Thursday, July 21, 2011


He came into this world
A little bundle of joy
He looked around impatiently
And waited for her to join

She came into this world
Farther this world round
She basked in his love
And waited to be found

They grew up in two corners
Knowing deep in their hearts
They were meant to be together
Existing far apart

Somehow they always knew
Somewhere they were meant to be
But in the name of growing up
Mature was he, and she

Years passed and so did dreams
Of destiny love and fate
They chanced upon each other
Too little, too late

Why did you take so long? She asked
Where were you when I cried?
I was waiting for you right here, he said
Waiting the entire time

Why didn’t you wait for me? He asked
Why did you give up?
You were a figment of my imagination, she said
It was time to grow up

As fate shone down upon them
Victims of their own belief
This world claimed many a cynics
And drowned them in its grief

But two souls brought into this world
Meant to be, meant to be
Lost faith and yet found each other
And made their own destiny.

Sunday, July 17, 2011


There’s no other word for it. Because I can’t describe it. I just can’t. I’m feeling something, I don’t know if it’s an overload of something, or a void, suddenly cracked open, left for me to leak out of slowly, undetectable, unavoidable…
So here I am, using my blog for what it does best, to think. Here are the thoughts in my head, right now, at this very moment, and in the few moments that have led up to this moment:
Are you a hypocrite, if you have spent your entire life rebelling against control, and suddenly not only willingly succumb to it, accept it, but ask for it?
Is hypocrisy bad?
If your priorities change in life, is it really that big a deal? Have you changed as a person? Or have you finally grown up?
The small brown round things in my oregano, are they some kind of seed, or dead bugs?
How long have they been in there?
Would it really have been so difficult to have spotted them before I polished off my generously garnished meal?
Why did I choke on my medicine?
Why do I find it impossible to hold down a thermometer using my tongue?
Why did I break the thermometer?
Why does something as poisonous as mercury look oh-so-pretty on the bathroom floor?
Why did the last five thoughts and events occur in a span of five minutes?
What has the maid been using to cook, when there seems to be no cooking oil in the house?
Why do I suddenly feel emotions? Why do I like it?
Why am I so happy? Then why do I feel so sad?
Why am I suddenly homesick?
Why does the ship feel lost without its Captain, even if it has been safely anchored?
Why do I actually know the answer to each of the above asked questions, and yet, still ask?

Thursday, July 14, 2011

This post does not have a title because I am sad and have an attention span of a nitwit

I cannot remember the last time I wrote a cohesive story, and hence I am sad.
Actually, that’s not true. I’m in general sad, not necessarily because of the lack of ability to weave a lie.
Actually, I’m not sad. Just Blah.
Not too blah though. I cooked yesterday. And I’m still alive. So technically I should be looking at this world as a second chance at life right now, no?
Ooh…raindrops! For a moment there, I thought I’d never feel you splash on my face again. And again. And bloody hell, again.
Ok, so I realised I’m reading too many random blogs nowadays. Do you have any idea the huge number of blogs that become popular just because they write small random un-intelligent things which apparently the world’s population identifies with and replies in tiny witty comments to as well? The amount of pressure to make sure your opinion is funny is enough to fry the crap out of you. And you spend your day wondering what’s so awesome about that writing. And then you can’t write.
So I think I need to restrict my reading and stop reading blogs which use incorrect grammar, sentences smaller than my Tamilian friend’s name, and euphemisms and non-sensical crap disguised as wit. It’s clearly affecting my writing. Not only do I suddenly have nothing to write about, my basic attention span while writing has gone down to that of a nitwit.
Oooh, that reminds me, while reading the works of Franz Kafka yesterday, I realized that he was diagnosed with Schizoid Personality Disorder, which dear Google explained was this:
“Schizoid personality disorder is one of a group of conditions called eccentric personality disorders. People with schizoid personality disorder also tend to be distant, detached, and indifferent to social relationships. They generally are loners who prefer solitary activities and rarely express strong emotion.”
And for a bit, I truly believed that this universe had an explanation for me. But then I pushed Google a little further, and the following was thrown up at me:
“They tend to choose jobs that allow them to work alone, such as night security officers and library or laboratory workers.”
Phew! So I cannot possibly be a Schizoid. Nice to know that most poor security officers or librarians or lab workers are though. See anything wrong with that sentence? No? Hmm. Must be something I ate then.

P.S. Don’t worry Mum, I’m just joking about having a disorder. I don’t think anything major is wrong with me. And if it is, it will one day be discovered, and then after years of scientific research be named Shively Personality Disorder. Cool, no? No? Oh, ok.

P.P.S. I don't mean any disrespect towards people who do suffer from Schizoids. I understand it is a serious disorder, and I wish you all well. Specially if you're spending your time reading my blog.

Friday, July 08, 2011

If you are in any remote way responsible or linked to any of the below mentioned things, it might be best to stay out of my face.

