I have this certain picture of you in my mind, it's somewhat pleasant and brings a flood of smiles everytime it occurs to me. You are staring into your palm, and I can't see your face. I can see your hair though, the shot is funny in a way and hence the smiles. But you're kind of lost, you look so naive, which is not your usual self I know. The all-knowing-enlightened chap you are, doesn't show. You look like a child and hence the smiles. You are staring at your hand and trying to see beyond time. Like, trying to peek through all barriers of fate. Like, trying to find me.

When you see your hand, don't you see me in the lines on your palm? The lines on my palm, and those on yours, must meet somewhere in time and merge. My left hand is mine, the right one is for you. Your left hand is mine, the right one is all yours to keep. That way, we would have the same hands, do you realize? And so when I place my hands on yours, two obvious soul-twins meet and all chaos comes to rest. Everything is like it is meant to be.

There is so much more I want to write right now. But I am feeling verbally challenged. The best and the worst things in life, are to be written about. But there are few things that exceed those lines drawn of exaltation or put even the most unbearable heartbreaks to shame and cannot be written about. And this is one such. The way you make way into my heart, paralyzes my ability to write..

Mary, Mary quite contrary

Bloody Mary,

Love your name..yeah, it's poetic. Mary would rhyme with quite a few nice sounding words and everytime I comment at your place, I have this constant urge to make it rhyming, I have to stop myself sometimes .. !!
The TAG follows:

3 places I would pack my travel bag for:


3 on-screen characters I love to watch:

--Chandler Bing
--Barney Stinson
--Sheldon Cooper

3 moods that describe me the best:

--Lost again!

3 things that I think of doing on a weekend but never do:

--Study, as in reely study!
--Call up granma..
--Clean the junk off my table and my mind..neither's been possible yet

3 things from my childhood I can't forget:

--How scared I used to be of the unknown
--Waiting for my school bus, nausea
--My diary.

3 things I would never say no to:

--A midnight-walk
--Men with intrigue

3 things I can't live without:

-- Being nocturnal
-- Best Friend!

My Sunday was bad. Not bad necessarily, it was busy basically. I prefer work over brooding, so yeah I have sort of grown up. My days are cool, nights are cold, full of waiting. I still don't understand how inebriated  I was when I wrote my last post. But I guess I wrote it down, because it deserved to be here..


I have always wondered why I couldn't be like you
I have also wanted you by the slightest chance of fate to become like me

Yeah, it's been my secret
Craving for a like-minded soul, sitting with under star-studded skies
Talking, delving into and discovering sorrow
Yeah, that's been the dream
I was looking for my synonym.

When by a certain mistake of destiny
I found you

You're my anti-thesis
We have one in a zillion similarities
Scared, I wouldn't ever connect with you, the way I wanted to
One night when I bared myself before you
I witnessed, benumbed, believed

Knowing you
is like
Becoming me

So, I want to
Hold your hand and take this leap
In you I have found


He had begun loving her eyes the most. They had in them, an unbelievable intensity of the unknown. Everytime they met and talked, it was hard for him to focus on what she was saying. Those conversations that lasted for over a few minutes, hardly, were cleverly carved out. He had to ensure their meetings seemed purely coincidental and pleasantly unexpected. He began asking her things that would make her feel that he knew her life. But he never made his intentions known enough. There were a few inhibitions.

There was another woman, the one he thought he had loved, so far. Until he met this damsel with sparkling eyes. He was confused initially about the myriad of feelings in his mind. Who was it that he loved? He had this huge sense of responsibility for this previous woman, he had known her for sometime now, leaving her would cause enormous hurt to her and guilt to him. Love had replaced itself in his heart, positioned itself for a new person. He couldn't stop thinking about this new woman, enchanted he was. This enchantment was however interspersed with horrible pangs of remorse. Was it possible, or rather feasible to be in love with two women? And then what was love?

Wasn't it the rushing hormones, an unexplainable emotion, blinded passion initially, followed by phases of mellow romance, knowing for real the person who you had buzzed around like a crazy bee, followed by a stretch of sultry maturity when you are hanging by the other end of the thread, desperately trying, looking for reason in the face of a dying passion, to convince yourself that you are still in love, but mostly falling out of it.

What does happen when we are given the object of our desire? We cease to give it any value. And then we move on to other objects of desire, desires that hadn't revealed themselves yet, and now are running around naked, not wanting to be clothed, screaming at the top of our voices inside our heads that she is the one and not the one that was previous to this. Deny, if you are a seasoned committed lover. Philanderer, agree with me!

In the later days of knowing this dewy eyed temptress, he began avoiding his ex-, trying to subtly convey the slight change in priorities. Guilt was replaced by complacency, he began expecting her to move on. Focusing his energies on this new game. Flirting with the idea of love, all over again. Encore eh!


