A prayer to the Heavens for fixing my horrible net!

The Daily Post asked me to write anything for a full ten minutes with no pausing, editing or anything else in between.

I must first admit that I started writing for this post, then didn’t quite know what to write about, deleted the content and closed my word document. But now again, I feel like I have to write something. I always like contributing to the Daily Writing Prompts.

My internet connection is very slow and frustrating, so I shall write about my distaste for it in today’s blog post. I usually love to read people’s blog posts. I like to comment on their posts, but I never do. I try. I have typed many paragraph-sized comments and have simply stopped trying to coax my computer to post it, because it is just stubborn and adamant in its own way.

Even today, I typed my comments on a couple of blog posts from my reader, but none of them could be posted, it seems. Clicking the post button more than ten times is the best I can do. After about fifteen times of trying I give up. I usually never do, but I am becoming that way because it’s just frustrating.

Even to post something onto my blog, I will have to wait for a long time, begging the Heavens (not really) to just “post this thing onto my blog”. But it takes some time for my prayers to reach the heavens, and so even the replies come a bit late from the heavens.

But the sad part is that sometime, the reply might be “then just give up.”

That is… it becomes impossible to post something that I finally shut down my laptop and walk away.

Now I have to start praying again. I have another article to post, thanks to the Daily Post, have I not? Sigh.

P.S: I have cheated a bit.

The Indian subcontinent: comparisons, comparisons!

When I think of the word ‘comparison’ keeping the urban and not-so-urban areas (not rural either) in mind, the first thing that I can think of is the way of dressing.

The metropolitan cities have changed drastically — they display a completely different image than that of the cities. The traditional churidars, sarees, half-sarees and other traditional dresses are fast being replaced by denims and shorts.

Okay, I am exaggerating. I have not seen anyone wearing shorts, but I don’t think the day is far away. Changing traditions, fading mythologies, adopting the western culture — these are the reasons why India is soon going to lose its unqiueness in this world.

What do I find in the town that I do not find in the city? The lanes are narrow in the towns, while the metropolitans boast of wide roads and huge shopping malls. The population in the cities is large, while it is moderate in the towns. In the villages, the population is very less. The scanty people belonging to the villages are generally oldies. Not just them, but they are the main people there.

The average people live in cities and towns. I wonder what will become of India’s agriculture, then. Because all of us want to move to ‘better places’ as we call them — to the cities. If everyone fled to the cities, then who would remain in the villages? Who would do agriculture?

The future of India is predictable enough, is it not? We will soon start importing rice!

The rural areas — the villages of India — can be painfully quiet. They are full of greenery and are mostly isolated from other places. Buses that reach these places are very few, and one has to wait for hours to get a bus to get to the nearest town that acts as a hub.

Some villages do not even have the facilities needed for traveling — no good roads that can allow the buses inside — just narrow sandy lanes. These towns have their natives walking a few kilometres to reach their nearest bus-stop.

They always come over to the nearby towns for shopping, as the villages do not have extravagant shops and malls at all. A friend of mine who lives in the village comes over even to buy a pair of shoes!

The peaceful towns are more preferable sometimes, just to escape the loud noises of the cities. If you want to do something creative, if you want to be alone, these places are just perfect.

The southern parts of India have retained their culture to an extent, and from what I see, the northern Indians are adapting to the western culture faster.

Life in the city is always hectic, while the towns allow a much calmer life. India has a rich mythology, which has not become as polar as the Greek one, but there are various Gods, Goddesses and stories nonetheless. There are the two great epics, The Ramayana and The Mahabharatha that are famous Indian legends.

The children of today are losing most of their time in the internet, games and music that they hardly come to know of how great a country India actually is. They never come to realize that the pride of an Indian lies in keeping their traditions alive — one such person is me.

I have never thought of retaining the Indian myths — I myself do not have complete knowledge of the Hindu mythology stories — but I will try to do whatever I can for my country. I will not stop wearing denims and T-shirts. Instead, I can focus on also wearing the traditional Indian outfits. I can focus on not discarding the use of vermilion. I can do my bit to show that I’m an Indian to the core of my being.

I started writing this post as a comparison between a city and a town, but this ended up as a patriotic note.

Now you can go back to whatever you were doing before you stumbled across this post, while I shall continue living my average life as an average countryside-yet-urban-ish girl.

I have to go sleep. It’s late already.

Until next time.

Too short. Nah, too long!

The daily post asked me what I was snobbish about. If something had to be only like that for me, what would it be?

