Monday, February 26, 2007


dot in so many crowds
hanging on to every note
never to cry again
smile and left me still
save me or I will breathe

Thursday, February 22, 2007



really am


love with you.

I miss you like damn... HELL and I can't live my life because of you!... IT's not a reproach! IT's a reality that hurts and it makes me... wanna smell every molecule of your body!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please SAY something to me. I need you! I NEED YOU to tell me something, anything that may make me move on to the next step of my reality... an aspect I so much deplore into the unknown. WHY have YOU come into my life?

Good night "crazy lil' gurl"...MY gurl...

Please believe in my test-tubeish love!!! It is as sincere as it can ever be and... as strong as I could never consider it to be in my profane life.

My heart must've beaten way too fast 'cause... I got up in the middle of the night... sweating. What are you doing to me?!!!!

Well, I miss you, too. Never doubt that. I miss you more now ...

.... I need to say this...
I love you!!!!!!!!!!!
as simple as that!

Oh ... you don't know what you mean to me!!!!!
honestly!!!!! and.... I don't think you ever will!

it is raining...slowly and..... sarcastically
leaking as if it didn't want to... but it its doing a favour
hold me tight

I am sorry if I fooled you lately!

...besides… isn't love.... meeting the figment of your imagination...

Why must you ask such questions? I don't want to be with anybody right now!

What don't you understand? I read a book in school and I fell in love with that character!
I'm not in the mood to talk in metaphors
It's no metaphor!
I mean it!
I have met this girl and she is like that character.

Monday, February 19, 2007


"I know... I know... I know ... bada bada bada .... oooooooooooohhhh babe babe babe... I'm gonna leave you..."

Quite rarely do I write honestly, without metaphors and pretentious phrases. It’s easier that way and keeps with the tradition of foolish –isms we invented for no definite reason. See I am doing it again, hell you guys deal with it. I will just write.

Here goes a story that a few already know and the rest don’t need to know, so it will be plastered on a webpage, hoping it stays undiscovered amongst the billions of similar pages. But still if it is being told, then it deserves to be read and fortunately so, it will be read, shaping an ephemeral opinion which will then contribute to the stereotype of me and disappear till someone visits again. Of course it is my job to confuse and to hide, because if I don’t, then there won’t be any reason to come back and write again.

“ There should be something more...
...there has to be something more…”

I can scream my heart out and still nobody will understand. I can stay quiet and still nobody will understand. And I see this screaming in some heads, spewing out on several blogger urls… trying to be unique in their names and phrases, so that we understand.

There are only two kind of people. The one’s I like and the one’s I ignore. One of the privileged members of the former club has a problem with this narrow-minded syndrome, eventhough she successfully surpassed the IQ pre-requisite years ago. This is to her. She already knows this. She has heard it all before and she understands she will not win this argument in this lifetime. Another honorary member believes that my confrontation with the world over everything that I believe is wrong, is infact holy dumbasseness, as my notions might be as wrong as any one else’s. This is to her as well.

At twenty-one, I am pretty much where I planned to be. I am independent. I enjoy my work. Creatively, I am evolving in the right direction. I am slightly overweight, but still manage to fit in skinny jeans, which is reason enough to celebrate. I am not unhappy… applause applause!

And yet, I am restless, lost and disenchanted. I am redefining escapism better than LSD’s. I watched 5 bloody movies in the last 7 days. I have eaten everything in every corner of this city. I visited every moronic club anyone decided to go to. I live beyond my means and for the time being my bank balance ensures I can continue to do so. And yet, when its time to sleep, I have to read a book about mob-reincarnation till my eyes start watering and they involuntarily shut themselves. I wake up with the lights still on and a golf ball stuck in my throat. By the way I totally love my inflated-tonsils induced sexy, hoarse voice. I don’t remember if my dog ate or not, so she gets some more pedigree and I leave the house with my keys. I stay away from visiting that keyhole as long as I can, and then back to the mattress. I stare at its ugly naked face, and then the washed bed-sheet placed strategically over my pillow by the house-maid, hoping someday I will make the effort of spreading it once again. She doesn’t know I am hoping she spreads it herself as I had not asked her to wash it in the first place. There is a bottle of mustard, salsa, mayonnaise each and two eggs, which don’t form any edible permutation or combination and I don’t bother. There was once a potato lying on the kitchen floor, which I tossed in the refrigerator, only to discover a week later, it was Candy’s chew ball.