And I had supposed that we had moved ahead. We hadn't. We haven't. We are still there, where we were years ago. Holding hands, fingers clasped into each others', the same doubts in our hearts, the faint feeling of longing for each other, growing stronger by the moment, faltering at times, the same questions irking us now and then. We are still here, standing on the edge of the mountain, staring into the valley, trivially confused, as the cold wind blows into our faces. Holding hands, waiting. Possessing each other, yet waiting for each other to arrive, for some kind of completion. Time hasn't moved from years.

And I thought, we had moved along, grown taller and saner. We hadn't. We haven't. We are still the same. We never changed, despite all the change. Never moved an inch, despite all those miles traveled. You and I. I had assumed, all these years, we were on that endless voyage into each others' souls. But now, when I run my hand between us, I feel thin air. The gap hasn't shrunk. Oh.

Just adding a few more pages to our dateless diaries, doesn't stand proof enough for the whale of time that has passed. We could tear those off and tell ourselves, nothing has happened, make those months and days non-existent. Undo all the hurt, that has come along as we have moved along, as I had thought we had moved along. But we hadn't. Unuh. We are still there, staring into the valley, trust me.


Right now I have a lot of chocolate in my blood, I'm almost high on it. So I wouldn't write much. I got lotcha goody-goody gifts todae.. one of them being the quote below..

Brick walls are there for a reason. Brick walls aren't there to keep us out. But they are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop some people who don't want it badly enough! They are there to stop the other people. 

~ Randy Pausch


Celine: People just have an affair or even entire relationships. They break up and they forget. They move on like they would have changed brand of cereals. I feel I was never been able to forget anyone I have been with. Because each person had their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost. Each relationship when it ends really damages me, I never fully recover. That's why I am very careful about getting involved because, it hurts too much. I will miss of the person, the most mundane things, like I am obsessed with li'l things. May be I am crazy..when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late for school. One day she followed me to see why… I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees rolling on the sidewalk, or ants crossing the road… the way a leaf cast a shadow on a tree trunk… little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see in them little details, so specific to each of them, that move me, and that I miss, and… will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details. 

Me:Talking of mundane, I am obsessed with the word itself. The sound it creates. But I have been foolish enough to believe in the possibility of existence of a deeper connection between two human beings. And that deeper connection could be called love, I thought. There could be no higher degree to this 'deeper', the two human beings are joint at their souls, they originate from a common being, separated by birth, united again, by love. I had these crazy definitions, and swore to stand by them. And the line between the ones who were my-type and not-my-type was pretty distinct, like I could even make that out when it was dark and I was drunk. Now it appears I was wrong. All wrong about bumping into the one person who would complete the picture of my life like the lost piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Like a dyad or something. 

Now I see the beauty in mundane things, and get so overwhelmed that I cry. The things that happen everyday, are the ones I look forward to. There is no apparent deeper connection, nothing philosophical about these things. But your tiny words of care, my breathless wait for you, the details of  the day we share, our mundane laughter, peals of it, the confusing silences, our conversations about life, the way it is, and not about the way it should be, the afterthoughts that follow, bring in so much joy. They captivate me so much, that I might just fall for you. 

All definitions have failed me. 

The best cure for love is finding love itself.

this moment in time..

There was a girl in my bay at work. She was not a size-zero, somewhat gaunt. The first time I observed her hair because it was wildly permed. The curls fell down gorgeously on her shoulders and bounced when she walked. It had streaks of gold and brown, alternately. But a day or two post that, her hair was its natural self, a thin pony that died out just below her neck, it had lost the sheen that had first attracted my attention. I continued observing her, nevertheless. I liked her patience, the fluency of her words, her accent, kind of sweet, you have to be all that. But yeah then again, I am the last fault-finder on this planet. I don't know what exactly is the problem with me. Everything seems all so in its respective place for me, so much so that it couldn't have been more correct than it is at present. You get what I mean? I don't find a necessary reason to criticize until it is compelling to the extent of killing me. This could be because I am complacent, and I don't feel the constant urge to improvise. I can't see the not-so-obvious faults. This happens to me when I deal with people. I do not hate anyone.

But I was talking about this girl. I was surprised to know one day that she was married, she didn't look a bit like that. Married women look different, don't they? Married men also do, I guess they do. But whatever. I liked talking to her, and whenever we got time, we talked. I kept guessing her age, yeah I am bad at guessing people's age. It wasn't that she looked young or anything, but even then I couldn't zero-in-on the perfect number..could be twenty-six, thirty? Guess not. Age is an undecipherable language to me. She told me how getting married was a big decision for her, and the schedule at work was not so conducive to have a baby, she wanted to. Sometimes, even in these causal conversations, you get to look into the people you're talking to, look at life the way they do, their dreams and disappointments. I never lose a chance to step into someone else's shoes for a minute or two, just to enjoy the view from their eyes. It's that momentary craze to become anyone but yourself, for the blink of an eye. It erases all mental barriers, removes biases that we have so ingrained in us, those of age, gender, culture, family backgrounds etc. You get what I mean? It's fun. Life is so unpredictable, it could end tomorrow. And we waste all our time being ourselves. You could let loose and become someone else for the heck of it. Just for the heck of it.

