The Story Teller

The Story Teller

You have to be careful who you meet… You can’t unmeet them.

Jodi Lynn Anderson, Tiger Lily

Rekha in Jeevan Dhara (dir. Tatineni Rama Rao, 1982)

Rekha in Jeevan Dhara (dir. Tatineni Rama Rao, 1982)

Rekha in Jeevan Dhara (dir. Tatineni Rama Rao, 1982)

(via fuckyeahsouthasia)

My new humsafar. :) And I could get Honda. Lol

My new humsafar. :) And I could get Honda. Lol

As long as the history will be written by hunters, no one will glorify lions.

Waar, 2013- Pakistani Movie (via surbeat)

(via paradoxxicalness)

justbeingnamaste:

Greet everyone you meet with a warm smile.No matter how busy you are, don’t rush enounters with co-workers, family and friends.Speak softly. Listen attentively.Act as if every conversation you have is the most important thing on your mind today.Look your children and your partner in the eyes when they talk to you.Stroke the cat, caress the dog.Lavish love on every living being you meet.See how different you feel at the end of the day…..

justbeingnamaste:

Greet everyone you meet with a warm smile.
No matter how busy you are,
don’t rush enounters with co-workers, family and friends.
Speak softly. Listen attentively.
Act as if every conversation you have
is the most important thing on your mind today.
Look your children and your partner in the eyes when they talk to you.
Stroke the cat, caress the dog.
Lavish love on every living being you meet.
See how different you feel at the end of the day…..

(via alakazook)

Poets are never young, in one sense. Their delicate ear hears the far-off whispers of eternity, which coarser souls must travel towards for scores of years before their dull sense is touched by them. A moment’s insight is sometimes worth a life’s experience.

Oliver Wendell Holmes  (via rabbitinthemoon)

(via audacitiess)

The only people up at 3 am are in love, lonely, drunk, or all three.

(via x)

(via hit108)

zodiacmind:

Fun facts about your sign here

zodiacmind:

Fun facts about your sign here

(via la-la-la-laurennnn)

I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you.
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word home means to you
and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name
just by the way you describe your bedroom
when you were eight.

See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,
and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.

Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman,
would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms
or would leave your snowman armless
for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would,
would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you
every time you kiss him on the cheek?

Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?

See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,
and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy
when she spoke it for the very first time.

I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.

If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”

Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?

See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?

I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling bad.
I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty
could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.

If you ever reach enlightenment
will you remember how to laugh?

Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me
if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?
And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry
I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me
who have learned the wisdom of silence.

Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do —
I want you to tell me of a meadow
where my skateboard will soar.

See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,
and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes
from other people’s wounds,
and if you dream sometimes
that this life is just a balloon —
that if you wanted to, you could pop,
but you never would
‘cause you’d never want it to stop.

If a tree fell in the forest
and you were the only one there to hear —
if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,
would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,
or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?

And lastly, let me ask you this:

If you and I went for a walk
and the entire walk, we didn’t talk —
do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?

No, wait.
That’s asking too much —
after all,
this is only our first date.”

Andrea Gibson, Asking Too Much (via surbeat)

Aney Wala Kal Insan Ko Aik Bar Phir Bandar Bana Dey Ga.

Yatra (2007)

There are women who touch the burning love of the soul, cross your life like a beautiful musical phrase, that the heart keeps humming for years after separating from them. And others without an ending to the chorus, and as they’re leaving, you wonder, is there still more or not? And there are, from who you get only a single glimpse of a memory, like a single note of a piano leaving you hanging for a look. And others like dissonances, that you can’t tune, who don’t leave until they wreck the harmony in all the creatures around you.
And then, there is that woman, simple as a flute, close as a violin, elegant in black as a piano, warm as an oud. She is all the instruments in a woman. She is a philharmonic symphony of desire, but even though you won’t play any of those instruments in her. She is your impossible rhythm.

Nizar Qabbani (via surbeat)

I wonder if your chest ever aches at the sound of my name the same way mine does whenever I hear yours.