Serendipity of Nonsense

She was three and a half, very much aware of her surrounding with extremely awakened senses. That of the aromas of her grandmother's meticulous kitchen to her mother's extremely disorganised minimalist urban kitchen. She wouldn't touch the toddler-appropriate food the mother hastily would try make before she left for work. No! That wouldn't work. It had to be elaborate.  The only way the parents could get her to eat happily was if they fed her food that she had learnt to like. It started with glazed-carrots and tiny nibble-sized tea-cakes. So there were glazed-carrots every day for six months on the menu. The parents had to eat whatever she ate. Please feel sorry for them! Over the years, however, the items in list of comfort food increased, much to the mother's relief. It started with Dida's ‘paayesh’ and the father's extremely elaborate Sunday chicken curry rice with potatoes.  Every day, the food situation was a thing that had to be planned and ...

Nostalgia is an odd thing. It garbles your hindsight and does weird things to your mind's eye. So that no matter how heinous a time you've had back in the sulky past, all you remember is a warm glow of contentment, bathed in a soft golden-yellow twilight.  Look at the past through sepia-tinted glasses and you don't see the jagged edges that ripped your emotions back then. You don't hear the false notes that ran fingernails down the chalkboard of your soul. You start forgiving people for minor personality flaws. All you remember is the good times, the cheer, the frolic. You remember how this one time, so-and-so said this-and-that to whats her name and how you all laughed together. You remember that prank you guys played on Professor A, how that one and this one were caught and oh, the times you all passed out shit-faced after a night of binge studying. Good times, good times, you think. The problem is that nostalgia is a lot like alcohol. It can only make...

He’d hoped for a perfect day Of dirty shoes and a long walk While she had made plans To drink coffee and talk He sat behind the curtain Altered by the sugar Took questions one by one Without a perfect answer He almost never had one She whimpered on Walking about restlessly Without any footwear on He had nothing to ask But the one that made her shudder It wasn’t her love for dogs But why she sang in the shower

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...

   Yes! apart from my last post I have not been writing. Because I have been thinking. It is a very very nasty habit I picked up recently while working on the college magazine.        I being perversely introspective, do not use my grey matter to ponder over the Big Bang theory or the origins of The God Particle. Instead, I spend my time thinking about what would I do after two months. I have to leave this tinsel town. Leave all the friends I have here. I can crib about this tinsel town, but it has grown into me. Well the other day, over cups of countless expresso shots and cappucinos, my friend and fellow left-hander, whom I shall call Dilbert, told me one basic thing about men, "We are all commitment-phobes when you think it's actual LOVE." Well, he said that pretty casually and in turn his girl actually hit him with her new, new clutch. I pity that piece of stitched cloth and sequins.. "Unless the girl pushes us, we'd be perfectly happy ...

Has the kind of music you dive into, ever changed your world in any way? Have you ever ever thought harder or felt stronger after your favourite lines? Have you ever been left with cold feet, weak knees, a pounding heart or a dazed expression? Has the music ever entered your ears and then taken a short-cut directly into your soul without stopping to bother your head or heart? Or has it ever taken involuntary control of your body like a polite note? How would have life been if you had never heard of  "Kashmir", "Smoke on the water", "Pyar hamein kis mod pe", or "Wish you were here"? Can you remember the time when you did not really know the words "Fade to Black" or even "I am the highway"? How about those time when a song made you sit up and proclaim, "Hey! I know that feeling and that's exactly how it feels!"? Do you remember your first song dedication and the reaction it caused? Do you recall ever b...