Bird on a wire

Bird on a wire
With the eyes of a tiger
What is it you foresee
Please do tell me

A future colorful, a future bleak ?
Do we laugh, do we bleed ?
Forgotten friends, forgotten dreams
No time for sorrow, don’t forget to breathe

This life, a masquerade
Full of false facades
Truth, buried too deep
Beneath the earth, unseen
Dreams forgotten indeed
Friends, nowhere to be seen

Bird on a wire
Will we burn in fire
Our lies and mistakes
Together in our pyre

Will we ever redeem
Broken hope, buried dreams
Will our timeline once again hold
All that has been sold

A fresh start, a new art
All that we had at the start
A new breath, no more regrets
Different melody to this sonnet

Bird on a wire
We will get all we desire
Our future we shall build
Reborn souls and a fresh quill

Written by Shruti Krishna on the 3rd of May, 2013


A never ending search.

Once upon a time there lived a sweet little girl who lived far away from her family for a few years to learn worldly wisdom without the security blanket of familiar surroundings and family. She traveled far, for very long and reached a small town. Under the constant cover of rains she began her search for understanding of the great many things that cant be taught by word of mouth alone. She came across a great many people, all who had set out on their own journeys. After spending a couple of months with different clans of strangers, she seemed unable to settle down with any one of the clans. She was troubled, and wondered why her heart was never satisfied. She doubted herself, fought with herself, read an immense amount of old books written by wise men of different worlds and constantly tried to understand and improve herself, always with one motive : learn, and never stagnate.

She constantly changed her company. She was tired. She never understood why she was so unsatisfied. Don’t get me wrong, she did make some true friends. But she could never settle.

After many hardships, internal and external; she had hardened and simultaneously softened. Her exterior shell and parts of her heart were hard, impenetrable. A fortress. So many hard earned defense mechanisms. But there were other parts of her heart that were as tender as new born flesh. Waiting, always waiting.

She came to a conclusion. There were three categories of people. One, who only brought anguish with them in their very fabrics. Neatly and dangerously woven minds who never brought her or anyone even remote hints of inner peace. They, like the perfect storm destroyed all those in their paths; and gleefully so. Unfortunately, these people thrived in every land. Two, those who like a sudden burst of sun rays in the frigid north signalling the end of frosty winters; brought in spontaneous flashes of wonders, immense joy and peace with them. They left a trail of love. They were almost no where to be found. Once in many years, if one is lucky; such creatures of delight could be spotted. Then comes the third kind, those who are a mix of both. They can be spotted everywhere. They can bring happiness but always have a sword of treachery hidden.

She understood that a world like ours is made up a strange symphonic concoction of the three, carefully monitored by the Hand who wrote it all.  She understood further that her life will consist of the first and the third categories inevitably.

The second category however; is the tricky, and incredibly important one. Those, who by just a brush with her life; can set her path on a totally different course where everything makes sense, where she can so clearly see how everything happens for the best of reasons. These magical beings who light her life up like a million suns could, without the harshness of the heat. A cool and ever present light, emanates from deep within these beings.

She vowed to never give up on her search for these creatures of the second kind.

Never give up / Walk away now.

I have seen a ton of motivational posters on never giving up. When I saw most of them, I always unconsciously nodded. They all made sense. One of the posters I saw had two men for comparison. Both were underground and mining. One, gave up digging on a seemingly endless tunnel (to him), just when he had reached the boundary line of what separated him from a whole insane amount of diamonds just a little ahead of him. The other continued digging, and it was just a matter of a few centimeters of further digging that would reveal those diamonds. In big bold letters it was written ‘Never Give Up’. Now when you look at it from this situational angle, yes; you shouldn’t give up. But the ‘never’ word is misleading. There is a distinction to be made if you want to remain sane. Here’s a quote to prove my point “One of the hardest decisions in life is whether to walk away or try harder”. Take a situation where a person is stuck in a dead end marriage. A relationship that isn’t going anywhere and isn’t making anyone happy. Is it ethically right to try harder ? Or is walking away going to be a better option to save each others sanity ? So the one thing I understood after seeing that poster and reading that quote was, life can’t be generalized. And you can almost never say never. Every situation is different. If a guy’s wife is in a coma for 6 months, pulling the plug would be the biggest tragedy if she was 3 months away from waking up.

You shouldn’t give up when its worth trying harder. Its better to let go and walk away when its just not worth any more effort. The fine line is our job to detect, as it can make a world of a difference.

