Word.

Emraan Hashmi.

I really like Emraan Hashmi. And I just realized that maybe I always have. 

I like his type : Underrated and highly average.

He's so chill. He just comes and kisses a little bit. Makes out even, if he feels like. Does his bit and moves on. Doesn't create a fuss over anything. He's laid back. He dances pretty okay too. He isn't fat or hairy. Sex is not alwaysss on his mind because he's getting enough. Of course, he kisses rather well you can tell. He's a good father, I hear. Married his childhood sweetheart or some such. He's so chill.

He really is the ideal man.

My ideal man.

Whatever happened to the good old days when the internet was used for porn? Now it's used for jerks like you and I who sit around wanting to correct each other's grammar. 

So I'm going to go youtube raunchy videos of my stud-muffin-hunk. 

You.

One never seriously thinks of leaving one's city. I don't think I ever did. Seriously.We sit around and talk about moving to another city and living on our own, Without anyone. Without the simple pleasure of sneaking in your father's alcohol in your own room and drinking to sleep; without the comforts of the familiar...

There's my entire life until this point right here; and then there's you.

You, whom I can't tell of my leaving. 

You, with your beautiful hands and strong arms. You, with your ability to listen even when you didn't understand. You, with your thinning hairline and smirk smiles. You, with your oblique jokes and direct possessiveness. You, with your sharp memory of all our moments and conversations. You, and the way you'd just look at me; through me. You, and me under those dingy spots we called ours. 

You, with your fucking complacency! 

You, whom I can't tell of my leaving.

Because you'd never say what I'd want you to say. You'd not breakdown and tell me not to go. You won't be shocked or even surprised. Just mundane. You'd not look me in the eye. Somewhere through your second cigarette you'd say something like 'Mat Ja Waise. What'll you do there?"; and that would be it. And just like that we'd begin. Or end. Without any introduction whatsoever. With us, there never can be one, perhaps. No labels, they say. Never like the popular karaoke songs... more like the one you hum without even realizing. The songs in your head. Not that I don't love it that way. You know me enough to know that I do! But just this once, I don't know why, I need you to get dramatic! Lots of pomp and show... tell me you'd always think of me and how I'd probably leave a huge void in your life. But you won't. You'd just sit there with all knowing faces and tones, convinced that things are going to be the same when I get back. And more importantly, that the time away doesn't even count. We'd find other things to do.
Other people to do.

Your complacency is beginning to get annoying!

You, with your fucking complacency!

You'd think this might be the alcohol in me; but I have a feeling it's you.

The Secret.

"Just sit here with me, by my side. You don't have to say nothing, just smile."


Maybe I will.

iWrite. Part Deux.

Leaving the city you've lived in for two decades is weird. Leaving it for slum city is strange. 

It's not easy anyway; specially when everyone around you is behaving like you're some celebrity who is getting married off and moving to the States (read: random madhuri Dixit reference). I have to to leave behind all these friends who won't be there physically to deal with my regular drama. I'd probably even lose touch with most. I'd have to live in a non-ac room. And have to share it with an unknown soul. Who, probably won't be from Delhi either. I'd walk out of my house and no man would be staring at my boobs like they were his friends. I'd never be certain that I'd get my work done with cleavage flashing and a little extra cash.  No chance encounter with a familiar 'autowallah' who'd take me to my destination. And no autos altogether because of the skyrocketing prices and general discourse of maniacal traffic. What would I do without all this botanical beauty that I'm so used to? And my parlour lady! Sigh. How I'd miss her! The quickest, most efficient (and also painless, might I add) lady on the planet. Sigh sigh sigh. And to live sans any parks? The horror!! No park facilities for play, work, pleasure, joint rolling etc. Nobody showing off because they don't even have a corridor in their matchbox sized homes is going to claustrophobic. And what is this shit I hear about alcohol permits in Bombay???  And top it all, Bombay has no winters. So there is no mist that hides all its ugliness. Hardly anyone would give a tiny rat's ass when (and if) we reach a club (in time) and dance slutty through the night. 

The one who notices would probably be from Delhi. And him and I are getting it on then.

That's the plan.

Ugh. I think the above however dramatic was a little therapeutic. 

Yes, I'm moving to Bombay for my post grad. And yes, I'm not going to eliminate the possibilities of all the fun I'm going to have. 

I leave on the 30th of this month.

Bombay, be nice.

And if the post offended/bored you , too bad.

Anyway, watch this and enjoy.

Bitten.

I discovered their existence rather early in my life. I've been an ardent fan. 'Love Bites' we called them back in the day. We weren't cool enough to give 'Hickeys' yet.

Love Bites. Love sure does.

Hickeys brand you.

Hickeys are memorabilia.

Hickeys remind you of 'what had been'.

Hickeys keep  record for some hours.

Hickeys keep record for some days even.

Hickeys make people know of your whereabouts.

Hickeys remind you  of your whereabouts.

Hickeys may disappoint parents.

Hickeys may be credited to insect bites for some.

Hickeys are good for you.

Hickeys are proof that you've been loved well;

Even where no love existed at all...

In memory of Bombay, Part Deux.

Romance.

"There's nothing romantic about the romantics"

Sudden Realization # 3

That is one reality I've accepted... My wonder years are over. Soon I'd be complaining about old-age and greying hair.

iWrite.

I'm still left with a major portion of my toughest exam this year. When's the exam, you ask? Tomorrow morning at 9. At 23:11, I wonder how much five minutes of blogging will take away from my anyway redundant studying plan.

I went to Bombay for a a Post Grad interview immediately after my last exam and returned yesterday. The interview sucked, by the way. Anyway, the trip was really like a loong sleepover of sorts. I met people and had seemingly a really great day. I have grown up fancying Bombay. I knew I'd love it without any introduction even. However, I don't. I hate that place!

Bombay is ugly, overcrowded, dirty and so fuckin' poor. And the traffic! The motherfuckin' traaafffiiccc!! On my way back from the airport, I was actually going to tell my cab driver to stop the cab somewhere so that I could lie down on the Delhi roads and make some sweet love to it. Bombay made me cry. For no good reason. It can't be the traffic alone. After really long did I cry with such intensity. The worst part however iss, that the water taps haven't completely stopped in Delhi either. This better be PMS or I'm blaming my parents for all my miseries.

We live like kings in Delhi even in our poverty, someone once said to me. Delhi serves everything on a platter to everyone. Of course, there's familiarity of all these years and personal connections. But apart from that, Delhi is easy. If you don't want to rush, you can be laid back as fuck. You can always get someone else to do the work for you. Bus, Metro, Auto, Car- you'd find your footing somewhere and not be bogged down by the weight and sweat of 800 passengers in one square inch. If you don't wanna go clubbing, you go karaoke. If you can't afford the cool bar in Saket, there'll always be a cheaper alternative in a humble abode near your place. Which will also have ac, might I add. Unlike Bombay.

Of course nightlife rocks in Bombay apparently because the entire evening goes in commuting. I would need all pubs open till early morning too if I needed 3 hours to get from any point to any point. Of course, the city never sleeps because it's always stuck in traffic! 

It may be because perhaps I am too much of a Delhiite apparently to survive a Bombay. And to think I had never thought ot myself that way before. Delhi tends to spoil you. Bombay doesn't give scope for your way of life; it's the city's way. You either embody the ''spirit'' of Bombay and be it or well, just never fit in.

Sigh.

Oh. It's 23:21.

This was going to be a distraction post from all the studying that I don't understand. Why is it a Bombay v/s Dehi debate, I have no idea.
Needs.Happiness.And.Drugs.