tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168571682024-03-07T09:52:39.042+05:30a few hundred wordsa twenteenager's take on life, work, music and everything in between...abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.comBlogger182125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-4628284334060987672019-02-03T20:51:00.002+05:302019-02-03T20:52:21.403+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-48285008648841830132017-08-17T23:53:00.000+05:302018-01-19T17:45:29.348+05:30From the notes archive of my mind (or I needed to get this off my chest)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Depression is a low energy state,<br />
being the human default.<br />
Happiness takes effort,<br />
But aren't we cursed to a fault?<br />
<br />
To be happy is to be disciplined<br />
to be happy is to have energy<br />
to be happy is to work<br />
but to be sad just works.<br />
<br />
My aspirations of and from love<br />
are dead if not dying.<br />
Everyone I talk to, I am watchful—<br />
am I turning into an asshole<br />
<br />
Or am I cheating on my past?<br />
Is it even my past, or have I lulled<br />
myself into a limbo of self-ignorance?<br />
To not answer, is peaceful for now.<br />
<br />
My laziness must be at its zenith.<br />
Sure I climb out of bed and finish work<br />
but I'm sure as hell not here<br />
not in the zone or anywhere near.<br />
<br />
So lost, in a fuzzy cloud of my mind.<br />
Since when am I so dumb?<br />
Has my laziness killed my thoughts?<br />
Weren't motivation, discipline, creativity, love not enough?<br />
<br />
Such a glutton to instant gratification.<br />
Surviving on the borderline.<br />
Boy, do I hate myself? My words surprise me.<br />
If only I could trust Sarahah.<br />
<br />
Alas, I fear I'm becoming shallow too.<br />
<br />
Vanity is def a sin,<br />
And now I understand why sloth is too.<br />
Man mustn't give into self-gratification—it's the strongest poison you'll ever encounter.<br />
Drugs, booze, sodom and Gomorrah, the wolf of Wall Street, being spoilt.<br />
<br />
Keep yourself away from the garden of earthly desires, and wilfully, voluntarily, forcefully taste the bitter medicine of walking away from all your possessions.<br />
<br />
Ugh, and it's making me want to disown and disregard every one too.<br />
<br />
So help me God.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-82924236192973629732015-08-11T23:03:00.003+05:302015-08-15T10:27:40.419+05:30The special place in the mind that's reserved for memories of meeting someone for the first time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Break my laptop,<br />
And break my phone.<br />
Do a little damage,<br />
And take it back home.<br />
<br />
Do a little damage,<br />
But be sure it's visible.<br />
If it's not on X-ray,<br />
They'll start to call it fictional.<br />
<br />
Who's going to believe me<br />
When I tell them I'm hurt?<br />
I don't really have people<br />
With whom to discuss discomfort.<br />
<br />
For what is absence,<br />
And a change of heart?<br />
Is a shiny blunt edge<br />
The one way to depart?<br />
<br />
No papers were signed,<br />
No agreements denied.<br />
No clauses and such,<br />
Nothing to amount to much.<br />
<br />
'Nothing was ever there.'<br />
But there's even lesser now.<br />
Will anything be the same?<br />
Deliver me from this pain I allow.
