Sunday, December 16, 2012

ME the Lab Rat!!!

Trendy trends tread around
And my misery seems unfair
Blessed I am with wavy hair -
Craving to be set straight

I love my hair the way they are long shiny and wavy. But recently the rampant trend of straight hair seemed to be stealing the luster of my hair. For my 21st birthday I decided to give the straight look a try but was scared to do the permanent rebonding stuff cause in the end only the thing that suits you could be termed as fashion and if it doesn’t suit you it’s a disaster. Unfortunately permanent hair straightening was not a try and buy offer. So I had to rack my brain and came up with a workable but weird solution. Fingers crossed, I started the experiment on myself replacing the lab rat.
I had heard my friends saying - to straighten your hair you need to iron it. For once it did seem logical too cause if an iron can set clothes straight then why not my hair. And just so that it’s a bit more lasting I decided to glide the hot metal on my wet dripping just washed hair but not without support. I didn't want the iron to feel it’s doing a work under its pay level so I placed a fluffy towel on the iron board and sandwiched my hair between the towel another thin cotton dupatta and the iron. 1 roll 2 roll 3 roll and I started to feel the heat. A min passed of this wackiness and I couldn't believe my eyes because my ever wavy hair was straight like a lamppost. And just so that I don’t lose this newly achieved fleet- ‘at my hair’s risk’, I entered the war zone, sneaked into my brother’s stash of products and abducted the small box of hard shinny hair gel.
Guess straight hair is worth all this trouble. And believe me the iron and the gel do help you to have straight hair and then go back to your original style with the very next wash. I did experience it on that day. Somehow this seems to be the ultimate solution for straight hair as it’s a more trendy option. You can keep switching from one hairstyle to another and still have straight hair as and when you want. And for better results you can keep your hair spread like a queen’s gown on your bed when you sleep and keep your laptop on it while you take your beauty nap. It’s for a lasting effect, but not yet tested…

Submitting this post as an entry to the Indiblogger-

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

the spooky birthday...

dear blog,
               heyya....its 2 not 2 am or anything but ur 2nd birthday, a day before mine 21st...;). i know i neglected you a lot this year. But i was determined to make it up to you on your birthday. Unfortunately a witch and her brigade of devils tried really hard to keep me away from you. But here i am just like you have always been for me. last year i dedicated your birthday to all the new friends you gifted me but this year is just to thank you for tolerating the letter punctures i engrave on you and forget (kind of). And yes happy halloween too. 

Your's damaged yet loving
Vaisakhi Mishra

p.s. to all my friends who have been with me to celebrate the 2nd year of my u guys...thanku so much for helping me grow with words...appreciating my work...and teaching me wenever i was wrong. And i sincerely promise to be more sincere from now on and not neglect you guys n my dear blog...:)

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Autumn's Love

Whimsical winds carry the auburn leaves,
To lay the path where Autumn treads;
Whirling and twirling- the unmatched grace
She paints the land in a reddish haze.

Her pirouettes enchant a lover’s world,
For she showers the maples wherever she goes.
Wandering and prancing like a gypsy doll
To meet her lover before another fall.

She sings to the cacophony of the chirpy birds,
Asks the scurrying animals, alas,
Just to know the whereabouts
Of winter, the love nature blessed her with.

A glance and a touch of winter’s fleet,
Who quaffs off the remaining warmth when they meet,
‘Cause they have to spend an year apart,
To kiss and rejoice in the tenderness again.

-Vaisakhi Mishra

p.s.- the word fleet here is used for the ride or strength of winter's arrival the cold chills and sudden change of climate.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Blank Page

Dots of ink, that’s all that’s there
‘Cause words just fail to conjure themselves.
Though meandering thoughts haunt all night long,
I stare at a paper that is still so blank.

Nomad winds threaten to blow
The dear held page that has nothing at all.
Still holding a pen I stare at the moonless sky,
To calm the squall that torments my feeble mind.

If only my withheld tears could etch,
All the words, my thoughts - on that page.
I could have a peaceful dream,
And a blank page wouldn’t be gaping at me.

A teary gaze at lines that call to me,
Pick the pen a hundred times, still;
The tempest rattles on the doors of my brain,
And I stare at the paper that is still so blank.

-Vaisakhi Mishra

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Magical Midnight's Masterpiece

ISBN: 978-0-099-52978-1
GENRE: Magic Realism, Historical Fiction

'Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me…..'
Saleem Sinai, Midnight’s Children.


Midnight's Children, the 2nd book by Salman Rushdie, deals with India's transition from the holds of British Raj to post independence civil struggle, and build-up of the new Indian era—all with a dash of magic. The story revolves around children born at the exact time of India’s partition, during midnight. It has an interesting frictional climax as each and every child born is blessed with some magical power. Saleem Sinai is a brilliant protagonist, created by Rushdie, who is telepathic with a peculiar problem of a constantly running enormous nose and a very strong sense of smell. The story gradually progresses from realizing the powers of all kids like him to organizing the Midnight’s Children conference. He acts as a telepathic conduit, bringing the midnight’s children together and deciphering the meaning of each power.

