Friday, July 31, 2009


Temporary or permanent?

Yesterday or today?

Direction or deflection?

Lucky or lonely?

Here or there?

Hug or kiss?

XX or XY?

Original or ditto?

Stay or stray?

Sunshine or shade?

Bed or kitchen platform?

Hughes or Plath?

Capitalist or photographer?

Two or three?

Pixels or paint?

3rd date or 50th anniversary?

Indian or French?

Silk or chiffon?

Apples or oranges?

Husband or lover?

Wife or hooker?

23 years old or 3 ?

Inside or outside?

Now or never?

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Pink, Purple & Blurred

I will never stop loving you, neon lights in motion blur.

Except when you turn pink, purple and orange and make me long for New York.

And pine.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

To, Daddy


The first giant whose shoulders I stood on,

And the one who has scared me… never!

The one who suggested I should seriously consider riding his Enfield,

And who bandaged my wound and then said, ‘Girls don’t cry’

The one who called his cardiac arrest a ‘heartbreak’,

And worried about my Biology paper as he checked into an OT.

The one who can do a perfect headstand at sixty,

And who constantly tells me to “Wear some more clothes, please!”

The one who still sends me away with chocolates,

And who greets me with a ‘Hi Munni’ phone call everyday at lunchtime.

The one who’s started listening to new music so that he can experience all the ‘fuss’ about Frog,

And the one who’s crazy about Hitchcock and Simon and Garfunkel.

The one who wrote me letters when I was 4 years old,

And told me Tarzan(who lived in the tree opposite my house) missed me.

The one who gave me my first ever ‘I am Sorry’ card,

And allowed me to quit piano lessons after my tiny hands refused to jump octaves fast enough.

The one who collected shells with my sister and flint stones with me,

And who skillfully and painlessly pulled out my dangly milk teeth so that I’d stop scaring people with them.

The one who argued with Mrs.Pathan the day she caned my six year old bum,

And who told me he’d home school me if Mrs.Das threw me out of Chemistry.

The one who made us prawn sandwiches everyday when we got back from school,

And hid in the balcony to eat all the cholesterol laden jalebis and mithaees in the dark.

The one who thinks men who make music with their mouths(read:Bauchklang) are crass,

And who tells me stories of African safaris and English breakfasts every now and then.

The one who raised me like a boy, and made me my own tool box,

And a major chunk of whose life was spent taking us to table tennis, swimming and athletics practice.

The one who laughed off all the complaints at PTA meetings,

But came home, begged and then bribed me to stop talking in class ‘For God’s Sake’.

The one who threatened to send me to boarding school every time we spotted one,

But cried the day I moved away from home.

To the man who will never fail to cheer me up,

And to the man who people are going to have great difficulty matching up to.

Here’s to you, Daddy,

Celebrating exactly ten years of zero cardiac trouble!

*Addendum: The man who told me get plasic surgery done when he saw one of my tattoos, And who's blisfully unaware about the few others.

Thursday, July 23, 2009


I had a 'ghastly' look on my face when I saw this. . .

This man will stop at nothing!
I mean, after all the weeping by the river and the prodding readers to wallow in self pity, wasn't 'The Alchemist' a slow death enough?
Why is he attacking our clothes now?
Will you stop smothering us already, Paulo Coelho!

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

My Big Fat Teacup

I'm at home.
There's a storm inside.
There's a storm outside.

I need another Teacup.
No wait, I'd much rather get myself a raincoat.

Monday, July 13, 2009

I blame my sister…

Why didn’t she stay over at a boy’s house for New Year party or turn vegetarian or get a tattoo after being told not to?
I wish she’d have at least thought about these things.

It would’ve prepared my parents, exhausted the wagging tongues and made my life so much easier!

Oh blah! She's so golden.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Postcard to London

My dear London,

Please stop flinging your men in my face.

You’ve taken them from teenagers to gentlemen, from frail to broad shouldered, from bald to curly, from intellectual property to oil.

You’re sending them back with manners, courage, respect, chivalry, empathy and a certain gentilesse that is hard to fathom.

You’re teaching them about there and here, and distance and people, the past that was, and the present that is.

You’re making them smile more, talk less, fly more, walk less and in some cases promise more, act less. But there are always exceptions to every rule, so I’ll let that last bit pass.

Basically, to cut a long letter short, you’re pretty much turning them into smashingly charming pied pipers!

I think you’re doing a groundbreaking job, but before any more of them stab me with their charisma and send me into a tingling nostalgia, I beg you, please stop sending them my way! Or… nurture them like you nurture all your other dirty English folk, those crass, foul mouthed wrecks.

Please. This is a sincere request. I hope you can empathise.

Yours helplessly.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


You know,
When you are no longer called, a three letter word,
When your five letter someone, finds everything absurd,
When the voices you do, start seeming strange,
When nobody laughs at pitch and reverb, squirmed into vocal range,
When you have to think about who next to entertain,
When you shoot down your main audience, and stand to lose your game,
When mails are peppered with a polite ‘Thank You’,
When you over use a pleasant emoticon, you forcibly drew,
When you think so much, but do so little,
When you dejectedly accept, a thought so nimble,
When you head home after work, without a second thought,
When you finally have that something, that you so desperately sought,
You know.

You finally know.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009


One day you will think about it again,

And realize that you haven’t thought about it in a while.

And it will surprise you. And perhaps you'll smile.

Because, you will always get what you want,
the minute you stop trying.

*Thanks Hugh MacLeod for 'A plague of Happy Memories'

Friday, July 3, 2009

Trust your gut.

The first thirty seconds of your interaction with any place, objects or person are enough for you to know about whether or not you’re going to stay with it/them.

It’s an unchanging process.
You interact, your gut relays a message to your brain, you ignore.

In the case where the vibe is good, clear, all positive, it’s fine. You have no reason to think twice.
In the case where the vibe isn’t that great, this is what will happen.
You’ll be coerced into interaction. Over a span of time, you’ll assume that you may have judged too soon and that these things aren’t as bad as you first thought them to be.
And over some more time, you’ll be presented with more interaction and there will be more things, good and bad, that you will discover. Every time you find something bad, the scale will tip over to a minus fifty and every time you find something good, it’ll tip back to zero.

The critical time comes when you have to choose between 2 entities, one being what you already have and the other, an unexplored possibility.
You will almost always choose the unexplored possibility.
Because, you know enough about this one to know you don’t want to stay with it.
Because you know nothing about the other one, but feel it may be more promising than what you have.
Because, truly and really, you don’t want what you have.
And thus, you have found reasons to move away from it.

Our gut always talks. We just never listen.

Thursday, July 2, 2009


It’s Nut Cracker Corp., you idiot!
Not Nut Cracker Crop.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

'Pygmy' Love

What else can I do?
I wrote you.
I’ve tweeted to you.
I’ve been loyal to you.
I’ve joined The Cult for you.
And gone to great lengths to fit in with your ever expanding family.
I’ve done everything I possibly could.

So, why don’t you please come and read to me, Chuck Palahniuk?