Wait

She didn't remember anything. Everything had gone, everything was lost. She looked at me, teary eyed, trying to find someone she knew in my face. I stared back at her, hoping that there would be something about my face, something about me that she would remember. But, nothing.
My sister, who I loved more than anyone else in the world, the only person who understood me, didn't know me any longer. I was nothing but a stranger to her.
It happened about a month ago. It was a normal day. Weekday. We woke up early, did our chores, sat in front of our parents' photos as we went on blabbering about our lives and had a cup of tea. Then as the clock struck 8, we locked up the house and we left for our work.
It was around 2:30 in the afternoon when I got the call. I rushed to the hospital where she was admitted. They said that she was crossing the road while going for her lunch break when a black sedan came out of nowhere and knocked her down.
She had been in the I.C.U. for three weeks, unconscious. They did all sorts of procedures on her, ran all sorts of tests till they finally declared her 'healthy'. And then she finally woke up. Tears crawled down my face as I looked at her and smiled. I didn't go close to her because I was scared I might harm her. I stood five feet away from her bed and just smiled and stared. It took me ten minutes to finally realize that she didn't react the way she should have. She stared at me too, yes she did, but blankly. I called out to her but the only reaction she gave was a little awkward smile. And then she started crying. The doctors were a little surprised at first but then they checked her. They told me she had lost her memory. She remembered nothing. It took me a while to understand what was happening. But then, I smiled. I smiled at her and said nothing.
From that day, I would go to her room everyday, sit with her, give her food, talk about what was happening around the hospital, trued to explain to her what was happening outside in the world, but I said nothing to her about me. About herself. About her world. The doctors said it would only cause her stress and pain. So I didn't say anything. All I could do was wait. Wait for her to come back to me. Wait for her to remember me. Wait for me to become a part of her again. Wait.

Red

So I finally tried my hand at writing short stories. It's nothing great, but it's a start. And considering I have blog, it'll be only fair if I become active now. So from now on, I'm going to try and write as much as I can. Hope you like this though c:

It happened when I was five years old I guess. I was holding my father's hand and walking. My mother and sister were walking behind us. They always walked like 10 miles behind my father and me. 

There was so much life all around, so much colour, so many smiling faces. I remember that day very clearly, surprising, because I was just five. Not an age one particularly remembers. But, I was just so happy. 

The crowd was walking towards the music and we were walking along with the crowd. Everybody sounded so excited. Just in front of me a man picked up his daughter and put her on his shoulders while they walked. I asked my father to do the same. After a lot of convincing and whining, my father finally picked me up and made me sit on his shoulders. The height scared me a little but it was exciting. The view from up there was so beautiful. The colours seemed even brighter. The people even more excited. I started noticing things, noticing people, noticing children. Just then I saw a man, a man covered in black. I remember noticing his eyes, they seemed sad. He was walking really fast and while he was walking he dropped off a bag. I watched him until he kept walking and left from one of the side gates. I wanted to shout to tell the man that he'd forgotten his bag. I looked down and started calling out to my father who was busy looking ahead. Just then I heard a loud noise. My father pulled me down. All the colours disappeared. Pink, green, blue, purple, white, they all turned to red. The laughter turned to loud shrieks. The smiles turned upside down. Everything changed. I turned around to find my mother and sister but all I could see were people running. I shouted, I cried but nothing. My father picked me up again and carried me while he shouted and shrieked. But nothing. No reply. We ran all around. We ran toward the gate. But no familiar face. We waited there for around two hours. Men dressed in brownish uniforms carrying, what looked like guns were all around now. 

Still no familiar face. 

I remember that day very clearly, surprising, because I was just five. I was just so happy. But then, everything changed.

Pictures Pictures Pictures

          A picture is worth a thousand words, right? So this blog post is dedicated only to photos.
Photography (I don't even know whether I should call it that) has always been a passion. So I decided to share my photos on my blog :)

 

Yes, it was a very boring day.

 

 

Say hello to my gorgeous sister.

 

Winters are love.

 

John Mayer obviously.

 

Found a hundred of these beautiful butterflies in front of my house.

 

Yes, I clicked. Please believe me.

 

2012. One of my favourites.

 

Lodhi Gardens.

 

Lodhi Gardens. My sister's the best model ever.

 

Lodhi Gardens, again.

 

Summer, 2014.

 

Taj Mahal, Winter 2012.

 

 

Taj Mahal, Winter 2012.

 

Summer 2013.

 

Sultanpur, 2014.

 

Sultanpur, 2014.

 

Sultanpur, 2014.

 

Summer Mornings.

 

Hello Beautiful.

 

Alwar, 2014.

 

Alwar, 2014.

