PG makes you feel like a spec of dust.

Post graduate education is like a pimple you get on your butt. It takes a long time to show what it truly is and it pains at the wrong moments- more when you’re trying to relax. It literally doesn’t let you sit in peace. ever. While all the professors (and some seniors) make it their life’s mission to make your life as miserable as they can and you tend to tip towards becoming a borderline alcoholic with issues of frustration, there are just a few things which let you breathe.
Food is my primary reason. Food is actually my primary reason for anything, actually. Sad? Cheese. Happy? Cake, cheese (as separate courses, of course) Angry? Biriyani- which reminds me- the biriyani here in Pune tastes like foot hair when compared to Calcutta’s aloo-heaven-melt-your-mouth biriyani.

Suji 100%

Hearts flying with pink sparkles all over

The second thing is my weekly trip to Mumbai. Although it isn’t really a weekly affair (See what I did there? weekly ‘affair’? No? Okay.) because I end up going there only twice a month, sometimes even lesser but it is how I count my weeks. I look forward to the three and half hour journey on recliner seats which I don’t recline because it hurts my back. I curse when the bus halts for no reason but commission at Maganlal Chikki for ten whole minutes when we could’ve just reached that many minutes earlier. Then again, just because it stops, I eat chikki (refer to primary reason listed above). Once in mumbai I am ensured  the primary reason for happiness. I digressed. Okay, I should really stop talking about food lest ‘someone’ feels slightly overshadowed.
I count my days till I can finally hug someone and feel at home. He is a sight for my sore, tired, almost-panda-like eyes. To have someone who will love looking at you even when he knows you haven’t showered in two days just because. It is relieving to have someone who will be selfless in his love because I get enough of the rat-race- competition bullshit on the weekdays.

 

Shine 100%

The lifeline minus one

Staying in a girl’s hostel is like walking on recently erupted, really mucky volcanic lava. everyone is on edge, either because of the blood flowing from in between their legs or because of the blood flowing  in their throbbing heads because of medical / dental school. It is tricky business, maneuvering your way through the various frustrations in different departments, add to that unwashed and unironed clothes that pile up. If we were to calculate the number of clothes we all have accumulated over a week’s time all over the world, it would probably almost match up to the number of stars in the galaxy. Pretty close.

I must work upon writing about the same thing for longer bouts. We have hundred mark essay answers in our final exams where we have to drone on and on about one topic for ten to twelve pages. I should master the art of staying focussed which I clearly need work on because I digressed again.

PG is like a race where no one wants to hurt you but almost everyone (save for your friends) ends up destroying your day. It’s a course that makes you realise your true potential to achieve either of the two- total bitchiness or zen-like nirvana and not give any fucks at all. Love and food and love for food keep me alive. and shoes. Please send either or all my way. Dominos, even though I’m not a fan of mass-manufactured pizza, is welcome as well, with a pitcher of chilled beer, please.

Image result for biryani arsalan

Just a photograph of one of the things that matter in life.

 

Honey.

Romance novels are birthday cake and life is often peanut butter and jelly. I think everyone should have lots of delicious novels, romance or otherwise, lying around for those times when the peanut butter of life gets stuck to the roof of your mouth.

This month, you are my cake and my peanut butter- what are the odds?

Here’s to reading to you as the last rays of a late afternoon flit through from under the curtains in your living room; the light gleaming off my fingers like honey- a tablespoon of it mixed in warm water every morning before breakfast and right after kissing you. Lemony lines cast rhomboid bar-codes on your floor, as I rest my head on your shoulders and sound alphabets that somehow string together to make words as beautiful as incandescent, ethereal, as beautiful your name. In the years that you weren’t there with me, I found photography. Sunlight lent such a softening edge to the world. It drenched everything in a warmish glow. With time, I mastered the art of not squinting when the sun shined directly in my eye. The trick is to stare long enough for your pupils to constrict so that you don’t tear up. So when you walked into my life again, against the sunlight and in your silhouetted glory, I knew how special this photograph would be. Time suspends itself when I am with you like dust particles against light. I notice and realise that the alternating light and dark lines of illumination on the floor of your room are only changing shape because the Earth, unlike time, hasn’t stop moving- just like my world; which has been spinning ever since we met for the first time several birthdays ago. You came into my life like the light streaming in through your windows that windy afternoon- a flamboyant guest, not waiting for an invitation- making itself welcome in a house that it is far too comfortable with. Like routine, the light scans for changes around the room and finds your familiar skin. Your chest moving up and down, with a rhythm that was immortalised in its memory. As it traced the edges around your shoulders the light reflected off my hair. Something different- this isn’t how she remembers you- and almost like a jealous lover, she hid behind the curtain for a while gauging my affection and earnestness for you. After a few minutes, a breeze billowed the curtain away from the window and coaxed Light in to your room again. A couple pigeons flew out. The ruffled noise of their wings made you stir as I turned to the next page. The light caressed my body like oil on water- touching but never mixing. It tip toed around you, careful not to let you in on the secret of the warmth that was radiating from within my body, careful to not make you aware of how I was taking her rightful place. You turned around to kiss me on my forehead and in that moment, time was infinite and the light, insignificant. I love you. How I wish that sentence would be a grammatically correct palindrome.