Okay, let’s start off with the first thing that comes to my mind – dresses.
There is this traditional Indian dress called Langa in Telugu and Paavadai in Tamil. If it has to be given an English name, then I would say ‘a long skirt’, but that’s nowhere close. Usually young girls wear this. I too wore it when I was young.

For me, it has to exactly reach my toes – I wouldn’t mind at all even if it swept the floor or if I tripped on it, which was what my mother feared – it had to never go above my feet. Not even a few inches. But as young girls grow, the dress begins to get shorter for them; they are usually pleated at the hems, so there would be no problem, they had thought.

They thought wrong.

The pleats increased the length of the skirt significantly, sometimes more than required, so I had to wait till I grew even more, till my mother considered unstitching the pleats safe. And until then, I had to wear the short-growing skirt, despising it every time I wear them. And a majority of my dresses was the Paavadai.

The same thing goes for long skirts – I had reached a certain age when I didn’t grow much when I started wearing long skirts, so I do not have much to accuse them of. Had I worn them when I was young, I would’ve hated wearing them, too.

Next…

When they say frocks – or tunics – I expect them to be knee-length, no more. But because my mother feared that I would grow like a freaking coconut tree, she undid the pleats of my uniform (yes, these had pleats, too. I suppose every school uniform has?) till they reached way farther below my knees. I hated wearing it.

The exact size of my clothes has to be maintained. Yes, I am a snob when it comes to clothes.

Next?

Whenever I need a bag of chips, I want a big one (preferably lay’s). Either you buy me a huge pack of chips, or I would choose to not eat at all.

Haha 😛 I can be pretty snobby at times!

Time machine? Yes, please!

The Daily Post asked me: Congrats! You’re the owner of a new time machine. The catch? It comes in two models, each traveling one way only: the past OR the future. Which do you choose, and why?

Oh, WordPress DailyPost dearest! How can I thank you enough? You keep on encouraging me to go to my fantasy world whenever I write a blogpost for postaday.

I would certainly choose the one that takes me to the past.

Why?

Because the history of every single region on earth is worth reliving; for instance, I would like to travel back to the 1st century AD of the Roman Empire and see what it is like – how the elite Romans lived, how the valiant warriors braved the battles, how the women waited patiently for their husbands to return home, how the legions functioned, how they fought against the invaders, how the gladiators and gladiatrices performed at the arenas, how the people celebrated their festivals, how wars were fought, and of course, about love in the ancient days – so pure, so chaste.

Then, I would like to go to South Korea. I have watched a few Korean serials; enough to provoke me to make up my mind to visit Seoul someday. I believe the place has a rich history, too, just like the others – I’d like to experience the land of Goryeo (that was what the combined nations of South and North Korea were called in the ancient days) and experience the layered dresses, fancy hats and the women with heads down. I love the way the Koreans bow their heads as a gesture of respect. It’s just… something that never fails to fascinate me.

And then I would want to visit Roman Britain and see how the British tribes survived the domination of the Romans – and how they got influenced by the Anglo-Saxons and the other tribes who conquered Britain later.

I would also like to travel in the naval fleet of the Roman Empire and experience piracy (as odd as it sounds, I do want to see how people can get past me when I wield a sharp sword) and see what happens when one among the two opposing naval fleets made a Greek fire in the middle of the ocean. This does seem intriguing. I would like to see the flames dance over water.

And I would like to see the way everyone rushed to Australia – the gold rush as they called it – and suppress the aborigines of the place.

I would like to travel along with Marco Polo and discover new sea routes. Ah, the salty air of the seas… Marco Polo would have certainly become my bestie.

And yes, I very much want to befriend Leonardo DaVinci and inherit his mystic brain. Oh, how I would’ve loved every theory he comes up with.

I would like to see how exactly Columbus ‘discovered’ America when there were natives already. I would like to see how the natives reacted to the highly civilized British people.

And man, do I wish to see how civilized the cities of Harappa and Mohenjodaro were!

Why, I’d even go back to the Stone Age to see how the Early Man learnt to rub a stone with another to kindle fire. Ooh… and the discovery of the wheels – I would be the happiest girl in the whole world after the discovery of fire – finally I could try my hand in making shadows while the tribes light bonfires.

And I would want to go see how Emperor Vespasian built the Colosseum and how who-knows-who built the Eiffel tower. Not to forget the Taj Mahal – people say Shah Jahan cut off the limbs of the people who constructed it, in order to prevent such a magnificent structure from being rebuilt.

