Hair That Smells Like Berries...

It should be against the law of nature for one person to have beauty, brains and such a voice. Really god, itni na insafi? Kyun? Kyun? 


Mujhe jawab chahiye!

They've Been My Fiction...

I was talking to D sometime back and she asked me what I loved, like a physical feature, about the guys I have loved in the past. And I couldn't tell her a single thing about a single guy. I remember the long agonizing nights I spent crying over them, I could tell you the number of stars that twinkled every night or how the sea-green walls offered comfort, but I don't remember if I loved their eyes or hair or mouth or hands or what else.

I don't think I could paint them from memory if I had to. I found that weird in retrospect.

And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I never took much notice of the physical form. I always loved the idea of them. The wondrous and magical place that existed between their ears kept me engrossed and busy enough for me to notice anything else.

And when they left, their dusty faces were easily washed away by the rain, but the idea of them stayed back for a long time.

The Future Is Full Of Fingertips...

“The broken part heals even stronger than

the rest,”

they say. But that takes awhile.

And, “Hurry up,” the whole world says.

They tap their feet. And it still hurts on rainy

afternoons when the same absent sun

gives no sign it will ever come back.

“What difference in a hundred years?”

The barn where Agnes hanged her child

will fall by then, and the scrawled words

erase themselves on the floor where rats’ feet

run. Boards curl up. Whole new trees

drink what the rivers bring. Things die.

“No good thing is easy.” They told us that,

while we dug our fingers into the stones

and looked beseechingly into their eyes.

They say the hurt is good for you. It makes

what comes later a gift all the more

precious in your bleeding hands.

- WILLIAM STAFFORD

Limitless...

If you're bored this week, watch Limitless.

Broken Women...

Is buying sex a better way to help Cambodian women than buying a T-shirt?

Read the comments too.

What's the way out?

And So It Is...

Opium...

You know you're are truly addicted to something, when you can't sleep without having/doing it.

In my case it's tea. I was busy the entire day today and didn't get time to have my evening chai. I come home tired and exhausted and collapse in bed, then toss and turn in bed for 1 hour and finally, give up. At 12 am, I go make myself tea.

I don't know if I can be saved, and further, if I want to be saved, which is scarier.