musing.

It seems like all we do is spend time. Whatever happened to living?

Are we sold a rosier picture of life just to ensure that we dont give up on it? Or is it something that we need to be doing, that we have forgotten now?

This drab grey thing, this unmoving, unemotional and unexciting thing with us, cannot be life. Or Is It?

random

bored. word-blocked.

someone from google california (well, atleast that's the place the statcounter points to) reads my blog every single effing day. all my past posts. meticulously!. Wow.

Dude you deserve like a major cash prize or something (and I dont give out cash easy. ask the hubby:P) . do leave a comment, so I can identify my fanboy :P

Exams near. book hasnt been opened since the courier guy delivered it to the doorstep. Notes taken down in the weekend long class have long been used by the daughter to satisfy her growing curiosity.

ennui sets in. forces me to listen to random songs such as these. Force colleague to listen to songs such as these. Laugh at colleagues' disgust. thus has degraded my sense of humor owing to ennui.

Vacation is much needed. keep planning various getaways with several people. as usual, none materialize.

Sigh.

The Big Bang Theory S5 looks damper than the older ones. no relief there either. I want to watch Akki's Joker. Hopefully, that should put some life into me. what say?

In Other TV Soap news -

A child-bride remarries.

A remarriage shatters.

If you, (god forbid) understand what the above statements mean - you MUST tag along when I visit my shrink - you and I, both, my friend are in dire need of his services.

footprints

she looked back. her footprints were washed away by the crashing waves. like almost she hadnt been there at all.

That, there is life. she thought. no one will know for more than a fleeting moment, that you existed.

Whats journey, and what is destination then?

She kept walking along the beach, because - she had nothing else left to do. she lived life, because there was no alternative.

Dante

Perhaps the greatest sorrow is to look back upon happiness from misery.

infatuated

totally infatuated with the sound track of the Dark Knight Rises. In a loop. All day long.

Fitting trilogy. wasnt a fan of the mexican mask wearing over bulky bane of the comic books, but love love love the Bane in the movie. Wow Wow Wow!

The favorite in the trilogy though has to be the Joker. Fine Villain him! Luurrvve him!

Bane is good. but is nowhere near the Joker. The earlier Batman Jokers were exactly that - stupid jokers. Including that stupid movie with Jim Carrey as the joker. Duh-uh.

Miranda Tate was a giveaway. or maybe because I was such a dork that I had already read Knightfall when I was a kid.

Also, maybe because I'm such a dork that I notice details such as when the "kid" escaped the inescapable pit-prison, she had no mask on.

Anyhoo. Would have loved more batman onscreen. more of his bat-mobile, bat-flying-thingamajig and more hand to hand combat. I wanted less of Christian Bale and more of Batman. Duh. Nolan. Take note.

anyhoo. gotta run. Gravy on one burner, roti on the other, and someone from office is pinging me about some random issue!

cya!

what goes around

does come around.

In other news;

how ugly does Priyanka Chopra look in those yellow thingies jumping like a 5 year old Britney? Argh!

Another random Dance With The Stars rip off has Madhuri dancing to those eternal hits. While one agrees she is a diva, no amount of botox can cover up age. Comon!

Everyone is discussing Aishwarya's post pregnancy weight. What about poor everyday fat mothers? For one, I have a repartee every time people comment on my weight. Finally Aishwarya makes herself useful. Huh.

I have an overdose of Anushka Sharma. Comon lady. Leave something to imagination about your acting skills. I'm getting saturated of watching your face.

Pirates' new movie on June 24th. While yours truly has already seen it on the big screen, yet, cant wait for Johnny Depp to hit my big screen at home :D

and the enfant terrible beckons!

double entredre

she called it hormones. she said it was "the time" of the month, when she usually was depressed.

The women around her, agreed. After all, hormones are a crazy bunch they leave you confused when they show themselves, and then they leave you confused when they decide to go hiding again- the chatter lulled to a silence. Each one thinking about her "hormones".

Their "hormones" at home, existed. they could not wish them away. Physical or Emotional, the abuse at home was always given a metaphor. the unshed tears, and the unsaid silences spoke volumes. The implicit understanding of swollen eyes and the broken bangles needed no acknowledgement.

While the men sat complaining about how they weren't treated well at home by the womenfolk, the women sat silent. The silence, the acknowledgement that no matter rich or poor, ugly or beautiful, barren or fertile, illiterate or Doctors, some stories never change; some silences can never be spoken out.