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-49304738168194459832015-05-29T10:24:00.003+05:302015-05-29T10:26:41.959+05:30Decisions, incisions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Nurse, hand me that scalpel."</blockquote>
<br />
A decision may sometimes have life changing impact. The choice may show up unannounced, and it may suddenly demand all, or most, of your attention – to the point that not staring it in the eye will eat you alive. Or at least that's how it makes you feel – until you do decide. But how are you to decide? There's way too much at stake, here. Your future isn't just your future – it is intertwined with many other forward moving paths.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Number 10. Hand me the number 10."</blockquote>
<br />
I'm pretty sure that the more monumental decisions would lead to multiverses that are rampantly different. But don't all decisions have life changing impact? I bet there's a parallel universe to all of them.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"At the junction of lateral one-third and medial two-third of the spinoumbilical line, we draw an oblique incision."</blockquote>
<br />
I have this theory about the 1º of change.<br />
<br />
Imagine, on a graph, you deviate your path from the x-axis by 1º – initially, you won't even be able to distinguish your path from a perfectly horizontal line. But as you move forward, as you continue extending that line, the distance between the 1º deviant and the horizontal axis will not only become apparent, it'll keep increasing.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"You will be going home with sutures in place. You have to keep it clean, and it wouldn't harm to stay away from pets for a while. Don't take off the bandage for a day or so – you call me if there's anything about this that worries you."</blockquote>
<br />
A decision may sometimes have life changing impact, and even small decisions may lead to increasingly divergent paths. But incisions heal, sometimes, very quickly. Sometimes, they leave no scars behind, too. But they have to be made, in a very small pocket of time.<br />
<br />
Time is of the essence, and even decisions come with an expiration date. An incision made a day later may have no impact at all. Would you want that, versus, say, life changing impact?<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Thanks, doc!"</blockquote>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-200292783580639222015-05-08T08:02:00.001+05:302015-05-17T09:54:12.296+05:30Daybreak<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am, by no account, a <i>morning person</i>. I do wake up at a reasonable time (for myself) in the AM – but that's usually for class or work. However, the only acceptable measure of will is defined by what you do when no one's looking, and at that time, you'll see me wake up infinitesimally close to the afternoon.<br />
<br />
I can stay up all night – that's very doable. But waking up at 7:30 in the morning to get a healthy start to the day? How about "just five more minutes of sleep?"<br />
<br />
Regardless, however, I chance upon waking up early occasionally. I don't know how it happens, but I'll be up, and I'll throw my hand around on my bed in a hunt for my phone, and I'll take a quick look at the time before the screen's luminescence makes me wince the one eye that I'm looking with.<br />
<br />
Post 4:00 AM, the read feels like quite a victory. Today, it was 4:25.<br />
<br />
I derive a certain kind of pleasure from waking up in the wee hours of the morning. This kind of time, when the commotion is yet to start and the birds are yet to start chirping – this kind of time delivers so much peace.<br />
<br />
I make sure to take a good look at what's happening outside, even though the world out there is still – just the way it was left at some point of the night. And then, I come back down into my blankets.<br />
<br />
Laying in bed, with my thoughts covering the ceiling never otherwise feels so good.<br />
<br />
It makes me question my morning-orientation, and makes me wonder why I don't wake up this early more often.<br />
<br />
Time ceases to exist, and it makes me question the decisions I've made in my life, and the ones I'm yet to make. It makes me want to apologize to everyone I may have wronged. It makes me want to thank everyone who's ever made me smile. It makes me ponder upon the future. It makes me ponder upon the past.<br />
<br />
It makes my eyelids the projector screen that the ceiling was. And I sway back to sleep.<br />
<br />
In the distance, however, it is now 7:30 AM. Daily commute begins for someone who, perhaps, owns a motorboat and decides to manoeuvre it on concrete and asphalt. And I open my eyes to a ceiling that doesn't seem like it had ever been a projector screen for thoughts.<br />
<br />
And it makes me wonder why I had ever thought of waking up early.<br />
<br />
For now, <i>just give me five more minutes</i>.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-61930548308338358122015-02-09T11:29:00.000+05:302015-03-02T06:11:37.442+05:30"From Time"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"That's why </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>you trust me— </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I know you been through </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>more than most of us.</i></span><br />
