With_You

If you go

take all I own,

send me back where I came,

deny my sleep

stop my mind

take out my eyes,

take away my ears,

stop my worthless lungs

end my time.

Feel this

A quick Hello to all my blogreaders.



Feel this and think,

Kindness is the language that the blind can see and the deaf can hear.

Cheers!

Lol_ly

Why Do I Write?

Why I write isn't just because there's content crying out to be heard. I write because I like the me who writes. I like the high I get when something good comes out, when funny or painful words roll out in waves. When the surf is up, I want to be in it. When it isn't, I still like paddling around. It feels like my natural element.

This is not exactly 'why I write'.
‘I write’ because of little lollies (like a polo with the hole but not a mint)

My mother after she got married moved to a Metro city. Her maiden days were spent in rural areas of southern parts of India. No sooner, she got busy with her kids and her marital responsibilities, she found it difficult to keep in touch with her Mother.

Grandma lived alone. Mom was not lazy but she put things off, delayed doing things, thinking that it will be done.

This made Grandma worry. Worry for all of us. Her letters were often delayed.
One Summer vacation grandma suggested, why not dictate your letters. This way she could get her letters in time. So they both settled for me to be their future 'Writer'. One reason being I write very clean and tidy among all their loving kids.

So began that connection between mom and grandma through my first dictated, handwritten letters. The content of these letters remained the same for many. But they meant a lot for grandma.

For all those handwritten letters every summer vacation Grandma kissed me a little hard, gave me lollies and asked me not to share them with anyone …

I write, because grandma told me to Write with her kisses and lollies.
This is the fact.

For_A _Day

I hear your heart is made of steel
like the hundreds of bridges I have crossed
can you give it away
for a day
this temptation
to dwell with your heart,if I steal;
to replace it with my heart
for a day

A_Comment i received

this is to passerby55:

what the fuck. why are you even writing to pradeep? do you like to torment people you say you like? are you mental? i've held my tongue because of pradeep, but i can't anymore. he won't like that i'm posting this, but i will not just sit by as some two faced commenter on PRADEEP'S blog(not your own blog) insults him with every comment she makes.

you try to hide your insults with petty sweet talking about him and try to give him wise advice about what he posts, like you are some priest. but i have to say it's a rather sorry way of going about it.

if you disagree with pradeep so damn much, go post it on your own blog. even comment on his post that you have something to say about this post on YOUR OWN BLOG.

do you get your kicks from putting others down for no reason? what pradeep choice those 9 years ago did effect other people in his personal life. but are you apart of his personal life? no, you are not. so why are you trying to judge it?

take a hint from pradeep's other readers and keep to the positive notes rather then drag him and others down with your negative comments hidden in sickingly sweet nothings.

yes it's your freedom to write what you want, but it's damned rude and mean and vindictive to go on other people's comments and tear them down. go bitch about him in your own blog.

and just for the record i think he made a great decision back then that was very selfless and honorable. so go fuck yourself.

Dear Blogreader:
i wanted to preserve this comment.
Thankyou for reading it!

DE_Lighted

The most visible creators are those artists whose medium is life itself.

The ones who express the inexpressible -without brush, hammer, clay, or guitar.

They neither paint nor sculpt.

Their medium is simply being.

Whatever their presence touches has increased life.

They see, but don't have to draw...

Because they are the artists of being alive

This photograph has been taken by my Friend, who is a lecturer in an arts college. Photography is his hobby. He took this shot when he was at the bus stop These two kids were on the bus off to school.

"Aren't these kids a delight to watch?"

We can never imitate a child. We have to have one within us to express the inexpressible. To spread happiness and feel happy.

Lil Mizfit ... My Fair Lady.

Lil Mizfit has nothing but fascination to dream,to write, to do all the crazy. She is a girl with courage and passion. An optimist by Nature.

Not much in my recent past, I sat at my desk social networking. I got myself introduced to a young bachelor. He lives in the capital city of India. He left education at an early age, got himself employed as a Chauffeur. He could hardly type in English, but he made an attempt. We shared no other language in common, but we were able to strike a conversation. He realised that i appreciated creative writing.