Television Rants

So, my definition of "craziness" involves watching hindi serials - ones that encourage gaudy makeup, hilarious dialogues and houses that look like they are renovated "shaadi ke mantap"

So, I took a break from all the Dexters and Morgans on Starworld and moved to watching punar vivah on Zee TV. While I shall watch endless re-runs of Scrubs and The Big Bang Theory and laugh at their piss poor jokes (JD dreams of a chocolate Turk, and Sheldon calls Sex coitus - ha ha. very funny. ha ha. yeah right!) there are only so many episodes of a Hindi serial I can tolerate. (BTW Im a closet chuck lorre vanity card admirer. I use the freeze button in my remote just so that I can read his sarcastic, and at times insightful vanity cards ... but I digress)

Punar Vivah it is...

There are just so many things wrong with what is being aired on TV - while being touted as a progressive sitcom

1. Remarriage is only an option because kids want both parents in their lives.

2. Remarriage is okay for a widow, but not a divorcee, hence, if you are the in-laws of a divorcee DIL, keep it secret and get her married.

3. Women should remarry, because they cant win all the games that the school conducts on its annual day. Women wear a dupatta that just makes it impossible to win; men on the other hand, with their trousers and moustaches, win random games in a breeze.

4. Men should remarry because their children are late to school everyday. Any other reason to get married again would be blasphemy.

Dos and Donts of remarriage

1. DO keep all the random cliqued snaps that you and your dead wife took just about everywhere, actually, that isnt enough - blow them up life size and put them up just as a political party would adorn its office with images of Gandhi and Nehru

2. DO keep all your dead wife's clothes etc, and keep looking at them once a day. You must remind yourself not to have sex with your new wife. What better way to do so, than to jerk off using your dead wife's clothes?

3. DO NOT hold any communication, either before or after marriage, but let your family (read parents) do the talking. Allow the new member of the family to be implicitly insulted - and you act like you aren't even present.

4. If you are the female - DO NOT communicate with your husband, instead - make your son your "surrogate husband" and smother him with your love.

5. DO get married at the first drop of tears that your son sheds. After all, you don't have a mustache, you are but a woman who cannot win your son's affection.

6. If you are the MIL - worry that your DIL is going to "take away" your son from you, and implicitly insult her when possible.

7. Last but not the least and the most important of all - walk around like a Christmas tree with heavily embroidered sarees and outlandish jewelry; wear gaudy makeup to bed, and leave your hair fluttering in the air, even when you are cooking out-of-this-world dishes.

Once you have all these down pat - you are ready to re-marry. (ensure that your spouse is dead though - you cannot practice polygamy or polyandry - it is still against the law)

Colors

random words that hardly make sense are knocking around in my mind.

"ek tumhaari jo nazar jo padi,
mere ye udhaar ke rang bhi khil ute hain dekho"

and some other random words. nothing makes sense.

something like -

beneath these pristine white robes of mine
to protect which, I refuse to make merry with you
refuse to color my hands & refuse to fall in love

I still carry the stains of betrayal;
of pain and hurt. colors that were once of love
and are now tear stains of gangrenous sorrow

Nothing makes sense. really.

The impossible

In an ideal world, my house would be filled to brim with artifacts I did not need or understand. It would be filled with random works of art, piles and more piles of bags, shoes and more useless stuff.

In utopia, all channels would air interesting stuff everyday, and not harp on reruns or movies aired previously a thousand times already. Bloggers would write, and they would write interesting stuff, not mundane or abstract or poetry that would make Lord Byron turn in his grave.

In my dream, I would thin yet shapely, sharp cheekboned, yet full-lipped, possessor of straight yet voluminous hair which never ever got entangled. I would pick designer clothes off the rack, and would search for the smallest possible size, instead of the extra large that I in reality hunt for.

If possible, my life would be all that is the improbable, the impossible and the fantastic.

If only.

  

stalking.

while most people move on. some people get stuck there. in that moment. in that emotion.
they would give anything to retain that. anything to maintain that sense of status quo.

