A latent Dream

I have always wanted to become a news-reader. It could have been just another stunt of a whim to become better known, but whatever the reason, I always wanted to see myself reading the news from God-knows-where. I wondered from where they were reading it all. It was much later I found out how the thing works... I also wracked my brains wondering what it would look like if I had a pang of nervousness showing myself to a billion people in the middle of it all, 
Iwould just get up and run away... 

I have always wanted to be in Venice. It makes me want it more with time. It arouses in me feelings of passion & gay abandon..somehow it does.

I have wanted to become an experimental chef and have wanted to have my retinue of victims to test/taste them on..

I have always wanted to have a night for myself.I would spend it walking the shores and collecting sea shells and chasing crabs into their holes, from dusk to dawn..

I have wanted to run away from home, just for the heck of it/for a short duration of time...i wonder how short../

I have always wanted to have fair hands, nevermind the face, justthe hands/& this is has nothing racist about it /

I, as a child, had always asked dad to drive me to the horizon. I knew it all comes a full 'sphere', even then I wanted to fall off the edge of the earth.

I have always wanted to have the 'exact' pictures to match my thoughts when I write something.

And, of course, I have always wanted to find YOU.

to throw up:-

These days nothing makes sense to me. I feel like an ascetic, away from the worldly because i wonder if i seriously want something right now. When my heart tilts towards a thing, I warn myself. For a second I wonder if I actually need it. The next second I convince myself that I would be absolutely fine without the 'thing'.So the whim is gone in just two seconds. And after this, my mind ends up feeling sterile. 

It's not just with 'things'. I have begun behaving this way with 'real-people'. The moment I like someone, I begin to distance myself from him. I fear becoming an emotional-parasite. I fear losing my independence. Sometimes I ask myself if I want to live by myself all my life? I have so many insecurities about my life that I feel tiny and endangered. I feel everything is but a facade. Nothing is real. and that one shouldn't be carried away. One daren't budge. And I tie the chastity-belt about my neck.

Moral of the story, I feel my life has no meaning. living like vegetable, is not worth it at all. Nothing arouses in me any emotion of any sort. Sometimes, sudden pangs of anxiety have me completely.. they leave me wornout and worse.These days I dwell in my own pathos...

~All women keep score.
Only the great ones put it in writing.~


Someday I met him at the juice centre. It was one of those days when I didn't know his name. As in I was always confused about his name. As in I messed it up with another guy's.
YEah, so at the juice centre, he smiles at me; I smile back at him as it was the first day of college after summer and we were supposedly wishing each other a warm welcome-back. And then he makes me feel like he would say a word or two. And I am trying my guts out to remember his name. Does it start with an 'A' , a 'T'..what!! He asks me about the registration for the new semester and we talk about how the management has screwed up things big time. We laugh. He leaves. And I still can't remember his name.

The mad-man

Yesterday walking back home, my mind was straying elsewhere. I was feeling low because I had failed to achieve something I should have achieved. Whenever I lose in life, all I want to do is hide my face in my hands and cry till my fill. And being in the middle of the road, that was exactly what I couldn’t do. Just then I noticed the mad-man.

That reminded me of my childhood. Every morning, when I waited for my school bus to pick me up, this mad-man would be around. He would be smiling to himself. There was a huge mess on his head; he had hair like many holy-men do. And had hardly any clothes.

My naughty kid brother would whisper into my ears, “I think he is a private detective, or he could also be from the CBI or something, on some mission, you know. And recently they recovered great wealth from the man’s house who sells eggs at the chakk.”

There used to be a makeshift shop of samosas near my bus stop. The mad-man would stand there, talking to himself, for sometime. On his good days, he would have two samosas thrown at him in a polythene bag, the curry leaking out of it. I used to watch him savor it. Soon my school bus would arrive, and I would get busy with other things in my mind. The mad-man would be out of my mind, until I noticed him the next time.

And so things went on. I was done with school. I did two years of college in my city. And I saw less of the mad-man with time. I went away to do my graduation. Things kept going on. I kept chasing the things I wanted to achieve. Exams-exams; Colleges…Certificates, Jobs, besides the other pleasantries of life.

And in this rat-race, when I failed to achieve something I should have achieved I was sad. And on the road, I met the mad-man again. His hair was the same, like jute in a quagmire. He was smiling to himself, chattering away, making gestures. And walking up and down the same road for the past so-many-years. Many-many years. I always fail to find myself in my past. But coming across him, I felt a pinch inside my heart. What has he achieved in the past many-many years? Where has life taken him? Probably he has walked up and down the same road hundreds of times. And look at his face, he is happy, isn’t he?

So why wasn’t I born a mad-man.


There are certain truths about myself that I might never want to convey. Even though my blog is another me and here I put I put up almost anything, I have certain uncertainties inside myself I would never like to talk about.

Here I have a lot of candyfloss stuff put up. I write about being estranged and lovelorn. I honestly write down my emotions, my passions. Some stories are completely fictitious. Some are nothing else but the truth. And some are in between. The ones that occured to me when reality extended to a somewhere and imagination took over from there on.

But THIS is not I am all about. THIS could be a facet ; or rather a facade!

