Friendship and Dinner Plates

 I don't know what's so scary about being emotionally attached to anyone. What if I consider you to be my best friend, and you don't? Poof. I immediately feel like one of those drag along friends you brag about to people you wanna impress : 

"Oh, him? Nah, he's not my best friend. Poor guy, he's so delusional. To even think he's MY best friend is a joke. Haha.." 

I had this sickness of opening up to people about things I wouldn't normally talk about. Just to get their approval. To let them know that I trust them that much. To leverage my openness for them to do as well, whether they like it or not; whether they're ready or not.

So today, I am as closed as Bartemius Crouch Jr.'s box used to jail his Polyjuice Potion victims.  I just cannot accept being close to anyone. I'm too scared that my investing in them emotionally wouldn't be reciprocated. I have friends, of course yeah. But no,

I don't have any best friends.

 I do not even get the definition! How can you be so close to a person and get that feeling back? That feeling of knowing that he/she is as dependant on me as I am on him/her - I never got that. And now, me sheilding myself from MAKING any best friends probably is hindering any CHANCE of that as well. Paradox, eh?

Of course, there are a few people who manage to trickle in through my mental wall. Dumbledore DID know the right way to open Crouch's prisoner box, didn't he? But they're such a precious few. And me, being the idiot I am, don't even realise or appreciate the reciprocation. I mean, how screwed up am I? 

I know this guy with whom I used to be great friends in my childhood. He's a coupla years older, in college right now. It's funny to think about how much we spent our times together. Now,  He comes for what, a few days in an year, we meet, we have  the his and hellos, and then we have that 'dinner-in-same-plate' wala thing. Then he goes home, I go home and gone. No chit-chat, no keeping in touch. Is this the friendship version of "No strings attached"? I'm not complaining, honestly. I'm glad I get company to eat food with. But what does that make me? A guy who can't value himself to be more than just a 'use-throw' friend? Maybe I think too much. 

Well, I guess I'm doomed to be a dinner-plate-sharing wala friend. But, I've learnt to compromise. What compromise, you ask?

Ever had that rasmalai  on your plate at a social function that gets mixed up with your panner butter masala, ruining its taste effectively? You still end up compromising and eating it because hey, atleast you get to eat a rasmalai! 

^That compromise.

What am I but confusion?

What am I but confusion?
I do not know what I love
I do not know what I detest.
I find prettiness in the alpine coves,
But I happily destroy them for my joy-fests.

What am I but confusion?
I say I am different because I love
I say I am unique because I care.
But it I who at the slightest whim, picks up the bow.
But it is I who destroys my self, just for the bigger share.

What am I but confusion?
That I say one thing
And do another
I just pretend to care for
This land given to me by my father.

What am I but confusion?
I say I know better.
But do I really do?
Am I not blinded by my greed?

The Retxed Way.

Dreams don't fade me away, neither does
Energy, life, or enthusiasm. I find space in your little
Xanadu. And funnily enough, I stay.
Try edging me out all you want,
Even scream out in desperation.
Reach out to anyone, but remember this, I will stay.

Here I am, your Dark Passenger, waiting to be fed.

My presence will be felt. Even in the closest of spaces will I be
Open, gaping, living only for Death.
Reproachful you are, relentless you are, respondent you are.
Goodness, with me around, it ain't possible.
And the sad thing is, I am your only friend.
Now smile, you've got a whole world to deceive.

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First attempt at an Acrostic. :) 

The Quota Question.

 Aarakshan was terrible. I can't believe that the same guy who brought us Raajneeti made this movie. The movie does raise some touchy issues. Quotas and reservations are a BIG question-mark.

• Should the BC/OBCs recieve special support from such a strongly secular and democratic nation?
• The Backward Caste people today argue that for hundreds of years they've been shunned by the Forward Castes and were not even given an equal opportunity. So today when it's their turn to do so, why are we whining?
• Should mere history and past-events serve as a medium of justification in today's highly competitive world?
• Today, it's the supposedly 'backward' people who live in palatial houses and own a number of cars and it's the 'forward' people who end up on the streets. Who really is the oppresed here?

 I feel that yes, the backward people must be brought forward, and reservations for such people should be done. HOWEVER, the people who are actually backward, those who cannot afford proper educational facilites, people who struggle to make ends meet, such people should be given reservation, not reservation on basis of birth and community. Only then would Reservations and Quotas be justified.
___________

Speaking of which, a very happy Independance day to all. 65 years FTW.

Street-lamp.

 The street was littered with empty soda-cans and dry leaves; it was Fall. As he walked down the pavement, a slight chill passed through his body that had nothing to do with the fiercely cold wind blowing at his face. 

It was like he was pushing a boulder, every step he took against the wind only wearied him down, and the only fear adrift in his mind was of falling back; and never ever reaching home. But languidly, deliberately, he sauntered on.

It was pitch-dark and the only illumination on the street was of the street-lamp ahead; flickering haphazardly, yet with a strange regularity that was slightly unnerving. As he moved forward, pushing away the veils of tenebrosity and silence that shrouded him, he sniffed. And the sniff was something so unnatural, something so abnormal that he felt the ambience around him change; it was no longer this indistinct alley anymore.

He stopped. His sight caught hold of the bruise he had gotten earlier that day.It seemed so much older, so much more parched. He had aged a hundred years that day. Suddenly, from nowhere, came this overwhelming wave of guilt and melancholy that threatened to engulf him, and he was scared. And then, a voice inside his head said, " Keep walking, and it will all go away."

And so he did. A river of tears trickled down his bare cheek as he did so. He stopped again and looked up to see a single ray of sunshine piercing through the valleys that lay in front of him. It was then he said, 

"I'm sorry."

And he walked on.