Getting Ready to Nano!

Today is the 19th of October and there are exactly 12 days left until November 1st!

Yes, I know you can do the math, probably much faster than I can, but the reason why this means that much to me is because *hem hem, cue drumroll* I am joining Nanowrimo for the first time this year.

Hee.

So yes, I'm excited. I've actually wanted to try for Nano for the past two years, but we all know about work schedules and how college submissions can pour cold water on pretty much anything. So now, in the middle of a day job, working with my editor and other miscellaneous duties that keep a person alive, I am finally going to take on the Nano challenge.

Yes, I've been doing prep work, which is why I haven't posted in a while. Besides the short stories that I put up here, I generally write fantasy, but this time, I'm planning to try my hand at sci-fi/supernatural. Yeah, I know, the two genres are practically siblings, but still, I'm actually using technical terms instead of using the word 'magic', so I guess that makes a difference, right?

Imagine Dragons's 'Radioactive' and Cecil Baldwin's voice are currently my two choices of mood music. At least, I get certain scenes in my head when I listen to them. I've got a fairly sound idea down and I'm just waiting for D-Day.

Anyhoo, back to musical inspiration. In the words of Warren Zevon, 'play it all night long'. (And that song is awesome, I don't care what people say.)

My Dog Ate My Tardiness Note

I don't have a dog. Technically, I don't have any pets, unless strays count. In that case, I have had nine generations of pet cats. And one in the present generation is pregnant. So ha.

Anyway, things have been rampant on the editing angle. My editor, Derek Prior, is fantastic, but has as much mercy as an axeman on steroids. Meaning, he's exactly what I needed, though that thought of all the subsequent work that is due on my end once he's finished has my innards a-freaking. Ah well. That's a bridge to cross when we come to it.

Otherwise, I've been working on the maps for the book and have so far, finished a full city plan. To all of you artists who do this professionally, I salute you. Seriously, I have been studying the weirdest things in geography links on Google, just to make sure I get it right. And knowing me, I'll beat myself up a thousand times and keep redoing it until I'm satisfied that it's somewhere in the realm of okay.

I might be a wee bit of a masochist there. Or a perfectionist. I sometimes think I'm too lazy to be a perfectionist.

I digress.

Anyway, I'm giving you all a break from my travelogue, which I have been boring you with and am going to give you one of my short stories, one I've thought about a number of times on whether to show it out or not. I've mostly written light shorts till date, and even with ones on heavier topics, I dealt with them in a more casual manner. This one's a bit different.

And before you read it, just FYI: I'm really not a creepy person. I like peppermint and pinwheels.

Case Study Trip: Day 3

Dec 15, 2012
6.54 PM, Room 2012, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Lazy

What? I'm entitled to be a bit lazy. I take pride in being lazy. Also, the net connection here is so painfully slow, too slow to do any studies. Not to mention, I am completely saturated.

So there.

I want a purple velvet top hat with a green satin ribbon and a 10/6 card.

Wish list.

Moving on...

I went to sleep early last night, or rather, I meant to. Got a surprise call from a friend who didn't know that I was in Kolkata and then cursed me when I said that I was. Ended up yakking for about half and hour, after which my sleepy haze went 'pop' and I was struggling in vain to find the Sandman.

Ah well.

I went back to the Science City today after breakfast. The security guard at the entry gave me a rueful smile and a suffering shake of the head, asking if I was going to freebie-browse for a second day in a row. I managed to get through anyway.

I lingered a bit by the dog show in the small exhibition ground. So many dogs! So many breeds of beautiful dogs! They ranged from squashy pugs to devastatingly adorable beagles (I miss Wishbone, that was a good show), to boarhounds and white labs and pinschers and great danes and pitbulls and a tiny little daschund with a tiny little grandpa! And there was a husky! A white husky!

*dies from internal squee*

*resurrects self*

Jealously protective owners. Bah.

I got into a bit of trouble at the main electrical distribution station for clicking photos. Even the dog inside was giving me the evil eye. And I was arguing and explaining back and forth with a security guard that I wasn't some hooligan: me with my brilliant Hindi and him with his 'Bangla only' policy.

I got the pictures anyway, mate.

I snuck around the basement of the convention center's auditorium, clicking wherever I could and nearly fell into the adjoining dinosaur exhibit. Yes, twinkle-toes me.

