Of Definitions.

Hello, I guess.
It has been long.

And I am, again, in a space where I am at a heady loss for a definition. Or multiple definitions that make up a top-tier, unabridged, single definition. Definitions of constants, of emotions, of feelings, and everyday workings. Definitions of reality.

When I look back to recall: I was certain, a few years ago, that I was living through what was imaginably the worst year of my life. Having to get over self-inflicted truths and untruths, pain, shame, distrust. Having to let go of ambiguously-forged dreams. Love, even. Plus, the time had come to grow out of the 20-something, happy-go-lucky mould - make necessary and timely 'adult' decisions for oneself. To actually make something out of myself. Change, as always, helped. Out of sight, out of mind, afar. But of course, the recklessness of it all led to (if even possible) more debatable decisions. A whole new level of baiting regrettable choices. Coz life is a metaphorical video game of course; you have to level-up to hang in there, potentially win. If memory serves me, there was an unmistakeable intervention by the Universe (for lack of better or more credible characters), in general. "Whoa, whoa, whoa now - maybe take a break." And take a break I did. Slowed down, unplugged, disparaged, enclosed in another forged shell - trying to place blame and fight the ill-defined worldliness of the world, that had apparently lost its charm. Late realizations might just be the only recurring theme of my life. Just saying.

Somewhere in between the lose-myself-some-more-and-go-numb-why-not phase, I understood that if I was indeed able to escape all the emotional pain, for the sake of equilibrium or whatever, some stand-in, replacement physical pain would not be a bad idea. Well - bad idea. Enter body dysfunction, general dysmorphia, topped with a wholesome helping of dejection and despair. Easier labelled than defined, and easier said than fought off. Once there, the hounding stealth of pointlessness wins and comes to life. Some more hounding. The heart loses all intuitive abilities, and the brain does not function as well as it used to. Everything else around settles down to a lilting hum, constantly interrupted by the clear, now-familiar genre of numbness. All the time, with lots and lots to think about. Questioning sanity vs time ratios for example, without any disdain for the current state of circumstances.

Then life continues, with me yo-yoing through miscellaneous existential bylines some more. More living, breathing nothingness. I understand that I am in a sustained, unfazed search of something - to find, to hold, to cherish and celebrate. To yearn for in my illogical moments of chaos, spaced so accessibly close to each other, almost a daily ritual. The desire and design for happiness: a term even more ambiguous than the current state I am in. An everyday, two-faced, now-familiar reality? There, maybe not too proper a definition, but that could help with some temporary translation for now. Sigh of relief.


Postscript: Guess the smashing 'I Am/About Me' rhyme I wrote all those years ago was meant to last, to be comprehensible for years to come. Not just for flaunting the convincing coolness next to the pretty blog display picture, no.

While writing this, I could picture the many banal idiosyncrasies shared with my 17-year-old self. All that undefined exasperation has only channeled into agitation and a bit of loathing. For circumstances, for myself, for the greater good. I was pretty sure at 17 (sitting in my room, rebelling - to be able to address and engage myself in the then exciting-and-full-of-unknown-possibilities world) that I was not where I was meant to be. Almost exactly a decade later, here I am - questioning the surety of knowing that I am not where I want to be. The definition of the full-of-possibilities world has not changed much either. Just that the unknowns are not pleasantly uncharted anymore. Just that the intent and nature of my rebellion is not so external anymore, as it is internal. The pointlessness of it all (just another-day-in-the-life-of edition) is as uncanny as it can get. Just saying.

Surreal. A year. And a summer night.