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So what are you… </i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>What are you, what are you so afraid of? —</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Darling you…</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>You give, </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>but you cannot take love."</i></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-52975249303126042272014-11-20T21:57:00.000+05:302014-11-20T22:02:57.519+05:30Research, redesign and parallel universes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The popular belief that a product must be thought of from the ground up while being conceptualized is absolutely correct. Popular belief often begs to be corrected, but in the aforementioned case, the practice that has come to be exercised over the years is fairly appropriate.<br />
<br />
Usually, of course.<br />
<br />
Such a practice, or any popular practice for that matter, becomes widely accepted over long term use, reuse, getting broken and shattered to pieces, and then getting taped up and glued together before being reused. Again.<br />
Any thing that a person makes goes through multiple iterations of improvement upon improvement, evolution, to the point of quasi-saturation – a point where a product appears to lie in a popularly accepted status quo.<br />
<br />
But that has hardly ever been the case.<br />
<br />
Products change – inch by inch, or even at a molecular level, at varying speeds; from weeks to months to years to generations and further lapses of time. But they don't change because they're getting old, wrinkly and need medication. They change because we make them change. We shave off what we don't need, and do what was previously difficult or impossible to do so that we can consistently arrive at a better solution. Every iteration that was the best at its time gets succeeded by something even better.<br />
<br />
All of this happens so naturally that we often find ourselves asking why we couldn't have thought of something so simple earlier.<br />
<br />
But we couldn't have. In such a seemingly natural evolution, products follow a path of tackling a need or a problem that can be alleviated. We use the best resources available to us at the time and attempt to balance ease of development and its economic worth.<br />
<br />
Consider, however, that all of these decisions and the evolution a product underwent happened only in one universe – the one that you're reading this in. Perhaps, in another parallel universe, maybe we approached the same product differently. We attempted to tackle the need and diminish the problem using an entirely different set of resources.<br />
In that universe, the product would evolve differently, too.<br />
<br />
Even though popular belief agrees to thinking of a product concept from the ground up, we often limit ourselves to thinking of current solutions when attempting to redesign something.<br />
<br />
While that's somewhat of a good practice – it does let us explore what options we already have; helps us avoid re-inventing the wheel – it also tends to put us inside a box. The same materials. The same UI grids. The same patterns.<br />
<br />
When the objective is to redesign the wheel, I believe it is more important to understand <i>why</i> the wheel exists as it does today. What made it evolve to what it has come to? What? Do we really want to put air inside the thing? Have you seen the roads? Oh man, that turn on exit 51 has some of the worst potholes in the history of forever.<br />
<br />
So when you're thinking from the ground up, dig a little deeper and go a little <i>under-</i>ground. When you're redesigning, in the words of Mr. Einstein, be <i>"passionately curious."</i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-78062044645585889202014-09-19T18:23:00.001+05:302014-11-15T23:31:44.699+05:30Dear mom and dad,<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Please call me back<br />
Tell me nice things;<br />
How to live life<br />
and be good at that.<br />
<br />
Tell me I should eat,<br />
Tell me I should read;<br />
Wake me up tomorrow,<br />
To 9 AM, I plead.<br />
<br />
I wonder what you're up to,<br />
And I guess I needed to be alone<br />
Needed to spend some time<br />
to realise the truth about home.<br />
<br />
The missing isn't throbbing,<br />
but it sure is there.<br />
How our trips to the mall,<br />
would be with fanfare.<br />
<br />
Growing up is a lie –<br />
We're all already grown.<br />
Is the test of time present<br />
to see who lasts alone?<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-13949878450006485312014-06-14T17:50:00.003+05:302014-06-24T06:22:33.286+05:30Time travails<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Time travel is, by far, one of the most high priority items on my to-do list.<br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