Psychiatrists would tell you that these are your typical victims. People who move from one abusive relationship to another, people who stay in an abusive relationship despite it being abusive, people who would gladly make themselves a carpet for others to walk all over on. People who stalk their exes on various sites, people who kill themselves because one relationship went bad

But you know what? a little bit of them lives in all of us.

and then, there lives the opposite, who hurt because it gets them off. who walk all over that carpet, because they can, or maybe because they are a carpet for someone else to walk all over, who like abusing their relationships, because they know they will be clung on to. and it doesnt have to be physical. emotional abuse is abuse enough - and it helps get off much more. very much more.

we have the ying and the yang in us.

Me? I have more ying than yang. more yang than ying. more this than that, and sometimes, nothing at all.
For now. I am stalking some random person on a networking site. not that the person meant anything at all, just that this person stopped blogging. and I want to know why. I used to enjoy this person's blog you know?

So I sign off.
Yours stalkerly,
Online Stalker. :P

An Ice Cream Story

Sirjee was a good man. he had a habit of helping people in distress. He was the go-to man for any problems that people faced. Sirjee was like a mini government. His good deeds had a humble beginning of having fought against the mafia in his locality. Once free from the mafia, he fought for equality for all in his apartment. He slowly started working for the good of everyone in the city.
It wont be really wrong to say that this good samaritan good get things done faster than any minister, and he never used any violence mind you.
He also taught at a school as a Physics teacher. All his students loved him and he loved all his students. His class always had the most attendance and was never missed.
One day, 3 of his best pupils were absent. Distraught over this development, he walked over to thier homes to see if everything was fine.
Alas!! It wasnt.
All the three had fallen ill. They had ice creams on the way back home, you see. This had given them a raging fever and a bad cough. Their parents were worried sick about these kids.

They missed classes for a month. Sirjee was restless. his best pupils were unwell. they would have exams in a few days, and even if they did make it to school during exams, they might not fare as well as they usually would have.
Their exams were crucial. If they fared badly, their college admissions would be affected. Their college admissions ruined, their chances of getting their dream jobs would be in jeopardy. Without a dream job, who knows what effect it would have on their psyche?
An entire future ruined due ice creams! Sirjee could not let this happen. These were childrens' futures at stake.
He met with a few parents and teachers who had a similar outlook to his. He decided that no ice creams should be sold anywhere near the school premises.
However, businessmen will stay businessmen. They shifted to elsewhere. Children could not resist the temptation, and followed the vendors to their new location.
Now it was a bigger issue. Children might get hurt walking to this new location which was at a considerable distance.
Sirjee suddenly had an idea. Why not get all ice creams banned across the nation?
The government laughed at him. The goverment was a balding, handle-bar mustachioed man who loved to laugh. The Government took his application read it, used it to wipe the bhajjiya oil off his hands, and summarily crumpled the paper and threw it into the dustbins.

"get rid of ice creams it seems, the old man has gone senile. has anyone ever gotten rid of such a tasty, and wonderful thing?"

The government could not stop laughing.
He went home in a huff. his wife had cooked bitter gourd for lunch. One look at the bitter gourd, and all his anger now turned towards the poor wife.
He stormed out of the house proclaiming that he would not eat ever. Not bitter gourd. No. First the government and the wife. Sirjee had had it now. The last straw it was.
News spread. like minded people who came to cajole him into eating saw the bitter gourd and decided that it would be better he not eat it.
Thus began his satyagraha the fast of a life time.
One by one, parents joined in.
Doctors who had gotten sick of treating children for tonsilitis and throat infections joined in.
Chewing Gum, candy and toffee makers to whom ice creams were a competition, joined in.
the message spread far and wide.
Everyone was joining. Not joining meant you were out of fashion.
Nosebook, Bharkat, Gaggle Minus the news was everywhere.
People who ate ice creams in the sly joined in.
Ice Cream makers joined in (secretly hoping to create an advertising with their presence)

The government was getting tired of people not eating any more. The Government's cook had run off to join the satyagraha no one cooked for the government any longer. The huge appetite of the government and the ensuing pangs of hunger made the government to pick up the oil stained application back from the dustbin, eat the few bits of bhajjiya sticking to that paper out of sheer hunger (it is said that the government contemplated eating the paper as well ... but thats a different story); and passed a law.

No more Ice Creams.

Today, when children fall ill, they tell sirjee that it was due to the rains or the wind, or the heat, or the bhoot that hangs upside down in the peepal tree outside the city.

