Monday, December 12, 2011


very soon I want to delete this, I anyway mostly write here

And yes, noone has ever had access to it. If I compare both these places, I always find that place is literarily more enriching, maybe because its exactly what I feel. Here I write what I think and sometimes snippets of feelings. knowing , certain specific people *will* read it, knowing they *will* judge me.

Also, over the last few months it seems like I'm being to made to believe that after all I'm not that positive a person I project to be.
I'm in fact always looking for some unhappiness in the happiest of the things, some pain in pleasure.
That I love hurting myself.

Don't know how to deal with this one, but this too shall pass.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

tired of being tired

I’m tired of receiving messages from boys that begin –
I’ve been unfair to you . . .
or other vain attempts at apology
or redemption
and of the ways in which I allow that to be good enough for me
every fucking time.
because I already know that I’ll respond to say –
it’s okay
all emotional responses are valid
I value you and your feelings.

Even after mine have been disregarded, mangled, and/or misconstrued.

because I am tired of being tired.

I’m tired of all of these
responses to my images.
of being the wrong [anything] at [any time]
of laundry lists of my inefficacy
and this is the end.
I’m sick of living a life
in deference to
in consequence of
dependant upon

strange moments of joy occur

I was pushed from the slowly moving car at approximately 5:30 in the morning. He had been driving with my torn body in the passenger seat for what felt like hours. Slowly muttering to himself in a language that I could no longer understand. The trail of blood that ran down my chest - my legs - grew still as my nose occasionally dripped, and I dabbed at the ache with the sleeve of my jacket. The clothes underneath told another story, and I wound that coat around. For the warmth and for the comfort my own arms contained.

My throat was dry and parched from several hours of screaming at and for no one. Until I lost my voice, and there was just the desire to scream - the frustration that comes with unwanted silence. Leaving only the methodical - thump, thump, thump - of the table hitting the wall. Of my thighs hitting the table.cracking under feet. The occasional fist into skin.

Caked with blood and barely able to see beneath my two black eyes, I hit the pavement. He only used one huge hand to set me free. It rained, and I remained in the street with an open mouth - felt the cuts on my lips split as each drop fell down. Kept my eyes open as long as I could. The world was suddenly covered in Vaseline.

It took another hour to figure out what to do. Wandering the semi-light downtown streets with the junkies, pushers, and whores. Without money or identification. Waited for a bus, but the driver took one look at me and wouldn't let me on without the fare. The air from the door stung when he closed it in my face. I did not yet know what I looked like. Commuters were already filing in. And I stood in front of humiliated, begging for change to make a phone call. One woman stopped, finally, to give me a rupee. She looked sad as she passed it into my palm. As if she knew something I didn't. Get off the streets, she muttered while turning to walk away. She didn't look back.

I called him then. Had to wake him up. Barely audible through the downtown traffic and straining to use my abused vocal chords. I'm fucking in trouble, I whispered. And that was enough. He arrived around 7:00 am. The immediate reaction was simple. Horrified. Things must be worse than I even imagined. He didn't take any measures to hide it, and the fifteen minutes it took to get back to his house were filled with questions that I would never completely answer -- What the fuck happened to you? -- What the hell is going on? He was hysterical and sobbing.

He spent the next few weeks clinging to my bruises. Holding me upright in the shower. Applying peroxides and creams. Bandages and medications. Holding me together. It was during those days that I forgot how to speak. When I began to rely on my hands. Realized the safety of silence.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Yeah you got it easy dude!

