Category Archives: Instrospection

What I love doing once in a while…

Finding inspiration

It’s difficult to understand how people find inspiration. I used to find what I thought was inspiration in small things some days – watching people in the local train, listening to street hawkers at the stalls below the office, or even chatting with my Uber driver – but I’ve found very little of this of late. (The inspiration I mean… I have way too many Uber driver stories to be labelled inspiring any more…)

At first I thought it was because of the routine (read: monotony) in my life, so I tried switching it up. I quit the gym (cuz duh, 6am starts are no good right), changed my diet (cuz, proteins!), started drinking more water (cuz the internet says its good, and if the internet says so, it must be true) and increased my activity levels (cuz, Fitbit; take that S). I thought a generally “healthier” lifestyle would make me feel fresher and give me more inspiration. (It didn’t). All it did was give me a huge shopping bill (losing weight is a pain in the (insert every muscle name here) and a drag on the wallet) and make more people more jealous of me (please to relate to the folks who’ve been on green tea FOREVER and had nothing in their life go their way). I’m now the person who eats salad wherever I go and look at a croissant with X-ray vision that reports high carbs, high calories and zero proteins – basically, I’m the embodiment of everything them skinny b***es are. In short, I’m now the most uninspired person I know.

But I see the inspired people I know so… relaxed. They’re Zen about everything – work, life, travel, even their wives (I KNOW, RIGHT!). They just know… to be.

So I’m taking a more radical approach to finding inspiration and making more time for myself. None of this take-stress-in-life thing no more. My theory is this – if the inspired folks are chill, maybe chilling leads to the inspiration (there’s a statistician I know who’s jumping off a cliff going “CAUSE AND EFFECT DON’T WORK THAT WAY” but I’m like “meh”). I’m just going to chill out, breathe in, breathe out and type (or write). I will type whatever my brain instructs my not-so-chubby-anymore fingers to type (and whatever my phone or computer doesn’t autocorrect). Maybe I’ll click a snap or two for my pleasure and share it with you. Maybe I’ll link out to some swag track on youtube. Maybe I’ll comment on some mundane piece of news you didn’t need to know about (but that I told you about anyway – you’re welcome).

Or maybe I’ll just type out a line that says “Mic Drop”. or “Mission Accomplished”. or “Mischief Managed”. or “Katappa”.

Welcome to the wild west of blogging my dear friends.


Cellular slaves

I browsed through the images at – a super awesome site for natural unprocessed images of life… Of people, rolling hills, pretty clouds, winding rivers, yada yada.
And then I hit the jackpot with this image.

See the calmly building clouds? The perfect lighting provided by the sun so perfectly obscured by those clouds? The water body at the head of the image depicting the power play between the clouds and the sun? Probably not – because your focus was inexplicably shifted to the phone.

Can you believe this person (whoever it was) actually preferred to enjoy nature through the screen of his phone and not… Naturally?! What’s worse… I completely lost track of the serene sight in the image and was left fuming at the person’s stupidity in the face of such beauty.

Took me back to a few weeks ago when someone shared this image with me.


So true how we’ve become addicted to our phones for everything… From phone numbers to birthdays and fitness routines to emails. I remember a time when (not very long ago) I was given a phone for a few hours each day and that too because it seemed to be the most efficient way to get a hold of me as I made my way through college life. Today I hear of people leaving home without their wallet… But never without their phones.

The smart phones we invented to free up our time have made us lose more time than we can account for. Beyonce asked (and then declared) that girls run the world… sorry babe, I think its these palm-sized bots.

Damn. Skynet isn’t far away.

-posted using WordPress for mobile-

My Preciousssss

I own a little silver ring that I picked up at a thrift store when I was a teenager (which is so far back that I’m surprised the ring is that old!!). It’s silver and I bought it in India, which is to say there’s (almost) a fixed rate for it. My mom and I did some killer bargaining and brought the guy down a few bucks (I’m not even sure we made up for the cab fare to get to the store, but, as all Indians will agree, a bargain is a bargain no matter how much you save). I also bought a small silver necklace from him (but we didn’t get as good a bargain on it). Mind you, these events occurred many many years ago – but I’m still upset that we didn’t get a good deal on the necklace (not that I minded… I was 14 or 15; at that age my parents paid for every darn thing I wanted to own and I had no balance sheet of my own to bother with!!).

