What is your dream, then?

Actually during our trip to Araku valley, in the south eastern part of AP near the Orissa border, in the Coffee Museum while talking to the owner who also happens to be the owner of Caffè and bakery in the same premises, my husband mentioned something regarding his offer to me about opening a Caffè of my own, which I declined or say did t take seriously. To his comment I replied saying I am made for doing something big not this. He jokingly said everyone is not KFC owner who succeeds after 60, when will you start? At that time I merely mentioned about my passion for writing and that I am already doing my bit for it, I mean no one reaches the top in first step. He shrugged his shoulders and the matter was dismissed. 

Today morning when we were returning from there back to Vizag, he once again took the topic and asked what I was doing to perceive my dream, am I writing or not? I replied to him seriously yes I am writing, at least I have started. His next question was, what I wanted to write I mean how did I want myself to be known as? A poet or something else? I said I want to write poems, and stories & something that fascinates me. But now lying in my hotel bed, I am really thinking hard what I want to be? I mean what I want to write? One thing for sure poetry, songs and everything related to it, is on my first preference as other comes naturally to me. Then as I mentioned in my post on TPIB…ONE OBSESSION THAT MADE YOU BETTER about my dreams of writing a novel and a script of a movie I am longing to write since my teenage, I want to persuade that. But how to materialise these dreams and how to get them published online and what is the procedure of submitting the same online.

Now I am really serious to start it but only confusion is how to publish… but keeping aside the publishing matter I think I can start working on the book.  Later will see what to do. Will write first then compile it, hope it works. Need blessings of you all.

Sleep paralysis and hallucinations

Aaaaahh…! So scary yet non avoidable..this is the situation. I have sympathy with the victims of sleep paralysis and hallucinations. No! Don’t get me wrong.. I to am the victim of it since I remember. I have many experiences engraved in memories, scene by scene. 

The latest being very weird as it was not that horrible but strange and for the first time it felt that I have tried to move my hand that s not physical and felt the jerk in my shoulder…may be an OBE or what else. This is the second time I felt this movement but first time it was not followed by SPAH. This was thrilling till I didn’t have SPAH because it was very disturbing,  emotionally this time. And to come out of it I tried to rotate my wrist and after sometime found my voice and surprisingly I was not sleeping at all, my eyes were open and was seeing my children sleeping. When I shouted ‘aaahh’ that time I could turn and see my husband awake from my sound and comforting me. But believe me this the second time that I am wide eyed. Last it was when I saw a girl standing in my window and trying to scare me and instead I screamed  towering over her and then was shaken by my husband. 

Whenever I have these episodes I can’t go back to sleep, soon. But this time it was different and after my husband shook me I just shrugged of the whole episode like dust over shoulder and slept calmly like that was nothing. Just was emotionally disturbed by it. This is a first time experience. Because I saw my hubby pressing my wrist to my side and sing something in a voice that doesn’t belong to him later I recognised that it was his mistress’ and thus emotional rather then horrible but in a way more disturbing and horrible than any scary experience. These days whenever I am having these SPAH episodes I am encountering someone related to me then turning in to someone else to scare me. I don’t know why this is happening but it’s really sad and undesirable. My mom who passed away 7 to 8 years back is most reoccurrent in these episodes. Once she came into my husband’s dream and said I have come to take my daughter back with me and took my hand and started to walk out of the door when my husband shouted my name loudly and seeing me beside him slept peacefully. Since then I am either seeing my both dead parents in my dreams or her in my SPAH episodes. In dreams they ask me to accompany them back home or they usher  e into car and drive back. In SPAH I am either smothered or terrified or tried to be killed. Only once she came in SPAH before coming in my hubby’s dream and that was 6 years back but since then nothing. 

No what all this means I don’t know but I don’t want to get emotionally drained rather prefer to be scared to death.

