Ansh Das's Blog, page 6

A new life

There is a life inside this life

Something that feels new

The heart begins to beat again

A big thanks to you

xox

 

 

Mind vs Heart

I long for you since the day we met

That's my heart.

My mind says its impossible.

I laugh at myself

As I watch them battle everyday.

I catch myself thinking

It's never gonna happen.

That's just my mind.

The heart doesn't understand,

It insists you live within me.

The mind laughs, it's a joke

Am I wishing for the impossible?

 

I see you when I close my eyes.

Or is it just a dream?

You hug me, you comfort me

When I wake up you are gone

I remember your smell, your touch

Are they just memories?

The battle continues.

 

Is it real, is it a mirage?

Is it worth living a life without dreams?

How can I let go of something I don't have?

I laugh at myself

As I watch them battle everyday.

 

~ This is not only about letting go but also about loving somebody (including yourself).

Our Song

This song is not about loss

It's about gain

Countless hurdles, rising above pain

It's a song about us

This song is not about tears

It's about smiles

My heart's reflection in your eyes

It's a song about us

This song is not about clouds

It's about the sun

And raindrops on white flowers

It's a song about us

This song is not about words

It's about the heart?Magic over time and distance

It's a song about us

This song is not about fear

It's about hope

The courage to sacrifice

It's a song about us

This song is not about death

It's about life

You lead, I follow, into eternity

It's a song about us

Power

Sometimes when I look up at the sky

I see a lonely white cloud floating by

I don't know why it does,

But it reminds me of you.

And I ask myself why do people have to die.

I still can't believe you are gone

That I shall never see you again

I shall never hear your laughter ring out

Only mute memories of your shout.

Never see those twinkling eyes

Giving way to that mischievous smile

Shy, sparkling,  naughty

I guess that was your own style.

Sometimes when I am hurt

When I am sitting all alone

When I need the strength to fight back

I talk to you and I reach out.

I don't know whether you hear me

Or feel my fingers touching you…

But I want to think you do.?You are always with me.

Sometimes when I look up at the sky in the night

All those golden stars twinkling bright.

And then I understand why

People like you can never die.

You are unforgettable.

You are immortal.

You are the angels of the power in us.

You are the power.

It grows stronger over time

Love doesn't begin, it doesn't end. It goes on and on forever.

It existed in the past life, it exists in this life and shall exist in the next life and the ones after it.

Love is not about time. It is about experiencing eternity in every moment and eternity as a moment.

Love is not about distance. Nothing can separate it.

Love is not about the body, it is about the soul. It is not physical; it is spiritual.

Love is not about showing; it is about feeling.

Love is not an emotion, it is the truth.

Love is like a tattoo on your back. You cannot see it but it's always there.

Love is about letting go, for it will find it's way back to you.

Love doesn't fade away. It grows stronger as time passes.

Love doesn't begin, it doesn't end. It goes on and on forever.

A Snake in Paradise by Brenda Sedore

Author Brenda Sedore knows how to pack a punch.

If you follow writers or literary agents, you will come across this piece of advice – put a lot of action in your first chapter; your first five pages should have enough juice to spur your readers to read until the last page. Brenda's done that. Twice. Her first two chapters ensure you are right in the middle of action. Fire in a vineyard. An interrogation.

When I was setting up this website, Brenda had helped me out with some technical details. I started following her blog and was happy to read about her upcoming book. It is not often one interacts with an author, following them through the process until their book is born. And when her book arrived, I rushed to buy a copy from Smashwords.

A Snake in Paradise

Let me make it clear. I have never been a fan of snakes. Some of them look beautiful… but from a distance, like the ball pythons I shot at a pet expo (see below).

I was apprehensive after reading the title. But since the paradise she referred to was Italy, I was all for it. (It's like near the top of my list – to visit Italy one day. It is a paradise, is it not?)

I hadn't read a story revolving around a female character since primary school days (Little Women, Nancy Drew series, etc.). I wasn't sure I would like it. I didn't. I loved it!