The teenage-me debated getting some elvish inscription on the inside of the ring (after all, it was the year Lord of the Rings had come out and inscriptions on rings sounded oh-so-cool). But then I realised that, as proficient as the fellow may have been, there was no way he was Elven-educated. So I let the engraving me, picked up the ring & necklace and traipsed out the store.

I remember wearing that ring to school (and college and university thereafter) like my life depended on it. Like somehow my life force was tied to the existence of that ring and that it’s sole purpose was to hang around my neck and protect me. Many of my more fashionable friends picked up necklaces with more stylish motifs (yin/yang, dog tags and even one leaf that I remember), but I stayed loyal to my ring. I added an odd assortment of pendants through my teenage years (a key, an anchor, even a crucifix!), but that silver blob of twisted metal remained on me through many of my years. I thought it gave my rebellious soul some character… and I steadfastly refused to part with it.

Today I work in an organisation where even the ‘bling’ is conservative. Muted gold ornaments and polished matte platinum accessories share office space with pastel shades and soft bobs. I let go of (most of) my wild uncouth wavy hair and now sport a (sort of) conservative pixie cut (my hair are still wavy, but that’s a topic for another post in itself). My stylish black t-shirts and faded jeans have made way for cuffed shirts and smartly-pressed trousers. My custom converse sneakers have been phased out and sleek black office shoes adorn my feet.

But my precious. Joins me at work every day.

My precioussss

Daily Prompt: Walk

Daily Prompt: Walk

I’ve only recently started subscribing to WP’s Daily Post challenge – it’s a unique way to come up with inventive post ideas and at the same time set a “target” for myself. I’ve been waiting to write something interesting for a while now… and this daily prompt presented itself with just the right blend of inspiration and fiction for me to “kick it off”. 

So many random thoughts walked all over my tiny little head when I read the one line that was today’s prompt. I knew I wouldn’t run out of ideas for the prompt – content perhaps, not ideas.

I wanted to write about the size 9s I’ve worn out this past year, trying to catch up with life and failing miserably.
And about the black Converses that I adored through the store window but never picked up, because I was in too much of a rush.
And about my friend’s faux-designer Nikes that he picked up at a local market in Delhi and flaunted for weeks, till they took on an altogether bedraggled look.
And about the patched-up glow-on-a-step hand-me-downs our maid’s son treasures, because they light up a path to his imaginary destination.

I also meant to write about the football boots I never bought, because I never found myself driven enough to own them.
And about the irritating office-wear shoes that I’ve neatly tucked away in a box, in the hopes that those hectic days of my university life stayed trapped in that modern day torture device.
And about the all-weather Crocs I so painstakingly bargained for, only to find out that every silver lining somehow has a black cloud attached to it.

I wanted to write about my Mom’s “healthy” chappals – placebos that they are, they are a source comfort to her.
And about my old school shoes that my Grannie retrofitted so she can templehop in style.
And about my brother’s new Crocs that he dint bother bargaining for, and that I instantly envied.
And about my neighbour’s foreign footwear, that brings a smile on his face with every step he takes.

I write instead about my old trusted walking shoes, that I haven’t thrown out in more than 10 years, because they bear testament to the many sports I loved and the many lives I had. They’ve run on countless railway platforms and airports to board crowded trains and aircrafts, taking me to a different place in life each time. They’ve seen my transition from rhyme to black verse to haiku, crushing my sub-ordinary accomplishments like ants on a hill. They’ve actually crushed a few ants and roaches as well (but I wont brag about that). They’ve watched thousands of people walk through my life and heard the countless stories of their trusted walking shoes.

In some ways, my old shoes have been my soles and my soul. And I write not in the hopes of a new sole but in that of a new soul.

The Magic of Music

I’m a huge music fan. I listen to all kind of stuff – jazz, blues, reggae, rock, classical, regional… And I rarely judge a song or its genre for tht matter. Yet… I know after a few notes or the first riff that I absolutely LUV a song.
Anyhow. This post isn’t about my musical taste. Its about musical miracles.

As I write this, I’m in a relatively crowd-free local train (its about 9 15 pm – its not such a rarity at this time of the day) populated by college students, overworked professionals, long distance travellers and first time train travellers.
A 7 year old picks up her mum’s cellphone and jumps to the music gallery (I know a few 30-somethings who find it difficult to navigate a cellphone – how the 7 year old was so dextrous at it is both a representation of the interests of the new generation and the lack of it in ours). Almost seconds later the now-familiar notes of Kolaveri blare through the speakers. And I watch as a compartment full of busy people take their eyes and ears off their books and phones and music players and turn around to get a good look at the kid (and the source of the song).

