Words To Live By.

 "...Khana toh kutte bhi khaate hain...
Insaan bano..
Sharaab piyo..."

That's What He Said.

"I don't usually get this attracted to girls your age. You're something else."

You were something else too. Not necessarily in a good way.
You make my heart struggle to break out of the damn rib cage.
Not necessarily in a good way.
Ugh!

And one would think it's been too long since 'us'. Or at least, long enough. Why am I putting us in quotes? Ew.
Fuck You, Man!
 

On Weather. And Love.

It is so hot already. Not the spring-kind hot, no sir!
The kind that makes you re-shcedule all your day plans to night in your quest to avoid the heat. The kind that makes the re-shceduling a fail because nights are equally hot. The kind when you can't have a blanket over you all night, lest you want to melt with sweat. The kind when you can't not have a blanket over you all night, lest the mosquitoes carry you away.

Either way, I am toast.

I loathe summers with all my heart and more. I don't tolerate them voluntarily anywhere else but in Goa probably. That too because of the divine relief of the waters there. Summers shouldn't exist. But if at all they must, they must must must follow Spring. Spring sets base. It's transitional. You mourn the demise of the winters, but your hair doesn't act up already. You get your legs waxed regularly for tiny lowers, only to team them with warmish tops. You don't sweat. I don't sweat.

But I do now!

This is rather awkward because apparently New Delhi doesn't know it's supposed to be spring right now. It was 11 degrees just the other day and bam! now it's over 30 !!
Whatever happened to the middle time? When both team-summer and team-winter find a common season to coexist without calling  one another names for their seasonal preferences.

Co-existence is key.

Like, love.

Or whatever the hell they call it these days. Your first time, or one of the first few times is all love-like. And trusting. Filled with butterflies in the stomach, not heat in the loins. When you blush and your cheeks colour; and sexual innuendos is a very rare cause of that. You write poems in love and wait for stolen glances across rooms. You are so happy. And even when you are not, you somehow think you deserve the pain and suffering you go through. It all seems worth it.
You're in love, remember?

And then that gets over for miscellaneous reasons.

And bam! You go from 11 degrees to over 30 so quickly that is spins your head. You become incapable of emotion. You become incapable of trusting. You become incapable of sustaining a relationship without fucking it up the fear of fucking it up.

Before you know it, you are your cynical best and an absolute joy to be around all the fucking time?

*rolls eyes*

too young to die, too old to believe in promises...

Whatever happened to spring, man?

Weird.

People grow up. They change. It's rather funny. You go through each day in all its monotony, cursing it for being so mundane. You go through each day just as the previous one; acknowledging no change whatsoever. And then you look back. And it hits you that you've come a long way since u started out. It's a strange thing, change. For better or for worse, we never know what is changing or why. Then one day you look back trying to figure out how you got here. And it hits you that you've lived all this time, consciously or otherwise, trying to escape your past in some way or the other.

Have you succeeded? 

Debatable.

People. It's always been about people with me. Institutes, places, vacations, time in my life; it's all been extremely people-specific for me. I've always maintained how I'm not deserving of most of the love, adulation and popularity that people bestow on me ever so generously. In fact, I'm not particularly proud of my treatment of a lottttt of people in my past. I call it my past specifically because I'd like to believe that I've evolved a little and am not mean to people unless I truly believe that they deserve it.
Or when I don't like their face.
But that's the thing about people. Or at least about most of the people I know. They're too nice.
They love too much.
Another thing about these people I talk about, they pop up from time to time. With the same amount of love and adulation in their hearts. Regardless of how I may have treated them once upon a time. Regardless of my behaviour with them that I may not be particularly proud of. And what that does to my heart, you wonder? It unsettles it. It makes me restless. Anxious, even.

I can't focus now.
Who are these weird people man?
Why can't they just hate me like normal people would do?
Why can't they stop pretending that we've shared some great fun times in the past?
Because, we didn't. We never have!

Weird.

#InOtherNews

In other news, I have a Twitter Account now which I absolutely don't know how to work. Any help regarding it would be appreciated. Especially, if someone could tell me the objective of the damn venture.

As cocky as it sounds, follow me :)
Even if it is only to tell me, what the fuck is up on it.
#Clueless.

^Seee! Im learning.

Takes My Heart Awayyyyy...

The truth in every single word!
Enjoy!
:)

Blog Whore.

That's the thing about Facebook...
When you have it in your life, your blog doesn't read of your 'lack of life'.
When you have it in your life, you have something to do for infinite hours each time you switch on your laptop.
When you have it in your life, you don't become a blog whore.

I'm scared I'd be blogging every hour of my life if the same persists. At least on the days I'm home.
Like today.