The Rebelle blog

Here I am, sitting by my window, basking in the late afternoon sunlight. My books are blinded by the light, throwing back the rays on their glossy covers, my neck feels baked but so good and I clunk my fingers feverishly on the keyboard hoping to put everything from my mind onto this screen. I went to the sea last night with my friend. We sat there for an hour, talking to our heart's content by the chilly sea breeze wishing there were more nights like these, more leisurely meets by the sea. The night didn't seem daunting, nor did the presence of the many love-stuck privacy seeking couples facing the sea. Something about waves is charming during the day but more resigned at night times. We spoke of love's lost chances, the ones that never came, the ones that could come and the ones we fear to embrace. It's always a wonderful feeling meeting this girl who has and I keep telling her this, a very understated elegance about her. Grace is not just personified by physical be...

With barely two hours of sleep last night since I spent it watching Kanhaiya Kumar's brilliant address at JNU campus, I woke up today morning to realise I had a host of deadlines to meet. Kanhaiya's call for freedom (Azaadi) kept lingering in my ears and the utter brevity to see so many people share their thoughts on social networking sites about his stance on socialism, secularism, equality and freedom from politics. With that fire in my belly, I wrote a first draft for a friend's branding consultancy website. I have no previous experience on writing corporate profiles but as they say, if you read well, then you can write well. (I would like to whole-heartedly believe this statement.) I realised how scattered student movements are in India. When I was in college, we didn't have any association, no affiliations with political parties of course, but no inkling towards social realities as well. All the students did was attend classes, sit at campus hot spots sipping...

The book is made of glass and I look through it and see more books. Many glass books. Is someone speaking? A muffled voice is telling me to make soup which I think means I am loved. What other kind of cup fills itself? Can there be a cup of cup? A cup of itself? Outside a black squirrel has wiggled to the end of a very skinny branch. When the squirrel breathes the whole tree shakes, as if the squirrel were the soul of the tree. Have you ever felt like such a tree? Not sayin' I have. (Source: POEM-A-DAY from the Academy of American Poets) --------------------------------********------------------------------------------------ This is such brilliant poetry that howsoever I wish to and whoever I am thinking of right now absolutely fits into different lines! A song, a verse, a few lines that make my heart jump up and down! I am a free bird, and yet I wish to perch on a branch someday which will be surrounded by a cool shade with a tumbler o...