Love.

His sleep had a pattern. She would watch him day and night, dreaming about their togetherness, remembering the times they were together, how they completed each other. How his fragrance still shook her from within and slapped her from one pole of insanity to other. She looked at him hoping he’ll wake up and love her the way he used to. She looked at him with a dead hope, the twinkle in her eye seemed to fade yet, the hope remained. She’d often comfort herself in his arms, her mind wandered a thousand worlds and back. How she metamorphosed from a restless violent river to a very silent one in his embrace. She craved his touch on her body, his magical touch. She loved him with all her heart yet, she wanted this to end. His sleep had a pattern. He never woke up. He slept like a child for 10 months and she hoped, he’d wake up one day.

The misery called Life. Not.

Ssup kids?

I take the liberty to call everybody a kid, because, let’s face it, none of us, have actually grown up. In numbers,  yes. So, how miserable is your life? Are you still cribbing about your job that pays you peanuts that you don’t even deserve or have you found a new reason? Isn’t finding new reasons to cry, to whine our favourite hobby? I meet people only to hear them about how our lives suck and how our life isn’t going anywhere and that we’re constantly aging having achieved nothing and how we have no clue what we love or want to do with our lives, but dear readers, will you, will you for the love of god, stop talking about things and start doing something about it? And it’s your life really, you might not want to do anything about it and find peace in cribbing your life away but next time, I hear you cry, I’d gently ask you to shut the fuck up. What one must realise is, they need to fight their own battles, and maybe the room they live in is small, maybe they have to get up 15 minutes early in the morning to catch the rickety bus, maybe their colleagues and bosses are jerks, but you cannot, cry all the fucking time, you need to grow up, help yourself and understand the fact that you cannot have everything your way, you need to live with things, deal with them alone, if you cannot live with them, do something to help yourself instead of whining. I’m sure you’ve had a pathetic past and bumpy relationships and ugly break ups but isn’t that what life is about? Falling and rising up every fucking time, I don’t even care how you deal with your shit but you cannot, talk to people about it, more than anything its so depressing. Everybody have a story, good, bad, ugly. Kids, you grow up when you’re man enough to deal with fuckeries of your life and stop making a big deal out of it. You’ll grow up when you know you did not get into a college because you did not study enough, you cannot get more than what you’ve worked for. It’s fair and that simple , so stop crying and comparing your life with others.  Life happens when you’re busy crying about things and before you know it, you become an epitome of mediocrity and lie cold in some grave, leaving nothing behind. Not even a name.  Stop kidding yourselves, kids.

Ciao,

You know who

Bangalore 2.1

Ssup minions?

I'm updating the blog after eternity now. I dont know why. All these months I've been trying to befriend this city, Bangalore and yet, I'm still a stranger, I still sometimes dont have a clue where I am or where I have to go. I know the ways, the routes, I know whats sold where, I know who lives where, I can now pronounce the names of the places here, just fine, funny but fine. I think I'm just okay now, not sad, not homesick, not depressed, I think Im ok, I can live with this city. But what is that one thing thats missing? What is that thing that still makes me feel like a stranger here? It's not home. Home is always Delhi. The city I grew up in, the city that has helped and abetted, becoming who I am today. Yes, the rape capital of India. To me, its just not home, its my entire life, the way I think, the way I look at things, I’m a reflection of where I was born and nurtured. I still hate Delhi for the people who reside there, the madness, the rush, the non existant civic sense,anyway, you know a funny thing? When I’m home, I wanna run away as far as I can and when I’m not, I just wanna go back, its like an atom trying to complete its octet, trying to gain its stability, you know what I mean? No? Ok. But this isn’t what I wanted to talk about, I wanted to talk about why, why on earth, have I not updated my blog, not that I have a huge readership or anything. So, here it is, all these days, kind gentlemen of the jury, all these days, I was busy cooking stories, trying to figure out plots, blowing sense into characters, but all in vain, I could not, for the life of me, finish any of those stories, none of them, absolutely none. I won’t give up of course but now I know what I need to work on, so not a really bad deal, is it? Ssup with you guys? Long time. 

Bangalore 2.0

Ssup people?

I’m writing this post after eternity, I don’t know why. All these days I was trying my hand at fiction and almost failed. So the new big thing is, I’m in Bangalore again. Yes, last time I was here and wrote a post about it, I offended some of you. It’s sad how nobody gets offended when I crib about Delhi. Anyway, you know the thing about freedom? It comes at a cost.  It’s sour, bitter, sweet and salty, all at the same time. The city hasn’t changed much, the same old trying to accommodate people, The same old rush, people running everywhere to achieve something, that they haven’t figured out yet, trying to make themselves believe that they’re busy, trying to distract themselves, trying to somehow fit in, ignoring the bigger picture, trying to become a rat like everybody else. I, ladies and gentlemen, am one of them. You know, paapi pet etc. In this short stay, I’ve messed up things, lost track of my expenditure, lost my valuables, loved being alone and simultaneously hated it, tried finding places to write, writing, I tell you is a very lonely job.  Despite all this, I’ve learnt very very important life lessons as well, I’m gonna list a few of them, just in case, you’re as hopeless as I am and life demands you to live alone.