Happy Birthday, my love. I look forward to afternoons which last a lifetime and a life that is filled with lightness, dreams, fruit cream and blueberry discoveries.

IMG_20160226_181055 (2).jpg

Happiness in HDR.

Have you ever touched a butterfly? The touch in itself is magical; the sun shines brighter and time stops just for a brief moment- long enough to make you realise how beautiful life can be.
You make me feel the same way. Every time I touch you, there’s just a hint of gold dust left on my fingers. When I look at you sitting across the room- I know that I’ve found my magic.
I’ve only felt this happy once before and that was when I read Memory Keeper’s Daughter for the first time. The words metamorphosed into images and I could picture myself writing them in the future. And look, I’m using my words to let you know how absolutely elated you make me feel.
Words have always been the most inexhaustible source of magic for me and now, every time my body brushes past yours, I feel exhilarated- just like a magician after her first successful trick for an audience. I’m in love with you because you make me see the beauty around me that is beyond words and poetry.
You are becoming my magic.

image

It’s NBD.

I stared at a blank blogpost page for a while (actually half an hour), and came to the conclusion that I just wanted to write about one thing. Like anyone who’s recently started dating, I’m going to gush about how really frikkin’ awesome it is to be in a relationship where you actually get everything you want without asking for it. I mean- everything.

The sudden phone call in the middle of a busy day just to say he loves me? I gots that. Gifting me the book I’ve been thinking of buying but never got around to? Oh yeah. Knowing that I’d rather stay at home watching YouTube videos with him rather than go out? Yep, lazy bum reunion time! Taking me out for a dinner with just meat on the menu (oh, yes, that was a good date- so many types of meat with cheese and mayonnaise!)? He got dibs on the bathroom the next morning (no, don’t start ewwing)
Any healthy relationship discusses farts and potty. Discussing sharts, but, is probably tricky territory… but if you can do it, go for it!

I’ve always said that the most important thing for me in any relationship is happiness, and if that person doesn’t make me happy and I, him, then there is not much of a point staying together, miserably. I never thought that being in love would be so easy. For me, the idea of love was somehow always riddled with fights over silly things and ultimately settling for something (perhaps). BUT THIS PERSON MAKES IT SO EASY to love him. I do my bit too, in being my usual awesome self and make it super easy for him but oh my god, how amazing is this? (so amazing that it’s screwing with my grammar) To not have to try to please someone, where we can joke about babies and marriage and still not have the awkward shuffling of feet following it? It is surreal because I’ve always said the wrong thing at the wrong time and people just assumed I was trying to seed ideas into their heads. No, I usually don’t plan much in advance before saying something and he knows that. He’s the shizz. 😀
I usually write poetry or a prose with beautiful metaphors and I wish I could give the same to him. He deserves all my words, but he’s got to settle for a mediocre blog blabber with incorrect English… but all my heart in it. Heart trumps beautiful words, right? I send pretty nice Good Morning messages to him. No? Not enough? okayfinestopjudgingme. I actually want to write the best thing for him and I’m going to wait for it- for as long as it takes for me to write my masterpiece. Okay? Phew.

IMG_20160130_190837

Enough gaa-ing over the new man but whattodo? What would you do if you felt this happy? Cheers.

 

– detangled.

The sun shines out my bum

Dating people these days has become similar to fairy lights kept inside a glass bottle- they are nothing but pretend fireflies, trapped. Couples who start out in a relationship refrain from saying they love each other early on in the relationship (that is, if they even accept that they’re in a relationship in the first place). Why is saying ‘I love you’ such a huge deal? The influence of movies or F.R.I.E.N.D.S had a profound effect on what I thought relationships were like, when I was in school, and it might be the same for many others as well.

