Tuesday, December 20, 2011


The beach, the alcohol, the shacks, the conversations, the madness, the solace...
it's calling me back.
And so I'm going back!

Even though I am in a lot of pain right now courtesy my damn period, I know for a fact that if there is anything that would be more epic than Goa in January 2010, it is bound to be Goa in December 2011.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

A moment. Or two.

There is something about time that,
regardless of your activities (however good or bad), sucks the life force out of you.
Sleep deprivation isn't it. 
From random mood swings to the acceptance of the futility of life.
Point being, the loss of the last ounce of energy in your system.
It's tragic.
Though, that period of sheer misery ends somehow
and you magically continue to still exist.
Driven by natural instincts, you turn to alcohol.
Lots of it.
So much of it that you swear at the end of each day that you're gonna give it up for good.
And then comes the next day.
Of course there are days of desperation.
Of Benadryll cough syrups. Of some other unmentionables.
Oh the sleep. 
The blessed motherfucking sleep. 
The sleep that refused to come to you for days together becomes your slave now.
You sleep with the hope of getting to sleep forever; it's that brilliant.
All of it, basically, is the quest for gaining your life back.
The energy you lose in monotony that doesn't matter to you.
Speaking of things that don't matter;
days of rendezvous with a chance lover. Or two?
But that is hardly the highlight of your week.
What is the highlight then, you wonder?
The loss of your wallet at a crowded local market, you think.
Or perhaps, that rather eventful  drunk auto ride with a loved one the other day.
How about him asking you out for drinks online without much introduction? Was that it?
All of it.
You need your life back.
You need a release. 
You're out of alcohol. Sex isn't available.
You need imagination.
But you realize eventually, that all you need is probably yourself.
And that's when it happens...

On your favourite black leather couch, 
under the watchful eyes of Dexter Morgan and his accompanying commercials, 
you come back to life.


Sunday, December 4, 2011


A memory.

Face to face after years. Seven years to be exact.
I was dolled up in my being just as much as you were coupled in yours.
Exchanged greetings.
Ooh-ed and Aah-ed about how long it had been.
The father was present. He wasn't getting onto my last nerves, either.
Looking back, perhaps it was because you took over that spot for that moment.
Mum was inviting you and your  family over; your family of about two years?
Maybe it was just me, but I couldn't stand straight without feeling those ugly eyes on me.
No one knew what transpired in that room that morning.
No one knew about the possible murder of the person I could have been.
No one will ever know.
No one but us; you and I.
And we were not at the liberty to tell.

I call it Black.