But my breath fogged up the glass And so i drew a new face and laughed..

It was a regular Sunday evening and i was sitting around the house doing nothing when it started to pour. Ah. The rains. There's something about them that makes me feel things that i have been almost completely oblivious to, consciously and otherwise. From emotions of love to hatred to agony to lust to greed to arrogance..the rains get me all these and so much more.

Even as a kid, nothing fascinated me more than the rains. I would run out of the house at the slightest of pours to be a part of, what i liked to call, a celebration of sorts. Nothing else came even remotely close to being as freeing. It was at that moment when i felt like i belonged somewhere. When i felt like i owned someplace. When i feared no one, not even those ugly dogs who would bully the fuck out of me on other days. It's been THAT empowering!
Growing up, rains graduated from being about dancing in my animated underpants and became about walking in the rain, hand in hand with that boy who had enough of me to break my heart. It's in the rains that i have discovered levels of intimacy and closeness that no amounts of physical contact can induce. It's sexual. The kind that leaves you craving more. The kind that connects at more levels than one.
Every smoke ring i manage, while the waters pour in the background with ever so much conceit, seems to be saying something. Its influence and power is unbelievable.

Or is it just me? Could be. I genuinely believe that it's the only thing that almost brings about the little spiritual side that i have. It's harsh yet so calming. It washes one and all with every pour.
It's quiet after it rains. It becomes like it's my own place; Own yet shared. It's a beautiful feeling. More than i can ever put to words.No bustling of the humdrum life; purity, sanctity, chastity and vigour.
Blissful. Peaceful.

Charlie Chaplin once famously said, ""I Love to walk in rain because no body can see me crying then". Irony, much? So much for being one of the funniest men in the history of entertainment. Am no unfortunate person, on the wrong side of fifty, whose life didn't work out. And no. There's hardly any reason for me to be thinking this way. However, sadly enough, I do find a nice ring to it...

<3 Rains <3

See That My Grave Is Kept Clean

Death.
It's pissing off.
It really is.
You put in a lifetime of effort living a damn life, and you don't even get to get out of it alive. I know. That's what the cycle of life is all about. But is it really a sorted concept? Shouldn't each individual on the planet get to live an equally charmed or rather satisfactory life?

Personally, i genuinely believe that one dies only when one is completely and purely gratified by one's life. It's an end of an era. So only when one has finished each and every act of love, hatred and all that comes in between, does one die. That is the cycle of life for me. You are put on the planet to carry forward an assigned job and your part ends when you've fulfilled each cranny of that role to the best of your abilities. Yes. Extremely Shakespeare.
These last few days, however, my belief stands a little shaken.
I cannot face deaths anymore. I have had my share of the agonizing pain that death brings along to all the people remotely associated with the dearly departed. Some people don't deserve death.
Not yet, anyway.
Death is too strong a word. I find it a little funny when they say that someone's gone to a better place and how they're finally in peace. Who knows that for sure, you know? Shouldn't one be destined to make the most of it while they're still here?
Okay.I don't know how any of this makes any sense to anyone. But it does. To me.
My point being, after Ryan's demise (RIP, you), i just never acknowledged the idea of someone else's possible death. Someone's death that might affect me. Someone's death i might shed almost as many tears for as i did for Ryan.
Maybe i am overreacting. I hope i am overreacting.
She must live. She will. She has reasons to live, she has roles to play.
Maybe meeting me is one of the things that figures in the universe's plan of 'things she must do before she quits being an earthling'.
One can only hope.

Yes. It's pissing off. This feeling of helplessness. This feeling of death and how she might be growing near... for yourself. and for the people you know.and for the people you like. and for the people you love...

Sometimes title-less things are so much cooler.

So, starting today, i am going to be blogging every most days.
Blog post frequency is going to reach a new high super duper soon.
Promise to self.:)

Anyway,
i was just randomly wondering how giving a name/title to any form of your work is hard. really really hard. it has to be short, it must hint at all the things that particular piece is about; and don't even get me started on the pressures of having a catchy title cause let's face it we're judging books by the cover all the time. Speaking of titles, the newest addition to my list of over 1500books that i am going to read before i die is 'A Book Without A Title'- George Jean Nathan. no, it never made any history or even much money for that matter. but there's something about the title that tells me it deserves another chance by someone. maybe by me.
as surprising as it may be, i am not much of a reader. i don't like reading. and i truly regret it. my desire to own these books, some common and some not, is almost as if to own them for the sake of that one day when i start to enjoy what i want to enjoy; reading. it's twisted, yes.

