
This is the first June where I’ll be travelling in the Metro Train from my house! It opens tomorrow and I am so excited for it!
This is the first June where I’ve started painting on canvas. They’re not the greatest masterpieces, but I’ve loved every moment of them. I should get to ordering more canvas.
This is the first June where I’ve struggled to fit all my books in the shelves I can accommodate in my room. Such a sad reality.
When I was in school, there was this usual tradition of writing and filling in slam books. Slam books were usually these pretty, printed books which had questions like, Name, nick name, favourite colour, yada yada yada, and you could give it to your best friend or crush or someone you don’t really know well, as a symbol of keeping in touch, or rather trying to, with those people. Sometimes, we grew up a little and thought of new things, like having a plain notebook and giving it to people and doing the opposite of what we did in those printed books. The people wrote about the person whose notebook it was and their relationship with the person. It was so much fun. I loved writing in every book and especially my close friend’s Amulya’s. I wrote on the top: Pari’s blog
I wrote it in every book and all the time and even in the second time I wrote in Amulya’s book. I loved decorating it, drawing it and using every small stationery and art supplies that I had with me: glitter pens, colour pens, colour pencils, drawing some really lame stuff, quoting the backstreet boys, telling romantic quotes in a pure, innocent meaning. I loved every bit of it. I love reading it in my book, and I remember vague memories, of writing them, of the memories mentioned actually happening. I love it when I am reading through it and tears spring in my eyes, tears of lost memories, lost people, lost childhood and false promises of staying in touch and being there and getting summoned. And of course, the old, hardly existing phone numbers and the hardly-ever-used email ids.
But now, I don’t think anyone ever does that. I am not saying that I’m from the age where technology was unavailable, but I was in that lucky age group where I never took technology for granted. We wrote on paper; I wrote my first book on paper, and we did things like “FLAMES” and other such silly high school girly stuff where we were all just silly and happy to be silly. I miss those times.
So, I really wonder why, being such a believer of the written word, didn’t continue this in degree. I always kept wondering if I should give out my green magnetic spiral bound notebook to the people I want to, but something held me back. I guess I thought that people wouldn’t write anything different. Nobody would write it if they hated me. The would say the same things in different words. I am not disrespecting them, I am just… bored, I guess. And things don’t bore me that easily.
Also if I were to give the notebook, I would have to give to a LOT of people. So, instead, I wrote them letters. Which, honestly, made me so happy. Happier than if they’d written all those kind words about me.
I came about writing this post as to why I kept my blog name the name it is. And also why I don’t plan on changing it. Even if I did, it would remain something along the lines of my name only. I can’t think of anything more suitable.
And yes, I know I am a little full of myself. Can’t help it. That’s the only confidence I have.
I was initially going to write about Spirited away on the 27th April, in honour of its 15th Anniversary, but like always, my lazy bum just wouldn’t do it. Instead, I will write about Whisper of the Heart.
I’d written about the movie earlier but I wanted to write again because, like Shizuku and Seiji, I’ve grown up a little since the last time I saw and watching the movie in Japanese with English subtitles made me feel warmer and gooier since the last time (which was probably a week ago).
I can’t help but think how similar I am and could’ve been to Shizuku. I am way older than her (from the movie) but when I was her age, I was pretty…dumb. She had planned to read 20 books during the summer break and what did I do during the summer breaks?
Nada. Nothing. Which is why I don’t remember anything about my spent summers.
I keep wondering, what if I had read more? What if I took that one extra step away from home and went to a library? Would I have started writing earlier? Maybe I’d have better imagination? Maybe I’d be better than now? Maybe I’d—
Right now, only two things matter: That I am writing.
And that this movie is one of the best of Ghibli’s. And I need more of a back story and a good epilogue to go with the ending of the movie. And maybe a little bit from Seiji’s perspective.
This post is in honor of my last exam in college. If I have missed you, know that you will forever and always be in my heart.
