The Sacred Thread

Nope. This is not what you think it is. I'm no advocate for religion. Before we break that down, I'd like to talk about hope. Hope, to most of us is just another four letter word. As kids, hope is the feeling you have when India needs a boundary of the last ball and MS Dhoni is on strike. As you grow older, hope morphs itself. Your understanding of hope is as fuzzy as the vision of a drunk doper. Yep. Double power. When you're in college, hope is that little thing inside you that consoles you when you're having a breakdown. It's that little thing inside you that convinces you to wait for an opportunity. It gives you that reserve confidence to fight back and claim your spot. A lot of what I'm writing is either directly or indirectly chained to the doomed gates of engineering. What if I never wanted this? What if I was blindsided into making this decision? What if I want to write? Am I still not a kid? Hope is that little thing that flashes in front of your eyes that draws a little smile that allows you to fight through the pain. Hope is a good thing. Or maybe not. All I'm doing is hanging by a thread. Maybe that's why I'm wearing a sacred thread. Oh, did I just go on ranting about hope? Must make more clever title choices. Duly noted!

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The End

The title of the post must be self explanatory. I started this blog as a vent. A vent for everything in my head. On a few days, I'd sit and write whatever was floating in my mind. It brought in a lot of serenity, a lot of closure to the multitude of happenings. On top of all that, I realised what most people actually feel. Initially, I thought I was alone and the thoughts creeping up in my head was a part of me and me alone. Once I started writing, I got to understand that there are people who feel the same. I don't necessarily know if the blog made you happy or sad. I don't know if it made me happy or sad. I wanted to write and this was my platform for the same. I've found my love for writing. I've found peace and solace in it. I will continue to do so but on a different platform. A new beginning. Soon. In my journey to understanding why I feel the way I feel, I realised that most of us are filled with a lot of disturbance. There's a lot of rage agains...

Music

I probably have to start using my own images before somebody throws the copyright infringement on me. All done in complete innocence, I testify. Nevertheless, today I felt like writing about music. For that, we'd have to take a trip down memory lane. Was the summer of '17. I'd pop on my headphones, listening to music on Spotify, as I enjoyed the serenity of Singapore's quiet roads. Those were the best days of my life. Though I was breaking my head over what to do with this massive commitment staring down my rather empty brain. * shudders *. Music was a means of escape. I'd go to the gym, take a long, refreshing bath and pop on my headphones. Such pain my ears have been subjected to. When summer was about to come to an end, I had but one thing to request. Wake me up when September ends. I'm very specific about capitalising. The internet is a mean and dark place filled with critics. I'm not taking my chances. On a lighter note, fast-forward to winter, ...

The Part That Lived

Having just finished performing at the international music festival, a heavy hearted Karan found his way back to his room. The grip on his guitar was loosening and his heart beating fast. Flashes of her face is all that he could see. His eyes still held love for her. The one that left him 7 years back. His heartbeat, racing like a horse, knew nothing but the love for her. He had grown tired. People walking past were patting him, congratulating him for the stellar performance on stage. His dream had finally come true. He could now look up at the skies and tell the world beyond that he had moved on. As he walked into his room, placing his guitar on the table, he crashed into the bed. As the night grew older, the strings of his guitar told his story. The story of a young boy whose only mistake was the love he had. All the years they spent together snapped in one instant just like the strings of the guitar. How worn out it had become. The night was still young, reminiscent of all the sle...

Amidst chaos lies our meaning

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