For every (wo)man every moment passes, each moment has a next moment to it, untill he dies.

Some people are built so differently, and neither parentage nor environment can be proclaimed responsible for that, their goodness is an innate quality, something they are born with, something they will die with...and sometimes we are fortunate enough to meet such people who would not be pointedly good but we get the point somehow and we are sad we aren't all that good, but we try nevertheless. Thank God for those few good (wo)men.

This is a piece of poetry I heard somewhere. Loved it. Can anyone tell me who wrote it?

Hawa boye shonshon
tara ra kanpe
hridoyeo ki jong dhore
purono khap e?

I offer no excuse for my randomness.

I ought to write something but I am suffering from a major writer's block. Can't write a thing. So I'm gonna take some time off.
By the way, Pujo's been good. But it came and went before I could blink and say 'floccinaucinihilipilification'. I think it's becaue you've been around.Thank you. You've made things so different and everything a shade brighter.
Shubho Bijaya!

Initially love excites, then it protects.

Rainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainrainarain...

I walked in the rain today.:D.Willingly(will have to pretend otherwise).
Loved it.
Loved it.
Loved it.
And when I was in the auto the tangential rain wet me thoroughly, and the plastic sheet that was being used as a rain-shield refused to comply with their (the auto-driver's and my co-passengers') wishes and flapped itself madly. Oh, I loved every moment of it. And through the rain-dotted windscreen I could see the sky, wrapped in grey and what seemed white in contrast approaching us.Erm...I felt downright romantic...and somewhat like a Bollywood masala movie heroine...And I was reminded of Sikkim...the wet afternoon, the softened, sad light,me feeling happy as can be...Sikkim is so breathtakingly beautiful!! Funny how almost everything reminds me of Sikkim. I'd give anything for another trip to Sikkim, but I don't think I ought to go back. It might spoil the charm, I might raise my expectations too much! I must write about Sikim sometime. Those green hils, those sinewy roads, the little bridge in Jorethang, the moonlight, Varsy top, Kanchenjunga in the white moonlight,the long, long trek...THOSE WERE THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE!!

NO! Kheyedeye mota howa does NOT top the chart of my priorities, thank you very much! whatever!

And if you find this post random, blame it on the rains.They upset my chemical balance everytime they pay me a visit. But hey, I'm not complaining.I am very very very happy...(till parents come to know of my complicity in the forbidden act).

Right now, I am torn between three options of relaxing myself-blogging, watching Norbit on HBO, lying on the bed in my dark room, the mixed sounds of raindrops hitting the pool and wet leaves rustling and rain hitting hard on the cemented courtyard and the window-pane, entering me. I chose blogging over the others though the last one allures me so badly that I might stop right in the middle of a post and head towards my room.

But I need to talk.

Words have an expurgating effect, like rain. An exorcising effect. Sometimes when you are frightened, oppressed by the tyranny of a ceratin thought that refuses to leave you in peace, try words. Words hurt, words heal...like time and rain...and friends and truth sometimes.

Truth has a strange nature. It hurts and yet truthfulness is a coveted virtue. And then again, truth is multi-faceted , many-layered and relative. I try sticking to the truth. I violate truth for my conveniences, to cover-up for my carelessness, my reluctance in co-operating with my parents on issues of food and medicine. And even that makes me feel guilty. But if it's for someone else's life, should I or should I not violate the truth, if need be? Even white lies are lies.

This is just a stupid and random post. So don't bother.

I walk back home. The short, narrow pot-holed path to my home seems longer than usual, my bag heavier. I'm fingering the straps of my book-laden bag about to split at the seams as I splash through puddles and get splashed by speeding cars with blinding headlights that don't care a thing about my existence. I sit looking out of the auto on my way back home. The wind slams on my face and I cringe. I gather the loose starnds of hair from my sweaty face and tuck them behind my ears. The bill-boards outside shine bright. The earplugs in my ears belt songs one after the other and I lose track. I study faces and search for faces on the windows of the high-rises. I like the fact that they are indistinguishable from this far, that they are tiny blotches of indistinct colours. I turn to look at my co-passenger. There isn't a pair of dark brown eyes,watching over my trance-like state, drinking in every minute change in my expressions. Every song makes me cry. I swallow my sudden urge to hold a hand and cry like a child like I swallow my words and put them to sleep.

Thank you all for loving me so much. Thank you for being there always.
Thank you for your love.
:)
I'm just plain happy. Touchwood.