However, I’ve grown out of that idea. If I love you, I will say it uninhibited. When I feel like I love you, I’ll say it. When I want to let you know I feel like there is a bag full of butterflies waiting to explode out of my chest and there are no better words to express it, I’ll say it. When I see you work and you look adorable, I’ll say it. When we fight and I have nothing more to argue with, I’ll scream I love you.. because feeling love isn’t something I’ve been taught to hide or keep away. If I’m in a relationship with you, I’ll tell the world and galaxies beyond because that is how honest I will be. I am all encompassing when it comes to words and expression. The modern dating rituals baffle me and I don’t think I will ever understand them. I come from a belief where I hold letters and cheesy phrases in very high regard. I wouldn’t say I haven’t been a part of the modern romance, I have, and I realised that I couldn’t sustain it. I can sustain something only when I know it will withstand the trials of time, separation, arguments and come out stronger. I agree, it comes off as something utopic but if your wishes aren’t unreal then what else does one have?
I’m overboard with joy to have found someone who shares my vision of being together and I’m thankful too, since finding someone as understanding (and awesome) is not something that happens thrice in one lifetime. Yes, I meant thrice.
The fairy lights would be proudly decorated across the wall and he would still make me feel like the best darn glow worm in the world.

😀

image

Half of my heart.

I carry my heart not on my sleeve, but on my fingertips for the very simple reason that I feel things with them, just like I feel the love for you. They’re the first to go exploring around the unchartered territory of your mysterious self. They’re the ones who sense your muscles tighten when you’re not happy with how things went at work and they’re the ones that comfort you when I graze my hands through your hair. They’re the first to get burnt when I bake for you. They’re the ones who heal me. It is because of them that I can play the music you love. They help me write the words to sing. My fingertips are what you search for, in the middle of the night, to hold on to. So yes, I carry my heart on my fingertips; not so that it can bleed every time I prick myself when you give me roses, but because it is how I’ve learnt to love you.

If I ever sent you a voicemail, this would be it.

I almost miss the sound of your voice but know that the rain
outside my window will suffice for tonight.
I’m not drunk yet, but we haven’t spoken in months now
and I wanted to tell you that someone threw a bouquet of roses
in the trash bin on the corner of my street, and I wanted to cry
because, because —
well,
you know exactly why.
And, I guess I’m calling because only you understand
how that would break my heart.

I’m running out of things to say. My gas is running on empty.
I’ve stopped stealing pages out of poetry books, but last week I pocketed a thesaurus
and looked for synonyms for you but could only find rain and more rain
and a thunderstorm that sounded like glass, like crystal, like an orchestra.
I wanted to tell you that I’m not afraid of being moved anymore;
Not afraid of this heart packing up its things and flying transcontinental
with only a wool coat and a pocket with a folded-up address inside.
I’ve saved up enough money to disappear.
I know you never thought the day would come.

Do you remember when we said goodbye and promised that
it was only for then? It’s been years since I last saw you, years
since we last have spoken.
Sometimes, it gets quiet enough that I can hear the cicadas rubbing their thighs
against each other’s.
I’ve forgotten almost everything about you already, except that
your skin was soft, like the belly of a peach, and
how you would laugh,
making fun of me for the way I pronounced almonds
like I was falling in love
with language.

– Shinji Moon

image

When you love a boy who doesn’t love you back

When you think you love a boy who doesn’t love you back
retrace your steps to the first time you met him
realize that it was you who extended your hand to solar flame and introduced yourself
you wore a smile so fearless that he could do nothing but stare
notice that his blank expression just blanketed his wonder
you have intrigued him from the very beginning
but he was never looking for you
remember how you called him out on his bullshit
said “don’t act like you don’t know me, we have a class together”
with so much confidence
that he recognized your voice before your body
he almost saw the woman in you
see, you’ve caught him looking in your direction a dozen times
always wondered why he never saw the green light in your eyes
he approaches everything with caution
his heart, an octagonal stop sign
but you’ve never been one for traffic signals
or geometry
you’ve run your share of red lights
and believe that hearts are shaped beautifully even when they’re broken
realize in that moment
that his heart was never yours for the taking
but you’re not a thief or a villain
or a superhero
the red cape was always a little too big for your shoulders anyway
and he never wanted saving
when you think you love a boy who does not love you back
retrace your steps to the first time you had sex with him
realize that euphoria can never be trusted, after all she’s just temporary
you found yourself
laying in your own loneliness until the sun gave you permission to walk home
remember how badly you wanted to let the tears fall…baby girl you could have started the healing process early
when he doesn’t text you back but still does weird shit like watch all your snapchats
don’t take it personally
your voice still scares the shit out of him
when you think you love a boy who doesn’t love you back
overthink everything because hopefully at some point you’ll just stop thinking
in fact close your eyes and let the relationship project itself like a motion picture across the insides
of your eyelids
I promise, it’ll help you see clearly
trust your instincts
you’ve never been one to love someone who does not love you back
remember the first night he let his guard down and stayed over
how you curled your body into his and interlocked fingers like you interlocked minds
remember how fucking somehow started to feel a lot more like loving
because he actually kissed you back this time
remember his night of surrender
when he not only let you see his scars but feel how he got them
how his eyes welled up tears and you just held him
remember how he told you that everyone sees his superman
but no one recognizes clark kent,
that all that flying away when you want him most
was his own fear of being grounded
that that green light in your eyes might have just been his kryptonite
you realize that it is he who wears the red cape
because all he’s ever known is saving himself
and you’ve forgotten about yourself completely
until he’s gone, moved to another city
and you’re left overthinking yet again
when you think you love a boy who does not love you back
stop thinking
trust your instincts,
he loves you back.

