CCD just became a self service place, you know?
Isn't that okay?
Of course not. People go there not to stand in a queue and place your order.
That should be fine, you can have the chat after you get your coffee to the table?
You don't have to get the stuff to your table, thank god. They still do that.
So is standing at the counter for two minutes so much less fun?
You won't get it. You're not the guy I should be talking to. 
Should we get you one? Your kinda guy?
You've no idea. I know everyone and everyone knows me in there. I can throw unique tantrums.
What tantrums? I return my cappuccino twice everyday, to make it stronger, or some other excuse. Keep asking for honey and milk, and brown sugar and sugar free and etc!
And what else?
You're laughing at me. Don't!
I am n't laughing. Who says I am laughing?
You're not the right guy, you make me talk so much. 
Isn't that a good thing? 
But you end every sentence with a question.
Do I? 


now you're here
and i know.. where i'm goin'
no more doubt.. no more fear
i've found my way..
so let's live.. today

It was the advent of winter, and my first venture into the basement of the mall. I'd bought fresh sheets; my bed was cleaned, room dusted/ my favorite song played all night. A sizzling hot shower, in the middle of the night, drenched hair, loose curls, the black beauty spot under my chin. Solo. Either unseen or forgotten. Showed up, suddenly in that mirror, life sized.

Now, in retrospect, when a million cab rides and a dozen flights from one unknown sanctuary to another, seem too small to encapsulate what I've become, I see all my visible memory converging into a point. Into something like the mark under my chin. To be left there, for as long I will be, unseen or forgotten. Abandoned, yet there. 

Reminding me of times when I was unafraid of being insane, now that I am. Reminding me of how crazy I have become, that I shatter rules with a hard earned vengeance, and get away with it, suave and sober. Reminding me of how bars could cage me, now that the world outside doesn't entice me either. 

Whenever, after a gap of years, I find the black spot, I would think of the love that was lost, the faith  that was ditched and the illusions that have fallen apart. Once again, standing on the ruins which were once me, I would giggle away at myself.

* Nina Simone- Just In Time

purple haze

never could have been a kiss more confused
paused by sighs, silences

or the brush of his cheeks more tickly
smells intoxicating, caged, under his chin, around his neck
could have been aftershave
or that of erupting bouts of my desire



One moment, pockets full of sand. Washed ashore by waves, still afloat. Water receding from between toes. My glistening anklet of silver. A melange of the shades of sunset, burst of orange, invisible streaks of purple. Palms dug an inch in the wet sand, sinking deeper with every new tide. Wondering what to write. A couple of precious words, that eyes could see erased. In the next moment.

Another moment, struggling for dear life, holding on to a thread to be alive. Mid sea. Looking for a hand, that could pull me up. On to my toppled boat. An untiring effort, of the lungs to breath, of the heart to beat, of my eyes to cry. And appreciate, that thin line of a difference between being alive and being not so.

The next moment, sinking. Swallowed an unbearable expanse of blue. Into a white infinity. Falling meters in seconds. Into a depth where life jackets wouldn't work anymore. Flapping hands and legs. Fear giving up its hold on my mind, numbness fast taking over. Not looking for that hand anymore. To come save me. Letting go.

In that final moment, hanging from a parachute. Sailing across from top. Having conquered, seas, skies. And myself. Like another bird. Feet off in the air, hands clutching tight no more. Hearing my own screams stop. In a kind of a redemptive pause. Between absolute faith and a destiny-less randomness.

And a quiet decision to let me be. Just be. 


It's not this blog. It's not the black shorts I  bought today. Or the never worn frock in my wardrobe. It's not him either. Nor is it the other him. Or some random guy I saw. Came across. It's not the weather. It's not stuff I am running away from. Nor is it my job. Or the money. Or the new shades. That look too big on my face. And make my lips look old. Or the lessening fragrance of shampoo in my hair. Nor is it that the weekend is here and I am feeling so fat again. Or the couches I sat on, the magazines I zipped through. Pausing on the pictures. Waiting for un-happening appointments. Or the cups I sipped from. Or the times I wiped my lipstick off. Or the couple of times my sandals gave me the feel they were about to break off in the middle of the road. Or the cabbies that didn't halt to my screams. Nor the weird make up sales girl who stood by me at the mall. It's also not that I ain't writing much lately. Or that I walk back alone every night not thinking of what I would write when I get home. Nor is it my internet connection that sucks. Nor the sitcoms I watch despite them boring me to death. Or the sleep that I don't get. It's not those numerous calls I make to numerous customer care toll free numbers and keep talking to machines. Hoping I would get to talk to a person, who would just solve my problem off in a wink. Nor is it affecting me that I have stopped believing. And trusting on mad forces outside my control. It's nothing. It's nothing that I can see.

Yet there is something, somewhere that's killing me. Absolutely. It's some wild excitement that thrills the ends of my nerves. And I feel, the walls of my body shouldn't contain me anymore. 


Have you heard of a peace that lies in self destruction? A love that translates into hatred? Have you heard of an anger that victimises oneself, like I was the beginning and end of all curses. Have you tasted that victory that lies in tearing apart every one of your wishes. Denying you the cheap joys of existence, lest you get spoilt. Every moment uncoiling every entangled emotion from your heart, not letting go of one breath of gay abandon. Living life like it was a remnant of some self inflicted nightmare. Gliding from one sigh to another in a ruined godless existence. Sans any destiny. Carried away by wicked waves, into dystopia.

love, unbridled

Hide from me what is the truth
my eyes can't see anymore, any of it

hanging from the edge,
hurts my fingers

even my tears are tired now
of being held back tight 

they so want to come out now,
only as those of joy

they don't understand

and for a moment,
i don't want to console either

all i crave for 
is your palm on my forehead

a warm whisper
telling me that you're here

right by me,
though you aren't

lie to me, and
i won't blame you 

cut out on my hands, new lines 
such that our fates meet, fleetingly

somehow, make it happen
get me you

get me you

let me love,

love, unbridled
wanting nothing in return

Bundles of piles of spring onions, by the road. Smoke from burnt charcoal and the mild advent of winter. Scores of bystanders, lines of lights in faint twilight. Brisk steps, tapping of heels on the pavement, the urgency to be somewhere. Somewhere else. A frigid immovability of desire. The line between what should have been and what is, the line connecting all dots of regrets, gets thicker as the rest of everything blurs away into oblivion. Dizzy headlights, shining on tired eyes. But what can we do.

We are born believers, in destiny and other calculated coincidences. Until now, when life wears us out. Until certain sad accidents make us believe that there are no distinct lines cut out on our palms. And that life is a random chain of the unwanted and the inconsequential. Nothing can ever be destined, because we are headed in absolutely unrelated directions. We have nowhere to go.

This is one great turning point realizations that time punishes us with. Post this, we do never again take that leap of faith. And we move on from being believers to non-believers, from theists to atheists to blasphemous rebels.

In the moment the said change happened for me, I met life. I didn't have to go scuba diving or bungee jumping for that but walk by a pile of spring onions.