Cute, isn’t it?

Cute, isn't it?

Eating a cup cake isn’t all that hard, is it?

Go grab one now.


Oh Oldies

Remember your first phone?

I remember mine. Samsung SGH C300. Well, the first WHOLLY MINE phone rather. The slider phone. I would be lying if I said that it was my favorite. It required me to slide it open for every other action and would exit the application and lock itself when slid down. There was no other way to lock the screen apart from sliding it down either. The picture quality was pretty sad and the phone didn’t support a wide variety of image formats either. The back space button wasn’t the same as it was in the previous phones that I had used.The battery life was sad it didn’t support the normal graphical smileys! None the less, the phone was and is very dear to me. It is still alive. A few minor operations have been performed and it has survived.

There is one thing in particular, about that phone and the phones of earlier generations that I distinctly remember. If you would press the little red disconnect button or would slide it down while typing a message, it would get saved in your Drafts folder. Some fine day when a blinking message symbol would appear on the top of your phone screen, you would start exploring every folder and delete text to make  memory space. Then, you would come across these little drafts and recall when and why you had types each one of them. Some would be silly one word messages that made sense. Some others would be paragraphs explaining yourself, but had given up on because you thought it wasn’t worth it. Some were funny, but you didn’t send them because you thought it was offensive. Some others just were. You  would delete them eventually.  Suddenly, I sort of miss them.

I do not have a Drafts folder on my phone anymore, maybe I should be thankful too. 


On another note:



Till Next Time,

Keep Smiling.


Thought Chutney

We cry over little things, don’t we?

We cry over places that we are leaving behind.

We cry over things that turned from have to had.

We cry over losing money.

We cry over people who wouldn’t notice a smile missing from our face.

We cry over dams that were once bridges.

We cry over slow internet.

We cry over fiction.

We cry over our own mistakes.

We cry over crimes committed on us.

We cry over things that shall never be ours again.

We cry over people who were never ours.


Is it all worth the worry? Our eyes don’t merely tear when we cry, we’re tearing ourselves apart within.

The past is the past for a reason and space is scarce in one’s life. Open that little window and let worry take wings to fly out and diffuse. People and things must earn to make it to your life, shouldn’t they? If someone is in your past, the chances are, they deserve to stay there.

No place worth going has a shortcut, your sphere of joy being the first venue.



Yet Another

Another semester walks by me. My 7th semester exams ended today and I all I can ask for is decent results. Could you wish for the same for me, please?

People around me are claiming to have mixed feelings. That they’re happy that it’s over but they are going to miss it when it’s over. I had been told similar things by many of my seniors whenever I would tell them that I can’t wait to be done with my engineering. They would tell me that I would realise something around seventh semester that would make me want the eighth semester to last forever. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I haven’t felt of that kind yet. I still can’t wait for be done with my engineering ASAP. I like this place, I like most of the people around and yet I can’t wait to get away from all of it. But old ways never open new doors and maybe that’s where I am going wrong. So could you suggest me new angles to look at it from? Thank you. 🙂


I read this beautiful piece a couple of weeks back and haven’t been able to get over it yet,

“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are — underneath the year that makes you eleven. 

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three. 

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.”

-Sandra Cisneros

So 2013 is coming to an end and I have an endless list to be thankful to. A list that I started making without my own knowledge many many years back. I certainly do not want to bore you with it. All I can say is that learning isn’t half as bad as the sound of it. This world is a beautiful place, I just hope we manage to dust off all the dirt that has accumulated over the years on it. Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is watching and I guess that’s what defines us. 🙂

In other news, I was about to bring out my answer sheet with me during one of my exams. Oh my absent mindedness. I must do something about that. This is just a  note to the self. 


Till Next Time,

Keep Smiling.


Keep Smiling.