I would like to see how the Titan (or was it Titanic?) sunk into the water – a magnificent spectacle it would be – even if I were to die the next instant. While watching the movie, I wanted nothing but to be a member of the crew right then – people hustling and bustling in the ship, a boy you could contentedly fall in love with (though in this case, I would not have preferred Jack), standing at the bow of the massive vessel and stretching my hands and feeling like I’m flying, like I’m the queen of the ocean, someone who’d stand behind me and stretch their hands too… and the breeze… oh, the chilly breeze…

The sharks swarming underwater…

The deep blue sky above…

If only.

Whose love cannot be replaced

Karen sighed. She didn’t have the patience anymore to face the empty home that greeted her with nothingness every day, as her step-parents worked till late nights and scurried away to their offices early in the mornings. She didn’t even have the time to say a proper ‘hello’ to them, considering their never being at home most of the time.

Hitching her schoolbag over her back, and sighing once again, Karen hurried forward, away to the outskirts of town. She was free at last – free from the shackles of mockery that her friends failed not to bind her with and a prison of a school.

Karen glanced sideways on the road, at a trio who licked their ice-creams, laughter booming from within each of them as an unsaid private joke was being enjoyed – and Karen smiled – this was a first in many months, since the merry laughter of the trio was not directed at her; this was her only reason to smile.

Of course, she thought. The only cause of laughter among the people couldn’t be the mockery of her. There had to be other genuine reasons to laugh, too. But the constant ridicule that she received from her schoolmates made her think that whenever someone burst out into laughter, it was because of her clumsiness, or any other trait pertaining to her. It had to always be her.

But today, as she saw the harmless laughter bubbling up from the adolescents, she gathered up her courage and walked up to them.
The only boy in the little group looked up at her and smiled. Karen’s heart beat fast, wanting to get lost in the moment forever. But alas, that moment could not last.

“Who are you?” he had asked her.

Someone had just spoken something inoffensive to her.

Karen simply grinned at the boy.

“Girl. Stop drooling at my boyfriend.” The girl standing to his left snapped at her.

Boyfriend?

It was a rich word that Karen could not quite afford into her vocabulary. Boyfriends, shopping, malls, fun, parties, night-outs, sleepovers, gossip, friends, dates, prom – none of these were in the affordable side of Karen’s boundary.

Should she even be denied of hospitality?

She looked up at the girl, perplexed. “I am sorry.” At the end of the day, she had ended up using the same phrase she would have used against her bullies at school; the outskirts of town was certainly not worth escaping into.
She then dared a look into the depths of the boy’s fathomless eyes. They were soft and kind, and she couldn’t see any ill will there, but she certainly did in those of the girl beside him.

His gaze, in return, pierced directly into her soul, ripping it apart, tearing it to shreds, setting it on fire, reducing it to ashes and then left her eyes abruptly without even a feeling of remorse. Ever-so-innocently.

The two girls beside him seemed oblivious to the ardent gaze exchange that he had just had with Karen. Within seconds, the color of his eyes drained, and he returned to his former self. “Who are you?” he repeated, this time, irritation evident in his voice. “What do you want?”

If falling in love at the first gaze was plausible, then Karen had just experienced that. Her eyes peered into the depths of his soul again through his eyes, seeking the warmth and kindness that oozed out towards her that he had painfully suppressed moments ago.

“Wherever has it gone?” she whispered unconsciously, earning odd looks from three pairs of eyes.

The boy surely thought that she was a freak – just like the others did. She willed him not to look oblivious to what she was searching for, but he remained that way. He knew not what she had been searching for.
Even she did not know what she had been seeking all these days, unless she had found it – love.

A lone voice rang clearly in her head, clear as a bell: “Karen, my baby!” It was that of her mother.

Eyes brimming with moist, she turned away and walked back the way she came, while the salty beads of tears rolled down her cheeks in abundant quantities. Her feet took her to a deserted alleyway, where she broke down and cried until her eyes were dehydrated of moisture.

She wanted her mother. Badly.

A ‘lavender’ colored letter to tiny flecks of ‘lavender’ from a ‘lavender’ princess.

Writing101: The Daily Post has asked me to flip to page 29 of the nearest book and write my post in a letter format, with the first letter of the page.

Fortunately, I had many e-books in my laptop and so, I didn’t need to get up. Scanning my ‘downloads’ folder, my eyes caught sight of a book that I had downloaded yesterday – Britannia.