After the main orientation by the college in the Auditorium, we were asked to go to certain rooms to meet with our class mentors and get our timetables for the year and whatever else that the mentor had planned. Our classroom was in the third floor. It was the corner room behind the bio tech department, which I found strange. Nitya and I huffed and puffed to climb those three floors, only to be met with Rishi, who was standing there to inform all first years that the orientation was in the ground floor, in the Environmental Science department. She rolled her eyes and we climbed back downstairs.
The weirdest and most awkward day in all of Environmental Science students’ lives is the Orientation day. Not the one that the college collectively gives all of first years, but this is small special occasion: just for the Environmental Science “noobs”. Prabhakar sir makes it very memorable, with the two getting-to-know activities, we probably knew things about one another better than anybody else did on the first day itself.
In the first activity, we were supposed to stand in two concentric circles, one facing the other, and speak to the person opposite to you, looking into each other’s eyes while holding hands with the other person. After a few rounds of boys, the first girl I came across was Tenzin Passang. This lovely Tibetan had a sore throat that day. I think she wore a yellow kurta. Her voice was barely above a whisper and I had to lean in real close. It felt like we were conspiring against the whole new set of people. We giggled in low voices like little girls.
The second activity was a silent skit of any one of the two incomplete stories that Prabs had narrated us. I found myself in an all-girls group with Smriti, Indu, Sam, Passang and someone else — Jyothi, I think, and we performed the caterpillars on pilgrimage story and Passang was the tree. Once that was done, my original seat was gone and I sat at the edge next to a long-haired girl, also in a yellow kurta. I hadn’t met her in the first activity, so she introduced herself to me. A hand with long slender fingers to her chest, “Hi, I’m Samudyatha,” she said slowly. I smiled. She was probably the first Kannadiga that I’d come across that day, and I was a lot relieved that I didn’t have to feel so intimidated by everyone anymore.
Sometime in the following days after the orientation day, I was sitting in the third or second row, when I overheard two girls behind me speaking:
Girl one: Who is your OTP?
Girl two: What’s an OTP?
Such an abomination! I was only new into the world of “Fandom”, but even I knew what OTP meant. I turn around to face the two girls behind me.
Me: OTP? One True Pairing? Mine’s Everlark!
Girl one: Ooh, nice!
Me: Who’s yours?
Girl one: I actually have two. One is Percabeth, and another is from the Mortal Instruments. You know the series?
Me: *shakes head*
Girl one: Oh, the other OTP is from that. Malec.
Girl two: *MIA*
And that’s the story of how I met my first best fangirl friend, Indumathi Arunan.
The most memorable re-meet was with Prince. One morning, I was walking the long walk from the bus stop to college, when someone walked beside me: long legged, tall (of course) and eating biscuits. I recognized him from my new class. Harshith, was it…?
I don’t remember what I spoke to him, but he offered me bourbon biscuits, and I was so happy. I took one and munched on it hungrily. I was just finishing up that biscuit when he offered me another. I initially refused, but he just held it in front of me, his long fingers gripping the packet in a friendly manner. Breakfast-less as usual, I ate another one. He also offered me water, but I drank my own. Little did I know that he would become one of my best friends for life.
It was one sultry August Friday. It was Varamaha Lakshmi puja that day, and I remember wearing a new Chrome yellow kurta and olive green lycra pants and a matching dupatta. It was a really nice and sad day. I’d just joined my Creative Writing course, and the class started at 5 in the evening. My classes got over by 4, I think, and after sending off all my friends, (namely Samudyatha) I was thinking of doing something until class began. I ran into Poorvi in the canteen. I knew Poorvi from my 2nd PU coaching centre, and I think I spoke with her for a bit and she introduced me to Aquib. Then it started raining. We were confined to the humid walls of the canteen for a while before Poorvi got an idea: why not eat ice cream in the rain?
