tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86760622012-02-13T10:52:26.347+05:30HEAD STARTS. HEADS START. STARS!! STARS!!Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comBlogger3401100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-30581701736962797362012-02-12T23:11:00.004+05:302012-02-12T23:14:34.092+05:30

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.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-45538770194457309962012-02-09T14:52:00.002+05:302012-02-09T14:55:20.625+05:30

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

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-31400368042073253082012-02-08T01:15:00.004+05:302012-02-08T02:06:05.468+05:30

what did we talk aboutwhen we weren't strangers?between us, was therealways a measured distance?was the weather of the dayour only conversation?were our silencesshort and whimsical?aren't there great many thingsa 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

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-50670140501318459142012-02-01T22:10:00.000+05:302012-02-08T01:40:11.266+05:30

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

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-91316892419500790822012-02-01T02:13:00.000+05:302012-02-01T02:14:34.540+05:30

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

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-77128860665981242762012-01-28T21:01:00.005+05:302012-02-07T11:02:26.393+05:30

love letters in my mindare all for you, i find.i don't mail them or tweet them:quite like secrets, i treat them.i push them into pink envelopespatterned with blue hearts and empty hopes.pages and pages of length comes easy(but the same for work would make me queasy).what would we do, if we were lovers -kiss, flirt and give each other flowers?true, while i don't care for you -in my mind, i write

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-39619433014137153632012-01-25T20:58:00.002+05:302012-01-25T21:04:30.850+05:30

it's extremely amusing that you think i'm living up to the idiot you think i am.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-77588175503189555732012-01-23T23:23:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:19:22.256+05:30

i'll carry around alittle yellow scribble padwhen i'm with you.when you're not looking,i'll make little notes aboutthings i ought to remember:'bites nails when bored''hair curly when drunk''sings stupidly while driving'i'll commit to memorylittle details about youthat even you don't notice:'eats left over cake crumbs with fork''holds down right corners of pages of books''thinks dinosaurs still

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-2649376400327577432012-01-23T21:56:00.003+05:302012-01-23T22:02:18.876+05:30

ladies and gentlemen who read this blog,i have told most of you what item #3 on my bucket list is - see the aurora borealis before it dies out. for the past few days, i have been reading about a large plasma cloud that was going to make the aurora spectacular last night.well, it did. and apparently, it was visible even as far as the UK and the US.i could bloody well just cry.so who's going with

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-50283993501807509482012-01-17T16:03:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.597+05:30

i couldn't tell youwhat it is liketo finish a book.do you forget peoplewhose thoughts have been closerto you than yours(for mere hours sometimes,whole years, sometimes)?do you leave behind liveswhose moments you have stretchedinto your life from theirs(fall in love with their ears, perhaps,find counsel in their fears, perhaps)?don't you have nostalgiaset aside for old friendsin your life and

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-19853522458252491372012-01-15T22:50:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.597+05:30

i feel like writing a story, but i don't have one to tell.**on a rooftop yesterday: the beer was a bit flat and the end of my fingers were numb from the cold. the fog was thick, and i couldn't see much of my feet. the hum of the double bass was in my hair, and the groove of the sax was in my knees, and i don't know about you but i didn't have nothin' but the blues.**it's been a long timesince

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-32861759656656671542012-01-10T02:00:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.598+05:30

corners of streets don't seemore than beggars and coinsand homeless people's blankets;children playing hide and seeklovers waiting patiently orpeople walking mindlessly by.don't be fooled by soundsof haggling over peasof chatter at bus stops, footsteps at subways.don't be fooled by smellsof cigarettes and chaiof rush hour traffic or sunday afternoons.they don't see hopeor love or people moving on

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-10097242284157718592012-01-08T11:13:00.001+05:302012-01-08T11:20:10.075+05:30

"You don't get jazz. It gets you."(Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso. 100 Bullets, I don't remember which volume.)

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-22724173229012467202012-01-03T21:46:00.003+05:302012-01-03T21:51:01.050+05:30

"i know you're conspiring against me. bah.""of course i'm conspiring. i am the universe ...yours, anyway."

