The events of the past

The other day my mom was talking about this regression specialist, who had come as a speaker at her Rotary meeting. People who can actually take us back into our past lives. When, you were a dog; a cat or a needle. Apparently our problems in this life can be related to our previous lives. So if you are claustrophobic it may have something to do with something that happened when your soul was in some other body.

And all the while I thought only the life we live currently is important. “Hinduism” and grandmothers do talk about past lives and the afterlife. But I never bothered coz I figured it wouldn’t matter since I didn’t remember it. And now I realised that they have ways of making me remember!

Of course there was this show called “Raaz Pichle Janam Ka” and the specialist did take contestants to their past lives, but they made it so dramatic that ultimately it seemed like a soapy drama.

I also recently spent 3 bucks to know who I was in my past life. You know, those SMS‘s network providers send you-“Know your love” ;“Know the secret of your name”; “know your past life”. Well, I tried it. They asked for my birth date which revealed that I was a builder. I had a “dynamic nature with huge energy”. I was also “excellent in planning and supervising”. Now I know so much about my past life.

Yet, I am not too sure if I want to bother with my various past lives. The present itself is so complicated. We have to figure out so much. To connect it to the past is taking it too far. 

Weirdness continued

This one is about questionable existence. Read on:

And then you woke up. And you saw me. I didn’t Know I was here, maybe I wasn’t. But you did see me, very very clearly (at least you seemed to). And yet I was not there ,I was visible, maybe, but I didn’t know of my existence. I wasn’t there yet? I may exist for you, but am not sure of my existence. I feel am not there. A wisp of sand. Out of nowhere. Yet I remind you of something, something long ago. But I was there Ofcourse I was there. You saw me. You couldn’t hold me though, nor touch me. I was sure that I was there. Yet I was not. Not for everyone. No one else was there. Just you (maybe me?)




My existence is questionable No one I know knows of me You know of my existence, I don’t.

And yeah, I don't normally post my poetry on my blog but since the theme is similar, here it is

Existence questionable



Disappear into nothingness,

I do not exist.

My body devoid of soul.

Sucked into a never ending hole,

the world is meaningless to me.



Disappear into the darkness,

the darkness is so thick.

Here I belong.



Disappear into lonelyness,

lonelyness is a friend.

Me not scared of it.

My isolation complete.

Weird until I decide not to be

I write some pretty weird stuff and have done so in the past. Regardless of how many people like what I am going to post in the next few lines I am determined 2 post the following. Some of the older weird stuff i had written for this other blog I had. Re-posted here. This is an experiment.. I am not responsible for any accident or tragedy that may occur after you read this. Here goes then:




My caged emotions are floating in my soul. Desperately waiting to break free into a newer world.


My emotions are endless, not enough for this world; neither enough for the universe.

Crude, raw, uncouth emotions. No words in this world to describe them. No language enough.


Un-nameable emotions. Numerous; vast.


And when they break free emotionless will I be?

No I think not.


New emotions will arise from the flames of the old.

Not born, they'll be reinvented, reformed.


The world will tell its story through my emotions. 

Booked

I don't like reading e-books for the same reason I don't  cover my books to protect them. I like to look at the cover when I take a book in my hand. 

I like the feel of books. Correction,I love the feel of books. I love the slight ruffling sound of turning the pages when waiting to savour the next few words. And the task of remembering the page number for the next time you read it. 


Like a typical bookworm I like the smell of old books. And I won't trade those yellowed, musty pages for a just out edition. There is something about old books which can't be replaced by the fresh out of the print edition.


The first book I remember reading was a musical version of " Goldilocks and the three bears". The book had a few switches for a bear's growl and other sounds with instructions at the appropriate places to press the switch. It was very exciting and became more of a toy than a book. I think I read it everyday just to get a chance to listen to the 'grrr' sound of the bears. 


My second favourite was "Red riding hood". I loved that story. (Aside remark: I also wondered if the 'big bad wolf' of that story and the 'big bad wolf' of "Three little pigs" were the same)


Another  favourite activity as a kid was making bookmarks. I was forever creating bookmarks out of old greeting cards. I still have some of them, tucked away at a corner somewhere. 

Ownership of books is important to bookworms. Borrowing a favourite book from the library just wont do! Spending money on stuff is difficult for me, but when I really, really want a book I don't blink an eyelid before taking out my wallet. 


I am the kind of person who will head instinctively towards the book section in a store; take out interesting looking books; read their blurb and type the names of books in my cell. And then, when I am back home I will add those names to my "books to read" list. Ah, yes, the list is long and yeah I tick off the books once I have read them.


Some people say that us bookworms are lost in their own world and don't know an iota of what is happening in the world outside the book they are currently reading. I feel, that we understand the world much better than other people. Reading makes us more perceptive than people imagine us to be. We know better than others that failure is not the end; that roses don't come without thorns; and that all stories need not have happy endings.

August was dry but September seems good enough

The whole of August was spent away from this blog. Not that I didn't write, I just didn't write for the blog. Sometimes I write stuff just for myself. I am quite selfish that way.