Aja is a young lady tormented by her partner. She manages to injure him and escape into the loving arms of her overprotective family. Her escape story becomes an overnight sensation and journalists hound her for sound bites. She can deal with all that, but what she cannot handle is the game of revenge between her family and her partner. She leaves them in Vancouver and flies off to Italy, where she starts working at a vineyard to earn a living.

So what, you say? Life on a vineyard isn't like what they show you in the movies. She has to wake up at unholy hours, avoid getting scratched by grapevines and duck flying pee and poo. No, no. I am not kidding. All that is part of the wine-making process. Wait, there is more – an overpowering mother, a stubborn son, a handsome brother who protects his lovely sister and her daughter. Brenda manages to portray the everyday life and struggles of her main characters using a very simple and fluid tone. That's the beauty of the book.

You also get a taste of Italy – the streets, the people, the food, the wine, the scenery, the culture. It's lovely! Somebody, stop me.

In the end, Aja has to choose between two handsome and passionate lovers. But first, they must protect her from her ex- who wants to kill her.

That's Brenda's book for you. But don't believe me for what I say. Go, buy a copy from Amazon.com and read it.

~ Fino alla prossima volta ~

Cover shot courtesy Brenda's Goodreads page.

Can I bake you a story?

When I was 9 years old, my mother bought a small machine called an Inframatic. One could grill and bake on it. Since nobody had much use for it, I claimed ownership and played with it.

Grilling chicken meat was easy. I would need to marinate the fillet or wings in different sauces for a few minutes while I preheated the Inframatic. Then I would put the meat on the grilling plates and close the cover. Once the meat was ready, we would all sit down to eat it. The only downside was washing the greasy plates. I would rely, ahem, on my mother to help me do them.

I remember toasting sandwiches stuffed with slices of boiled eggs, onions, tomatoes and an amazing potato salad my mom made in those days. I had to strike a balance between making the sandwiches juicy while ensuring the fillings did not spill out. Not a difficult task.

When my mother baked, I would sit and watch her. She would beat the sugar and the butter. Then she would add the eggs and the flour. She would mix the ingredients one by one until the batters were ready. Then she would place them in the Inframatic and bake for a few minutes. The cakes would come out looking perfect and they tasted great. Always.

But when it was my turn to bake, it was a nightmare.

I would struggle with the amount of ingredients and how I was mixing them. The batter would look great but the cakes would not have the right texture, looks, or taste. I was so frustrated once that I put everything together into a blender and mixed them at one go. I placed that batter into the Inframatic. Within minutes I had a 2cm thick slab of roti. I was sure if I threw it at someone, I could hurt him or her real bad. But that little me had a little ego then. Instead of accepting defeat, I ate it up. All by myself. And I vowed to try harder. After several weeks of trying, during which I exhausted my pocket money (if you could call it that) several times, I succeeded.

Stories are like cakes. Creating them is akin to baking. The success of a story depends on how well the author has chosen the ingredients and how well he or she has mixed them.

Some of these ingredients are outlined below.

The Characters in the story may be good or bad, real or imaginary.

The Plot or the structure of a story is the sequence of events the author puts together.

The point of view is the angle from which the story is told.

The length of a story makes it a short story, a novella, a novel or an epic. So in plain terms, we are talking about going from a few words to several thousands.

Then there is the genre of a story, a term used to group works with similar themes and settings. Some examples are mystery, horror, romance, etc.

The location of a story is where it unfolds.

Over the next few posts, we shall talk about these ingredients and many more. Once we are done, you will never look at a story in the same way again.

No Words

Today my friend bought a bird in the market and set it free. For the past 6 months (since his mom was diagnosed with Cancer), he has been preparing to let go. 3 days ago, his mom passed away. He called me to say he was letting the bird go…and that he has not cried. I know he won't cry until I meet him again. When faced with a crisis, the mind steels itself and freezes all emotions like his did. But I have to steel myself for the day he shall unfreeze. Thus is our friendship.

Paranormal Precognitions by Daryl Sedore

Daryl Sedore's Paranormal Precognitions was the first book I read on my Kindle. But that's not the only reason why it shall stay on my mind.