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-45238384762283470032011-12-28T01:37:00.009+05:302011-12-29T16:13:26.478+05:30

i get it. we all had a fabulous year.move on now. go get drunk.*sukhi evaro, sumukhi evaro

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-35732802388059367212011-12-23T16:03:00.004+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.598+05:30

you're not laughingat my freezing toesor the pink heartson my purple socks.you're not witnessto romantic nightswith ginger teaand tomorrow's reading.you're not asking mewhich song is nextbeatles or p'njaabion your playlist or mine.i'm stuck in a cold wavebut i doubt that hasanything to dowith the weather.**for me, because my proxy winter now includes a brand new pair of old socks and a third

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-48899428242339647082011-12-22T22:37:00.002+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.599+05:30

walk away, now.leave behind your memories in trinkets on the fridge - a chocolate wrapper, long forgotten a photograph, worn at the edges a bill, for coffee and a book a parking ticket, and its unfinished song.but whatever you do, don't forgetto take your smells with you -some beer, some whiskeysome food, some mint.old books, cinnamon teais that you, or is that me?

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-12062954548579050832011-12-12T22:35:00.001+05:302011-12-12T22:36:52.351+05:30

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.shit.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-86925842381218912602011-12-09T01:19:00.004+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.599+05:30

for c, on her 24th. i. between sleep and wakingIt is a world made up of chance and coincidence, and in this I firmly believe. There were days and nights and days and nights in the past, when I didn't know whether the sun was up, the fog had cleared or the mist had gathered in the winter chill. I like to call this the hibernation phase of my life, when I lived like an animal in a hole in the

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-40679351187747138362011-12-01T09:41:00.004+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.599+05:30

there wassomeone singingto himself, far away: a guitar occasionallystrumming alonga chill in the airand lazy sunlightwhen i woke upthis morningto a decemberand the end of the year.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-17334395618522522742011-12-01T00:07:00.003+05:302011-12-01T00:16:26.970+05:30

and then, out of nowhere she said, "i love you".i was so taken aback for a second, i didn't really know how to respond. i hesitated. i mumbled something even i didn't hear. before i knew what to say, that moment had passed. we just stood there awkwardly, hand in hand, the waves coming up to our toes, and the sun going down. i could tell she was totally appalled at my lack of response. we walked

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-77094727349533859942011-11-27T23:47:00.002+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.600+05:30

in the momentbetween this minuteand the nextwith the regularityof the moonmy mind wandersto you.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-63613755793378250982011-11-26T21:04:00.002+05:302011-11-26T21:08:29.339+05:30

there's a small comment that is made immediately after yudhishtra loses his game of dice with duryodhana. draupadi is getting molested in front of the pandavas while they stand in front of her watching. yudhishtra, in his anger and frustration can't even look up. his anger is so terrific, he feels like he can tear apart every kaurava in the room with his bare hands. in such a fit of emotion,

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-46203091923092710842011-11-24T12:12:00.004+05:302011-11-24T13:31:41.290+05:30

i seem to have a new found love for (of all things bleh in the universe) milk chocolate! there's an overwhelming amount of absolutely terrific dark chocolate at home now (godiva, mostly, so think about it carefully), and i'm only eating hershey's milk chocolate. three weeks ago, even i would have judged me. let's just hope this phase passes quickly. sigh.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-11495029919337913812011-11-22T01:22:00.000+05:302011-11-22T01:23:14.762+05:30

"write me a story for my birthday. something with a happy ending.""happy endings are overrated. can it have lots of sex instead?"

