Month: January 2013

Made it to kolkata,craziest city on earth

I have never seen a city like Kolkata. It is the wildest, most crazy place I have ever been. Engulfed by poverty it is still vibrant and full of life. After the flight from Hyderabad I landed in Kolkata. I was staying with an extremely nice Indian couple that live in the heart of Kolkata.

On Day 1 I explored all the local roads,malls,food courts near by,where i am staying.With the help of my Smart Android I can travel/explore any place.

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Kolkata is like a piece of shit on the face of this earth”, wrote the famous writer Günter Grass.

Like there is some who would agree with this bad notion, there are many many more who loves the city of joy and would disapprove of one such statement. A person who is not associated with or is ignorant of the Indian culture and tradition will probably generate one such idea and never understand the true spirit of the city. It could also be our shortfall that we had been unable to show many like Grass the brighter side of things that are here.

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I have heard many of my friends calling Kolkata to be chaotic, cluttered and dirty. True, some parts of Kolkata is dirty, is chaotic. Yet Kolkata is the City of Joy. Kolkata is the city of tradition and culture. Kolkata is the city of football and cricket. Kolkata is the city of Tagore, Netaji, Mother Teresa. Kolkata is the city of lavish shopping malls. Kolkata is the city of booming IT industry. It’s the city we all love.

On day 2nd and 3rd day

I and Mytri planned to explore Kumartuli, one of the cultural precincts of Kolkata. It was a Saturday morning that we headed towards Kumartuli. From Shobhabazar- we took a car to Kumartuli, where clay sculptors were busy in making idols. Bright sunshine on my shoulders and the deep blue sky above were telling that autumn  is on the threshold and with only one month left for the Pujas idol making would be in full swing.

It was my long cherished desire to visit Kumartuli, the alley of the potters, where gods and goddesses are born (read created) in the skilled hands of mud sculptors who are in the profession of clay idol making for several generations

Well, coming back to where we started our journey. As we moved on down the lanes the brick walls and structures were like closing in on us. I have never seen such narrow lanes and by-lanes in my life. Much to my astonishment, artisans live in there, with their families and have set up their studios for pottery and idol making! Well… studio, not in its literal sense.

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On 3rd day I  had to take a hand-pulled rickshaw. As soon as I boarded the rickshaw childhood memories thronged my mind. Such rickshaws were aplenty on the roads of Hyderabad those days.  We used to ride rickshaws often, especially in the evenings while returning home after a shopping or a visit to some relative’s place. The rickshaw puller is almost running pulling the rickshaw, and the sound of the bells hanging in his hand … ting ling ting ling (this bell worked like horns) and a small lantern hanging at the back of the rickshaw, just like the rear light of a car – the images are still so vivid in my mind!

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I sat stiff and terrified, thinking all the time, what if the rickshaw puller loosens his grip and we’ll land up up-side down (LOL!). Finally, I reached my destination and I was relieved to get down from the rickshaw.

Trams are rare to see on the roads of Kolkata.The thought that Kolkata will be losing its heritage one day pains a lot. The metro has transformed a lot with a number of lavish shopping plazas, bustling multiplexes, flyovers and BMW, Skoda and Chevrolet plying the city roads.

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Slowly the tram reached the terminal at Bagbazar. From there we caught the bus to Kalikapur. As the bus was passing through Shyambazar crossing I caught a glimpse of the statue of ‘Netaji’,

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basking in the sun, amidst a number of enormous hoardings and signboards trying to cover up the skyline, the bamboo structures for pandals on the roadside, posters of political rallies and the same zeal and enthusiasm for the Pujas reminded me, ‘Kolkata ache Kolkatatei” (The spirit of Kolkata still remains the same)!

Mother Teresa:

Truly memorable and moving; be sure to go up the stairs to see the room where she slept and lived and ran this tremendous Sisters of Charity worldwide. The Orphanage which is also worth a visit is nearby!! Do not miss seeing both!! Try to visit in the morning or late afternoon when the children are not sleeping.

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Howrah Bridge:

Never imagined that something as big as that bridge is hanging on its own. The British were famous for their civil engineering and they proved this by constructing such a long Howrah bridge. The bridge is never short of traffic, very busy indeed.Walk across this bridge and you will feel the awesome magnificence of the bridge. Be careful of the crowd though.

