An Original Quote.

The right turns in life define it. But it is the wrong ones that define You. 

A dreamer.

A dreamer who lived
Who loved
Every single dream
Of his realm
Smaller ones built
On banks of green
Bigger ones flowing
Covering all that seem
He lived there
In those castles he created
In those imaginary caves
And non existent happiness.
When everyone was happy
And nothing but happy.

Then came a dark day
And he did see it coming
He saw the cracks
Running across his dream
And slowly it did happen
Till that one day
When he last saw hope
A flower untouched.
For it was the first
And now the last
To be consumed...
It died
So did he.

Amid that dead dream
Lay a flower
In whose name
Once lived a lover...

Cafeteria past lunch time.

I am at the cafeteria. Another IT giant. Commoners all with a tag around their neck. Saying, ' I am this person and so let me in.' I have a tag too. It says visitor. I finished my cup of filter coffee. And now I sit here and look at all these people. They seem happy. People in large groups. Friends of similar age. Couples from the same team. And I with my empty cup of coffee.
It wasn't long back that I was one of them. Stuck at a similar place. With similar sets of friends and varieties of food counters to choose from.
Cafeteria meant getting off from doing the things that gets one paid. It meant having the same not so tasty food everyday. It meant table tennis and pretty ladies at the odd tables. A year back I was one of them. And now I write about it.
This place is so similar to one I left behind. And yet I try to find those things that distinguish it from the other. It has all the similar features. The ordered chairs, the IT engineers talking about taking the way out, the food stalls all crowded selling the same tasteless nourishments.
I suppose the only change is in me. My perspective. I was on the other side and now I'm here. I remember stretching the limits of our lunch hour and leaving early to play TT. I remember odd things about that place. This one too would have people like us.
So now I ask myself, ' Do you miss it?'.
I don't know if I really do. I was happy there as I am happy now. If so then why do I end up questioning my happiness over the time past?

Why(?) not.

It is happening again,

Like that day, That summer in vain,

Ah! The way it works on you,

That happiness for the chosen few.

It makes you weak, vulnerable,

And yet you choose to blow up that bubble.

Look at you. Hopeful in pain,

Letting go to be held once again.

It wouldn't happen this time, You wouldn't tell.

Hush the feeling, You know so well.

This time you'd be wrong. There is no song.

No melody. No symphony. Or rhyme.

But,

What if this was another time?

I can feel it, bittersweet in lime.

It's another test boy. You got nothing to win.

Kill it now. Not another sin.

I just lost everything. Maybe another try.

And If it doesn't happen, lets talk about 'why'.

And, If it does happen?

A blue bag and the balance of the universe.

It was on a lazy Sunday afternoon that I'd decided to go meet her, this incredibly awesome friend of mine.
She was one of those rare creatures who did not seem to care about anything else happening around, while everyone else were busy running their exhausting mundane lives. I liked her because she was on the outside like me, watching the rest of them do their thing. I liked her because she dint seem to have the same level of femininity as other girls, or the rest of the drama that comes along with being the weaker of the sexes (Male chauvinistic me? Maybe.)
So we met at a common place where I spent most of the last six years. It had changed much, and I think I did too. She hadn't. She was this same awesome thing that I had met 6 years(?) ago.
We went to 'Subway', and got ourselves a sub and found a bench to sit down and talk about the interesting things in ones life these days. As it was the norm between us we spoke about everything that would not help us make the world a better place to live in. We finished our subs as we moved to another bench closer to where I had parked my car.
The only difference this time that I found in her was this bag of hers. A bag!! She was carrying with her a blue 'Caprese' bag. I did find that a bit odd. Not because she was carrying a bag, but because I was seeing her with one for the first time. "Girls carry bags!", I argued. She tried her bit to convince me that she was girly too, but that was the last thing I would have thought of her. And none could blame me for she would have made an awesome guy friend too. I guess life cant be that perfect too. (Perfection-is-a-myth-moment).
So coming to the odd things that happened that day. We talking about love and relationships. I explained why I'm cynical about the concept of love and she played her part to counter my arguments. And while she was talking about something about someone getting married, I noticed this tree in front of us. A tree with its branches forming a sort of deflated heart. She saw a witches hair, I clearly saw a heart! (The hopeless romantic phase refuses to get done with me).
We walked over to the nearest coffee shop to get some caffeine in our system. I got my cappuccino with another heart which I immediately crossed off (Should be seeing hearts post a breakup!!). So we sit there and talk about odd things. She was at a regular interval removing odd things from her Caprese bag, and I was constantly reminding her to come back to being one of us. There she met one of her seniors from school, whom she used to played basketball with. I mention this otherwise seemingly irrelevant piece of information here because of something this person said. She replied saying she was 'in transition', when asked about what she has been doing. What a lovely way to put it. From this day on I am 'In transition-ing' to anyone who asks me about my aim in life.
I showed my friend some off my works on my phone. I was looking at her intently, as she was reading, as I do to anyone I showcase the things I have written. I like to see how people's expressions change as they read. A subtle smile from them inspires me more than a well written review praising my work.
I noticed that she was looking prettier than usual. Wait! How is that possible? She is one of us.
I think its the bag. Its presence is disturbing the balance of this perfect little thing we have going on here.
As we walked back to my car, we stopped under a street light. The light filtering through the leaves in the ruffling wind played a very psychedelic song on the pavement.
So I dropped her back to her car, bid farewell and tried to talk her out of being girly again. (I cannot start liking this one, shes too awesome for that.)
Hmm.

