Wednesday, 2. January 2008, 23:03:15
Hey everyone! And happy new year!! Hope people had a blast just as i did. It felt soooo good to party and just forget about college
You wont believe the amount of alcohol i had on new years eve!
I have been so busy for the last two months with my college exams that forget about blogging, i barely even went online other than to finish with my work. Urgh!!
I had the last two weeks free which i spent doing absolutely nothing but partying nad pampering myself. I went shopping, saw like a million movies, read a few books(here's a recommendation for you book lovers: The curious incident of the dog in the night-time...amazing book), got drunk(tried white wine) etc. etc.
Anyway will put up another post. Right now, its 3:30 am and i need sleep.
Gnite
Monday, 27. August 2007, 20:50:49
A poem
A poem can paint a thousand images in your mind's eyes. 'The Highwayman' by Alfred Noyes is one such poem. Amongst my favourite, here is 'The Highwayman':
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle
His rapier hilt a-twinkle
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching
Marching marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding
Riding riding
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
THE END
Sunday, 26. August 2007, 12:36:35
Real Post
I'm going for a dance party tonight. I have to leave in less than 2 hrs and I still haven't decided what to wear though I have already bought shoes. I need to look nothing less than ravishing if I'm going to catch his attention...Ah! The games one plays in love!! Well, not love, more like liking.
Lets see how it goes.
Wish me luck!!
Tuesday, 21. August 2007, 10:09:24
Fiction, Just a Thought
My mind races with a million and one fears, large and small. The typical ones, not so special, of snakes, or heights, or things that go bump in the night. The atypical ones, painstakingly overcome, of high heels, or small talk, or driving in the slamming rain. Fear propels us, I've come to believe, like an vicious competitor who goads us to victory. Like an unseen hand, pushing us over the imaginary lines we draw in the sand.
My heart, though, races with one fear.
It pounds in terror against the death grip of a single thought that manages, relentlessly, to escape its tidy little box tucked into the dusty recesses of my head, hidden from view. One fear that will not be denied, will not be restrained, unleashing itself into my being as if to remind me, with a resounding, cackling howl, "I am real."
This fear has a name, but no discernible value. And yet it is equipped with an insidious knack for making its presence known in opportunistic moments. When least expected.
Doubt stares at me through my kitchen window. Sneering. "Who do you think you are? Whose beautiful life have you stolen, as if it is your own?" I look down, into the stagnant soapy water, and wonder, too.
Doubt taunts me in the dark of night. "What have you done? What is the point of your waking hours?" I close my eyes, so I can look deep inside myself, and wonder, too.
Doubt grabs me by the throat, in mid-conversation. "Who are you fooling? Who is this person you are pretending to be?" I stammer over my words, choking on them, and wonder, too.
Doubt sings to me in a lilting falsetto that echos in the empty places, reverberating through my veins. "Who are you? Are you anybody? Or are you just a nobody, in a transparent, shallow disguise?" I look in the mirror, straining to see, and wonder, too.
Doubt attaches itself to every arrogance, like an annotated footnote.
"You are a fraud."
I shuffle my feet in their stuck place, hanging my head.
I believe it, too.
Doubt, victorious, temporarily sated, tucks itself back into its tidy little box in the dusty recesses of my mind.
And waits.
Monday, 23. July 2007, 21:16:48
Fiction
As I sat next to Kenneth, I couldn't get myself to believe that in a few hours he'd be a married man. Seemed like only yesterday when this nerd walked into my hostel room and said "Hi! My name’s Kenneth Donaghy. I'm going to be your roommate." Never thought I'd be friends with this oddity from geeks Ville, let alone be the best man at his wedding. But, well, here we were, eating breakfast on his wedding day!!
It seemed rather strange now that I hardly knew his fiancée, Gabrielle. We had met a few times some months back but that’s about it. Well, I guess I'll see her at the wedding. I thought to myself.
I finished my breakfast and went to my room to call Natalie. As the phone rang, I wondered if she was busy doing some work. Too bad her conference happened to be today, I would have liked her to come. It would have been nice for her to meet Kenneth...The trail of my thoughts were broken by a male voice at the other end.
"Hello?"
"Ah-hello! Is Natalie there?"
"Sorry, she's busy."
I started to panic when I heard giggling and kissing sounds in the background.
"This is her boyfriend, Richard."
Suddenly, Natalie was on the line.
"Richard, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out this way. I'm really sorry. I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn't want to spoil your friend's wedding for you. I'm...."
I kept the phone down. What the hell just happened? Did I just catch Natalie cheating on me? No. No, it couldn't be. I loved Natalie and she loved me… Apparently not. For how long had this been going on? Was she ever faithful to me? Did she love me ever?
My brain was swirling with a million questions whose answers I didn't want. What do I do? What do I do? I can’t meet anyone right now. Oh god! I have to get away from all this. But…but the wedding starts in an hour. Maybe I’ll hide in some room till I am done dwelling in my pitiful sorrows.
I looked around and entered the first door I saw. It turned out to be a closet. Just as I was about to leave, I felt a hand on my left shoulder.
I thought to myself, “Oh well! So this is how I’m going to die. Murdered in a dingy closet by some psychopath. They’ll probably find my body parts strewn about the closet in a reckless, haphazard manner.
But this doubt was instantly cleared when a pair of lips started kissing me all over. I am sure you all must have figured out what happened next so let me avoid those details and move on with the story.
She left before I could even gather the guts to ask her her name. I knew nothing about her. Nothing. Except that her hair was short, barely reaching till the nape of her neck. Almost like a boy’s.
I had to find out who she was. The whole hotel had been booked by Ken’s parents so she had to one of the guests at the wedding.
So…
I entered the church and took my place next to Ken’s mother while my eyes were searching for her. The guests were already seated but there didn’t seem to be any girl with short hair among them. The music started and in came the bride looking as beautiful as ever.
Gushed Ken’s mother, ”Isn’t Gaby looking just beautiful? She just got that haircut. It suits her so much, doesn’t it?”
Thursday, 12. July 2007, 18:38:50
This is where I'll be posting little stories written by me, instead of hiding them in some dusty old notebook. Most of them will be fictional though there might the occasional real post(oh my god!!
). If thats the case it will say so right at the top.
I'm not the next Ernest Hemingway or Oscar Wilde so please bear wid me.
Hope you enjoy my blog.
Thursday, 5. July 2007, 21:12:28
All rite so I begin my foray into blog-dom. I AM BLOGGING. I am not sure what made me start one - probably the linear combination of boredom and keeping-up-with-the-Jones', but since I have started, why bother with the creation myths.
Anyways, lets hope I shall think of something more interesting to post by and by. So, watch this space!
