Why I’m highly demotivated and done with this shit.

I have my half yearly examinations in a week. and I’d rather do anything but open my books and study. All I’ve done all my life is study and you’re still telling me I’m not done with it. It’s stupid. Spend the first 20 years of your life learning, then use that learning to work and if that isn’t enough retire and become yesterday’s newspaper.

I really don’t get where this comes from. Why does society demand education as a minimum requirement for being classified as a member. Why do we study, study stuff written by others, rote learn what they think, and erode who we really are. Why do we fall into this rut. This rut of great grades, and college admissions, examinations and practicals. Just trying to show off the fact that yes, I know the highly complicated definition of something that isn’t really going to take me far in life.

I’m not dissing education. For sure I’m not. I’m just dissing what we call education. We learn history that is written by the victors, Politics that the government wants us to believe and preach, English, where interpretations of only the test checker is valid and somewhere down the line understand that if we want to get into a good college, all we need to do is suck up and rote learn.

and that is where innovation dies, creativity dies, ideas die.

People die.


Fake Sunflowers.

Took these pictures a few days ago, and felt they needed to be shown off. 😛 If you do use them for anything, give me credits! Be nice guys!

Also, I’d like to this post as an opportunity to introduce my photo blog, named photowaali at sitarasrinivas.tumblr.com go see 😀


A question I’ve been having since the inception of love.

how can relationships end.

to never begin again.

even in the most tiniest of ways.

from a friendship to a gaze.

how can love stop.

to turn into nothing at all.

finite. by a few.

actions, deeds, or words.

are relationships merely contracts.

clauses of undescribed pda.

love and tender affection.

to end with the demise of commitment.

what happened to the emotions.

to the hand holding.

do you mean to say that it was nothing at all.

just a ruse?

how can two people.

who have been together.

under the bond of what they call love.

cease the existence of the other.

for the bond the brokered.


I was in conversation with my best friend today, and the general theme was how our lives generally suck and this year was the worst ever. A little background on that I’m in class 12th, the final year of my school life and in a few months I write the All India secondary something something. Essentially write the marching orders for the rest of my life. So yeah my parents, my school teachers my milk man etc are all very chill. NOT. Which just makes me want to rewind to the times when I didn’t have this pressure on my head.

And it’s not like I don’t like this pressure, it’s nice but it’s ALSO WAY TOO MUCH. How much do you expect a 17 year old to handle. Boys, Miley Cyrus, Master Chef Junior blah blah blah and remain perfect all the time. GOSH. It’s weird you know.

Going back to theme, I love-d being a teenager, wrote about it being my Salad days and stuff but suddenly it seems so so hounding. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m looking forward to what’s on the other side of my tests or maybe it’s the fact that Dix Sept is really trouble some.

To sum up, My golden days weren’t my childhood, aren’t my adolescence and may just be my adulthood.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Golden Age.”


Something I wrote, while in the quest to find words to describe my feelings. While, although not every word is truly auto biographical, I resonate with certain feelings and emotions typed out.

They weren’t the simplest of lovers,

very weird, very out of the world,

their love wasn’t legit,

they conversed through only words,

words, printed onto paper,

hard or paper bound,

or electronically embedded,

into fanfiction.com,

her love wasn’t cheap,

who knew a necklace would cost so much,

and every time she held him up,

she was worried and hurt,

worried. for the doubt of his survival,

hurt, for the comrades he had lost,

It was weird, a 100%,

they were the titanic of ships,

built to survive, culled in its first ride,

like rose and jack they were to be it’s one true pair,

she was a fangirl,

and sometimes she wished,

to bring words to life,

for being a fangirl was,

the only thing,

that kept her away,

from staring at the ceiling fan,

and typing the full stop on her chapter of life.

A macro lens and the depth of emotions. (World Photography Day)

If a year ago you’d asked me what camera I used, I’d say, my front camera. Now if you were to ask me I’d say a camera. It’s a beautiful thing, photography, for you need not be an artist to share what you find beautiful in this world. You needn’t be a writer, to share the perfect blue of the skies. You needn’t even be a singer to speak of how the wind whistles through the trees.

It’s world photography day today, and I find no better day than this to show what has kept me away from rhyming schemes. It’s amazing, even crazy that I am constantly learning and evolving and truly enjoying this process.

What is also weird is the fact that I’ve started to find beauty in everything, from how the sun shines through the trees, to how the walls have the most gorgeous of textures. I’ve started noticing people better, emotions better, and in short become a better person.

Here’s what I’ll leave you with, a collection of pictures taken by me. I’d appreciate if you gave credit, if you were to share it. 🙂


An explanation, an apology letter, a rant.

Being seventeen is not easy,
Difficult an understatement.
The constant need to have a perfect persona,
For someone not even worth it.

To study more than to sleep,
To spend every living moment multitasking
To actually having to make time,
To chit chat with family

I hate seventeen,
I detest it.
I’d rather be two or even four,
Bundled in the cradle of innocence.

While I may be seventeen,
In a society that is so judging.
I constantly yearn to break free,
From the social shackles of society.