We went and bought ice cream in the canteen. Sadly, there were only two D’Daaz Vanilla with Chocolate Sauce ice cream that day, and Aquib, being the gentleman he is, let us girls buy them and he bought something else. We went all the way out of the canteen and to the ground and the humanities block. We went around the ground a couple of times, and then when it was time, I told them “byes” and left for class. The rain was a very fine drizzle and just settles on your skin and clothes and hair but doesn’t really seep in. it was wonderful.
I don’t remember what we spoke about, or even if we did. It was just one of those fine, fine days that remains in you for a really long time.
Then I went home after class, and sent Trance on his way to his originally intended home. Happy and Sad day.
One afternoon, Nairika and I almost made it in time for class. I had accompanied her to the Humanities block for something, and on the way back, we struck up a conversation that made us sit in the playground for more than twenty minutes, while she told me all about her past. That was one of the only times I’d spoken with her for long and so closely and it jarred me for a second that people can be so trusting towards not-well-known people.
Smriti had once vaguely mentioned about her school friend buying a nice camera and was joining our college for the Vocational Course on Film making. At that time, I didn’t give much thought. Sometime in the beginning of second year, I was running around for something (as usual I don’t remember why) when I met Smriti near the canteen. She introduced me to her school friend, Arun and I said,
“Hi, nice to meet you!”
(Or something along those lines…) and dashed off. The next thing I know we’re sitting at lunch with Arun and talking as if we’d been long lost friends. His hands are like a small child’s, rough on the outside but contrarily, soft to the touch.
Prince was speaking with this tall, athletic-looking boy one day, and I kept seeing him talking to Prince quite often after that. I asked Prince one day,
“Who is that guy that you talk to? He comes in our bus, no?”
“I forgot his name. I’ll find out soon again. But he lives near my house. CBZ guy. Also in my Kannada class.”
The same tall boy one day, on the way to the bus stop, asked me if I had a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, which he’d seen with one of his classmates earlier. I told him that I’d lend it to him whenever he wanted.
Today, we speak about a ton of things that I never thought I’d speak about. I often imagine his long veined arms and fingers furiously typing long texts late into the night. That’s Yeshas, bringing out the best versions of people.
The last day of Sanskrit class was the day where I realized I was going to miss it.
That class was thoroughly and neatly divided into boys’ side and girls’ side, and four of us, Vaishnavi, Tejasvini, Haimanthi and me, sat in the middle bench of the middle row and make trouble. Make trouble as in talk endlessly about things that varied from music to culture to castes to dirty jokes on the stories we were learning to fandoms. Everybody was new to me and I am so glad I’d found them. I wouldn’t have enjoyed the classes as much as I did if even one of them were missing.
I think people found it weird that I had days where I could not eat non vegetarian food. Those days are my “vegetarian” days, and on those days, Sam and Nairika and Smriti were happy that they’d gotten someone on their side.
Every afternoon, when DJ brought his plate of colourful biryani from the canteen, he asks me,
“Is it one of your vegetarian days?”
“It’s a Monday, Deej. I’ve been eating with you for more than a year now. What do you think?”
Sam pipes in, “Vegetarian today.”
DJ just sighs and eats his biryani, his fingers gracefully cleaning up the plate.
When we were up trekking the Kunti Betta I was very close to giving up at more than a few instances. Each time, Jyothi just pulled me up and forward. I was dressed in hiking shoes and a comfortable t shirt and stretchy jeans; she was in normal college clothes, chudidar and sandals.
Before third year started, Prabs had told us that three guys from the previous batch would be joining us for the year: Denzil, Chetan and Samuel. I’d known Denzil, whom Samudyatha and I call Danny and was really fun to hang out with; and we knew Chetan; he was quiet and brooding but underneath all that façade was one hell of a troublemaker. Samuel- now that name was new. And I did not expect him to be the way he is.
Samuel is smart and sarcastic. His quick wit is appreciated widely by most of our classmates (those who get the jokes) and especially by his namesake, Sam(udyatha). The Sam ‘n’ Sam duo is epic. If they had a stand-up comedy show, I’d be the first to buy tickets. His hands are like his personality: it looks like they don’t belong to the body and they do, at the same time.
