A cry by the candlelight!

Numerous nights have passed, numerous

Since I witnessed absolute darkness

My sleep has given me many

But the sense of vision has been left wanting

For those nights when the house turned pitch dark in a moment

For those walks within the dark rooms, recalling where the chair and the table had been

For those moments of triumph on having discovered the match box

For those pink and blue colored candles, the most..

The colorless candle always seemed boring, its tears pathetic

But those colored candles created a wax world of their own..

Tilting a candle, letting a few drops fall and placing the candle firmly over the solidified drops

Was one of the biggest achievements of my adolescence..

Many occasions have I believed that my sister possessed magical powers

When her finger moved continually across the candle flame

It took me time to realize that the center of the flame was harmless, only the top hurt

Like it happens with many of the short-tempered people

The core is harmless, only the surface threatens..

The candle signified unity for me many nights

Each member of the family engrossed in his/her work

Would surround this sentimental guy once darkness settled

Tales and jokes would be shared - family banter at its best

The laughter would echo in the mechanical silence, the bonding seeming endless

But suddenly the tube-light would flash

A scream of joy from many accompanying it

And each member would return to his/her work

Leaving me and the then smoke-emitting candle alone..

I miss those night time power-cuts badly now

In this era of inverters and power-backup devices that I despise greatly..

I want those power cuts again not just for the sake of the bonding

A family’s bonding depends on more than just a candle and darkness

But I want them for much more..

For remembering those moments of sharing in the darkness

When the shadows seemed to reveal the true selves

For remembering those moments of mechanical silence

When the mind realized the existence of humans in a machine-dominated world

For remembering those plastic and wooden hand fans

When the trembling hands of a grandfather showed what affection meant

For remembering those nights when the neighbours would enquire eagerly, “Unga veetlayum current illaya?”

For remembering those nights when all the doors in an apartment remained open

For remembering those nights when the terrace of every house teemed with life

For remembering those nights when the moon’s beauty was noticed

But most important of all, most important of all,

For remembering those nights when power did not make man powerless!

Analyzing adoration..

I remember vividly the images that flooded the television on the day the judgement acquitting the AIADMK chief was issued. The celebration witnessed that day among the chief minister’s followers/worshipers was not of a normal kind. It was not just an expression of uncontrollable happiness. It looked more of a letting out of agony and pain. Agony and pain the worshipers had endured since their hero/idol/god had been accused of a crime.

Their joy did not just seem like the joy a shopkeeper experiences on learning that the area where his shop had been located had survived an earthquake. It was more of a joy that a shopkeeper experiences on learning that his shop had been the only building in its area that had survived an earthquake. 

And I was faced with only one question – Why - which then led to a series of sub questions.

Why should a person consider another person’s victory as his/her own and another person’s failure as his/her own when there is no relationship existing between them except for the admiration of the former for the latter?

Why is this admiration so powerful that it makes a person treat his/her hero important than self?

Why is this prevalent in this country in only the three fields that most people remember when asked to list their 10 favorite Indian personalities – politics, cinema and cricket – and not visible in any other field such as literature or business or even other sports?

I decided to deal with the last issue first since I felt that it would answer the other two questions also.

Politics, cinema and cricket do not require the level of understanding that literature or classical dance or tennis does (This is with regard to the average knowledge required in the fields of politics, cinema and cricket by an average person. Understanding the intricate mechanisms of any of these three fields is a totally different issue). Hence identifying with the heroes of these three fields becomes very easy for most of this country’s population, the identification and idolization becoming aggressive with the less educated and exposed classes.

To dwell deeper into the issue to identify the reasons for the worship, I believe that the description of the two following events is necessary.

****

Event 1:

A day had passed after the release of the film Billa 2. I had had very little interest in visiting the theater to watch the film but a few of my friends – hardcore Ajith fans – had dragged me along forcefully to the theatre. 30 minutes had passed since the film had begun and I had not heard most of the lines uttered by Ajith in the film, thanks to the continuous cheers of the fans every time Ajith’s face was shown. But I had predicted earlier that the dialogues would not be heard properly and had readied myself. The only thing that kept me interested in the film was that it was very evident that the film was loosely inspired from Al Pacino’s Scarface and I let my mind happily compare the happenings of Billa 2 with the incidents from Scarface which made me laugh at most of the serious scenes to the anger of my friends. But as the film neared its end, something happened that left most of the audience scared. A member of the audience had stood up over his seat and had started screaming curse words towards the theater screen. The reason for his anger was a simple one – Ajith was being beaten bare-handed by the antagonist of the film. The people around the guy asked him to cool down and requested him to get down but he wouldn’t listen. He continued abusing the antagonist with curse words (compounded curse words actually) and by then in the film, Ajith had been left to dangle from a helicopter holding on to his life which only made things worse. About 5 minutes later as the guy was literally forced outside the theater, the end credits of the film started rolling, to my relief. I honestly do not remember most of the scenes of Billa 2 – in fact, none of the scenes – but the guy who stood up over his seat, filled with immeasurable anger at seeing his hero being beaten in the film, will always remain in my memory.

