Long hair

It's time to say goodbye...

...but it's not a time for sadness.

LJ was a wonderful wonderful world. One where I littered my escapades, adventures, joys, and pain; littered it with words I scarcely understood, but which came from unknown spaces within me. It was also a world where I met experiences, experiences and anecdotes from some really unique people. It was a world where conversation and catharsis were not mutally exclusive. It was good. But it's now time to say goodbye..

Its time for a new beginning. I have not been writing for the past 3 years..but I hope the verbal constipation doesnt continue. I plan to now write at....http://www.saish.in

I hope to see some old faces lurking in my new world...drop in a line..say hello...smile...would be nice...:)

Till then...

Long hair

Need travel info..

Not sure how many people are still there on LJ....but if you are, and still reading...I need some travel information.

I am travelling to Malaysia end of this month. My original plan was to just do KL and Langkawi, but now I feel like doing the less commercial places. After quite a bit of research, I have zeroed in on a few more places - simpadan island is Sabah (this one I REALLY feel like doing; its supposedly among the top 5 diving beaches in the world), Tioman Island, and Redang Island.The problem is ..how to get there. These areas seem kinda inaccessible (I guess thats the beauty of it ) or very expensive. H

Would really appreciate if I get first hand information. While I am grateful for the vast information in the virtual world, would feel really comfortable if I could talk to someone who has been there. Has anyone of you been there..or know people who have been there? The trouble is that while places like europe have really excellent websites, and travel options, it doesnt seem to be the same in the East.Any information would be valuable..tips on getting there, hotels, cost.....

Please leave your comments here..or you could mail me at meghainclouds@yahoo.co.in.
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On New Year, most people decide to start a new diet. I decide to start with home made chocolate puddle cake - lots of gooyey  chocolate in lots of warm chocolate cake.

And its all Bipin's fault..he woke me up talking of chocolate cake!

Happy New Year Everybody! Have a great year ahead - with lots of chocolate, lots of mushy love, lots of interesting experiences, and lots and lots of happiness! :D
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0 % unique? 71 % herdlike? :) Absuardly obsure?

Quite a jolt to my ego, but what can I say :) >

So, meghainclouds, your LiveJournal reveals...

You are... 0% unique, 0% peculiar, 29% interesting, 0% normal and 71% herdlike (partly because you, like everyone else, enjoy travel). When it comes to friends you are normal. In terms of the way you relate to people, you are wary of trusting strangers. Your writing style (based on a recent public entry) is absurdly obscure.

Your overall weirdness is: 26

(The average level of weirdness is: 29. You are weirder than 58% of other LJers.)

The Blogalyser reveals...

Your blog/web page text has an overall readability index of 11.

This suggests that your writing style is conventional
(to communicate well you should aim for a figure between 10 and 20).Your blog has 58 sentences per entry, which suggests your general message is distinguished by verbosity
(writing for the web should be concise).


male malefemale female
self oneselfgroupworld world
past pastpresentfuture future

Your text shows characteristics which are 54% male and 46% female
(for more information see the Gender Genie).
Looking at pronoun indicators, you write mainly about yourself, then the world in general and finally your social circle. Also, your writing focuses primarily on the present, next the past and lastly the future.
Find out what your blogging style is like!

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Long hair

Miss Goody Shoes

As a kid, I had quite the reputation of being Miss Goody Shoes. :) While I dont really think i strived towards it, I dont really remember doing much to correct the impression either. Oh I have to tell you that I wasnt really good - its not that I didnt 'think' anything bad; I just was terribly bad at executing things.

I guess this is as good a time to slay the demon of Miss Goody Shoes.

I have always been a voracious reader, and my parents have always indulged me. It was always okay if stayed up late reading, or if I came late for dinner, or got late in the library. It helped of course that I was not only good at studies, I also liked studying (ewww, I know its gross, but I didnt particularly get a chance to slap myself as a kid). However, there was a unfortunate phase in my literature loving years - a phase I am extremely proud of. The Mills and Boon phase. From Amar Chitra Kathas, to Enid Blytons, to Dickens, to Maugham to the Russian classics - my reading was all very respectable like me. So it was quite surprising when my dad found that he had to pay for an increasing stash of M&Bs from the library. He didnt say a word - my dad finds it difficult to talk about anything which is connected to boys and romance :) Anway, he was relieved when I was in the tenth standard, and he could legally put a restriction on the amount of books I could read - ALL the books. He didnt have to specifically mention the M&Bs.