Me: I started learning riding.
A: What?
Me : A bike.
A: its a great way to meet rugged men
Me:its a great way to meet rugged men and hot girls. I love this life.
A: Hot girls haha really are you including yourself, because that doesn't count.
Me: I'm not in the hot league ya I'm more like, unaware. uselessly careless.
A: no its a biased opinion that's why
Me: I've never felt hot , never been told so either.
A: i cant call myself anything either you need external validation in today's world
Me: external validation can come up at the pop of slight cleavage.
A: haan thats my point
Me: and in your case I don't know, men don't even have a cleavage
A: yeah money i think money should work
Me: their hotness is so hidden and mischievous
money pagal ho kya
A: okay disposable money
and i disagree on male cleavage
Me: why do you think then hotness is always portrayed as torn jeans, unkept hair, open shirt. Thats not what an ideal rich man would be.
A: we have people like that John Abraham dude running on beaches like an idiot
Me: and that Raymonds ad. How can you forget that.
A: what about james bond
Me: james bond is a douche
A: yeah but you have a point
Me: he just has cars and swank.
A: to women he becomes hot. Only after his necktie and suit are torn
Me: see, so money isn't what makes them hot enough.
A: i agree
Me: its all moh maya, gehra jaal hai. gehri psychoanalysis hai.
A: so its basically not taking a bath and wearing old clothes
Me: THAT is hot btw.
A: dude men have it quite easy
Me: see, they do.
A: i never figured this
Me: thank me later, im good.
A: haha

Men, do have it easy.
f you're a guy, the simplest decision to go to a certain place late at night doesn't need more than a moment's consideration. For women, though, there's a lot to think about--is it safe, do they need an escort, and is it worth going there at all?
Men can burp and its just normal.
You have no idea how painful waxing can be unless you've tried it.
Men have lesser clothes to be bought.
[ok, now you'll say women buy too many out of choice and you don't then listen - shoes don't go with indian clothes and chappals don't go with dresses and heels don't go with every day stuff, BY DEFAULT there has to has to be a huge list on that. Got it?]

Im not even going on child birth and PMSing and all the social stigma of flirting, studding, casanovas , being a slut..da da blah blah. and what not and this not.
Also I promise I shall write soon why men don't have easy. Its not a one sided opinion. I am myself quite a North Indian man as a friend once said.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

what I've learnt...

or NOT.

I'm no relationship expert, but ive been in a few. The consuming deeply in love, one way traffic love - the stalker love - the har ladke ko dekhke bolna , yahi mera sacha pyaar hai- love.
The happy love.
The love love.
and then, whenever I got sick of it, I'd look in the mirror and tell myself ,
" kya cheez cut piece "
yes, I do that very often its called loving yourself.

So many a things people teach us, not much we take ahead and apply... here you go,

. Some people deserve a place at Madam Tussauds not your heart!
. To be able to say I love you , you need to learn to say the I.
. Nothing is made in heaven, nothing - its just all around us, its how much we take out of it. how much we make out of it.
. In the end, the love you take is NOT equal to the love you make.
. love is not friendship.
. every person is different, what you learn from one, if applied on the other -is more often than not a recipe for disaster.
. there are no rules, except exclusivity.
. noone changes, its just the worse bargain you get into to change a person and then love.
. its ok to wear your heart on your sleeves and get it trampled at times.
. if a boy is chasing a girl, its the most romantic thing, if a girl does that - she's just plain desperate.
. we are all hypocrites.
. words are just for that moment, actions remain marked.
. nobody is fearless.
. there's always one person dominating it from the brain, the other uses the heart.
. If someone is not doing something they claim to do, it can be assumed as -
.They just don't want to.
.they could have if they *really* wanted to.
.or they want to, but are incapable of doing so, blame stupidity.
The lesson learned here is - how stupid we are to base things on assumptions, or then how stupid we are to not take it at the face value. its a vicious circle [ you learn nothing here, its just a fact, how it is ]

and things I will never learn ..

. jo bhaaw khata hai usko bhaaw milta hai.
. giving space.
. the benefit of doubt.
. how to unlove.

all said and done, I need to learn to forgive my soul, only I can do it for myself.

"aadatan tumne kardiye waade,
aadatan humne aitbaar karlia..."

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

somedays I feel like froth.

Ive spent the last few hours with two people who have seen me since that phase when you are ugly, like man brows. The coolest I got back then was to wear black sports shoes with anklet socks and a stud metal bracelet. ( and yeah, back then this was damn COOL btw)
they've always seen me happy. Never seen me drunk, except for the first time, - these girls got me drunk on frooti and vodka and I stood under the shower with clothes on for 10 minutes. 5 years back.
they've seen me fall in and out of love with men, and tell them that " yaar but wo mera sacha pyaar tha"
they perhaps know me the best, would love me the most, have seen me happy the most. have seen me go from size 8 to size 12.
they saw me in tears last night for no reason. For just telling them that I have hidden more than I shared, that this smile and the jokes, they all have a serious side , that I do have strong believes and rigid notions about people, about life, (which they have always rubbished as immaturity) which, I am very sure they will soon realise why I have them.

