Of Late Nights and Hangovers

It was 4 am. I had a flight to catch at 5.30. With minimal traffic, I could still make it on time. Understandably in a hurry, I rushed out of my apartment, into the lift, and pressed the ground floor button. But as luck would have it, the lift ground to a sudden stop only a few minutes later. 

Affording little time to lose, I pressed the emergency button, as one would do in such a situation. There was no answer. The security guard, it seemed, had had a long night like myself. I reached out to my phone, but as is inside a lift, there was no signal. I tried to calm myself. I could still get out of this situation unscathed. After a few uselessly achieved meditative seconds, I started banging on the lift door. Stupid, I know. But what else could I do? I was only hoping against hope that somebody, on that particular floor, might have come out of their apartment for a 'really early' morning jog. Obviously, there was no answer. Luck seemed to never touch me.I started sweating and feeling nauseous. That's when I remembered, I was claustrophobic as well!

Just as I had started losing hope, I heard somebody yelling back at me at the other end of the door. Bingo! Somebody was awake! From the shrill shrieking, the voice seemed to belong to an old lady who seemed to want to help, but lacked the presence of mind to actually go and call somebody - the security personnel, per se. After what seemed like millennia of back and forth yelling, I passed out, thanks to my claustrophobic self.

After sometime, I came to to the sound of the yells. I was jerked awake, only to find that it was no woman yelling, but the sound of my alarm going off. Whew! It was only a dream. The time on the clock said 3.30 am. I still had time. Heaving a sigh of relief, I woke up and got ready. I rushed out of my apartment, got into the lift and pressed the ground floor button. With only a few minutes to spare, I could still make it on time. No reason to panic. After a few minutes, the lift ground to a standstill. Shit just got real....

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

More than your quintessential war-time love story. Pulled together by the love for books, across from two different parts of England, one being London, and the other an island on the Channel. A connection which otherwise would never have happened, had it not been for the love of books. Serendipity in the real sense. A man writing a letter to the owner of a book he loved so much, just because he found her address on it. A kind of chivalry which seems missing in present day society. Not to ignore the pain that is brought about by war-time destruction, leading to deprivation, starvation and loss of life and loved ones. To hold on to one's sanity at such times of hopeless bereavement which seems to have no end is an extremely difficult thing to do. In times of frustration, people do anything to hold on to the last shred of dignity and serenity. That's what the people of Guernsey did, by making up a book club, just so they can come together to share whatever little ounce of happiness they were able to muster through, meagre amounts of food acquired through 'unlawful' means, hidden from the Germans and what not. Amongst all this, a sudden blossoming of love comes as a welcome change like a fresh shower of rain. A must read and a welcome change to everyday romance which will change your perception of reading and romance all together.

Reminiscing

Can I ever stop reminiscing, can I ever stop to hope,
Standing underneath looming shadows,
Flickering lights tend to mope.
Hiding beneath the greenish hills,
Lies a plethora of dinge yearning from my heart.
Rains had just ceased to bash,
Blue skies were starting to splash.
Rainbow had only come to peep,
Dark clouds had seemed to clear off.
Life had begun to become beautiful,
When karma came to clash.
Leaning against the coppice gate,
Once again I dig the past,
Old deeds long forgotten,
Came bolting and wrecking havoc
The chains which had gathered rust.

If Only...

If only words were enough to tell you how much i miss you..
Nothing can stop the tears which flow at the thought of u with her..
Your nights were mine but now all you crave is her arms...
Pain flows down my spine like molten volcano, enough to last an eternity...
I keep looking for traces of you in anyone who claims to have known you...
Sometimes they lie, just to be in bed with me..
Sometimes i let them, thinking they must have come across you sometime, somewhere, unaware, carefree...
Just for that one night I pretend I can sense you in their flesh..
To crawl and reach the trapped energy your touch might have left on them..
For that single moment i make you my heaven...
And yet again i get back to dreary days until I find someone who claims to be your friend again...

Only if I could have been yours... Darlin' only if you had wanted to be mine

- Shradha Bhatia

Autistic Whims

When sleep does not seem near at hand,
When calmness is the last thing I ever achieve,
When all I want is to melt into a blissful slumber on a fluffy cloud,
When the clock keeps ticking by and time runs away way too fast,
When I crave for that solitary cottage of my dreams I call home,
That's when I hope to find a lake of peace, a river of contentment, and an ocean of tranquility,
Yet the ebbing tides seem too brutally impatient to settle down and cater to my autistic whims...

Breathless...

Breathe breathe breathe o' ye caged bird...
Breathe in the fiesty freedom beyond,
Breathe in the promising wind of happiness' at the zenith,
Breathe in the holy smoke that blows yonder,
Breathe in the crazy madness of laughter unleashed,
Breathe in the surpassing joy of the monks,
Breathe in what feels like must be heaven,
Breathe, feel and absorb the heady feeling of unwinding,
A chain unleashed and the barriers removed and,
Breathe in what was not the world but solely and only you...

Midnight Musings...

Right when you thought you had reached the zenith of calm,
Fate chooses to pull you cruelly back out of your reverie,
Lying atop a seemingly cushiony grassbed of contentment,
We can all but hope that the thing melting away is not our last shred of sanity,
Memories pull at your heartstrings and pain demands attention,
Calm, peace, serenity seem like mirthless stepsisters laughing at you from the valley beyond,
Naught can be done to soothe the maddening mind,
Tis all but tumult, an overpowering of bewildered emotions pelting at your soul...
Where is the calm that you talked yourself into?
Whither is the glee you felt only a while ago...
Melting vapour and disappearing chasms...that's all that remains to be eating at the folds of the minds begotten spaces that have long since left unfounded...
Strange is the mind and its power to behold things you try most to forget...