• Unpack your stuff, fold it and put it in a wardrobe. Seriously. That’ll sort so much for you.

• Don’t wash whites and non-whites together, you’d end up wearing your favourite white shirt with a pink stain. Trust me, it’s not a pleasant feeling.

•  Stop being cool and listen to your mom.

• Wake up early on Sundays to get free space for drying clothes. So uncool, right? I know.

• No, things didn’t get expensive overnight right after you started earning, stop freaking out, put back that chocolate spread and take a jam instead, it’ll work just fine too.

• Stop whiling away time, do something that you like, something that overcompensates you being a rat. Something that’ll give you a good night’s sleep.

• Don’t skip meals, nobody cares if you don’t eat, you, on the other hand will be shit hungry in the middle of the night.

• Girls, don’t keep your ATM pins in your wallet, it’s stupid.

• You’ll be tempted to go home on a weekend,  you’d end up spending a bomb on the tickets and for the next one month or so, you’d have to cut down on your junk and settle for the free sambar rice, ok, I’m talking about myself. For the records, I hate sambar rice. You can outrage.

• Stop being cool and ask your folks’ sizes for the clothes you’re buying for them, it’s your hard earned money.

• Be flexible. People won’t take your shit unlike your folks. It’s a lonely world outside home, make space for yourself and stop believing you’re the centre of the earth. Nobody said it was gonna be easy.

• Stop kidding yourself, find a rich husband.

That’s all I guess.  There’s a long way to go. Until then, watch Kyuki Saas bhi kabhi bahu thi or try getting a life.

Ciao.

Of Aunties

Dear intelligent readers, oh, did I offend anybody?  Dolly Bindra? Anyway, I write this because I know aunties are an integral part of our fucked up culture and epitomise hypocrisy. It’ll be unfair to their community if we just ignore their huge bodies, pink lip colours and golden dupattas, I mean, don’t be so mean you, gaiz. An aunty is an evitable end to a girl’s existence, I mean, come to think of it, from the moment you realise you are a girl, you’re abjectly stereotyped, “oh, a woman? Can’t drive, I bet.” “Look, a woman, lets tell her shameless husband-wife jokes and how wives harass their husbands”, it’s funny? Ya? Maybe in 5BC, get over it already, you jerk.  “Woman? Oh, I can never understand them, they’re like the open books with white pages, there’s so much to them and nothing at all” fuck you man, cut the crap, there’s nothing so effing deep about women, they’re normal human beings. Finding hard to digest it? Take your time. Normal. Human. Beings. Yes. “When girls mean x, they mean y”, for the records, I mean “ok” when I say “ok”.  Then there are those mind numbing, suicidal 5 days every month when every girl wants to smack any and everybody in the range of 50 miles, there’s this fucking paroxysm of harmones, messing every part of her, do not, DO NOT mess with a woman for those 5 days, she’ll be like a naked wire, ready to burn you down alive. And do not tell me to calm the fuck down, I’ll cut you in two halves and show you what bleeding means. Yeah. So coming back, we, girls grow up with all of this shit and one day, despite being normal all our lives, we give in to society and their definition of a woman. Illogical, irrational and turn into hairy obese orange aunties. That, my friends, is an inevitable end.  I do not generalize as a rule, there are types, let’s see what all. Types of aunties.

Beta kaamwali aayi? Dude, what century are you living in? Even, Draupadi would know kaamwali aayi ya nahi. I mean, use the goddamn phone. The phone. The telephone. Yeah, the same device that you use to suck the life outta your husband and leak breaking news from a neighbour’s house to another. Call her. I have no fucking clue, kaamwali aayi ya nahi. Ok?

Pehchaana? Hum tab mile the jab tum apni maa ke pet mei thi “Oh, yeah, totally. I remember, we hit it off so well then, how  are you doing?” Seriously? Do you hear yourself talk? You might need a shrink, if you do.  Are you the fucking Prime Minister  the hot guy from the daily soap that I’ll bother to remember you? I don’t remember shit that happened yesterday. Also, you might wanna change your questions maybe? They’re all clichéd. Also, you must know, there is no obligation for a  small talk whatsoever, I’m totally cool if there’s nothing worth talking about. Are we on the same page?

Kitni badi hogayi ho Yah, I noticed that recently too, cool no? I mean I’m totally defying all the laws of nature. How on earth am I growing up?  Must be gods, I’m telling you.

Result aaya?  Then there are aunties who’ll only see you when they want spice in their lives. So, should I cook up a spicy story for you so you can direct speech it to Mrs Sharma or would you do it yourself? I’m sure you can.