It was a bit like playing the Doctor, really. Walk through 'No Entry' doors and rolling shutters that say 'Stay Out' like the whole place is your oyster and if anyone asks or argues, flash a piece of paper that says what you want them to see.

I was missing the pinstripes and the big coat and was having a bad hair day, but I did have the Converse trainers and the brainy specs.

Close enough, I guess.

I wore checks, does that count.

Didn't think so.

Scouting around the auditorium was good fun. I just kind of strolled in past the guard, climbed on stage and belted out the first couple of verses of 'Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien'.

Hee. :D

Somewhere up there, Edith Piaf was giving me the stinkeye.

I went up the stairs to find where the lights were operated from. It was pitch dark up there and the proper concrete stairs only went up for two levels, after which, it was a rickety steel stair. So there I was, notebook and papers tucked under my arm, camera in right hand and phone in left hand for flashlight. Even strolled on the steel catwalk for the front stage lights and crawled around the grid iron behind it.

Fun.

I felt rather dangerous.

Muhahaha.

Rubbish security guard, really. He didn't even notice when I popped him a salute, said thank you and sauntered out.

I finished all my scouting, got a few last bit clarifications from Mr. Chowdhury regarding sewage treatment plants and the like, said thank you and scarpered.

I had called Mr. Lai like he had asked and he told me to be in his office at 1.00 PM. It was 12 flippin' 45 and I kinda had to run, punctuality freak that I am. So I grabbed the first taxi I could find and got myself to Park Street.

Now, I believe that there is a bit of a need for specificity when giving someone directions, right?

Yes, I'm a hypocrite. No, I don't currently care. Deal with it.

So, when you say Park Street, Canac Junction, Mother Theresa statue, Titan shoreroom, building next to it, fourth floor, it's rather specific, right?

Park Street? Check.

Canac Junction? Gotcha.

Mother Theresa? She ain't that tall, but I see her.

Should be fine, eh?

I was wandering around the area back and forth for twenty minutes like a headless chicken, babbling queries about location to anyone who would listen.

Soo the Headless Chicken.

That's a new one.

And then, this really nice and brilliant security guard pointed my sorry bum to a Titan Eye shoreroom across the road, tucked away in a corner and told me to check the building next to it.

Titan Eye.

Not Titan.

Specificity, mate.

You wear one on your wrist, you wear the other on your face.

And when I finally found the place, he wasn't there yet.

And I was hungry.

Bah.

I met him eventually. Spoke English, bless him. He gave me a bit of a talk and some basic advice on how to go about the project and about how I ought to reduce the scale a bit.

Another person who has stated the deep rut I have dug myself into.

Huzzah.

Rah rah sis boom bah.

I got the drawings and photocopied them in a little ship on the ground floor. The guy there asked if I was from Vishakapatnam because of the terrible Hindi accent. Made friends with the elevator guy.

I had a full meal at a place called 'Magnolia'. I suppose I should have known better than to eat in a place on Park Street. Bleeding expensive. I did like the guy who took the order: a wee little half-bent grandpa in a tweed jacket who recommended the mushroom soup, which was lovely when doused in pepper.

By the time I finished, it was three. Too late to go anywhere and hope to get back to the hotel before dark. Like I said before, it gets dark early here and I don't want to be out on my own when I have a very obvious 'lost' face. So I took a ride back, which extended, thanks to Monsieur Cabbie getting lost.

Already did a web check in for tomorrow's flight. I'll sit and consolidate the lot tomorrow and check out at noon.

I might see the rest of the gang at Ahmedabad. Can't wait. :) Traveling alone is plenty fun, a different sort of adventure altogether, but it is occasionally lonely.

That's about it.

I'll write later.

Case Study Trip: Day 2

Dec 14, 2012
8.18 AM, Room 205, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Stuffed and scraggly

Stuffed and Scraggly Soo. My games with alliteration will never cease to amuse me.

I just had a thorough tuck-in at breakfast. I skipped dinner yesterday and lunch will most probably run late. Two full meals a day is quite enough while traveling anyhoo.

I slept off early last night. It gets really drafty after dark. Finished my accounts and washed my icky mop, thus explaining the adjective 'scraggly'. I currently bear an odd resemblance to an oversized wet dog. Sat and sorted through case study reference notes, flipped through whatever I have to ask anyone and everyone there. I'm meeting Mr. Chowdhury at 11.00 and he'll delegate me to someone else to take me around. I just pray to all ye Gods up there that Whatshisname speaks a bit of English. My Hindi is broken and with my fantastic accent, it's only getting worse.

