.

Everything is fake.
That fake smile, those fake words, the fake expression on your face. It's all fake.

But, for who?

For the happiness of someone. So, I guess you can tolerate the weight of the truth bearing down upon you. Because, once revealed, the truth will cause more havoc than what you're going through. More than you can handle.
And now, there goes the noble little woman inside you, saying: The weight you have to bear is nothing compared to the happiness of others.

But, human selfishness is a basic survival instinct.
However noble you might want to be, Science itself says that humans want to be selfish, they want to have everything for themselves.
Does this explain the weight of the truth?
And, what becomes of you?

Can you tolerate the unspoken truth, or will you succumb to it's might and spill the precursor to others' unhappiness?

It depends on how selfish you are, in that moment, I suppose.

And yet, either you'll achieve happiness, at the expense of others'; or everyone will be left sucked out of their perpetual state of happiness.
It will be a real fifty-fifty chance. But, considering that there are more cons than pros, maybe you won't spill, after all.

Maybe the desire of being 'noble' will take over. Your want, will be diminished.
But as an end result of all this turmoil, I ask you, who is the fool here?

Sometimes truth must not be spoken. I agree.

But there also comes a time, when the earlier hid truth can be shared, told, made public.
Then, don't hesitate. Share. And if the others chide you for not telling them 'earlier', then just say-

"I did the right thing."

Monkey and I.

Today I'm going to talk about Monkey.

He has always been there. Existing in my memory for as long as I could remember, then lost among the abundant memories. When I was a kid, and in this trap town for five years, he was there.

I remember some memories. Remembered some, some came back to me as he narrated them. There were the times when we used to go to music class together. We've been beating each other since then. He used to boast then, as he does now. And he used to be politically correct in boasting then, as he is now.

There are sprinkles.
There was a competition in Sugam Park, 'Paint a village scene'; he won. I remember being in awe of him. Around the same time, we had a singing bout together. It was the time of the Durga Puja, and as usual, with the festivities in Sugam Park, there were the performances. It was epic, I remember it too well because I was singing so horribly my echoing voice could be heard as a screech and I had never ever been more embarrassed in my life. He was quite good.

Then, there was the play.

There was a Hindi play we'd been preparing for. Aunt Lily had been preparing us for it. It was, I suppose, a play about a thief who sneaks away or gets caught. I don't remember exactly, except that in that, Monkey was Mr. Chatterjee and I was Mrs. Chatterjee. And Rishabh, Monkey's friend here in Sugam Park, was the thief. It was fun preparing for the play, because I remember my childish version chiding him, trying to tell him how boasting wasn't a good thing. He didn't listen to me, obviously. Never has, and I thank him for that. We used to fight a lot, and even on the stage we were expected to fight. No matter, I did my role well. He had red lipstick on him. I have a photo of that.

I remember a fight we had during this time. I remember it too clearly because the details have been etched in my mind, because back then I thought I'd been doing some great act of daring. He was atop the stairs near the gym on Ananda. I was down on the ground. He was saying how, 'Garden High is the best school in the world', and I was saying, 'G.D. Birla is the best school in the world'. It was childish, we, were childish, and our points of argument were mainly media coverage and Which Famous Actor/Actress has Visited Our School. But of course, neither of us was willing to give up.

Then he said, "Our school's name was published in the newspaper!"
I don't know how, but my 8 year old self appeared scandalized by that piece of news.

"The NEWSPAPER!?"
"Yes," oh how the Monkey was grinning, "Now you say."
"I don't believe you."
"You have to. It's the truth."
"I STILL don't believe you!"

This went on for a while.
Then he offered me to go ask his mum for verification of his words. Of course, when people, or kids make such threats or offers, they don't actually mean for you to accept or follow them. But I did.

Long after he went, in fact now I remember it was days after this argument, and I marched up to his house, rung the bell. His mum answered and I asked her whether his school's name had been published in the newspaper or not. And she said, "Yes, it has been." And I was trapped because- a. I had lost a point. I had lost the argument (even though G.D. Birla is better; I just couldn't argue) and b. I didn't know what to do next. Just keep staring at his mum, or walk in. I think he was standing behind his mum and he made some wild gesture of satisfaction at my defeat. I think I left.

His house is right next to me. Just like how IX B and IX A are apart, the same distance could be said for our houses.

I went to his thread ceremony. I didn't know this, he told me about it only after he saw me in his video.

And I also remember looking down my window, whenever he was shouting at someone or playing with his dog, because I remember being in awe of him.

And then we left Kolkata for 3 years. I remembered him for a while, but then forgot.

Now we're back. And I know him better than many people.

