4 years of Brooding in the Tepid Dusk

4 years ago, on a particularly dreary night, I took the decision of starting a blog. I never gave it too much thought; came up with the name ‘Brooding in the Tepid Dusk’ and thus began my journey of writing all the things I can probably never say in person.

Ironically, today I find myself short of words to express how grateful I am to anyone who has ever visited BITD. The real purpose of this blog was for me to open up. To talk about things that I can’t talk about with people around me.
To make sense of the world I live in.

I never thought anyone would ever bother reading what I wrote here. That this place would be a void where I rambled away the confusion in my mind. But in these 4 years, I made so many friends here, interacted personally with so many of you.

I was stunned, that people on this blog not only read what I wrote, but also understood. They empathized and I even received some very loving e-mails from people of so many countries.

It’s crazy how important this blog has become to me. It’s the place I go to when I’m not okay. Somehow, all of you, you wonderful WordPress community makes it okay.

I grew up learning from all of you. I was 18 when I started writing here, when I was going through, what I call the most emotionally challenging period of life so far and this blog got me through all of it. You guys got me through all of it.

I once read this thought that the idea is to not live forever, but to leave something behind that does.

I feel really fortunate to think that if someday I’m not here, at least this little space I created on the internet always will. The things I wrote here will stay. All the people I’ve interacted with will, at some point in their life, remember me.

So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For assuring me that all these thoughts in my mind make sense.

122 Posts, 841 followers, 16435 blog hits, 1790 shares, 2984 likes.

And I’m only getting started.


Love always,

Your blogger.

Adulthood: Please Stay Far Away

Okay, I turned 18 like 6 months back, but today as I was going through one of my sudden bursts of cogitation, I realized that I hadn’t written anything about how freaked out I was when the clock struck 12:00 on the night of 10th of April. Even when I was 12 or 13, 14, 15 I freaked out every single year thinking I’m one step closer to ‘being responsible.’ I understand that no one likes to age, but my fear doesn’t lie in the fact that I’ll have wrinkles on my skin but that I’m not ready for THIS.

I DON’T WANT TO GROW UP. PERIOD. I get so terrified even on the slightest thought of taking care of a family. I can’t even take care of myself let alone a family. Ugh!
God. I want to be a kid. Forever. I want to be reckless. I want to go to school, come back, go to play, finish my homework and go to sleep. It’s funny how when I was young I couldn’t wait to grow up. It’s even funnier how now I would give anything to be 10 again.


I remember the night of my 18th birthday; my elder brother succeeded in making things worse and heightening my paranoia, “You’re 18 now, you’re an adult-YOU’RE NO MORE A KID. Muaahahahahahah”

Whenever I catch myself thinking about what I’d do and where I will be in 5-10 years, I take that picture off my head and throw it as far away as possible, but it still remains in the far corner of my mind like a ghost hovering above me, ready to swallow me down. I don’t mean to be rude. But unfortunately, I’m not counted in the “OMG, I can’t want to get married” kind of girls. Of course everyone has their own sweet choices. But as for me, nothing scares me more than my future (and a cockroach).

I think a lot. I think so much and then get so worried. It’s like this hysteria of freaking out. Whether or not I’ll get a good job, or if I’ll be able to achieve all that I aspire. I’m scared if I wont be the same person I am today. Maybe age will change me. Make me an ADULT. I won’t be able to scream out of happiness. Or maybe laugh my heart out for silly things-like the present day. What if I don’t get excited when I get a new toothbrush. (Yes, I love my toothbrush-deal with it).

I know it’s not that bad. Growing up has it’s own perks. But I don’t want to travel alone, or eat alone or go home from work .. Alone. What if I don’t get the same kind of amazing friends I have now. We’re in college and we’ve already traded our separate ways. Not that we haven’t been in touch. But ambitions have taken over the better part of us.

I want time to slow down. It’s October and in 2 months we’ll have a new year, 2015. I mean ’14 JUST started right? Does it happen with everyone? I wonder if time pranks us and moves at a faster pace after a certain age. I want someone to not tell me but assure me that it will be all right. I’ll make it through. Everybody does. *Sigh*

Anyway, I hope what I think of adulthood isn’t the reality. I can only hope.

Okay. It’s happening again. I’m freaking out.

Meditation On Wheels.

Dreaming of Riding High In The Skies - Painting by Gallery of Dreams & Colors.
Black color with thin streaks of grey. Not a single bump (obliged to myself) still carries the grace and esteem of a newly bought, fibre bodied, irrevocably loved two-wheeler. Though I don’t quite look back to the day it arrived at my front porch in the summer of 2009 , all shining and immaculately polished, like a knight in shining armor, ready to barge on the short-noticed wars of life, okay, maybe a quick run to the grocery store. (I LOVE cheese and nachos, so … you get the drill?) The reason being, it was initially bought for my brother. So he was the one who got to ride it. (Perks of being the elder sibling).

We needed to carpool to school. Although dad was always willing to give us a ride (we did it for 6-7 years, surely we could manage another 2?) but considering the responsible kids our parents had, we decided to switch to ‘self-dependent-broad shouldered-two awesome kids on a scooter-ready to take down the world’ version of us.

While my brother rode that amazing thing, I gazed greedily everyday weaving day-dreams of the day I get to ride it myself. When my brother left for college, I was officially handed over the keys with the huge responsibility of always protecting the scooter, riding it safely and dutifully, and not letting IT affect my grades. It’s been almost 3 years since I’ve been riding my exceptionally suave Honda Dio and apart from a minor displacement on my number-plate, I can say I carried on my duties well.

What it took me a while to realize was that my scooter had very slowly and surreptitiously become an  imperative part of my life. As it is I didn’t go anywhere without it, reason being I had no other option (not a rich girl with a chauffeur-Gah!) and second, more important reason being that I preferred being independent and third of course, I love to ride my scooter.

As and when I got more practiced and efficient as a driver, I started .. well ..how to put it ..being more reluctant. Not in a reckless eccentric way, but more as ‘I know the gig’ way.

Speaking of now, the only place where I find my cogitative meter booming and sometimes breaking the limit and lashing in the sky is when I’m driving. My mind is literally thinking in the most poetic and thoughtful way. It observes and reacts, concludes and takes obscure notes of all the various activities passing by me like a whirlwind, storing them in some remote corner of my mind. I see everything differently. The wind brushing ferociously against my skin suddenly becomes a career of messages, laughs and sobs of people from distant lands. The rigid, charcoal road becomes a pathway of life, a stairway to heaven. I see station-guards, still drowsing from the insatiable slumber ready to take their morning shift, cycling their way to the railway station.

I see little kids laughing and marching their way to the local schools, jubilant and oblivious of anything but them. I see leaves swaying in a haphazard motion, as if shedding off their sleep and asking the mortal man to rise, waggling and shaking themselves along with the wind.

I confess I’ve been very close to accidents, though nothing harmful ‘worth mentioning’ has happened to me. I guess mother nature has taken up the job to protect me.

Sometimes I cannot help but wonder-Why do I have to be so weird? Why can’t I relate the gentle falling of a leaf with gravity? Why do I have to find hidden, deeper meanings in everything and lead myself into the unfathomable universe of poetry? Or maybe, just maybe, those hidden meanings come to me. Without me realizing it? Reserving answers to be useful in the fickle future. Whatsoever the reason may be, I don’t mind being the way I am, be it having a permanent craving for Chinese food or reflecting over the wonders of life – On Wheels.



“So I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons, and maybe we’ll never know most of them.”

– Stephen Chbosky.