The little girl hits almost every note of the oddly noteless song correctly – and she adds some of her flourishes to it as well.

Not onli is she singing along to Dhanush’s hilarious rendition – she’s got an awesome jig to go with it as well. Its a kinda headbang- cum- rock appreciative jig – one hand in the air and head pulsing.

And as she reaches the all-too-hilarious “cow cow” lines, the lyrics skip her.
And half a compartment of college students and office goers (yes, I’m included in the crowd) prompted her – each in their own tune and with their own style to the song.

She completed her song – obviously aware that she was now the centre of entertainment of quite a few people and quietly sat back down quite proud of herself, her mum beaming at her.

As she sang the last few lines – I saw something thats quite rare in local trains even that late in the evening.
I saw people relaxed; entertained; free of the stress that the day had thrown on them.
I saw people join in with the antics of a little kid and enjoy a song – if onli for a few minutes.
I saw music and dance bring together a bunch of exhausted people and – even if only for a few moments – unite them in some joy.
I’m not sure if it was the hilarious song that lightened the mood or the sight of a little kid so obviously engrossed in it – but it was a 5 minute experience that made my day.
And I wish such moments occurred more often – I like a smile every once in a while.

The post was obviously written in a train late in the evening. Enjoy it in present tense. Too bad I dint think of clicking a picture or recording a video – perhaps next time.
Merry Christmas!

Blogging on the move

It’s been a while since I had both the time and the hardware to blog. I promised myself at the start of the year (and kept up with it for a while too) that I would blog once a week just to remember HOW to blog.

A while later the excuses kicked in.

I got busy with work.

I dint have access to internet.

I dint have enough to blog about.

I thought once a fortnight was fair.

I then thought once a month was great.

Then I just ran out of topics to write about.

But tht doesnt mean I dont have a story to tell. It just means tht my story needs some someone else to do the talking.

It was late in the evening and, sitting in this crowded and loud train compartment, I found my storyteller.

An old lady is sitting with a grade 2 english book and studying diligently. I couldnt help but notice tht she was, well, a little older than the average 2nd grader. So i asked her if she was reading a grand-daughter’s book. And she tells me, matter of factly, tht she goes to night school so she can keep up with her grand children. She makes extra time so tht the ppl and the things tht matter most to her are kept up. It’s not a life shattering realisation, or a path breaking effort… But it was the simplicity of her interest that took me by surprise. Plenty of ppl attend night school, but this was one of the first who was doing it not to keep up a job, or to keep their kids in school – she was doing it to keep up with her life.

And I realised I dont want to be as old to realise what I can do for the things and the ppl I love. Again, it isnt like it came to me in a wave of thoughts… But I’ve had a silent voice in my head telling me I’m missing out on something for a while now. And a self-educating grandma got me to listen to it.

So I’ve made some lifestyle choices over the past few weeks that I’m proud about.

I come home and strum my 2 guitars a few times every week.

I watch a few movies and smile.

I listen to some good music and feel lighter.

I spend some battery life on my fone catching up with old friends.

And then some on letting mom know I’m just fine.

And then I spend some more time finicking with my fone and blogging all about what I want to do.

Because happiness doesnt need time. It just needs a realisation – tht happy is possible. As long as u got tht… Time is just a multi-dimensional variable.

J for Joy

As I write this post, its very very close to the New Year. Generally, I’ve ended each year with a post on the line of “Highlights of my year”, generally loaded with references to friends, family and events. This time, I’ll end the year with a lighter one… one on Joy (that I had in fact contributed to Sam’s blog on its anniversary). As usual, the post is in normal font, and the italics are my wisecracks/personal inputs.

To me, joy isn’t one thing alone. In fact, joy is a mash up of so many more parcels; many more Js.

One of ‘em is Jingle Bells. And this one just passed us by. And it reminds me, each year, how joy multiplies by leaving a gift under a tree. (I’m not Christian, and very few of my friends are, but the idea of a song with memories attached to a whole holiday season gets to me. The concept of Diwali or Holi or Eid or Baisakhi have the same effect; unfortunately none of them started with J, so they’re going to have to live as a sub comment.)