Event 2:

It was the day of the second semi-final match of ICC Cricket World Cup 2015. India was taking on Australia. Australia had won the toss and had decided to bat and had posted a score of 328 runs in 50 overs. It was India’s turn to bat and three of my friends dragged me along forcefully (Yes! You guessed it right! I am a guy who gets dragged along a lot!) to our college canteen where new LED television sets had been put up. By the time we reached the canteen, about 150 people had already seated themselves on the ground of our canteen before the television sets having pushed aside the canteen-tables. As I looked at the crowd, my eyes widened with shock and fear in complete contrast to the eyes of my friends that lightened up with excitement. I pleaded to be let go but no one seemed to pay heed and by the 10^th over of the second innings, I was seated surrounded by a sea of people who cheered and celebrated every boundary that Shikhar Dhawan scored as if every boundary of his would guarantee a free samosa at the canteen. But as the overs continued, the Indian batsmen began playing gully cricket and the wickets tumbled. By the time the 4^th wicket had fallen, the entire crowd at our canteen had gone very silent but it lasted less than a minute as a huge roar – a literal roar – erupted from the gathering as M.S. Dhoni walked in. The shout left me with goosebumps since it was the first time I was witnessing such an expression of admiration from a crowd personally connected to me. I watched the rest of the match with the crowd’s roar repeating in loops inside my head before two consecutive sixes that Dhoni scored in the 42^nd over stopped the loop in my head. The loop had stopped because a louder roar had erupted. 

A roar of ecstasy though everyone knew that there was no logical chance that India could win the match. A roar that had resulted as an expression of love for a man no one in the crowd had any familial connections with. A roar of unadulterated adoration. A roar that would pop up first in my head henceforth every time I hear the word ‘roar’ shadowing the so-long occurring image of a lion’s shout.

****

These two events showed me the extent to which a hero could be idolized. But the reasons for this admiration, I believe, would be more interesting to learn.

One simple answer for such an expression of love could be wish fulfillment.

A person loves his/her hero for the reason that the hero does things which the person is incapable of doing in real life.

Mainstream Tamil cinema (or perhaps even mainstream Indian cinema) owes its success to this wish fulfillment theory. An actor’s fan gets excited when he sees his hero thrashing the society’s criminal elements – something the fan cannot do in reality. An actor’s fan gets excited when he sees his hero making a really beautiful girl pursue him, pleading, to accept her love – something the fan cannot do in reality. But how would this wish fulfilment hold true in politics and cricket?

Most of the worshipers of Amma who celebrated her acquittal so wildly would not have carried the notions of becoming a chief minister and governing the state. Most of the members of our college canteen crowd that roared for Dhoni would not have carried the notions of representing the Indian cricket team or becoming its skipper. What then prompted such unbridled demonstrations of affection?

Welfare schemes, good governance, MGR’s legacy and the love over AIADMK party for Amma, patriotism, love of the game, his temperament and earlier achievements for Dhoni might be viable reasons to look into but they look lame. 

All these factors would demand respect but would they bring out such adoration?

It was at such a point in my thought process that my mind went berserk and screamed at me, “Why don’t you look inside before examining the outer world?” which though made no sense initially, slowly dawned upon me.

In the process of trying to find the reasons for the admiration of others for their heroes, I had failed to analyse my own hero-worship. 

I had been a person who had, on more than most occasions, grabbed the shirt-collars of my schoolmates for negative comments on Sachin Tendulkar. I had been a person who had worried very badly and skipped a lunch at school when a schoolmate had commented that Harris Jayaraj would overshadow A.R. Rahman in a very short span of time (I would make mincemeat of that schoolmate if I meet him now!). 