However, <i>time travel</i> is pretty vague when displayed as a simple couple of words. I would've crossed it off my list, but right when I take my pencil there, it just appears to deviate more and more towards an ambiguous umbrella term.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would've also crossed it off if I had fewer items on my to-do list.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Time is, I believe, the one thing that shouldn't have had wings. Because when it flies, it soars. To the point that if it were rain, it'd pour. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The unending shortage of time, by catch-22, makes time travel appear on top of my list again. It makes me ponder the very possibility of the umbrella term in this pouring rain of flying time. And it makes me wonder why I'd choose to travel to the past out of all places.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Looking back always comes drenched in fluctuations of peak experiences of happiness and unending pits of despair. Most of my rationale for desiring to travel to the past comes reinforced with the feeling of being able to correct whatever I believe to have "messed up." If life were more like a certain social networking site, misdemeanours would be <i>posts,</i> and <i>walls</i> could be wiped clean at whim – as was pointed out by a very excellent, like-minded amigo. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Go back and delete them, just in case it would ever be looked at again." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, everything that has happened to and/or with us; everything it is that we've experienced, committed, and been a part of is what makes us what we are today – wiser, amongst other things. Unless, you want to make the same mistake over and over again, in which case, please, take your time. But do learn eventually. </div>
<div>
Additionally, if I were to consider the scientific aspect of things and take chronology into account, the butterfly effect comes to be factored in. Erasing portions of the past could lead to a future <i>so</i> drastically different – <i>so</i> many light years away from whatever you've imagined it'd lead to – that your whole plan would be obsolete. If, that is, you even remember the plan in this newly chanced upon future.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This, thus, leads to the possibility that we can travel back in time considering that our actions and events are fixed in permanency, due to which we are able to partake in the activity of time travel. Considering that, even if we do go back, we'd do the exact same things again, and never realise that we've gone back in time at all.<br />
<br />
But you've been informed all wrong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Allow me to point it out right here and debunk all your uncertainties about time travel – it is <i>very</i> possible. So much so that you've already indulged in time travel. Not once. Not twice. So many times that only calendars can keep count. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not only that – you still do it, <i>you little rebel, you.</i> Every day. Every minute. You travel into the future. At the speed of 60 seconds per minute. Every minute. Every day. </div>
<div>
And you make this choice because you have the power to change every aspect of your future. Going to the past won't make life better today. Traveling to today will make tomorrow better for sure. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, then. This is awkward. The entire premise of this writing – the entry on my to-do list – should've already been crossed off.<br />
If only I could go back in time to do that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anywho. Next on my list: better time management.</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-70423105351619432252014-06-12T22:48:00.001+05:302014-06-12T22:48:52.794+05:30Transitioning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioRbas7aZ3V7NqioEA_ImMBRbQWpu7-bgd6-La7kciZ-3YfcBqWLFp0e7uKJ12GWDgqR2YwBdWg1Gm9dG8Kyn5VJTxHOJmfZjdfpqFCvgcmYHL1Nn9iXBCgqMx65trF6u3oVZ9g/s1600/transitioning-abhas1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioRbas7aZ3V7NqioEA_ImMBRbQWpu7-bgd6-La7kciZ-3YfcBqWLFp0e7uKJ12GWDgqR2YwBdWg1Gm9dG8Kyn5VJTxHOJmfZjdfpqFCvgcmYHL1Nn9iXBCgqMx65trF6u3oVZ9g/s1600/transitioning-abhas1.png" height="197" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Best foot forth.</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-65264943591745749982014-05-03T00:54:00.000+05:302014-05-03T16:46:37.984+05:30In silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Allow me to be clear about this.<br>
<br>
Some people effect your momentum greatly. Whether the swing is in a positive direction or not depends on the type of person he or she is, coupled with the type of effect he or she is inflicting upon you.<br>
<br>
I am thankful, often to their face, those who help shift the pendulum positively. I am helpless in circumstances other than those. I guess I hardly know better.<br>
<br>
In any event, let me reintroduce you to something I've always known – as have you – <i>silence</i>.<br>
<br>
In whatever little time I've spent in reflecting over what I've done, I've found that saying some things has worsened situations for me – regardless of the fact that they were intended to band-aid the very same. From what was left of me to deduce, I've faced rebuttal in apologies, majorly because the statements were uncalled for. I've faced rejection because I'd said too much. Confusion to the point of ouroboros where I now blame my words in absence of reason of anything else, like a man dwindling in his footsteps in the middle of a desert in search for the moisture of water.<br>