Yes, I know, I suddenly have a thing for awesomely long sentences as my post headings.
Yes, it’s one of those days, where you want to be really really positive, you dress up nicely for office, slick down that one last strand of astray hair, and step out right into pouring rain, ankle deep muck, and no autos.
Yes, it’s one of those days.
And you’re the lucky person who clicked on my blog link.
So, if you are in any remote way responsible or linked to any of the below mentioned things, it might be best to stay out of my face. Just repeating the heading. For the slower ones. The following is a list of things I simply can’t stand:
  • People who think asking questions is their birth right
  • Stereotypes.
  • People who believe in stereotypes.
  • Bad grammar
  • Gossip. Not the girl. She’s rather entertaining.
  • People who see beauty in every freaking thing. I’m sorry, that puddle of stinky dirty water, is a puddle of stinky dirty water. And now that it’s all over your clothes…oh wait, it’s still a puddle of stinky dirty water.
  • All sentences that end with 3 of these:    <3 <3 <3
  • Dear people without brains, ssshhhhhhhhh!
  • Dear Mumbai Autowala, while I won’t even try to go into trying to understand where in this city you might agree to go, please, a humble request from the soaked girl standing in the rain, don’t make a face when I tell you a certain place I need to go. It’s not that bad a place. It might not be as hot and happening as where you wanted to go…but…sorry...I didn’t meet your expectations. I’ll try harder next time.
  • Dear Nosy people, sooner or later, you’ll catch a cold.
  • Public loos.
  • People who treat the world like their private loo.
  • People who should’ve been born four centuries ago. And grown extinct.
  • MCPs.
  • Women who prove MCPs right.
  • Back-stabbers.
  • Dumb back-stabbers who get caught.
  • Actually, I can live with the latter. They’re dumb. It’s not really their fault then, now is it?
  • Being judged. Yes, I finally went past boredom on this one. I’m just plain annoyed now.
  • Being used. Can’t remember when this happened last, but if it did, it would deserve to be on this list.
  • Being replaceable. Hmm.

Actually, I don’t have that many things on my list anymore. This year is going rather well. The rain hasn’t bothered me as much. I love my work. I love the people around me. I have more support and love than I could ever imagine possible. I’m not half the cynic I used to be. I’m not a borderline depressant, and you don’t need to worry if something’s happened to me just because I didn’t blog for some time.
But it’s just…one of those days, you know?

 <3 <3 <3

Saturday, July 02, 2011

Why Living Alone is a Must for Everyone at least Once in their Lives

Yes, the heading of this post is kinda long. And not very intelligent. I toyed with the idea of putting up a witty heading, a random heading, a completely vague heading, or a heading which throws you off track. But here it is. Exactly what I’m going to write about. Just the way it is in my head.

Why living alone is a must for everyone at least once in their lives:
  • You understand the concept of rent. Unless of course you’re one of those lucky spoilt brats, who happen to have a house in every city, or happen to have a rich uncle who happens to have a house in every city in the damned country. Or if you’re a gujju. Then the above is by default.
  • You realize for the first time in your life just how bloody expensive cheese is.
  • You fall for the Big Bazaar discount trap at least once. And you only realize it at the end of two hours, an overflowing shopping cart, and a slightly bugged cashier who just had to repeat your bill amount to you twice after seeing a big “Huh?!?” splashed in bright red colours across your face.
  • Plumbers, electricians and maids suddenly become a very very important part of your life.
  • You understand the entire point of a frost free fridge. Sadly you understand it only once it malfunctions. And floods your kitchen. And all the Big Bazaar food shopping of that week.
  • Sodexho coupons become your secret love affair.
  • The iron wala becomes this elusive fairytale character you always endeavour to catch, and mostly fail to lay your hands on.
  • The house parties you were in love with in your student days, now come with an additional after party: the next day. This day is spent cleaning up spilt food, broken glass, random passed out people...
  • Remember how your mom always asked you to clean your room? And you groaned and thought in your head “What’s the point? It’s going to be like this again soon! Plus, I know exactly where everything is”. Well, as it turns out, there is no threshold limit of dirtiness in your room. You can go on piling clothes on every horizontal surface humanly possible, until the cupboard is emptier than the room. But be warned, there will be a day, when you’re running late for office, with one of the most important meetings in your life early in the morning, and you will not, I repeat, will not be able to find any clean underwear.
  • You finally understand why your mom encouraged you to buy clothes during sale season, and shut up the rest of the year.
  • You finally understand why your dad got furious about leaving the lights and fans on in the house when they weren’t required.
  • You suddenly discover the joy of Mc Donalds happy price menu.
  • You eventually grow sick of Chicken McGrill.
  • You cook.
  • You get overjoyed by the edible mess on your plate. You wonder why people crib about cooking. This is the first time you tried, and you managed to make some pretty yummy mess.
  • You cook again the next day.
  • Then you skip a day, because well, its ok, every alternate day of cooking is still healthy.
  • Ok, so every weekend you’ll make something good.
  • Or once a month.
  • And then you realize how hot it is in the kitchen.
  • Hello maid!
  • The oil suddenly starts getting consumed at a super fast speed, vegetables do tend to disappear, along with some chocolates from the fridge, and the food isn’t like home, but there’s food every day. You're happy.
  • But then, you see the maid cutting your vegetables on the floor, because apparently it’s easier than using the chopping board, and the clean kitchen counter.
  • Bye bye maid!
  • You realize the paucity of good maids in your city.
  • You realize what happens to bathrooms if not cleaned very regularly. Let’s not get into the details of this one.
  • You know how there’s always a blob of icky hair on the drainage cover in the shower? You know how you always saw it at home, but did nothing about it? You know how if you did nothing long enough, it used to magically disappear? Well, guess what. It doesn’t any more.
  • You find yourself organizing things in your head, figuring out timelines of the electrician, maid, plumber and Big Bazaar, draining out the fridge, restocking it with limited cheese, and cleaning your room, well, once in a while at least.
  • You find yourself proudly showing off your home to your Dad.
  • You find your Mom mentioning how she now knows you can survive on your own now.
  • You grow up.
  • find a flat mate who has gone through the above mentioned process and grown up.