Though the increase in age and maturity level has helped to accept Sachin and Rahman as human beings with complete appreciation of their efforts, achievements and shortcomings, there is still a part of me - the adorer, who fumes and goes crazy when I see Virat Kohli being hailed as the next Sachin or when I notice an album composed by Rahman not getting its deserved recognition. 

And it is this adorer, I believe, who makes people roar and curse and celebrate.

The adorer seems to be a guy not defined by logic. His affection and admiration do not seem controlled by concerns of being judged. His likings do not seem to be based upon statistics or achievements though the favorable ones make him wildly happy. 

His fondness seems to make him more defensive and protective. His love seems to have its roots spread widely in the heart, imposing a ban on the brain. 

These qualities of the adorer, when looked at from a distance, present a more surprising finding.

The adorer, with his qualities, seems to be remarkably similar to a mother. 

Or perhaps even the other way around could be possible. 

Which would then point to only one conclusion.

Every single one of us is a hero.

Shelter - II

These logs lay in the backyard of my home. They had been arranged in neat rows to facilitate the construction process of a doorway by the entrance of our apartment.

Yesterday, as I was loitering around in the backyard, I saw a small sparrow rest itself over the logs. Looking at the scene, I was unconsciously reminded of the recent pictures of the 'Nepal earthquake' in the newspapers that depicted homeless people standing amidst the rubble of their destroyed homes.  

And I was overcome by an unhappy feeling.
At least the Nepal earthquake was not under our control.

The College Diaries #10

I had hoped to add a minimum of 25 posts in my blog under the label of 'The College Diaries'. 

I still can. 
But I do not want to, after I leave my college tonight. 
I would prefer that the last post under this label be typed, seated on my hostel bed, like it has been occurring with this blog for the past one year. I would prefer that the last post under this label be typed inside this college while I am still a part of it. 

An hour earlier, I had planned to type down all the instances that I had wanted to share about my college life as small paragraphs in this post. But to be frank, I am not in the mood to reminisce. 

I am emotionally drained.

And I would like to type down just one paragraph which, I feel, I would not get a chance to say anyplace else.

"Thank you, my dear 168 acre occupying, 31 year old institution. You are one of the best serendipitous happenings of my life. I became a part of you for the simple want of a degree. But you have managed to give me more than that. You have taught me about life and its workings and I believe that the lessons I have learnt from you, outside of my classrooms, would help me beyond quantification as I grow into a man. 
Thank you again and of course, goodbye."

(The College Diaries which had been a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that had struck pain and pleasure in the heart in the last fortnight that I spent in the college comes to an end.)

The College Diaries #9

A circular steel table that would mostly be struggling for balance as if in an intoxicated state. Pigeons that would be resting on the ledges as if they had had their meals just then. The people at the serving-counter who, apart from calling out the order-numbers, would open their mouths only for saying one statement - "Sollirukaen.. Sollirukaen! Wait pannunga! Vandhurum!".  

Our college canteen reminds me of these things and much more. 

Much more meaning birthday parties attended with a sorry feeling for the wallet of the person celebrating his/her birthday, Sweet lime soda's drunk for the sole reason of staying the duration of a pretty girl's lunch, first few bites stolen from a friend's dish as he left to wash his hands, laser-less scans performed of the entire canteen to check if any known person was eating a costly dish so that it could be devoured.

A college canteen, unlike other eateries, does not just function as a place that serves food. 
It serves many other purposes. 

It helps with strengthening friendships. It helps with making anxious love proposals. It helps with finding solutions for problems faced at a friend's house. And it occasionally does help with satisfying hunger.

Every person would have a favorite dish at his/her college canteen. 
I too have many dishes of my liking at my college canteen but the dish that I eagerly look forward to there happens to be the lunch of my day scholar friends'. Eating homemade puliyogarae (!) and spicy potato curry on the circular steel table with a rose milk by the side and a suspicious looking North-Indian ahead (who seems to have devoted his life to ruthlessly slit open bhaji's for the pav bhaji dish) is an experience unmatched by any other.

I had always reserved a special sweet spot in my heart for my college canteen.
But I realized the vastness of the spot today afternoon when a repeat of the routine conversation between me and the bill-counter guy happened.

Counter guy: Enna ji venum?
Me: Oru Aaloo paratha!
A 50 rupee note is handed over.
Counter guy: 5 rupees change irukka ji?!
Me: Illayae na!
The counter-guy hands over the receipt for the ordered aaloo paratha and searches for a moment before giving a 5-rupee-valued token that can be used within the canteen.