As we pass by the city street today, Bharathjee's wife has unfortunately cooked bitter gourd. The government had laughed at Bharathjee's paunch. He wants laughter banned. Especially against obese people. They say, people are joining in. Noble thing. Satyagraha

(note: Cross posted on FB.
Social evils and ice cream arent the same, except if you are like yours truly who suffers from every ENT illness that has been discovered and is yet to be discovered.)

all about baggage.

She had to choose. What would it be? At crossroads stood, and she already had a lot of baggage with her. Did she want another one? Unfortunately, whether she wanted it or not, she would end up with more. It was just a matter of deciding which would be more bearable, which would be less tears and blood, which baggage would be dearer?
At the end she chose. As should all of us.


Gucci it would be.


well. lots. but for now. enough. :-)

a moment

Have been more than depressed lately; not many things are wrong, but each tiny thing matters.

the daughter is with my mom for the week. while her house resounds with laughter every time I call, my own house seems to have grown to 3 times its size, and silences boom in the empty spaces of the hollow that was once a home.
It is just the two of us now. Incomplete and lost. once a family, but now without her, incomplete. I think and i wonder how was life before her? Was it life before her?

She comes back on the weekend though, never have waited for anything more ardently. never have wanted anything more passionately.

*************
randomly clicked on a link that spoke of love and well, such things. Suddenly glad that the husband cant write. CANT WRITE. even to save his life. except maybe, Agreements and Legal documents. but that isnt writing.
For if he wrote, he would put in words a moment that we shared and it would no longer be a moment. it would be ... well, a random mass of words that was laid bare for everyone to read.
The moment, the look, the magic, the sorrow, the happiness - everything. Our love. would then be laid bare. It would no longer belong to us. it would then be assimilated by everyone who read it.

There is this ad. "platinum day of love". love does not need platinum. but yes. love needs that one moment. love needs me. it needs him.

Why is it, that it never ends?
This one moment of life.

In the cacophony of the world,
Why is it that this silence never ends
This one moment of silent life.

In the tangle of time,
Why is it that this moment never ends?
This one moment of 'alive' life.

life is but, a couple of flicks,
of your hair thrown back
but the moment lives on forever.

new post

loads of stuff happening.

as i sip the coffee from the vending machine at office, i am hit by the knowledge (for the umpteenth time) that I hate coffee. I only hate "preparing" dip tea more, and hence the bitter liquid courses down my throat, helping me keep my eye lids open for just a little more time.

Research lands me on a blog, and I'm tempted to open mine to jot down a few words. In a feeble attempt to reassure myself of the readers of this blog, I check the invisible stat counter embed link. My pipe dreams of having readers gets flushed down the drain. However, there is hope, people randomly land at my page searching for phrases such as "vividh bharati" and "keepsakes", one funny phrase which sends the coffee hurtling at the keyboard via my nostrils is "naked mom".
Mom - that I am. Naked, well, not right now. I am at office you see.

There is a trigger that gets activated ...

like that whiff of that familiar cologne that dad used to wear, and all of a sudden you are that 5 year old again, hugging your dad and taking in the smells of his aftershave and sweat.

like that unexpected short-cut that leads you into a lane that looks "exactly" like the one you used to play with other urchins your age ... and that sense of anticipation and anxiety builds up ... if the "it" hasn't caught you at your hiding place for what seems like an eternity.

only, more unpleasant.

This word triggers an event that happened in the foggy past. I can hear two women asking me what it would "cost" to keep off their darling son/brother. I can hear one man standing by and allowing his sister to talk her mouth off about a girl's character she knew nothing of.

And it is unpleasant. More bitter than the bitter coffee that is now not just in my esophagus, but also in my nasal cavities.

Not that I am a vindictive person. Having done everything to bury the past in a place it won't resurface, this trigger acted like Brendan Fraser and his co-star in the Mummy

Moving on though, bitterness aside.

Have hurt back badly. very very badly. many many problems. many doctors. had some gynecological issues, the first specialist I saw did not even tell me what the problem was, and how bad it was. Instead, I was told it was insignificant, and was asked to wait a month to get it corrected.
The person who bears the pain knows the extent of it. So, a second opinion.

This time, a cousin.
More sympathetic, more tests, more pain.

Finally, gynec problems, eliminated.

Problem of the back - still persistent.

No clue on what is wrong. Hormone Tests, Orthopedic tests, neurological tests, scans and X-rays - everything is back normal. I'm a healthy overweight female.
Good.

Why cant I move a muscle then?