It is mighty offensive, self-inflicted of course, when you realize at times that tangibility wins over. What does one do when there are numberless questions, and you do not want to answer. When you draw a line between the real world and fantasy, and face much hullabaloo about over-sensitivity and bipolarity, neither of which are surreal to you. When you have to be circumspect. Pause between the highs being high and the lows being low. Become aware through being wary. Learn acceptance, learn gratitude. Learn how hard it is to let in acceptance and gratitude. Try and delve in spirituality a bit, find solace in solidarity a bit. Yet be plenty solitary. Find and lose, only to find again. Revel in having the guts to lose again, only to find. Revel some more. In sundry things about yourself. Create a notional to-do list of sorts that had everything to do with what you have never had the time, the space or the peace of mind to do.When you understand and you can see. More rights than wrongs. Learn from what you can feel, under your skin and over. That there is this vague rhythm, perpetuating a sense of calm. A calm called on by a sense of cheer, for trying, for even daring to try. For wanting to, even. For however intangible, there is still progress. Every day, or over long periods of time. When everything matters. How everything is SO relative. How everything is what you want to make of it. How what you want is not what you decide to make of it. So many parallels and so many questions, and you're in the middle. You just know. You're the calm. Perpetuating through all your dimensions. You're creating, you're moulting, you're being. The process is unceasing. You appreciate minimalism all of a sudden, but you are the biggest you have ever been. There is pride, that you avoid and hide, but cannot deny. There is the slightest hint of dismay over not having done more. Not having been more. Still growing, still evolving. But there is no deadline, there is none other. There's you, amidst this aura of murky greys and resonant light, sweeping your eyes across the happenings of your universe. There's some joy there, you can almost feel it whole. Almost enough. You can even look in the mirror now.

Have you made it real?

Disillusionment.

Tiny lights, sitting pretty on the ground, miles and miles below - mocking at her, confined to her seat on the plane. Tiny lights glittering away fervently, mocking at the time, mocking at how much mayhem the day had caused. A night flight to add to the waste of an elaborate surprise. The transfiguration of happiness that she had been meaning to implore had devoutly lost its own meaning. Tummy twirls and tortured trembles be damned. There was no reason to reason with anymore. Jinxing the incomprehensible was no myth to fiddle with anymore. Gleam away, inanimate objects of science on the ground. Detest, discern - for all she cares. May you be in perpetual denial. Thoughts go around in circles meanwhile, rippling and returning to the same bode. In that moment, there was no peace. There was no war either. There was only nothingness - quite amiably seasoned. Tiny mind, where does it go transitioning away? Contemplating muddled her. Transfigured. So pretty, so far up above.

PS - This was written a while ago, and under disparate circumstances. I do not find a reason to not post it now.

my Nemesis.

So all the dreams came crashing down, ripped apart at the seams. What good had love done? What good was love now? All that was left was the hurt. All that mattered was the pain. The fiery singe burnt right through. Alarming surges of disbelief hit head on. Flashes across the years - all those years, infused with ethereal negativity - not wired in anymore. Out of sync. A wasted whim was all that stood to gain. Absolute bereavement, colliding emotions, evaporating faith. Oh, the multitudes of agony. Why, just another answerless question. A perpetual loop. Defining a confirmation of sorts, a mockery of what was never meant to be. What was wanted and what was needed were not one and the same. Had they been? Even if, they never would be again. It was failed destiny, a tryst with nature and signs and niceness. And ruined love. And it hurt, so so much. But then ruin was a gift they said, ruin was the road to transformation. The whoosh of a phoenix tail. The magic that caused a run down to wipe out, to begin anew, to evolve. Every scar that transformed into a lesson learnt, every tear that led into bigger, that gave way to better. 

Hush now, what was that? Was it true? Maybe the dream is still on. Maybe it is for real. And its time to part. Its time to be. Its time to go.

the Audacious and the Brash.

I know I must not think. I know I must not comply.
If only I had the strength to,
Perhaps on my mettle I could rely.

I wish I had the perspective. I wish I had the ambition.
If only I had the will to,
I could approach the not with limitless vision.

I believe I have it inside of me. I believe I have all that it takes.
If only I exemplified the idea,
Perhaps I could manipulate what makes or breaks.

I hope I do not fall short. I hope I do not start where it ends.
If only I got accustomed to,
I could survive wherever the utopian dream sends.

(Drafted '09. Lost and found.)

Die day, die.

Just one of those days. Or those days that add up to this. Or those days that led up to the days that culminated in this. 

Destructionnnnn! (in more of an 'Avada Kedavra' sense.)