Does it matter? All of this… the success… the smiles… the friends who are more than family… the meanings… the dilemmas… the plans... the ambitions… the jokes… the dates... and the fate reserved for Somalia.

I decided not to go abroad for my Masters and stick around. It sounded absurd to some, but made complete sense to me. I spent money and energy on applying. I celebrated when I got admission. I said my goodbyes and wiped some tears. And then I rejected it. I don’t know what it is that I am staying behind for. But I am.

There has to be more to life. There has to be more to people than a blackberry and a lip-gloss. More than a heartfelt “tsk tsk” when seeing a man being slaughtered on the wide-ass theatre screen and chomping on overpriced “nachos”. More than plastic CDs and make-out sessions. More than published stories and missed phone calls. More than the non-fictional documentaries and 5-hour long conversations. More than the sky and the cities I never saw. More than notions of love and the heartaches that haunt me and you.

I still can’t write what I want to say as I will not commit the mistake of baring my soul ever again. This story stands discarded like a crumpled piece of paper.

I know I will be where I wanted to be at thirty-one. I will live through my dream and be the envy of unknown faces. But still my head will scream through the silence that is this world, and nobody will understand.

Because... it’s all worthless if there is nobody to come home to.

"I said don't you hear it callin' me... the way it used to?"

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


I want to take the notions out of my head and paint a picture of chaotic colours... insane sounds... maddening rhythm and beautiful tales... moving so fast... betraying me slowly... only to escape me... to explode in a dark room.
I will walk this earth alone.
Maybe you will watch...

Monday, February 12, 2007



What can be better than a never-ending spell of rain on a Saturday?

Duh... running around in the rain.

It’s not everyday that you spot a semi-hot boy in Delhi. It’s also not everyday that you fail to spot the protruding iron sprinkler, camouflaged in the wet slushy gardens of India Gate; quite obviously designed to trip terrorists. And, yet another intelligence failure...



Fuck…fuck… fuck!

Never ever try to seduce semi-hot boys while lying in a puddle of mud. They tend to laugh their asses off.

“Guys... you missed it... quick get the cam,” screamed the moronic PP.

Oh... and please don't bother picking me up!!!


A few hours passed and now I was grindin’ and windin’…


Not again!

Fuck… fuck… fuck!

This time, the seduction attempt targeted at a super-cute, curly haired hottie was regretfully aborted. The swelling on my foot began to resemble one of Pamela’s famed assets and the beer bottle promptly impersonated an ice-pack with the covert ambition of giving me a frost-bite. I decided if it’s broken, then Chris Martin ain’t comin’ right away to fix it, might as well make the rest of the night worth something. Besides, seven hip-hop lovers quitting their grindin' session to sit beside me with me with fake sombre expressions was quite a pathetic sight. After all, it was the mother fuckin’ D-O-double-G.

Off to the doctor… hoping it's not a hair-line.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007


Hmm… so it happened… huge decision… bursting with excitement… confused beyond comprehension… anxious… ecstatic… bouncing…

Fuck.... I don't know what to do... I can't decide

Oh ya… dreams do come true...

Sunday, February 04, 2007

I always wanted to write you a song Part - I

You wished on my star every night
kissed my blues away
where's your love
where's your love

You became the star of another world
promised me you'll care
where's your love
where's your love

You know it's time to say goodbye
just say it anyway
where's your love
where's your love

Aunt Clarence always got a nasty cold in February. She did not mind the sneezing caused by Mr. Prometheus’s shedding fur, but flu was her true nemesis. Toady, she did not mind a blocked nasal cavity or her frail bones, which were considered unbreakable by her fellow marathon runners in the late fifties. But ever since James Cameron said the Titanic was unsinkable, she was convinced about an irony called fate, just like the devil.

And today, her nephew - the only surviving anti-Christ within a fifty mile radius had decided to embrace the Holy Ghost and its fathers and sons. She wore her peach silk blouse. She struggled with the hook on her pearl necklace. She marveled at her fading beauty. She was still uncertain if the wedding vows will infact be exchanged. It was a good idea convincing Arthur to keep the ceremony short n’ sweet, given the dismal state of her bladder, which had exerted its independence from The Clarence Nervous System a decade earlier.