Scraggly Soo out.

***

Dec 14, 2012
8.28 PM, Room 205, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Tired and tingly feet

More alliteration. Hee. :D

Yes, yes, Uncrowned Queen of Cheap Thrills.

Moving on...

The loo is weird. The toilet talks like the one at home. It croak-groans. Croans. It sounds like Lurch on meth.

Weird...

I did a lot of walking today, explaining the feet. Mr. Chowdhury and his seneschal (sub-director to those who aren't fantasy geeks), Mr. Sathyanarayana, signed the copy of the bonafide from college and I got myself a signed letter in Bangla from the security head. I dunno what it said; it could very well have been an ode to the Tooth Fairy for all I knew, but it seemed to work whenever I used it. No guided tour or anything, I just had free reign to go wherever the hell I wanted. As for info, I had to ask around to whoever was there.

Basically, I was playing critique slash Scooby Doo, sometimes sneaking around the service areas and walking right through the 'No Entry' doors like I bloody well owned the place. The expressions of those watching me were amusing.

As for the info, I spent half the day stumbling over my cracked-and-badly-splintered-at-the-seams Hindi with every security guard I could find. Every bloke in blue. Seriously, they were everywhere.

"Nahin, main Bangla nahin jaanthi hoon," became a refrain.

Give a Southern girl a break, mates. She's trying here.

Anyhoo, I couldn't finish everything today. I have to do up the convention center area and the service yard tomorrow, hopefully by 11.00 AM. I have to call Mr. Lai at 11, a person whom Mr. Chowdhury put me in touch with to get me drawings of the whole Science City. Have to see him tomorrow as well. He gave me directions to the office: 'Park Street, fourth floor by Mother Theresa'.

Brill.

I was worn out to hell and back by the time I got back to the hotel. Made some calls, sent a mail, donned the hoodie and went for dinner.

Where?

The same place I had breakfast at.

Looks like Tacky Spangles Bar next door is exactly what it is: a bar. No wonder the blokes there stared when I told them that all I wanted was lunch.

Meh.

God, I'm sleepy.

It's not even 9.00.

Yeesh, it's cold.

But it's not that cold.

...

Another bit of proof that my brain has a mild case of schizophrenia.

Bah humbug.

I'm gonna snooze.

Nighty night.

Case Study Trip: Day 1

Dec 13, 2012
8.32 AM, on board IndiGo (Chennai-Kolkata)
Mood: Quietly floaty

Keeping travel journals is an old habit, but so far, there's not oh so much to say. First time traveling by myself, but I think that the fact will sink in better once I reach.

So yeah...

Barely slept last night. The mosquitoes were having Mardi Gras. Bloody vampire insects...

Left home at 6.30ish AM. For some reason, bro had already gotten ready for school. Jumpy about chem exam, I guess. I don't blame the boy a whit.

Tu whit to whoo...

Bit tired. Slept badly and have a wee headache.

I waltzed through security and check-in. Knowing my talent for dancing, I had a few Matt Smith moments with my twiddle-toes, but I got through decently. If there were scares of looking the idiot, I think I covered it up well enough. Like I said, Matt Smith moments.

The stewardesses are taking the trolley down selling munchies, but I already had breakfast in the airport. Tasted terrible, but coffee is coffee.

Anyhoo, I read a few chapters of Chris Abel. I'm still valiantly trying to discover its relevance. I have to write up a proper checklist and spreadsheet the progress. Gods, I was just too bloody tired yesterday.

Me gonna catch a few snoozes. Maybe with the Smiths. Ta!

***

Dec 13, 2012
5.30 PM, Room 205, Hotel Narayani Enclave, Kasba, Kolkata
Mood: Really tired and really annoyed.

Twice in one day. TWICE IN ONE DAY. Oh wait, it was two plus a bungle. Seriously. This is just bloody insulting.

Bah.

I mean, it happens once and you're like, "Okay, fine, I'll deal, won't happen again", and then, you find out that it happened TWICE.

Karma karma karma!

Yeesh...

Anyway, I'm back in the room. No appetite; I'll probably skip dinner and get some sleep tonight. I'll get a proper tuck in at breakfast tomorrow. Speaking of which, I still have to call up reception and ask if it's a part of the package.

