Serendipity of Nonsense

I've been thinking, about nothing in particular however everything in general. The outlook is rather grim, for some reason. I'm not very clear as to what that reason is. I suspect it is because of self indulgence than any concrete malady. So, now I obviously have to over-analyse it. Goodness, this blog must be the most mixed up collection of pap in the world. Maybe not. Let's not be presumptuous this early in the night. I almost never blog in the morning. That's because I'm almost never up. That doesn't mean that I can't, does it? Sorrow, pain, misery.  It has some sort of strange glamour attached to it. The songs that touch us the most are the ones that speak of loss and unrequited emotions. They speak of what could have been. I've heard people talk of migraines as if just the act of suffering a migraine is one of martyrdom that somehow makes them deeper, more intense people. I suffer from it. I used to think it makes me superior to others. Ta...

I love this time of the year because the air feels like silk over your skin. The wind still retains a little bite and the nights are perfect for long-winded stories, remembrances of a softer time. This time of the year has always been amazing, because there always was a book to be finished in the sweet sun gazing through the curtains, exams to be done away with and meeting friends again. There always was the first smell of mud and then of the spring lilies.  I remember my mother being good with plants. Putting down new roots, adding here, pruning there. Organic fertiliser, and lots of love. Chrysanthemums and snowballs, forget-me-nots and dahlias, gladioli and daisies. Home grown tomatoes and mint leaves, flat beans from the garden in the balcony. Fragrance in spring; sharp and piquant, mellow and soothing. Bursts of color amidst seas of green, celebrating life in the only way that mattered. Life turned brown for so long in between that I stopped looking for spring. The s...

"Sorry Madam, we don't open before 11 a.m" "But you are open. Already." "We cannot serve you before eleven" "I will die" Not many customers say these three words to a coffee shop counter person. That day she made an exception. And also the Cappuccino. While making a mental note to hide under the counter, the next time she sees this crazy girl walk-in.  Getting a coffee shop to start operating earlier than they should and shut later than they should, is one of my talents. I cultivate it.  Addiction teaches you many a things.  Not only am I an addict. I am a fussy addict.  It has to be a cappuccino. It has to be in a takeaway cup, extra hot, lot of froth. I want my opium designed to my specifications. If the froth and fragrance are right, normalcy sets in. Else, god help. :) Too many people have taken the pain for me. I want to kiss all their hands. Like the guys in the coffee shop at the tinsel tow...

A hiatus of almost 4 months and I finally had to give in to publish this post! Better, call it clicking the "publish' button at a gun-point. At this moment, I have 153 posts in the draft section. Thank heavens for Blogger to include such stuff. And why I decided to publish this is not-so-a-random reason. A was bored. He wanted to read something from my blog. So I got extremely annoying calls and texts from him until I decided to give in and publish it. Also, H for being so sweet she is told me I should be writing so as to let off my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder for calling up random people at random times and forcing them to talk to me. Add to that, she mentioned she needed a reason to get online and read something, now that she got a LIFE after deactivating her Facebook account. Few urges and I am good to go. Oh yes! I am that gullible. Say yay!! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------...

This morning I was in Delhi, now I am not. Tomorrow I won't be waking up to a radio alarm, an impromptu conversation with the colleague(who goes to work at 8! and calls me) and crying out for the morning coffee with my eyes still shut!    Wrapping up four months of work and life in a few boxes has been tough. And I am not going to mention how many boxes. Coming back to the prohibited state marks an end to my stint at Fashion Journalism. Rise for Two minutes of silence. Okay! It is time for something new again! Do i sound bored? Yes! Well, I have no answer to the "Whats next" question. My mom tried and then called quits. So bear with me. To tell you, I am a round the clock cribber. I cribbed of work. I whined of eleven hour schedules. I cried when had to go to work with a hangover. There was a moment when I cribbed on having to travel to Mumbai every week. I cried of not having enough time on hand. Not being able to meet my friends. Not being able t...

I wanted to tell you that how my life is full of random moments. Why? because it's a better thing to start than saying "yes! I am back again" Yet again .  Well, it doesn't take the wits of a rocket scientist to figure out that this blog has been dysfunctional for quite some time now - very much close to FIVE months. And I have no idea why did I stop scribbling on this blog and when? It just happened. Like falling out of love. Somewhere it felt like a chore and I grudgingly dragged my feet along. all so much so that I did keep up the charade of constantly reminding myself that such a space existed and my regular readers (yes! you can laugh to that) would be missing me. With time, washed away many disillusions, for no one actually missed my constant banter.  That is what pushed this space into an existential crisis and I had no time to figure out answer to any of the questions it asked.  Now that I have explained well about my absence, does this cou...