Oh but. None so archaic (or wizarding), as the notions comprehend.

Maybe its just the vague dullness that everything you ever started ends in, or hangs out with, for what very well may be the rest of its heartbroken time. Jolts and bumps, here and there. So depressing all of this sounds that I can pass off a pretention of amusement by now. Lets fancy those random testimonials to a horrible, horrible day. A day devoid of any occurrences, happenings or anything notable whatsoever. A day when you rationalise murder and gore, and grin. Atleast sneer. How I pray you too will pass, how I keep my fingers crossed. Maybe it is worth getting the tattoo now. How I ramble pointlessly? How this is probably the best part of my horrible, horrible day. Drawing parallels, being hatefully judgemental and succeeding to completely ruin even more. Remorseful thoughts - invoke, provoke, shut down. So much of this perplexing abstract. Argh! To you - prepositions and punctuations. And to you - vicious indulgence, and imploratory peace.

Up-to-date-ish.

(This post goes out for my two homes, and their constituent fractions - the one I never thought I could have, and the one I never thought I'd still want.) 

It struck you as mere odd at first, but the vigor is overpowering. And overwhelmed by it all, you keep going, not knowing how to terminate the drab ennui. Anxious even. What else can there be? When you read, when you write, when you talk, when you sense, and when you rediscover. Fancy a few (back to back) feel-good movies, background jazz score (still finding a way to settle you down through the hushed, somehow), and a pile of unread books waiting to be caressed. Exotic statements forming in your not-so-dormant thought process. The fervent expressions and you have gotten back together, who would've imagined. (*smirk*) Well, you were always the artsy, ethereal type, weren't you? Cold heart and dreamy soul in its decided place. (*shrug*) And there might be new strangers to be befriended. New exceptions you can try to endure. You consider that you might have found yourself – in love, at peace, in good humor - all over again. Not waiting endlessly, not letting deep, dark regret penetrate the crevices of primary emotion, that you realise you've fought to defend in vain. 'You don’t want what you can’t have anymore.' That too has passed. The change is more apparent than ever. You suffice. A few battles won for the greater good (always, always), but is the war over?

In this utter state of bewildering amusement, you find yourself anew.

For the snippets we etched.

She did it, committed to it, and made it happen. It was her.

Scrunched up the courage, dreamt the decor, spun in her wishes, filled it with all the love she could muster up and believed in herself. The universe had to give in and call out - joy, the fusion, an assured manifestation. 'There you go.' Near perfect it was - an errand to run, a memoir that enticed butterflies, highs and lows, lessons learnt - as a smile played on her lips. The future-her would have to deal with some tremendous nostalgia. 'This is it. Won't you last forever?' 

Perhaps this is what life does, how the story goes. Pain passes; So does hale and hearty. Love does not always last, and if it does, there is some serious luck acting in. Some indomitable alignment of the better stars. Some amazing compensation of karma. 

In time, reality justified itself to her. Cosmoses crashed. The love was no whole; broken down into miniscule fragments, while each lost definition - the hourglass trickled endlessly. 'Please. Go away.' She transitioned instead - unable to stay, defend her creation, guard her own. But did transition imply what it demonstrated? Rhetorical moving on. To a new place with new people, with new things to do - yes. 'I can. I will.' A valiant attempt at letting go, needless to comprehend - in vain. She almost did. And she almost fooled herself. It both intensified and simplified the situation. Remaining rooted when the infallible realisation struck, cajoling others to percieve the change. 'Absolutely fine.' She tried to go along with the obvious calling, pretending to be oblivious to her lost world. Whatever she had given, whatever she had gotten - posed an unfamiliar consciousness. Did she know? In her deepest fears, her darkest hours - did she forecast? The elasticity of her emotions had failed her. There was nothing to feel anymore, to manipulate, to touch, to make known of herself. Lingering along. Like a graffittied wall - and the colours wouldn't shine out. Like exotic perfume - and the fragrance wouldn't twitch an amorous nerve. Limbo.

