Things I hate

I hate how I look in my college batch photo
I hate that I forgot to wish my best friend on his birthday
I hate how hooked I am to the internet
I hate the sound of breaking glass
I hate it when I doubt myself
I hate it when my mother cries when I am about to leave
I hate the fact that I missed my convocation
I hate the dust on the highway
I hate it when I get mad at my friends
I hate it when I have to cook for myself
I hate it when I realize that I have wasted the day doing nothing
I hate it when I think of money
I hate being an insomniac
I hate it when I stammer in front of girls
I hate it when I remember the dead
I hate the smell of diesel and paint
I hate it when I fear being ridiculed and keep mum
I hate it when things that affect me are not in my control
I hate to study things that I don’t really want to
I hate it when people misspell my name
I hate blind faith
I hate people who beg despite being healthy and able
I hate it when i forget things and remember them when its already too late
I hate summers
I hate it when my wrist pains while writing
I hate it when I walk into a spider web
I hate it when people pretend to be someone they are really not
I hate it even more when I do the same things that I hate about others

Other things, I mostly love…

The smartest answer I had

(This post has been censored to keep myself from getting fired )

I was sitting with my neighbor watching the 9 p.m news about the CERN Big Bang (We are mad losers with big brains, lets see if we can destroy the universe) experiment, and contemplating with relief about my Project Launch which was now possible as “Mommy! Look what I made! Its called a tiny black hole” experiment had been postponed.My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by my neighbor when he suddenly asked me “You really think it could have created a black hole ?”

Ah Ha!! Right question to the right person!! Given my extensive knowledge on the subject and to some extent,the questioner’s apparent lack thereof,I decided to deliver a brief but intriguing “Funda Session” about n-dimensional Riemannian geometry and relativistic effects of alpha-hadron collisions, whilst he listened attentively unawares of the widely held belief that all I know about the Black hole is that ‘It sucks!’.But here I was delivering an unfaltering speech about the technicalities of making a black hole and finally finishing it off with a brief note about the racist implications of the experiment and why it is called the ‘Black’ hole and not the ‘White’ hole,drawing analogies with Blackmail and the Blackberry.

Bravo!! I was pretty sure that the guy was dumbfounded and wouldn’t have noticed a single flaw in my expert analysis of the subject.After all, and most modestly, I did have bigger brains than him.(Incidentally,he was a 10 year old kid.)

The Spot Of Ink

When you write an exam and come back, its not the questions and answers that you remember. What you remember is the momentary pause, the glance you took at your neighbor’s face,the few seconds when you stopped writing and looked out of the window, when you heard the birds singing outside, and followed the rhythm of the creaking fan for a second, before you went back to writing..Life is like that.. The moments which we “live” in are actually the moments we don’t even know that we are living in.When you pause while running through the motions of life, you might not realize that, that’s when you are actually experiencing the phenomenon called life..Its not when you are writing. its actually when you pause and the ink spills, smearing your blank sheet of life, that you actually live.

The Spot Of Ink

The T’s tail hung loosely
The I’s eye looked blind
Smearing the insanity of the space
The spot of ink was left behind

Countless lines drawn,So much writ
And yet so much more to write,
A jungle of thoughts chime along
Like a thousand voices in the quiet

And yet its silent,empty,
I sink deep in ethereal waters
Gazing at the shining bubble of life,
As the impending tide no longer matters

Pause.
Life has stopped
I stop running and take a look around
The cheers and jeers echo in my senses
While I listen to silence’s sound

A moment stolen
From the vaults of time
It never appeared
But it was always mine.

Clutching it, before I started afresh,
I stopped to look, to wonder, to think
The lines, the words are washed away
All that remains, is the spot of ink.