It was this young man who took me to http://deviantcore.blogspot.com/

I read the intelligent and extremely articulate woman in front of me, its quiet hard to imagine she has what I humorously describe as a crazy, accompanied with wit and wisdom. Since then every morning i visit her blog. She never fails to update her blog, she comes to write the simple, practical world around her. I know that she loves to read, she eats Water Melon. She visits the Gym, she lives in a small apartment as a PG. She works hard, she gets promotions. I have read all her posts, and i wonder how her little brain works to imagine the impossibles. She truly amazes me.

Its was through her blogroll i read many others. Little does she know it was her blog that inspired me to enroll and create my world as you all know as "getting it write". My first ever comment was for her post.

I lay a badge of honor on her chest, a chest which holds a beautiful heart, a beautiful mind.

A Little Mom-ishness

I knew she would rush to the door behind me , with her loud and clear voice, “Have you taken your handkerchief?”. .She never fails to remind me. Handkerchief for me are so mom-ish a thing .
The hours I am away from her, It is the handkerchief that gives me her company. Every time I wipe the sweat off my face, I have a bad cold, I spill water on my desk, her handkerchief comes to my rescue.

I distinctly remember my nursery days , I had a matching handkerchief pinned up on the left hand side of my uniform, A red cloth with the name of the school embroidered on it in yellow. These were those special ones ( big enough to be a called a napkin). Years rolled by, and so did those napkin days.

I forget to carry them, so do I forget that they need to be laundered.
“Handkerchiefs have to be washed everyday, Why have I to remind you every time, about your handkerchief?”. . there mom goes again!

I carry a handkerchief , simple, plain and made of cotton. I also lose many of them. You can never find a lost handkerchief , and never can you find one in the lost and found property , no one cares to deposit them there.

As I cast around for gift ideas, I glance on the most mom-ish thing for me. This handkerchief with “Bless You” embroidered on it! A little Mom_ishness goes a long way.

She is the woman to whom I wish all the best out of life and love.
I love you mom!

"Finnegan" The Squirrel

For about as long as she can remember, Debby Cantlon says, friends and strangers have brought her animals in need. So it wasn't much of a surprise when someone asked her if she'd care for a newborn squirrel found at the base of a tree somewhere near Renton.

Debby Cantlon, who plans to release Finnegan, the young squirrel, back into the wild, bottle-fed the infant squirrel after it was brought to her house. Cantlon, who has cancer, says rescuing injured animals is therapeutic for her.

When Cantlon took in the tiny creature and began caring for him, she found herself with an unlikely nurse's aide: her pregnant Papillon, Mademoiselle Giselle.

Finnegan was resting in a nest in a cage just days before Giselle was due to deliver her puppies.

Cantlon and her husband watched as the dog dragged the squirrel's cage — twice — to her own bedside before she gave birth.

Cantlon was concerned, yet ultimately decided to allow the squirrel out — and the inter-species bonding began.

Finnegan rides a puppy mosh pit of sorts, burrowing in for warmth after feeding, and eventually working his way beneath his new litter mates.

Two days after giving birth, mama dog Giselle allowed Finnegan to nurse; family photos and a videotape show her encouraging him to suckle alongside her litter of five pups.

Now, Finnegan mostly uses a bottle, but still snuggles with his "siblings" in a mosh pit of puppies, rolling atop their bodies and sinking in deeply for a nap.

Finnegan and his new litter mates, five Papillion puppies, get along together as if they were meant to.

Finnegan naps after feeding.

Finnegan makes himself at home with his new litter mates, nuzzling nose-to-nose for a nap after feeding.

A _Tribute

One SONG can spark a moment
One FLOWER can wake the dream
One TREE can start a forest
One BIRD can herald spring
One SMILE begins a friendship


One HANDCLASP lifts a soul
One STAR can guide a ship at sea
One WORD can frame the goal
One VOTE can change a nation

One SUNBEAM lights a room
One CANDLE wipes out darkness
One LAUGH will conquer gloom
One STEP must start each journey
One WORD must start a prayer
One HOPE will raise our spirits

One TOUCH can show you care
One VOICE can speak with wisdom
One HEART can know what is true
One LIFE can make a difference.

This post is a tribute to all my Blog readers. I thank them for taking the time to read my posts and keeping words of appreciation and encouragement. They are all wonderful people who have made a world of difference to me.

My Unique_Ones.
Dreamyeyes,MIzfit, GHB, Wild reeds, Ajay, Priya, Bhakti, Icy_highs, N_armstrong, Saby,Pradeep, Saurin,D'yer M'aker, Hermit chords, Nomadic Waves , chocoboy.

