Creepy.

I went shopping today. Random grocery shopping. To one of those all-purpose air-conditioned supermarkets that make shopping boring.

My mother hovered near the vegetables and I wandered off towards the chocolates. As I was contemplating how many bars to buy, I noticed a pair of eyes on me. I looked up, and moved away assuming that I was in the way. As I weaved my way through shelves of shampoos and deodorants, the eyes (and feet) followed me. I ended up staring at a large advert of *Dairymilk Silk* (yummy). Again. I stopped looked around, straight at those eyes. Suddenly, the hands got busy trying to pick out the cheapest chocolates. I stepped back, made a disgusted face, mouthed a few unmentionables and stormed off to find mom. Thankfully one of the guards noticed the creep and ushered him- eyes, hands and feet, towards the exit.

Two minutes later, the store was plunged into darkness. Power-cut. And I was standing next to mom, picking out onions.

Unreasonable Hope

You woke up suddenly to the sound of wind howling and rain lashing on the windowpanes. You noticed the ferocity of the wind, the rain falling with determination.

The water formed little tracks on the glass. Like a complex river system, you trace their path with your finger.

You step out into the rain. The water hits you with a force. Plasters your hair to your face and neck. You are blind. You are blank.

*He is in front of you. Behind you. Above you. Below you. Everywhere. Anywhere.*

You breathe in, unconsciously. You feel the rain. You feel the cold wind. You smell the rain. You smell the wet earth. You taste the rain. You taste the unfamiliar taste. You hear the rain. You hear it whisper and you hear it shout.
You open your eyes. You see the rain. You let it sting your eyes. You tear.

You wake up, and forget your dream.

windswept

Children chattering. Pretend play. With plastic bats and guns. Like little detectives and criminals. My hair obscures my vision.

A pigeon coos and sits on the railing. Egrets pure and white fly this way and that. A brahminy kite calls and circles overhead, propelled by the strong breeze.

Blur. A flock of bright green parakeets.

Trees bend. Branches break. Pink and white blossoms fall to the ground.The coconut fronds sway with the wind. Swishing noises.A train whistles in the distance. Little spirals of steam. And it chugs into view. Dogs bark. A cat darts across the road startling a little baby. *crying*

Clothes flutter and a dupatta struggles to escape.

The clouds move and cover the clear blue sky. A sudden darkness. Lights come on and mothers materialize. The little children hurry inside.
So much before the welcome pitter-patter of the rain. The black tar darkens. Little streams along the road. A waterfall on my window.

A pigeon fluffs itself up and coos.

Bare.

Have you ever tried it? Removing a band-aid quickly from a still-to-heal wound? It's like a sudden wave of masochism overcomes you. It's painful.
The band-aid has bits of skin, flecks of blood and your wound stings and hurts. Looks ugly and oozes blood.

That's how I feel right now. Like someone unknowingly, unwittingly pulled back the little medicated strip. Really really fast. And without warning. And a conglomeration of emotions have been uncovered.

I feel lousy. stupid. unsettled.
I want to press rewind or fast foward. Unfortunately, those are non-existent options.

gleaming white horses and armour that shines

Recently I had this really bad bout of homesickness. Yes, I live with my parents at home. But somehow, I miss *Dilli*, and I call it home. No, I don’t know all the gullies of Chandini Chowk, and I have never ever been to Karol Bagh. But Delhi feels like Home. I think it’s the people.

So, I called one of my favouritest people up. And realised that I wasn’t the only disillusioned soul.
She exclaimed in her normal over-dramatic voice: “ Rosh, yaar, I give up. I’ve had enough. Boys are such ass-holes.”

Me: “Hm. Agreed. Calm down.”

Then she said some pretty obscene things about the species (bolstered by my enthusiastic approval).
I smiled to myself and told her, “Let me hear you say this when it comes to your handsome knight atop the prettiest white horse.”

She shattered my dream and said, “There are no knights.”

But I believe in *metamorphosis*. Hopeful, that.

Driftwood

I suddenly, seriously doubt my ability to not create problems. To not jeopardise a relationship, furthering people’s idea of me being *stuck up*. In the past year, a friend who meant a lot to me just drifted away.

I’m not jealous. I’m just sad. We didn’t have any major disagreement and I’d like to believe that we had fun together. It is so weird. Every time I see her now, I think we both feel a misplaced sense of obligation, to be nice, to be social, and to ask about things we no longer care for. And what can you say, when she asks, “How’ve you been?” or “Whatsup?” In those ten minutes that she now has for me, can I tell her how I’ve been sulking? Or all my superficial woes? My joys, my fears, the new clothes I bought and the fight I had with my mother?

I can’t.

So we just paste fake smiles on our faces even though inside I’m hurting and disgusted. Because it’s very easy to blame her for going away to more fulfilling and equal friendships.

When people leave like this, it makes my self esteem plunge a few notches. Obviously, she’s happier now. I try to be happy for her.

I can’t help but wonder, why?

Smoke.Sun.Sweat.

-the price you pay for *yummy* Punjabi food


Bobby da Dhaba, near Gurudwara, Ulsoor.


A little hovel in the ground. Brought back memories of long road trips and aloo parathas. Vaish, Thari and I went to satisfy our Punjabi food craving to this much talked/written about place.
Five-six rickety tables, loose roof tiles, cobwebs, grime and smoke. Not particularly attractive. Uh-uh.

As we waited outside in the sun, vying for a little shade, for a bit of newspaper to fan ourselves, smoke billowed in our faces, thick and grey. Making us tear. Along with it came the smells. *Hamare pet mein choohe sher ban gaye the!*
We could no longer restrain ourselves from cursing the ones already inside, sending them murderous looks in the hope that they would abandon their parathas and flee. It was not to be.

We finally set our eyes on our methi,aloo and pyaaz parathas, shahi paneer, lassi and achaar. Garam garam with a huge dollop of butter =D
Heaven. I’m going back there. Soon.


Bobby and Bobby ki mummy, Shukriya! =D