Then there was rain. There was a glisten, a glance. And a glare. 'No.' Slight sway. She gasped - when she travelled to her crux, when it all came rushing back. The future needed to mind its own. She would not allow the plausible to delve with the possible; Hope against will. She chose what she claimed to be her beacon, she forgot the fragile ways of perception. There would be no interference. There would be no change. A clairvoyant understanding guided her, led her to a trail. Here she had already been. She could wilt, she would not waver. A pendulum that throbbed with supposition, exposed the mythical old values that she had sworn by. How could she be anything like another? 'Again. Anew.'

Lost no more amidst what was, what had been, what might be. She transpired, and bequeathed, and loved. And she remembered to feel, like never to forget, like there was no morrow. 'An array of snippets etched in memory.'

(You might not be named, but it's for you alright. Fancy an ode? Here is to - be.)

To reinstate, if I might.

For the one who gets fascinated.

Oh, the last thing on my mind - will this instance ever perish? Will it bring to us what you and I seek (like it matters, like we know), or will it abandon horribly? When you do what you do. When I reason with myself. When the quintessential supervises. When little brings joy, and much more squanders away. When I require, as much as you dispose. When the signs act out. When intuition reigns, wishes align and there is eternity to create. When nothing else concerns. When everything falls in place. Am I contemplating definition? I must stop posing the rhetorical to the self already.

I try not to think.

I am sure it is some irrelevant fragment of my imagination.

By the one who fascinates.

(Yes, its been quite abstract lately. But I appreciate that it has.)

Plausibly.

Maybe.
I'll wage a war. Or love irrevocably.
Or whim and inevitably neglect.
I'll overwhelm.
I'll administer and persist.
Or shrug. And dissolve.
I'll replenish. I'll stimulate.
I'll accomplish and exhilarate.
Or disillusion and uncreate.
I'll be transparent.
Or murky, vague, nebulous.
I'll be cipher.
Or I'll be me.
Maybe I won't. Maybe I will.

Today?

Rain. Yellow lights. Laundry. Smoke. Alarm. (as random as the order could get!)

Hola new life. :)

And work. Sigh. The one word that makes me curse the past four years of my life. Err. Okay who am I kidding! The past four years of my life were awesome – read : liberating, changing, all I could have asked for and refrained from. Ups and downs, highs and the mellow. The sober and the sore. There’s an eighteen-year old you. And then there’s a twenty-two year old you. And you are proud. Mighty proud. And now, is when you finally understand why the parents asked you to wait for the weekends do anything remotely joyous, droning on through the workdays – inanimate, monotonous. Weirdly wise, the new you also understands these obligations. The updated encumbrance. Where directions bifurcate, old flame entwines and you welcome the entire sobriety that the universe has to offer. Snippets of thought getting me anywhere? Somewhere. And I’m still flanking on the lines of beginning this so called stint. Drone, flow, absorb. And leap.
;)

Hello. Goodbye.

And this is what it comes down to. LOL.

After taking a break from something you love(d) and would never imagine being separated from, and when it did eventually happen, being apart for longer than you could possibly imagine, you end up realising that the love may not be. Anymore. But it does still linger, and everything comes rushing back. The same urge, decisiveness and butterflies. Familiarity. Ease. Amusement at the past. Understanding of what has been, is and may follow. And the will to let go. 

So for starters, here is to another stint that will hopefully last longer. Avid-er. Better.

Cheers! 

unKnowingly

I think of the rain and the trees

I think of the oceans and the breeze

I think of things that matter to me ;

but you're always there,

you are the one..

only you're what it takes to set me free.

I've thought of freedom

I've thought of truth and eccentricity

of art, and music, and poetry ;

but they're always there,

to take me to the other world..

only you're the one who can make me see.

I've seen the sights and had my days and nights

I've known how to distinguish and analyse

I've exploited my rights unduly ;

but all's been and done with,

the highs and lows are past..

only you always let me be me.

I know myself well

I know it all, and more..

only I wish I knew who you were ;

you're who I want to know

'coz you're the one I want and I'll need..

for now, and forever.

First I, Then you.