Another is Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikander. This was one of the first Hindi movies that I fell in love with and that taught me the joy of both losing and winning, and falling and rising in love. I find some indefinable joy in Bollywood and how much I love it despite its many corny moments. (I watch more Hollywood than Bollywood, and believe that Hollywood makes more amazing cinema in one year than Bollywood ever has, but even though Hollywood releases an Inception, it can’t pull of EIGHT song-and-dance sequences in ONE movie, that’s shot in TEN locations, over the course of TWENTY months.)

Another one is Jhakaas, the Bumbaiyya way of expressing joy. And this one reminds me of how much this city means to me and how much joy I find in its little nuances. From the crowded local trains to the serene beaches, and from Pav Bhaji and Wada Pav, to Schezwan Dosa and Jain Rolls; everything about this city makes me feel joyful. Joy is Mumbai and Mumbai is Joy. (My friends in Delhi will happily refute this one, but you ain’t writing this one are you? 😛)

Another one of ‘em is Jhingalala. Not only Tata Sky, but TV in general is something that cheers me. Joy is watching that ridiculous cartoon or an outrageous reality show or that lovable ad. Joy is The Roadrunner Show, and Masterchef Australia and the Kit Kat ad with mongrels. The TV reminds me that there is always joy… you just have to find the right channel on which it’s playing. (There was to be a separate section on Masterchef Australia, so I limited myself on that front. Unfortunately, I think after the writers favourite contestant being outed, Master Australia was replaced with another topic. Also, the Kit Kat ad is just too lovable to ignore. As for the Roadrunner Show, it’s impossible not to love a show where a dumb coyote makes diabolical plans to outsmart a roadrunner that’s, well, just too fast for his wits.)

Another parcel of joy is Jango (the music site) and my trusted old jukebox. They introduce me to new music every day. The joy I derive from music is one that words could never capture… But I can safely claim that the feeling when I compose a new song, or listen to a new one is pure joy. I try to write a new song each week, just so I can revel in the joy of having written it. Joy is Hobbie and Pluto (my guitars) and how I smile as they gently weep, and how they comfort me as I gently weep. (Before you wonder why my guitars are named what they are, they are named after their brands. And they have soul; that entitles them to a name)

Joy is in Journey, a band with some of the awesomest rock songs (Beatles has the honour of the awesomest). And Glee did a cover of some of their greatest songs. And Glee is a joyous 40 minutes for me… good songs and a bunch of kids with nothing to worry about – that’s joy to me. I loved that part in my childhood where my biggest worry was lunch, and then dinner. I’d happily jump into a show where all I had to do in school was sing, and dance, and occasionally get slushied. (The jump from J to G for Glee – this one’s pure Jenius eh…?)

Joy is in JLT. It’s when you do something extremely ‘arbit’, but it makes such a great memory in hindsight. Its partying late and sloshing out on a friend’s bed – not because you wanted to, but because you could. It’s bunking class or office and just staying home and catching up on sleep. It’s those late nights on campus strolling for hours discussing nothing and everything. It’s that impromptu terrible movie you dragged your friends to, which had you all in splits. It’s those morning jogs and bike rides for which one of your friends always had to be dragged out of bed. It’s those trips planned a day in advance with lots of friends, few clothes and even less money. It’s arriving on the station 15 minutes late for a Shatabdi, and cheering as it arrived on the platform just as you ran in.

Joy is reading this and thinking of those many special people and wonderful moments in time (I hope you’re thinking of at least a few by now.)

Joy is calling them up to say, “Hi… I just thought of you.”

Joy is going through some old photos and remembering how skinny your friend was, or how fun that Esselworld trip was! (I have just one bunch of photographs from our school trip to Esselworld, but a pile of memories attached to ‘em.)

Joy is listening to that mix tape or CD and reliving the emotions attached to those songs. (I made a mix tape in 7th grade, when recording a tape was considered real fly, and every time I listen to it (yes, I still have a device that plays tapes), I find myself in extreme bouts of laughter!)

Joy is finding an old birthday card and remembering how fun your childhood was. (I’ve saved up cards from when I was six, till last year, and ones from close friends and distant relatives, and each one says the same thing to me – you’ll get another one next year!)

Joy is seeing that perfect report card, and the smile on your Mom’s face that’s still stuck to it. (Not to brag, but I quite a few of them, and I’m still proud of myself for accomplishing that – I’d do for it for my Mom every year. If there ever was something that signified a perfect report card in the worklife, I’d do everything I could to get my hands on it just for that smile to come back on!)