<br>
I'm transitioning into this strange land, where the background music is telling me to shut up.<br>
<br>
<strike>I tell too many people too many things. Good, or bad, is out of question now. Honesty is a virtue, but I'm in emergency here.</strike><br>
<strike><br></strike>
The irony is that I've said it again, in print, on this journal of a blog.<br>
<br>
Allow me to be clear. I think I give up. I can't take it or go on like this.<br>
<br>
Literally, for once, it would be great to be believed in, rather than to pass that into someone. It would be a godsend to receive the motivation I tend to inject.<br>
<br>
So maybe I do need to shut up. Or haven't I already? By not answering the million doorbells that ring – telling myself to function in a one-track manner. I think I have. Broken contact with too much, and somewhere, deep down in the least, it affects me.<br>
<br>
Some people effect your momentum greatly. The absence of some, just as much.<br>
<br>
Or maybe it doesn't – my self contradiction, love of em dashes, and loss of motivation to make you or myself understand anything tells me just as much as you're reading.<br>
<br>
Shutting up – where do I start and where do I go from here? Not posting anything here ever again, and deleting all trace of it because it won't matter anyway?<br>
<br>
For some reason, I'm convinced that if I spend enough time alone, everything will be okay.<br>
<br>
Yet, for some reason, solitary confinement is the worst punishment the legal system could come up with.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-30528707611996018462014-04-08T23:45:00.001+05:302014-04-09T01:06:19.759+05:30I'm sleepy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Your name comes up a lot<br>
when I talk to my mom."<br>
More often than not,<br>
On the tip of my tongue.<br>
<br>
Your lab coat appears<br>
in the dreams of my nights.<br>
Stitched in green<br>
your name resides.<br>
<br>
In redness I sometimes see,<br>
In the colour of orange trees.<br>
In dark, blue frames,<br>
Was it the blue of the seas?<br>
<br>
I once read something,<br>
and it made me wonder:<br>
I...My name is Abhas<br>
Do you sometimes remember?<br>
<br></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-55376876924387006532014-03-28T23:50:00.000+05:302014-03-28T23:51:08.563+05:30A very short song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">by Dorothy Parker</i></div>
<br />
Once, when I was young and true,<br />
Someone left me sad-<br />
Broke my brittle heart in two;<br />
And that is very bad.<br />
<br />
Love is for unlucky folk,<br />
Love is but a curse.<br />
Once there was a heart I broke;<br />
And that, I think, is worse.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-41747152721910275192014-03-20T10:43:00.000+05:302014-05-07T16:19:34.947+05:30Sandwiches<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I guess you've forgotten me now,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the dust settles on me to not exist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I must've forgotten -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">the easiest way to lose something</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">is to want it to the hilt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone once told me:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"the world is a shrinking place,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">yet the inhabitants are drifting a p a r t."</span><br />
<br />
Spiders, engines, and universes, then.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Somewhere there's an end you want,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and somewhere there's a start.</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-43742061413717976142014-02-14T10:56:00.002+05:302014-02-14T12:25:33.271+05:30Valentime, II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
It didn't rain</div>
<div>
It's not that cold</div>
<div>
Little or no clouds</div>
<div>
Sunshine I've been told</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
The bedsheets aren't blue</div>
<div>
My shirt isn't either</div>
<div>
I wore a black tie</div>
<div>
Being wiser is a breather.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Some of it has to be true</div>
<div>
In a world not ours</div>
<div>
Somewhere else</div>
<div>
We've talked amongst stars</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Regardless, however,</div>
<div>
in whatever universe</div>
<div>
This is not my first poem,</div>
<div>must it be the last verse?</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Regardless, however, </div>
<div>
across parallel worlds</div>
<div>
you are still you.</div>
<div>
and you're still beyond words.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Thank you for everything</div>
<div>
And I'm sorry for what I say.</div>
<div>
My heart beats the same</div>
<div>
from even light years away.</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-60468363424135984802014-02-11T22:00:00.000+05:302014-02-11T22:00:02.994+05:30Thank you<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Happy private new year to me. :)<br />
<br />
I'm just elated and excited. Have much to say, but little to describe. I must have the best family and friends ever, and today, I'm thankful for every bit of happiness from yesterday.<br />