coming back to 'A Book Without A Title', the critics tore it apart.'Not as profound as the author would like it to be.', said one. my point being, how can you critique any piece of art work professionally? doesn't it boil down to one's personal preferences, background, sex etc? it's just unfair, if you ask me. i don't see who's given them that right of sabotaging the vision of an artist, a dream catcher he may be.sigh.

i watched the movie 'udaan' today. i don't know how any other word but brilliance can come even close to defining it. in two hours they captured what was almost parts of my own life. a must watch. for anything human.

here's to good indian cinema, the freedom to go title-less (and name-less in the process) every once in a while and most importantly to the fact that i might die of hunger right about now...

food...
foo...
fo..
f.


sigh sigh sigh.

A Letter Of Love

Every time someone miss pronounces a word..
Every time someone fucks up their grammar..
Every time someone tries to act cool..
Every time someone shows off..
Every time he says 'fuk u yar'..
Every time i meet ze 'Ramesh'..
Every time someone doesnt hug me right..
Every time someone calls me a bitch..
Every time someone tries to get me hooked to any series..
Every time someone bitches about their college..
Every time i smoke..
Every time my teeth dig into Al bake's shawarma..
Every time i have a birthday gift to give..
Every time i need someone to walk me through he phone till the parlour..
Every time i wear underpants that say 'its raining men' to my waxing sessions..
Every time some one fishes for compliments..
Every time someone acts 'demented'..
Every time i have to tell someone how evolution might not be entirely true..
Every time i make plans around 2012..
Every time memories of my face being sucked for fifty minutes flash before my eyes..
Every time i think of a certain somebody's sex life..
Every time pretty girls from Dubai and around participate in reality shows..
Every time 'Behne de' plays..
Every time i have to tell some one about my fifty thousand (and more) things i plan to do in life..
Every time i wear your tee-shirt and think of the others am going to steal..
Every time 'gillu/sheru..err anything but preeto' decides to LIKE a page on facebook..
Every time a male species with that thing dangling down there decides to make THE heart.. <3
Every time niharika ignores the crap out of me..
Every time i have to hog..
Every time someone cant quite express love..
Every time someone gets awkward when i touch them too much..
Every time i am rumoured to be 'going out' with someone..
Every time i hear music i don't quite get..
Every time anything female's clothing item is unable to hold her boobs completely..
Every time the 'housefull' team decides to appear for an interview explaining how much hard work was put in the making of the movie..
Every time mumma says 'hairband'..
Every time there's a mention of 'Big Apple'..
Every time i see the cover of Pride and 'Prejudice'..
Every time we think we are cool enough to hang out in ze dilli..
Every time fatherkind gets on to the last of my little nerves..
Every time all this and so much more happens..
I Miss You.
dude,Two months is way too long.
You GET my weird ass lame examples.
you don't stare at me when i hog.
you don't care when i don't put kajal.
you take my crappy gifts.
you always pretend that u care about things thats don't even matter.
you take my nonsense.
you cross the god forsaken 'bridge' to meet me.
you let me call u jaya and refer to u as a girl.
you are so pretty.
I love you. so much so much so much. soooper yooo arre.
come back already.

p.s- going back to my weird ass examples and references, in Sex and the City-the movie, when Samantha's boyfriend, Smith Jerrod buys her this fab and super super expensive ring, she confirms that "..it's a ring with diamonds and not a diamond ring, right?".
Similarly, this, my favourite person, is 'A Letter Of Love' and not a love letter.

Love Love Love :)

On being Ross and Rachel :P

I can bet my life on the fact (err..belief) that any living person who has walked on the face of the earth has had (or will have) a Ross (or a Rachel). It's inevitable. It's almost like the forces of nature conspire to make this happen.

One would lie to one's parents to go make out with them in the shadiest of places;
one would help them find a girl(boy)friend;
one would then feel jealous and crib about the same;
one would want them to be a part of all one's big moments in life..yada yada.
It's typical of every individual and I am not even kidding.

The close-friends-clan sees them as nothing but a 'fuck buddy'. Now that isn't entirely false, but it isn't entirely true either. What most fail to get is that, it's a rather twisted relationship.Generally perceived as a 'no strings attached' bond, it's way more complicated than that. Point being no matter what, they're just bound to get together.
Communication or the lack of it, distance, time..nothing makes them
get away from each other completely. There's this strong ...errr..thing between them that just doesnt let go..!!

