If the purple sky broke into tears, it'd rain blackcurrant berries.

I wish to become a globetrotter. Somebody pay for my travel expenses and get me a column I could write for a newspaper sharing my travel experiences and earn crisp green paisa. This sounds the best thing to do. Then why aren't all of us 'globetrotters' ?

He tweets like his tweets are going to be read out in the Parliament. Either you tell him or I will.

You could die the very next moment. Did you know that? It is so so so weird.

They'r kids. They talk like adults. I'm an adult. I don't even have to say the next thing.

One thing I detest the most. When kids (technically anyone younger to you) do/talk/live a life that is way more 'cooler' than yours. Gadgets / language / Boyfriends / girlfriends / everything included.

You know what sums it up the best? FML.

Oh it rained in Bangalore. I miss that place. My hometown it bees. Louly place it bees. Helps me put on weight. Pwetty place. May it become the capital of the world.

I jumped on a couch and cracked its skull.

What category do I fall under? Zero category. That is what first came to my mind when I gave this thing a thought. Like, you know, there are categories of people? Intelligent, funny, hopeless, smart, talented, weird. I see everyone falling under some or the other category. I can't see myself under any. How? Maybe I fall under this huge umbrella called 'simplyhuman'.

I often wish to be more intelligent. I cannot handle the efforts this wishfulthinking will require though.

Oh, confession time : I have this couch in our hallroom. 7 years back I was hoping around the whole place cause I was super excited for this trip to someplace stupid, and I happened to jump on the couch as well and I have no idea how cause I am only skin and bones to be brutally honest to myself, but, the base of the couch broke. I was so petrified I blamed it on my neighbor. My loving mother believed me. She can act a bit stupid at times. She believed me. So, now, I feel all bad and guilty. It just popped outta nowhere into my mind, this episode. My mother will throw the couch at me if I confess to her, so, Dear diary, I confess to thee.

These days, I simply write. Nothing matters, no-one matters. The romance is only between me and this place.

I stare at blackboards. Neat and black.

Cake on a plate, hair on the head, fruits in the courtyard, best apparel in the closet, a man by your side, a woman to welcome you home. You can never have it all. But whos goes what in dreaming? Dreams can capture. And they are free of cost. And they are between you and you alone. Anyone who wants to live an ordinary life specifically? I do. And I am working towards it already. At the risk of being hated, I believe people fall hopelessly in love only when they have failed at everything else in life. Do you realize that we'r surrounded by emotions, not people? Pride, envy, lust, ignorance, deceit. Thoughts compile the mind. Slowly. Bit by bit.

Please patiently note : My tendency these days to bounce from one topic to another scares me, this child here needs a bit of patience from you.

It's in tiny text cause I whispered it to you...

Boogie man blew magic sand and we all started dancing. Cookies arrived on unicorns and dolls and candies rained from up above the blood red sky. Trees swam and water cried big purple tears. Birds painted my walls and my walls walked away next morning. I married a planet and worms played at the orchestra. This is it. So, are you still listening to me?

Hearts don't always belong to lovers, FYI.

And I mean it when I say it I love it.

I love all things tiny insignificant common.

Little kids who respect their parents or want their parents to sit right next to them and look up at you wide eyed when you smile at this display of affection.

Guys with a rakhi on their wrist months after the fest. They care.

Grandmother get's angry at the mother for calling up an hour late and then the mother tries to make up for it by cracking jokes that arent even funny. And they laugh.

People who do not lie to their parents.

Distant relative calls up and is always bothered about how I am doing.

Dinner's with the mother. Her, me and the television set. And, her 'daughters from the telly land' obviously.

Listening to her crib and cuss about her job-mates for hours. Much of it my brain fails to retain, but I listen to her intently nevertheless.

When my grandmother tries to recollect the little English I teach her every now and then and is much tensed while using the words, lest she goes wrong and disappoints me.

I must have said this a million times out here, but I love the concept of 'family'.

In other news: I love my workplace. Enough said.

Love is not difficult to find. I love all things. How simple can it get? Untie your shoe lace, stop the 'hunt', and you'll be able to run free...like a mad cow. Only when you run into an open field and have thorns and raindrops piercing at you will you laugh out loud...And only picturing it spells joy out. Break away. Look back one last time. Fly.

There is a girl under your bed, waiting to crawl out at night.

I am simply perplexed! Ever since I'v started writing these really sad depressing things on my hot blog, the number of followers keeps increasing! I tell you, and trust me on it, people secretly like it when someone acts all depressed and sulky. You may be saying what-bullshit-is-she-saying to yourself right now, but, trust me, I know. Why?