<br />
Thank you, every one for each of your wishes. Thank you, people from work for the nice cake and chocolates. Thank you, <i>you, </i>for every thing that you do, for all of your smiles, and for every bit of time you give to me. Thank you, mom and dad and masi and family. Thank you, God.<br />
<br />
I had forgotten birthdays, or days at all, could ever be this nice.<br />
<br />
Thank you.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-43456596837777034332014-01-18T18:53:00.001+05:302016-06-15T00:04:22.748+05:30What was I talking about?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You know that feeling when you just curl up into the fetal position like a cosmic egg? When your lips are sealed and you're just letting out a sorrowful hum of helplessness? When it's because of a person, and you tell yourself you really can't live without them?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then. One day, however unfortunate it may seem, it happens. And then another day, you're on the internet, or with your mom, or dad, or with someone, and in the air nearby, you hear "you won't just die because of a person."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You're told you won't. You're told to look at yourself being "all alive and shit."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It may have some truth to it. For the most part, yes, you are alive. Of course, your vital organs are still functioning, especially if you can read this. You're pretty much good to go, right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But then this is where the lie comes in. I don't want to be the person who puts it out in a sentence and tells you that you were lied to when you were told you won't stop living if someone leaves. In fact, I'd rather be the person showing you the ray of hope. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, it is unfortunate just as much as it is shameful. You do die. You do stop living. You're not that person anymore. Hell, a certain Mr. Mathers is right when he says "You're never over," and God, yes, please, by all means, do always find a way and survive. But you've died. You've changed. You're not the same as you were before. It's not the same. You're waiting for a word or response, and in turn you're thinking "Hell, it's not like I've sent a word either." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But you wonder. You question your move. Are you really even <i>supposed</i> to send that message? In seeking a reply just because the other person <i>has</i> to be nice to you? Nice enough to respond? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And you wonder. Why <i>exploit</i> niceness?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And you question your move. Because they probably don't want to hear from you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
People. Let's be worried about cars instead. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What is up with the industry anyway? Making the same looking cars throughout a company.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oh the Corolla looks like a miniature Camry. Oh, the 3-series has to be a baby 5. Oh, a 5 has to be a baby 7. I mean okay, you have a visual identity to follow, I understand that, and I am in accord with it. Lol. Get it? In <i>accord.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Alright. Changing topics. Is a waste of time. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Toodles. </div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-73577090212040861372014-01-10T21:40:00.002+05:302014-01-11T10:52:52.930+05:30To do list<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Have to meet Sid and the others.<br />
Oh, the Alumni meet.<br />
That email?<br />
My cousins, too.<br />
Have to book that car, too.<br />
Need to fill out that form. ASAP.<br />
Have to send reminder emails for the thing.<br />
Report testing evidence. Remind. And check what's left.<br />
Oh, and figure out which ones are new.<br />
Need to upload the documents.<br />
She told me to get a process note. Monday.<br />
Those forms. Okay, no, mom called and checked.<br />
Monday or Tuesday I have to finish that scanning report too.<br />
TAN.<br />
Testing sheets. Oh, man.<br />
And uploads.<br />
Oh, God.<br />
The user mod evidence is crap. Get it re-done.<br />
That testing sheet is crap too. Re-do.<br />
I wanted to make a poster for crying out loud. To talk to her through that, I guess.<br />
How am supposed to finish anything this weekend.<br />
OH shit research.<br />
That photography project.<br />
That site...oh and I hope the gift was okay.<br />
Oh man I don't want to do anything anymore. I'm done.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-86503065967136664732014-01-01T03:32:00.003+05:302014-01-01T03:32:36.343+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Kids grow up, and they lose their toys. People grow up, and suddenly, people have limited interaction. Don't tell me about...chuck. Dear blog, never go. Stay a while.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-31384663685267255632013-12-31T21:02:00.000+05:302014-01-02T09:52:28.696+05:30"Three dots of suspension..."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>(alternative title #1: A year spent in tears)</i><br />