Being broke, the perils of a junkless existence.

Being broke is hard. To overlook the ice cream area, the variety of biscuits (chocolate ones, to be precise), even the horrid horrid chips (they taste terrible in India, the Lays in Dubai was AWESOME) in a grocery store really gets to me. The hogger in me has had to compromise. And compromise makes me hungry. Its a Goddamn loop ! Anyway, what I learned from being broke is, its hard to be broke; but with great friends who starve with you (okay I’m exaggerating a little) really gets a person through junk-less tough times. Last night, my broke friend and I spoke about the things we’d like to eat. Also about the terrible sun under which we have to walk instead of taking autos only to save up a little. That’s painful. Mostly because I’m lazy as hell. But still. Its so hot, classes are so boring, and we cant buy ice cream. What is left to liiiive forrr ?! (Drama, and curtains drop). So here I sit in front of a computer to vent, well; actually to distract myself from the over powering thought of ice creams, and write my story. My story of being broke.

My two friends, and a bike.

I have these two people in my life, friends who seem perfectly normal from the outside. One looks like he’s always high on something though he hasn’t even tried weed let alone anything else. He’s an innocent boy. The other looks like a quiet QUIET person with such tall barriers around her, you’ll have to pass all tests to get into her fortress. Then there is me. I’m insane when I’m with these two people. And I swear to God, I don’t know why. Its like our normalcy charade drops like the ball in Manhattan on new year’s eve when we meet up. Three seemingly normal people who like to do the weirdest things. We go out on these midnight bike rides around town, only to barely venture into this cold, cooold forest and turn back. Everything looks scary at night. That’s why its so much fun. I think I really creep these two out when I break into a high school musical song every now and then. But its hard not to get high on adrenaline. Last night we ventured further into that forest only to give to the evident spookiness and turn back. But then tomorrow is another day ! Perhaps when the sun is still setting that forest might not look so .. err .. uninviting and awesome. So until next time, we three postpone our insanity for a bit for that one sure to be memorable evening. 


1-1232973916ijAMYou know what I’d like ? A whole wooden cupboard only for stationery. I love stationery. LOVE it. Pencils, color pencils, sketch pens, ordinary pens, not so ordinary pens, extra dark pencils, fine lining black felt tipped pens, fine lining (any) color felt tipped pens, highlighters, scissors, fancy scissors, calligraphy pens, extra calligraphy nibs, plastic rulers, metallic rulers, sticky notes, bookmarks, sticky note – labels, plain labels, rubbers, glue sticks, glue pots, staplers, staple-pin removers, correction pens, omgomgomg paintbrushes, art supplies, water colors, oil paints, oil pastels, palettes, canvas frames, canvas boards. I’m sure there is more, I’m not able to remember. But you get the point. I love stationery. I get so excited thinking about it. Just give me some pens and I’ll draw all over your face. Its fun feeling stationery. Yes feeling them. Memorizing them, their color, their feel. Its as exciting as sitting in front of a blank canvas knowing that you can create anything. I think my love for stationery is almost as strong as my love for books. I enjoy coveting both. Also, I think I love hardware tools too now. I’m still searching for the right pliers. I’m really excited. Did I mention I love paper too ? And notebooks. And drawing pads. Aaaaaahh there is so much to love !!! Stationery is awesome.3791_537336742956981_1162959499_n


Growing up is so important. Every thing you experience can be used as a metaphor for new mistakes. I always tried to be this ideal kid, trying not to get into trouble at home. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents at any cost socially and personally. (Not counting the number of times I failed in math :P) Yes, that attitude did save me from committing many mistakes. But could I avoid committing mistakes forever ? No sir. There is one very important thing that attitude taught me though. It taught me self preservation. Brilliant willpower associated with self preservation. I committed so many stupid mistakes, or so I thought that time. Today when I look back, each mistake is such a powerful lesson learned which further just proves that all things are one. Life has a habit of repeating many things in new ways. I recognized those things, felt a sense of deja vu and finally understood how to walk around the manholes. So today those mistakes are a map. New mistakes don’t have a good enough impact to tear my soul into pieces. Just as a trained martial artist who has practiced boxing till his knuckles bleed for years; wont feel pain today when he punches a human. So thank you, mistakes. You truly have taught me, molded me and hardened me enough to pick up my pieces and walk off with dignity, understanding and peace.