Answer: I must confess. Whenever I see people happy, this tiny little annoying feeling crawls into my head. I start acting cranky. Judge me. I won't bother justifying my juvenile behavior. I just thought I'd confess to my sexxxy bunch of people. Does that make me the bad kid?

Oh wait, No I don't pray to god that the happy person's joy be butchered into tiny little bloody bits. I am not that wicked.

I have a story of my own to tell. I look for the endings first. Endings with colours and sunshine filled in them aren't endings. There lies a valley somewhere, a crack, a trench. Waiting for you, like a monster behind a bush. Happiness - I envy the word for the wonderful meaning it has been allotted.

I could hop inside the magic lamp and grant you wishes.

I need a break. I need a cottage. I need the colour green. I need the sound of water. I need tiny mirrors and silver bells all around me. I need a good book. I need dead music. If a song doesn't soothe me down, it is not a song to me. I need it to be gloomy. I need gray skies overhead. I need life to simply slow down, take it easy. I need myself to count every breath I breathe. I need the soft sound of anklets. I need the clattering of vessels in the grandmother's kitchen. I need colourful cotton saree's wavering in the air on a string. I need a courtyard. I need summer. I need rain. I need another Me for company.

I was a little kid running around the empty place. Today, I do not remember how it looked. I only remember I was petrified. I hated every moment I was there. I wanted to rush back to the wild big bad city. Rush back to ugly hollow pseudo intellectuals. I admit. I regret. The empty house with rooms emptied of people is one thing I desperately crave for right now. Devouring the silence of evenings and mornings while the burning charcoal stings my eyes, I wish to neatly pack away the deafening noise of the place I claim to love and drift away to a place I claim to miss the most...

I poisoned a candy and You gifted the same to me.

Have you ever felt like you are/were a total bean bag? a garbage bin? a store room? a cushion on the couch? like you do nothing significant, escape attention skillfully, do what's best for the body, turn into a vegetable, eat, sleep, squeeze in some dvd's here and there and yet conveniently manage to pass a whole day without any feeling of guilt?

My neighbor needs therapy. She hates me for no good reason and keeps asking me when my exams will start. Now, why ask any little harmless girl THAT? And she has yellow walls for heavens sake. I mean yellow is a colour too cool for her. Boo lady BOO.

And, you know another neighbor bore a kid. Now, i don't have a problem with that, but, the kid, has a rectangular face you know, like oval-rectangle kinds...isn't that a bit too odd? Think about it. Should I go bring it to her mother's notice? The mother at my place will burn me alive if I say this to her. She never takes me seriously, I realized.

I see myself 'falling in love' with so many guys these days. The sad part is, they all live inside my television set. How happening. Le grand sigh. You hate me for it/ you despise me for it/you throw me out of the window for it/you throw a window at me for it, I don't care, I will continue cribbing about this. Till death. Err, that's too much, whaaat-evaaaah!

Kids from my apartment block are soon going to be dead. They have this thing for locking my front door and running away.

Its a sin to think of you and then think of us. I can only see a long road, a deep valley and I can see fire. We could paint the town or burn it with a passion that is alien to them. If it rains like it has never rained before, I only wish for the sky to turn a deep crimson...for a shooting star to scribble a heart around us.

The perfect words never crossed my mind.

Its dark and its been long. Its cold and they'll all be gone. I don't intend to rhyme, but things will soon change and then my words will all fall into place, and we'll remember each and every and each thing we spoke about last evening. Memories will resemble stardust. The music will be gone, the party will be over. Time will be far too less, people far too many for us to get back together, fighting the crowd. Maybe on a busy lane, or a narrow street, maybe in a workplace buzzing with all sorts of people or at a reunion years later, I'll see you all again, and I'll know precisely why I wanted to freeze these days as an 18 year old back then. Fast-rewinding to the present, I can only wait to be transported into the future. We have too many things and we have to bring them all to life. We have too many dreams and we will never let them die. I promise. For all those times we'v made us feel like we were the best ones around, knowing very well that it isn't true, all I can do is capture a million photographs and make a mention of us here.

I bought a ticket to the rainbow and we shall glide along, the air sweet, the sky purple, the stars sprinkled all over...black and white, with shades of every beautiful colour ever.

So what if you wont read this?