<i>(alternative title #2: Palmistry)</i><br />
<i>(alternative title #3: All that ends well)</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Some experiences are so big, they change your DNA."</div>
<br />
Dexter Morgan couldn't have been more viciously accurate about that.<br />
<br />
In 2010, I went to a Green Day concert in Singapore on 14th January. It was a dream come true for me: To sing along to every word I'd been holding on to for so long; ones I was so attached to. The year had surely started on a very, very high note.<br />
<br />
And yet, at the end of that year, I found myself writing a note to myself saying never, ever to lose myself again – to never be lost in the blankets, wrapped in tears.<br />
<br />
Maybe we could research patterns and fractals, because 2013 began on a high note as well. With warm wishes of Happy New Years to whom I wanted to wish with all of my heart. Eyes to my first job ever, at, I won't lie, a nice place. And a new car. Who doesn't like that?<br />
<br />
But here I am, writing this. Just like 2010. The difference here is that I haven't shared 2010's note with you. Or the lines on my palm. Or the lack of them.<br />
<br />
People left me in 2013. Things left me in 2013. I don't want to cry about anything. I do however, want to hold on to the memories, no matter how obsessive compulsive it is. Because, honestly, that's all that I have to look back at. If they won't live in my memories, how is anything in this world supposed to exist for me?<br />
<br />
Like a ghost, you come back even today. When someone says some things the way you used to. When I look at your ties. When I see someone in glasses like yours. When I try to look for you in others.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"The keenest sorrow is to recognise ourselves as the sole cause of our adversities."</div>
<br />
Sophocles couldn't have been more viciously accurate about that.<br />
<br />
It's a shame. Didn't I promise myself to not wrap myself in tears?<br />
I'm sorry to you, whom I've hurt, perhaps. I'm sorry to me, whom I've hurt, perhaps. I also promised myself to make good use of the internet for specific purposes. But then, I pretty much quit everything everywhere. I'm not going to reason against it. Because every other time I feel like I've made a mistake in my past, I cannot understand what the crazy hell was wrong with me. This time, I know I was all in my senses, and I vividly remember every bit about why.<br />
<br />
And even if it took all of my day today to pull in my spanner and fix the bolts, I'm trusting tomorrow to be my resting pillow.<br />
<br />
Because tomorrow is what you might as well call the <i>"International Day of New Beginnings." </i><br />
<br />
I don't know why anyone would need a date marker to do things differently. It's a shame, because I don't know why I need that date marked on the calendar as well. Perhaps it's an excuse to revel in my old self for a few more <i>buffer</i> days. Or maybe the it's time I've told myself I will give myself to pick myself again – "Dear Abhas, you have this amount of time now. Take it, cry the shit out of it, then start walking again."<br />
<br />
Or since you're hearing about both ways out from me, maybe it's both.<br />
<br />
Change. Regret. New beginnings. Endings. Wishes to end everything. Over-emotional? Even my excellent orthodontist seems to think so. Emotionally destroyed? Should I just remove the question mark there? Safe to say love no longer means what it once meant to me? Neither do wishes. Or to some extent, even dreams. Anhedonia? Perhaps. Perhaps this is what they term "growing up."<br />
<br />
I don't think I'm my old self anymore.<br />
And yet, take a look back and read this again. Here I am. Just the same as ever.<br />
<br />
Do things ever change? Is it the journey that is supposed to matter? I still think it's the smiles.<br />
<br />
So, I wish you well. Have a Happy, happy new year.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
...</div>
<br />
Dear future,<br />
<br />
Let's do good, now?<br />
<br />
Yours truly.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-32655070721141239882013-12-29T15:37:00.000+05:302013-12-30T14:30:10.292+05:30Yesterday (Moments, IV; People, III; A blog post, II)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
People. <i>Persons</i>. The things they do. The change they bring in you. In however long a camera flash lasts, or the snap of a finger – whatever's shorter, yes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shorter than the wavelength of violet light? Perhaps. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In a deadlock, amidst a sandstorm. When you're stuck in a pool of black tar, or in quicksand. Or whether in rains, when you're standing at the edge of your door. People, or <i>persons</i>. That <i>is</i> the therapy. The key to the deadlocks that you thought couldn't ever be cleaned up. The vacuum cleaner machinery in the aftermath of a sandstorm. That branch from a nearby tree that will pull you out of the quicksand. The person who'll push you out and jump into the rain with you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Do things ever get okay? Who knows; the journey is supposed to matter, right? I don't know. I think it's the smiles that matter. The ones you share, the ones you spread. The ones you pull onto your face, those when you see them on someone else's. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