Thankyou.

A_Soared _Spirit

This Incident in his life sent my spirits soaring ...

I was a peaceful soul walking by the lonely shores. The sound of the wind and the music of the waves gave me the serenity my soul sought. The past years, I was struggling, chasing life.

Now I think I found my calm.I walked through the soft sand and viewed the beautiful, red horizon. At my back was a cliff, standing like a giant guarding its calmness. For a moment, I felt someone was watching. I felt the presence of the giant. When I looked up the cliff I saw a soul not a giant. I watched him there, his feet were at the very edge of a rock, some twenty meters or more above. He was staring at the red horizon.

I was thinking of what to say or do. Should I call him up? If I did catch his attention, he could be caught off balance and plunge to death. I could feel the whizz of the wind up there, for his hair was blown by it. "My name's Ed," finally I shouted. He only stared down blankly. "I have no one to talk to, I'm all alone." The last word must have caught his attention. Indeed, loneliness can bring anyone to such despair."If you want, I'll climb up there," still shouting and thinking of a way to reach him and beat time before death would claim this man's destiny.

If I was going to pass by the right side, go to the back of the cliff where a road would lead me to him, there could be no time for me to save him. This man was not himself. I know it. I was there once.I decided that there was no other way but to climb the cliff in front of me, a vertical ascent. The rocks and the eroding soil could lead me back down, and I could face death ahead of him. Or, we could be together to our deaths. A force was driving me to get to him - save him. In that twenty meters above, his face was clear to my vision - a very lonely and frustrated face so full of the negative forces of hell or what.

I made my first steps up. Stones and earth kept falling down. I was focused at him, the man was still in his former position - his feet glued at the very edge of the rock, never uttering a word. Now, while I was ascending, various thoughts were in my mind. What right words should I utter to get his attention? At about half of my way, I thought of something to ask of him."Do you know the story of Jesus and Mary?" A point-blank question. Couldn't think of anything except those two words; so many bright ideas about life you want to relay but they just slip from your mind in this kind of emergency. I didn't bother looking up at the guy anymore. I was concentrated on my climb... and my story to tell. "He was killed ... killed in front of her," I shouted.

Careful of my feet and hands not to make a false move, I realized I was also telling a passionate story, this as tears were streaming from my eyes.

Was I in a situation that I had to choose which life to save, mine or this stranger's? Nonetheless, I was in the most happy moment of my life, finally I was doing something worthwhile - saving a life so precious, and I didn't care who this stranger was.

I reached the top, and he reached for my hand. We just sat there at the top of the rock and witnessed the beautiful sunset.

The red sun slowly, and beautifully disappeared.
Hasn't God made life tough?
Yeah! But it is wonderful.

The_Sublime

Kapra sarkha Jalnah, ( to burn like camphor)
Malah Kdheech Ptat nahi ( i never would agree to)
tt sh Jal nyath Maj hii Naa nahi ( though i don't mind to burn so)
Pun shev tee Ka heech Urat Nahi. (but then nothg wld remain behind)


Would nothing, absolutely nothing, remain behind?
Who are such?
I questioned myself, several times.

Those who have achieved success, who have lived well,
laughed often and loved much; get the trust of pure woman, respect of the intelligent men and the love of little children; Who never failed to appreciate the beauty of the earth, air, water, fire.

WHo left the World Better than they found it.

Dear Blogreader:
They left behind 'An Inspiration' ; 'A benediction'.

Not_Just_Yet

Written for those who have experienced impossible love:

Not Just Yet...
Until the early hours of the morning,
I sit here at my window,
Watching the silent streets,thinking of you, of us.....
It has been such a hard lesson to learn,
That the once in a lifetime love is not a myth,
That such a love given, is not always returned,
That reality does not matter to the heart, it wants what it wants.
And as I look up at the moonless sky,
The stars beginning to fade with the first light of the day,
I tell myself that it is perhaps time to put thoughts of you behind,
But my heart refuses –
Not just yet.

My hurt vanity stirs up anger when it finds me still,
Listening just for your phone call,
Looking, among the many emails received in a day,just for yours,
My feet, guiding the unwilling me, to those places where
I just might accidentally bump into you.
I tell myself that it is perhaps time to avoid those places,
But my heart refuses –
Not just yet.