I feel I am cheating most people around me.
I have the facts,
I have the feelings,
I have the thoughts,

and they have all just been mine.
Call it selfish, protected, masked, or even a cheat.
but for me to reveal all of them ...even to myself, and being in peace with everything I am - means being out there on a display. The highest bidder of patience and responsive listening wins.

Till then, I shall laugh.

To the people, who are my friends - I'll always be around.
and to the people I called lovers - you don't know me.

to myself - I need a drink. that huge mug of coffee. ya, that giant one!

Sunday, August 21, 2011

ok fine, go!

nice dress , he says
I say, huh?
I’ve been chasing those polka-dots for a block and a half, he says
I say, oh?

the summer dress
my pig-tails
this lollipop

what flavor is that? he asks, stupidly matching his own steps to mine down the street past the stadium and heading toward the overpass that will take me home.
i pull the sucker out of my mouth; make a sound with my lips, and say plainly, flatly, orange.

sun makes people stupid

the ball of sugar sweet candy screams bright under the sun
it’s the same color as my hair

no it isn’t, he smiles, wryly, shaking his head.

he thinks I’m flirting. I’m not.

why is your mouth blue then?

I’ve never taken out my head phones: if i tell you will you go away?

he laughs and it sounds like that background noise on animal shows when they’re in the midst of way too many monkeys closed behind too many glass partitions.

I say, because I’m an alien?

why did you say it was orange?

and i’ve no idea why i’ve said what i have, instead i’m thinking about the word wildfire and all the stupid things i’ve ever done in my life. i think about the way i'm in love with the curves of my calves. i wonder if i’m combustible and if i’m only one match short of proving the point.

i say, orange is the color of encouragement and the stimulation of knowledge. it’s the color of the brave. it’s the sun. power. life.

no mention of destruction.

where are you rushing off to? he asks inappropriately as a stranger encroaching on my solitary walk after a long day.
i say, my boyfriend is waiting for me at home.

it’s not really a lie. not one i’ll ever feel guilty over.

we step still and i say, raspberry?
but why did you say it was orange?
i pause and take the hard end out of my mouth, hold it out to him and say, i was hoping the contradiction would make you go away.

and he does.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Not home yet!

As I see people around me making phone calls which mostly say
" Yes I am leaving in 5..see you"
I know its those people who have someone wait for them once they are out of this three floored corporate dunk. Yes I call it that because it is that at most levels.
These twenty something goodlooking intelligent people, somehow have chosen a difficult path for themselves, the initial years right after 5 or 6 years of law school - should have been their time to enjoy the bundles of money they earn , I say bundles because of the place I am at currently.
And all they have is the green, barely time to spend it , barely people to share it with.
Best part is that they don't complain or maybe this is the worst.

Cut to my situation, I am a mere intern with some "more than average sense of intellect " (which is the best complement my boss could give me and has made my day) on occasions and mostly a chimpanzee who has learnt how to type (yes, I get that often thanks to my lack of patience to format.
So my work is to do the menial research work at most times, sometimes its research which has been created to just give it off so I stop nagging that I dont have any work, however - the last week I have been working on something important. At most certainty the piece of work will be enacted as a law soon.
Downside - its credit less hardwork. And something I can't complain or ask for , infact just feel happy that I was given such work!

The next half hour will be wasted in ordering dinner. The next forty in having it.
But then that is how they maximize their work.

The same guy just called up again and said .." Honey 5 more minutes"
She is waiting for you dumbass, either cancel the plan or be honest with the time you're going to take!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Right from wrong!

“This is wrong.”

I thought I had purged my mind of my mother’s voice, yet her strident tones still echoed through my brain, muffled but not silenced. .

