Pipes

I've cut the pipes
and now we shall never speak again

I cut the pipes in carefully deliberated haste
some, like you, might say it was done in bad taste
but a girl's gotta do
what a desperate girl's gotta do
you should see her fledgling pride debut
(Self-defense mechanism for the win!)

It's a pattern with me, my dear!
you were further than it appeared
Sorry it took this long to kill the channel
memories of you took a little extra time to dismantle
Denial's a funny thing, as it turns out
realization of existing information
takes its own sweet time to sprout

Once, long ago, I tried to keep the conduit open
Thought I could fix what was broken
But no repair was needed, I only fooled myself
And he reduced me to a few pages
in his memoir that gathers dust on his bookshelf
Then I had to go and do it all over again!
Once bitten, twice died, and thrice would've been a shame

Hmm, I've cut the pipes
and now I'm out of oxygen

I've cut the pipes
not sure you even noticed

Gotta get up and try try try

I first really really wanted to blog when, back in 2008, I chanced upon Girl With A One Track Mind and just could NOT stop reading it (go through the archives!). It was blocked in my office so had to go through proxies to read it. Hehe. Imagine licking clean the whole blog in your one month notice period, and gulping as you go. Also, stumbled upon Meenakshi Reddy's blog and it's really no surprise that my blog url has been heavily influenced by it.

What really captured my attention was with how much liberation these women were writing - about their careers, their sexual escapades, their families & friends, and as a limited 23 year old, I would vicariously live their lives, hoping some day I would have stories of my own as interesting or exciting.  

"Interesting" came fairly late, but did come nonetheless and maybe I should've just been anonymous to be able to discuss them here. Heehee. But with all the talks of feminism these days, I can't help but wonder if it's a privilege to be able to write that way or a necessity. Why should I be anonymous to be able to write freely? Why the mudslinging and the slut-shaming if one were to talk about their life? Maybe there are more female blogs out there (on such topics) because we feel the need to rebel against the current social structure. Sometimes we go out of our way to claim the rightful spot in this world, even if it means being ridiculed because you know someday your tiny step will lead to a larger change. Do you get me, dear reader?

Through a YouTube discussion on something as trivial as girls moshing to a metal cover of a pop song, I realized there are young, educated men out there who have no sense of the concept of equality. Let me correct myself because Joss Whedon said "Equality is not a concept, it's a necessity" and that makes total frikkin sense. Those men believe women have no right to "mosh" and doing so, they're making the metal fans out there feel ashamed. This is ludicrous! And I refuse to rant more over it. They've probably never heard that Music is Universal. They sound like those 10 year old boys from Hollywood movies who claim to have formed a ClubHouse where girls are not allowed because they're evil. 

Freedom. I figured we don't NEED freedom on a url or on a YouTube video. What we need is freedom in real life. And though my parents have been anal about this and that all my life (majorly because I lived in Delhi), they never made me feel like I can't achieve something because I'm not male or there are designated activities/careers for men and women, never made me feel like my freedom to express myself should be curbed because "what will people say!" or "this is not how girls should behave" and for that I will forever be indebted to them. And, funnily, because of the same thing, I don't understand when my fellow gender sharers are mousy and appreciate (or even ridicule) how "liberated" my mind and actions are, because that's the way I've been brought up. That's inherent in my nature; I genuinely don't understand when people compartmentalize everything into brackets of male and female. That's inherent in my brother's nature; in all my life, I've never heard him discriminate against women, and that makes me so proud of my family.

I once dated a guy who said to me "Don't get me wrong but I'm not sure how to handle a female personality as strong as yours". For a second I felt offended. But then I realized, perhaps he wasn't brought up that way. But he was making the effort to work around it. 

That's all we ask. For you to make an effort. Women and men alike. Me too, in some ways. Please keep an open mind. A mind without filters and prejudices. It's so much more easier than you think. Trust me.

Knife!

Took some rough lyrics, begged Prateek to help me out, put some melody to the words, structured out the thing and here we are.

Presenting...*ding ding ding* a rough recording of Knife
https://soundcloud.com/archita-trisal/knife

Like always, don't hate it!