I have the ending…

Once again I am staring blankly at the paper as like usual I have the ending for my post, and just now popped two lines in my head that may go for the begining of the post. But in between there is a vast space lying empty to be filled in as if fitting pieces of any puzzle. Hope to get something soon as I have to be ready with the post by next week and in the mid of this week I will be out of station. I am just dumb stuck.

Having the endings all the time, may not be the good idea I suppose. I should think of begining first, sometimes. It might get me help and boost my thought process for coming up with the complete posts speedily. Otherwise it’s like having many thoughts kept in a pouch and taking out blindfolded one by one and adjusting them accordingly after putting them on the paper.

I guess this way helps me when I have lot of time or when there is nothing in specific to write about. Scratching my head is giving me burning sensation but not the point to go forward with, I mean as soon as I want to. It’s going by the snail speed. And the topic is bit  on fusing,  still hope that I will be able to come up with something readable and post able by the end of the week. 

Seeing my regular posts I think I should keep that post also a short one, not exceeding 750 words, may be in that way I can compose something meaningful. Crossing my fingers I put the dot here and start that one by organising my shuffled thoughts.

Words are dagger

Your words are like dagger 

Sunk deep in my heart

Though you spoke days before

But the sting is there to stay

Pain I cannot bear

Let me go hide somewhere 
These words of yours 

Are sharper then any sword 

The cut that they make

Is not to heel ever

May be I did something to earn 

Those poisonous pricks 
The words lost into the air 

Left behind a painful trail

Love got driven in a way

May be it’s on backseat hidden away.

Never was I entitled to that rudeness

It won’t heal in ages.

Looking out

In my room there is a window completely grilled. If I have to look our of it then I have to press my face against the grills and then only I can see properly. Though the window doesn’t offer a very fantastic view but does provide fresh air and some sunlight to enter room making feel fresh, airy and sunlit. 

Outside, as I said it has nothing much to offer as it looks into our residencial building. So whenever I look our what I see is a lift with channel gate, that has grown bit older, steps beside the lift. And the flooring is of stone slabs. And half cemented. The reason behind the cementation, being the rain water filling in. Then to the left of the lift some parking is visible. There is a silver grey car in one of the parkings, having a sticker of ‘Sai baba’. Some scooters are also there. The first floor seems quiet always but the second floor is always filled with children as it’s the floor where  most of the children of the apartment are, then third floor has two young boys and two toddlers who always are seen playing in the common area of the floor. Then comes fourth floor where most of the time a small pomeranian pup is seen playing with one of the kids of apartment. It stays with the family on the same floor but refuses to go in unless taken forcefully. In the evening an old aunty is seen walking in the common area on fourth floor. Fifth floor is bit different in view as it is the last floor and sees the open sky above it, so some people have put little greenry in front of their apartment, and from here steps go up to the terrace. 

Sometimes in rainy season, when the water floods in the cellar, on looking from the window I feel as though I am in a boat or a ship sailing to some where. At night the reflections in the water make it very attractive. In evening some naught children go down till the edge of water level and play with paper boats. 

Thus is the view I have from my room window. Hope its sounds nice as much as it is nice to see.

 ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ 

Rani Padmini

Centuries have passed but love still thrives in the old walls of fort of Kumbhal garh in Chittor. Where  the blood of warriors flew down like water in river and the holy pyre was set like bed for a newly wed.

Why I am talking all of a sudden about this? Nothing important it’s just that a piece of news on TV about a particular movie reminded me of a story of love for mother land that all these thoughts came out all of a sudden.

So, here will start with our story, again a mix of historic romance and horror. Finally the history goes like this….

In the 12 to 14 century  (as historians differ on point) there ruled a king called Rana Ratan singh ( according to all but one historian, col. James Tod, who says Rana Bhimsi,  no historical proof for it yet)  his wife Rani Padmawati (again her are various views, regarding her place of birth, etc.etc) who married Ratan singh after he came to know of her beauty, as she was world’s most beauty full lady.