I follow authors, bloggers and literary agents on Twitter and Facebook. Not only do we share our thoughts, ideas, reviews, recommendations and jokes, but also our struggles and success stories. I met Daryl online some time ago and learned about his then upcoming book Paranormal Precognitions. He had set up a Facebook page for others to follow the journey of the book to publication.

The title of the novel was the first thing that caught my attention. My interest in the paranormal is not out of mere curiosity. Back in my high school days, I started having nightmares. I would see bad things happening to people. At first, I thought they were just nightmares and tried to ignore them. But I was scared when bad things did happen to some of those people in real life, on similar lines to what I had seen in my nightmares. Sometimes things would have already happened and I would see them afterwards. I remember calling up mom to talk about one such nightmare. She was surprised and asked me how I knew about the incident, hundreds of miles away from the scene. Remember the pre-Internet, pre-mobile phone days? I am glad she always took me seriously. Sometimes, I reached out to those people myself, and at other times I requested my mom to. We would give them a gentle warning without trying to freak them out. I remember a friend getting pissed off with me after he ignored my warning and met with an accident. The nervous tension after the nightmares wasn't easy to handle at first, but I have improved over the years.

Sarah Roberts has nobody she can talk to. She has frequent unpredictable blackout periods during which she jots down messages into her notebook. These messages warn her about bad things that are going to happen in the near future. She then follows the instructions, saves the day and runs away before people have time to react. The constant heightened tension makes her pull out her own hair. She masks her mental pain by inducing physical pain.

The book opens right in the middle of one such incident where she is sitting under a bridge with a hammer in her hand. And from there on it is pure action. Daryl's set the pace by using smaller sentences. One may think smaller sentences mean you have to write more to complete the scene. In reality, the opposite is true. Smaller sentences, especially in fragments, help in increasing the pace of the scene. You end up putting more into the scene for the same length. The only downside to the technique is if one doesn't slow down the pace every now and then, the reader may feel exhausted. But Daryl's done a great job at balancing it out by adding small details about the environment. These details are tiny in comparison with the ongoing action but add to the experience.

You end up being in the scene instead of just reading it.

Another thing I liked about this novel is the characterization. Almost all the supporting characters have their own struggles. We don't usually get to see this, as often as we would want to. The focus is always on the main storyline. This reduces the characters to flat cardboard pieces. Some may argue this adds to the length of the novel. I just want to point out that in the real world no person is a flat cardboard character. At least, I don't know of any such person. The fact that Daryl's novel is shorter than your average paperback speaks volumes about how much thought and effort he has put into each character.

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading the Paranormal Precognitions and won't be surprised if it is adapted into a short film. I have deliberately chosen not to go into details of the story because that would take the fun away from your reading experience. And as a writer, I can't let happen.

Paranormal Precognitions is available on the Amazon, lulu and smashwords for your reading pleasure.

It's late in the night. I must go to bed now. By the way, did I tell you I often see dead people in my dreams?

(Cover shot courtesy of Daniel Johnson from Daryl's website)

Day of Terror

This post is dedicated to the innocent people who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. May their souls rest in peace.

After the attacks on America, BBC News Online received thousands of emails from people who had witnessed the terrible events. One of them was mine. It got forwarded by friends and their friends until it reached the BBC and they contacted me. It was published on their website.

I consider the present as my second life and it began on the day I witnessed the greatest act of cowardice in recent times.

The account follows:

I saw history with naked eyes today. And fate just stared me in the face and made me realize how small we are. Thank God, for having spared us from any harm. And let us not forget the souls that have departed.

Now the whole story as seen through my eyes. All times according to my watch.*

8:35 am – I get out of the PATH train from Newark at WTC. Usually, I respond to the "Good morning New York" display with a good morning. Today, I am feeling low. Also cursing myself for being late by 10 minutes.

8:37 am – I cross the only block (50-75m) that separates my office (222, Broadway)from WTC.

