Sudden Realization # 5

I'm having whiskey with water now.

Primarily because seemingly that's all I can afford.

It's funny how money can determine your preferences.

Last month, someone had told me that I shouldn't have my alcohol with Coke. It ruins the taste apparently. Neat, on the rocks or with water, he said. I'd appreciate it more, he said.

It's his birthday today. If I remember to call him during the day, I must tell him of my finances. 

And their impact on my alcohol consumption.

Mr. Butterfly.

There's a butterfly in my tummy, it seems
He's being a little crazy
No one knows what's in his head
That crazy little thing
He tells me of some sweet dreams
Dreams that seem better than reality
Dreams woven out of stardust
But I can't go any further I think
As I tiptoe across unknown paths
I can hear some song d'amour
I listen to it carelessly; I also hear a story
I don't know how the story begins
Or how it ends
I may soon be becoming someone else's person
For a season only perhaps 
Or perhaps, for one season too many
Who knows?
I bet Mr.Butterfly does.



I miss you, my beautiful Delhi Winters.  


  

Sing Song.

It was 2010  I remember, when you fell in love with me.
It was 2010 I remember, when I was madly in love with someone else.
It was 2010 I remember, Delhi was shining in one of its glorious winters.
It was 2010 I remember, when we'd get stoned at eight in the morning.
It was 2010 I remember, when I heard you play your guitar.
It was 2010 I remember, when you sung me 'Love Me Tender'.
It was 2010 I remember, when I couldn't stop smiling.
It was 2010 I remember, when I actually contemplated between you and him.
It was 2010 I remember, when he beat me up.
It was 2011 I remember, when you started disappearing on me; slowly but surely.
It is 2012 now.
I'm thinking of you tonight.
I wonder where you are.
I wonder how you're doing.
I wonder if you're singing the same song to someone else.

Guess who's birthday it is today???? :D D: D: D :D :D :D
*jumps up and down and shakes her booty*

Rendezvous.

So you go to your terrace
For your post dinner smoke
And you're startled to see there
Not one, but two blokes
Then one things leads to another
Somehow you all end up drunk
Some laughs, flirting, stupidities
But no one's touching your junk
You go back home so happy
Smiling like a fucking fool
Thinking, for only a second,
That not each man is a tool
You  remember their names
You vaguely remember their faces too
But what a fun night it was
What a great rendezvous
How are there so many 'stories', you wonder
In a life so mundanely bourgeois
Anyway, you're just happy about one thing
That unlike other nights, you were wearing a bra.

iQuit?

I love smoking, I do. But do I need it? Perhaps not. Apart from the very rare bouts of  'need to smoke because I ate too much' or 'i'd smoke instead, lest I say something horrible to you because you are ugly', I never really need it I believe. Except, for when I am being faaaabulouuuss (for want of a better word). Look at any black and white movie, everyone is smoking. Smoking is glamourous and I'd like to believe I'm a fairly glamourous person. Could that night at the balcony be equally thrilling if there weren't smoke signals passed between him and I? Wouldn't the silver outfit look a little incomplete with just a glass in one hand and no smoke in the other? Could the long conversations be the same without the Marlboros dangling from everyone's fingers? Of course, the sincerity of the post coital fag can't be ignored. And what about the thrill of sneaking a smoke at the most unnatural moments and places? Bumming cigarettes off friend's dad's collections, going to the loo and then making one another believe that it isn't smelling of the smoke thaat bad, collecting cigarette butts of the expensive ones we smoked.. too much is coming back to me now. And that's the point, smoking has witnessed too much of our lives. In that moment of rebellion against the father figure, we smoked; in that moment of love with the boy we wanted to travel the world with, we smoked... It can't be explained, but it is liberating. And of course, glamourous!

Of course your lips get dark, but you will find a pair of smoker lips to kiss. Or a pair of lips that love you for you. Of course, girls shouldn't smoke because of pregnancy issues, but then who needs more kids in this already noisy and dirty world? Of course, even the packs tell you that smoking kills, but then so does walking on the streets of Bombay.

I decided to quit day before. I am not quite sure of my reasons. But I have only smoked one cigarette since. I guess I'm cutting down then. But in the moments that demand the air to get smoky, I am sloowllyyy going to release enormous amounts of smoke from my nose and mouth, not to show off like I tend to do about my drinking capacity ''that's pretty good for a girl'', but to expose the little private achievements of a young girl, who at one time or the other, walked around in fake jewelry, makeup and high heels on a morning at home; with a toothpick in her hand that posed as a cigarette.

...When I am being faaaabulouuuss (for want of a better word).