carpe diem

If I had the privilege of picking a seventh sense, I would've chosen the power to freeze moments. The moments that fill my heart to the brim with a fear of passing too soon. The moments that thrill me in a thunderous sort of way.
Yes! I would definitely wish for this one. Because, despite my tender age, I cannot count the memories that I wish I could go back to. I don't want to permanently dwell in the era they occurred in and relive my life then on; but I want to be able to seat myself on my favorite spot by the ocean, lay back and close my eyes to relive everything that the moment brought with it. The joy, the anxiety, the inexplicable happiness and the delicate fluttering of my heart. I want to be able to play it over and over in my mind without lapses in thoughts or memory. I want to feel exactly what I had felt then.
This obviously preposterous fantasy I have, comes rushing to me every time I stare at pictures that have captured the good times in my life. Every once in a while though, I wish I could close my eyes and be in the picture all over again.
Before I build memories, I prepare my mind to lock them up in a safe, retrievable place. Although I have a crazy intuition of dying too soon, there is a strange picture of a queer, old lady in my head. She is me. And, it is terribly scary to be in her place, without stories to narrate. It is also extremely frightening to be that old lady, whose heart is burning to relive certain memories.
More than anything, I love to live in a seize-the-moment sort of way. I live on the edge of the second hand of a clock, sometimes getting off, struggling to push it back. Because I know of its unrelenting ways, I supersede it now and then, capturing terabytes of moments before I resume my place on it again.

Wouldn't it be nice if our lives were like VCRs and we could fast forward through the crummy times - Peanuts
Wouldn't it be nicer if we could just pause the good times - Me.

Take me away

Sometimes I feel like I'm God's very own entertainment package whose life he just sits back, with his jumbo-sized tub of caramel popcorn, and watches.
Shraddha Bhatia - Made in Circus.
For starters, he has made me clumsier than a rat scurrying backwards. On an average I have about 5 new scratches on me every day. You would say, that's probably in an ordinary room with an ordinary amount of furniture; but NO - even if its a flat piece of land with nothing but grass, I'd find myself a burrow to stick my foot into so that I can settle for a bruised nose instead.
And not even Einstein would've been as distrait as I am. Add that to one sleepless night and you'd have yourself a free clown.

On a more serious note though, I downrightly believe that he has in fact built a customized theme park for me which I'm sprung into from time to time purely because my funny ways propitiate his satire. All this, remember, with a JUMBO tub of caramel popcorn.
I, on the other hand, hurraying every single time my ride glides over a little knoll, luxuriate in the glory before I find myself atop a wild, gnarling beast. I grapple for steadiness (Picture Tom) - with my hair on ends, mouth open and tail widely out of the picture.
I glare at my creator upwards and there he is, my Jerry, giggling away with that mouthful of ,did I mention - caramel popcorn.
I pretend to be unforgiving and nasty, before he actually gives in and I find myself in an iridescent wonderland, with marshmallow flowers and chocolate fountains.

Ahhh!

I forgive. I forgive. I forgive thee.
Why don't I see your hidden glee.
I give you a hug, cuddling like a bug,
In your arms, I surrender me!

When I wake up, my credulity has once again been assumed, and this time it feels like I'm aback a fat centipede who is making its way inside someone's ear. The ride gets worse with each minute. I am tossed and exploited and juggernauted.
Oh! He has belied me again, I grouse and grumble and plan an escape, decidedly unwilling to grant amnesty.
Unexpectedly, I reach a pristine meadow, which pulls me in magnetically. I bask in it, looking up to return His mischievous smile with an angry pout and fall asleep.
Somewhere, in the middle of my blissful nap, I wake up to catch His eyes on me, the depth of which speak volumes of his love for me.
And that's when I notice; his popcorn bucket has nothing more caramelly than my hundred angels which protect me.




In your love,
my Jerry,
I shall wallow,
till eternity.





## His love, has its own ways.

### Don't take your foot off the pedal when life is just about to turn around.