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Victoria Memorial :

Majestic entrance to a beautiful monument in the heart of city of joy Kolkata  nice greenery on both sides once entered, beautiful stone walkway, mesmerism you. Once you enter the main hall you are thrilled with the construction of the hall, marble edifice and the whole hall gives you a picture of dominance of British in India. There are plenty of collection time taking to browse around but worth watching. There are very detailed eye catching glimpses display of history of Calcutta (Kolkata) which gives an idea of British period’s Kolkata  Overall it is worth watching and one should always visit this place once if they visiting Kolkata.

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 Kumartuli:

What is amazing is that they have still have kept a lot of old traditions alive. The idol makers still use water from Hoogly to mix the clay and make the models. It is not the easiest things to do since the have to hire water carriers, but most of the artists still folow this tradition.Kumartuli streets are narrow and there are lanes and bylanes and that is what lends Kumartuli a character.It not not a typical studio where potters do their clay modeling, these streets are as old as Kolkata and is a historic place. I am posting a few photos of goddess Saraswathi, there was also a very interesting and beautiful old building, no one lives theres, must have been grand at some point. I walked through two three lanes and then headed straight for Hoogly. It was a nice and peaceful evening.

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Birla Temple:

This white marble temple, resembling the famous Lingaraja temple of Bhubaneswar, is a marvel of architecture and adobe of peace. The main temple houses statues of Radha-Krishna. The left side of temple houses goddess Durga and the right side of the temple houses Shiva. There is no nuisance that could disturb the devotees and the place is well maintained and clean.

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Netaji Bhavan:

Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, known popularly as Netaji (meaning leader in Hindi), was one of the most prominent reformists in the Indian Independence Movement. The building that is known as Netaji Bhavan today was once the residence of the reformist. Managed by the Netaji Research Bureau, the old bungalow-style structure houses a museum and the bureau’s archives and library. The museum is divided into various rooms, each detailing certain phases in the leader’s life. The top-most floor has photographs and documents from the life and works of Subhash Chandra Bose, arranged in chronological order. The library and archives include comprehensive collections detailing the Indian Independence Movement. Netaji Bhavan also has an auditorium called the Sarat Bose Hall which is used for events like lectures and seminars. Located on Elgin Road, opposite, Forum Mall this is the place to visit if you’re interested in learning about India’s Freedom Struggle.

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Few of my clicks

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For more clicks you can find in my Kolkata album in Photography menu

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Back to Work Morning Randoms

Well.. they are back. My morning randoms. Unfortunately time is up. My vacation is over. It was nice being able to sleep in and what not, but I have to get back to work. I need money really bad to continue my travelling. I have no more. Its starting to bug me. But its back to getting up at 4 am now. 6 hours of sleep WOOHOO!

Mood:Tired

Listening to: Maroon 5 Playlist

Reading: My typing

Watching: Nothing

Playing: She will be loved-Maroon 5

Eating: Good Day biscuits

Drinking: Morning Coffee

I’ve been unable to catch the time to write something here for the past week or so..been away from my hometown on vacation.so i guess I’ve found some time in these few mins just to babble about something.

Well, gotta go back to work..hope to write shortly again..

A Short Story -Dinner With Stranger

Cover page:

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Title : Dinner With Stranger

Authors : Madhu Kalyan,Gunjan Vyas

Art : Dina Ahmed

7:15 pm, Saturday. Alarm rings, snooze is hit the next 15 minutes are spent staring at the ceiling. Eveleen’s parents are not home as usual. She sits at her computer desk, her cursor flashing in the blank word document. Her first day off in weeks, her first real opportunity to work on her novel and she is too stressed to think. For an hour or two, now she has been sitting in her worn black office chair, staring at the white page, stirring tea. The TV is chattering unobserved behind her, some stupid commercial playing.

She has always wanted to write, it has always been her dream to be a famous author some day. She had her story planned out, her characters were strong and well developed, she even had a title, all she needed now was to write it. But with her mind swaying between her terrible boss, her boyfriend leaving, her company failing and still giving her way too much work to do, not to mention the hundreds of other niggling issues in her life she fails to be creative. With a final sigh, she closes the word document and leans back into her chair. Her back is stiff from sitting all that time, and now her eyes ache from the continuous exposure to the monitor. She pushes her chestnut brown hair hanging around her eyes and past her shoulders, out of her eyes, and absentmindedly notes she would have to have it cut soon. She loosens her blue blouse from her shoulders and adjusts her black sweatpants before standing up and moving to the couch.