The reason I am writing this today? I just felt like saying hi! Yeah, my happyness keeps visiting me, at these odd hours. I was having a headache, so bad, since morning. Disprin didn't work, I was feeling screwed. And then, boom! the headache vanished :) Ushered in happyness. So here I am writing, when I am happy I write, when I am sad, I write. My words taste different on both occasions though.. Hmm..

Have a test tomorrow. See ya then! Muah!! :))

Distortions of a Disturbed Mind!

Last night, I dreamt that we were getting married. It struck me bad, because I got to know what was inside my subconscious. Because dreams are the voice of the subconscious. They say, subconscious is the repository of the things that you have been trying to push down inside your mind, deny, forget. And these make themselves heard in our dreams. We dream of what we have been trying to deny. I am shocked because I thought what I thought was actually what I thought. But apparently it wasn't so. I was trying to convince myself there is not a thing that has a future between us. And I had all the reason to justify it to myself. I was battling myself for days now. Last night before falling asleep I felt that I had tasted success, finally! But I dreamt of marrying you! I couldn't have been more of a contradiction than this.

Ar8! This was the happiest dream I ever had, or remember having. I was, yeah, pretty happy. It was set up in my ancestral home, and I was talking to my mother with a serious face. I think I saw you too, in the dream. Walking about. My mother asked you, for the one final time, 'Are you really going to marry this girl?' I was worried waiting for your answer, trampling my fingers, God my palms are going sweaty even while typing this! And you just smiled. I was so relieved, so happy. When I woke up I assumed that all that had happened for real, for a fraction of a minute. And then the joke of it sunk into me. It's weird, to the extent of being sick!

I don't know how to deal with this. We need to talk!


it's true, love is the thing between me and the unknown, waiting to take place, like since forever, between me and the unknown, it's true, it's an unending wait, thank heavens, it's never gonna come true, thank heavens, that this wait lives inside me and makes me live along with, this love, this wait, yeah, it's true, love's neva gonna happen,like i and the unknown are a characters in this old lady's dream, and she is not dying, not living still, and we are there, waiting to come true, between the thin strands of her consciousness and coma, when she moves closer to death, we come alive a little, and then step back into the dark, stay on as characters in her dream, waiting to come true, waiting to meet, like since forever, i and the unknown, yeah, it's true, thank heavens love isn't true, thank heavens love isn't true, and that we aren't flesh and blood, but you are a figment of my imagination, and you live inside my mind, and that you're unknown, unknown still, unknown forever, darlin! darlin! darlin! 

I just felt like writing this.
Also, I would like you to listen to this song, for me.


Wont you do this much for me? Read me while this song fills your mind, Lemme move across your mind for those few minutes. Wont you do this much for me? Hm?

Now you're here now I know just where I'm going 
No more doubt or fear I've found my way.. 

Now that I have been struggling with the concept of it, (of love i.e.) for so long, I thought I should stop, at least for now. Like you know, idealize it, and shut it inside closed doors and make myself believe that it doesn't happen. Not to mortals. That deep connection, between souls. Mostly, it doesn't. And this wouldn't be a belief, it would be a truth, like you know, you had cereal for breakfast, like that. A truth that would have the surety of the past. This should help put my quest to rest. 

It's not that I wouldn't believe in love anymore, but I want to make it so rare, that it would quietly slip out of my reach. 

Yeah, that way..

big fat lie

with soft steps, you enter my world, break one inhibition after another, without causing the slightest hurt, you tell me that an 'us' exists, without saying a word, you stand by me when i need you the most, bring magic into my life, scoop-fulls of happyness, with each passing day, you know me more, the beats of my heart, stumble every now and then, with the fear of losing you, the want to always have you close, just to look at you smile, create compulsive emotions, this crazy fixation, oh baby, what do i do!

now your eyes are pools, deep in them i can see your soul, and now your eyes are mirrors, i can see my own self inside you, your warmth makes me feel so secure, you make life so much more worth living, you make me want to make time stop, you know like, to hold our moments tight in my hands, and never let them go, like baby oh!

but everything i just said is a lie, my heart has been broken so many times baby, and so badly everytime, i have become too good at lying, at fantasizing, and day dreaming, i would do anything inside my mind, but i wouldn't take the risk of love ever again in life, not for you, not even for me, i have just had my share of crap baby, no more, no more oh baby, what do i do!

oh baby oh! 