I almost wanted to jump up and down when it all went fine. Though me and my inability to sound politically intelligent almost jacked us. I can see the smile on my mirror after a real long time and its so smile-y. If not for you I wouldn't have gotten anywhere. My phone bill this month is going to be testimony. You'r like a punching bag, for me. Its been great all along. Its a wonder how you can calm me down when I am worked up and shooting swear words at every thing/human around me. It really is a wonder. I may laugh at you, but really, I dont laugh at you, you know, I know what I mean. You'v been there at all odd times, during exams and during showdowns. You'v been that part of my mind that adds 1+1 and explains to me why the answer was 3 and not 2. You help me rationalize. And that even I can't do. We haven't ever fought, we may have gone different ways for a while, but we'v met around the corner and now I don't see us parting ways. I'll make sure. Not until I become smart enough to sound politically intelligent. You'v placed bets on my love life and we'v bitched about strange people that surround us. You'v come shopping and stood outside trial rooms for crazy hours. I'v gifted you trash and you'v taken it like it were a million dollar bucks. We fit like we were meant to fit in. You know me, I know you. we 'know know' each other. And even as I struggle under this annoying writer's block phase, I was hell bent on writing this for you, favvv friend. Kyle, sometimes I'll be staring at a billboard and I remember forgotten people, out of a strange big blue moon...it happened today.

A bit of every cake.

Grafoodling

Its a cocktail!

I must say, i use too much of black these days =/ Black. I like the sound of it.

Much laaaaav!

Us, the kayak, the water and my grave.

One day it'll rain...

One day we'll be sailing on a kayak...

The two of us...sailing in a world of our own.

A look at the vast blue blanketing ocean

A thrilled face, a squeal, jazz fingers and we'll dive into the blue water...

The cold gush of water grabbing at me...

I'll soon be dragged into my watery grave...

Waiting for the climax music to play, for sharks to circle around me, for you to kick them left and right, envelope me in your arms and for us to swim to the shore. Together.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Soon I: screaming for help...

And you: swimming further away ...

Rescuing a drowning figure from another kayak.

Sala. How you'r like that man?

Love-Lost

I feel loved...

I feel lost...

A song on my lips...That look in our eyes...And you in my mind...

I feel Love-Lost.

I wanted to paint the town Red, White and Blaaaaaaack!!! It isn't completely original, have painted together these 3 photographs i saw somewhere and absolutely loved!!!

Much Love !!

\One for those streets/

From Start to End...

He belonged to those streets alone...

Home or no home...

He needed a wall...

To paint his thoughts on...

Forever it'd stay, till broken bricks washed it away.

Nothing special about this one, just that i kept mixing one colour in the other...some new colours i found!

Love!

Is it only ME?

I attended my first meet for my college newsletter.

(news update: I got selected as a cartoonist, the only one that is, and a writer. i am kinda happy cause lets face it, time to start focusing on "the CV".)

And in the meet, I was surrounded by these literature students who totally and always and never fail to freak me out. like bad. I dint speak a word. Just kept observing everyone. They kept going yadda yadda yadda about stuff and my composed smile helped me fake it bad, at "I am totally loving this tête-à-tête" =|Trust me, there is nothing that disappoints you like THAT. you know, the feeling when others know things better than you and you dont know nothing at all? Ask me. They spoke of things,events,people,characters,words,greek mythology (even that.) with so much ease. My stomach started rumbling tumbling making me want to faint right then and there. Probably that wouldn't have mattered cause doubt if they'd notice a lil frail thing go kaput from the scene. I wanted to cry. I want to cry at all times, though I haven't cried for ages now, but still. I wanted my mom. Cause my mom thinks i'm smart. My mom is the good one. These people who were discussing food and cuisines are evil and bad. I mean food is meant to be eaten no? Then why dissect food?

All i remember of the 1 and a half hour I spent in alien land is that in the first half I stared and stared at this article they had passed around, it made NO sense at all to me, but nevertheless I kept reading it, trying to pass time. Then when I realized that everyone must have noticed that i'd been reading it for an obnoxiously long time, I started looking out for escape. Some friend, some foe, some human who'd come RUNNING, shoot all of them down and save me. Talk to me about how the pineapple juice in my canteen tasted sour today or may be discuss what Xyz did with Pqr in the absence of Abc...

No-one came. They, the aliens, probably think I'm a woman on a mission. Out there to create History. be the dumbest member on the board evaaaaah. Whatever, they din't bother me, I din't bother them. Aliens aren't half bad. Aliens talk about Greek mythology. Yes. And aliens want NO gossip in the newsletter. (i mean whaaaaaatthefuck.) Aliens worship shake-s-pear. I don't like the way he looks.

