emorant no. 19087

i like being by myself. i like my long walks, i like small bookstores, i like sitting in the sun, drinking tea and juggling two colours of highlighters and three colours of post-its. i love taking long showers with loud music, i have spent days and days without having any substantial conversation with anyone, whole sunday afternoons doing nothing but sing to my niece or baking an orange-and-ginger cake. i'm quite contented by myself, mostly.

but loneliness, that's different. how do you deal with emptiness in conversations? what do you do when you're getting a hug, but that's not who you want it from? you eat a nutella sandwich, but you can only think of eating it out of the bottle while watching TV with your best friend. you don't want to take phone calls, you spend whole hours refreshing your gmail inbox or you look for friends in your facebook list who you haven't seen in seven years or more (and then feel superior about your own privacy settings). nobody is really ever prepared for loneliness. especially the kind that sets in with pms - that just sucks more.



take away my lies, never
tell me that i'm lying, please
let me keep my illusion, or
i'll shiver in this nightmare, fear
nothing but the darkness, living
with the boring, unimaginative



C. Pindimiriyam's.

A collective blog. But really, don't mind us. We're pretty stupid by ourselves.


th-th-th-that's all folks!


vday for you

... but not for me.

although, let's admit it already, i'm a v-day fan, if only in irony.
or in cheesiness.
or whatever.

but! presenting the v-day poem of the year:

Prandial Plaint
by Vikram Seth

My love, I love your breasts. I love your nose.
I love your accent and I love your toes.
I am your slave. One word, and I obey.
But please don't slurp your coffee in that way.

bonus V-Day poem:

by Vikram Seth

I have to speak - I must - I should - I ought ...
I'd tell you how I love you if I thought
The world would end tomorrow afternoon.
But short of that... well, it might be too soon.


i shall take your leave.


complaint box

fuck feminism. i just want to get married, have three children and live the rest of my life making them fat by baking endless banana muffins and lemony cupcakes.
being an adult sucks, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. bah.


Lazy? And me?
Oh, we sleep together all the time.


2 ft

what did we talk about
when we weren't strangers?
between us, was there
always a measured distance?
was the weather of the day
our only conversation?
were our silences
short and whimsical?
aren't there great many things
a kiss can change?


this post is alternatively titled 'feelings are the real kissing disease.'

in other news, if you're planning to send me something awesome for valentine's day, i'd appreciate the softer world postcard that says 'let's burn this world down'. thanks.


Internet Censorship

Visitors to my blog (from India, at least) will find that they have been redirected to http://head-start.blogspot.in
I'm not entirely sure what this means, but I am told by the Blogger Help page that it is meant to help comply with country-specific laws - implying, of course, that if I say something that is offensive / not acceptable to Mr. Sibal and his ilk, they'll just efficiently and promptly take it off.
Anyway, if you go to http://head-start.blogspot.com/ncr , it doesn't Big-Brother-ly say ".in".

Edit: I just understood this. ANY blog I want to read, regardless of where the person writing the blog is, I will be redirected to a page meant for India. I'm just slightly angrier now.

Edit edit: WOOHOO, SMBC!


she often wonders what it feels like to refer to herself in third person.
now, she surmises, she knows.