A Bundle Of Contradictions

“It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that misunderstandings are sure to make a grand mess out of things.” - From the ultimate classic novel on misunderstandings, Pride and Prejudice You know what’s the root cause of the most destructive wars and disputes?

Misunderstandings.

You know, the time when you say X and the other person interprets it as Y and then they botch things up until everything is broken beyond repair.
The saddest part is, there is no way of knowing that misunderstandings are about to happen. There are no formulas, no reconciliation statements, nothing.
There’s no way you get an alert on your phone or mail, saying, “MISSION ABORT! MISSION ABORT! THIS PERSON THINKS YOU ARE CONVEYING EVERYTHING IN THE WRONG WAY!”
Misunderstandings, to put it simply, are like rising volcanoes. There’s no process, no system. Boom! They just happen.
And you know what the worst part is?
You really cannot control how the other person chooses to interpret your actions. You really have no w…

It's one of those evenings.
You are lying on your couch, utterly bored. You are staring at the patterns on the window made by the rain pouring outside. There's nothing else you can do right now, except stare. 
You have no will whatsoever to get up and reorganize your desk. You have no desire to even look at your phone and immerse yourself in the deliciously addictive cyber world. There is nothing you really want to do except lie on that couch of yours and start off with your favourite past-time: 
Thinking. 
You start off pondering over all the grand plans that you had formulated and think about how everything just ended up dramatically opposite to what you had imagined. You think about how crazy you used to be, so many years ago, and you think about how you have grown so much as a person. 
Then gradually, you start thinking about all the people you've encountered in your life. 
You think about your doting parents, how they mollycoddled you in your childhood. You think abou…

Dear Bully,

Hi there, buddy.

I bet you don't remember me. Even if you do, I think I might be in the untouched, untapped holes of your mind.

But I?

I remember you very well.

I remember the first time we met, back in fourth grade. At first, I thought you were nice but later?

As the days flew by, I realised that I wasn't even worthy of being your Holiness's "acquaintance". The way you hurled your cutting words at me, the way your nose curled in disgust when you saw me and the way you made sure that I ended up crying my eyes out made it clear that I was a horrible insect that deserved to be stomped out of your way.

All those days, I remember distinctly, I found myself wondering as to why you hated me. I remember, I was being myself and it wasn't like I was hurting you on purpose or anything.

Let me be honest with you, my dear bully. I was hurt. Beyond hurt.

I won't go ahead and say that I was the bubbliest and the most cherubic child. But I won't deny th…

It is late in the night. You’re pacing across the room, anxiously biting your nails and desperately trying to grasp information from your books that you hadn’t touched since the day they had been freshly bought.
As you scan your textbooks and highlight every single thing (yes, including the full-stop), you feel dizzy. You feel like somebody has lifted your chin up, parted your lips and is force-feeding you until you are overstuffed and ready to throw up.
Then finally, as the clock strikes three (the time which a lot of horror movies state is the perfect time for all the ghosts and all things spooky to arrive), you slam your book shut and yawn. 
You walk to your bathroom and see your reflection – you look exactly like all the ghosts that our beloved horror movies talk about. Your hair’s messed up and filled with dirt, your eyes are droopy and laced with dark-circles and your entire body is aching, as if you have been waging a really taxing war. 
Then again, final exams are wars. You h…

The tragedy of this world is,
One cannot afford to miss,
The opportunity to be,
A normal human being; 
The world wants us to,  Conform to its norm;
The world wants us all to,
Ditch our uniqueness and stay uniform; 
But do you know,
What I really want to do?
Well, let me not waste any more verse,
And let me tell you: 
I want to,  Ditch the pretenses that I live in,  Abandon the fakeness that  I've got surrounded with,
Leave the toxicity,
Of this world; 
I want to,
Set my hair free,
And allow its locks to hit me,
As the strong wind blows;  
I want to,
Ditch my socks and sneakers,
Run barefoot as the cool dewdrop,
Of the grass tickles my heel; 
I want to,
Stop acting so klutzy and coy,
Scream my heart out in joy,
Because I'm a free, free bird; 
I want to,
Drop flat onto the grass,
Lay down there awhile,
Soaking in the peace; 
I want to,
Gaze at the surroundings for hours,
Committing the vibrant colours of life,
To my otherwise fickle memory; 
But the tragedy is,
None of this can ever happen;  Because nor…

Something I wrote a long, long time ago. I hope you can relate to this, dear reader! 