To the guy who gave me Nickleback's "Figured You Out" because he thought it'd help me cope with a broken heart (it did) To the guy who introduced me to Terry Pratchett, saw bad student films, ate good student desserts and watched fireworks with me on Marine Drive to help me get over another guy To the guy who convinced me to apply for the Rhodes' scholarship, who put the worm of book-writing in my head and who didn't mind that I was crazy. To the guy who loved smelling my hair, who cooked for me and didn't mind that I cried on our second date To the guy who gave me what I asked for, when I needed it the most To the guy who liked me but doesn't mind staying friends To the guy who calls and talks nonsense and doesn't expect me to do the same To the guy who flirts and compliments and lifts my mood and my ego on a daily basis To the guy who thinks I should stay sarcastic and not give a fuck about what others think To the guy who pursu...

I confess I am not a man hater. I surely am not; and I have references to prove that. But, I am jealous of men.  I surely am. Of the many things for which I'm jealous of men ( lack of fear of cellulite, capacity for alcohol, ability to travel anywhere anyhow, guaranteed orgasms, license for immaturity, capacity to burp anywhere and so on) the one that gets my goat vote is the way they handle their friendships.  It doesn’t take much for two guys to be friends. A beer, a shared passion for a game or loyalty to a particular team, similar music tastes, whatever. For men, a friend could be the guy they drink with, smoke with, bitch about women with, watch a game with, play a game with, do lame-ass shit with, and even borrow shit from.   Piggy once told me while returning from I-Rock one evening, her guy friend had stopped a random stranger smoking a joint and asked for a drag. And eventually got one. With the directions on where he could score good s...

               An avowal of all the beeeeeeeeeeeeeg events of my life was the sole purpose of this blog, but somewhere along the way the 'big' got replaced by erratic and random, and then further down, the word 'events' pretty much got lost in its own self. The loss of the word 'events' was made clearer with my intense need to reiterate the fact that my life was getting dull, duller than Dr.Phil on a rainy day. So I was pretty much left with 'erratic' and 'random', which I have been using to their full advantage, as you'd know if you have been around here awhile. But those of you who haven't, yes, I love to call myself  ' nonsense ' and yes, randomly droning on absolutely nothing at all is something I do with great pride. But I veer away (as usual). I am back here, rather surprisingly because lately the idea of the blog being left untouched is better than having something to write about. I hereby announce that I am almos...

All my life no words could have rung truer than when Carrie Bradshaw sleepily announced,"But I rationalized that my new shoes shouldn't be punished just because I can't budget." unquote UO Red Ballerina Flats  Beer bellied men buy real estates, the MBA victims spend on mutual funds, S.P Tulsian and market incarnations alike tend to imbue in other's hard earned money, most Indian women buy jewelery, the boy next door sinks in his packet of chips and the young man endows in his present date.  I buy shoes. Well, I invest in shoes. ahem! sounds better now. My hard earned allowance. My choice. But not in the very responsible and economic way of buying shoes. I just sometimes, by very unfortunate luck miss being able to afford food. But what the heck! the tacky  Gallianos' I have a closet full of uncomfortable heels and soles that can put up an unfair competition to  J'Lo;s wig collection . And I do not even let my mother throw them ...

Its funny how its becoming a sore chore to put things up here. Spilling out paragraphs of utter nonsense is not as easy as it sounds. And hell NO! I am not dead yet, although i very much would love to be. - - - - - - On the contrary, that sounds suicidal, so just hold on. I am not dead yet.

What would have happened if I had not met you? I would not have lied about things that did not happen. I wouldn't have to think how I could be better than the ex. I would not have wished for more. Not having the feeling of being deprived of the love I deserve. Not ignoring my friends for someone like you. No feeling humiliated when I was told I was regretted. No breaking of hearts. No waiting for call every single night. No talking of my male friends under hushed wooden ceiling. No thoughts about I am wrong but I still have to go on. No falling in love every moment I saw you. No tear stains on the pillow. No craving for sound sleep. What did happen when I actually met you? The only point I remember now is the pain . Never again. "If anyone who happen to glance through or just stumble upon accidentally on this blog, please do leave a comment and make my day."

