Life is

Life is full of things that are clearer when farther.
So I found it best to stay away.
I wonder how I'll do that with life.
Not as if I don't like it, I just like it better when it's a lie.

B School is like an uncouth mix of excited social creatures(which I find myself becoming occasionally), completely unnecessary sleep deprivation and this urgent need to have fun in life because 'it's the last couple of years you can actually do that!'  

People trying to bring together some average American High School drama movie, a modern romantic comedy and the most inspiring business story they've ever heard.
It is ultimately a stinking tragedy, of course.

I fail to feel these people.
The closer I get the more repulsed I get.
I see more and more of everyone else in me. It makes me feel more and more meaningless. I guess that's what individuality is all about. Oh God, I don't want to be sounding like Derrida of them all, but I think I do sound somewhat like him. Differance. 
I couldn't get the accent. So I shall substitute with a different set of special characters. 
:(

Remembering Birthdays

This land is seething with vapours of anxiety. The world awaits me while home tosses and turns in bed. My steps change direction, finally finding my own. The pain seems to me a thing of the past, though I am now wise enough to understand it isn't a thing to be evaded in the end.

This river and this soil; these mad, wonderful people; this calm, green breeze; the loud, serene music and the whole, endless food.
The wide congested roads; the useful, unkempt roadsides; my mistakes and successes; the friends and mistresses and all the thugs and the heroes. Delhi, how do you do what you do? How are you all of this at once?

Innocence and its loss, the firsts and the lasts, the conception and consummation and the sane and the wildly curious. The medicines and the sages, the houses and the forests, the lanes and the highways. Aah, Delhi! You painful paradox.
So, I decide I belong perfectly to you.
You might even always mean home.

Flight

What if the bird
ever wished to walk.
Tread the roads that nature created
Not cutting across the invisible air,
For that to the bird is nothing at all.
What if it wished to walk
miles - all at once,
But a foot at a time.
Pacing endless expanse.