It hurts

Its not new. At all. Its painful instead.The sense of being cornered,the feel of being ignored. The desire to be closer. All are painful. Equally. Something wrong happens every time. And I come to realize the space and gravity I hold. I hold a space like air. Expected to be squeezed in to a small balloon and expected to be leaked too. Expected to be ever expanding and at times and expected to be like air, inert to all these. So color, no taste.Just stay inert. And then it come in like the air trying to going out of the boundary of the balloon. But It remains to regain its space,when the balloon bursts. It waits.Like I do, with hope.

Truly
Abinash

Goa - The see experience of the sea (personal account)

Standing on the porch of the land, the beach the sight holds the infinity. The bubbly waves run into you foaming around the feet and embrace you with the welcome hug. The smell of the blue that the wind brings and moist you lips is enriching. The feet move deep into the water gripping the sand beneath and fingers snuggled. A smile runs through the face and arms stretch wide open to have the juvenile desire to hold the whole sea, the whole horizon. As you move you feel the chill of water and warmth of feeling that it brings. The mild music, the hearty laughs, the sound of wave, the dancing beauties magnify the whole sight into a scenery. The whole beach is a world in itself. Lively, enchanting and engrossing.



Off the beach lies the small huts decorated with lights, flowers and the handicrafts to create the genuine sense of being in Goa. Lovely couples walking hands in hand, energetic elders living their youth again, and the local residents running to earn a business make the crowd off and on the beach. The idly and chatni on the banana leaf makes the breakfast more delicious. The smell of fish curry and the menu of seafood brings the foody even in the fitness maniacs. The speeding bikes, the white skinned bare bodied mass, the hippie stylish women make you a sight of youthfulness. Smiling you move on to the road to explore the beaut of sea, the country sight embodied in the catholic styled houses holds your eyes.



Long way down the sea are the water freaks taking up sports. Gliding above the blue line, diving into the depth, conquering the waves. The days see it all. The wave becoming tide. The dry becoming wet. The rise going down. The boats returning soar. The beach becoming a party. The day becoming night. The darkness becoming enlightened. The silent wind becoming musical. The day sees it all. The sea prepares to welcome a new day. Goa lives in every drop of the sea and the sea lives in Goa.

Random thoughts - Again

Well I was wondering what all things you see here around us and find to your utter surprise, they are socially, personally entertained. Not a question asked and taken for granted..

1. Staring at people
2. Riding bike on the pavement
3. Bad garlic breath with an aroma of onion
4. Ogling at "Female" (any age, any shape, any race.... includes bitches :P)
5. Running behind the time, thats an official governmental attitude now pursued by every citizen of the republic
6. Being an IT professional
7. Being a politician
8. Spitting just any where (including inside theaters, public transport - thats why its public, government office's walls, on a bald head, over a Mercedes) it adds to bio degenereable content to environment you know.
9. Pissing - any where again... on walls, on animals, in the public gathering, in front of girl's hostel, inside college class rooms, just any place you think of even it adds to the biospheric fuel.
10. Blame anyone you find dead or alive, mass or indivisual, for anything that entertains you.

If you find some one doing all the above welcome to the community, its an Indian.

Truly
Abinash

The loner

Abandoned, silently it lied there. Moist on the ground. It had someone's company. Sometime, some where. It had the sense of belonging. The beauty of decoration and the fragrance of admiration. It had all, in it. But its felt aside, it has lived its stint. Left over on the ground, no beauty it looks anymore, no fragrance it dispels in the coll air that touches it. It just lies there waiting. Waiting in the hope that the air will bring it its company, its beauty back. The air will take away the loner with it. And it will rejoice again, now in hope and then in possession. Possession of the one who left. It alone, uncared.

Truly
Abinash