8:40 am – I am reading my mails on the 5th floor.

8:42 am – There is a tremendous noise (like a plane flying really low), the glasses on the windows (1 m from me) bend inwards and straighten out. There is a thundering crash and I look out the window to see – people lying on the street.

Glasses of adjoining buildings blown off. Paper flying in the air, Dust and smoke. I run towards a window that offers better view. North Tower, WTC has caught fire. I feel it is a plane, people say it is a bomb.

8:55 am – I am making phone calls to ensure none of my friends are hurt. Get only my cousin on the line. Scan websites, radio programmes and send u updates.

8:59 am – Hear a similar (plane) noise and go to the window. Watch a plane crash into the South Tower. Jump away from the window and duck. The windows develop cracks.

9:10 am – Bldg Security ask us not to evacuate.

9:30 am – Radio reports of Pentagon crash, Whitehouse evacuation, Washington Mall Fire and other hijacked planes come in.

9:40 am – Third (Plane) noise begins. Some one says they see a 3rd plane (A third plane did not hit. The noise was actually the South Tower – first to fall – coming down.) (lie). But the bldg starts shaking. I am one of the first people to reach the floor exit. Doors are Jammed. Push thru and reach the fire exit. Running down flights like mad. Crowd goes on increasing and howling. Reach the reception – get directed towards the rear. The rear door is not opened coz of smoke and dust. Head towards the front.

People are crying. There is that pungent smell of electric fire. Check out the CCTV's and see that outside there is only darkness. Somebody shouts for people with asthma. I think they want help. I realize I have left my bag and inhaler at my desk on the 5th floor. I go on as I have some tabs in my pocket.

Instead, they want all asthma patients to leave ASAP. we are given water and food. I take neither and step out of the bldg. It is as good as a night without light. The hanky on my face is not enough.

I am breathing thru my mouth. Feel dust in throat. TV people like mad – going on shooting footage. Injured and terrified cops brought in for attendance. people are crying, cursing…Everybody looks white from the dust. And wet. Some were bleeding and hence appeared wet. Immobile people on the streets.

Ambulances coming in. Only siren and howling. I see people running towards what appears like light in the distance. I start walking fast. I see people inside other buildings not being allowed to evacuate as per police orders. they want people nearest to WTC to go first. I reach the City Hall and wash myself up in the fountain. I sit there for a minute. The first tower(that was hit i.e. North Tower)collapses. Though the air is somewhat clear, I move on fearing more dust/ smoke.

I just keep walking north. I get the news that the whole city has been sealed off. Only exits from the island are the Manhattan bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge. Only ferry service is from south of WTC which I can in no way reach. They suspect bombs in crowded areas, So everything is sealed off.

I freshen up at a Chinese restaurant in china town.

All calls from public phones are going nowhere. all mobile networks are either jammed or no good.

Rest rooms and water are made available to affected people. And I drink a lot of water. It is hot. The smoke and dust on my trail and the humidity a bit above comfort. It is after months that I am out on the streets and walking for such a long time. I had never seen New York and this was a bad day I picked.

I have to go to Journal Square, NJ (my home). But there is nothing that can take me there. So I ask the authorities and start walking towards north. I meet people who are trying to get to New Jersey. And after discussion we decide to head towards -Penn Station (train) or PATH HQ where we may get a bus to NJ.

We walked miles today. Stopped for a burger.

Fighter planes are flying above head – indicating that there can be more attacks.

12:30 pm – On reaching 32nd street, we got to know that they have suspended everything… till God knows when. It was as if we would have to spend the night at the stn.

1:00 pm – they announce that trains will start running soon.

2:15 pm – I get a chance to board a Newark bound train.

2:40 pm – I reach Newark and find that there is no way I can go home as all tunnels are closed to traffic. They ask us to go through a decontamination routine which never took place. They were scared the dust we were carrying on us was poisoned.

* The times mentioned in my account are incorrect since I wasn't really noting them down. I had the urge to correct them and rewrite the whole account but it wouldn't mean the same to me. I chose to publish it as it had been written.

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