radhika sharma

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radhika sharma (RS)

Pragmatically deceptive, sensibly delusional math Undergrad and poet, looking for meaning and nuances of life in nooks of books and muses hidden in music. Hermoine Granger| Bo Burnham| Chris McCandless| Leonard Cohen| Percy Jackson| Mumford and sons. If you want to be friends, just offer me Waffles, some good music and a thought provoking conversation.

Top tags: yqbaba friend friends heartbreak hurt
I like to think of my books as stamps, capturing moments of me. And my bookshelf, as a stamp collection. Which needs my attention from time to time as a favour to myself. To remind me of my favourite words, favourite lines, favourite characters. But mostly, to remind me, of me.

I have favourite words and then words to describe my favourite words. I have favourite lines highlighted in different fluorescent colours in novels that still smell of my childhood rose candies. I have favourite times of the year to remind me of characters that synchronized with my thoughts at that time in the past years. I guess this is what books are for, right? To capture the state of the reader's mind and label it with it's title. To match up with the frequency of one's emotions at a particular phase of their lives, and be a living testimony of those emotions. And so The Catcher in The Rye is for when I tasted failure for the first time. It tastes sour. And To Kill a Mockingbird is for the trip I took to the hills with my parents, which reminds me of the fragrance of the extra sweet chai and an extra wide smile that belonged to its chef ( or so he liked to call himself- that little Soham who worked in a run down chai-shop). So that, when this book is picked up the next time, you distinctly remember the reader who read it that once. And thence, I like to think of my books as stamps, capturing moments of me. And my bookshelf, as a stamp collection. Which needs my attention from time to time as a favour to myself. To remind me of my favourite words, favourite lines, favourite characters. But mostly, to remind me, of me.

6 OCT AT 16:52

There's gravity 
That I can see
In here,
And yet I levitate
To a time
When three friends
Two ditsy girls
And one shy boy,
Sat atop metal bars
Discussing
Pokemons
And beyblades.

There's a park Right around the corner of Mulberry Street There's nothing special About it, Just a park With o'ergrown thistles And rusted lamps Along the Broken path- Which had often been A river Between mountain benches, Or a valley Under lava attack Traced with chalk powder, We skipped on stones To escape. A broken path With broken things, That led from nowhere To nowhere. I was happy to go nowhere then. I still might be. There's a swing set too And a see-saw And a slide Beside a monkey bar, From where we ruled A happy kingdom Each evening Singing bibidy bop, As we scribbled Our names on the swing Scrapes of red paint Sticking inside fingernails. And I wonder Who sits on The throne We abandoned Long ago. There's gravity That I can see In here, And yet I levitate To a time When three #friends Two ditsy girls And one shy boy, Sat atop metal bars Discussing Pokemons And beyblades. Even without phones, They would always know Where to find Each other At half past five. It's half past five now By a broken swing set With tunes Of bibbidy bop Humming In an abandoned park In Mulberry Street, And as I stand up To leave, Three children Two chirping boys And one little girl Trailing behind, Enter through the creaky gateway Of their kingdom, And in reflex, I look towards Our scribbled names Only to see That they remain In spite of time, Saved perhaps By three little children. I smile And take the broken path Once again, Turning around And sneaking glances At the three little children, That now sit on The metal bars, Until I turn the corner Of Mulberry Street. #friend #yqbaba

6 AUG AT 16:31