Of course, his friends in his class know him better, but still. It feels as if though he has so many friends, my significance is immediately diminished.

What people fail to understand about my childhood friend is that, even though he might come across as a huge pain in the ass, he is still nice. Wonderful, in fact. I've lost count of the number of times he has saved me. He made me come out of my shell. It was my own doing, of course, he helped me in places. In the bus. At home.

When I talk to him, when he talks to me, I could freeze that moment and exist in it forever because then it actually feels like I've got a good friend. We might not have common interests (no surprise there, most of the people in my life don't; R's a wonderful exception though) but we look out for each other, and that's what matters.

He is passionate about his guitar. It's wonderful seeing him talk about his guitar, he gets so hyper. He is a good person, because he looks out for others in a way they won't look out for themselves, and he tries to fill that void for everyone.

I get sad when he gets angry at me. Because then he won't accept my apology and he remains angry at me for a long time. It's only over when he's in a good mood. And that's not good, because I remain tense for this while.

Ah, Monkey is one of the few remaining people I've gotten really attached to. He knows what he wants, and he goes after it. Let me tell you, his relationship with his parents and friends is worth being written down in books.

In short, Monkey is a wonderful childhood friend who has never left my side, and I hope never will.

Because I will never leave his side.

Science City.

So there is this place in this trap town. It's called Science City.

And it's an okay place. Because it hasn't been closed down yet, and there are actual uses of it. It's like this huge park, which contains small displays explaining Science 101.

And we went there today. For our annual concert stage rehearsal.

It was quite a good day. Really nice. I mean, I spent it in the company of kind acquaintances and kind strangers. It was amazing.

It was elemental. Humans moving, going about doing their own work. Parents waiting outside the gates of the Science City Auditorium, waiting for the little kids to finish practice and come down. And then, madness, in the form of parents rushing to see their off-springs.

Parents complaining about the school system, children smiling, wailing, eating. Cute kids going about doing their own thing.

I like it when a kind random stranger tries to take my help, or talk to me. Even better, it turns out to be we have something in common. Once, a random stranger and I found more to be common between us than an apple with an apple. But, she was lost among the melee of faces the very next day. The name forgotten, the next.

I met S's grandma. Nice lady, even though we didn't talk.

She told me about the spooky ghost incident. And how things were with Naidu.

I realized that she could be amazing friends with these other people as well. And she already is amazing friends with some amazing people. I wondered how I fit in, because I don't fit in with the amazing people she is amazing friends with.

There's a first grader kid. He's nice and cheeky and nice. But a tad bit annoying at times. Only a tad bit.

His mum is sort of annoying as well. Sort of. She pokes her nose in every other person's stuff, not in the poking way but in the 'Oh, would you help me even though I see you're about to go out for a walk with an old friend?' kind of way.

But today they helped me get home.

And because of the elemental thing I witnessed today, I was feeling a bit in love with domesticity and I found myself contemplating their lives in a really dedicated way.

I was thinking in their car. On my way to home.

Mediocrity is one of my fears as well. Not in the way that- Oh I want to be noticeable. But in the sense that, I don't want to end up like an ordinary housewife who lives caring for her child and not thinking about herself. Even if I am mediocre, I want to be happy.

I can live with mediocrity as long as I have happiness.

That's what matters to me. It's selfish. Incredibly selfish, but it's what I want, and I shall have it.

Today, as we ninth-graders took our places, as the first ones to perform, butterflies erupted in my stomach. I was feeling overcome with the emotion of wanting to sink in to the ground and never emerge. But when my time came I did go in to perform. I was in the group containing Senjula- the most amazing dancer from my class. She was at front, but we were in a circular formation, and she had her back to the audience. I was at the back, but it was a huge stage, and every dancer was visible.
Every move under scrutiny.

My face was visible. I was aware of the abundant people who think me to be a joke. I still did it.

The first time was a disaster. The next time was better.

Ninth-grade went back. As I was running backstage, alone, I encountered Monkey.

"How bad was it?" I asked him quietly.

"Quite good actually, just work on the smile."

He doesn't lie. If he didn't lie I trusted that I hadn't made a fool out of myself.
It was okay.

Then we went back to our seats, and we spent out time being bored out of our minds. Me and R. There were a few moments. That's all.

I found out during grade ten's performance that Monkey hadn't being completely truthful to me when he said that he wasn't contributing anything towards the dance.

Oh he was there alright. As a mad person.
And I'm not kidding.

The role suited him. He has that mad expression on his face, that smile, that madness, that thing.

I might've laughed out loud then, but I didn't later when I waived goodbye at him.