So one day through a courtesan of Chittor, who became rebellion, Delhi sultan came to know of this living beauty ( which again is not historically supported, but diplomatic reasons and rajput not abiding by his rule was the reason for his siege to chittor) and he attacked chittor, the unconquerable fortress of Rajasthan, and finally reduced to the demand of seeing Pad mini in mirror, to which she objected and first refused to let sultan see her but then on urging of Rana Ratan singh she agreed. From a distance of kilometre her reflection was shown in a mirror to sultan which he was not able to bear and fainted for a while and then decided to have her in his harem.  From this point started the war which first took Ratan singh as capitation and GORA BADAL went for his rescue and in last when sultan finally attacked Chittor, the males of the fort got dressed in saffron announcing do or die battle the ladies got pyres ready for self immolation. When from the war filed the news of defeat came Rani Padmini with her 16000 lady companions jumped into the pyre. And when the sultan entered the fort he found only the ashes and bones of the ladies he wanted to molest in his lust.

Now the freaky part is, when you go to see chittor garh,  and you go to see the area where the pyre was and the structure nearby,     you will occasionally hear some sounds of ladies crying,  shouting and of their agony. Sometimes you will hear a call and if you turn around you might see a burnt face lady in royal attire  asking for help to save her chittor.

Now what new point does SLB has to offer based on British authors book we need to see as one thing should be kept in mind that she was a warrior queen and secondly in Rajasthan in present days so much of pardah system s there, so think how the condition at time,thirdly she or any other queen in Rajasthan at least at that time was not allowed to dance in mehafils, even of ladies.

My wishes with warrior queen and they chittor family. Nothing is personal.

Catering hope.

When I am at my lowest I just want to get  and spring to the top most level possible but somehow there is this feeling that keeps nagging me and pulling me down to the dark pot hole where I can see nothing but my loneliness. I want to put some doors and windows in that room where there is nothing but a hollowness and vacuum and I keep floating g and banging here and there in my trials of getting our of there. But I and sure one day I will be and mile to drill a hole in that wall and get some fresh air and life. 

There are some days out there when some miracle happens and I find myself standing out of that  pithole feeling the fresh air on my face. Seeing all the colors of rainbow and smell all the scent of flowers in the garden. I see the butterflies and bees suckling nectar from the flowers, breeze making the trees dance and bow. Everything that nature has to offer to show it’s grandeur, I experience 3 very thing.  I feel life and the live wire running through my veins. I become alive. I forget or keep aside the cause for sadness and don’t even think about it when I am out of the pit. It’s th mere mention of it that my clear blue sky with rainbow turns to grey and becomes stormy.
I have no control over it  as I don’t have over sunny days but I am hopeful that one day I am gonna stay out of it for always, won’t have to return there ever, or will be able to put it behind and dance to my own tunes. I know it won’t ever go, it is there to stay and show up some how here and there, now and then but then also I might gain power to put it behind my mind and keep myself busy with so many otherthings such as happiness in small virtues, laughter in every second, hope in every thing I do, love in every word I write.

Excitement and enthusiasm I put from my side now, but then it will come from nowhere and will pull me towards it and will keep me on my toes. I am waiting for those days. I know prick of the pain will always be there but I will be able to cover it with smile and ignore it. I have started to confront pain with happiness so I keep my fingers crossed…

Mushrooms…childhood remembered down the memorylane

Mushrooms as I remember from my childhood were first introduced to my taste buds by my aunt. 

When I was a child I didn’t knew even how it looked let the taste be far far away. Once when I was in 4th or 5th standard my aunt went to her mother’s place, which is basically a remote area, from there she got a curry made by her mother which never got spoiled for 2 days. She gave it to me for tasting as I was making a fuss over it. So when I looked t it’s presentation,  I was flattered…it was Mutton! But surely not what is called  Mushroom. Even the taste was so heavenly. Since then it became my favourites curry or the in gid I entered,  but the problem was that we didn’t get that in our city, it had to come from that remote area and the local name for the kind was ‘khumbi’ the shape to was very exotic and color too was different. So I used to ask aunt to bring ‘khumbi’ or its curry for me whenever she went to her mother’s  place.  