TYPES OF NEIGHBOURS

So I was watching Superwoman videos and I thought of this -
'Types of Neighbours'
Now I don't have the guts to make a video and I have no intention of copying her, but I really really wanted to share this hehe.

1) THE GOSSIP AUNTY - All neighbourhoods have at least one aunty who goes around spreading rumours from one corner of the neighborhood to the other. Even though you don't know about half the people she's talking about, SHE WILL TELL YOU.

2) THE SOLITARY ONES - These people just hate talking to anybody. You hardly see them because either they're out or they're locked inside their house. They might just be the mafia, who knows man.

3) THE ANNOYING UNCLE - Now he seems very sweet in the beginning. But then he stops you in the middle of the road to crack some PJs, he asks you a million questions and then he gives that creepy annoying smile that makes you want to punch him c:

4) THE BORROWERS - They will come to your house every second day tyo ask you either from sugar, rice, dal, masalas etc. It's like they never have their own stuff and we're their grocery store. PAY US ALREADY.

5) THE FUNJABI FAMILY - We absolutely love these guys. They're so much fun to chill with. But they play the loudest of music, have the loudest of parties till the middle of the night. So it's 1am and I'm trying to sleep, and I suddenly hear 'Yo Yo Honey Singh'. Little girl trying to sleep here guys.

6) THE YOUNGSTERS - These people live on rent, probably on the top floor of some house. Loudest talkers ever. They have crazy parties without any music, but their voice is so annoying. They talk at the top of their voice, drink beer and decide to laugh their asses off at 2 a.m. disturbing the entire neighbourhood c:

7) THE SERIOUS ONES - They're not in seclusion, but they're not very friendly either. They mostly happen to be doctors, dentists, authors etc. They come out for functions, meet everybody, but you can never expect to have any fun conversation with them. The conversation will always switch to politics, economy etc etc. They're still really sweet though.

Okay, these were just some of the common ones I thought every neighbourhood would have. No matter how funny/weird they are, we will always love them because well, it IS a neighbourhood.
I hope I didn't bore you. Byebye.

   

     How many..?

Life is short. Make it large. That's the motto everyone lives by, right? But how 'large' do you actually make it? Do you really LIVE or do you follow the same old monotonous routine followed by millions in this world that has sadly been referred to as a rat race?

My 12th boards have finally ended. I'm sitting at home, bored, with an entire list of things to do. But, what do I choose to do instead? Watch television. Yeah. So, one day, I finally decided to switch off the television and think, introspect and try to figure stuff out. And then this weird question popped up in my head. 'How many times have I lived?' 

We have one life to live but a million things to do. But in that one life, we live a thousand lives. And in these thousand lives we meet wonderful people, have wonderful experiences, laugh, cry, dance, sing, work, party, eat, sleep and blah blah. But in the end, how much of it all really matters? How much do we really remember? I'm going to ask this again, how many times did we REALLY live? How many times did we laugh? How many times did we cry? How many times did we say I Love You? How many times did we say goodbye? How many times did it hurt? How many times did we just pause, and think? How many times did we dream? How many?

She gazed outside the window,

the sun falling on her eyes;

Her eyes full of dreams, full of reason,

but there was an emptiness,  an emptiness that couldn't be defined.

She gave a tiny laugh as she saw two young birds fly past.

The warm winter afternoon filled her heart 

with a little happiness, a little sorrow, a little bit of...everything.

The sun made her feel beautiful, made her feel special.

Staring at it with closed eyes made her feel brave. Then why was it so incomplete?

Why did it all feel so, well....lost?

Where do we belong?

We've all heard about the site 'Ask.fm' where people anonymously ask each other questions, be it about their personal life or just for fun. I recently joined this site just to see what kind of questions people ask and how people react to such questions. But one answer really infuriated me.
A person was asked to describe his country (India) in 3 words. He replied saying 'Cricket. Rape. Corruption'. Now I understand the frustration a normal Indian faces everyday regarding the growing cases of rape and corruption. But why insult your own country on a public forum knowing fully well that the person sending the question might just be from a different country? Is this the picture we want to give others about India? We should be proud to be Indians and should talk highly of our country. This brings me to my next point.
I hear a number of Indians, specially students, criticizing the country and saying that they want to leave it. It bothers me that educated Indians themselves have no will to help develop their own country. India cannot grow until the people want to make it grow. Unfortunately, people, including me, have been influenced too much by the western culture. We see America and all we want is to live in a country as 'classy' and developed as America. Why don't we think even once that if we leave, how will our country flourish? It is the people who form a country, not the government and not the old politicians. I am not implying that all of us should join politics and run the country. But the least we can do is lead it to the path of development in the best possible way we know.
Charity begins at home. Our home is India and we are Indians. Running away from this fact won't change it.