Illustrations of numbers and symbols

Here, we have an illustration of the human heart. Not that well-done, I believe. I drew it, anyway, so don't you tell me what not to believe.

Many people believe the heart looks like a 'less than' symbol to the left of a numeric three, rotated 90º CCW. Maybe not in real life, but that's what they think it looks like graphically, at least.

But then, that sort of heart is for people in love, right? With their heart-goggles fitting perfectly over their heart-shaped pupils – or irides – tuned out and tuned into a better world.

"Better world" – seems like an oxymoron for a second there, doesn't it? But, then, those goggles do wonders. Everything seems beautiful; your unforced smile just takes care of things. And it's no secret that our perception; the way we're seeing things – with those goggles, now – makes that apparent beauty so...there.

And then there's this. A slash in the middle of < and 3. The reality check that no one asks for; the reality check no one needs. What good does this do? Where hearts of numbers and symbols helped climb mountains with feathery ease, this shocker of a realist approach has immediate consequences on the amount of strength and pain it takes to just wake up in the morning. No, they're not positive consequences. They are equivalent to the sudden disappearance of a dominant limb.

Just an invitation to phantom limb pain.

Then, when you look at the bigger picture, elements such as karma and sometimes even fate step in. Nothing happens just for the sake of happening, you know.

But who's going to take care of the continual shortness of breath that happens right now?

Fate, you lazy beast. Karma, you scrumptious little nugget; you blind little worker of order.

Surrender control and wait for things to untwine themselves into, oh would you believe, a better world?

Does that ever happen?

How would I know.

What goes around (Moments, III)

One month and ten days ago, the aftermath of a tragedy began to take grasp of a lot of breaths in places even much farther than the core of the incident. Having drowned in every detail for weeks and weeks to come, I was at a continuous loss of words at the horrifying imagery that would be projected in my mind. To add to it, two very sad things took place after the incident, as if the incident wasn't big enough in itself – her demise, and change that is still gradual.

I failed to understand how jokes (in that duration, at the very least), could make people laugh. What Christmas? What New Years? How could anything even go on? But it did, right?
Though I still wish we could've turned back the clocks on this.

I was at a lack of words, but I did what I could in a different medium, to show the change that Delhi was not only desperate for, but also deserves.

A lot is to be said about the restlessness, and the relentless want for change. However, I believe that this must be channelized correctly to hope for induction. Because waving words around when you don't know what they will result in accomplishes results by chance.
Or perhaps my lack of words stood tall because silence is, sometimes, just more powerful.

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A lack of words is a strange phenomenon resulting from a strange emotional, and/or psychological experience to  list the least. It is strange because an experience of similar magnitude can result in contrast; an upsurge of words, even dripping off the chin.

Some moments induce a change in you. They give you things, and take things away from you. Moments like these, when you have the words ready to burst out and blurt through without control, you tie your tongue in a knot – because those are the words that put you in that moment.

Sometimes, you cross the line without intending to, or even knowing it, and that results in change. For better or for worse? That depends. You don't care for that yet. You just want a response. But you tread carefully now, for you cannot be reckless enough to bring in another such moment.

So you freeze without an answer.

Quite a while ago, I told someone, "...I may not have described it well enough, but some moments will tell you what I couldn't," but I wonder now, does that person of gold remember? Or is everything just coming back around?

Of memories and memoirs

September 27. That date meant a lot to me – so much so that it was one of the reasons I wanted to start this blog. I'm not saying it doesn't mean anything anymore, but it definitely doesn't adhere like it previously did.

For old readers, this sort of situation, this day of this month, every year, would be as foreign a phenomenon as rolling eyes and unleashing a sigh at the end of a bullshit joke.

It started out as an innocent birthday wish to two do-gooders on the same day, but slowly turned into a deck of belated birthday cards owing to my battle with either increasing procrastination or things that constantly called for a higher priority. Or a tumultuous emotional phase, that perhaps everyone traverses through at least once, before growing up. Or learns to do so.

In any event, out of sheer randomness, I mentioned Rakshanda Khan's birthday amid a few friends and one of them asked me who she was. I stood silent for a few moments before announcing that she's an actress/host person. Or was. I didn't know – it had just been that long. Regardless, ain't no stimulus like a visual cue, so I proceeded to show her a picture. And that's when I realised how long it really had been.

What happens when you go back and look at someone, or something, that meant, well, a good amount of something to you? It brings back a load of memories, to say the least, in the form of a whirlpool. And it doesn't feel bad, frankly – just a little tingly in the knees. It feels good.

Once you're done snickering at my celebrity-crush-dom, I hope you'll get the point.

Looking at the past is a weird thing; it's one of those things that sticks very tightly to Albert Einstein's Theory of Relativity. It can mean either a good thing or a bad thing, and that, too, in different ways. How you look at it may be important, but it surely isn't all of it.

In any case, and in tradition of old – happy belated birthday, Miss Khan, and Google. :)

First things first

Growing up. It's a small sentence with a million and one afterburners on its tail; it's both good and bad, unbearable and yearned for at the same time.

I wasn't too keen on growing up — my teenage symptoms still strike back like the empire. But they make growing up so much more enjoyable, to the point that I can actually slow down time and savor every second that passes me by. This 'bullet time' sequence is very delicious when it comes to chewing the morsels of a moment I have longed for years. The eye makes for an excellent camera, as well – recording better than RED at much higher than 120 fps, with quality that would put Blu-Ray to shame.

You know I'm kinda happy when I'm using way too many movie/gadget/blabbermouth references.

Anyway, the thing that matters is growing up. Not as much as the objective of growing up, which would just lead to a fully developed adult, but the actual verb of it in the sentence. You know, when you're growing up, and you get to drive the car by yourself for the first time. Like that. Even though you're 20. Coming in late to the party doesn't matter. Hell, you're VIP. But sitting down in the driver's seat. That. That's what I mean.

But that's still not a complete description to what I have stood witness to. Frankly, it's very easy to describe. But putting it in a mere tersely phrased sentence will rob the beauty of it. What I want is to dignify this moment forever, supply it with the same amount of respect that I've been giving the thing in question, and create a freaking museum out of it. Okay, traveling too far, perhaps. But not as far as I drove!

Not as far as I drove, at all. If you want to get down to the science of it, consider it distance measured in time and incremented in exponential amounts – I did record this in slow motion, remember? – for what is driving a car for the first time? Priceless. What is backing it up and banging it into another car for the first time? Priceless. And doing so just out of the sheer nervousness that grips you because someone is sitting next to you, and you can barely drive for the whole trip? Amazing.

Maybe MasterCard will come in handy sometime.