Ages late when grand ma, aunt’s mom passed away and aunt’s visit to her birth lace reduced thus my affair with ‘khumbi’ too suffered then by and by aunt completely stopped going g there and thus ‘khumbi’ love came to a holt. But craving for the taste didn’t,  so I looked for some alternate and found varieties of mushroom and started taking intrest in them. Though I don’t get that childhood exotic taste in these supermarket mushrooms but still at least I am getting my dose and the relation still continues…but now in many forms not only curry…but soup, fried, pizza, with rice or in rice, many ways I have found to relish the delicacy. 

I would like to thankyou Michelle Weber for giving this word as daily prompt and taking me back to the childhood memory I nearly have forgotten or buried deep in some corner of mind.

My experience

I don’t know what to say but there is something wrong with me. I mean it’s what I am experiencing from yesterday evening. The moment I have finished the story I was writing from past 3 or 4 days has not left my mind. The plot….I am still getting the glimpses of what I imagined…the backdrop, the manssion where the whole story was based, the rooms, the door and the gallery etc. etc. It haunts me I think. Whenever I remember or think of any incident I find myself stuck in the horrid place. It’s just not ready to leave me think, may be my first brain child is not leaving Mama’s memory.

The joke is that it is reeling in my mind like a film that I have seen recently. And above that I, myself am, getting the feel that the glimpses are part of any film as they are so clear and afresh. Impact is such that I am bit scared not only of the story but of the situation itself. I don’t know how long I will face it, though I have stopped thinking about it. I think I am not going to write any horror anymore. But I don’t know why it’s happening this time as once before I tried my hand on script for a horror movie but the basic idea was not mine and I don’t think I took it so seriously. Well, whatever the matter, I was not bothered after I put the pen down and was free but this time it’s different. To get rid of it I have picked up writing another topic immidiately this time otherwise I give 1 day break at least.

I think this time some chemical imbalance has taken place. It’s horrific to feel all those scary incidents again playing in my mind specially when I am alone. I keep looking at things repeatedly or keep turning back to check over my shoulder and looking g into the spaces for shadows or something that could be on move and is see through, taking shapes, floating and staring without having eyes or even face and is grinning.

Now, here I go again…With all those  vivid images of my imagination. So I think I must stop writing. Will change the subject for next post, just to forget it all. Back to back I am writing to get rid of that story etched in my mind so impressively.

Reading a book from back to front

These days I am reading a book ‘Save the Cat!’ by Blake Snyder,one of the best Hollywood spac screenplay writer and believe me it’s really a good guidance for learning good tricks in writing business. Basically it deals with screenplay writing and selling the same but then it goes for any kind of writing.

Till now I have read the part related to the selling of the screenplay, i. e. when it’s finished and ready for selling and the tips he has shared are best of the business and good to be followed. When the end is so impressive I believe the starting will be equally impressive. 

I know you must be thinking I am nuts but I have this habbit of reading from the last. You won’t believe even the mysteries also I read from the last page! Not even the chapter but the last para! In school and collage days also I used to study my text books from the last page! I am a dictionary to read that way. When I used to buy Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew, I hope you remember or might know what I am talking g about, then also first I used to read the title, then the synopsis at the back cover, then the first dialogues written on the first two pages then went to the last page and start with the last para and then continued in the same manner till it gave me th idea what the story is about. Then went to the first chapter and started reading in the normal fashion. 

Till now that habbit is there. Today I have finally complete my short horror story but the exciting part was that alike reading writing also took the same route…I knew what will be the climax or the end of the story so when I started writing, my story moved forward to the already known ending so whatever occured in there it was all leading one by one to the prefixed ending. All fell into place by itself like missing pieces of a puzzle. Though everything ended as expected but still am not satisfied with it. It being my first attempt to story writing  will always hold a special place. But I am happy that I finally accomplished first english short story and can learn from the shortcomings of it. It’s my trial, my teacher and my first jewel.