Knife lyrics

I'm not going to ask you to let your sleeping demons lie
I won't let you to kill yourself a little bit inside
Every day, every hour

Mobbed by these thoughts you don't let peace get to you
You let the love of sadness to stick to you like glue
Every day, every hour

Where is your knife?
Murder it, murder it
Put up the fight
Step in the daylight
Who'll clean this up?
Icky cerebrum on your floor
Where is your knife?
Get up now.

Between gallows and being friends with your spirit noose
You pass your insipid life drowned in this abuse
Every day, every hour

One day this mirror won't reflect the romance in your head
Save yourself that moment when all you see is red
Every day, every hour

Where is your knife?
Murder it, murder it
Put up the fight
Step in the daylight
Who'll clean this up?
Icky cerebrum on your floor
Where is your knife?
Get up now.

Credits

Vocalist: Archita Trisal
Lyrics: Archita Trisal
Guitars: Prateek Dubey

Where is my mind

I'm not quite sure what to say or where to begin. There are days I love putting unedited thoughts here, without a care about who's reading and what you, the reader, interpret about my psyche or my personality, and then there are days I feel like I'm a prisoner to my own expression. Sometimes I wish to vent about certain people that affect me but they're all on my social network and I wonder if a public personal diary hung out to dry was really worth it.

Most times I feel even my friends don't understand me or find this funny and pull my leg or worry when they read something untoward and I know it's all in my best interest or jest but I find myself more and more vulnerable with each passing day. I've been told vulnerability is a sign of weakness, so I compensate for it in my non-virtual world. Not sure if this blog has done me any good by giving my passive aggression an outlet or changed the way people look at me and perceive me (for the good or for the worse). Sometimes it's just nicer when they acknowledge having read it with a 'Like' on Facebook (or not, no pressure) and don't bring it up in a regular conversation (unless to really discuss the subject matter at hand, to agree or disagree with what they've read). The discomfort of it all makes my non-corny side cringe. But, having confessed to this blog for over 4 1/2 years, to think of life without it, without an unrestrained and not-imposed-upon monologue, is a little difficult. Call it addiction, call it the voice that refuses to quit, I don't know.

What started off as a relentless quest to package my love in sweetness and in anger towards a particular person seamlessly became a platform for me to put out something silly, something I feel strongly about or an attempt Neruda. There have been tons of bouquets, few detractors and for them I'm thankful. Some views I still stand by, some views turned out to be more malleable, but over the last 4 year timeline of my life, I've had plenty conversations with complete strangers and that's a thrill hard to shake off.

I do, however, face a dilemma every time I write. Sometimes a post takes days or weeks for it to be ok in my head to be published. There's a fine line between narrating an incident involving certain people close to you, revealing things about them or about their lives they might not wish to and running the risk of offending them, because obviously it's my life too, my blog and I shall write the way I see things. My intention may not be malign anybody but it might come out that way. And that's why, even though I might have only about 10 people reading a given post, I'm not quite assured that the person it concerns will not read it, perhaps ignore it or be pragmatic about it.

So that's the reason why I blog, but don't blog as often as I did. I felt this was necessary just as a future and past disclaimer. And that's why songwriting and poetry can be such an ambiguous outlet :)

Happy break up day

Our break up was sad in so many ways. I lost my best friend, my biggest critique and my pillar of strength. Besides the irritating philosopher and chipku guide, I lost the best sex I had had till that day. I lost the mother-in-law I saw in your mom and the family I saw in your friends. I lost the first fragment of my innocence and the faith in that 15 year old self whose heart leapt at the sight of you. My actions made me lose faith in the person I thought I was and was going to be and which makes me doubt myself even today. You lost your future wife, your vision for our future. The plans you emphatically spoke about, while I nervously listened. (How cute were we, at twenty three!). You lost your chance at love with another woman, who you kept at bay for your loyalty towards me. You even lost money on the greeting cards you bought for our just-short-of 6th anniversary, half to change my mind. Pfft. And while you lost so much, you were not alone, I sorta lost myself too.