This is what I saw as the first sentence: Tiny flecks of dried lavender were suspended in it too, so the whole piece had a soft, purple hue.

So, I have decided to address my letter to ‘Tiny Flecks of Lavender.’

Dear Tiny Flecks of Lavender,

I know that you guys will be pretty pissed off for being reduced to tiny flecks, milking your life from within, so I want to apologize to you. Never will I ever reduce you to tiny flecks henceforth.

P.S: I love your color. That is the color of the dress that I am wearing right now. I feel like a princess whenever I wear this lavender-colored netted churidar.

Yours flabbergasted-ly (with a wink),

The Princess in Lavender.

Lazing around

DailyPost Prompt: To write for a full ten minutes non-stop about anything.

I know it is too late to post right now, but it has been long since I have visited wordpress and now I feel like I’m missing something fun. I have just decided to not ignore my blog anymore.

I have noticed that the prompt was given to us yesterday night, but I saw it only right now. And when I saw a fellow blogger who had posted their contribution just a couple of hours ago, I gathered my courage and opened up my word document to type my post off.

So… Anything that you want me to speak about, eh? Then I’ll talk about (okay, I need time to think what I need to write about… how about talking about typical Indian climate?)

The climate today is sweltering as usual, and I can sense sweat all over me. The sun shines warmly at me – not just me, the whole of our town – merrily making its scorching rays consume up all places exposed.

I am sitting on my father’s Mahindra Duro in my portico with my laptop on my lap (how unexpected!) and looking at random things in the net – no, random, I would say not, as I was deliberately looking for more information on ‘The battle of the catalaunian plains’ where the allied forces of the Romans and Visigoths defeated the Huns in the fifth century AD in Europe. I had been searching for this because I need a historical setting for my novel.

Looks like I’ve written for more than ten minutes. I shall take my leave, then.

Digital Electronics

I needed some bonding time to fix
The relationship I had with digital electronics
Binary representations surrounded my mind
And IC555 timers that produced delay time.

Karnaugh maps helped me out
So did the logic gates, no doubt
The sweet li’l Half Adders are easy to design
Unlike multiplexers that use only a single line.

Combinational circuits are easy to comprehend
Unlike their sequential counterparts, which, in the end
Leave me perplexed with their complex nature
With flip-flops, logic circuits and much more.

In today’s digitized world
With a billions of computers sold
This knowledge is worthier than gold
At least, that’s what I’m told.

Of Historical Fiction

I have recently encountered a historical fiction novel in wattpad (I wanted to write a novel based on the Romans and so I was on the look for Roman historical novels when I found this one), which is not even totally completed (yet) but I have seemed to grow an affinity towards it like no other. I had been drooling over the author’s subtlety and the way with which she breathed life into each character. Envious I was, of course, but I had also become her fan. Titled ‘War Prize’, the writer has shown the best of romances I had ever come to like. Do read it, it’s free: War Prize. It shows the love between a lost Roman girl and a Briton. I love it, I love it, I love it! I’ve probably become so insane that I know not how to wait for the chapter updates! Go take a look at it right away!

Okay. I’ll stop drooling over someone else’s work and come to my own.

Lately, I have been researching a bit about the fifth century in Europe, trying to base my novel there. I have come to find that the Romans can be quite intriguing, but then, so will be the Britons and the Greeks. About the Anglo-Saxons, I know not, as I have not researched much about them. But the Huns, the Goths and the Vandals seem to have an interesting impact on Europe that I have decided to include at least one of these tribes in my novel.

I love it when a novel has ships, pirates, love, sea, emperors, empresses, kings, queens, princes and princesses, simplicity, subtleness, challenges, adventure, mystery, affection, war, vengeance and a romance so subtle that the most erotic moment in the book is when the male protagonist just touches the hand of his love, or when he removes her veil. Subtle romances such as those are the best in my opinion. The writing has to be brilliant if this has to be achieved, though.

I am further going to read a few piracy novels and see how they’re written, as I have no idea how to describe the insides of a ship. I would be delighted to write one such piracy novel sometime in the future.

This novel is going to be written by keeping beautiful writing in mind if not anything else, and if I write it well I will be rewarded with a ‘book publishing’, I believe. My love for historical fiction makes me research and write more, even though I have no steady plot at the moment.

And even when I do not write, I can always read novels pertaining to the said era. I love historical romances, so if you are one of those writers, hesitate not to tell me about your book! 🙂