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-74669174812462372262011-11-15T22:59:00.003+05:302011-11-16T12:52:03.411+05:30

list of things that annoy me about hospitals:ominous whisperingneedles that stay stuck in your handwheelchairsnurses who insist on speaking malayalam with yourude doctorsvisiting peoplepeople who come to visitpeople who don't come to visitpeople being more tensed than youpeople being less tensed than youflowersdoctors who insist on not speaking malayalam with the nursesair conditioningother

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-19938891465653483942011-11-14T23:18:00.001+05:302011-11-14T23:20:32.356+05:30

that man. fucks. with my brain.that. is all.**ps. i know this isn't a real post. i'm very, very unwell. bear with me.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-39092303157740494042011-11-02T03:10:00.002+05:302011-11-02T03:12:30.167+05:30

i sometimes feel like i'm good friends with people i've never even emailed, but love to read. do you?

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-11660751792835496122011-11-01T00:24:00.005+05:302011-11-01T00:37:37.670+05:30

The beast had come to see me in the dead of the night. It dug its nails into my heels and hauled itself over me. Before I knew what I was doing, I screamed and screamed into the dark. Through my mouth it entered and took a hold of me. In my shock I gave in, in my shame I surrendered, before I knew what had happened, that beast was me and I was the beast.I looked into the mirror in the morning. I

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-50428274118408901652011-10-30T23:28:00.002+05:302011-10-30T23:50:16.683+05:30

dare i flail in the maddening stormsdare i let the tide take medare i drowndare i find my wings in a hurricanedare i listen to my heartdare i trydare i playa child's game like thisdare i askfor your forgivenessdare i live

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-28264145724438130142011-10-29T00:43:00.002+05:302011-10-29T00:49:59.405+05:30

i only just want to post angsty, angry things that carry the word fuck in multiple forms and variations. instead, i roll my eyes and move on with life.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-29992699641277393332011-10-24T23:03:00.002+05:302011-12-15T10:20:28.723+05:30

him. "changes the way you look at your own art - be it your writing, your poetry, the way you doodle..."me. "changes the way i look at my lies.":)

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-57561252956378724572011-10-24T14:52:00.001+05:302011-10-24T14:52:48.988+05:30

i quite liked my uninteresting times. damn you, chinese curse.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-22699331970432372052011-10-20T23:32:00.002+05:302012-01-27T20:44:46.775+05:30

What makes a story a myth? What makes a hero a god? What makes one version of the story the true one, the first telling of the story the only one? Can black characters not be grey at the same time, and white characters be empty? If one grandmother makes Sita the daughter of Mandodhari, is she wrong? If one village sings Urmila's story instead of Sita's, do they become less legitimate? If I

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-51628018737008075992011-10-20T22:23:00.001+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.600+05:30

this night is long.i miss the sound of your voice:soft, quiet, humming the song in your head.i miss the rhythm of your breath:regular, deep, except when you smell my hair.i miss the taste of your fingers:soap, ink, whatever you ate for lunch.in sum, i miss you.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-85122787025141466852011-10-20T18:20:00.004+05:302011-10-20T18:36:14.504+05:30

ABED AND DOCTOR WHO!!!you wrinkle my brain, man.ps. boy, i really wish i hadn't quit facebook (for the second time).

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-71405160318834624952011-10-16T20:46:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.601+05:30

i'd rather keepmy dreamssafe in boxespadlock themand throw the keysaway.if i give themwings, what ifthey flyaway?

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-73128274053497123622011-10-14T00:16:00.003+05:302011-10-14T00:43:39.475+05:30

they're good most especially at 3 am for bitching about jerkfaces, periods, politics and the weather. and for knowing exactly what you're going through when you tell them about that earring that fell off. or that you have to buy a new pair of jeans. sigh.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-89280058873336447762011-10-12T00:53:00.007+05:302011-10-12T01:56:19.337+05:30

listening to massive attack again after all these long years reminds me of many of my firsts - first field visit, first boyfriend, first tsunami (i wasn't in it, but my two srilankan companions were from tsunami hit places in srilanka), first time i peed in an open field in the dark. for a lot of people, it was listening to teardrop that did it in for them. me, it was unfinished sympathy. on a