I think this was sometime during fifth sem. Salka stayed at her uncle’s place in another part of JP Nagar, some 4 kilometers from my home. She invited me and Prince over for lunch one day, and she said she’d cook something very Tripura-n. Prince and I were excited. It was one of my chicken eating days and I knew she’d cook it. When I went to her place, I found out that she’d gotten some really bad news. But she insisted that she cook for us, and cook for us she did. Along with special chicken, she cooked us vegetables and rice. It was good food. And good food comes with a good show. We watched three out of twenty-something episodes of this Korean show called “My True Love From The Stars”, that Sonali had recommended, where the protagonist was absolutely OTT. I took the full show from her and watched it the rest of the week. It was a nice afternoon, even though I finished my lunch at about 5 in the evening.
Mine and Parvathi’s conversations are similar to tagging each other on Facebook memes.
Me: We should totally do this. (referring to a set of poetry prompts).
One of the only other people apart from Sam that I wanted to keep a stall with during Meta was Nithya. I’d seen her art and I’d loved them all. And I knew she’d have plenty of ideas.
I was not wrong. Keeping a stall with her has been a really good experience. And to think we’d made such a good team! When she opens her book box, I will be first in line to get them.
That one nasty February Friday during third year ended on a sour note. I was hurrying to perform for my third final poetry slam during Meta after this “pointless experiment”. Sam was at my heels and Smriti also followed me. I asked her, “Where are you going, Smritz?”
“I want to see you perform.” She looked baffled that I would even ask such a question.
At that moment, I felt an immense surge of gratitude and love for my friends. They wanted to see me perform badly. If they’d asked me to launch a nuclear missile on the Vidhana Soudha that day, I would have gladly done it, without second thought.
Although, I didn’t get to perform it, I loved the piece that I wrote for it. I would’ve been very nervous (more than usual) because it was really honest and I think I would’ve scared away my few precious friends.
Naveen refused to be my talent for that week. I hadn’t done it in almost a year and his was only the second one in my third year. I was nervous, sure, but I was 100% sure that Naveen deserved all the fame and glory he could get. It took me a long time to convince him, and even then he wasn’t. Then I took the shortest method out as a final resort: tell Yeshas that Naveen was being stupid. It took Naveen a few hours to finally text me,
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
And I wondered why I didn’t take the shortcut earlier.
Naveen’s post, till date has about 600 views; the most on a single post and I can’t even get started on the response that I got from it. And to think that Naveen thought he didn’t deserve it.
To James, who’s been one of the kindest boys I’ve ever known in my life, to my namesake Pari, to Drishti and Srishti for being so lively and amazing and supportive and to Ismail and his morbid jokes, to all those people who have waved or smiled at me while passing each other in the corridors or in the bathrooms and sometimes asked each other “How are you?”, to all my present and former classmates I’ve not mentioned, to all the Graphic.Inc people, to Archana for making me laugh so hard that I was clutching my stomach with tears rolling down my cheeks and to Rajitha for being one of my biggest supporters for my writing,
Today morning, as I opened the balcony door to dry my towel at 7:45, I did a double take at the weather. It was cloudy, but humid, like one would expect it to be during the months of June and July, when the monsoon hasn’t completely set in…and the summer hasn’t completely gone off.
This was predicted. One of the days this week was going to see rain, and the glorious Monday was chosen. After a useless and tiring day, this is exactly what I needed.
I actually didn’t believe that it was going to rain. Bengaluru is so full of false promises that I stopped believing in the forecasts. When the forecast says cloudy, I know that the Sun is going make use of all the day time and tune up his brightness to the maximum (so that the plants get more sunlight for photosynthesis and provide you with energy, says Sunny). Bengaluru is a sadist like that.
