I'm All Right...

No guy will ever love you more or treat you with more care than your father. You'll be lucky if one treats you with as much. A girl might as well make peace with it. 

He made me laugh
He made me cry
He smoked his stogies in bed
But I'm all right
I'm all right
I've been lonely before
I asked the boy for a few kind words
He gave me a novel instead
But I'm all right
I'm all right
I've been lonely before
It's fine, it's OK
It was wrong either way
I just wanted to say
There isn't much fun when you're drinking wine
He got drunk, he fell down
He threw a few of my things around
But I'm all right
I'm all right
I've been lonely before

I'd like to believe that it's easy to leave
But I have to conceive that wherever you are
You're still driving my car
Sticks and stones break my bones
But tears don't leave any scars
So I'm all alright
I'm all alright
I've been lonely before

Mmm...
I'm all alright
I'm all alright
I'm all alright
Yeah
He played solitaire in bed
Used to blow bubbles in bed
He sang Christmas songs in bed

City Frogs...

Thanks to Garima, this song is now playing on a loop in my head too! :|

Jazbaat...

There will be that conversation you’ve been putting off for as long as you’ve known you’ve needed to have it. There will be those words that you’ve rehearsed over and over–in your car, in front of your mirror, in your bed in total darkness while staring at your ceiling–that tumble out of your mouth inelegantly, tripping over each other to make it out just so you can get this over with. There will be that ugly ball of thoughts that hangs in front of you, the thick, opaque cloud of words that formed in between you, through which you cannot breathe. There will be that moment where you try and scoot away, wanting to disown everything you’ve just said, ready to scream at the top of your lungs just to cut the silence.

And there will be that moment, that brutally delayed moment, where they respond with a shrug, a sigh, a casual dismissal of all that you just implied. They will demonstrate with unintentional precision just how uninvolved they are, how little they have emotionally invested, just how very little this has all mattered to them. There will be the moment you struggle to physically scoop up every humiliating statement you made and all their brutal implications and cram them, hurriedly, back in your mouth. You’ll fight back tears as your cheeks fill, blotchy and red, like a veteran alcoholic. You’ll linger on the cusp of wailing, of running in any direction until your lungs ache–but you won’t. You’ll shrug and vaguely shake your head, pitifully mumbling something along the lines of, “Oh, of course…right. No, no, that’s cool.”

But it will pass.

And everything else too...it always does.

The Perks Of Being A Wallflower...

"She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time." — Stephen Chbosky

P.S: These were taken on the way to Dunnottar castle, Stonehaven, Scotland. I rarely, if ever, take photographs, but these, I love and treasure.

Strangers...

It's been a month already. And it's been awesome.

The thing I love about Mumbai, is its attitude and its people. Mumbai is what it is, because of its people. (And I know, this will be taken in totally the wrong way, but I like Mumbai girls, if I was a guy, I'd totally marry a Mumbai girl.) Sometimes, I just want to sit at some cafe, all by myself and absorb it all in, just look and hear and see. There's so much to look, hear and see. I wish I could turn into a fly(or erm, invisible), I would go and sit at each table and listen to them talk, and laugh, and take photographs. I would love that.

I like how Mumbaikars slog their asses the entire week and how they just chill on the weekend (in fact, even on the weekdays). People here don't give a damn about anything other than living life. I like this. I need more of this.

It's been a month so far in this new city, and I couldn't be happier about my decision.

Bombay (Mumbai), you are making me fall in love with you already.

(Slow baby, let's do this slow.)

And next time I crib about the traffic and the humidity, tell me to shut up, ok?

20 Years From Now...

What is it?

If You Knew...

At gate C22 in the Portland airport

a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed

a woman arriving from Orange County.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after

the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons

and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,

the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other

like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,

like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped

out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down

from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.

Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.

She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine

her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish

kisses like the ocean in the early morning,

the way it gathers and swells, sucking

each rock under, swallowing it

again and again. We were all watching--

passengers waiting for the delayed flight

to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,

the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling

sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could

taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.

But the best part was his face. When he drew back

and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost

as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,

as your mother must have looked at you, no matter

what happened after--if she beat you or left you or

you're lonely now--you once lay there, the vernix

not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you

as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.

The whole wing of the airport hushed,

all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,

her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,

little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.

-Ellen Bass