The orange aunty She’s my favourite, I mean you can die of too much bling but if you can survive that, nothing like it. She’s an entertainment package, you’ll see her wrapped in orange something, with maroon lipstick and golden heels matched with a golden sequenced bag. She’s hell bent on defying her age. Her clothes can be used to teach optics to kids, you know refraction etcetera.

The obese, hairy aunty If you can manage to get her to wax, our mother earth can get rid of 200 pounds, if you know what I mean.  They’re the innocuous kinds, most often than not, they do not suck the life outta you.

Beta shaadi karlo Oh yeah? Your concern overwhelms me, seriously it does, I kid you not. But you know what? Mind. Your. Own. Fucking. Business.

Beta ghar aaya karo There! You said it, thank you for making my life miserable. Now my mother will be after my life to make me visit you. I mean stop pretending that you care about my existence, you just wana gossip with my mom while I sit there, hopelessly staring at the fan, trying to calculate the rotations per minute, because that’s more interesting than why-Mrs Sharma-didn’t-come-for-the-evening-stroll. Lets just ignore each others’existance? Shall we? Till the time of course I become one of you. Sigh.

That’s about it I think, can’t think of any more.  I’m sure there are more varieties. Of all shapes, sizes and colors. Let me know if you come across one.

Disclaimer: This post does not refer to any specific person, dead or living.  

Something wrong?

Definitely, yes. Something somewhere is wrong, very wrong, of course with me. If you know me, you'd know what I'm talking about. Past few days (maybe months) I feel like a cold corpse. As they say, there's no fire in my heart and clarity in my mind, there's nothing that makes me happy, nothing that I want to die for, I cannot crack my jokes. I cannot do not tweet and make shit attempts to sound cool, I cannot make  people friends laugh, or even strike a conversation. There's nothing I want to talk about, I've always struggled with small talk but I've seem to lost the ability to talk even with the best of my friends, who claim they understand my silence, do they? I don't. This, this helplessness is unacceptable. I need to figure it out, is it about moving to Bangalore, I dont think so. Is it because I keep unwell very often? Maybe. Is it because I havent been able to write of late? I've realized writing is about pushing your limits, of course you can write, give it your 200 percent, if you need to, writer's block is a farce. If writing defines your individuality, this is a small price to pay. Also, write what amuses you, not what amuses the readers, write for yourself. Coming back, I cant seem to remember words, events, memories, good or bad.I seem to be falling in an abyss, waiting to hit the land and start attempting to climb up again, at my own pace. Is it because I dont have a clue where my life is headed? Yes. I donno how to earn shit loads of money and spend it, without a second thought, on silly things, things that'll affect my life in no way, I'd buy them for no reason, I want that kind of money! I love nobody, or maybe I do, who cares. Sau baaton ki ek baat, next time you ask me to meet, please be informed that I cannot talk, its beyond me, I write because thats my karma, don't care shit about the world. Maybe its just another phase, maybe of course it'll pass, the question is when. I'm ready to hit the bottom, to climb up again. Till then, please bear with me. Like they say, This too shall pass.

On Relationships

Hello girls,

Wadup? How are your nails doing today? I’ve been quiet for a very very long time, because I believe in shutting the fuck up if I have nothing substantial to talk about of course, people don’t work that way, look around, got it? Anyway, coming back, are you flirting enough to get your quota of free drinks? Oh, and how are your guys doing? Petting them well? Cool. If your answer is a ‘No’, read along, others can navigate away or switch to the other tab, I fucking know what you’re watching. Girl, a survey revealed more than 87% guys and girls in our country spend most of their time in either chasing the girl or the guy or they’re busy fucking each other’s happiness. It’s a sad figure and a very sad state. Fuckers, get laid, fuck emotions and get busy in doing something that’ll make you proud, not your parents, not your dumbfuck relatives, make yourself proud (sidenote: Never do things for wrong reasons) when you nail that, you wouldn’t need anybody else to massage your ego.  There’s a very very important lesson that they probably forgot to teach in the schools, love yourself, fuck others. Even if you love the other person like Mayawati loves her fuckass dressing sense, draw a line.  You don’t want anybody to tell you what to wear and what not, not even your god.  You don’t want anybody to tell you who you can talk to, let no fucker tell you how to live your life, you are nobody’s property.  I know he says you’re-my-princess, but we all know he just wants to get laid, and its only fair and natural, please do not compromise your individuality for anybody. Please fight less, have sex more and do things what your heart says, without weighing them and for fuck’s sake, stop crying as if you just watched Rahul Mahajan embarrassing himself on a National Television coupled with a desperate attempt at humor with an ease with which Sherlyn Chopra posts her nude pictures. Do not pity yourself, you either repair the damage or end the relationship.  Respect yourself and the world will respect you. Don’t let your relationship be a blackhole, the one that sucks light outta your lives. Also, there’s nothing that can replace your peace of mind, let no Tom Dick or Harry play with it. Next time I see you crying, I’ll throw you in the women’s coach of Delhi Metro at 7pm on a Monday. You’ll be scarred for life, yes.

And fuckers, get laid.

Yours,

Lady Bla Bla