I have a certain substance in me. And I want to talk about it. Some ambition to win, some to absolutely outstrip the peers. A part of me wants to be barbaric, at times, running like a cheetah and grabbing by the neck anything it wants to possess. At times looking at blood ooze makes me such a voyeur. And then I forget to cry and begin to laugh like an insane. Sometimes I love fire and smoke and darkness. Sometimes I just want to break-free. An sometimes I just go DIZZY!
how have you been..all these days..lon time yaa
what? no way..are you kiddin me?
if you re serious..thats great news
who is it? some ol friend? do i know her?
guess all this happend very fast, none of us even got the slightest hint..
o ya? true love and all..haha!
oh of course.how can i not come to your wedding?
yea..for sure ..'

after the call, i felt like holding my heart, in case it falls off my chest. began crying.

wanted to call back and say

'i m sure ur joking..right..tell me you are
getting married is a serious thing... m sure ur aware
and what makes u think this isn't just a fling/
u knw it could be..give it some more time
give me somemore time
how can you marry someone else but...'

to get over it i took a bath that felt like sauna. and then a cold shower/ and warm again... and it kept goin on that way for around an hour.

Couldn't swallow any breakfast. Walked the roads like a zombie. thnkin of old days.. a terrible pang of lonliness took over every part of me. i wanted so badly to talk.

waited for it to be lunch time. as me and my frappe' sat alone-together on a table, my mind kept ditching me every now and then. my insides were feeling terrible. i was making sure if all that had actually happened in the morning, i might have dreamt of it..or something. i felt lost, orphaned and totally abandoned.

later in the evening i went to the coffee shop. Took one of those chairs they have for singletons, fixed near the glass walls. I stared out and saw the world being quietly engulfed by the dusk. The cofe noir, between my palms, made me feel warm. I looked at the people hurrryin by. and looked into myself. Finished my coffee and ran to the gift shop next door to get him the wedding gift he deserved...
Things I did:
  • *There was a certain point on the road where many roads met. I looked around. There was this Raymond board claiming a fabric for every occasion and another a Riya an Abhay smiling on two edges of a bill board,and many others. Also there were many vehicles running past. So what did I do? Idid nothing.I just stood there.
  • *From nowhere a good looking guy appeared. What made my eyes stick to him for few more seconds was that he bore a stark resemblance to a friend of mine. And there was also this nice girl walkin beside him. Probably they were hurrying their way home. Meanwhile her shawl was slipping down. He help her put it back in place, you know, hide her thin hands from the cold and all. And they continued hurryin their way home. A minute later, I still stood in a corner and kept looking at them till they became silhouette. And till they were completely out of view. Sort of a passive fixation, you know.
  • *The other day we met some people. A man, his wife and their kid. The man, used to be woman. S/he married her friend. I was wondering if the kid knows about it. Oh of course it doesn't. Only we do. Because some remnant feminine features on his face die hard!
  • *Alright! I should call it a day. I have been watchin three movies per day for the past three days. And that is somewhat a too much for my below average human mind. And as a repercussion, inside my mind I have these strange voices (belonging to the movie characters) commenting on everything I see, hear, smell or feel. Feels very weird. Feels like I am going mad, gradually, because Ican't think about anything,because before I begin thinking,thesevoices begin to chatter inside my head. The chambers of my mind get so boisterous that today I tripped and fell down in the middle of the road.
  • *Sometimes my mind wonders to my favorite short story which is "The Babus of Nayanjore" by Tagore in which the protagonist says Kusum is a 'useless commodity in the marriage market' because she is dusky. And later he falls in love with her deep black beautiful eyes, when he sees her crying. Tagore andI connect alot. Smetime back I even had the illusion thatwe shared the same birthday.
  • *And Iam going nuts about Mark Rufallo. Whoever the guy is, he isso genuinely handsome, man! He has such nice understanding features. An he shows it all right onhis face. He is so completely messed up like me, so completely lostand in search of help.
  • *I met a cousin lately. I was about to ask her about her kid. I had completely forgotten that they hadlost it a year ago. Strange are the way things are. We humans, come to terms with everything. Well almost everything!
  • *Am I insane? Well not totally! I will find myself./

A thought of winter

After a string of failures, throughout the whole year, I have come home. The tree trunks haven’t
grown any wider. A soft music fills the air underneath the green canopy in the backyard though. And of course there is the onset of winter.

Early morning the fog tears apart to show long lanes of coconut trunks. Drops of dew hanging from the bark and nascent sunlight.

An hour later the soil is dried up. The trees are out of their sleep and brown dead grass shows itself at a distance.

I sit down and begin to write on a yellowed page of my diary

“I want to die with this thought
clutched close to my heart
that once, through these years
your heart tilted towards …”

I am too unsure of the word after towards. I don’t write it.

This is a letter again, I am writing, from one fictitious person to another. From one girl in the hills to her dying elder cousin, from a mother to her crazy baby daughter, from a wild heart to her lover. I have loved the cover of anonymity. Nobody can blame you for whatever you’ve written because you were but another person when you wrote it all. Sometimes I also felt like a hypocrite, shouldn’t one stand by what someone writes?

But I’ve always hated questions because I’ve been unable to answer them. My palms go sweaty, feet tremble. I felt it all so much all over again that I felt I would fall off my chair.

I opened the diary again. I wanted to write something in it. I wanted to write a book. A book that’ll undo all my failures, this winter.