Why does the back hurt badly? Blame it on my weight. Blame it on me. You are the reason for your pain. Very philosophical indeed. Very very enlightening. Does Zilch for the pain though.

Ayurveda. Allopathy. Homeopathy, even the pathy spraying relispray did not help.

Grandaunt. A treasure trove of "evil eye" warding chants and has fingers like the great Dhanvantri himself. "it is a sprain" speaketh the grand aunt. and her fingers work magic. muscles once un-movable, now groan and grunt and fall in place.

Pain is bearable. no more moans and sighs at every movement. Bless the grand aunt.

Spent weekend traveling to the very picturesque and scenic Shivmogga and beyond to hulikal. truly one of those places that deserve to be called heaven on earth.
Unfortunately, the pathway to heaven is filled with bad roads and potholes that did nothing for the already bad backache.

totally tired and listless, and bitter by the triggered memory of a word, much blogging has been done, hoping to infuse some enthusiasm.

Most of the time

Life teaches you lessons, that would be better unlearnt or unknown of.

c'est la vie.

Making Memories

**senti post ahead - warning**

Remember when dad used to sing in the loo? Remember when mom used to recite her favorite hymns? Remember that sumptous meal that gran cooked up for every festival (especially the obbatu*?) Remember sleeping with grandad under a starry night listening to his stories? Remember when life was still all about kicking off your school shoes, wriggling out of your school uniform & getting into that comfortable bermudas and banian and running out to play ignoring mom's threats about broken legs?

Everytime that songs plays on DD rangoli, everytime you hear a remix of mom's hymns, everytime its that festival, everytime you manage to use the trivia that grandad told you when you were a kid, everytime you spend your weekend in front of the computer because ..."well, there isnt anything else to do - is there?", these memories creep up.

I hope my daughter makes up her memories - I try singing the same lullabies that dad used to sing (terribly offkey though), try and put on the same hymns on the mobile (I never memorised them), try cooking up something each festival (though it hopelessly remains unedible), and play silly games with her - trying to relive my life through her, trying to make some memories for her.

most of the times its fun, but yes, sometimes it hurts.

Yet another random post

So, this is where we rant about (among other things) -

having to head back home.

We south Indians have this curious tradition of getting a girl to stay at her mom's place from the 7th month of her pregnancy until the baby she has delivered turns either 3 or 5 months. This practice must be outlawed.Banned. Set to fire.Banished. Made to stand under the hot raging sun of the Thar desert, and then cooled with Co2 ( a la Golden Eye) so that it smashes into a million (nay) zillion different pieces.
It is one thing to say you are getting married, and go live elsewhere. It is a totally different thing to experience the same bliss you used to have prior to marriage for 7 months, be extra pampered - because now, you are a "to-be" mother in addition to "ye ghar ke kaam to apne ghar main karne hi hain, ab aaraam karo" and then, one not-so-fine day head back home with the new born and its 35 suitcases worth of luggage back to the marital home. *sigh* no one to wipe the baby's potty but you, no one to soothe its cries or restrain you from stuffing it into an airtight container to stifle its constant bawling, no one to play with it, while you watch your fav movie.
The bloody tradition must be fed to dogs I say.
Whoever the hell invented it, was a sadist.
Here, you had a perfectly settled person, resigned to the fate that she should call the house she spent an eternity in, the "mom's place" and the house that she lives in for the last 1.5 years as "my home" and then she plucked from that resigned state of mind and left to wander around in paradise of the "mom's home" as happy as a monkey in a banana orchard, and just when she was this close (-><-) closer than that actually, to bliss and divine happiness, you throw her back at "my home" and expect her to be happy to be there and be contented to visit "mom's place" in the next era. Kill the bastard who said this, I tell you. Torture parlors - The bloody "package deals" that these effing beauty parlors have - they must be sent to concentration camps. While yours truly was packing umpteen small clothes into the blasted suitcases all grumbl-y and grinch-y foul mood , the mother decided she wants the moaning and groaning and i-will-not-go-home-i'll-hide-in-the-attic daughter out of her way so she can watch all the serials that the Kapoor duo produce/direct/conjure up; she suggests a visit to the beauty parlor.

Now. all that I wanted was to stop having my eyebrows look like this -


and look a little like this -



Was it just too much to ask? (its a rhetoric - don't bother answering that - not ever!!)

