Ode to Yahoo message archive

The this and that today will mostly cover things like memories, words said , feelings felt and of course an ode to the super invention called yahoo message archive. The archived chat logs are more like photographs of conversations. The smilies add to the colour. Its like going back in time and catching glimpses of the daily snapshots of the past. There are the communications with friends and foes, rediscovering the crests and troughs of a relationship, the flavour of new love, the frustrations of a worklife, the plan of a weekend, the excitement of a new buy, the taste of a new dish. All the heee heee s, all the haa haa s, all the sniffs , all the aaarghhs. It captures tit bits of trifle fights, bits and pieces of uncanny silences...and while you read through it after long long time your dormant feeling are vibrated and rekindled by the "ding", "ding" which were buzz, buzz once upon a time. The ode is not fully complete if you dont give a special mention to the lovely faces of the smilies :-), :-(, :-*, :-8, :">. Extending the topic on smilies, I do take this opurtunity to mention the latest in messenger- the animated smilies. Digressing from a ode for a little while let me put a personal view to the floor too. Generally it is seen that the more complex the tool/technology/software/gadgets become, the more you start missing the simple nuances of life, but in the case of the animated smilies, things actually got better and coming back to my ode, the moving, yawning, smiling, kissing faces still keep doing their tricks and make you do a LOL all over again. So long live my database of memories through my yahoo message archive. They stay like my own little pandoras box which I will open and close and reopen to laugh and frown down memory lane.

The Girl was left behind

My mom is sure she cant fit into my shoes, the shape is so different she gasps. I can never wear her's. My guy friends say they can easily fit into their father's shoes, and also their grandfather's and the great grand father's. (Exceptions are there to prove the theory , of course). Hmmm...The evolution just happened too fast for the XXs. The freedom gave them wings, their mind wanted to try anything that was new, anything that was pristine and not touched by the female genes. Tons of whys filled the vaccuous unknown and answers were erratic, and even to this day I am not sure that I understand all the answers. But what was happening to the XYs when the XXs were busy changing and embarking on adventures. The environmental bubble around them was the same, but the stimuli they received were different. When the female tinytot was struggling to stand on the same pedestal offered to the guy beside her, she quickly learnt new survival skills, new tactics to defend the reasons thrown at her from people defending the pedestal....

With that preface life becomes easier to explain, its but then natural, you evolve fast when you face obstacles. But if there is not evolution, will nature start eliminating selectively? Wishing the bubble around us (thats society when spelled out) will throw some real good obstacles to the boys, men, fathers, brothers and they will flourish and evolve and survive the struggle for existence and live till the doomsday of the homosapiens

The magic of new realtionship

One fine day, the magic of words began. The conversations, the pauses, the silence all mingled to one deep sense of peace.
Yes, I belong here, yes I am home. Then one fine day the finer moments lead me to a fine life.

Ending one and moving on

The water was held too tightly in the fist. It was there, thats why it felt wet always, and sticky too, like the dried tears pouring down. The fist became strength, the illusion of strength, the hope of strength. It was my fist, the water was collected with lot of faith, with the promises pushed into every drop. The fist was tighter in the moments of anger, in the sufferings of deep pain, in the agony of solitude, in the fear of the unknown, in the excitement of the new and held in the air in celebration of freedom.

Ages the fist was held, tighter with days that went, in anitcipation of the overwhelming future.They dripped daily, every moment. But the wetness stayed and the belief stayed with it. But tomorrow it will be fine, when the fist meets another clammy palm, open, with water dripping too.


But finally, a day came, when the fists were to meet. Dust to dust, just dust to dust.
Time dried the water, till the last drop, only the faint lines running on the palm, left like watermarks, spoke of another story, the lines had changed since the fist was closed. It was closed too tightly I guess, and God knows with what stupid faith. Never opened in all these years, only felt the wetness like a habit.