My feet hurt. I've been walking around all day. Chuck Taylors or no, they still hurt.

The case study is sort of taken care of, permission wise. I spoke to Pronob Guha, who connected me to Kallol Dutta who connected me to Arijit Dutte Chowdhury, whom I'm meeting tomorrow at eleven.

The hotel is decent, just in a wee bit seedy locality. After reaching here, freshening up and the whatnot, I had lunch at their adjoining restaurant next door. Restaurant plus bar. The fellows working there were all trussed up fancy in an 'I'm in a cool club'ish manner. White leather seats, white furniture and REALLY tacky purple spangly wallpaper.

Name?

'Cheeni Kum'.

Talk about an anticlimax. It was just so disjointed.

Disjointed and empty. It's rather uncomfortable to eat when you're by yourself in a wee restaurant with tacky purple walls and three males with nothing better to do than watch you eat.

Awkward.

Left as fast as possible.

The whole of today was kind of for my roaming, so I took a cab to Indian Museum. Saw a number of places en route: New Howrah Bridge, Eden Gardens, Victoria Memorial plus its Maidan, Netaji Circle, etc etc etc. The cabbie pointed the places out and I was watching avidly and asking questions.

Arse.

I should have shut up.

I was unsure when he named the charge and found out later just how badly the bum had frisked me. Two flippin' hundred, folks, two flippin' hundred.

Cue applause.

Stupid Soo.

Spent around three hours in Indian Museum. It's the oldest museum in India; the fact was evident. The way they exhibited would have put an insomniac to sleep.

Honestly, you have a gorgeous two-and-a-half foot high fossil of an ammonite on display and all you tack on it is its Latin name, what do you expect?

"Ooh, pretty swirly!"

Yeah.

Their Archeology exhibit was lovely and their Anthropology section wasn't bad either. The Vertebrae/Invertebrae areas were similar to the displays in the Naturalhistorische Museum in Viena, albeit not as nicely lit. This is a really old building. And as much as I know how useful it is to have the actual thing on display to have a better idea, taxidermal models have always freaked me out a bit.

Ick.

When I was at the Vertebrae exhibit looking at a real skeleton of an Irish stag, a fellow (curator or keeper or whatever) came up and started yelling at me in Bangla. When I made some reason out of it, I realized that he was pointing at my bag.

Looks like they weren't allowed.

Well, my bad. What was I gonna do, smash a glass and frisk a fossil of a Silurian mollusc?

Speaking of which, I had an internal laugh at the word 'Silurian'. Moffat took creative liberties with the word. Madame Vastra is a reptile from the dawn of time; the real guys were little squids in cone-y shells and twiggy eyes.

Anyway...

Yeah, I raised an eyebrow at the guy when he told me to "Get". He must have gotten a bit scared when I asked, "Out?" because he started apologizing and told me to deposit it at the counter downstairs.

That's all I needed to know, pal.

...

Someone's been buzzing my doorbell. Get lost, I'm not answering. I even put out a 'Do Not Disturb' sign.

Seriously...

I got followed around three different exhibit sections by a group of boys before I managed to lose them. Buggers....

Oh and interestingly enough, I bumped into two other architecture students who were there for case study: one from NID and another from Trichy. Well, hello hello. I was a walking neon sign with my Measi hoodie. I said hi and good luck to one and I pointed the other in the direction of the Anthropology section.

Was there till 3.30 PM and then, walked around New Market. It was a veritable zoo, but after braving Kolaba, this place was tame. I got a couple of colored shoelaces for the Vincent shoes.

Then, I took the Kolkata Metro from Esplanade to Kalighat.

Yeah, this is where my bungle occurred.

See, I should have remembered that I'm supposed to keep the little token with me after passing the gate and use it again after arriving and then, dump it in the wee slot.

What did I do?

Slipped it in the slot at Esplanade.

I thus had no token to get out at Kalighat.

Bah.

I suck.

There was a checker fellow who got me out of paying two fifty bucks as a fine, which would have been disastrous as I was running low on cash and needed money to get back to Kasba. He flashed his card on the sensor, blocked me from the view of three guys attired in uniform and holding rifles and told me to run. He took a hundred bucks as his payment.

Knowing my luck and knowledge and brilliant sense, he probably frisked me too.

Yeesh.

Gods, it's dark. It was dark even at 5 PM here.

Anyhoo...