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-81357894087734761482011-10-11T11:58:00.000+05:302011-10-11T11:59:20.966+05:30

winter needs to just get here already.bah.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-54424620978331851992011-10-04T12:41:00.003+05:302011-10-05T03:17:12.016+05:30

i just don't know, okay?**there's this bit in preludes and nocturnes where morpheus is looking for john constantine. every song constantine listens to, everything on the radio, every conversation he has with an old friend or a stranger, it seems to be nagging at him about something. we've all been through it, when everything we encounter reminds us of someone. every joke you hear, everything

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-26132316296496118042011-09-27T01:11:00.004+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.602+05:30

stories are toldsongs are sungwhiskey is drunk. but when the nightis overstories fade,shadows appear anddreams are all that linger.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-91381498194420051252011-09-26T00:03:00.004+05:302011-09-26T03:25:07.011+05:30

dear blog,i resist the urge every year around this time to delete all my early posts, only because they're an indicator of what a pure idiot i was. (i guess, in seven years, i'll look back at this post and think the same thing about this one as well.)anyway, it has been a phenomenal seven years. more specifically, it has been a pretty spectacular last year.in sum, my learnings for this blog year

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-4634004482971402172011-09-21T19:08:00.002+05:302011-09-21T19:09:39.965+05:30

i want someone to buy me a book.scratch that.i want lots of people to buy me lots of books.and an ipad. if you're willing, of course.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-8554982117747946182011-09-20T17:26:00.000+05:302011-09-20T17:27:41.560+05:30

om namaha, hrudaya layalaku om.:)

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-30590836355180591882011-09-18T02:32:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:21:28.602+05:30

pale sunlight,pale the wall.love moves away.the light changes.i need more gracethan i thought.- rumi, translated by coleman barks, emphasis mine.**if i keep taking the high road all the time, i might just fall off. bah.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-1310642858950146062011-09-15T03:21:00.003+05:302011-09-15T03:34:47.416+05:30

All my life's drama is derived from vampires, fairy tales, time-travelling aliens and River Song (who is none of the above). **"Be sorry about this stuff before you do it, and then, don't do it. It's called growing up!"ah, Community, you giver of infinite wisdom. (also - "I think I got half of it, which helped me get through the other half." "Like the first season of the Wire!"ah, Abed, you

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-41344522179281374672011-09-12T22:46:00.001+05:302011-09-12T22:46:41.678+05:30

"What is a good way to avoid awkward conversations?""Zen koans."

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-31489265910752288562011-09-10T21:54:00.004+05:302011-09-10T22:05:45.356+05:30

It was in a rickshaw in Old Delhi last week after a meal mostly made of kababs and naan, and a conversation about music, love and breaking up that someone told me this."Never have a girl friend who is in love with the Beatles."

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-82906240914859124212011-08-31T23:55:00.004+05:302012-01-11T23:14:16.961+05:30

I remember that first night most vividly. A cold, Delhi winter's night, so foggy we could hardly see our feet, and it was beginning to drizzle ever so slightly. You had offered to drop me home in your car. Even though we had been meeting everyday and making the most perfunctory conversation, arguing in class and supplementing each other's questions, we were strangers to each other. I knew

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-84927751034302001912011-08-29T00:18:00.003+05:302011-08-29T00:30:42.269+05:30

i yearn day and night for but that one taste, that one whiff your smell. i see you in my day dreams, under a light that seems to make more shadows than anything else, most peculiarly found only in chinese restaurants. i know it's inexplicable, but that is how i know you - warm, and best loved with eyes closed. i can almost touch you with my fingers, feel you in my mouth, melting slowly.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-89292829457552959672011-08-27T02:20:00.002+05:302011-08-27T02:29:08.511+05:30

considering the general mood of my posts in the recent past (sombre, bordering morbid), i have decided to keep much of it to myself. i plan not to update this blog for a while. this might mean anything between two days and several months. for my sake and yours (but for mine, mostly) i hope this passes soon. (of course, there still is my other blog which i will update for as long as reading

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-74633445896756701712011-08-22T14:12:00.006+05:302011-08-22T14:35:01.122+05:30