And these dreams that are grounded in unreality;
You and me, working together, laughing, Going for long drives, talking about everything, Sometimes, just enjoying the comfortable silences,
You, smiling, as I patiently try to explain the Troilet,
You, vainly suppressing your laughter, while I glare back,
As you watch me using the cordless power drill,
Me, the confirmed vegetarian, urging you to let go Of the catch while we go fishing together,
You, hastily gulping down water
After the first mouthful of the spicy Indian lunch I prepared for you,
You and me, watching sci-fi together,Or bantering and playing scrabble after dinner,
Or traveling to India – to the deserts of Rajasthan
And the coconut lagoons of Kerala.......
I tell myself that it is perhaps time to put these dreams aside,
But my heart dreams on –
You come up behind me and hug me, your arms around my waist

And I glance back at you with shy smile.....Well.... dreams never hurt anybody,

I’ll put them aside.... some day...., but......
Not Just Yet..... Not Just Yet........

get_over _it

I am trying to figure out what to do with memories - both the good ones and the bad ones. Seems there is a lot of emotion tied to both. Memories that have physical evidence of stuff tie you down. Do bad memories hold us back? and do good ones give us illusions about the future? I know things change, because I have later laughed at things that gave me grief. But I am getting older and may not have time to "get over it".

It is hard with emotionally charged things. You cannot discard, you can never throw them away.
Infact you preserve them because they make you laugh or cry. They enliven everything around you.

When he was around he misplaced them, kept them in all wrong places. Searching them was everyone's duty in the house. They were plain and simple, he handled them with care, but he kept misplacing them. Misplaced things have to be searched till they are found. If he misplaced them, late in the evening, they had to be in the deep freezer, at those hours he enjoyed a drink and would help himself with icecubes. To refine our search we asked him, what time did he last see through them. He had a good memory for everything, but only for his misplaced spectacles.
He was proud that he Only misplaced; never lost them.

Last evening, I saw them in my closet drawer. They remain there forever now, never to be misplaced again...

Dear blogreader:
Memories tied to with impermanence thing, never fade, isn't it?

real_nuts

On the outskirts of town, there was a big old pecan tree by the cemetery fence.
One day two boys filled up a bucketful of nuts and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing the nuts.
"One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me," said one boy.
Several were dropped and rolled down toward the fence.

Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle. As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery.
He slowed down to investigate. Sure enough, he heard,
"One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me." He just knew what it was.
"Oh my," he shuddered, it's Satan and the Lord dividing the souls at the cemetery.

He jumped back on his bike and rode off. Just around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along.
"Come here quick," said the boy, "you won't believe what I heard. Satan and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls.
"The man said, "Beat it kid, can't you see it's hard for me to walk."
When the boy insisted, though, the man hobbled to the cemetery.

Standing by the fence they heard, "One for you, one for me. One for you, one for me."
The old man whispered, "Boy, you've been tellin' the truth. Let's see if we can see the devil himself." Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence, yet were still unable to see anything. The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of Satan.

At last they heard, "One for you, one for me. And one last one for you. That's all.

Now let's go get those nuts by the fence, and we'll be done."

Dear blogreader:
They say the old guy made it back to town five minutes before the boy.

Ahem!

"Every time I swept the floor, I found spent match sticks in various corners, and close to each of these sticks would lie a dead insect. I looked closely. I saw that the insect had been killed first and then scorched.
Finding seared dead bodies, in different corners of my sweet home, left me confused."

Then one fine evening it all revealed..

An insect flew through the window, of my son's study room. His final examinations were on; so naturally he was very much at his desk studying hard. No sooner, he saw this handsome insect. He ran in the direction of the kitchen closet.

I was reading the morning newspaper. It was five thirty, in the evening.

I see my son rush, get the insect repellent and now ready to kill this handsome insect.

Me: why do you need to kill it.
He: It may bite
Me: Stop, that spray, that odour, gives me a headache.
He : …sppprrraayinggg…….ah! dead.

Then, back to the kitchen gets a match box, goes into his room and takes the dead insect to a corner.

Me: "Why do you need the match box? What are you upto?"

Without giving me a look, “It needs a decent burial".

Dear Blogreader:
This incident is a year old...
I shared it.
Ahem!