Okay, towards the end of it, as every alien retired to his/her planet, and I was left all alone, i RAN to the canteen and picked up a gooooooey chocolate pastry and walked out of college coolly, like nothing ever happened. Like no-one ever poked and poked and poked at my intellect. Like I never felt this dumb.Like I had read every frigging book ever written in the universe. Like I was ton times smarter than their grandfathers. But, well, to think of it, Life isn't that simple. Bitch.

I wonder what to do? Shopping won't help. Food-ing wont help. Reading, i don't want to. End of discussion.

But, i do feel genuinely unintelligent okay. Today. Maybe working in a shoe-laundry shop will suit me.

Wonder why they chose me? I had warned them I can't talk/write heavy stuff for nuts. Maybe, my life is like that movie, Dinner Game(french)/Bheja Fry(hindi). Not the best flick-turned-into-life-story case. I want to be one happy famous rich popular cartoonist. Nothing else.

Whatever, I love wearing oversized formal shirts cause they make me look fatties ^.^ and that is the moral of the story.

Live Love Laugh.

Chronicles of the missing dustbin cover.

Saturday morning. My morning. Lazy morning. Yawn-y morning. the morning when the cover of my dustbin went missing.

Okay I love dustbins. I think they have maximum utility and they look cute. Like tiny and cute and compact. Mine is grey in colour. It has always been grey in colour. It is our family dustbin, like been there since God alone knows how many decades now. I like to dump things in it. Makes me feel content and makes the room feel clean.

Okay so like in every normal apartment block in Bbay, we place our beloved dustbin outside our apt for the sweeper to collect the trash every morning. I don't like the other dustbins on our floor though. I woke up this morning and did what my brain is processed to do, place the dustbin outside. And then...then tragedy struck my beloved dustbin.

In the noon when my maid came in, like always, she sauntered in with the dustbin, oh my beloved dustbin, but, the dustbin MINUS the cover. The dustbin minus its lid. Its head. A vital part of it. Imagine you walk into your house without your head one day? I screamed. I wanted to cry. But, maid's here. Had to keep emotions under check. So no crying. Maid is one woman who doesn't think unless she's requested to. So, she din't notice genocide in broad daylight. Who dare steal my dustbin cover, I got thinking. Someone buzzed me on my cell-phone. Okay dustbin issue can wait, I said.

Maid does all her work and walks out. 3 hours later, I am glued to the television set, watching NewSouthWales bash the shit out of Victoria, drooling at those 11+2 cuuuuuute men on field, maid knocks the door. I frown, I go open the door. OMG. She's got the head of the dustbin in her hand. All in one piece.

Maid: It was there, lying on the last floor.

Me: Oh? Ya ya!! The dustbin had lost its lid...I remember.... =/

Maid: People are a bit cracked, in your apartment.

Me: Yes? I live here too, bytheway.

Maid: Be careful. they flung one of my chappals away last time.

Me: Really? Sad. Okay. Bye? Yes bye.

I got back at those cuties on television.

Now, since my blogger window is open and I got nothing to write and yet want to write, I decide to pen down the chronicle of the missing dustbin cover. Who must have thrown it away? you think. I don't know half those people in my apartment. Strange, they know me not either. And i'v stayed here for 18 years, apparently. Kids I tell you, they hate me. Cause I keep screaming at them. To shut up. I don't want to know about their plans of playing CID CID. But, hiding my dustbin cover to get back at me? really? What makes them think I'll be bothered? Kids I tell you...

Maybe I would'v been bothered if I had something for one of these guys who stays in my apt block...I would have gone searching for my dustbin cover then, you know, like...err, YOU KNOW =D

Whatever, that lid is back and here we have a Happy Ending =)

AND, my blogpost for today.

Much love for reading it!!

Love, Tamed and Caged.

She wants him. She wants him bad. Bad.

She feels like a kid peeking from behind her mother's sari...

She can feel time slipping.

She can feel the passion in life depleting, like the crayon you scribble hard with...

She wants things to happen fast, real fast.

And then, she also fears the shadows that trail light...

She plans her moves with care, making it a game of hide and seek...

Then, when she gathers the courage to walk upto Him...

Her mind goes blank and all she can remember is...

The red vermilion that adorns her forehead...

The thin string of black and golden beads that rest upon her chest...

The green glass bangles...

The red footprints she left at the doorstep...

and everything else...

That bonds her to a relationship she shares with another being...

Be it a failed marriage, she is still a tamed animal...a caged bird.

She turns and walks back into her shell...

And this is what happens, they say, to an Indian married woman.