Joy is 8 batch-mates, one laptop and re-runs of sitcoms you know every line to, with a healthy dose of wise ass comments. (From “How you doin?” to “Bazzinga” to “Legend-wait for it-dary” my laptop Mike (yeah, I name my laptop too… he has soul, and a name that’s derived from Michael Dell) has been both an entertainer and an entertainee!!)

Joy is 4 friends, 4 mugs of coffee and Gtalk. (I still take out an hour a week, whether I’m travelling or at home, to catch up with those friends who live in various time zones, and work in different jobs, but who miss the same people.)

All these little things I call Joysters. They’re friends, families, and a truckload of memories.

Joy is living in today, thinking fondly of yesterday and loving the wait for tomorrow. With your Joysters.

Wishing you a very Merry Xmas (if I havent already) and an awesome New Year!

Home Sweet Home

After a hiatus (courtesy travel and a truckload of work), I wrote for Sam’s blogoversary. It’s this cute thing she came up with… she invited her friends to contribute to her blog for its 2nd Anniversary, and it gave me the perfect reason to write for a good cause!! It’s a lettered list, with each letter symbolising the theme of the post. Granted that I wrote most of my post in transit, and at lounges, but it’s kinda befitting of the theme of the post itself. Here’s H for Home.

My first recollection of the word home was a V upside down over my head. I was 3 and it was kindergarten. That was enough for me.

When I was 4 I learnt the word house. And the phrase ‘Home Sweet Home’. And my curiosity got the better of me. Why didn’t the phrase say House Sweet House? Not one teacher could explain to me in real terms what home meant, or how it was different from house. They said something like

“A house is made of walls and beams

A home is built with love and dreams”

At that age, love and dreams weren’t very clearly defined, so I just dint get the drift. Still, I wanted to know what home meant, and every educator I knew then failed me in that department.

The real breakthrough came when I was 7 and visiting my Grandpa. He said

Home is where you can dig an ice cream cup out of the freezer and lick the vanilla ice cream off the lid (to this day I live by this… That layer of ice cream is simply the yummiest!!)

Home is where you can sit down as a family and have just curd rice for dinner and still feel full and happy (nowadays its dal and rice, but all the same)

Home is where you can lick the Maggi off the plate and smile as sauce is still stuck on your nose (I won’t deny that this still doesn’t happen)

Home is where you can fight over that last drop of Thums Up (It was a rarity then; we still fight over it today)

Home is where the buttermilk tastes better at the tip of your nose (I’m 20 something, but this one still gets me)

Home is where you come home after a day at school and tell everyone how every moment of your day went and look into tired, yet smiling faces (My day-at-office speech isn’t as smile-eliciting, but those tired faces still listen)

Home is where grown adults will act like imbeciles to put a smile on your face (This still happens!!)

Home is where an illness (even the sniffles) is an excuse to pamper kids (This one too… A cold = free pass)

Home is where everyone will yell at you for roller skating indoors and fuss over you when you get scraped outdoor (I spent my whole childhood perfecting this art, and half my adult life enjoying the spoils)

Home is where you were taught to share – both the chocolate and the blame (But obviously never the last drop of Thums Up)

From when I was 7 till this day, I’ve Grandpa’s definition of home was the foundation for the word home for me. And for the foundation for the feelings that were hidden in that simple phrase.

Home Sweet Home is all of those things.

Home is also where Mom will wait up till I get back from a business trip to yell for not calling, and then find out if I’ve eaten.

Home is where Dad will yell at me when I’m home at 3 am, but whose face lights up as he tells his friends how I landed the best job on campus.

Home is where my younger brother still tells on me, but who can’t wait to ask me tips for placement week.

Home is where my best friend turns up one day yelling ‘B****’ and I greet her with ‘B****’, a soda and a hug.

Home is where Grandma’s biggest concern is remembering the channel numbers on the TV.

Home is where Grandpa’s photo still brings tears to my eyes and fond memories to my heart.

Home is where all my journeys start and end.

Home is my playground, my workstation, my crash pad, my emergency exit.

Home is where I learnt to live, not exist.

Home is where I’m not just somebody in the world, but where I’m the world to so many people (this one isn’t original, but it fit the bill)

P.S. Home is the reason I would type AND spell-check this whole thing on my handheld.