An ode. Because they deserve much more. There are wonderful people in this world. And you are quite lucky if they are around. They are God's apology for not making better relatives. I am lucky enough to have them around. I have such wonderful and sometimes pain-in-the-neck friends.  Because they tell the ex-boyfriends - Dude, stop messing up. She is way over you by now. (even if the break up happened last night) Because they tell the present one- Better watch out. One mistake; your ass our whip. No goofing around. Because when they turn to you they say- Chic, stop whining over him. Get up. Get a life. They send you birthday cards when your birthday is 5 months away.  They send bunch of roses anonymously to your hostel just to make you secretly happy. That unfortunately are thrown away anyways. No worries. They drive all the way down to the laundry to pick the outfit you wish to wear for the date tonight. They threaten to unsubscribe from...

My Dida (read:grandma) and Ma were having major gripes ever since I disappeared one Saturday afternoon ages ago and got my traces cut "all by myself". And I entered the house with such a show and pomp with my new short haircut and red highlights(which any human with normal vision could not even see). But my mother being her, actually claimed that all my hair has gone red, and that I was a 'red-head'.  Ever since then every time I get a haircut, I lose interest in the first one week and I die to get another one, despite the sucking hair growth since the last 4 years.  There were times I would get tummy twangs watching my hair grow and would run for a haircut every 15 days. I still crib about having a haircut every month, thankfully my roommate successfully can hold me back. Now thats the Quirky me! Cut to dida and Ma:  Anything that happens, my recent haircut is blamed. Even if I get a toothache, they manage to find ways to connect to...

 have been away for a long time.  All my attempts to start NabloPaMo for the last 2 months have been crushed by my own laziness. I penned down 5 stories and a few poems, but nothing came up on the blog. The paper napkin at CCD has more patience than this blog. Grrr, and like all those relations where you get back no matter how worthless they are, I come back to this blog each day, to read and to think "wish I could write like them" *Ahh! Sigh* And my poor blog is now stinking like the rotten egg, with nothing new. Uggghhh!! did I say that out loud? If you have not noticed I have taken the pains in changing the template a bit. Meanwhile I read hundreds of post on others' blogs. I have developed this R.F.P syndrome.  Reading First Post syndrome , I cannot sit still unless I dig into the first post written on every blog that I go through. I love reading how the blog was started, what was the reason of its coming to existence. Its my marijuana since the last few mont...

I apologize for the long hiatus from the deepest and farthest corner of my heart, where the blood is gushing from lower ventricle to upper ventricle, with a deep sense of guilt and regret to all my readers (if there are any :p). I am sorry to have gone into hibernation without any prior notice. I know this was a huge phase and it waas verry enlightening for me and my environment. I fell in love, with myself, with my life!  I sang in love, my heart bungee jumped in love, I drank in love, I wrote in love, and I lived in love! I did everything that was ought to be done in love and best part : I still am doing it! I am finally out of the horrible disease called the writer's block, and I found my writing genes hidden beneath the cracks of the tectonic plates. I have a bunch of happenings, which are horribly funny and highly indigestible. So, meherban, and mere jaise kuch Shaitaan....Hold your heart, for Nonsense plans to come back! 

Whoaah!! I kept my promise. Back on the 7th day since the last time I wrote. But this time its not the love to write something that got me here, its a shhhhh... issue. An issue which was nice enough when it was hidden it the dark alleyways but now its become public. My reader's feed dropped down to 5! Oh mi god, I cannot take it anymore. When I started off in 2006, i had 67 readers on an average day, it dropped to 30 in March-May'2010, and now its 5! FIVE! I should jump off in a pool of guilt stricken oil.  As I think about this, the song on my playlist changes to " When I Grow Up " and marne ka plan cancel.  Remember 2008, Pussycat Dolls , their first single. Rack your brains if you didn't get it yet. How hey made regular appearances on the MTV shaking their booties and crooning "When I grow up, I wanna be famous", yay!  The song itself is totally PCD (pussy cat dolls), bimbotic, neither jam nor a particular alternative one, just...

"Strange stuffs happen all around you, and only if you had that one moment to stop and notice it.....then whaatt , you'd be a BLOGGER then" :p Yesterday the age old question again popped up from an oh-so-handsome(wish he didn't have a girlfriend) guy sitting opposite to me in the Jamnagar-Surat Intercity Express, (Indian Railways should give me discount coupons now!), while his girlfriend sat beside him grumbling about the quality of air-conditioning in Indian trains and the lousy platform junk food (do not blame me, it was her! I love having bhajiyas at the baroda station when I am travelling with my roommate or someone else).               Alright, here i wander away again. That is my new 'beemaarri'. I start with something, i drift away to something and end up with something else which has nearly no connection with what i started with. My friend Arihant thinks I need to consult a ...