In the late evening, I stepped outside my house to buy some envelopes. I stood outside the shop, skipping the three steps like I was a child again, and let the cool and humid wind take my thoughts away as far as it can wander. The sky was cloudy; the only way to tell is by looking at the sky and deciphering the colour of it. If it is a clear night, the sky will look dark blue, like the blue one could get lost in. And maybe, a few wisps of silvery-grey clouds here and there. If it has any signs of rain, the sky looks like a mixture of purple-pink-orange-red in wild proportions. That colour is hard to get on paper.
I watched the first rain of Bengaluru as it washed away the dust on our car, and until the ground was no longer dotted with wetness.
It’s already March. In two moths’ time, I will be a graduate, ready to face it out in the world.
And I’m so not prepared for it.
Whenever I feel uninspired, I just go and read my previous posts. After a useless day, I sat down in my black rotating computer chair and went through all my posts of 2016. I feel like I don’t recognize that girl who wrote all those Tuesday is Talent Day! posts anymore, even if I wrote one just yesterday.
I can only relate to the girl who wrote from December 2016 onwards. The posts are few and rare and I miss writing blog posts 5 times a week, incredibly.
And going through my old posts, I wonder, Owen Mason Gentry, this happened only last year! It feels like a lifetime ago.
Life seems so much simpler before. And maybe in the next year or so, I will be saying the same thing about 2017.
Every new year, after a few weeks, there’s this feeling that I get every afternoon. I don’t know if I can describe it, but here I go.
When I was in 6th standard, we changed three classrooms. The second classroom we changed was on the second and the topmost floor, connecting the two buildings of the school. This room had a glass wall, through which we could look outside, but never be looked in. This room holds memories. Memories of best friends, long lost friends, last words, maturing, intense thoughts, hilarious questions (our maths teacher was pregnant; a boy from our class asked his best friend how our teacher got pregnant), counting airplanes out of the window, playing HOLLYWOOD and getting second top marks overall.
Whenever it rained, the water used to ever so slightly seep and spray into the classroom and it would get chilly. The people sitting on the glass wall side merged benches with the other side, so it became one long bench instead of two in every row. It spread warmth and happiness, even with the cold outside.
(I’m looking through my 2009 diary to find memories related to it. I wish there was a search button so I can easily find it.)
There’s this one time where I’ve written this:
…I’ve grown so much now. I know so many things. But these things, some experiences are just the beginning of life. But my experiences and feelings of 6th standard have filled my whole heart, which says “There’s not another year like that.” It makes the most of me. THIS IS WHO I AM.
March 1, 2012
I watched the theme songs of Chronicle of the Wings that afternoon.
I link to that year most because it was a year where I discovered a new world. I discovered manga. At the end of that year I resolved to become a manga artist. How hard can that be? I was already good at drawing.
(It is very hard.)
This one is from the first meet-up with my girls from school, after joining different PU colleges.
…Sunny was directly in front of me. It felt like Spring during 6th. Travelling by van, watching the tree go from bare to yellow flowers near Jupiter, the time I ate all those chocolates ‘n’ candies, the fun me ‘n’ Shravya used to have, sharing the sunlight with Nandan in the Glass room. I had vague memories of all these. The ground used to be filled with the small leaves of the big tree. Immediately, the bright green smaller leaves used to grow. What a sight!
August 20, 2012
Ridiculous texting trends back then.
…I don’t know why. Maybe I was just tired and hungry and let it get into my brain or I actually felt that. I had felt it before but couldn’t remember when. Talking to Sunny was even more different.
Different and Strange.
And then it flashed to me that this feeling was felt when I was in 6th in that “Glass room”. We were there during the months of July and August (more or less). Whether it was raining or cloudy or sunny or whatever might be the weather conditions, those were the happiest days of my life…
November 24, 2011
As I’m reading through my diary, there’s one massive change: handwriting. It is pretending-to-be-loopy-and-fancy-but-failing in the beginning and then for two years it becomes very pretty. Enter degree, it becomes goop all over again.