Morality and conscience. Big words! A relatively smaller scope for emphasis, while some major differences they do create. Despite a few small allowances, the capabilities are still extensive. The word is still big.

How many people would respond emphathetically though? Even if the impression might appear surreal, and certainly aim at 'rhetorical', an ambitious perspective wouldn't refrain from asking why people try so hard. What do they want to prove? Why do they come about needing the proof?

Humanity is one of the few viable resources that remains susceptible to most - people, emotions, actions - you name it. Limited mentality wouldn't get you places. It is but the very thought of carefree, evolving, ever-changing circumstances that should bring out the life, and kill the bottled-up-ness. Understanding emotions and sentiments sure increases your EQ. But where does it leave you when you're actually out there dealing with a real-life situation? a crisis? feelings running haywire? And hands-on exprerience might get you immensely baffled for the most part. It, however, enhances a sense, an ability to correlate and concern yourself with what is out there. While most of it may catch you unawares, strike you between the eyes and yet still fail to create a lasting impact, some of it may invaluably add to the dexterous situation. Widen the dimensions, bring up new ideas and stack 'em into your little book of experience, and grant an eventful memory - awaiting reminiscience, to be built upon and sensibly shared.

They say that, to get something out of it, you first need to put in something. A hint of this old-world vibe in the air might be accompanied by compulsions. Orthodox thought-processes that would otherwise not stand a chance in the deep, dark decay that continues its proliferation. To be 'who' you always wanted to be, you are required to think in the liberated way you always wished to - and to ofcourse strike a balance once out there, for change lurks around as always. And shouldn't it?

Being nice, being humane - acting out your prescribed scene (no Shakespearean pun intended). What about it wouldn't attract even the teeniest bit of reciprocity that you're not looking for but cannot help finding? And why not, if it gets you what you want and helps in keeping you happy! Endlessly cliched, but the world is still big. And all the world's a stage, all the men and women merely players. Fairplay, indeed. =D

To Know, and Choose

The Knowing

The dictionary defines 'intuition' as the ability to understand or know something without conscious reasoning. Things happen, and after they have happened, there tends to be this nagging belief of knowing that this was exactly what was supposed to have happened, in anyway. Like you always knew, and had this feeling all along. Like there was no other way, no other justification of it happening the way it did. Situations can reveal the same - the unconscious fact of understanding what needs to be known under the lines. Yet, there are some people for whom its quintessentially a way of life. Intuition runs in their blood, or rather, their nerves. Scientifically, its got to have something to do with possessing a more active, concerned and observant brain. But speaking generally, its when you understand the emotions that are put behind an action, be it anything for that matter. The more you understand, the more emotionally intelligent you become. Quite simply put, the ability of knowing and/or understanding, helps in putting things in perspective. It makes stuff make sense. Which again in turn, makes sense. Like I don't think I really know why I'm doing this. But I know.

(Impersonal, and no intentions of being freaky. =D )

AND

The Choosing

Choices are a part and parcel of life. They come free, may bring on a little debt later on, and conclude to mark a life. A life marked by choices - could turn out to be pleasantly fulfilled, or even majorly flawed. Even though tried and tested sources justify that correct and incorrect choices do exist, its all about how the optional decision is taken and more importantly, what is made out of it. Not exactly what the decision is. Happiness need not be as limited! As in to only prove its worth to consequential satisfaction. Even though having no choice is the random-est reason of explanation, mortal life is not about what the choices are, its about 'who' makes them. Its not related to knowing the outcome and delving into something even remotely familiar, its knowing that you have the ability to face the aftermath, come what may. Its about living life to the fullest and making the most out of whatever constituent choices and decisions are made, that lead on to create a life to love - owing to all the 'living'.