WOE__MEN

By the time the Lord made woman, He was into his sixth day of working overtime.

An angel appeared and said, "Why are you spending so much time on this one?"
And the Lord answered, "Have you seen my spec sheet on her?
She has to be completely washable, but not plastic, have over 200 movable parts, all replaceable and able to run on diet coke and leftovers, have a lap that can hold four children at one time, have a kiss that can cure anything from a scraped knee to a broken heart -and she will do everything with only two hands."

The angel said, "Only two hands!?
That's too much work for one day.
The Lord protested. "I am so close to finishing this creation that is so close to my own heart. She already heals herself when she is sick AND can work 18 hour days."

The angel moved closer and touched the woman
"But you have made her so soft,Lord."
"She is soft," the Lord agreed, "but I have also made her tough. You have no idea what she can endure or accomplish."

"Will she be able to think?", asked the angel.
The Lord replied, "Not only will she be able to think, she will be able to reason and negotiate."

The angel then noticed something, and reaching out, touched the woman's cheek. "Oops, it looks like you have a leak in this model. I told you that you were trying to put too much into this one."
"That's not a leak," the Lord corrected, "that's a tear!"
"What's the tear for?" the angel asked.

The Lord said, "The tear is her way of expressing her joy, her sorrow, her pain, her disappointment, her love, her loneliness, her grief and her pride."

The angel was impressed. "You are a genius, Lord. You thought of everything! Woman is truly amazing."

Dear BLogreader,
HOWEVER, IF THERE IS ONE FLAW IN WOMEN, ITS THAT THEY SOMETIMES FORGET THEIR WORTH

wake _me _up

You are lucky, if a rooster lives near you, you have a built-in waker-upper. A non-alarming way to awaken.

The alarm clock is a form of violence. When a clanging alarm clock goes off , don't we feel like throwing it out the window and shoot it with a rifle.
Alarms are connected with danger: burglary, fire, air raid. They contribute to the part of fear. Why should one wake-up by inducing fear?.
The alarm shocks me out of the dream state and into my rational mind. My dreams simply don’t have a chance to catch up. They are shaken and then they vanish. It is a crude and rude way of wake-up-call.

It is believed that the soul travels when we are asleep. Thus, it is very important that the sleeper is brought gently to wakefulness so that his or her soul might find its way back. Of course, people awakened do not die. But something gets lost when we are awakened sharply and suddenly. It is our dream consciousness that loses its way back to the waking state.

A rooster, the hugs of a toddler or nuzzling of a dog are preferable to electronic buzzing to welcome my day!

wishing you a very long life

God created the mule, and told him, "You are mule. You will work constantly from dusk to dawn, carrying heavy loads on your back. You will eat grass and lack intelligence. You will live for 50 years."
The mule answered, "To live like this for 50 years is too much. Please, give me no more than 20."
And it was so.

Then God created the dog, and told him, "You are dog. You will hold vigilance over the dwellings of Man, to whom you will be his greatest companion. You will eat his table scraps and live for 25 years."
The dog responded, "Lord, to live 25 years as a dog like that is too much. Please, no more than 10 years."
And it was so.

God then created the monkey, and told him, "You are monkey. You shall swing from tree to tree, acting like an idiot. You will be funny, and you shall live for 20 years."The monkey responded, "Lord, to live 20 years as the clown of the world is too much. Please, Lord, give me no than 10 years."
And it was so.

Finally,
God created Man and told him, "You are Man, the only rational being that walks the earth. You will use your intelligence to have mastery over the creatures of the world. You will dominate the earth and live for 20 years."

The man responded, "Lord, to be Man for only 20 years is too little. Please, Lord; give me the 20 years the mule refused, the 15 years the dog refused, and the 10 years the monkey rejected."

And so God made Man to live 20 years as a man, then marry and live 20 years like a mule working and carrying heavy loads on his back.
Then, he is to have children and live 15 years as a dog, guarding his house and eating the leftovers after they empty the pantry;
then, in his old age, to live 10 years as a monkey, acting like an idiot to amuse his grandchildren.

And it is so ...

should i or should i not!

The mind,
What shall we call it?
It is the sound of the breeze
That blows through the pines
In the Indian-ink pictures


What is in your mind, sometimes is difficult to put in words.

Dear Blogreader one way is:
Make it up and find a way to experience it!