Your dreams are,  Vivid like reality and  They are so, so far;  They race in your mind,  Instead of stopping,  They continue to rewind! 
You slog all night, You put up a good fight,  But there's no one to see,  To see you do your duty; 
You pay heed,  You put passion,  That burns brightly like fire,  Over the thing you so dearly desire; 
You're still dreaming,  Lost in your own little utopia,  Until a few words,  Transform it into a dystopia; 
You come to know,  That the thing you crave,  Won't be yours,  But of someone else; 
You feel as though,  It's all a gigantic lie;  You feel so, so,  Utterly destroyed; 
All the sweat you put in,  All the love you showered in,  All the passion you utilised in,  Was just a waste of time; 
Now, your dreams are,  Shattered like broken glass and,  Will always be so, so far;  They will always race in your mind, Always haunt you,  And won't stop &…

As the title so blatantly suggests, I hate Math.

I don't exactly recollect the time when I enjoyed spending time with those numbers. 
Well, actually I can. I was really good at Math till the seventh grade. When I was in sixth grade, I got hundred out of hundred marks in Math. 
No, I'm not bragging or exaggerating. I can show you my freaking report card if you like. 
Anyhow. Back to the main issue. 
I started hating Math since ninth grade, I think? Partly because I had to understand almost every single thing on my own (as my teacher wasn't that great) and I became all the more discouraged when I got the most pathetic grades in the universe. 
Things became slightly better in the tenth and eleventh grade. 
But that doesn't mean that I have (again) fallen in love with Math. 
Let's weigh the pros and cons of mathematics, shall we? 
Pros:  Number One: It teaches you to solve problems.  Number Two: It makes you more logical.  Number Three: If you do get it, you score real…

Your looks aren't angelic,
Yet, you seem happy, not tragic;
You're street-smart,
But not as brilliant as Einstein; 
There is nothing,
Particularly dark about you;
I see you wake up,
I see you live your life; 
But I do not see your demons,
Clawing your insides,
Nagging you to do things,
Which will harm you; 
The room's dark,  You're all alone,
Protected from the cold,
Unprotected from your inner monsters; 
They come one after the other,  Slowly growing  more vicious;
The sad part is,
You cannot stop them; 
First comes fear,  A cold feeling in your heart,  Colder than the weather; Your fear is rejection,
Rejection from your family,
Rejection from your peers; 
Second arrives jealousy,
The most satanic of your demons;
You start envying everyone,
Including the ones you love; 
Then, hatred seeps in,
A burning intense feeling,
Which makes you feel disgusted,
About everything in your life; 
But the worst isn't over yet;  The sadness that comes,
It cannot be stopped;
You start crying silently,
Tr…

Me: Hey there! How are you?
XYZ: doin gr8 thnx
Me: That's a really cute profile picture!!
XYZ: K

XYZ: heyyyy
Me: I'm really under the weather, right now. I can't sleep and I'm sneezing way too much.
XYZ: K

Me:HOW COULD I FAIL IN THE TEST?? I'M SUPPOSED TO BE THE FREAKING REIGNING QUEEN OF THAT SUBJECT! I FEEL SO FURIOUS!!
XYZ: K.


I'm not someone who uses an excessive amount of SMS language. Sure, I use some words like LOL, GTG, BRB and ROFL, but most of the time, my writing style in SMSes is exactly like the way I write in an English paper.


I'm the Grammar Nazi that your parents probably warned you about. But don't worry, I would do nothing to you unless you use 'K' instead of OK. 
K - the most detestable word in the modern-day SMS language.

To all those people who do not know - 'K' is an abridged version of okay and it's the rudest word (or letter, whatever) in existence.

I could write an entire thesis on how much I hate it…