=)

Goodbye..

goodbye..
was it a hug, a wave, a sigh?
was it a tear splashing out of the eye?
was it nothing short of an honest lie?

goodbye..
was it a reluctantly bid adieu?
was it old worries with anxiety anew?
was it all alone with the person thats you?

goodbye..
was it a bold decision to make?
was it too rash a step to take?
was it loss of love or heartbreak?

goodbye..
was it the wilderness of the night?
was it a dim light trying to burn bright?
was it courage defeating fright?

goodbye..
was it a hushed-up groan or a stiffled moan?
was it undernourished, was it overgrown?
was it miscellaneous complications unknown?

goodbye..
was it over-the-top, a let-down or just mediocre?
was it dull black & white, or deep dark ochre?
was it absolutely daft and off the rocker?

goodbye..
was it a grudge? was it treason?
was it a careless change of season?
was it denial devoid of any reason?

goodbye..
was it easy to be able to cope?
\was it like the mighty tug of a rope?
was it the difference between eternity and hope?

goodbye..
was it out of sympathy or fear?
was it oh-so-far and yet so near?
was it utterly plain, simple and clear?

goodbye..
was it the end of continual pain?
was it the howling wind or the deafening rain?
was it acknowledgement without refrain?

goodbye..
was it too seemingly odd?
was it the close of a life terribly flawed?
was it just us, or was it God?

Not justifying it. (a thought process)

Its been bothering me for a while now. And I know its not reason enough to actually take it into account and start justifying. But it still strikes me as odd to not have a reason to iterate what maybe. And what may not. For there are many ideas and fleeting schemes that might matter at a particular point of time. But seeing it through till the very end is what causes, (for lack of a better phrase to explain it) - rebellion.

And my system is accustomed to it. In irritating, thoughtful ways.

Why can it not be simple and straightforward? There just have to be all these devious means and methods of bringing about change. Majorly, none of it holds as much significance over time and the complications seem ineffective and morose. And the aftermath causes change of course and the initial stuff is conviniently forgotten, left behind for the new. There are remembrances ofcourse, and reminisciences. 'If' becomes a way of life, the only unquestionable explanation as the conclusion would remain aloof. Fantasy over reality, the shortcut out. But if it weren't as tedious and attention-seeking, would there have been any interest in the first place? As atrocious as it may seem, the mind plays games of its own. There's nothing wayward about it. Only implications of what is known and confirmed, else how would you base the unknown? There would be no reason to go on. Which asks of the reason yet again. Why did it start? How will it end? Make-up your own ideologies, justify the null and keep going. It can get as complicated as you want it to. Even though simplicity is what lies beneath. You decide the end with whatever you've made of it.

And that's what makes you.

At The Close

from the past and present of her life
as was due, she has come to realise
all is not what it then may seem
all comes to an end, when it once does begin

it may appear illogically rash and wild
may cause distress and sorrow, none too mild
initially even futile, carelessly so
knowing truth that she'd always refrained to know

but the truth remains disguised in the pain
while all this time she'd been shifting the blame
but the truth remains in all that she looked down upon
never putting it right, being heartlessly stubborn

despite the future that it draws, as the past did
the present finally comes to a subtle close
when the truth will out, the pain will be killed
and there will be nothing to realise anymore

when long atlast she'll see it clear
but then the time will be far too near
and nothing will come of help to ease the strain
but she will know she has waited in vain
that it never mattered much to put in her whole
and nothing will matter much anymore.

People. Anonymous.

Staying away from home and the protected environment I've always been used to being in, somehow, results in making me very vigilant and aware of the world that lives and breathes and continuously changes around me. For the most part, its about observing and understanding people that I associate with. With what I see to be a veritable conclusion, there are many types of people all around and each type has something special, significant, intimidating or interesting about it, counting down to the last characteristic.

