Joke

I may be 24 but I feel nothing more than a 14 year old. As a girlwho's in her 20's, I feel cheated. Or at some point in time, I expect God to tell me that I was being punk'd. Turns out this is reality and I've turned into a joke.

You see, the illusions in my head made me believe life in the 20s would be 'glamorous', if I could use that term. Dinner with friends after work, dancing, movie marathons, all this and more were to be a major part of my 20s. (It's funny how dates never were a part of this deal.) Circa 2014, friends, I have are not more than my fingers. Dancing? You mad bro. Two left feet and left hands, that's me now. Love? I figured there's no convention where I'd meet my man and he'd realise in that very moment that we were soulmates. Turns out I was wrong.

I think I have a theory about life turning out to be this disappointing. I've realized that none of us have changed. Maybe 20 percent here and there. But that's about it. I believe we still are kids who still dream about a better future. Dreaming, just dreaming. Never, hardly working towards it. Though, we still carry stars in our eyes. The light may have got dull, dim, but that's what's taking us forward. Or dreams.

Perhaps why I don't want to face reality ever again.

Raspberries and Rainbows

Some days you delude yourself. Some days, you'd fight tooth and nail, and strike hard to seek it. Black, white and grey; after dedicating much more than colours; and after living under a cloud, you choose to finally give in.

You discover it in the lyrics your sentiments decide to play. You look it in the touch of your mother’s hand loving reassuring your nerves. You hear it in the alternate rhythm of the black and white keys. You seek it in the eyes of the child. You find it in the unspoken words of your lover. You unearth it in the cryptic clues of a poem. You stumble upon it between the lines. You string it together when you try connecting the dots. You search for it when you decide to face the mirror to face yourself. You will discover it in the words of a friend who never exactly owed it to you anyway. To contemplate, retrospect and elaborate upon those thoughts.

The truth lashes out in its form like the hard rain. But you rather stray away into the wild today. You rather cleanse yourself in the moonlight tonight. The truth isn't what you were searching for tonight. You crave for solace. The humble solace. Probably.

The truth seeks you in its glory. But you were never the brave heart who was out to seek the truth.

Probably the truth is the price you have to pay.

How to be lonely?

Become an introvert and tell yourself there is nothing you can do to change this. Maintain a steely countenance. Tell yourself you’re an introvert. Use it as a covert to hide your inability to initiate a conversation or build relationships.

Fall for the one who was never your type. Try to make things work. Quit making it work. Look around. End your time with him. Live on borrowed time. End your relationship.

Read between the lines. Try to encrypt every word, statement that has been showered, shared on/to you.

Get touchy and sentimental when people push you for a reaction.  Pull away, cry inconsolably, weep like a baby. Do what you must, so that people expect you to display your sentiments on a screen-projecter.

Fall for an addiction; get rid of it by becoming a prey to addiction. Get your friends to wean you off your dependence. But it won’t go away, there’s too much of you damaged for words to do any good, heal you is a distant ambition.

Become a cynic. Lead on to believe that everyone talks to you to fulfill their ulterior motive. Lead on to believe this is your superpower. Believe compliments are meant to mock you at a random moment and they can probably see through your flagellating self-esteem. Continue being bitter about your last relationship.

Believe when someone says they’d be there for you. Believe when they say they don’t believe in forever. Share details of our life to this person, since bonding, always strengthened relationships. And leave your worst to fate.

Get into a relationship. Delude yourself about the relationship. Find reasons to nitpick each other when the time is wrong. Avoid confrontations when asked about the same.

Find yourself too indolent to talk every time you find yourself at the possibility of starting a friendship. Ignore the person who seems to find you interesting. Shut all forms of contact. Smile too much to let them know they’re indulging in a series of fleeting monologues. Use monosyllables. Use your headphones.

Get someone to be dependent on you. Use your power to use him/her according to your whims and fancies.

Avoid phone calls. Excuse yourself from night outs. Shun the spotlight when it is on you. Keep away from affections of any kind. Because the only way to conquer the world was to be a detached prick who’d spend the nights watching fluffy romantic movies.

Be yourself.

Befriend fellow introverts & believe that introversion is the new mysterious, is the new way to express yourself.

Him

His calm demeanor assures you striking a conversation with him is probably worth it. The faint scar on his eyebrow bears witness to the fact that he was rambunctious as a kid; he's had his age of outburst and impulses.

He isn’t the guy who sits across the bar and finds ways to impress you. He is the one makes himself comfortable on a sofa and sinks in a book. He isn't trying to be charming; and that's what sets him apart.

His eyes appear cold and steely at first, oblivious to the crowd around him. His mundane glasses schemingly shield the warmth in his eyes. But you know him well, and you'd realize the look is just a facade, an appearance to keep people at bay. You'd find a string of red-veined strings tied across his wrist, reminding you this is his devised method to keep in touch with traditions and, for emotional reasons. His banalities seem so trivial, but a memory to cherish when he makes you a part of it. His laugh, booming with such joy, you'd laugh with him; at him.

His cropped hair reminds you of the archetypical male precedence — he's too lazy to visit the barber frequently. But you're not complaining; not as yet.

His dimple across his right cheek that breezily appears through conversations is your reward that he appreciates your company. His conversations remind you that we haven't lost the good guys to the Waser River as yet.

The party has ended. The bar is shutting shop. It's time to go. The niceties are exchanged. You should probably leave. But not before you find a way to get back in touch with him.

After all, you want him to be more than a fading memory.

55 Word Story | Books

"....She’s the rhythm to my otherwise tone-deaf voice. This book is dedicated to Saira, my wife.” 

Lies. This book is a memory of him and me. 

He clasped his hands as he noticed him breathing each of these words to scribes. 

He knew there were ways to get famous. He realized one of them today.

55 Word Story | Serendipity

A minute is all that takes to find out the truth. Today, it seemed like she waited for an eternity.

Negative.

Hello again, post-coital pillow talks. 

Hello again, Old Monk + random guy from bar.

What she didn't know was, her life was going to change in exactly three hours from now.

*door bell*

65 Word Story | Dream

Dreams peep out of a keyhole every time she tries to shut the doors of reality.

Her mutilated dreams. Her scattered reality.

She imagines to set herself free. Till then she continues to dream.

She lives in a world of sleepless dreams, she dreams in a world of sleep.

She wishes, she could live each of those dreams, as she lives in her dreamless sleep.