Our break up was the happiest moment of my life. There was no need to keep steering my path just to meet the direction in which you were headed. There was no more a trap of your personality traits I thought I desired, but I didn't. For the first time in my life, I was making my own decisions, and burning my hands and feet have only made them more willing to experiment. If you believe that one can love two people at the same time, there was another man who I thought loved me back, and a fair shot. Andven that not working out has been a happy consequence, in retrospect. There have been better men better-suited men out there who fulfilled me, temporarily, but they've been lovely nonetheless. How would I have known how to pick my men if I didn't know you as intimately as I did? And to have you as my friend back is a safety net no amount of money can buy. You will always be the one true love that I will never ever sleep with again (heh). And that is oddly reassuring.

I hope the split worked out well for you as well. I will always look for you in other men (as you do me), without ever really looking for you. You were as much a man at 18 as you are at 28. And that's the reason why, after 5 years of one failed attempt at relationship after the other, I still have faith in your gender.

Calling our memories "baggage" would be a grave insult. Calling them a blessing, on the other hand, would be more appropriate. So, thank you. Here's a "Happy 5th Break Up Anniversary!" to you. Now wish me back on the 17th so we can laugh about all of it. And I know you'll call, even if you don't see this, because you always do :)

Dude, we don't need rescuing. Aight?

Are men naturally inclined towards rescuing damsels in distress, even when they're not asking to be rescued? Can't we sit here and revel in our sorrow for a bit? (We all get off on it in various capacities, you know) Is that too much to ask for? Did I concern myself with your business so much as to fake concern for you after a particular point, that you thought it appropriate to encroach my space? Is the concept of boundaries not understood by men or people or this nation or this world? If you think you know me so well, don't you think I would've asked for help if I wanted it, replete with ways to fix this broken soul, to stitch up this big torn bag & baggage? Do I look like a woman-child to you? That concept does not apply to females, oh irreverent male. We fuck up, we lick our wounds, we clean, we weep to heal, not to hang a sword over your heads, and we amend. And look at our glorious selves today! Your nineteenth century mouths still only look dubious. They say something but they want quite something else. But thanks for being there at our beck and call. Arrive on time when we call you. Oh, and don't come around without an invitation.

Sweet intoxication

Flavor of the month
you're melting away too soon
Freeze!

Palate

Truth is -
I try to romanticize one
but none of you is quite adequate
So, my love poem is a combination
of the five of you
to paint the entire palate

Permanent Clown

Put on a happy face,

Permanent clown

You don't exist until you do

Who cares about you

Till you look like you're on acid,

And the rest of the crowd sways with you?

Put on a trippy mask,

Permanent clown

You don't exist until you do

Who loves you 

Till it's a show of hilarity and mishaps

And your true face is an unwanted new.

Don't you show any real emotions,

Permanent clown!

You're not allowed to have any.

Just get on that stage

Act out your little script

In a sequence decided by many.

I see through you, 

Permanent clown

You're tired just like the rest of us.

Hopping from one circus to the other

In the hope that you'll belong somewhere

Or go along with the pretend fluoresce.

We'll go to a better place,

Permanent clown.

We'll clickity clackety our heels and dance.

The bar will be open

Pretty people will be woven

And maybe one of them will give you a glance.

I Love You

This is perhaps one of the most difficult posts I've ever had to write. No, nobody's put a gun to my head! But like all posts, I want this to mirror my feelings and help me understand them better.

On Saturday, I met this 4 year old at a friend's place. The moment I entered the door, he wrapped himself around my knees and I was startled - like fuck dude, who's this kid?!?! Over the course of the day, I kept observing him and envied how freely he was able to express himself - whether it was affection or grumpiness or the simple and hysterical joy he found in frolicking around in the greens. His behaviour was infectious and I found myself multiplying in this happy cancer. Last night he even said "No! You're my mommy!" while I tried to rid him from my arms, at the same time feeling love in his smother.

This post is not about a kid or having motherly feelings. It's about expressing yourself and why, as we grow older, we put up our steely-tough guard and let our feelings grow as only a lump in the throat, fearing its release. Why can't we break this convention?