Eveleen Sad

10:45 pm. A commercial for a sauna belt is playing and a slim blonde girl is squealing how the belt helped her lose that extra fat around her lower belly. Dumb bitch – as if she can’t see past that work of Photoshop on the photo showing her ‘before use’ photographs. She picks up the remote and flips through the channels past one bad show to another. There is a psychiatrist speaking on one channel, about multiple personality disorder. From the Armani suit she is wearing under her doctor’s white coat and not a hint of emotion on her face, Eveleen doesn’t find it difficult to conclude that she, quite unlike her, is under worked and overpaid. She considers to put away her burnt and uneaten microwave cooked pasta but her grumbling stomach makes her change her mind.

After literally swallowing the damn thing, she starts heading upstairs but a knock at the front door startles her.This late at night? she thinks and suspiciously eyes the door. Who could it be?

She tells her curious mind to go and have some sleep – a sensible person would have rang the doorbell instead of knocking – what is it, the nineteenth century? She starts to head back to her room but then there it is – another knock on the door, this one louder than before. She tries to ignore it and go back to sleep but her feet won’t move. Before she can do anything, the knocking starts again and turns into an obnoxiously cheerful beat that makes her jump out of her skin. As if her day hasn’t been bad enough, some idiot has to ruin her night as well. She briefly considers dialing 100 but anger takes the better part of her and she pulls open the door with more force than she needs to.

There in the doorway, silhouetted by the streetlights a man is standing in a heavy brown rain jacket and a leather hat. His eyes are a piercing green and his smile actually sparkled. Is that even possible to have teeth like that? He was a slight man, his arms loaded down with bags of groceries and knick-knack.

Stranger

“Hello, who might you be?” he asks pleasantly.

Anger swells in her belly and she has an urge to snatch those bags from his hands and hurl them at his face.

“You are the one who is standing on my doorstep,” she points out sternly, her arms crossed across her chest.

He shrugs and grins at her like a man who had just won lottery…what was his problem?

“What are you doing here this late? My parents are out so if you have business with them come tomorrow.”

“No, actually I have business with you,” he smiles an innocent smile that warms her up to the very core – it’s been so long since someone smiled at her this way, she realizes  Before she can recover from the effects of this charming man’s smile, he pushes the door open and enters the house.

“Hey! What do you think you are doing?”

He acts as if he didn’t hear her and keeps walking ahead, taking in a good view of her house. He sees a card lying on the center table and picks it up. Eveleen runs and snatches the card away from him – the break-up card her boyfriend gave her just this afternoon.

“Don’t look at others’ private stuff, mister,” she warns him but he takes no notice.

“Eveleen – a lovely name for a lovely woman,” he says in the same charming manner and she thanks her coffee complexion because she knows she must be blushing a bright tomato if not for that.

“I like the paintings you have on your wall, very modern,” the stranger comments as he puts down his bags on the table.

“So do your boyfriend broke up with you?” The stranger asks her innocently. Eveleen has the urge to point out that he should mind his own damn business but that innocent and concerned look on his face won’t let her be so rude.

“Uh, he left me this morning… who are y-“

“A beautiful woman like you? What kind of guy would be so blind to give you up? Do you have any food allergies?” he asks suddenly as he removes his wet hat and jacket to reveal a nice silk dress shirt and pants, his gold watch glittering almost as much as his teeth.

“Uh no? Why do you ask Mr…?” Eveleen begins again trying to interrupt the polite stranger and discern his identity. However, he ignores her question.

“Why, so I can make you dinner. Now you get dressed while I clean this place up, I’ll have it ready in no time.”

Eveleen frowns suspiciously – a man entering her house so late at night just so he can cook and clean for her? And she doesn’t even know his name?

She looks at him for a few moments, thinking what to say but he interrupts her thoughts.

“Please, Eveleen. There is lots to do. You get your best dress on for dinner while I prepare things, we can talk during the meal. Now go, I’ll be in the kitchen. Which way is your kitchen?”  he asks looking around the whole place. Eveleen points a hesitant finger towards the door on the extreme left of the room.

“Okay, thanks. Now you rush to your room and get changed,” he tells her like one would tell a small child. She frowns at him but something about him made her follow his instructions without any argument or resistance. She shrugs and heads upstairs to get ready. Putting on her favorite red dress, that fit her curvy frame like a glove, she glanced at her reflection and blushes – she had forgotten how good looking she is. She sat down in front of the mirror and brushes down her lovely tresses which cascade down her shoulders like a dark brown waterfall. She puts on some gloss on her lips for a final touch before getting up and looking at herself – she is beautiful…she is very beautiful, she had only forgotten this. She gives her hair a final turn before putting her stilettos on. She frowns when she remembers the reason she’s bought this dress – her first date with Raman. The sounds of rattling dishes, the slamming cupboard doors and the clanging of utensils brings her out her reverie and she quickly gets on her feet. She considers wearing some jewelry and puts on her small diamond earrings. A fleeting thought about him being a thief who was only bluffing her into believing he was a kind man who wanted to cook for her in the middle of the night crosses her mind but she shoves it down and quickly runs down the stairs.

