Life As I Know It

I don't know when my obsession with owls began. I guess it started with Harry Potter and from that point on I began collecting an assortment of all things owl.  It began with Key-chains because I collect those too. I basically get excited about the smallest things which has resulted in me collecting all sorts of things. From tooth- picks to match boxes, marbles even. I guess I am a hoarder. Though I like to call my self a connoisseur of "simple fine pleasures". No matter how bad the weather around me, they guarantee a smile or at-least the comfort of having something that I can carry with me because I am too old now to be carrying my doll with me for company! This is the bling- max thing I own. Truly. I am not a shine and startle person. This owl has seen the best and worst in me. The key-chain that has the keys to my vehicle, office and my cabinet. Yellow eyed owl key chain, because I love Yellow! The OWL Vase has a nice spot on

Yes, I am referring to A. J. Cronin’s book in this post. I had just finished 7 th standard and during the summer vacations before I started 8 th standard was the year I was permitted to choose my own books at the library. This was the first book I picked. I don’t remember the story now. I remember it vaguely but this book had an impact on my heart. When I say impact, I mean it stirred up emotions in me that I didn’t even know existed. The feeling was so turbulent. Just remembering how the story pans out and how it unfolds churns rage, love and pure shock at the action of the characters in the book. It is a beautiful book. I read Shannon’s way, Citadel (The Book that inspired the Dev Ananad Starer - Tere mere sapne) and The Stars Look Down by him but nothing ever did to me what the Spanish Gardener did. That was the third book that made me cry. I am not going to tell you the story or introduce you to the characters because I’d be robbing you of the experience of reading the boo

Discovering who she was, was an easy task but clearly people in college still had a problem with the person she was. The Woman started noticing that she couldn’t help but get along with people older than her and her peers just as in school continued to be intimidated by her and preferred keeping their distance. In the last two years of her school life when the girl realized that she was the happiest when she was free to express herself. Express she did in moots, debates, camps, talks held in schools and colleges. As she adapted to the surroundings she knew she would never compromise this freedom of being herself for a group of people whom she would not be working with or seeing after 5 years of college. She knew in her heart that even if she did see them there was no danger of her having to acknowledge their existence. That little boat of being politely civil had long sailed. People in their late teens and early twenties invariably end up spending too much time worrying about be

The Little Girl re-lived the horrors of the World wars in her mind. Kane and Abel became her favorite novel. Hazard by Richard Marx was her anthem. She went to school armed with her books and music. The little girl had realized that though she didn’t talk to many people she had a razor tongue that could hurt people. She used it and went home every day to hide behind the dictionary to sharpen her weapon to unleash her words on anyone who came to attack her. She never indulged in physical violence unless it meant trying the moves she saw on W.W.F and those were learnt only to defend herself from her brother who grew to be a tyrant. The little girl was just a little bug to her brother. They fought. They fought physically with a vengeance. The little girl would leap at her brother to hit him and he would bring his knuckles crashing on her head. She didn’t quite understand why they fought as much as they did. The fights grew in their intensity. They grew distant. They wouldn’t acknowledge

The little girl aped her elder brother. To her, he was the coolest dude that existed. She was the kid in school who was spoken to because she was so and so’s sister. As a kid she was extremely naïve. Her brother was the quizzer, the topper, the teacher’s pet, the social guy and everybody liked him. She on the other hand was the brat, the swimmer, a teacher’s nightmare, anti social and didn’t want to be liked by anyone. They were polar opposites of each other. Her brother - the witty charmer and She, the *shrugs shoulders* and very impolitely leaving conversation kind of person. Perhaps… the younger version of her envied the ease with which her brother was able to make friends and be at the core of everything that was happening in school. The fact that they were so different and studied in the same school eventually led to teachers constantly comparing them. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But imagine a little girl always being chastised and all sermons ending with, “why

I am not big on self-help books. I didn’t have an opinion on them until I read one. I always thought I wouldn’t read one because these books are categorized as “Self Help”. Enough said right? I mean why would one want to read a self-help book? When one can step out of their house to do whatever they want to?[I know you need legs to step out. If you have them step out. If you don’t have them figure out a way to step out. If you have legs but don’t know how to use them – I’ll imagine you as a baby between the age group of 1 day – 15 months old who is a prodigy and can read and chose my blog of all blogs to be educated about the world based on my constant rants on my life experiences. But if you aren’t in the age bracket I mentioned, please don’t try and contact me.] The first thing about experiencing anything is to actually get out there and do whatever the hell it is that your brain is prompting you to do. There are three ways that this experiment can go – You fail or succeed and