At this point, I have to tell you I had a bad attack of M&Bs, much more damaging than any viral attack or measles or mumps or whatever. I was bad, very bad. No you dont understand. I was horrendous. I used to take like 10 books from the library at one strech, and read like two a day; three if I could manage to eat a really long dinner. And it wasnt even a short spell - it went on and on and on. Btw, if anyone needs any information on M&Bs - authors, styles, themes, anything - just ask me - am da man; I can write a whole thesis if required. But I digress again. My dad had enough - it had to stop - he restricted all books till I finished my board exams. I was not really devastated. There is where the bad part girl comes in.

That year was really hectic; in addition to the pressure of the board exams, I had Bharat Natyam classes, computer classes, and 'eat as much as you can' classes. Well, the last one was really dinner time. Anyway, the whole day was crammed with activies, and I barely got enough time to breathe. At this time, my dad decided that I should wake up at five every morning to study. As cruel as it sounds to all of you out there, it really wasnt; those were the days when I could wake up before eight thirty without throwing abuse at the Gods above. Note again - this is where bad girl kicks in. My poor dad would wake me up at 4.45..cuddle up with me till 5, nicely seat me on my reading table with tea, and then go into the kitchen to help my mother. And what would I do? I would open my thick text book, open it to page 77, take out a new M&B from my stash, place it strategically between the book, hold the book very straight, and read it with as much concentration as my chemistry text book deserved. You think its sane to wake up at five in the morning and read a M&B?  What can I say? Thankfully, someone told my dad that sleep is extremely essential for Board Exams, and he decided that it was enough that I woke up at 7. Really, what can I say? I WAS a sidey, corny, cheap teenanger. I just never gained enough credit for it because I also was one of the school toppers in the Board exams. Some people never get recognition for their true worth.

Why do I remember all this now?

Yesterday was a hectic day at work.I had logged in from home and was working till 11pm. While my work was intense, there were frequent breaks when I had to wait for other people to complete their part and send it to me. During those breaks, I was reading a M&B (I still read them *defiant pose*) and my dad walks in with a cup of tea. I could swear it was almost exactly the same feeling as 15 years back. This time I was working on a laptop and had nowhere to hide the book. I quickly shut the book and almost thew it on the bed and concentrated on the laptop with fierce concentration. My dad just kept the tea on the table and walked away.

It almost took me a minute before I realised that I wasnt fifteen anymore, and it wasnt my board exams, and I was actually MUCH past the age of reading M&Bs, and even if that was true, I could read them without hiding. It was a weird feeling. In the years between fifteen and thirty, I did go on to do a lot more justice to the bad girl tag I wanted, but I hadnt thought that being caught with an M&B at the age of thirty by my dad, would actually get me embarrassed. It did. Its a sobering thought that at the grand old age of thirty, I really have to work on the Ms Goody Shoes attitude. Seriously. Really quite a lot to think about. And of course quite a lot to work on - as you see, this is not the day we will slay the demon of Miss Goody Shoes.


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Written a long time back...but didnt feel upto posting it till now... :)

Its been a long break - and this time it was not a case of verbal constipation - Its just that it has been difficult to articulate things - writing has been difficult, somehow the words dont seem to come as easily as they once did, and if they do, they dry up suddenly..suddenly there are multiple backspace keys and a lot of empty spaces, and I dont mean just on the computer. Have you ever had these phases where so much has happened, so much is happening, to you, to people around you - where there are moments, memorable and otherwise, and yet you dont seem to be assimilating anything - They seem to be passing you, they seem to be telling you something but you just cant understand what it is. Its very simple and its right in your face and yet, yet whatever it is...it seems to be slipping away from your fingers. A small slice in time....fast paced moments, defining moments, loving moments..and yet that whole slice seems to be static.

I know I am not making sense, but I did warn you :) Words dont come that easily these days. I have considered myself to be a good observer of life, and yet life as it passes by, with its innumerables follies, it doesnt seem trigger any response any more..at least with writing.

Life is a journey of self-discovery they say - and as each day passes I struggle to see myself, clawing aside the banality of existence, and clouds of self deception. I try to question myself, my being - not as much the heights I can achieve, but also the depths I can sink to. I try to smooth wrinkled beliefs held in tight-fisted but aged hands, to wade through platitudes and decaying romanticism and try to reach the bleary figure, that may or may not be me. 