The Missing Ring

Rahel's thumb kept going round and round around her ring finger, hurting it with its nail, like punishing it, like looking for the ring that used to be there. Broken patches of color on her nails made her fingers look unkempt, more bony. She was alone after a long time, sitting in a coffee house, staring outside.

Outside it was numbing cold. There always was a certain limit till which you felt the cold, beyond that you were numbed like it was incapable of hurting you, because your senses wouldn't respond to it. Rahel wondered if reaching that stage was humanly possible, where emotion was irreversibly frozen, and no warmth could melt it ever again.

If you took a closer look, the thin cracks on her lips showed, a nearly invisible wrinkle just below her left eye squeezed her skin, everytime she twitched. And sighed. And looked at her coffee, looking for a reflection of her face in the black liquid. It formed though, the image was irregular, outlines deformed, unrecognizable, just like the person Rahel had become now.

The cause behind the missing ring kept irking the insides of her mind, so hard that she fiddled with the zip of her purse, trying to figure out if she could do still without a smoke. There was a threshold of stress she had fixed for a cigarette, hadn't she crossed that long ago, she gasped!

To the Reader: Rahel, the name is inspired from Roy's God of Small Things. The book, every bit of paper in it, is deeply deeply ingrained in my conscious. Rahel, the character I stole here, is one of the twin children who almost narrate the story. I wonder if Rahel would have grown up to become someone like the one I wrote about. Because writers close their stories, not caring for the plight of an intoxicated reader, who can't bear to see the book end. And the intoxicated reader, keeps wondering whatever happened to the characters after the book closed and keeps writing failed sequels! 

Waltz for a Night

I once met a guy. This time younger, two years. He reminded me of two things. All younger guys remind me of my kid brother, it's creepy, but that's how it is. Plus, he had the name of one of my ex-flames. So most of the time I had to avoid taking his name. That ex-flame affair was pretty recent I must say, I had to save this guy's number in my cellphone with a different name because even the sight of that name caused quite a flutter.

We worked in the same place, stayed in the same place, that meant commuting together. I met him at work too, sometimes, we had breakfast together, he drank milk and I sipped espresso and we talked. Staring out from the glass walls of the cafeteria, trying to guess the weather outside. But that was much after we met. I will tell you how that happened.

Everyday, we took the same bus, rushed to cross roads, waited for the traffic to stop, together. But being me means avoiding others, so we never cared to talk, until one day. Until one day, when both of us were terribly late for work, and being a stranger to the city, I had to take a bus I had never taken till then and thought it would be good to confirm with him that the bus would take me where I had to be. I talked, because I would've been screwed otherwise. There was such a rush inside the bus, he helped me get in, made space for me to stand, and then got me a seat too, paid for me as I was fiddling inside my bag for my wallet. Gradually, we got talking, first about work, he worked two floors above mine, but whenever we were in the elevator together, I would somehow always get confused about his floor.

My two extra years of life, I don't know if that made me look more erudite, but that was his way of reaching out to me. To fill the gaps in our initially guarded conversations, he would ask me about my work, about how he should look at his, and that somehow made me feel somewhat more confident with him, like I had an edge, of two extra years be it! And as my internship was about to get over, he thought we should have dinner together, to seal the affair. My response was affirmative.

Post dinner that night, he asked me if I smoke. I told him I didn't mind him do it. Then we had donuts with our hands, as copious chocolate sauce oozed out with every bite, I ended up licking my hands, and kept going as he looked on. It felt different to play a kid with someone younger.

We always look for a connection with the person we want to be with. A connection in which we complete each other's sentences, think alike like we have telepathy. All our lives we do that, keep looking. Only sometimes do we find such people, but we firmly believe that with time, like all other people who ever connected, our connection too would fade and we would end up hating each other. So we take our chances and call it off. And then we have to live with an excuse, with people we never connected with, for the fear of dying alone.

But this guy I am talking about, on the walk back that night, asked me if I knew Waltz.

until forever

as moments carry me deeper into the night, i live in a sense of denial, clinging on to hope that you will come home tonight, my eyes don't leave the threshold, i wait for your footsteps like an insomniac, such that i almost hallucinate to see you right before my eyes, my untiring eyes, care not about sleep, my heart is beating away in a crazy pain, scanning for every little consolation that could fake your presence, but in vain, it's a lonely night, it's a long night, sans your voice to fill my silences, sans your laughs to arouse my deepest emotion,

after an hour or two, this room will fill with sun-light, then sleep will become a far cry, staring at the roof, i will wait for the day, drinking into the pail of merciless moments, knowing that you wouldn't make it, not tonight, i will shut my eyes to recall your voice and your laughs, and you..aware that you would make it not tonight, not forever

only if i could tell you, that i am here, waiting
tonight and..
until forever