Contrast

I have had the best day ever.
I love this city.
You can have a hellish crowd behind you and still be happy with the brilliant sunset in front of you, with the waves crashing on the rocks an inch away from your feet.
You can get into a crappy rickshaw with a broken seat or into a dhinchack Taxi with disco lights on the ceiling.
You can eat great sandwiches at fashionable eateries where the beautiful people go, or you can eat great sandwiches at a roadside cart, and both are different degrees of brilliant.
And even through the humidity and the sweat and the heat and the crowd.... you can manage to feel more alive than you have in ages and ages.

Eh dil, hai mushkil, jeena yahaan
Zara hatke, zara bachke, yeh hai Bombay meri jaan.

Perfection is what?

Perfection is Truthful Chocolate Cake at German Bakery and the stories it brought out.
Perfection is making plans, and then saying "screwit" to go back home and crash.
Perfection is a great nap cuddled close to those whom you love.
Perfection is a long night filled with conversation.
Perfection is sleep on the trip home.

Ani, Zaiu, you're the best friends a girl can have. Rads, you're the best sister a girl can have. Thanks for making my Pune.
I love you.

Pune-graphy

Pune is a city full of surprises. Long walls, buildings, greay, brown, dull, cracked, and then suddenly a flash of blue. Maybe door, maybe window. Bright sky-blue, peeking put through shades of grey. 

Like.... a fucshia-pink bra strap peeking out from a nun's habit. That's old Pune. A nun with rainbow lingerie. 

College students roam the streets, walking, biking, laughing. I could almost be one of them. Lost. Shorts. Jhola. Camera.

I roam the streets, looking for beauty. Looking...for the unexpected. 

Abysmal Poetry

You're the rum in my coke
The puff in my smoke

The vada on my pav
You're my hugs and my love

The rocks on my beach,
Th credit in my phone

Ragda to my pattice
The flesh to my bone

You're the pillow on my bed
You're the voice in my head.

You're the blood in my heart,
You're the apple in my tart.

You're the red on my nails
You're the To: in my mails.

You're my little love-smile
You're the sparkle in my eyes.
You're among the best hugs ever
And I'm the reason for those lies.

You're the coffee in my cream
You're those eyes in my dream.

You're the only reason
I'm writing this bad mush,
So shut up and read
and don't make a fuss.

I've tortured you enough
With my over-cliched lines,
So I'll end with more cliche.
I'm yours, you're mine.

A buch of Bombay updates

I'm learning....
To shorten the strap on my jhola so that it hangs at my waist and not my butt.
Which side to get off the train at Andheri and which side at Dadar.
To cross roads like a mad mosquito.
To wake up late.
That listening to music on the road will one day kill me.
To always, always keep change on me. Always.

It drizzled yesterday. You can't even call it rain. First drizzle. Hit me in the face as I hung out of the train on my way home. That's my nightly pick-me-up...I hang out of the train, as far as I can go, and I sing to myself. The tunes meandering around my head find their way out.

I've found waves and rocks. In Bombay. Bandra bandstand, sitting on the rocks with a friend, gazing over the panorama and the sun shining onto the waves. Crash. Couple haven, how many? Kids. Cat. Crowd. Nowhere close to my bliss-point wall at Shatti. But for Bombay, it's great. And it's close to home. I will be back there. Soon.

I've finally got books. I purr in contentment.

My results are out tomorrow morning. I am trying very hard not to think about this. See, ideally, I wanted to be sloshed the night before the results...but it doesn't seem like that's gonna happen. Tomorrow, Facebook statuses (statii?) all over are going to be either triumphant or defeated, shouting out numbers to the multiverse. My boards passed in a numbness, the moth after that was the most alive I've been. I'm Very Happy now, and I badly want to stay that way.

She befriended him the way she befriended most new people, a Facebook message saying "I love your work, Hi."
They became close thanks to a mutual friend.
A week before she first met him, she realised that he'd entered her life at exactly the right time.
Two days before she met him, she realised he was a godsend. A blessing.
The first time she met, he hugged her like no one had, she closed her eyes and realised they had a bond.
The next day, when she asked him out and he kissed her, she knew the nature of that bond.
And the day after, as they sat reading in a bookstore, ignoring killer looks from all around, she knew they were in love.