There is a story about a girl called Lily in Daniyal Mueenuddin's collection of short stories 'In Other Rooms, Other Wonders.' As I read it, I wanted that. I wanted to fall in love like she did, I wanted that life, chaotic and wild between moments of solitude. I felt like, in many ways, I was her, seeking to leave my adolescent past behind me, hoping somehow that I'd find someone who

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-19978315227159030142011-08-20T00:06:00.002+05:302011-08-20T00:07:48.746+05:30

because i really like the word but haven't written anything that i can use it in.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-3146587845139526002011-08-17T18:40:00.004+05:302011-08-17T18:57:01.403+05:30

the most annoying thing about heartache is that suddenly a whole lot of music just becomes unavailable. (it's very, very difficult to find music that isn't about love or heartbreak, even more difficult to find music that is happy and doesn't suddenly remind you of what you're trying hard to avoid, even more difficult to listen to that music you used to love when you loved.) she just goes

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-74773248520896112832011-08-14T00:41:00.003+05:302011-08-16T00:51:39.247+05:30

being an adult is a miserable affair fucked up. ** when everything comes falling straight down, when everything you've stood on is falling apart, when what one takes for granted is no longer there. what do you do when you find yourself so utterly, helplessly alone? when we've had more time away than together, it may be awkward for a day or a week, you may not know the gossip in my life, i may

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-16509646987200254022011-08-12T23:03:00.002+05:302011-08-13T00:15:58.712+05:30

change lives. hairdressers, not so much. ** speaking of hair. a conversation with s. "i like your eyes." "i like your hair." "so superficial you are! eyes have depth etc." "i think stories come out of people's hair. the more tangled up your hair is, the more stories there are." "but what if i go bald in two years?" er. oops? ** (actually, lots of people around me worry about receding

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-21424190605375531972011-08-11T01:56:00.007+05:302011-09-18T22:59:10.111+05:30

My mother once told me an old story about Ravana's ghost.There is hardly anyone in all of mythology who inspires as much terror and awe as does he. Ravana of the ten heads, lord of Lanka - isn't it strange that a man, nay Rakshasa, who spent a thousand years in penance should fall for a woman so fiercely and uncontrollably, that he would deploy his most mighty army and employ the most bright

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-9413399580817263802011-08-04T19:56:00.002+05:302011-08-04T20:11:50.750+05:30

For the family I grew up with, tea is sacred. One of the first lesson any kid learns in the house is How To Make Tea. It has to be the right leaf, acquired at the right factory in Darjeeling. The best kinds are from the parliament canteen (which only MPs can actually buy from), or Non Such tea (which is packaged in a beautiful wooden box), but for regular ten-cups-a-day purposes, we prefer Lipton

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-17554180469436315422011-08-02T11:20:00.002+05:302011-08-02T11:28:21.203+05:30

"to absent friends, lost loves, old gods and the seasons of mists."-season of mists. neil gaiman.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-44273722284857887572011-07-26T02:08:00.003+05:302012-01-24T23:05:00.601+05:30

whathappenstostoriesthatare scribbledin themargins?would younoticethem?blue inkand tinyletteringand abandonedwordslittering pagesandpagesofmonochrome.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-79836354999068126082011-07-25T19:19:00.000+05:302011-07-25T19:20:05.781+05:30

don't drink it.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-82683278148799333352011-07-19T22:44:00.001+05:302011-07-19T22:45:26.999+05:30

I've been meaning to say "Oh, that's so punk rock!" to someone for almost a month now.What to do, life just hasn't been punk rock enough.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-18764244934274954182011-07-11T00:15:00.000+05:302011-07-11T00:46:09.530+05:30

(but) for now we are younglet us lay in the sunand count every beautiful thing we can see.-in the aeroplane over the sea, neutral milk hotel.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-78115156121135316592011-07-06T03:02:00.003+05:302011-07-06T03:41:47.028+05:30

When I come across reviews of movies I want to watch, I generally bookmark them and then hide from them until I actually watch the movie. That's an understatement, I don't just hide, I run in the opposite direction. I don't know if you've watched the film 'Delhi Belly' yet. I haven't, and I still have something about it that's annoying me. It's everywhere. It's on TV, it's on the radio, it's

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-30747906135129512462011-06-27T12:06:00.002+05:302011-06-29T02:19:17.254+05:30

i'm just sick of this whole charade.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-72080756606807490752011-06-13T22:27:00.007+05:302011-06-27T12:10:37.837+05:30

"you're not like your blog self at all. your blog self is... mysterious. and dark. and tells stories really well, even if it falls a bit short at the climax.""what are you insinuating? that i'm not mysterious and dark?""no. your real life stories suck."