Here I go, hoping to take my mind of the impeding cleaning that the now-bachelor-pad, then a newly-purchased-house would have, and suddenly I'm bombarded with all these "packages" that will transform an ugly me, into a Cleopatra and will save me a princely sum of 500 rupees while doing so. Whatay favor I say!. Suddenly, my eyes have bags under them, they dark circles too. My chin is too dark and I have pigmentation. My hair is too limp and too straight. Oh my legs, they look like green peace would be overjoyed, if only the hair there were trees. Not just this, my eyelashes could be longer, my lips could be smaller, my nose could be smoother and I could be anyone but me.

And I could save 500 bucks in the meanwhile too!!

Whatay offer i say!

What about the other packages?

Well, they dont save as much you see. And the world wouldnt just spin right, if you took them.

What about just experiencing mimimum pain and getting the eyebrows plucked?

The silver surfer would no longer fall for Halle berry, and Galactcus will drain the earth of its life force.

The 500 rupee saving package it is!!

Yeaaa, you just saved the earth, and gave us a nice fat bonus too, you ugly bitch!

and I'm welcomed by the 3 charlies angels, who will be my "beauty assistants" for the day.
Wow!

Suddenly, my face freezes with all the ice water on it, and my hand is now burning with something searing hot poured on it. I cannot tell for sure if they want to take a mould of my hand for posterity, for I have something covering my eyes. So, while my body decides whether to shiver or suffer, the measures central tendency tell me that - on an average, Im gasp! okay!, suddenly I realise that it isnt a mould they want of my hand, they are in love with the skin on it.
Im sure some pale faced firang wants my skin for himself to appear tanned and healthy. they start pulling it out strip by strip. While I'm trying to come to terms with this fact, my eyes still under that wet gooey substance, which I'm hoping isnt flubber, my feet are pulled apart and attacked with sharp instruments, I'm being scraped and poked and tickled all at once at my feet. Maybe they want to be sure that Im not an imposter, posing to be me. Maybe they want my DNA to be sure.
Suddenly the cool ice leads to a warm blast of air on the face, barely allowing me to breathe, and Im reeling under the sudden temperature change trying to get adjusted to it, thanking the merciful Gods that finally the hand and the face can feel the same thing and commiserate with each other, that suddenly the hand is now subjected the ice cold treatment - again, on an average, Im fine.
Now, I understand the full import of what my Six Sigma trainer meant, when he explained this to us.

Well, I could go on and on about how I saved Rupees 500 (lets not talk about the Rs.5000 that was spent alright? comon, be postive and look at the savings)and got jabbed, poked, burnt, scraped, and a dozen other things in places mentionable and otherwise, but I will save you your 500 minutes by not telling you the fair and the dark details of it all (gory and kaali u moron).

Finally, if you have been brave enough to read until here, go further and leave a comment. i'll celebrate your bravery by replying back to your comment and eating a pastry with your name on the icing.

Mandatory decade ending post

so, the blogosphere is sure full of posts where they reminscise of the decade bygone, personal milestones, political upheaveals and etc., and hence the mandatory-ness (is that even a word) of this post.

The decade has been pretty interesting. Some of them not-so- interesting, and some parts so darn interesting, that I wish they never happened.

So while I can talk about how Y2K began with me passing out of 12th and 2010 is ending with me becoming a mother, and amid these two years, how I broke a heart, got a job, witnessed the death of a grandparent, flunked CA Final, got promoted, discovered blogger & orkut, lost my dad to death,got promoted, did a management course at the IIM, got promoted, got to be a part of one of the biggest corporate mergers of the decade, fell in love, got promoted, made new friends, left some off, got promoted, got heart broken, got married, bought a house, tried making it a home, undertook the biggest loan of my life ever till date, got pregnant n a mom to a beautiful baby girl,

i'll prefer to hope that the next decade is happier than the last decade and yes, just as interesting, but with a few parts where I lose people to death skipped.

random poetry

that doesnt quite rhyme, or hit the right note.

What makes you toss and turn Radha?
What makes you lay awake all night long?

The sounds of your anklets drown in your fears
The full moon shies away from your tears

The inky black sky, is not darker than the sorrow within
The stars are not brighter than your tears that flow within

What brings those tears out Radha?
What is it that your heart thinks is wrong?

somewhat similar to this

Frustration and restlessness remain, things keep getting more and more complicated, and we wish to be taken off to a place without memories, or responsibilities,or relationships, or days without work. *sigh*