Brush your teeth, clean your room, go to bed, and other orders ingrained in my head during my childhood had ceased to resound through my skull, yet one phrase remained, preserved.

“This is wrong.”

Wrong means bad. Wrong means red X’s scattered across your test like confetti. Wrong means the hellfires of damnation, which I stopped believing in (along with God and heaven), but which still have the power to frighten me, like the chainsaw-wielding villain I saw on TV when I was six, who I knew wasn’t real, but was really cackling manically before me every time I shut my eyes.

“This is wrong.”

Off late, a whole new set of rights and wrongs are coming my way.
This time the choice isn't simple enough.
The concept of right and wrong was taught to us as kids, and was supposed to be kept in the mind before taking all decisions in life. A very simple thing, but i never knew while growing up i will forget the importance of asking myself if something do is the right thing to do or I'm doing it just because i want to do it.

A gradual change, imperceptible to the unperceptive, a change in lilt, in tone, in meaning.

A silenced tongue is wrong, not the feelings it might expound if freed.

A bound body is wrong, not the movements it may make unshackled.

Cloaking an atheist in the robes of a sister is wrong.

Hurting someone who loves you is wrong.

Giving up your self respect for anyone or anything, no matter how precious or "loved", is ..uhmm, well.. wrong!

The words have not changed; my conscience is preserved, the influence destroyed.

This is right.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

rinse. repeat

This won't go easy, nothing ever did.
It's weird when I sit here and see the rain, the drops on the window, the surrealism, the poetic streak rain carries with itself, et al...and thinking how much it is a relief from the heat.
It has no effect on me.

People are always apprehensive of what will happen in their future, I on the other hand know my life cycle works in accordance with seasons, I wish I didn't know myself and the cycle so well.

This summer, is truly no different than any other.
I just fear what's yet to come.

"Tu ja bhi chuka phir bhi maen tanha nahin ab tak..
suraj ke doobtay hi andhera nahin hota..."

Thursday, May 12, 2011


A week back

T : Khana khaya?
Me : Haan, whats there to ask have u seen my size you think I can live without food?

T : did you sleep well?
Me: ofcourse I did, I love sleeping I can't sacrifice it for anything on this planet.

T : please study priya, abhi fir internet fir facebook, shut it and study.
Me: Whats your problem? har hamesha daant.

T : switch on your car headlights you will bang your car some day.
Me : I know I had to do that I was just about to.


Me : Shit yaar, I want someone to ask me if I had food or I slept well or I studied. most random of them I want to tell someone that I woke up and I could see some guy from the window hanging outside to paint the walls. Noone wants to know my randomness.

J : tu pagal ho gayi hai? why would you want to tell all this to anyone, why would anyone even want to know?

Me: kyunki aadat hai yaar, batane ki.

J: haan, kuchh aur karle. Will call you in a bit.

2 hours later.

J : mann shaant hua?
Me : Haan I made pasta and had it.
J : your solution to every problem is food , right?
Me: yes, isnt that cute?
J: huh? why would that be cute.
Me : oh shit, wahi na tabhi toh I am feeling unknown..*he* used to find it cute, now I am a nobody. Unperson me!

This is the problem with people who stay in a relationship too long, they become random! They like talking about random things, after the few months of knowing each other and no more to it, its about thrills from randomness, surprisingly they enjoy it about each other and its the highlight of the day to know the most randomest thing about someone elses day;
and No matter how much I miss it ; this is it.

Time to indulge in more meaningful conversations eh?

*shoot me in the head*

Monday, May 9, 2011


"I betrayed you," she said baldly.

"I betrayed you," he said.

She gave him another quick look of dislike.

"Sometimes," she said, "they threaten you with something—something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And then you say, 'Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it to so-and-so.' And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself.

"All you care about is yourself," he echoed.

"And after that, you don't feel the same toward the other person any longer."

"No," he said, "you don't feel the same."

Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me—

Tuesday, May 3, 2011


for long I complained, I belong to a time where is no mass struggle, no massive change, nothing that could make history enough for text books 100 years hence.
How wrong.
India won the worldcup!
The much useless royal wedding.

and voila...! They killed Osama!

While all this was happening, I sipped on some more tang.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011