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She gasps.

It is unbelievable – the beauty and simplicity of it is amazing and heart touching.

The dining room is clean. All her work papers, appointments, schedules, drafts, scribbled notes and numbers are piled neatly in a far corner. A red tablecloth is draped over the small and much scratched oak table and two candles burn in her silver candlesticks. Rose petals are scattered around the center of the table and along the walls bringing fragrance to the once musty room.  She can hear the sound of rattling of dishes through the kitchen door so she enters.

The day isn’t as bad as she thought. The whole place is in chaos. Cutting boards loaded with meat and vegetables on every available surface and dishes stacked almost to the ceiling in one half of the sink; the other half being used to fill pots of boiling water.

Yet more pots and pans bubble and steam on the stove while her great grandmother’s precious silver dining platters sit closed on a folding cart. They shine, the years of neglect and tarnish having been polished away by the stranger. They looked like new, the entire kitchen and the stranger reflecting in their mirrored surface. A midst the chaos the stranger dances without taking any notice of her, a spoon and a knife in either hand as he glides from stove to sink to cutting board to tray and back again. Her rarely used kitchen now looked more like a highly choreographed Broadway number. His silk shirt and pants, much to her surprise, remain untouched by the inevitable mess and splatter of cooking.

This very odd man who she knows nothing about is making a wonderful meal (she can smell it) in her own kitchen, and for some strange reason she trusts him more than she could trust her best friend cum boyfriend in all these years.

I must be in shock, or I am so stressed that I have fallen asleep and this is all some dream, she mused.

Maybe her terrible job is finally driving her crazy, she concludes silently in her head and watches him hum and dance in her kitchen, meat sizzling in a pan. She silently pinches herself in hopes to wake up from this dream – the dream was great but she wasn’t so weak to make a stupid dream her life – but much to her surprise, she winced at the pain.

So, this isn’t a dream.

Eveleen starts asking him a question or two only to be silenced by him with an elegant wave of his slender fingers. He replaces some things in the oven and slowly fills the silver platters with food that Eveleen couldn’t quite get a good look at. Finally he turns off all of the appliances, fills the rest of the sink with dishes and grabs the rolling cart.

“Shall we head into the dining room, Eveleen?” He asks even as he herded her back there.

She shrugs and smiles, finally giving into the insanity of her situation – maybe it is crazy but still much better than what she was going to do this night anyway. She is in her home in her best dress with a polite young man, who, now that she got a good look at him, with his jet black hair, sparkling green eyes, chiseled chin, and beautiful olive skin was rather handsome. He had cleaned the room, made a very romantic setting and prepared a wonderful smelling dinner (a thousand times better than her measly forgotten microwave pasta). She didn’t know who he was, why he was here, or why she had let this all get so far. But now that she is here, she might as well enjoy it. After all, maybe with a little wine he might tell her his name.

He pulls a chair out for her to sit on, the flickering candlelight, the only illumination, casting soft light about the room. Soft violins begin playing from the bottom of the cart as he picks up the first platter. He removes the lid to reveal two bowls of soup. The soup is white with a bright red sauce forming a swirl around the surface. A single mint leaf perched on the edge. She dipped her spoon in it and tasted it. Whatever it was it tasted fantastic and got her appetite ready for the next dish. She is so excited she can hardly wait.

He opens one of her bottles of wine and poured them each a glass. It was vintage and tasted amazing – just how everything her aunt gifted was amazing.

“Nice wine,” he comments and she nods enthusiastically.

“My aunt gifted this about two years ago – my parents don’t drink so it remained unopened for all this time,” she giggles nervously, hoping he doesn’t think she’s overdressed or awkward.

He chuckles kindly in response and a polite dinner conversation opens over salad (nuts and different leafy lettuces and herbs with a fine blueberry vinaigrette). They discuss the news, weather, as well as some sports over the next course (Lamb chop and a small portion of potatoes surrounded by a fine mint sauce). When he finally placed the main course before her (Pan-seared chicken and roasted asparagus on a bed of creamy potatoes with a tomato white creamy butter) Eveleen opens up completely to his warmth.