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-29980717168949315562011-06-10T22:49:00.002+05:302012-01-24T21:23:43.155+05:30

your earlobesare like aloo:tastelessbut comforting.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-76562316304878328712011-06-05T11:35:00.001+05:302011-06-05T11:39:28.279+05:30

GAHHHHHH!!!!!!!Yes I do think that thought is blogworthy.No I'm obviously not telling you why.Have I ever?

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-36290589685582655312011-06-02T18:09:00.007+05:302011-06-02T22:39:07.294+05:30

the couple i just picked up smell like sex. they want to go to masab tank from marredpally. the woman has jasmine in her hair and the man has his shirt buttoned wrong. they talk to me in broken hindi, but i keep it up. it's entertaining to hear their funny accent. i turn on the meter and start to drive. they have three big suitcases with them. they seem content just holding hands. i miss that. i

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-81361436113514894282011-06-02T13:34:00.002+05:302011-06-02T13:37:32.203+05:30

..remember, to let her into your heartthen you can start to make it better.(and anytime you feel the painhey jude, refrain.don't carry the worldupon your shoulders.for, well, you know that it's a foolwho plays it coolby making his worlda little colder.)hey jude, the beatles.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-44813526617878191922011-05-30T19:07:00.000+05:302011-05-30T19:08:00.710+05:30

my whole life is a cheesy hindi film.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-89497054225900295782011-05-23T22:31:00.003+05:302011-06-11T17:06:32.000+05:30

Smoke and mirrors, that's what illusions are made of. Smoke, mirrors and deceit. Me, I'm a trickster. I go on stage and make people believe that I know their mind, that I know the cards they pick with my superpowers, I let people think that I can cut people up and then bring them back to life, unharmed. I tell stories to enthrall and have assistants to distract. I'm no magician. I can

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-4184411000020120312011-05-23T20:44:00.005+05:302011-05-23T20:50:00.664+05:30

i really am hung up on the weather. forget the fictional character who had mildly hallucinatory experiences involving some phone sex woman and then made up a story about it. (man in a long black overcoat indeed. tch. who buys that nonsense).stupid stupid weather is never right for the moment.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-65231574315098281442011-05-17T00:03:00.014+05:302011-06-21T09:59:52.519+05:30

It is not often that the weather is apt for a story. Lurkers need cloudy weather, scary characters need the cold, the dark need the night, happy people need the sun, the gay need rainbows and lovers need the rain. The romantic and the nostalgic love their petrichor*. The depressed, of course, need no weather indoors.Even great authors like Pratchett and Gaiman have had problems with the weather -

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-66865285909888361002011-05-12T04:02:00.002+05:302011-05-12T04:04:37.753+05:30

i have a heart made of cheese clingwrap, apparently.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-34520622562817654912011-05-11T00:54:00.004+05:302011-06-11T17:06:56.939+05:30

i look for what cannot be found behind walls built in cyberspace.i see it at the corner of my eye, i know it's there but i play the game. i'm a traditionalist, so i'll still pretend that i don't know, i'll still behave like i don't see. i'll still take part in that charade: i'll peek under the curtain when you mean for me to, put on a look of absolute surprise, run and shout "i spy!"all the while

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-43611863914553528612011-05-04T22:34:00.005+05:302011-06-11T17:07:18.016+05:30

years and years of accumulated acquaintance, shared spaces, collected gossip, small talk, a kind of friendship that i don't know how to place. i've typed and deleted and typed and erased and typed and retyped for the past hour, looking for words. i don't know how to find them. what can i say? what can anyone say? to whom? i only have way too many questions. and no one to answer them. a whole life