Now, who says Love Is Forever? I don't believe that for a second. We're humans, not factory-made toy robots, made to perform the same function with ever-growing predictability. Discard that notion, challenge it. Love can be transient, temporary, fleeting, boring, exhilarating, maddening, dirty, pure, even non-existing, because that's the nature of life itself.

Love is a simple emotion, but we've made those three words our ultimate source of joy and the perfect reason to escape. It's not required only at the end of a long romantic phone call. Or in the throes of an orgasm. Or while trying to keep your lover from leaving you.

Remember the time,
when I was crying about poor scores in Mock CATs (!)
and you ignored all your work to teach me your tricks
at 2 am?
I loved you then, my little life raft.
I don't love you now
but in that moment, I didn't love anything more.
And I should've told you.

That moment is gone and it won't be fair to bring it up now. I wouldn't express it the same way, and we'd both be sheepish, laugh about it (and it doesn't deserve that) and the moment would be forgotten as soon as there's a knock on the door.

Remember the time,
we were standing in your college courtyard
and we feared our "relationship" will be seen
yet you put your arm around me
when Comfortably Numb played
I looked around to catch your friends' eyes
but you didn't care
I loved you then, my one big sin.
I don't love you now
but in that moment, I didn't love anything more.
And I should've told you.

Now you're reduced to pleasantries on birthdays and a remark and a chuckle a year on reminiscence and innocence. You told me you loved me, in an ambiguous and lengthy poem, when it had lost all its meaning; you weren't so significant to me any more, for I suffered another heartbreak after the ordeal I call You. And that made me so angry. I knew I saw it in your eyes, why couldn't you say it when I needed to hear it the most? Did you think it was enough to let your eyes do the talking and not put it into actual concrete words, when words are what you let define you and you still strive to make a living out of? What did you fear, that my heart would break after you couldn't fulfil the promise that came with those words? My heart still broke, you know, so what difference would those words have made? I could write a book on you (I already wrote most of this blog on you), but you deserve to be unwritten. Still, I hope we can be unspoken friends, because through it all, we always were.

Remember the time,
I cringed when you held my hand
because Look! It's a public space!
but you didn't let go 
while we walked and walked the Delhi elite
you squeezed my butt in front of the President's House
and whispered
"Do you realize you've been holding my hand for the last one hour?"
I loved you then, my skinny love.
I don't love you now
but in that moment, I didn't love anything more.
And I should've told you.

This. That's it. I'm exhausted.

Remember the time,
you played the guitar for all my friends?
and they all loved you
like I loved you in that moment
and I didn't love anything more
who knows if I ever did in the traditional sense of the word!
But I should've told you.

I don't know, I'm still undecided on that.

I'm not going to be embarrassed for a feeling that lasted a few minutes to a few days to a few months. I still loved with a crazy kind of intensity, and just because that feeling did not last a lifetime doesn't make it any less of love. Why does the word carry with it so much baggage? Why does it echo in our brain, building fear by the nanosecond, like energy in a cyclotron? 

I want to tell you I Love You when I feel love for you, not as a formality or as a given. I want to tell you I Love You when your penis is inside of me and I can't wrap my brain around the overwhelming bond I feel with your skin, your smell, your hands, your teeth, your eyes, and my/those words in your ear is the glue that finally fuses us together. But don't hold me ransom for my confession.

And I won't let you tell me that you love me if I don't see it. I will run away from those words only when I know it's not coming from the right place. 

So, say it! Throw away the guilt and the fear. Do away with your apprehensions! Walk away from someone who doesn't respect it. They're the one at loss here, don't you see? Forget to be cynical, we weren't born to be that way. The day you stop feeling and expressing, you might as well be dead.

Spicy Chicken Thin Crust

Quick! Hurry!

There's tons of work left to do tonight, tomorrow and the rest of the lifetime so I thought between the innumerable waits between gazillions of Dominos pizza, I'd get a blog post in.

What's new? Absolutely nothing. Nada, nill, null, niente, nein...in another words...jhGSDJ ASDGHGAs aGSDJAS  but those aren't real words, are they?