On any other day, I would have looked at the token with frustration. But today, I realized that there was a very high chance that it could be my last lunch at the college canteen and I would no more be issued canteen tokens at the bill-counter.

No more pigeons. No more birthday treats. No more sweet lime soda's with cruel intentions.

So I folded the token carefully and placed it in my wallet.
The small white paper lay there, unintentionally acting as a token of remembrance.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #8

There are people who make you feel that you need to change yourself. And there are people who make you feel happy for being the way you are.

I was fortunate to get a roommate/dear friend, from the first day of my college life till today, who was a member of the second category.

When you are a boy who 

• is not interested, in the least, about any sport 
• is interested more in in-depth conversations than small talks
• does not want to get involved in a fight just to show off a few heroics or the so-overly-admired courage
• thinks a lot more than he does

life gets difficult. Especially when you are surrounded largely by a majority that exhibits characteristics completely opposite to the ones I just mentioned or to put it in simpler terms, when you are surrounded largely by boys. 

I never understood what was the logic in sitting before a television and watching someone exhibit and hone his/her playing skills if it was only for pure entertainment. 

I never understood the logic behind hitting a guy for an offensive remark - practically speaking, there are more problems that arise when a person gets in a fight right from the mental instability that is caused to the adrenaline rush to the energy wasted on landing the blows to the implications that fight has on the surrounding and the victim. Wouldn't walking away silently be a better option? Wouldn't it save time and energy and be a much more fitting reply to the remark?

Not everyone agrees with these opinions of mine. To be honest, except for exactly 4 friends of mine at college and 2 friends from my school, no other boy does.

And my roommate/dear friend was/is a very important person among these six.

Both of us became very nervous when we were accompanied by a not-so-close-friend while eating in our hostel mess because we were relatively bad at small talk. We contributed very less to the conversations apart from our munching sounds.

Both of us came to know that a cricket match was in progress only by the cheers that erupted in the hostel. 

Both of us liked to watch a film by our own (even the films that we watched together were watched in our dead silence) unlike the usual norm in a hostel of watching a film as a group and passing a funny remark at every scene thereby spoiling the mood of the film. 

I guess the following conversation that the two of us had last week would give a much better understanding of our nature.

"What would you want to be? A werewolf or a vampire?"

"It depends! There are lots of different classes among vampires and werewolves. But I guess I would rather be a vampire."

"Reason?"

"Vampires are known to have more control than werewolves. Vampires can control their thirst for blood whereas werewolves, on a full moon day, are totally helpless."

"Valid point! But a vampire does not age. Would you prefer such a life?"

"What's not to prefer with that? You would get more time to achieve a lot of things. You would witness a lot of changes that might occur in the next generation and the one after that and the one after that. Would you complain about such a life?"

"Wouldn't you be bored with the never ending life after a point?"

"I guess I will keep myself engaged with more advanced people and their blood (laughter)! And that's another point that supports vampires. Vampires can control their blood thirst and let a person live after having sucked a small amount of their blood. But werewolves kill the person in most of the cases."

"I would say that death is better than the pain of being bitten and allowed to live."

"Many people mistake a vampire's bite. Literature says that a vampire bite, due to certain enzymes secreted then, is actually pleasurable than painful."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! So you tell me now - what would you want to be? A vampire or a werewolf?"

I know that many would be baffled by such a conversation. "This is no way better to a small talk" - many might think. 

But this is what the two of us loved. However irreverent the topic might be, we wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

Even two hours prior to the typing of this post, as I accompanied my friend from our hostel to the entrance of the college to bid him goodbye, we were discussing the best possible strategy that could be adopted for a trip around the world in the present scenario (thanks to the 'Nellie Bly' Google doodle).

For those of you who are surprised by learning that boys could exhibit such traits - Yes. Boys like us do exist. 

As a matter of fact, boys like us should exist. 

If not, the world would become a really aggressive and violent place. Trust me.

But for a long time, I was of the impression that there was something terribly wrong with me in comparison to the other boys. It was only my friend who pointed out that there was nothing faulty. All that existed was just a difference.

And I would always be grateful to him for that.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

The College Diaries #7

There is one thing I love about the little Ganesh temple in our college. 
It has no walls. 

There is a slightly elevated, an almost-square like portion at the center of the temple which houses the main deity Ganesh and lying around this portion is a small path where worshipers go about in circles, the number of which increase on festival days, examination days and on-campus placement days - in that order.