So, this is what I’ve been feeling since the third week of January. It is little early for the feeling, but I feel it.
2016 has been good to me in ways that I didn’t know. I had to make a lot of important decisions this year, along with the hectic schedule of bring a third year student, I learnt plenty of things. I am thankful for 2016 for all the unpleasant things that have happened to me, because without which, I wouldn’t been on the journey to rediscover myself and do difficult things.
One of the biggest things I’m thankful for 2016, apart from my family and close circle of friends, is this woman here: Parvathi Nair.
She and I share upto 6 classes a week, and somehow, I never remember how, she and I became blogging buddies. She blogs over at Queen Talks. We write poetry together, answering prompts by other people and morally supporting each other. We have attempted two, so far, one calledAs everything Turns Grey, prompts given by JR Rogue and Kat Savage, and the second was by PoetryHive.
I’d never had blogging buddy or a writing buddy before, and i didn’t know anyone whom I could connect with. Writing with Parvathi, even though separately, has been some of the best times ever. The post-blogging chats are hilarious and honest.
And the best news is: we’re compiling a set of prompts for poetry for February! It’s called The Spring Palette and we are so, so excited!!
The experience of going back forth between the prompts were so much fun. We just synced together. That happens not too often and I’m glad she’s one of the people I can be myself with!
December was the first time I ever tried Bullet Journal. It was a trial phase, and even though I’m not able to be up to date with it, I will continue to do this for however long I live.
Disclaimer: This is entirely my perspective. If you don’t like it, don’t hate on my ideas. Just don’t do it.
Bullet Journal is an effective, easy way to keep track of what you’re doing in life and what tasks lie ahead of you and whatever else you’d like to keep a track of, which can bring out the creative soul inside of you. You could do a journal exclusively for reading and/or writing or even for art, but so long as you keep it personal and you.
Pick up a notebook and a pen. I prefer my Parker Fountain Pen with my name engraved on it (see featured image), with black ink, because black ink is very satisfying. You can use any notebook that you like: ruled, unruled, grid or dotted. Unfortunately for my, I didn’t have an unruled notebook that I liked, so I used a ruled, spiral notebook.
I started mine very basically. I didn’t go through Pinterest for my first time, because I know I’ll be very intimidated by it. So, I began the way I wanted, with the calendar of the month:
It has all my important dates and events, reminders as well. I originally had a weekly list of things to do, but that plan failed because I had no idea what I’d be doing that week. So, I ditched that.
Next thing to compile is a legend. Mine looks like this:
I focused on not just planning, but the accomplishment of them. After the planning part, I write out what I did today and what I didn’t and tried and focused on why it happened. For me, this part is very liberating.
Once you’ve done this, and you’re comfortable doing this, go on to the next step: research. Research on new methods, new ideas to pump up your experience. I am yet to do that, in 2017, and hopefully, I will keep up a new method. I will update a new method in January 2017. Stay tuned!
Feel free to change it as often as you like, as many times until you feel comfortable enough to be able to look forward to do it everyday.
Today morning, I was in the chemistry lab, experimenting with iron and mercury and chromium and admiring its beauty when all of a sudden, I hear a loud *POP* and sounds, noises all come gushing into my left ear like a tsunami.
A few weeks ago, while I was cleaning my ear, I accidentally pushed the wax deeper, causing me slight temporary deafness. It meant that I had to fix my headphones to work on both ears and not be able to use earphones. My right ear has a little outgrowth which prevents me from inserting earphones. No kind will work.
This usually happens. I was not worried because it wasn’t the first time, but it was definitely the longest. I was going to get it cleaned in the next few weeks or so, but I love my body. It cleaned itself.
I realize I’m not writing as much as I used to, even of weekends. I’m just at that phase where I don’t feel like doing anything except sit and watch Chhota Bheem or Pokemon in Hindi. I have a few posts in mind, but will soon get around to writing them.