I asked someone for directions to the Kali Mandir and took a hike there. When I reached there, I found myself  being swept along by the fellow who gave me directions (let's call him Teeth; he smiled too much). Teeth told me where to leave my shoes, thrust a basket of offerings into my hands and pulled me along into the temple. I managed to stop him midway and tell him that I don't have money for whatever program he had in mind. He just smiled again (honestly, people who smile that much are creepy) and took me in a different route and told me some sloka to chant. I was too bewildered too argue. Two fellow pulled me up close to the Kali and asked for five hundred bucks for a special prayer.

I was getting pissed off.

Not only was it insanely crowded, but these guys were ticking me off and I didn't WANT a special prayer; all I wanted to do was see Kali Maiyya, havign come so far.

What did I do?

I pretended to cry.

And yes, it worked.

Muhaha.

At least I got to see Her.

I gave twenty bucks to Kali, forty to Teeth for his troubles and then vamoosed the hell out of there.

Hoo.

I got half a coconut out of it.

I took a cab back to the hotel after a long hike during which I nearly got run over by a pint-sized bus and a tram (yes, they still use the old tram lines around here). Nice cabbie. Fair fellow from Bihar. He broke the news to me of my 'twice-frisked'-hood.

Bah.

Long day.

I'll just check my mails, call reception about breakfast and then relax. Maybe watch some TV. I'll make and finalize my case study checklists tomorrow when I'm functioning on recharged batteries. For now, I'm goo with glasses.

Goo with Glasses signing out...

After Effects of Mint Ice Cream

Every person has their foibles. Weird little idiosyncrasies and mad addictions that have no basic explanation besides the general tendency for weirdness that is human nature. In my case, one of those odd little addictions is mint.

Honest to the Gods, I love it. Mint tea, mint paratha, mint rice, mint chutney, mint chocolate, mint ice cream, mint cakes, mint mints, you name it. The lot. The works.

It kind of went a bit overboard today. I has three scoops of mint ice cream from the local Ibaco with an armload of topping that I'm not proud of and promptly went into an insane sugar high. Oh, and after having a mug of coffee.

Really. Went nuts. Uncontrollably nuts. I was practically bouncing off the walls; too much energy. I was watching the Avengers and cheering like a madcap at every damn scene. Much of it went along the lines of, "LOKI IS OUR KING, SO KNEEL, BITCHES!!", punctuated with "ROOAAAARRR!!" whenever the Hulk came on and general woots for Monsieur Brilliant Tony Stark. Can't blame me. It's just raw, unadulterated awesomeness and badassery.

Yep. Shit just got real. 

 You know, I know the Tony Stark is supposed to be the funny of the movie, but personally, I find Thor remarkably hilarious. Honestly, have you heard the bloke talk? It's like he takes his dialogues out of a Camelot movie and puts them in in Capslock.

THOR: Have a care how you speak! Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard and he is my brother!
BLACK WIDOW: He killed eighty people in two days. 
THOR: He's adopted.

Not to mention the hair and the hammer. The pinning under the hammer thing was just too funny.

Anyhoo, Avengers aside. I've calmed down a bit, now that the movie's over, I ran around the block a few times, did a number of jumping jacks, did a couple of rounds of impromptu drunk giraffe dances, had a few Matt Smith moments during my twinkle-toes sequences, freaked out my neighbor by perching myself atop the high garden wall and sang a slew of French songs along with 'Hey Jude' in the shower.

Now, to breathe. Hehhhhhhh-hoooooooooooooo.

Frankly, My Dear, I Don't Give A Damn...

I'm a terrible person. I'm a terrible person and a reckless procrastinator. I'm a terrible person because I'm a reckless procrastinator, and right now, frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Yes, I stole that last line. Couldn't help it really. Clark Gable was pretty much begging me to say that. It's like the time when I was studying for a test while sitting at my dad's table. When he came and told me that he wanted his table back, I stubbornly refused to budge until he said 'Get out of my chair!' like Prairie Dawn did to Grover when they were shooting 'Singing in the Rain' on Sesame Street.

Anyhoo, exams are almost up and I've been taking some time to do a wee bit more short story writing, mostly because I seem to have contracted a minor case of writer's block with my bigger writing project. Most of the said short stories have been elaborated responses to the prompts from Alice Kuipers's workshop on Wattpad. Delightful, really. I'm also looking forward to the Saarang Writing Awards in my own area soon enough. John and Rose have been on a bit of a lag, but I will get back to them soon.

