Why I would rather die than have another relationship aged 16-24

Originally posted on cats, tea and living by the sea:

Firstly, I should probably warn anyone of the male species to stop reading now. Especially if we are friends. Because you will inevitably be offended by what I am going to say throughout the rest of this post. Okay, let’s begin…

The main reason I wouldn’t have a relationship with ANYONE is because, put simply, there isn’t anyone. I live in a small town in the countryside which I would hardly say is overflowing with boys as it is, let alone intelligent, modest, Jeff Buckley/James Franco look-a-likes. Okay so maybe the last part is a tad unlikely in any region. But I continuously ask myself how hard can it be to find somebody kind, considerate, sensitive and smart, that isn’t going to turn out to be different to who they say they are? Well in Heathfield, it turns out it’s very hard.

You see, here you only get 4 types…

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Originally posted on Ra says hi!:

I came home after a great meal with great people expecting a quite night alone with my two besties, Netflix and cookie dough Ice cream, when my ipad notified me of a new comment on one of my posts.

Now, as lame as it may sound, there is nothing that makes me happier than a fellow blogger taking time out to comment or even like my posts. so you can imagine how excited I was when I found that MissWish a blogger who had followed me just a few weeks ago, and I followed back, had nominated me for the one lovely blog award. The fact that SHE nominated me meant so much. Her posts are so much fun to read and she really knows her stuff. I can not thank her enough!

I realize that my blog doesn’t really give you an idea of who I actually am or…

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The Indian Father

Originally posted on The Chaos Within:

Every fathers’ day, you’ll see posts on Facebook saying how great a dad is. It’s no big deal; it’s just one day. Some people don’t mind just clicking the like button and moving on.

But I do.

Every time I come across a post like that, I feel annoyed. I don’t have any foreign friends, so here’s what my Indian friends post:

father and daughter

The capitalized ‘K’ and the simplified ‘p’ will vary, but — you get the idea. I take one look at these posts, and I’m like, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Is that supposed to impress your father? I know it won’t impress my father and lot others’ too — from what I’ve seen.

Here’s how a typical Indian, or rather South Indian father would react: “What do you mean ‘I will find my prince?’ Does that mean that the right to choose a good man to take care of you…

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The Broken

Originally posted on Prodigal Poetry:

An infatuation towards the sane man invades my mind,
For reasons unknown, I cannot from these thoughts hide,
Perhaps it is fear of states I do not know?
Perhaps of types I can never show?

All that I do realise, is that from henceforth I must try to minimise,
my preservation for those ways of life of which us four shall never fraternise.


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The Ultimate Race

Originally posted on The Chaos Within:

On your marks, get set, go! Arms flailing, the girls rush forward. The stronger of the two wins. Naturally. The children clap and cheer, the teachers smile their appreciation. The girl who has won laughs happily and runs back in triumph. I look at the girl who has lost. In her eyes, I see shame, I see fear, I see despair. Shame at not being able to win. fear of what others are thinking, despair at not knowing what to do next. I see a soul that is slowly being bruised and brutalised by comparison. Something within her has withered. I want to tell her that she is beautiful and sensitive, that this race doesn’t matter, that it’s just a silly system that grown-ups invented for their own selfish reasons. I want to give her something to make her feel better. In my hand, I have an orange, Impulsively, I…

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Originally posted on Prodigal Poetry:

Doubt? Doubt!
Not you again, my terrible friend!

He flows, he opens like a waterfall in my mind,
I know not how to navigate     his rapids of speculation,
                                               his meanders of questioning,
                                                    his river runs of any kind.

And so I write.
I write to free the expanses of my soul
from his (mind-numbing-aqueous-constraint)
I write to capture a moment,
and preserve it, with ink of pen upon paper.

Because, writing?
I t     f r e e s     m e
(I restrict me)
I t     f r e e s     m…

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Morality’s mortality

Originally posted on Prodigal Poetry:

man clutches at the idea of Immortality,
at the sacrifice of Soul and Morality.
we give up the essence of our Being,
to have our names inscribed on a Board
for the admiration of the global Horde.

man grasps, claws, grabs at Life,
in attempts to clutch Forever.
in attempts to touch Forever.
in attempts to be Forever.

foolish man.

do you not know that to live Forever,
you must be there from the very Beginning?
imagine the Thoughts.
as you watch the Dreams, Hopes, Sciences, Religions
of our tiny world be crushed for you to See.
to bear witness to the Creation.
to bear witness to the Formation.
to bear witness to the Destruction.
of us.

foolish, foolish man.


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Money Matters

Originally posted on The Chaos Within:

festival of darkness

“We’re using last year’s left overs.”

“Left overs!” Prem snorted, “At least my kids are luckier than yours! They wanted crackers for 2000 and I got them for 3000 rupees! Besides, It’s just one day.”


The trash collector had come for his festive bonus. Prem groaned as he rummaged in his wallet. He peeled out a few notes, picked the oldest looking 20 rupee, and handed it to the shabby man.

He left, crestfallen.

“Maybe you should have given him more,” his wife suggested.

“Salary’s a few weeks away, why waste the money?”

October 22nd was Deepawali/Diwali here in India, and fire crackers are a major part of the expenses. This is another story for my Flash Fiction collection, based on what I’d like to call The Festival of Darkness.

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