And today, when she was oh-so-late but still didn't want to leave him, she knew she'd probably always be.

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A bit of fiction. Inspired by something a dear friend wrote.
I'm loving Bombay. It kills me by the end of the day, but I get by... with a little help from my friends.

Bombay calling

And after a year and a half of anticipation and whatnot, I'm finally in Bombay.
It's humid. grrr. I can handle dry heat, I've lived in a country that gets to 45 degrees Celsius in summer. But dry. This is humid. Fans on full blast, sweat running down my back in a most irritating way.
Alphonso mangoes. Lots of them at my place. So it's not just sweat running down me.
I'm loving life. Mom seemed rather amazed that I actually dragged myself to Andheri to meet Rushi just an hour after I got home. Home is Sion, by the way.
"How didja GO??" she asks. "Umm, walk to Sion Circle and then rickshaw." I reply.
"Wow."
What's wow, I ask. No, just didn't expect you to go all the way to Andheri your first day there.
Weird.
But yes, I did do that, I met Rushi, I met Ani, I met Jai, and there was CCD and bad stories and so much laughter that our stomachs hurt. So much.
Home, however, I must get used to. I'm so used to Mom knowing me. Like, knowing not to pay ANY attention when I mutter to myself or grumble in frustration at everything from over-affectionate cats to defunct internet connections.
But Mom's not here, I've got my grandmom and my aunt who constantly ask what I want, and tell me to lower the volume or no, that mango's a little spoilt, take another. I've told them that it is essential that they: 1. Do not worry about me, just leave me to my own devices. 2. Pay no attention to my mutterings. Because I am indeed muttering a lot these days. Lol.
But yeah, it's good out here despite everything. And it can only get better. So cheers to me and all.

Ok I guess I gotta do this before I leave

Yeah, so I'm leaving tomorrow yadayada. And I think (just think mind ya) that out of all the people I love and will miss out here, I might just love (not miss though) you the most.
Chikki, thanks a lot. For everything. What everything?
Ok, here goes.
Thanks for being my partner in crime and punishment in Manali. Yeah I don't think there was anything we didn't get our asses kicked for, except maybe eating and tooth-brushing. And sleeping. Like, in our own tents. Haha.
Also you were the only other girl close to the front of the group most of the trip. Yay.
Thanks for...I don't know, for teaching (but not really teaching, more like helping me realize) a lot about love and friendship and even a lot of stuff about myself. And I don't mean the 85+ item long list.
Thanks for letting me know the little bit of yourself that you did. And thus I understand you. Then again, maybe not, oui? You know best.
Thanks for the shared D'Arcy's lunches (and the CAKE!!) and for getting me COMPLETELY hooked onto How I Met Your Mother.
Thanks for, you know, all the hangings-out at your place. Hammock and Barbican and the guys. For the crazy-ass dancing with the guys where me made fun of the girls.
And for a lot more and all....
Yeah yeah I know you're gonna hate me for even posting this up, but I was gonna do it anyway. And it'll fuel the narcissism I know you have. So all is good, oui?

Oh and thanks for the huge hugs. The kind we LOVE.
So yeah, Chikki, I love you. Hug hug, and I hope you guys don't move, so I'll see you soon.

Mysty gets laptop!

She's a beautiful shade of bronze, unlike the black beauties you have on the market now. Dads laptop is white.
I thought of dubbing my 13.3" baby the LapDancer, but maybe not. :) currently I'm immersed in registration and backup.

The Wall

High tide, wave sounds, shades of blue. why so beautiful?

On that wall, I've sat so many times over the last two years. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. I've never felt sad there. That wall is bliss-point. At high tide, the waves curl over themselves and crash on the stairs below. They tease my feet, so foamy, so light, but never do I go down the stairs and dip my toes in, because like everything else, it's all an illusion, and instead of an airy lightness bubbling over my toes, it'll be cold and wet. I'm perfectly happy just endlessly watching the waves.