I hold very dear memories of the temple. 
I had gone around in circles at the temple in my first year of college praying for a school friend of mine who was completely terrified of Chemistry and was definite of an arrear after the completion of the exam (The friend managed to pass, thankfully, making me visit the temple again).
I had accompanied my hostel friends to the temple on the mornings of festival days, filled with the excitement of seeing saree-clad girls crowd the temple (Yes! Tamil boys tend to go crazy over the 'saree wearing' part of the Tamil tradition).  
One of my friends and I had once visited the temple after having collected our hall tickets and my friend in the vigor of his worship, let go of his hall ticket and we ran around the temple chasing the flying hall ticket. 
I had accompanied one of my classmates to the temple a day prior to the placement process of an 'analytics services' organization. I had become a rationalist by then and had opted to stay outside the temple letting my friend enter the temple. He very badly wanted the job. It was his dream. His prayer that day would have been one of his truest. Sadly as fate/life/God would have it, I was placed the next day whereas my friend failed - another addition to the ironies of my life. But the thing that amazed me most was that he continued taking me with him whenever he visited the temple. He knew that I would not enter the temple yet he asked me to accompany him.  
And it is these visits with my classmate that I cherish the most.

Looking at a temple and its happenings from the outside is different from observing them by being one among the worshipers inside a temple. Especially after deciding to let go of the faith.
But I would admit honestly that I have been more fascinated with the spiritual angle as an outsider than when I was a believer. Watching people truly express their belief in something is an enriching experience for a person trying to base his faith upon humanity.

I might have stood outside the temple more times than I would have entered it. But when I leave my college, the Ganesh temple would be one of the very important things I would miss.

The temple was more of a friend to me. 
A friend with whom I had had a serious fight and vowed to never speak again but every sight of him reminded me of our earlier times and all I could make up for the loss of words was a pain filled smile.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)

Ignorance is bliss

Film-viewing, they say, is a collective experience. 
A dark room. 200-300 strangers seated around you. Different professions, different castes, different religions. The only uniting factor in such a setting becomes the film. 
The film-viewing process has always fascinated me for this particular reason. In our world of increasing differences, a work of art manages to wipe away all the boundaries. This is a really great achievement, isn't it?!

But sadly, this fascinating experience has left me bitter-hearted after the viewing of artistically great films. 
It happened with Raavanan. It happened with Pisaasu. It happened yesterday with Uttama Villain. 
And I guess I am the person to blame.

Am I not when it is only I who finds faults with the understanding of the audience when a larger portion seems to have no problems? 

An example to explain.
Uttama Villain was nearing its end. There is a play - Hiranyan nadagam, a play about Hiranyakashipu and Prahlada - staged within the film Uttama Villain that is shot within the original film Uttama Villain. As the play began, I could hear grunting noises and exasperated sighs all around me. I just couldn't stand it. How could someone be sighing when an ingeniously layered story was unfolding before them?
I wanted to stand up from my seat and scream.
"Can't you see? Can't you see? It is a play about immortality that is staged within a film that has its theme as immortality that is being shot in the original film because the protagonist of the original film wants (his art) to be immortal?"
If that is not ingenuity, I do not know what else is. 
The film was making an attempt at addressing the issue of what a person leaves behind after his death. 
There was an answer in the film that was pretty loud for any person to miss - art. An artist's art stays behind for decades and centuries even after the artist's death. 
There was also an answer that was very subtle - a person's child/children. They remain the living proof of a person's existence after his demise. I realized that the reference could not be understood by many but when there arose a debate among the people seated behind me as to whether the character who played the protagonist's daughter - Parvathi Menon - looked prettier in this film or Bangalore Days, I just couldn't take it up anymore. 

But then, as I mentioned earlier, I guess I am the person to blame.

I believed that understanding art would enhance my life considerably.
It has. It definitely has.
Just that, it has grown to a point of affecting me harshly when I see it being disrespected.

Maybe it is time to start letting ignorance creep in a bit to lead a normal life.
After all, isn't ignorance a bliss?!

The College Diaries #6

Love is not heaven. Love is not hell.
Love is something as real as earth can get.

There always seems to be a want for love to be a fantasy, for love to be a dream, for love to be something more than love. Love is expected to push aside all pain. Love is expected to make every moment memorable. Love is expected to make life better.
Love sure does tick off all these check-boxes. Yes. But at times, it also tries to be a lot more. 
Something more than just a happy evening. Something more than just a prolonged conversation. Something more than just a never-ending walk. 
And that is when the heart starts to cover itself. That tiny four chambered guy doesn't seem to be ready for the deliverance of unrequited affection. Guess he is as selfish as our human race. 