The book holds you, as it is set amidst real life incidents. It is a journey to India’s past. Through a beautiful literary journey, the reader becomes a part of the making of Modern India. The narration is simple yet captivating. It has a perfect plot with a straight laced protagonist troubled by witty and cunning antagonists. There are a lot of instances where Rushdie skilfully camouflages his questions and conclusions of our nation, in Saleem’s simple thoughts and words. The story is intriguing as it weaves different facets of India as—a British colony; partition and war plagued country and Modern India—a puppet in Indira Gandhi’s political arena—all as important turning points in a common man’s life born with an uncommon fate. Also it successfully conjures a spell of the cultural and traditional diversity that India had and has to offer. The story is not only the sum total of Saleem’s life but is also metaphorically the sum total of India—as we know it today.

Rushdie with his literary brilliance manages to show India as a caged phoenix, pained, and tortured, that burns itself out and rises from the ashes—with not just memories of the past, but also the vision of a bright future. Stories written with the flare to entertain yet educate are the greatest works on literature. Midnight’s Children states the obvious with a new luminosity and a broad outlook. It makes people realize what past tried to teach and what present and future have in store, and also why they need to harness what they have with the right motive.

1.      Brilliant narration by Rushdie with great eloquence that opens the bounds of imagery and vocabulary.
2.      The life-like events make you believe in this magical fictional tale.
3.      The simple characters with heterogeneous personalities show a vast range of feelings that make you cry, laugh, and sympathize with them.

1.      Too many characters to remember, as the story develops.
2.      Use of too many non-English words would make people refer the glossary every now and then.

On the whole, the book creates a magical country alongside our real India, to help us see the difference yet satiate ourselves with what we are left with by the end of the novel. I see it as one of the most successful retrospections of post colonial India and thus a must read. Clearly a book with accolades of Booker Prize, the James Tait Black Memorial Prize and the "Booker of Bookers" makes Rushdie a deserving candidate of the Nobel Prize that has eluded him so far.

MY RATING:-4.7/5
PAGES: - 446 (hardback)
COST: - Rs. 399/- (hardback)

p.s.- the review is completely my own view about the book...vaisakhi mishra

"This post has been published by me as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by Join us at our official website and facebook page.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Dying Dream

The mellow eyes quietly sing
To a slowly dying ethereal dream,
To stay some more and breathe to her
And not let her fall back to a lonely wall.

A caged bright bird flaps to dance,
To splash the beady drops of love
That form and slip off the glass,
Of her darkened lonely walls.

A broken heart prays for love to come,
And be the key to her self closed room,
And dance for a while in a starry night,
And break the fence of the lonely walls.

The hopeful face calmly sleeps,
Hoping her dream would come real once
And lift her again in its arms of love
And make her leave the lonely walls.

-Vaisakhi Mishra

p.s.- prompt "the lonely" by christina perri....

Tuesday, June 12, 2012


I am in and I am out,
Confused me to confuse all,
I bear the pain of secrets to kill,
I am sealed within myself, with a spell.

I crack and I am back,
I am layered, to fool;
But I want a way out-
‘Cause I reduce with each pull.

I have many faces but I am just the same.
Decipher me to survive, it’s nearly death’s game.
Kingdoms failed and people slain
Just to know what I hide for ages, in vain.

This is my song, this is my tale;
I am the oldest “Matryoshka” of the Czarland.


p.s.- "Matryoshka" the word i used in my poem is short for Matryoshka doll. The Matryoshka dolls are the nested wooden Russian dolls.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Split and Caged

Deep down and dead
Standing, tongue tied and twisted
Crawling her way up to reach the crack
Reminiscence of past crush all that’s left
Screams of misery and pain
For her standing self to hear
But words reach just somewhere else
Subdued now by the reigns of Fates

A war of devils and angels alike
Striving to breathe their power in her
When all she wants is to be an earthling
Be back in her flesh and her true soul.

Split in two is her existence
Real buried and figurine stands
Delusional truth simply out in cold
A puppet, with life, caged within the world.


Sunday, February 5, 2012


Rejected and dejected,
He fell on the ground
When the King’s gardener
Let him slip away,
And admired the bouquet
His friends made.

Silently sobbing
He lay on the ground
Thinking of the princely vase
Whose comfort was gifted,
To his friends, by Fates.
Fates- who played with his existence.

Suddenly picked up,
By an innocent toddler of three-
Who rushed to his Mother
Holding this precious gift.
‘Happy birthday Ma’
Was all, the flower heard,
And knew his destiny was
Rosier than the others.

While his friends withered
In a princely corner, unnoticed,
He was a part of the purest
Relation on the Earth.
Now his friends are buried
Deep down under, soiled.
And his dried petals still find
A place in a family album.

Since that day he silently sings,
Not heard by many though,
“Some grapes might be sour, but not all,
‘Rejection’, really, is not that cold.”

-Vaisakhi Mishra