Nerd.

"I think ... after some thought, this one is apt for you. you need not change your cover. just know that this is something I think fits you. like totally ...

well, on the surface, this picture when I made it in paint was just a random creation but when I thought about it, it is you. you are the babe, the diva everyone loves to be around. yet, if one observes carefully there is a lot of blue in the picture. blue i.e. sadness. now you can deny it all you want but somewhere you try very hard to cover your depth as a human being.

its almost compulsive in a way "

Meanwhile in Bombay...

It's been okay here. So far so good I guess. Travelling is a bitch though. And hence I was taking cabs to college these past couple of days. I think that's one of the reasons no one in my class accepted me with open arm- because I was that girl from Delhi who cabbed it between Dadar and CST everyday because she was too cool for a local. But I am too cool for it! I don't see how having men sweating all over you is exciting. Well, it is... but not in the Bombay Local way. However, I take the trains now. I pick up new boys every night who drop me back home. True Story.
Not random boys. Boys staying close to my house as to walk me back and get me out of the traumas of the feeling of being touched by sweating men. But speaking of men sweating all over you, Bombay is winning in the 'action' department. I would  like to believe it's because of my drop dead gorgeous looks, but it could have a little to do with how frustrating it is to live here for everyone. Not sexually frustrating; survival-frustrating. 

I'm cooking, cleaning, washing, the works! None of that I mind. My flatmates are really the nicest people. I have people in Bombay that I love. I have made some cool friends too who seem to be fond of me. None in my class though. I'm meeting so many people each day- old and new. But it gets lonely here. And no amount of smoking on my beautiful beautiful terrace (very la 'Wake Up Sid') makes it any better. I miss my mom. Home is where mom is, I feel. And my people. I feel shy reading emails from the girl I love. I get conceited when lovers from Delhi claim they miss me, almost perfunctorily. I don't think I'm really missing anyone yet. But I think about them a lot. I think about Delhi a lot. Delhi- the land of delicious food, cheap alcohol and easier commuting. Everyone walks here! To everywhere! They're going to fucking walk to the moon one day! I don't do walks. I'm from Delhi, remember?

In other news, I've already been to the Police Station once in the middle of a night of drunken debauchery and have had one happy accidents too many around my under-wired brasserie- but I'd just put it under 'beginner's luck'; the latter, I mean. The alcohol intake has been more than the food. And with my cab rides and regular alcohol, I would soon zero down to no food at all it seems.
It's been a little more than a week   since I've been here. A few days ago had I gotten to write this, it would've been filled with frustrations pouring all over it. From everything to the names of this place (Kandivalli, Warli (pronouced Varli!), Borivali, Bandra, Bandstand, Banchod...!), to the lack of basic culinary experience to the surprise rains that make you think twice about wearing coloured bras... but now I think I've already made peace with it. And if not, I know I'm on a quick way to it...

The terrace makes it better.

Word.

Emraan Hashmi.

I really like Emraan Hashmi. And I just realized that maybe I always have. 

I like his type : Underrated and highly average.

He's so chill. He just comes and kisses a little bit. Makes out even, if he feels like. Does his bit and moves on. Doesn't create a fuss over anything. He's laid back. He dances pretty okay too. He isn't fat or hairy. Sex is not alwaysss on his mind because he's getting enough. Of course, he kisses rather well you can tell. He's a good father, I hear. Married his childhood sweetheart or some such. He's so chill.

He really is the ideal man.

My ideal man.

Whatever happened to the good old days when the internet was used for porn? Now it's used for jerks like you and I who sit around wanting to correct each other's grammar. 

So I'm going to go youtube raunchy videos of my stud-muffin-hunk. 

You.

One never seriously thinks of leaving one's city. I don't think I ever did. Seriously.We sit around and talk about moving to another city and living on our own, Without anyone. Without the simple pleasure of sneaking in your father's alcohol in your own room and drinking to sleep; without the comforts of the familiar...

There's my entire life until this point right here; and then there's you.

You, whom I can't tell of my leaving. 

You, with your beautiful hands and strong arms. You, with your ability to listen even when you didn't understand. You, with your thinning hairline and smirk smiles. You, with your oblique jokes and direct possessiveness. You, with your sharp memory of all our moments and conversations. You, and the way you'd just look at me; through me. You, and me under those dingy spots we called ours. 

You, with your fucking complacency! 

You, whom I can't tell of my leaving.

Because you'd never say what I'd want you to say. You'd not breakdown and tell me not to go. You won't be shocked or even surprised. Just mundane. You'd not look me in the eye. Somewhere through your second cigarette you'd say something like 'Mat Ja Waise. What'll you do there?"; and that would be it. And just like that we'd begin. Or end. Without any introduction whatsoever. With us, there never can be one, perhaps. No labels, they say. Never like the popular karaoke songs... more like the one you hum without even realizing. The songs in your head. Not that I don't love it that way. You know me enough to know that I do! But just this once, I don't know why, I need you to get dramatic! Lots of pomp and show... tell me you'd always think of me and how I'd probably leave a huge void in your life. But you won't. You'd just sit there with all knowing faces and tones, convinced that things are going to be the same when I get back. And more importantly, that the time away doesn't even count. We'd find other things to do.
Other people to do.

Your complacency is beginning to get annoying!

You, with your fucking complacency!

You'd think this might be the alcohol in me; but I have a feeling it's you.

The Secret.

"Just sit here with me, by my side. You don't have to say nothing, just smile."


Maybe I will.

iWrite. Part Deux.

Leaving the city you've lived in for two decades is weird. Leaving it for slum city is strange. 

It's not easy anyway; specially when everyone around you is behaving like you're some celebrity who is getting married off and moving to the States (read: random madhuri Dixit reference). I have to to leave behind all these friends who won't be there physically to deal with my regular drama. I'd probably even lose touch with most. I'd have to live in a non-ac room. And have to share it with an unknown soul. Who, probably won't be from Delhi either. I'd walk out of my house and no man would be staring at my boobs like they were his friends. I'd never be certain that I'd get my work done with cleavage flashing and a little extra cash.  No chance encounter with a familiar 'autowallah' who'd take me to my destination. And no autos altogether because of the skyrocketing prices and general discourse of maniacal traffic. What would I do without all this botanical beauty that I'm so used to? And my parlour lady! Sigh. How I'd miss her! The quickest, most efficient (and also painless, might I add) lady on the planet. Sigh sigh sigh. And to live sans any parks? The horror!! No park facilities for play, work, pleasure, joint rolling etc. Nobody showing off because they don't even have a corridor in their matchbox sized homes is going to claustrophobic. And what is this shit I hear about alcohol permits in Bombay???  And top it all, Bombay has no winters. So there is no mist that hides all its ugliness. Hardly anyone would give a tiny rat's ass when (and if) we reach a club (in time) and dance slutty through the night. 

The one who notices would probably be from Delhi. And him and I are getting it on then.

That's the plan.

Ugh. I think the above however dramatic was a little therapeutic. 

Yes, I'm moving to Bombay for my post grad. And yes, I'm not going to eliminate the possibilities of all the fun I'm going to have. 

I leave on the 30th of this month.

Bombay, be nice.

And if the post offended/bored you , too bad.

Anyway, watch this and enjoy.