– From ‘MissFit Pages’ on Tumblr

Musings and the lot.

I’ve realised that I’m afraid of making memories by association. For instance, I haven’t yet told any guy about the song I want to dance to with him for fear of the simple fact that one day we might end up dancing to the song, thus making a memory that will last a lifetime (such is my memory) and the next day, we might break up; hence, leaving one of my favourite songs with a bitter aftertaste. For instance, if I ever do get a tattoo it will be on a day I go to the parlour alone and get it done without informing a soul, so that its permanence is not marred by anything unpleasant that may happen. For instance, I haven’t kissed on any New Year’s midnight despite having the opportunity to do so, because that’s something I want to be kept special for someone who is worth getting it ruined for for good (probably not the right word)

At the same time, and I know I’ll get a lot of flak for saying this, I enjoy making memories.
I’ll fly down to surprise you and shower you with gifts because I don’t remember the dates on the calender that well and the memory will remain without any concrete repeptive evidence. I’ll sing you songs that I wouldn’t remember singing. I’ll love you like there’s no tomorrow and rightly so, because what if there isn’t? I’d rather make a new memory with you than repeat something you have done with the rest in the past. Being a first was important to me but with age and time, it’s proving more and more difficult to be a first at anything personal, because everyone wants the same. So, I probably settle for being the last at everything.. but last at everything with you. (And I use the word you as a generic term, for friends and the SO). I’ve realised that being the last one is more special than being the first one. Imagine being the last person I think of before sleeping each night. 🙂

If I do anything permanent with anyone nowadays, it isn’t to just make a memory, it is to trust that the person will not leave me. Departure has a huge significance in my life. I’m not upset about it, in fact, I’m quite used to it by now. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had to bid goodbye to my friends because of my father’s transferable job (and Facebook or Gmail wasn’t a thing back then). Goodbyes are difficult, I wouldn’t disagree, but I’ve gradually grown used to moving away from people so much so that I’ve stopped trying to make anything permanent with someone important who shows even an inkling of leaving me.

What if someone does end up kissing me on new year’s and then leaves? I’d probably go in a new year’s kissing spree to make it mundane and then it wouldn’t matter anymore. I’d desensitise myself from the thrill of it and all will be hunky dory again. Right? Right?

While I have the strongest yearning to spend my time with people I love, I am filled with the fear of losing them, so I stay aloof. This may seem like a redundant and stupid thing to do for self preservation but all I do is hold them less tightly than I should so that they’re free to do what they want without having to think twice about hurting me. Saves everyone the trouble. Does it really, though? I hold them so dearly in my heart. I do! I’m not scared of a commitment, I’m scared of an ending and thus, never end up committing. I want permanence but end up fleeing at the first chance I get. I probably need to be tied up and be asked to shut up and not think so much but I asked like this, I think and therefore, that is exactly why I am.

The most permanent thing I’ve ever done is to put up my relationship status online which majorly backfired, haha. So that’s that. Oh, and I made pancakes for someone, a friend. That’s permanent because nothing is more permanent than food.

Enough now.
Love, love. x

Bake the cake and eat it.

Too much to ask, is it?
To want to know
How he looks when
He concentrates,
He scribbles,
He sleeps,

What does he do
While deciding what to wear
Or what to order as dinner.

Too much to ask, I know.
To want to know
How he sighs,
Yawns, smirks,
Dances, dreams.
Drives.

How he moves when he
Holds a pen,
Holds my hand (?)
Holds the door open,
Holds me when I fall (?)
Holds a puppy,
Holds me.

All I want is

A touch.
The whiff of perfume.
His feet around mine
Under the table,
Or even on the bed.
..on the unmade bed.

A whisper.
Two words.
The feel of his silk tie
Around my wrists,
Or against my feet.
..my quivering feet.

Too much to ask,  too fucking much.