So, maybe some flowers <i>are</i> bright. And the grass <i>is</i> pretty lush in its greenness. I know that <i>some</i> leaves are particularly delicious to some. It's sunny, and it's warm in the cold that'd usually make you curl up. Sunflowers know that <i>for sure. </i>Even those indoors, if I may add. <i><br /></i><br />
<div>
Happiness is not just a nine letter word. It is rarer than precious metals when you're seeking to dig them from the ground. Harder to find than a comet if you're looking at the night sky tonight. It's there when, well, <i>it's there. </i>And, dear God, I may not have described it well enough for the millionth time, but some moments will surely go lengths to tell you what I couldn't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh by the way, could you divide that into two equal parts and then get it packed and ready to go?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
:)</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-24778924066386808742013-12-16T13:14:00.000+05:302013-12-16T13:15:27.744+05:30"Wuthering Heights"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"...haha! You're awesome, man!"<br />
<br />
"You betcha."<br />
<br />
"You're class ki jaan types"<br />
<br />
"Ooooh! Really? That good?" <br />
<br />
"haha! You betcha!" <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
"You're not the same anymore..."<br />
<br />
"What?! Why!? What's wrong? What are you, like, getting negative vibes?"<br />
<br />
"It's not negative..it's just..you're not -- you used to be this lively, cheerful guy. Where is -"<br />
<br />
"- what? I'm just..it's me. I'm doing the same things, no?"<br />
<br />
"It's different. You've changed. You've..I feel like you've become an old guy now."<br />
<br />
"..yeah..that way, maybe. Things did change for me."<br />
<br />
"Why?! What made this change, man?!" </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-86041907610011581352013-12-08T14:31:00.000+05:302013-12-08T14:32:04.155+05:30Candidly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I face the things and paths I once wanted to do and be on, after I rebuttal, I get.<br />
Scared.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-67621505526223741742013-12-08T13:03:00.001+05:302013-12-08T21:05:51.350+05:30Famous last words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"...So how is the Fabia in the small car segment?"</blockquote>
We have first times, and we're aware of that. We may even prepare for instances such. But there are last times, just as much. It's hard to prepare for those, not only because it neighbors impossible in successful prediction, but also because even if you do predict it, you can't prepare and dress up for goodbyes.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"So why don't you join our undergraduate program?"</blockquote>
Some people matter in greatness what they withhold. You're played by words and you never know what happens next. But you remember them, because they say things without giveaway of what they've already inscribed for you. You'll remember their words. Especially when you don't know if you'll see them again.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"I'll miss you. Just forgive me. I may have to be brave."</blockquote>
What is important is that you must know that the greatest gift you can give to someone is your time. And the worst punishment is your silence. Sometimes you don't choose what gifts to give. Entropy decides paths. And clocks.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Stay in touch."</blockquote>
Even with a Masters degree in the art of Goodbyes, there is no one way to choose paths. Some decisions are taken for better, and some for worse, by measuring and quantifying one source or profit over the other. And with that, you'll know you meet new people every day, some of whom you'll never see again.<br />
<br />
But some last words, you'll remember.<br />
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16857168.post-13056832875545552552013-11-26T23:19:00.000+05:302013-12-08T21:05:42.518+05:30I never knew I'd say this much about this<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
The nights.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
There are. A few. Kinds. Of love.</div>
That. I lay awake in.<br />
<div align="right">
One. Where. You are loved. </div>
In absence of the sleep. That refused to come to me. <br />
<div align="right">
But God knows why, you refuse it.</div>
Pauses. Synapses.<br />
<div align="right">
The second. Where. You love.</div>
An orchestrated disharmony involuntary. <br />
<div align="right">
But God knows why. You are refused.</div>
In auto-writing. <br />
<div align="right">
And the third.</div>
Maybe. <br />
<div align="right">
Where it's both.</div>
The best love stories are the ones.
<br />
<div align="right">
But the outcome is of either.</div>
That never are.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">
And there's one more. <br />
Of where fairytales come from.<br />
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© abhas sinha</div>abhas1http://www.blogger.com/profile/05824625803239811715noreply@blogger.com0