Besides that, I've got half a shoe to finish painting. I've finished the left half of van Gogh's 'Starry Night'; I've just got the town part of the right half.

Moving on and drabbling me aside...

This one's an idea I got from one of the prompts. I love 'Great Expectations'; fantastic classic. And for the record, there really is a village in the Yorkshire Dales called Malham, a bit near Skipton. I did my research. And the story was submitted for the Saarang Writing Awards 2013.

"Here Comes The Rain Again, Falling From The Stars..."

I'll admit I feel bad right now. I've been neglecting the blog, my manuscript has been shunted to the sidelines and poor John and Rose are a wee bit lost in their own sense. I've just been swamped with work and as a result, have been manically uninspired for words for the past couple of weeks. So it's just been me and potloads of design work alternating with the house swarming with guests, while I'm listening to mood music.

Yes, I like sad music. In the words of Sally Sparrow, 'sad is happy for deep people'. It's also a good backdrop for the rains. We've been lashed by a number of successive thunderstorms for the past week or so, alternating very juxtapositioned-ish-ly be bright sunshine. Mad, mad, mad.  The big men upstairs have got an odd sense of humor. 

But really, when the skies are dark and the house is quiet and the only sounds otherwise are the hum of the rain and the occasional rumble of the thunder's laugh, such haunting songs stir something wonderful right in the heart. My personal favorite right now is 'What If The Storm Ends' by Snow Patrol, followed by 'Running Up That Hill' by Placebo. Anything by Audiomachine or Adrian von Zeigler also places well. And Ramin Djawadi's 'Game of Thrones' soundtrack.

No matter what angle we see it in, what emotion we choose to associate it with, there is just something about the rains. For a good number of people, it can be an annoyance, especially when roadblocks and potholes come into question. For others, the constantly dull grey skies are outright depressing, because, honestly, who can dream of getting any work done when all you want to do is curl up in a comforter and sleep? For some others, the monsoon is a joy, a release, a reason to ditch any work to just go out and lose yourself in the rain.

For any person who has the heart of a poet, whether he/she is secretive about it or not, the rain is a common theme used, associated with a myriad of moods and emotions. The rain is a poet’s muse, a director’s set, a painter’s subject, a photographer’s shot. It is the most oft used and most inspiring subject for poetry in all its forms, whether it be through words, paints, cameras, dance, music or one of the many others that would take too much of the page if I listed out.

If we stocked the number of movie song sequences and climax scenes that take place in the rain, whether for a romantic mood, a scene of sorrow or just as accompaniment for epic music, we’d have a stack a mile high. When Vera Farmiga in ‘The Boy in the Striped Pajamas’ discovered that her son had been killed in the gas chambers in Auschwitz, the rain poured from the skies to mix with her tears as she screamed her anguish. When Tim Robbins in ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ waded out of the prison sewer, tore off his overshirt and leaned back to spread his arms out, the rain fell upon him as a symbol of his release. 

Almost every old crime movie and a good number of Hercule Poirot-ish stories would involve a scary, mostly-empty mansions and a violent storm that would conveniently prevent all inhabitants from escaping. There would be a million and one love songs out there that would have either been shot in the rain or used the rain as a theme. There always is that age old cliché about the kiss in the rain, be it as old as ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ or more recentish, like ‘The Notebook’ or ‘Step Up 2: The Streets’. I personally wrote a little prose piece once, describing the Earth and Sky as lovers of old and the storms as their passion.

But what is it about the rain that evokes these kinds of emotions in us? Why do we feel connected to the rain, whether by moods of anguish, love, happiness, release, power, fear or anything else it may inspire in us? Maybe it has something to do with our inherent connection to nature. Maybe it has something to do with the way music stirs something in us, the rain being nature’s method of song. Maybe it has something to do with our unconscious love for anything that is beautiful. Whatever be our reason, the rain makes us feel. We love its gentleness like we would a close companion’s, we fear its wrath like we would a God’s. We revel in it like the earth does, we look to it for comfort as the skies cry along with us during hard times. The rain has a soul that twists and meanders like a human’s, which is probably why we relate to it so well.