Following no order of sequence, I'm (for whatever reasons) inclined to start with the general class of 'normal' people. They're everywhere, happy, existing with no issues that others know of. They fill in the empty voids, and are worth taking into consideration (I'm sure) where the protagonists fail to amuse. Then come everybody you know of. There are the people you're aware will be there for you no matter what. The people who will do what it takes to keep you happy, and there are the people who could have caused worry, fear or pain, sometime in life ( I remember school :| ). There are those you look up to, and some who let you down, and some who changed and have kept changing, but still stick around. There are the amazingly-gifted people you appreciate, no complaints at all - but life would have had happier moments if they hadn't tried so much and set a few standards straight. Then there are the best friends, the good friends, the just-friends, the to-be-friends, only acquaintances, friends who're now acquaintances, and known people who're now nobody(s) - for the better or for worse. More? The distantly friendly work people, the close-knit gossip-groups, the lunch-and-dinner company and the anytime-hangout buddies. There are the people you know too well, and the ones you don't know at all. And there are those you wish you knew more about. People you want to spend time with, and those you wish you saw less of. People with selfish incentives, mediocre selfless needs , 24x7 attention requirements, assurance guarantees, and free time. Then there are people who you have to try and get along with, and those with whom you randomly end up having fun, no matter what. The intellectual discussion-types, the goofy dim-witted time-consuming chat-types, the ones with whom conversation is always a pleasant deal. Then there are the people you wish to be like. The people you love for inexplicable reasons, and the reciprocative-association types. There are those you've known all your life, and the people you wish you never had known, and the ones you know you'll always know. Family ofcourse, which constitues majority of the categories mentioned and more. They're like the few people who could probably tag you into one of the categories and justify you inside out.

But there are just SO many people to name and know, no detailed classification table could ever be enough. And I, unclassifiedly, belong to one or more of the many indefinite genres. Melodrama, let there be peace. :)

'A' for Ar-chi-tec-ture

When I thought I knew what architecture meant, I had no idea that I'd be crossing the limits of having career-related misconceptions. As far as setting up miscellaneous household objects and doing up interiors (to VERY generally, make the whole setting look pretty) was concerned, I was interested enough, and/but nowhere near becoming an architect. The reality TV shows that instigated me in the first place, didn't stand a chance infront of the hoax I had created for myself. But then, did I really want to be an architect? Maybe an interior designer? Maybe, just a designer. Doesn't matter what I made. The process of creation was what mattered most. Or not.

When I got into (and couldn't get out of) what I thought architecture meant and didn't turn out to be, I guess I finally understood the fact that it wasn't all about just becoming an architect. Period. All the drafting and the conceptual development, that constituted a major part of the evaluation of assignments, didn't really matter in the big picture (well MY picture; This is certainly NOT in accordance to any of my teachers' points of view.) It was about the 'design'- the creation, the carrying out, the analysis..and most importantly (I suspect this is only me, thinking too much) the APPRECIATION. Tall buildings, steel and chrome interiors, skyscrapers, piers, arches, numerous elements of design, minimalism, green architecture, glass forms, ancient history and all it had to offer to make architecture better, stabler..I appreciate. I might not like writing all the exams, and proving the worth of my designs in front of a jury and submitting all my assigments within deadlines, and losing my head halfway through it all - but I like architecture. Genuinely at that.

For one, now I know for a fact that its not just about building and construction. Designing can be good fun :) My childhood dreams of becoming a glass artist (7th grade?), and moulding glass to form something, anything - tend to get re-lived. Experimentation with shapes and shapeless forms of all sizes establishes the meaning of work. Arts and crafts, that I always enjoyed no matter how tedious or annoying it gets after a point, still makes sense. Using a t-scale and set-squares to derive plans, elevations and sections - does have its own inexplicable charm. And art! And photography! Each frame has a story to tell, to know of. And ofcourse, you end up getting the trademarked tag of being a student of architecture - respect for your undoubted creative abilities (you took up archi. after all!), concern about the endless sleepless nights and days you spend 'working', sympathy and awe for choosing to be one of the 'different' citizens of the educational society.

Like my work-burdened, limit-less entertainment-deprived fellow-'archi's justify that their best interests lie in the 'creativity'. Its all about letting your emotions run wild in order to give expression to your ideas. Execution and evolution of what is within implies as the most lucrative feature of architecture. Or not. Its essentially an architectural-theory of covering up for whatever goes wrong. :D No offence or anything, for there are some things that need not be defined or understood (or written about). But even though its a tough road ahead with a LOT to look forward to, there are innumerable paths of divergence leading into what I'll someday tend to fancy and take up. Till then, its 'appreciation' all the way, if not architecture-make-believe-creation.