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-56585890425769221362011-05-02T18:48:00.002+05:302011-05-02T18:49:54.257+05:30

I'm just a regular Drama Queen.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-66689039044216168372011-05-01T23:39:00.002+05:302011-05-01T23:47:29.221+05:30

nothing like context to help make sense of a song.if you could only see the beast you made in me.i've held it in but now it seems you've set it running free.nothing like a song to help make sense of the world.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-11738944323868399682011-04-25T00:08:00.002+05:302011-04-25T00:13:32.671+05:30

me. "rana daggubati, i say. the guy was single-handedly hotter than deepika padukone AND bipasha basu. although, the theory is that you put a pair of aviators and that much facial hair on anyone, they'll just become hot"him. "it doesnt work that way is what i'm saying. certain people with facial hair and sunglasses look like masood azhar"**(the real sign of getting back to blogging, btw, is

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-17168273560693980262011-04-14T12:59:00.005+05:302011-06-11T17:08:40.953+05:30

I am a character in a story.Would you know how that would make me feel? I'm sure you would, because every thought of mine is yours to scrutinize, apparently.Yesterday I had sex. You know that already. In fact, you also know who I had sex with, whether I used protection, how I like it, that I was thinking about work instead. You know all this, you sick, sick bugger.What I find most annoying

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-14472895633966310182011-04-11T15:04:00.005+05:302011-06-11T17:09:01.200+05:30

or: How to Effectively Deal with Writer's Block1. Read. As far and wide as you can. It doesn't matter if you're meaning to write about development policy since Independence, you can still be reading the children's books section on the Guardian. Or re-read an issue of Sandman. I find that this allows you to think in long, coherent, well-punctuated sentences. It also distracts you from the actual

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-72986946406617050042011-04-09T00:22:00.005+05:302011-05-18T12:12:48.575+05:30

i feel like doing something reckless.like have sex with a strangeror jump of a cliff.or tell you that i love youand then run away.i feel like doing something destructive.like have sex with a strangeror jump of a cliff.or tell you that i love youand then break your heart.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-81990985292615938012011-04-08T23:47:00.002+05:302011-04-08T23:51:18.279+05:30

i've forgotten what it's like, conversation that meanders.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-46462785742136381982011-04-05T02:36:00.010+05:302011-06-11T17:10:55.485+05:30

My husband loves me to the death. I know this in the way he stares at me sometimes, intensely, as if I am the only person in the room. I blush when his hands brush mine in the bus, or when he leaves the newspaper on the table open with an article for me to read. I like to wait for him to come back home, I like making tea for him, I like cooking for him. Especially lamb, he loves the lamb

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-65980345363299440472011-04-02T00:30:00.004+05:302011-06-11T17:09:23.869+05:30

i would like to think that i'm someone you like to read in secret. i like to think that everything i write comes from a dark place, a recess that everyone has in their own minds but reach to only when they're behind veils and and grey-tinted windowpanes. why would you like to hear of broken hearts and long walks to bookshops where i spend whole days? do my imagined characters who spend their

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-74951278075220119432011-03-27T20:42:00.004+05:302012-01-24T21:23:43.156+05:30

Love's Secretby William BlakeNever seek to tell thy love,Love that never told can be;For the gentle wind does moveSilently, invisibly.I told my love, I told my love,I told her all my heart;Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,Ah! she did depart!Soon as she was gone from me,A traveller came by,Silently, invisiblyHe took her with a sigh.**dear mr. blake,thank you for your advice. i have felt your fear

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-18828799965133086232011-03-24T14:23:00.003+05:302012-01-24T21:23:43.156+05:30

youmake me.you make mewant.you make me wantto doyou.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-6843586255083936992011-03-24T00:37:00.004+05:302011-09-18T22:57:58.744+05:30