Right now, October is yet to completely wane and we still have the months of November and December to pray for some good rains. Since I don't get snow where I come from, I'll settle for some good thunderstorms. Next time there’s a gentle drizzle, throw away your umbrellas and inhibitions and step out into the rain. Let it wash over you, cleanse you of your burdens. Let your heart match the thunder, your eyes be the lightning and your breath match the wind. There can be no better way to connect to nature, unless I get to come face to face with a wolf, which I don't see happening too easily right now.

And when you’re doing that, don’t worry about catching a cold or ruining your hair; a little water never hurt anyone. Just avoid mud on your feet once you come back inside. Then, you might just have something to genuinely be afraid of. 

A.D.D. Ahoy

This is really getting to be a bad habit, but for some reason, I seem to able to work decently well in a state of panic. I don't know if that's the reason why I'm having this tendency to blog only on the days before submission when schedules are tight. Karma will get me eventually, I suppose. I'll arm myself with a mop and a baseball bat when that time comes.

Anyhoo, for all of those who enjoyed 'Arguments of a Nerdy Couple', I'm going to be putting out more episodes of the odd happenings in the lives of John and Rose. They're not necessarily in the proper order in terms of their timelines, but you're all welcome to make those judgments for yourselves. Ta and cheers.

I ought to get back to work soon enough before my group mates realize that I took out a few minutes to clickety clack all of this.

But really, it's not easy to sit and mark out urban proposals when I've got Placebo singing 'Running Up That Hill' as a backdrop to Benedict Cumberbatch arguing with the Doctor over the importance of knowing about the solar system, all running through the quagmire that is my melting lump of grey cells.

Ah well.

Cheerio.

My Tragic Love Story

Sometimes, it depresses me to think that the only standing existing angle of a love life that I've got is my relationship with my bed. It's a topic that I end up repeating quite often mostly because of the tumult and complexity of it. Honestly, it boggles my mind sometimes.

It's not a love-hate relationship and it's no Romeo and Juliet story. Actually, bad analogy. I never really liked Romeo and Juliet. Pair of stupid hormonal 14-year-old twerps, the two of them. Thanks a lot, Shakespeare. It's a good thing that you redeemed yourself with stuff like Hamlet and Much Ado About Nothing.

It's more of doomed separation; you know, those rather pathetic cliches about the two lovers who can see each other from afar, but something stands in the way of their love.

Assignments and tests and design submissions form a deadly cocktail and being forced to drink it pulls me away from the comforts of my poor, cold bed.

Gah.

I need sleep.

Mad, sleep-deprived me.

Anyhoo, since I haven't posted in a bit, I'm gonna put up a little tidbit story that I wrote once for a prompt on a workshop on Wattpad. It's quite a brilliant workshop for any writer who is reading this. It's run by a lady named Alice Kuipers, who posts weekly prompts to help improve your writing and she's pretty brilliant at critiquing. Anyhoo, I wrote this little thing for that and posted the short version there. This is the longer one, rather part one of it. The sequel shall come up a wee bit later.

And a small warning before moving on. If you're a Batman nut, I'm sending you virtual high-fives.

If you lean more towards Superman, you have my apologies. Personally, I'm on Rose's side. I only really like Superman for the merchandise and Christopher Reeve. So there.

Oh, and the following post was submitted as an entry for the Saarang Writing Awards 2013. Pip pip!

Update: A wee little string of words to say that the following post won first place in the Humor entries in Saarang Writing Awards. Woot!

Down the Rabbit Hole

"The  reason one writes isn't the fact that he wants to say something. It's because he has something to say."  - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

And we all have things to say, don't we? We, as humans, as people, have things to say, things to share, because that is something engrained in our primary nature. We all take little pieces of our soul and offer it out to the world in the hope that someone will take that piece of us and give back a piece of themselves. We write because we want our voices heard, because we want the world to know that we are here, we are real, and we want to hear voices replying to us.

I'm an ordinary soul with a voice, with thoughts and fonts of words that I want to share with the world. I'm a daydreamer with her head in the clouds, a reader who makes time to read if she can't find any. I'm a bard who is a closet romantic, a writer for whom reality is sometimes just not enough.

I'm here to find like-minded people who love the worlds hidden within pages beyond the fabrics of reality that stands around us. I'm here to learn how to get my own stories out of the trappings of my laptop and out where I can share it with everyone. But more than anything, I'm here to make good friends and connect with all of you brilliant people!

So, good morning, afternoon, evening or night, depending on your time zone, and welcome to my world!