ire17n's blog

 Deep within the hard shell of bones, amidst the million cells, hiding in some imaginary compartment, some memories sleep cozily. Years and years of grey cells may have accumulated onto them, forming cobwebs of memories all over again and yet, these lie intact.
Today I read a friend’s post on childhood nostalgia. Memories, some so precious that simple things easily remind us of them, leaving behind a warm fuzzy feeling in the tummy. Childhood brings back memories of aloo bhaja-dal-bhath, afternoon story sessions, cheede bhaja and so much more. All those animated conversation, the aekanodos, the lies that were caught instantly etc. Yes, a myriad of memories.

How young is too young? Confusing na? Totally so! Why do I ask...because I am looking for answers. With every passing year, the idea of being young changes. Now I am not talking about the youth. Being a part of the same fraternity, ideologies or the lack of it, keep changing daily for us. It is all about the next youth icon for us...ain't it?
 

Bloody hell... what was the need to yell? Let alone yell, but shriek? No. That is not acceptable behavior and she is aware of that. Every time this happens...I come into the room and she starts to look for things to hurl at me!
 

Her eyes wandered around the room as if she was looking for something. Or was it someone? She kept looking. Her eyes moved quickly in different directions as if she was trying to take it all in, at once. Was she? The pale walls seemed dark around her. The light coming in from the window was not enough. It looked across a park where no seemed to come and go; the window.

The buzzing of the fly resonates in my ear like someone was beating a drum. The silence is loud in a way I had never imagined before. The distant skyline was all pink with a hint crimson just a while ago but now it seems all deathly grey and pale. Such is the colour that it reminds me of a face. A face that has long lost its charm. But a face that might have looked better when it grew old. The lovely jaw structure would have softened by then, fine lines shaping the face at the corners and crinks around the eyes indicating a life well spent.

“Love makes you do strange things…” yeah whatever thought Kiki. Time and again someone, somebody and even nobody, had rubbed it in her face the thing about love! Okay so it was a four letter word and meant the world to many a fool.

She was late today. It was fifteen minutes passed three. It was past her usual ‘ciggy break’ time. Sid had known all her timings. This would be her fifth cigarette for the day. And if she had the time, she would smoke a joint.
Sid had helped her light a match when he noticed she wasn’t comfortable using matches. That had been the first time they had met. Friendship blossomed instantly. Three years had gone by. They had gone from being random pals to good pals. He went for her birthday parties and she let him treat her on his birthdays. But like she said, “I am just Bee to you!”

I loved Willy. He was the best really. Better than my own people. I remember the day I met him. It is very clear in my head, my most vivid memory actually. It was a sunny day. Bright sunny that makes you want to go out and take a deep breath. Sunny but pleasant when the sun rays don’t hurt you and all you want to do is to prance about.

What was he concentrating on? The people around him--he had no interest in them. The hustle-bustle in side the compartment did not perturb him.
It was incredible how a tiny innocuous roach caught his attention. How had it got in there? Without anyone squashing it with just one stomp of their foot? How could it scurry across without anyone noticing it or some woman shrieking?

The steel bench at the platform had been warmer. If not warm, yet watching the stray pup curling into its mother seemed comforting. Now he was in constant motion.