The term "fuck buddies" is rather demeaning..
Remember how Rachel once famously told Ross,
"Ross, Just so you know...
with us...
it's never off the table. .."

of Pixies and the enchanted forests..

He has the prettiest hands;
the kind that are long finger-ed. And firm.
My hand fits perfectly into his.
He's a lover;
the kind that wraps his arms around you.
Both of us can listen to songs by Pixies all afternoon.
He's funny and witty;
the kind you have a repartee with
He also stops to check if I am hurting.
He's a listener;
the kind that not only listens but also gets.
We plan to discover some enchanted forests someday.
He's a talker;
the kind that creates memorable conversations out of a rendezvous.
We spoke about Heaven and Hell the other day.
He's not too tall;
the kind that's just about as tall to have my head rest perfectly on his chest when he hugs me.
He does that a lot.
He's sexual;
the kind writers write about.
There are imprints of his burning lips all over me.
Still.

'Cause you're stupid baby when you're sane.

Over the (very very little) years that I have spent living, there's just one thing I have been able to establish for sure; that I like crazy !
That's one of the extremely few things I have ever been good at. No, there are no claims of havin balls (err..!!?) of steel here. I am as un-adventurous as un-adventurous gets. You will never hear of me jumping off planes, climbing the Himalayas, going trekking across the Annapurnas..yada yada.. when I say 'crazy', I mean strictly of the kind where there isn't a risk to human life involved.When you let go every once in a while (or twice or thrice in a while :P) it's the crazy-ness we bring in our lives that teaches us that it's okay to screw up sometimes. It's okay to make a fool out of yourself sometimes. It's nice to be able to laugh at yourself. That it's so much for satisfying to laugh at someone else (*evil grin*). The point being, crazy is good, crazy is fun, crazy is me :D

So now that I am at it, just thought it would be nice to 'record' one such activity which, one would say, is capable of epitomizing the concept of craziness.

I am eighteen.
I got my self registered on...wait for it...wait for it...shaadi.com.
Hilarious,isnt it?
In the beginning, yes !
Ideally, a common WOMAN's (enough of the patriarchal 'common man'. We contribute to the sex too, you know?) opinion about such sites wont be too high. But the amount of information you havto fill in is appalling. From your physical appearances to job to education to annual income to family background to medical history to the colour of your crap to BLAHH ! They strip you down. I gave the basic mandatory information and topped it with cheesy vibes of being a "convent-educated-good-homely-girl-next-door" in the "about me" and some "pati-parmeshvar-ish" bullcrap in the 'qualities I'm looking for in my partner' section.

All fun and games. crazy is on. it gets crazier.

For that half-filled-lollipop of a a profile, I got some thousand 'potential grooms' and my phone kept buzzing, giving me notifications about the same. Creepy desperados,much? I think so.
Cut to next grand (read:crazy) step. Add a picture. Being against morphing and plagiarism of any kind, I decided to post my own picture. Never before did I feel as pretty in my life. The number of the potential grooms who were interested in 'knowing me more', increased by the second! My phone boob-shaked like a slut.
The constant messages had to stop.
This had to stop.
I did the obvious.
I changed my number for one of my best friend's. It was all taken care of. I loved the 'crazy' attention I got on the cyber space and how the best friend swore to kill me if he had to read anymore of my msgs from the 'shaadi group'. It was AWESOME!!!

Crazy turned creepy by the day. From being interested in profiles only, 'potential grooms' started being interested in the (drop dead gorgeous good) looks and gave (not so) subtle hints about possible meeting in the near future. Finally creeped out, I decided to delete the profile that got me my 15seconds (nah..a hell lot more than that) fame online.
Turns out, there's a price to pay for 'crazy'. There isn't an option of deactivating what I 'crazy-ly' started with ever so much enthusiasm. The bomb had dropped. I was stuck in the matrimonial mockery for life. My world was flashing in front of my eyes now. Flash by flash. My end seemed near (aah..the good old melodrama!).
And then it happened.
I did stumble upon the darn option of deleting one's profile. They asked me the resaon for it. An option being 'met my partner', I struck that*sighs*.
'where/how?'
'through friends'
*sighs more*.
And that was that. with a congratulatory msg from the shaadi group for having found my partner
*going breatheless, sighing*
they had successfully deleted my account.
Shall miss it..NOT!

P.S- Not dying alone after all, huh? :P