Why do we exhibit such a desperateness for a happy ending? 
After all, the ending, whether happy or not would only lead to a new beginning. Why then the desperateness?

Smile and laughter are given too much importance. They sure enrich our lives. Science puts forth facts that they increase one's lifespan. But why not show the same affection towards a tear drop? Why does crying become a weakness? 
Tears help in purification. Literally and metaphorically. They help us introspect. More importantly, they help us live. 

But such views become sadistic excuses for a failure. Or, do they?

Hardships, I would say, do not get the due they deserve. They are projected more with the adjectives of dark and cruel when all they really do is define us the path we often fear to take. They help us get more appreciative and grateful. More importantly, they help us live.

I would go on making up such abstract statements that make little sense.
But I am fed up with them. At least, for this post.

****

I had no idea what love was when I entered college. And I have very little idea what love is as I near the end of it.
I was of the opinion that a romantic relationship would throw light upon the topic of love. But all it managed to do was muddle up the opinions I had had before.  

I believed that a proper understanding of the thought process of the opposite gender would facilitate easier access. But how do you go about that? Asking girls to sit down and presenting them a questionnaire that makes them reveal their decision making process would be one way. But I guess a degree in the field of psychology and a bald head would make things easier with such a task rather than the qualification of a classmate or worse, a college mate. 

I fortunately happened to have a friend equally interested in cracking the 'love puzzle' - that's how we termed it. We would discuss for hours together as to the selection criteria of a romantic partner, expectation levels that exist in a relationship, reasons that might lead to the end of it all and many such elements revolving around love, forgetting the fact that both of us were survivors of a failed romance. But most of our conversations would end with a story from his side or mine, taken out from our romantic phase and as I recall those stories now, I cannot think of a single instance when we shared those stories regretfully. Those stories were a way of asserting ourselves that we were more than just thinkers. 
And one of the most important conclusions that we arrived upon from our discussions was that people with greater understanding of the human nature, more than most, failed at romantic relationships (We even had 5 test cases that served as evidences for our finding). We opined that people who are more possessive, more expectant and not ready to provide the partner complete freedom had more chances of succeeding at love than the more compassionate and empathizing individuals. Thinking about it now, the finding seems more of a theory the two of us had devised to make up for our inabilities to succeed at love. But then, the love issues that I hear (and at times, observe) from my friends continue to provide more strength to our finding. 

Why such deep analyses into something that is more a matter of the heart than of the brain - I kept asking myself this question often. But when I set aside the psychological aspects, the hurt increased. Many friends of mine seemed to be in pain for no faults of theirs. And every such scenario that I came across, reminded me of a very close-to-my-heart statement from 'The Perks of being a Wallflower'.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

How true?!

But then, I have also had the fortune of being a part of many a happy memory, on a personal level as well as on a 'friendly' level. Those moments - I could say with certainty - when they occur, make you turn a blind eye towards everything rational and logical. There is an indescribable emotion at work unlike any other which makes the letting go of a loved one much more difficult.

Speaking of which, letting go is considered by many as an act of cowardice. There is a belief that a person in love should always hold on to his loved one as if the letting go would make them both unfit for life. 
Yes. Letting go does leave you with unhealed scars. But sometimes, life presents you with a setting that makes you realize that holding onto desperately would only add further to the misery. And only the person who lets go would know about the mental strength he/she had to bring about in order to liberate the heart of the one thing that seemed like a source of eternal joy. 
Letting go is one of the hardest things to do in life. Perhaps, it is also one of the bravest things.

I do not remember the source but this is a quote that I often remember to console my heart that it had not made a mistake.

"When you like a flower, you pluck it and keep it with you for a while. When you love a flower, you admire its beauty as it is and leave it untouched. You let it bloom, let it live its life." 

How true?!

A college life is never complete without a love story, they say. 
When you have a happy story, the reminiscence becomes a reward. 
When you have a sad story, the reminiscence could still be a reward. If your flower had been a really great one.

I just happened to come across one such flower.

(The College Diaries is a shameless attempt to increase the number of posts in this blog in a short span of time and in the process, recall and cherish various instances and incidents of my college life that strike pain and pleasure in the heart in this last fortnight I spend here.)