"you and i, we're collectors. we have more books than we've read, more songs than we listen to."m said.**Some things are inextricable from the memories they carry. A song, a book, a phrase from a something you've read, a pair of jeans, corners of streets, photographs - there are moments within these that tug at moments gone by, sometimes so powerfully, that one smiles or cringes at them whenever

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-33973875969189465422011-03-18T11:36:00.002+05:302011-03-18T11:36:48.558+05:30

or potatoes, if you please, are simply the most annoying consequence of colonisation.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-60480678496731130102011-03-16T14:26:00.004+05:302011-06-11T17:09:59.532+05:30

sometimes, i suddenly stop everything i'm doing in a memory of you. it is your kiss i remember, strong, passionate, gentle. the way your tongue would know my mouth, the way your arms would hold me up. i close my eyes, and turn away, smiling. in this memory, i open my eyes, and watch your hands flick the hair off your face as you laugh. in this moment, i feel my love for you, lingering, like a

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-1820456465475643482011-03-09T23:20:00.003+05:302011-03-09T23:24:25.451+05:30

s'pose i never ever saw yous'pose you never ever calleds'pose i kept on singing love songsjust to break my own fall-fidelity, regina spektor.**(always one foot on the ground.)

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-89080394587799022192011-03-04T22:23:00.004+05:302012-01-24T21:23:43.157+05:30

is:1. to curl up into a blanket2. a cup of hot, steaming cocoa.3. preferably with marshmallows.4. to re-read colour of magic. and mort.1. to sleep.2. till i can't sleep anymore.3. to wake up and loll in bed.4. preferably with a murakami.1. to take a train.2. a long, long journey. to hyderabad, may be.3. amitav ghosh.4. who i've always wanted to read on a train.**"... in our house books are

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-58793574141289457092011-02-28T01:23:00.002+05:302011-02-28T01:24:15.596+05:30

I am Sita.Why do you ask?Is it because of my silence or my rebellion? Which offends you? Which takes your breath away? Which makes you want to brush me away or take me for granted? Tell me, why do you think that I would wait within boundaries you draw for me, why would I not flirt with strangely garbed men who come knocking at my door? If they spout ten heads, would I scream in a fit of rage, or

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-8910103033701942612011-02-26T22:45:00.004+05:302011-02-26T22:47:13.800+05:30

ghosts of songs lurk in corners of my mind. they pounce on me when i least expect them, waiting for that moment, ah, that precise point in time when i'm looking away. they descend upon my mind like a lattice around all my thoughts, they envelop everything. they haunt me sometimes, a woman's voice humming exactly one note, while the rest of the song watches elusively from too far away, while i

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-76319814709132432422011-02-26T19:04:00.005+05:302011-02-26T19:19:10.011+05:30

*applause*slow down you move too fast you gotta make the morning last just kickin' down the cobblestones just lookin' for fun and feelin' groovy badadadadadada feelin' groovy hello lamppost whattttcha knowin' i've come to watch yer flowers growin' ain't you got no rhymes for me dutt tu du du feelin' grooveeeeeyeeeyeeey dadadadaaa rappararara feelin' groovy i've got no deeds to do no promises to

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-18729800643843479922011-02-24T09:54:00.002+05:302011-02-24T10:00:46.591+05:30

too old for these mind games.Dance. Danceintiptopform. Nopromisesyou'regonnabehappy. Dancesoitallkeepsspinning. too fucking old.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-7584063116869523792011-02-20T18:09:00.003+05:302011-02-20T18:36:15.382+05:30

the seeming non-metaness of that which is metaphysical.**side note about notes titled 'about': they're insubstantial because i have only just begun to wrap my head around these ideas. feel free to make of them what you want to. they don't mean anything specific or solid to me either, and considering the ambiguity of some of these ideas, i doubt they ever will. the idea is also that these seeming

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8676062.post-9255557922772265232011-02-16T00:14:00.001+05:302011-02-16T00:17:04.174+05:30

"in order to be any good at it, you have to give up two things.1. sleep.2. any sense of a social life."i'm halfway there, at least.

Sitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15880461247743520860noreply@blogger.com0