As the stranger pours yet another glass of wine, he asks her.

“Do you live alone?”

“No,” she mumbles. “I live with my parents. They both do business and have been travelling too much lately because of a new scheme they’ve introduced.”

“You must feel alone then,” he says calmly with a tone of understanding.

“Alone? Ha! I’m devastated. They called this morning only to tell they won’t be returning for two months. Two months! To make things worse, the very next minute my boyfriend sent me a text saying we’ve grown apart and need to move on and left that stupid break up card on my office desk. I took a day off saying I felt sick,” she pauses and gulps down her wine.

“He’s been going out with my best friend – none of them told me they even liked each other. Which best friend does that?”

The stranger touches her hand sympathetically and she realizes tears she’d been holding before start falling down.

“That’s not the only thing, you know. My boss hates me – he would’ve thrown me out of my job if my dad wasn’t such a prominent person. He openly told me when I was asking for day off that he thinks I’m absolutely incapable of doing this job and that I should consider it a miracle that I’m still in the company.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an accountant. But I hate this job – so boring…so tedious. I love writing stories – creating my own world and flying in it,” she sighed dreamily and the gentleman filled her empty glass again.

“I love reading books too. Have you written anything?”

“I have the plan ready but no inspiration and time,” she mumbled and looked to her side.

He nods in understanding as he eats the fantastically delicious main course. He looks at her with those piercing eyes of his and she feels her heart skip a beat.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to hold those tears back,” he tells her and brushes the skin under her right eye with his thumb and she can’t hold it in.

She cries and rants, and pours her emotions out for him as freely as the wine – her car that was breaking apart, how she wanted to be on her own and not depend on her parents, how mean some of her closest friends could be, how she hated to cook. Eventually, she found had nothing left to complain about. She grasps for something more to say, anything, but she had said it all. She was free and she feels so much better for it. The stranger had listened to everything she’d said with an interest even her (ex) best friend had never been able to show.

She finishes her dinner, each bite tastes much better than the last one with the departure of stress from her mind. They sit in silence as she slowly savors the meal to the very last bite. He waits patiently for her to finish before clearing the table and presenting dessert with a flourish.

Strawberry and champagne sorbet is set before her in a tiny glass bowl and she passes him a warm smile. He places an identical one in front of himself and smiles back at her before sitting down again.The silence is disturbing her more than any noise and she finds herself unwilling to eat until conversation resumed.

“So uh, what about you? Anything interesting to say?” She asks, feeling like a fool even as the words left her mouth – she hadn’t even considered learning anything about him for the whole time she ranted and cried.

But unlike her former cheating boyfriend he doesn’t point out her stupidity.

I’m not sure if you’ll find it interesting but the place I come from is very different from yours” He says kindly and swallows a spoonful of sorbet.

Then he begins to weave amazing tales of his adventures around the country and the world – of the people he had met, the foods he had eaten, and of all the friends he had made. He continues talking for hours as she sits in rapture, awestruck by his life.

Even if he was lying, which for some reason she didn’t think he was, it was an enjoyable and entertaining night. He continues to talk, pausing only to retrieve the final dessert of the meal (a long plate filled with expertly hand crafted sugar lilies, various tiny garnished pastries, and several metallic detailed stuffed chocolates, all hand made. Even the after-dinner mint had her name written across it in chocolate calligraphy).

The candles burned low and eventually the sun peeks out through the drawn curtains, the faint smells of the fantastic dinner lingering in the air.

With crushing realization  Eveleen knew the night was about to come to an end but before she could say anything he had excused himself with the cart and the dishes into the kitchen. Eveleen sat at the table, unwilling to stand up. The night had been so magical; she didn’t want it to end. She hears him humming in the kitchen again as pots and pans rattled and water flowed from the tap.

Curiosity takes her and she goes to watch him in action.

The pile of dishes in the sink was gone, the floors and counter tops are empty and sparkling with lemon scented cleaner. Everything is put away in its proper place. He stands in the middle of the kitchen collapsing the cart and putting it in one of the bags he had come in with. He looks up at her and smiled his gorgeous sparkling smile.

“I have something for you.” He said reaching into his bag.

He pulls out a small white box with a red ribbon tied around it. It fit in his palm and was otherwise very ordinary, the first ordinary thing Eveleen had seen of him.

“It’s so you don’t forget this beautiful night, Eveleen. I know you won’t.” He says handing her the present.

She stands there, the box in her hand as he finishes packing his things and retreated to the entryway. She follows him as he put on his hat and coat.

