punjabi song on the radio

i want a cryptic way to
tell you that i
miss you today. i want a way for you
to know that a sentence
i read triggered
emotions that taste like whiskey,
cigarettes, the smell of raat ki rani
in October (a foreboding of winter,
cocoa, blankets and naphthalene balls).

i want to ask you if that isn’t
poetry in general?
anecdotes hidden between words,
jokes only i laugh at. 
breaks and poetic
time that only make sense
if you’re listening to the song
you asked me to listen to



late valentine's day post 2015

"You're like a witness. You're the one who goes to the museum and looks at the paintings. I mean the paintings are there and you're in the museum too, near and far away at the same time. I'm a painting. Rocamadour is a painting. Etienne is a painting, this room is a painting. You think that you're in this room, but you're not. You're looking at the room, you're not in the room." 

From Hopscotch, Julio Cortazar. 

In the same book, he also says - (keeping track of time was difficult for Oliveira, happy, ergo futureless.) 

This valentine's day (like every other one on this blog) I wonder if this encapsulates my (non) love life. 

"happy, ergo futureless." 


Older V Day posts - 2014201320122011 and my favorite, 2007. :) 


guest post: brotherly love

My crazy irreverent brother just hacked into my blogger account and wrote an unsolicited post for my blog. I decided to let it be because it's hilarious even though I hate him. Remind me never to give him my laptop again.

i gave my laptop
to my brother
for his laptop was in the laptop-shop.

my brother in his wisdom
only proceeded to write
for my blog.

from what i know of my brother,
he is a brother like no other.
not that i've experienced other such buggers,
but i've known  cousin-brothers
and they're much worse than this sucker.

what you do need to know about my brother
isn't that he is younger and more useful
than his blog-writing, scandal-watching sister
but that he doesn't stop eating when he's full.

he may be right about a few things
but he's wrong about the dieting fling.
the world hates fat beer-drinks
and i can't stand the hate.


My sister thinks I'm the best. But how does it matter what my sister thinks if she is dieting all the time, right? However, I think her dieting won't help her beer belly if she continues drinking. Perhaps, she should shed the beer for something like white rum. (though i'm sure she has explored more healthy options like whiskey) Maybe my sister should write a story about a fat dietician battling a McDonald's burger problem which stems from the dieticians love for the ambience at McDonald's. Or maybe, she should write a story about that fat guy in the metro who refuses to wake up from his fake slumber.

Most definitely, my sister should write a story about a size zero girl who's in love with a woman whose eyes are red, as if she always has conjunctivitis, whose legs are fat, which makes people think her mother cross-bred with an elephant but whose nose is as pretty as Deepika Padukone's before she started snotting. This story about them should involve constant dates at Andhra Bhavan, Saravana Bhavan, (midnight buffet at) Pickles and lots of cheese. They should eat the same things, drink the same water, live in the same house but feel different about their bodies. One day, the not-so-thin-woman should disappear to make the size zero feel like she's a tourist in Goa without alcohol. She should descend into a deep, dark depression which makes her lose her 'shape'. This size zero woman should meet the fat woman who is now a really thin kashmiri separatist. That meeting drives her to suicide.

That's what my sister should do about her size. write about it. not change it. it isn't really that unhealthy to be fat anymore. I don't see why you shouldn't be fat, then. 



writing is 90% staring.


of course bukowski offers these words of wisdom:

"if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
don't do it."



i'm watching you

in other (fairly personal) news, i've put on a lot of weight in the past 4 months. i'm guessing this is because - 

i haven't been working out (or even pretending to), 
i've been eating like a crazy person (i travel 3 weeks a month - i only get cheap hotel food and samosas where i go), 
i stress-eat. a lot. and i stress-sleep. a lot.
i drink 6 - 8 espressos a day (1 batch of filter coffee at the very least), 
and i eat out a lot even when i'm not travelling. 

please notice how this list does not say i've been drinking. it's because i haven't been. and if i have, it's been negligible. 

so i've taken the plunge, (un)fortunately, and i'm now on a diet and exercise regime starting now. now while the exercise thing is do-able (it is!), the diet thing is really scary. i'm only putting this on my blog, because apparently (a wise friend told me this afternoon) - food is an addiction. you can't go cold turkey, but you have to try. and to beat any addiction, you need support. and i, my dear readers, have to beat two addictions - caffeine and food. (well, a third - if you count sleep.) at some point today, i googled it - and caffeine withdrawal makes you hungry. so i'm going to be hungry and have a headache and not be able to eat more food than normal human beings. (that vlcc tummy trim package is looking so attractive to me at the moment). 

anyway, since only about 2 1/2 people read this blog, i'm going to spam you guys with ohmygodineedcoffee or ohmygodiwantdessert posts now and again. 

cool. ok.

rain rain go away

our house was on a hill, near a valley.

when it rained, we could see the clouds climb up the hill. we would play a game with them: we would  run up the valley, trying to race the clouds.

of course, we would always lose - and end up wet.


(i've been meaning to blog this for a while. when i heard it, i was in a forested area with no internet/phone. it was raining - we were cold, wet and clutching to our tea cups for as much warmth as they could give us.)