What don’t they do?

Entrepreneurs don’t go the conventional way. They don’t take the set path. So what’s new about that, we all know that. Right? Wrong. What they do take is a safe path, they take the safe path of success. They know it’s safer to try to be successful than to not at all. Cause if You try to be successful You might fail but you just might also succeed. But if You don’t try You won’t succeed at all. So to play safe, they try. Try, aim and work for success. So what is it exactly that these entrepreneurs don’t do? What is the “different” in their regular?

Contd. on : invulgah

Croak of the day.

“Eat the frog”- the weirdest expression ever. Seriously, but its caught in my head off late. Almost every day now I wake up thinking I need to “eat today’s frog” first. I have been on an unanticipated light holiday of sorts. Ok.. ok.. am between jobs. Ok am jobless . But I-am-looking-for-one.
So they don’t suit me. Jobs. Sometimes I don’t suit me. I think so high of myself, nothing I do reaches to what I am. The only thing I have been doing a lot lately is writing. And guess what, I am the proud little owner of the talent of writing-from-the-heart. Someone tells me that is the easiest job in the world. Writing about what has happened. Imagine.. Aargh..
I do not lack imagination. I am more of a pragmatic writer.
Yeah. Easy-peasy! I CAN CONCOCT A FICTITIOUS STORY, I only think people relate more to the ordinary panoramic view of their everyday life. Only with a hint of honest sarcasm maybe. Witty? No.. am not. But am a lot of other things.
Alright, eating the frog. Mark twain said that. No of course not to me. He said it.

“If you eat a frog first thing in the morning that will probably be the worst thing you do all day.” – Mark Twain

Brian Tracy bought it, twisted it and gave it his own flavour. He said instead of laying around about the one job of the day that you hate: do it first in the morning. So you have your entire day to do things you enjoy. So my frog of the day? Write something surreal, ethereal, imaginative , ingenious, fairy-tale like account and still make it relatable.
Only if I could do all that I want to. I would be so much more.
Ofcourse i would, we all would be.

p.s: No image on this post. To the selfish reader! 

A Girl

A girl is strong. A girl is refined. A girl is wild when angry.
A girl is magic. A girl is wine. A girl is a gilded quarry.
A girl is wrong. A girl is right. A girl is Your saviour in every fight.
A girl is a ramble. A girl is a rhyme. A girl is a gamble for Your every smile.

A girl is The girl when defined.

Eyed

Will my battered soul ever have a taker? Will my battered soul ever have a taker? Will my battered soul ever have a taker?
My head kept ranting this incessantly in the background. In front, my team lead was sighting slight discrepancies in our report. I didn’t care. Wait, but I did. I wanted my work to be perfect too. I wanted an accomplishment. Success. Where was everything going? I could see. But, in circles.

Unceremoniously everything blacked out.

___
White.
When I woke up, it was all pristine White. Aargh.. Melodramatic. In the infirmary. It was the 5th day in a row that I hadn’t slept.  Bouts of unconsciousness were inevitable and so was the constant humming inside my head. I tossed an aspirin for the headache and headed out. Coffee. I needed coffee! Three more hours, before I could put a dot to the report. I will.

I did. Four and a half hour later, I did. Nothing tastes better than success. And anything tasty comes with a price. So the price to be paid for the tastiest will be the heftiest.
It was late. I had to wait for a crowded cab. Crowd feels safe. It arrived. 20 minutes later. The crowded cab. It was suffocating inside, hot and airless. I couldn’t complain. I shouldn’t. I did, with a crinkled nose.

……..

A set of eyes. They’d intrigue me. They were the only difference in my otherwise monotonous routine. Sometimes those eyes ‘d find me. Today they were smiling at me. But, not because of me. I, like everyone else wanted this simple association to be different. Our eyes would lock for only a few seconds. The cab would speed towards its destination. I, towards my pool of thoughts. Thoughts, it was strange how badly I was tethered to them given I wanted an escape.
Today was no different. I arrived home. To my room. My back to my family. My association with them had gone from mono-syllables to complete silence

._______

Black.

That night in the black of my room, siphoned off all spirit, holed up by my bedside, I could swear that death had come to take me by the throat. And I could also swear that I saw that light-eyed stranger staring back at me, for a flash of a second. Eyes that were still a mystery. Eyes that thrilled me now. Out of everything in my life why’d They flash in this murk of woe.

Black

Black

And I then stood up, stared at death hard in the eye and snarled “Not Today.”
I remember jumping down the window. Down to the porch. And that run I took in the cold winter night. One cardigan.. The icy breeze cutting through me. Slicing across my ear. I could hear it howl. But I chose to ignore…
Something struck my foot. Some sticky liquid warmed my hands. Something. Those eyes again. They’d save me. I believed.
Blink.

Black.

 

Blink.

White.

 

Blink.

White.

 

Blink.

Those eyes.

 

White.

White.

For ages, it felt, I could hear only myself breath. And my heart clamouring, beating, pounding, writhing. I was bleeding. And my heart was pumping my own death.
Something hit me, savage, crude, craving raw hunger. My lips parched. I couldn’t sense any. Nothing. Sleep. My famished stomach kept sleep at bay. Nothing made sense. And then again, I started losing sense. Before the blur. Those eyes. Again. This time disturbing me. Frightening. Annoying.
I couldn’t feel my hands. Left. There wasn’t. My hand wasn’t. Left. I didn’t have my hand! I didn’t have my hands. . .

On.. on .. and on!

Bailando.
The speakers are still roaring.
So I was off radar for a long time. Reading, and I lost track. As always.

One ola.
The music pierces through the walls. What is it with men and football? I get up, dropping my book. It was at an intense turn (Barring the fact that it always is).
Men? My Mum is leaning over the plasma in a competitive stance. Alright. Nothing could jolt me out of my deep sleep, save..

DnD
Pura Vida..
Uff. :) Am too(also), taken into the madness. Will talk about it again. Next time! Before I go there: this little piece off the passion of my reading habits. Its like a letter to my favourite person of the block. I’ll be back soon! But while I am gone..this is how I feel for You. Reads…
So much so that I stall it.. I stall reading! Do You? I do, scared that the book might just end. the characters leave. The experience over. The scare of letting go in the truest sense of the word! It lets me on. It keeps me engaged. It keeps me intrigued. And when it has said what is there it has to say to me.. It leaves. There won’t be another. another 1st time. And I have to get it right the 1st time.

Do you stall reading? I do. Guilty. I finish books in a week that I would rather in a day or two. I surf through their pages unhurriedly. Reeling in its crisp or stale smell. The smell of fresh unread words. The same words said over and over again. With varied meanings. They amaze me. Simple words.  White Sheet. Complex formations. Complicated me. …. Continue reading