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.

I have no thoughts here. But I need to quit blaming the city. I don't even think I'm completely homesick just yet. Of course, I miss the food back home. But that's only because people here apparently don't hold taste in  very high regard. They eat for the sake of eating. Even I would I guess, if I had to get on top of other people in the locals every day on my way  to work and back and sweat on one another. Good food becomes an obstacle then. So they just make every thing smell the same here - of Garam Masala! - and eat it as they pretend to know the difference. Also, people don't hug here. They're all side hug-ey and fist bump-ey and well, generally sweaty. So I can't blame them for that too. Bomblasts and Malaria are to Mumbai what Rapes and Money are to Delhi... redundant and perfunctory. So okay, Delhi has counterparts. I parallel Malaria with Money not only for the common letter but for the fact that Delhi has money. Yes, I rub it in at every chance I get.
I'm popular here. But I was back home too. As I would be wherever I go. I'm sufficiently funny, averagely smart, pretty slutty, compulsively chatty, regular smoker and an alcoholic... like, why won't I make friends? I missed two days of college because I almost had Malaria (or so I thought!), and my bastard phone wouldn't stop buzzing about how bored everyone was getting without me. Yes! I'm a glorified class jester! Sue me! But the class jester gets in on the secret parties, so Screw You!


Speaking of Malaria, Mumbai has made my path collide with a very very cute Doctor; whom I'd totally go to visit again if it wasn't for the bloody long waiting line. We were totally flirting too in my big tshirt and pyajamas. Or was it just me? Or was it just that I was under medication? Whatever the case, cute doc. Notice how I don't throw around 'Bombay' anymore. I call it Mumbai now. For political reasons, of course. I'm not sure what they are but. Enlighten me, someone?


Oh! and the work I have here! The overdose of assignments is going to be the end of me, you'd think. I did too. But then came my fifty million household chores. Home here is where the household chores are, apparently. The heart thing is clearly a lie!

I HAVE NO THOUGHTS HERE.

Wadupp?

Apologies for the drunken stupor
But my hair looks nice right now
And I seem to have had one too many
And Ive released most of what was to be released
Alcohol hardly seems sinful now...


It's beautiiiful
With every bottle you open, you open up a little with it too
And what a joy that is
As you mistress around with friends or foes
And chat up everyone you come across
It's happiness
It's the closest you come to happiness in days...


You speak to lovers back in Delhi
Oh! My beautiful beautiful city of love.. where art thou?
And you moan to them
And breathe heavy
You wonder if this is what doing it over the phone feels like
You're sure not...


You wonder about the guy on your to-do list
You wonder why he manhandles you
Not that you mind
But you know  it's because for him, you're his 'bro'
SO for you, it'd be hot passion
For him, incest...


I need to think of more things! Or receive an education! Or smoke a cigarette on my terrace and sleep as I try not to throw up!
yeah.. the last one sounds just about right...


Apologies for the drunken stupor...