Because I respect that he decided to do that, despite knowing how people would react.
Of course he didn't tell us, but that's another story.

In other news, I'm growing as usual. Yesterday happened to be epic as well, but I will type it down later. The week's going great. I'm thinking of doing a lot of work on Saturday, on myself, my room, stuff.

I fear someone's slipping away from me. I don't know who. Maybe everyone. But something is amiss.

Ah, well. I can handle myself so I'm not going to break down if I don't have any friends left, because I've reached a point where if anyone drifts away from me I don't try to call that person back. Even if it's S. Because she didn't feel it when we were drifting apart, and that hurt. So I'm not going to go around calling people up back to me.

Am I supposed to do that? Aren't they supposed to realize it, and then come to me themselves?

Too little people actually care.

Kashfin called today. She is amazing. She actually took my advice, and now she hasn't been crying and has decided to move on. I love her, so much.

I find passion amazing. I think books are heaven. Reading books is like being in heaven. Getting a book is like being in heaven. Books are love in the form of cardboard and papers. I love passionate people.

I think these 'annual concerts' and other annual functions schools have are a way of building people, revealing people. Forcing them to actually look at each other, at all the people that they are supposed to be growing up with.

December is amazing. Has been, will be. January is looking to be quite good, and February IS amazing.

It's been such a fun ride. I'm waiting for Sunday, for the actual thing but I can already feel that I'll be sad once it's over.

:'3

Mood swing.

Aren't there moments when you feel this intense anger? This intense, piercing, anger which is nothing but just a mood swing, but you know it is manifesting itself into your existence, bringing out all the hidden anxieties and fears and what not to the surface.

All the little things, which you let, slide by, but which annoyed you. And now this mood swing has consumed it all, and presently it is making you feel as if you have the world’s biggest load on your head; when in reality it isn’t.

I hate mood swings.

This week is going to be amazing. I can literally feel it in my bones. And yet, this mood swing happened.

I’m more focused towards what I have to achieve now. And yet, imperfections are always there. Life just cannot be one smooth ride.

That’s reality. Naked reality. Best served cold. No additional coverings or beautification or whatever.

That’s what we’re being prepared for here at school. And still, I learn more from friends and books than from my school books.

Well I guess it’s in the nature of mood swings to be over in a jiffy, or whatever. Because I can already feel it wearing off.

And nothing changed. Everything’s the same except for some minor disturbances.

Well, I’ll have to take care of it tomorrow morning. 

How it Begins.

I don’t remember what day, time or place was it, but it was beautiful.

At the beginning of all things, it is scary. It is scary and dark and unbelievably difficult. You just can’t seem to make friends. You stand out so much.

You feel frustrated for the move. You want to go back to the past when it was all fun and no need to worry for the future. You didn’t have the capacity to understand things as you do now, and enjoyed yourself without the consequences. You wish to be left alone.

And yet that humane thing called friendship with all its appealing things presents itself before you. You jump at the opportunity like a mad dog after a bone. Your eagerness is awarded at first. Later, luck just abandons you.

The whole year, opportunities and chances of ‘real’ friendship, as you think it to be, present before you and you either do the same mistake as the past or just ignore it. In between somewhere you get frustrated.

At last, you form a solid group of people you can call your friends. Even if no one in particular, is a person with whom you can be intimate with. You feel frustrated, because these are the best years of your life, and you feel as if no one is there with whom you can just face the world together.

No one to call your best friend.

And yet, you never believed in that. Did you? Of course not. All the taunting questions of, “Who is your best friend?” were never replied with a name. You always said “Everyone.”

You even believed in that.

But it’s not true. It never was. You need a good friend.

And then a rarity comes along, enchanting you, enrapturing your senses, making you go crazy over him or her.

A true friend comes along.

And that, is what changes everything. 

Melody.

Sometimes I think- How do they do it?
How do music composers manage to assimilate a score, out of a dozen talented violinists, pianists, etc.? How? Why do Hans Zimmer and John Powell create such beautiful music? Why does it have to be so achingly beautiful?
I literally get goosebumps listening to these musical storehouses of talent. The transcending music, the cacophony of violins and pianos, ring across, reaching through the hearts of all those who listen to it.
And those who can't appreciate it? Well. 'God' help them. (Assuming that he hypothetically exists, of course).

I decided to go ahead and do this because I was sitting in my old room, with the laptop I'm currently typing on, listening to soundtracks of amazing movies which no one else can appreciate except me. Because I'm me.

And though this idea might be prone to failure, in about, a few weeks; I'm going to try my best to continue it.
Because currently, I'm still feeling pretty inspired.