Sudden Realization # 4

The thing about always doing whatever the fuck you believe in regardless of what they told you is that you can't quit.
Even when that's all you may want to do.

"Chest"

I met this guy on my second day in Mumbai. Such a beautiful boy he is. An extremely good-looking North Indian boy. I stress on North Indian because you knew it as soon as you laid eyes on him.. Punjabi boy, joint family, chest out when he walks, fairer than milk, redundant tattoo.. the works! Let's call him chest.

I took chest to a bar. Chest told me of his family. The mother who loves chest, the father who is seemingly very strict, the overprotective brother, the grandfather whose death crushed chest. The doting grandfather whom chest still can't imagine life without. The only one in the family who ever expected good things out of chest. The man who wanted his lovely grandson to become the next Sachin Tendulkar. Chest obliged. Went for practice. Chest started off as wanting to prove the world wrong and keep chest's grandfather's word. Chest needed everyone to know that he was capable of much much more.

Chest told me all that over one drink too many.

So after a week of 'rigorous' practice, chest quit.

Chest told his grandfather that chest can't because chest doesn't want to get tanned.

Chest's grandfather died a month later.

I choked on my drink too.
We made out later that night.
We don't talk anymore for obscure reasons.

I think chest killed his grandfather.

Mosquitoes and Mush.

Don't you just hate it when a fucking mosquito form Mumbai gives you Malaria?
Don't you just love it when because of that you get to take your first flight out to Delhi and indulge in a whole lot of mush?

I'm feeling much better now, yes. It's time to go back soon.

And I just realized I have 101 followers. Ah the misguided youth...

Popsicle :*.

"There is this Swift by my car.
A girl in the front seat- her leg is up on the dashboard, her seat is peechhe and she's smoking...

You sure you aren't in Delhi?"

:')

Cool Thoughts.

I had all these cool thoughts in my head about 8 odd minutes back. Thoughts that were cool enough to make me get out of bed, take my fucking laptop out of my fucking bag, insert the fucking inapprriaate looking (and soundingg!!) dongle and go onto blogger. Only, Facebook was the furst tab I opened. And Facebook does that... takes away your thoughts. All of them.

So the few thoughts that I hd some time ago I must put down. Because it's my blog! and I can do the fuck I want to!!! Not use pucntuation! Noo.. I like punctuation. Anyway, for my putting down purposes, im gonaa use that cool bullet thng. Yay

•  I love sSalman Khan. Soo hot. The one time I tried to get onto a fucking moving local train here, I got hurt so bad it still pains. And here is Mr.Khan.. fucking getting onto a flying plane. Oh Swooooooooon.
• For the above to make sense you must watch Ek Tha Tiger/ And wait till the end of the credit roll because that's when Mahshallllah happens. And the Universe knows how much I love that song.
• I can't sleep! It's 6:48 A-fuckin-M right now! And it's the 20th of Augst! Ive been up since 10am 19th August. There's been intoxication and bad food and lots of conversation. LOTS! But now I cant sleep. Im suddenly typing with such efficientcy/ Efficiency is a fuckin tough word. 
• Pangs of hunger have hit at the beginning of this point.
• eid mubarak 
• i really must sleep
• i fucking facebook wall-ed sanam khanna today. RIGHT NOW! this moent needs to go down history. it has for me.
• ugly people should go fuck themselves. 
• thats not politically correct. 
• but it's true. mean, yes. but true. people should look nice all the time. most of the time. or be realllllllllyyyyy interesting... you know/.? the type that's all dark deep and upto cool shit that u dont understand. 
• oh my god. im bloggin like trishi. she blogs sporadically when shes drunk. i like it. she should blog more often.
• nihaaaaaariiikaa! if you're reading this, bastard woman calll meeee!!!
• SO many zigzag red lines under so mnay words. 
• Pawai Lake kicks Marine Drive's ASS! Seaface at Warli does too. Basically, Marine Drive is like CLubbing. YOU're really excited till you get there. When u gt there, it's too crowded for you to dance like a slut. Sigh.
• it's SEVEN! 
• SEVENNNNNNN !!!
  I just smoked a menthol. Who the fuck smokes Menthol? Icky peopem smke menthol. The kinds that like to hold your hand. ICKY.
• I curse so much here. and abuse. not even fucking funny. and in my mouth, Hindi and marathi have a fucking abusive baby. baby's not ugly though. we know how we feel about ugly people.

byebye

or as trishi ends it,

que sera sera

i hope i spelled it right. i misss you trishi. but most imprtantly, your fucking showerrr!
Kiss.

88 days to go...

When I miss her too much I actually stalk her Facebook profile like some deranged ex boyfriend.
Not too much seems to be up with her; at least not socially.
Makes me think she must miss me like mad.
A lot is up with me apparently; at least socially.
And yet I miss her like mad.

88 more days to survive till I see her again.
And then I'll live for a bit. When I'd be in her arms as she'd be in mine.
Till the end of eternity, if not more.

If this isn't love, what is?
I love her.
I surprise myself at how much I do.

I sit down to write most nights. 

But I can't seem to. 

No thought is relevant enough.

No idea is sustained for too long.

But there's something different about tonight I guess. Because I have managed to type a few redundant sentences. And it's been some hours since my alcohol consumption hence I know this isn't drunk writing. Yet, it's equally scattered. 

So much has changed suddenly that it doesn't even affect me as much anymore. Best Friend had once told me a long time back that as much as I crib and bitch about them and claim to hate them, men would always be a part of my life. And a major part, at that. Best Friends have this annoying habit of knowing things about you before you're ready to acknowledge them for yourselves.
Anyhow, I've met some very interesting men here. Men that have seen the forbidden corners of my Paying Guest room, ever so sneakily; men who have sent me hot pictures of me; men who have paid some rather hefty alcohol bills; men who have stayed up with me all night talking about how communication in this world is shallow now; men who've sipped red wine with me as we smoked joints in the rain at a certain Pune balcony; men who have taken me for looong drives to the end of the Mumbai city only to be walked in on by cops... I hope I'm not leaving too many out. But basically, men who have been nice. And interesting.

And the ones who haven't been, I don't think too much of them.
I'm too young to.
I'm old enough to not.