Living life in little things

I’m a rather optimistic individual. Its not just about seeing the glass half full. It’s about seeing glasses where they’re really hard to come by as well. Onli recently I was going thru a friends blog where she thought about we were bogged down by the big picture so much that we fail to see the small things. And I completely agree. I mean Da Vinci dint get by looking at the bigger picture… the detail in that smile took some effort. And it’s really those little things that ppl shud care about… So that’s what I’m gonna write about.

1. I love posting quirky one liners as my FB status message. And watching my friends comment on it. And smile with every snappy reply I get.

2. I luv music. A lot. Even if my guitar isn’t tuned, the twang it makes gives me a sense of relief. Almost like it’s the onli thing that may remain constant with time. I like that.

3. I love it when they play a favourite song of mine on the radio. Even on my way to work, it can never stop me from dancing in the train. And people thinking I’m crazy. I like that I can like music that much.

4. I like good sneakers. I own a lot of em and I totally love em. I love the feel of em clinging to the soles of my feet when I moonwalk. Or when I jaywalk on the sidewalk.

5. I love my Mom’s cooking. Even if its slightly off in the taste department. It’s something I carry to work everyday, even though I could eat at the cafe. It has a feeling of familiarity that the best neighbourhood restaurant could never match. It’s almost like I can hear her reprimanding me about the Coke on the table ryt next to me. I like the motherly feeling that comes with the food.

6. I love my fone. It’s my gateway to the world. I decide who I want to or dont want to talk to. I can decide who’s birthday I want to remember; which meeting I wanna prioritise; which songs I wanna listen to on the way to work; who’s pics I wanna carry around with me all the time, and let it do the dirty work for me. I like that I can smile everytime I hear an old friend calling me. I like that I can curse when I see someone calling that I dont want to talk to. And I like that I can say wateva I want to the fone, and nobody else will ever even know.

7. I like spring cleaning. We do it every year before Diwali. I like that I can give away those really old tees that dont fit me nemore, but I can hang on to the memories that go with it. I like that I can rearrange my wardrobe, just so I can wreck it again next week. I like that my Mom will realise how few Indian outfits I have in there, and still not find enough time to coerce me into going shopping with her. I like that I smile at those silly cards and souvenirs I had stowed away, and hide them again so I can smile at them next year.

8. I like taking a stroll in the park and doing absolutely nothing else. I like that crunchy feel of the grass below my feet. I like the noise of the kids going about their game of tag not realising that they’re going to be playing it their whole lives. I like the look that old lady gave her husband, a look that says “So what if you can’t kill tigers ne more, you got me neway”. I luv the smell in the air when the first drops of rain hit the grass. I like the glee in the air in those moments, even if I have to walk back to the chaos in life soon. Because those happy moments are worth more than nething else.

9. I like travelling in double decker buses. Mumbai has quite a few of em and, unless I’m really late, I try to take one of em to work everyday. I like to sit ryt at the front of the bus, hang on to the bars on the window, and feel the wind in my hair. It’s a child-like feeling that makes me forget I’ll have to go to work and become a grown up again.

10. I love writing. Long windy sentences and staccato ones alike. It makes me realise that all that matters is the words, and not necessarily how u put them. And yet, less than 100 writers succeed at it every year; onli 1 wins a Booker, onli 1 wins a Pulitzer. I like that people still write though. It’s a sign of resilience. And I like resilience.

11. I luv dreaming, and I think you do too. Almost like Lennon when he says “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one”. I like to think that there’s something that gets me thru the night and thru to the next day. And that if I want, I could forget all about it wen I wake up.

12. I luv the little rings that form at the bottom of my tea cup everyday. I luv how the tea slowly oozes from the tea bag and forms soft little rings. Its mesmerising. I spend 3 minutes a day, twice a day looking at it. If I had a better camera on my fone I would click it.

13. I like to see clouds. Being in Mumbai I see them almost 5 months a year; but I still love em. I luv making fantasy animals in them too. And making a story featuring them. Takes me back to a time when that used to get me called “Creative Child” and not a “Nut”.

14. I luv musical instruments. The piano… disciplined yet flexible. I luv how u find melody between its notes. The violin… a haunting yet incredibly powerful instrument. The saxophone… I luv how all it takes to bring some romance in the air is blow through a hole and push some buttons 😉 The guitar… a rustic feel. I luv that it has a beat of its own. I wud like a guy who plays ne instrument.