And that is how a bag almost changed my perception on a lazy Sunday evening.

(Caprese is a brand! Who knew that! Thank you once again for your patience.)

Sidharth.
(Not just sid.)

Farewell.

I am not a fan of people leaving.
By leaving I mean them, the ones you are close to moving away either permanently or for a given period of time.
And why is it bad? It is because it makes you realize that there is a that-person-shaped void created in your universe. This void represents everything that they meant to you, the little things that you would miss about them. It cannot be filled again. It can just be ignored. Pushed as far back as you possible can, buried under the layers of mundanity that dictates one's everyday life.

That is one aspect of it.

Another is the question of 'why?'
Why should you feel anything for anybody. Why get close to another soul?

Separation is inevitable. Life comes in the way, and nothing can be done about it.

You cherish someone, they reciprocate and then they move on. You think of that one moment in time, which is now past, in which you held someone and it meant something. And for the rest of that particular time frame you do your bit to get it back, which sadly is now only a memory.
Or there is the scenario that they too end up staying. All in the hope of that one elusive moment.
You have someone for sometime and then you move on to be someone else who means something else for some other person.
And so goes on this vicious cycle.

Yet we play our part because....

Open interpretations.

This picture was drawn by a friend.
I wondered what she had tried to convey through this picture. What story did it tell?

I see an old man, sitting on the outside of what seems like a cemetery. The cross above his head responsible for my assumption of the setting. Maybe he is grieving the loss of someone, someone who must have meant something to him. Maybe a wife, or a son. Or even a friend, maybe his only one.  I wonder what the stairs imply. And his slippers. Maybe he is distraught over the loss. And it is there to emphasize the importance of the person.
The old man has a vacant expression on his face. It is not of peace, but of a tranquility that results from the acceptance of chaos in one's life. I think he is grieving for a loss that happened a long time ago, and that he forgot to stop grieving about it. But is this what happens to people who do not accept loss, who learn to live around it. Letting it consume you slowly in your mind before its eventual claim on your body.
I concluded that this was something to do with loss, and the pain accompanying it.

And I ask her, what is it that you are trying to convey through this. She told me that she tried to recapture an image, which made an impression on her, using watercolours. And that was the result of it.
So I ask if I can have a look at the Original picture; this is it.

Was I wrong in my assumptions? Maybe. But can you dispute it? Well except for the cemetery part, which maybe true, I think I can live with my take on it.

That was my first impression on the picture drawn. If she had not mentioned it, I would have gone on to think of it as a brilliant piece of art with an underlying message to the rest of the world.
But this picture taken is exactly that. It still is art, captured through a different medium, and open to interpretation to the rest of the world.
And each of our interpretations and complex analysis will be far from the truths of the world that this man lives in. Maybe he sat there because he was tired, with slippers he found, which made no sense together to the rest of the world but him.
That is absolute freedom.
Away from the world that was created for us in the minds of others who came before. Away from the shackles of our reality that binds one slipper in this world to the only other of the same kind.