Wednesday, March 21, 2012


You don't have to love me...
throw me, bite me, hurt me
push me, fuck me, abuse me
look at my ugly face and spit on it in anger
or ignore me when I am talking to you, ever so deliberately
make remarks about my soul, if you will
cheat on me just to tick me off
be out to get me, lie or deceive... it hardly matters...
You don't have to love me...

You don't have to hate me...
hug me, kiss me, love me
catch me, fuck me, forgive me
dream about you, I and us to sleep
light up at the mention of my name like it's your favourite in the world
tell me superficial things about my beauty like you mean them
you could get intimidated by my presence sometimes
or let me notice you noticing me, every time you do
feel blessed just to be a tiny part of my fragile attention span... it hardly matters...
You don't have to hate me...

Either way, I need you to be obsessed with me.

Monday, March 12, 2012

"Muchos Besos."

I remember the summer of  2010 clearly because that's when best friend and I decided to get all fancy and take up Spanish. What a riot that was! As usual, I didn't understand jackshit in class but had a lot of fun. 
I like stranger people.

Given the summer break period where parties never end and an excruciatingly early Spanish class time slot, I have walked in on my entire class late, hungover, stinking of  previous nights' misjudgements, swollen lips and some such. And then I would almost embarrass the fuck out of best friend as I would make my way through the class to place my cute ass on the seat next to best friend's. Haha. The shit I put her through... I think she did, in fact, wear a t-shirt that said 'I'm with degenerate' on some days. No, I kid.
I hope.
That was a good summer. Best Friend, I, McD breakfasts, metro rides and so much love :)
I like Spanish- it's less cliche than French and much easier than Mandarin. Obviously, given my bad behaviour in most of my classes, I learnt very little of it...
Muey Bien. Muchas Gracia. Muchos Besos ...

Muchos Besos means Many Kisses. I think. Or something pretty damn close to it.
We are in so deep into our post modernist/traumatic/other fancy 'movements' angst, rebellion and sex. 
Ever wondered whatever happened to just kissing? Pure unadulterated kissing. Like, how we started out in the first place. At places we were probably meant to kiss and those that were forbidden to us. Dingy parking lots, cars, behind classrooms, parents' rooms, in the movies, against the wall, against each other...
Just kissing.
Ever wondered?
I don't think I did. Until now.
And then he happened. 
Eeeeeeeeee :D

Is it completely ridickulous to keep someone around for just kissing?
Bah! I probably put the 'dick' in ridickulous. And spell like a retard.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Words To Live By.

 "...Khana toh kutte bhi khaate hain...
Insaan bano..
Sharaab piyo..."

Thursday, March 8, 2012

That's What He Said.

"I don't usually get this attracted to girls your age. You're something else."

You were something else too. Not necessarily in a good way.
You make my heart struggle to break out of the damn rib cage.
Not necessarily in a good way.

And one would think it's been too long since 'us'. Or at least, long enough. Why am I putting us in quotes? Ew.
Fuck You, Man!

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

On Weather. And Love.

It is so hot already. Not the spring-kind hot, no sir!
The kind that makes you re-shcedule all your day plans to night in your quest to avoid the heat. The kind that makes the re-shceduling a fail because nights are equally hot. The kind when you can't have a blanket over you all night, lest you want to melt with sweat. The kind when you can't not have a blanket over you all night, lest the mosquitoes carry you away.
Either way, I am toast.

I loathe summers with all my heart and more. I don't tolerate them voluntarily anywhere else but in Goa probably. That too because of the divine relief of the waters there. Summers shouldn't exist. But if at all they must, they must must must follow Spring. Spring sets base. It's transitional. You mourn the demise of the winters, but your hair doesn't act up already. You get your legs waxed regularly for tiny lowers, only to team them with warmish tops. You don't sweat. I don't sweat.
But I do now!
This is rather awkward because apparently New Delhi doesn't know it's supposed to be spring right now. It was 11 degrees just the other day and bam! now it's over 30 !!
Whatever happened to the middle time? When both team-summer and team-winter find a common season to coexist without calling  one another names for their seasonal preferences.
Co-existence is key.

Like, love.
Or whatever the hell they call it these days. Your first time, or one of the first few times is all love-like. And trusting. Filled with butterflies in the stomach, not heat in the loins. When you blush and your cheeks colour; and sexual innuendos is a very rare cause of that. You write poems in love and wait for stolen glances across rooms. You are so happy. And even when you are not, you somehow think you deserve the pain and suffering you go through. It all seems worth it.
You're in love, remember?
And then that gets over for miscellaneous reasons.
And bam! You go from 11 degrees to over 30 so quickly that is spins your head. You become incapable of emotion. You become incapable of trusting. You become incapable of sustaining a relationship without fucking it up the fear of fucking it up.
Before you know it, you are your cynical best and an absolute joy to be around all the fucking time?
*rolls eyes*

too young to die, too old to believe in promises...

Whatever happened to spring, man?

Friday, March 2, 2012


People grow up. They change. It's rather funny. You go through each day in all its monotony, cursing it for being so mundane. You go through each day just as the previous one; acknowledging no change whatsoever. And then you look back. And it hits you that you've come a long way since u started out. It's a strange thing, change. For better or for worse, we never know what is changing or why. Then one day you look back trying to figure out how you got here. And it hits you that you've lived all this time, consciously or otherwise, trying to escape your past in some way or the other.
Have you succeeded? 

People. It's always been about people with me. Institutes, places, vacations, time in my life; it's all been extremely people-specific for me. I've always maintained how I'm not deserving of most of the love, adulation and popularity that people bestow on me ever so generously. In fact, I'm not particularly proud of my treatment of a lottttt of people in my past. I call it my past specifically because I'd like to believe that I've evolved a little and am not mean to people unless I truly believe that they deserve it.
Or when I don't like their face.
But that's the thing about people. Or at least about most of the people I know. They're too nice.
They love too much.
Another thing about these people I talk about, they pop up from time to time. With the same amount of love and adulation in their hearts. Regardless of how I may have treated them once upon a time. Regardless of my behaviour with them that I may not be particularly proud of. And what that does to my heart, you wonder? It unsettles it. It makes me restless. Anxious, even.

I can't focus now.
Who are these weird people man?
Why can't they just hate me like normal people would do?
Why can't they stop pretending that we've shared some great fun times in the past?
Because, we didn't. We never have!