15. I like dark chocolate. Bitter yet sweet. A tale of life to come.

16. I like winter. The slight chill in the air makes u seek comfort in that little corner by the fire. I like how my breath could fog up the glass; and I can draw that cute little smiley. I like smileys.

Monologue apart I’m sure everyone likes something like this. I’ll wrap up with something from my Facebook status.
It’s true that broken hearts and broken headfones have a lot in common. No one but you knows they’re broken, and once they’re broken, you cant hear much around em. And they’ll never be the same no matter how hard you try to fix em.
But, if you make some effort, you can get new ones. Buying new headfones is easier than a new heart. For a new heart, you need new memories. Make memories in the tiny things that got lost somewhere in the process of breaking ur old one. Time wont heal this… u will have to. Dont go living life in those broken pieces… MAKE life in new ones.

So, this festive season, go discover life in little things.
Stick your head out the window sometime, and feel the wind wreck your hairstyle.
Make a funny face at the guy in the car you just overtook (not when you’re the driver pls).
Run like you dont give a damn in the park, and let ppl think u’re off your nutters.
Call up a close friend in the dead of the night and go “Wazzaaa!” (I advise that you hand up soon i.e. BEFORE the expletives start flowing).
Clap your hands and give a wide smile each time you’re answering the fone in the train (I’ve tried this… the reactions are quite hilarious!!).
Bob your head side to side in rhythm with “I wanna singa” from the cartoon show (or ne other really catchy tune) (I’ve done this recently; I also added a little jiggy wid it and the liftman thought I was drunk/stoned/both).
Steal fruit from Grandma’s prasad chamber and, when caught, make a straight face and say “You disappoint me, O old devotee!!”
Stand in the line for the bus, softly nodding your head and taking glances at your watch, mumbling “Yesterday it broke down, day before it hit that road divider… wonder what it’s excuse is today”.
Suck on a juicebox till the straw is as stretched as an anorexic model and till you can hear the last drop just BEGGING for its life. (A close friend of mine absolutely cannot stand this, so I do it around her for pure fun)

Gift ur Mom something, and watch her look at you like you’re her Academy Award.
Gift your younger Brother something, and watch how he looks at it and thinks of the 102 ways he can blow it up.
Gift ur Dad something, and watch as he wonders which credit card of his hit the credit limit on that gift.
Gift ur Grandma something, and watch as she thanks the Lord (not you) for it.
Gift your Best friend something, and watch as he looks around and checks you for a fever.
And finally, gift urself something you love most – a new leash on life.

Here’s wishing everyone a very Merry Diwali and a great New Year!!

Back frm a sabbatical

Yeah thts wat i wud describe my month long existence as…a sabbatical. Cum to think abt it…I have really gained frm it.
For one, I realised shutting up is pointless – whether it means staying shut after 7 blasts, or otherwise. Honestly being misunderstood is so much better than being taken for granted…and having ur say definitely counts esp wen u say we are de worlds largest democracy. And by talking I mean nt pointlessly blabbering away, but making a concrete point. And if it irritates some others, thn pls snt bother. The government has no issues with ppl talking; so much so that they shut down all blogs (including Blogspot) so that ppl cud talk on fones and not on the net.
Secondly, I realised sum lecs in college are nt worth attending (hehe). And i m nt kidding…it tuk me until sem 3 to realise tht I can legally bunk (with my conscience nt tugging) and until this sem to understand that minimum attendance is just tht – a bare minimum. For a change, I was actually missing in most lecs of this particular prof and he actually asked me whr I was de other day on the stairs. And I was made to believe teachers had a short term memory (if any…)
Now for de fun part. I hv this msn blog whr I published this LS-HS list, and at least ppl read it and commented to me. So Im gonna try out sumthin here as well.
Attending all lecs in a sem…very LS. Obv since I have taken to bunking myself…my verdict is quite skewed.
Enjoying the rains on Marine Drive…very HS. Tho I refrain frm tht activity since my mom will leave me wid no place on de family tree if I fall ill more than twice a month.
Trying to work hard and finish the project to meet the deadline…confused verdict actually. HS if theres sum time left and u r working on ur own (read nt “referring” or “chaapoing” frm an existing project) and LS if u not onli chaapo but also try to do it last minute.

Chao for nw.. more cumin up later.