Each day has moments - pleasant, boring, sensible, even lovable. I try to sift through these to find the ones where I am the most comfortable with myself, even when I try to understand what means. I am not unhappy, neither am I lonely, but I do think I am alone. I find distance around me, voids which I am not sure will ever fill up. Some of this could of course be circumstantial- a strange country, a different work place, and a new life. It would definitely be unusual if I acted as if nothing was different. But there's more - it suddenly feels that beliefs are perceptions and they need to change as the angle does; that convictions are rigid fingers that feed a self pandering ego, and that respect, as you were taught to respect it, is something which you cannot earn - it has to be there in everything around you.

Around 8 years back my roomie asked me if I had any regrets with my life, and I replied that I didnt. However, after a long pause, I did say that my only regret is that I hadnt done anything. She looked at me as if I has lost my head and asked me if I realised what a big regret that was. I had no words - my life at that point did resemble a newly mowed lawn - neat, pretty, and blooming...well, bland too. Almost a decade later I have the same conversation with another friend, and the answers this time were so different. A decade - so much happiness, and yet so much regret too - of kindnessess forgotten, of love thrown away, of malicious cruelty, of unwitting snobbishness, and the most unforgiveable of all - deliberate self deception. Oh there were always reasons; some days I even believe that those were valid reasons; on other days I take comfort with the reasoning that I woudnt be what I am without those reasons- and yet is it really important that I should be the Me that I am today?

As I watch TV, I seem to focusing on the little clock ticking away on the lower right corner rather than on whats happening on screen. Its a new movie thats playing, one I have never seen before, but all I can see is the remorselessness of time. The newness of everything around me just seems to bring the contrast of the old with it. I know that's the way it is supposed to be. After all 'old' and 'new' exist as antonymns in the English dictionary, dont they? But how are you supposed to transpire the time between old and new?

Sometimes I think I am a creature of nostalgia - loving the anonymity, the safeness, and cosiness of the past. I have held on to old books, old clothes, old credit cards, old friends, old lovers..refusing to let go. The memories associated with all of them are not happy, some decidedly painful, and some horrendously painful. And yet I dont let go - maybe I feel that if I did let go, my life would be the plain green lawn again. I dont know. I hope I would know soon.

The strangest thing just happened now. As I write to you, I suddenly realised whats missing. No, its not a Eureka moment. I dont grab it with triumph, nor do I gape at it with discovery. I just hold it with sadness - with my fingers paused at the backspace key, hoping that maybe I can rewrite it. I cant.

I miss the sense of being 'touched'.

Its ages since I felt that. Weird, isnt it?  As I look back at the myriad motions time has taken me through, I recall the excitement of a new life, the comfort of friendship, the overwhelming love of parents, the kindness of strangers, but I dont recall being shaken by any of it. Why?  I have not been a stranger to emotion - I mean, I am the same person who has touched raw wood being polished, and wept at the beauty of it. I am the same person who used to dance to tasteless Bollywood music on my own, and yet feel a million emotions as my arms arched into space. I am the same person who would rub oil into a child's scalp and feel emotion tearing right into my toes. I am not talking abt the giddiness of romantic love or the the torrid vulnerability that comes with it. That came, that destroyed, that passed - into realms I will never know again. No, I am not talking about that. I am talking about the heart, the heart that has been relegated to the status of a organ, a biological one at that. I am talking about  walking though a crowded, noisy street and feeling grateful, really grateful for being alive, and smiling as you stand like an idiot in the middle of it. I am talking about the ackwardness when I said good bye to a friend  on the phone, when I paused because I didnt have anything to say because words could not do justice to that moment. I am talking about the soundless quiet that pervades your soul while you are walking around a temple in silent prayer, your feet pressing into the squishy mud. I am talking about the wind that blows into your face and your being when you are sitting on a train step and a fellow passenger joins you, and you laugh together at the way your dupatta is flying - at the smile he gives you before he moves aside for your friend to join you.

I dont feel that anymore. That's what I mean by the remorselessness of time - not the first grey hair, not the ageing metabolism, not the signboard of thirty which appears in next year's calendar. Not even the acceptance of the acceptability of a life without a companion. That's what scares me - that time would take away the one thing without which I am just a shell, a shell with layers of self pandering beliefs - unkind, unimaginative, unreal.

Maybe its time to let go. Maybe its time that time learnt to be kind. Maybe its time that I learnt to trust it. Maybe..maybe words would be easier next time...

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(no subject)

I have never understood why I have given so much importance to love. All that is a weapon - a weapon to defeat people. A weapon to wound, lash out, to massacre - till you reduce the person whom you love to be much lesser than a puppet.

Love...I wish I never I knew what it was...
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