“Well, Eveleen this has been a wonderful evening, I have very much enjoyed your company. You are a very interesting person with an interesting life, I am so sorry the night had to end but I must be going.” He says with genuine sadness.

“It has been a wonderful evening, everything was perfect. It really was magical.” Eveleen replies with the same hint of sadness in her voice.

“Goodbye, Eveleen. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He says kissing her fondly on the cheek before opening the door and heading down the front steps. She stands there astounded, feeling the slight wetness left on her cheek before running after him.

“Wait!” Eveleen cries out. How could he leave her before even telling who he was?

“Why did you do all this? Why me? Who are you?” she asks him in a quivering voice – she was going to cry again. He turns around and smiles enigmatically.

“Why did I do this? Simple – I have never done anything like this before, it was wonderful. Why you, Eveleen? I simply don’t know but I hope you don’t feel sad anymore.”

“But I don’t even know your name!” She cries in response.

“Well, you should have asked silly. Goodbye, Eveleen He says but before he is able to turn around, Eveleen holds him by his shoulders and kisses him on his lips. The kiss is magical and she is surprised at how good it feels.

“I have to go now. Take care,” he says finally and climbs down the last steps, disappearing around the corner.

The sun is shining brightly over the rooftops igniting the empty street in fiery red light as Eveleen stands there stunned.

Eveleen looks down at her hand, still holding the very ordinary little box. She unties the ribbon and peered inside. It was perfect. There was nothing else he could have given her that could ever be as good as this, it was so beautiful it was almost magical. She will keep it forever.

Eveleen closes her hand around the box closing the lid carefully – a voice, just a little louder than the air fills her ears and she knows who it is.

Troubles are meant to be overcome.

Eveleen straightens her shoulders and heads to her desk. She had called in sick for work before settling down at her computer. Today she would work on her new idea for a novel; she knows just what to write.

Night

Lonely _Night

I step outside for a little while to get some fresh air but before i know it my mind starts to wander. The chill breeze blows all around me. I hardly feel it because I’m so deep in thought. As i stand on a roof above the city staring deeply into the nightlife my eyes shift through the lights as they narrow focusing deeper and deeper into my own thoughts. I soon forget about time and place. I am inside of my own head. I feel little on the outside but everything on the inside. Time no longer exists as neither age. I stand there rigid physically but constantly moving mentally. I go through several lifetimes and relive them again. Thoughts growing deeper and deeper each time I revisit them. Anything is possible everything never stops happening. Quickly and suddenly I’m snapped into reality freezing cold I look at the time and its 1:05

Bioluminescent Mushrooms

Found it in Google+ Page

Mushroom3

There are over 60 different type of luminescent fungus, most of which are only dimly lit, but some of which are bright enough to read by. A number of theories regarding why these species actually glow are currently being investigated. Some think that it may be a warning of toxicity, while other think it might be either a ploy to attract animals that might spreads its reproductive spores, or a security light to illuminate those that might eat them, making the perpetrators visible to their own predators.

Girl in Blue Dress

Girl in blue

There’s an innocence about her that hides her truest nature
Jaded with a morning glow and bright blue dress
I am possessed by a pretty face that I can’t suffer to remember
And paralyzed by the softness of her voice that I can’t surrender to silent
I wish not to stare as she comes gracefully down the stairs
As she forever lights up the room with an essence of hope
She is like a princess locked in a tower, waiting to be saved
Unfortunately I am not her chosen knight in shining armor
Yet, her lips tremble when our eyes are aligned
And the whiteness upon her face blush with scarlet
I don’t understand why I am reminded she prettier without me
To be only a passing of strangers, I swore I seen this before

Sleep ?

insomnia

People tell me I don’t look like I sleep.

Well I do sometimes it’s just hard for me.

It’s like my mind is never fully free.

Let me show you how It’s really hard being me.

Imagine thinking about every thing you do and see.

Do me a favor and multiply that by 3.

You got that number? Multiply it to 70.

That’s 140 (If you’re bad at math like me)

You see?

That can seem like a big number right?

Thinking about something that’s been out of sight.

And you can’t stop thinking despite your might.

Its really hard forgetting the thought you fight.

And that number gets even greater at night when it’s dark.

The same thing in my head tattooed like a mark.

Werewolf in my mind always with the same bark.

Or maybe even worse like a scar from its bite.

Feeling that pain just as much not a slight.

And that thought won’t leave me when the sky gets bright.

Thinking like that you don’t Fuckin’ sleep at night!