To the Angel in Blue Jeans

I have never done this on my blog. But, the Angel too had never visited me. This is a letter, reconstructed, I wrote to a girl who left me for the good. At least, that is what I felt like – that she left. A post, I never wanted to publish on this blog in order to keep it clean, is this one. Only later do I realise, keeping your stuff clean doesn’t mean you don’t add dirt to it. It is more about recognizing the stain.

Dirt is the mud while stain is what remains.

To justify this post, I know my writing needs no justification. Plus, it is no good of a writing if I don’t get in bed with my vulnerabilities. So, here goes nothing – come what may.

I am someone who spoke about Newton’s Law of Heating while she was trying to break up. But, the World’s Best Boss proves it could have been better. I showed Bhuvana my numismatics and the century old coins. 1857’s One Quarter Anna could do nothing but remain valuable even 160 years later. While I mourned a loss imaginable, I thought a letter in an envelope would do the deed when a message on-screen could not. Somehow life made sure my loving mom finds it out before the post-man. And, here’s the message!


To the Angel in Blue Jeans,

Actually, I have lost the letter. Purely, goddamn. I do remember one line from it which went on the notes of –

“I have a million stories to tell you when this distance keeps increasing into millions of miles”


Pretty good, right? Jack would tight an ick of rose to that.

One thing I noticed is my love towards stories. Film-making. And, the life that is just. I knew this all the time. But, never really aware of it. Here’s a glimpse of the first story-outline I ever wrote. Or, the first physically existing proof of it.

Do you know this is a story outline? Okay, just making sure.

Phew.

Writing about Love

First of all, it is surprising among Indians to see an engineer do anything other than engineering let alone writing. And, Indians see writers either as intellects or the hard hit love song boys. It is extreme, either ways. That spectrum somehow seems so normal even across the world. Maybe it is true.

I find many venting out about their love failure, which they should, than about their work or families. Which also, they should. I too have written about my failed adventures with loving a person and to this date don’t find a reason why it should be public. Also, all kinds of audience regularly come across such articles. It has, interestingly, become a subject of regular talk over the internet.

You might hate it or be a part of it.

One aspect I like is the fact that many can talk about it now. Talking about your problems is a very good way to solve them and even realise the matters you have no control on. Writing is a form of talking.

Some want to do it in the public, and some behind the windows. But, all want to do it and only a few do.

Book Stranger

Wonder do I hourly
Juggling, kick the scar low
Rock slip fairly
Juggling, kick the scar low

Willy done with the hill
Jeopardy, one won’t be
Reels went on to fill
Jeopardy, one won’t be

Wired to the source out
Jill, jiggled joyful
Running to the fallout
Jill, jiggled joyful

Wonder do I timely
Jogging, to my beats
Ruin hunts for Presley
Juggling, to my deeds