Oh wait, my piano is here and it collected some dust over the last two months sitting rusty in Delhi. Scarlet was complaining by groaning with one speaker, then the other and refusing to play both at the same time. I was like dude come on, make love to me, but she was being all woman. So I kept at it patiently and she came around. She needs a little warming up before my fingers try to create some magic.

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S ONLY TUESDAY. *rips off clothes* LOOK AWAAYYYY.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO NOT THAT ONE SIGHHHH.

I want to hide somewhere and maybe not dream about a Europe vacation which I ABSOLUTELY WILL TAKE NEXT YEAR. Future me, please note that this has come on record and it must be done because if you love your sanity at all, then YEAAAH. Coming very close to committing suicide and all these days. Something's gotta give.

Little ludicrous that people actually listen to me like I have something important to say. I'm like hahahahahhaha suckers! I did not put in any effort in that whatsoever and you're like GREAT WORK. *humblebrag alert* Soon I must do better than expected. *serious mode*

TAMPONS! Because tourettes. COFFEE. You make me sick, world. LAPTOP.

adore you

what a waste that i know all your sweet spots
now what am i to do with that information?
you'll hand it down to someone else
and make it their temporary privilege too
why must you make me privy, in such detail
that all my designs now make no sense, with this abrupt end
they were for you, for none other
crafted with patience and hunger at the same time

let me replace your face with someone else's
let me kiss with my mouth another neck
let me trace another spine, another day in another life
in time i'll forget the honeydipped taste of yours
like i forgot of the ones before you
one day, i'll forget also, how to adore you

Victim of your habit

Wings weren't given to me so I could fly too close to the fire
desire wasn't supposed to burn me the way it finally transpired
Always dodging bullets and cannons of your flippant lust
I'm requesting you to employ a little tact, if you must.

You're the firecracker of the 4th of July
Shine bright for a fleeting moment, only to leave me high and dry
What's left of you in my mind is some awe and debris
and little traces of what I think looks like memories.

When you can’t decide whether it’s all or nothing

You bait me in, with the taste of a little something

I’ve been there too many times before, to think it a gambit

Please don’t come around again
and make me a victim of your habit

Please don’t make me a victim of your habit

The night, oh nights, I fear the most
you come around softly rattling the doors
the bulbs they're swinging, the wind is singing
they join your cacophony, now we're two forces at war
but I've no choice but to surrender to you like a helpless whore.

So when you can’t decide whether it’s all or nothing

You bait me in, with the taste of a little something

I’ve been there too many times before, to think it a gambit

Please don’t make me a victim of your habit

If distraction is all you need

There’s the world at your feet

Many a nubile mind will gladly let you inhabit

So why make me a victim of your habit?
Please don’t make me a victim of your habit.

A clarification, because.

Most of the times I write here to clear my head or to know exactly what I feel about a particular topic, because I have to jot it down, read, re-read and even change my opinion as I talk to myself. I publish it because I want to know what others think. And I wouldn't know if my view is broad or narrow till you, the reader, express yourself with your knowledge and opinions.

If I've ever offended anyone intentionally or unintentionally, I beg for your apology. This stands for future posts as well :) Thanks for reading. Do keep commenting; it helps.

The Itchy and Scratchy Show

I've been meaning to write about this quite sometime now. It's not like a thousand articles are not written on it almost everyday. Somewhere you either look for write ups to learn something new, echo your sentiments about a particular thing or for them to make up your mind about it. (Let me warn you, the title is supremely misleading.)

We've been doing all that for many years now, ever since our newspapers started filling up with a lot more raunchy and exploratory content than just the 'news'. Agony aunt columns, relationship advice and quizzes, sex advice - nothing caught my attention more on a Sunday morning. Whether you have a partner or not, there's something for everybody there.

Then a few years ago there was an article about one night stands that really engaged me, mostly because that concept was so alien to me then, and continues to slightly perplex me even now (actually, more if you've met that person the same day for the first time). So this particular psychologist was of the view that the more number of casual relationships a person has, the more their commitment levels to a proper long-term monogamous relationship starts falling. This person will go through hoards of hurdles such as not being able to express their feelings or not really feeling them at all.

Now you will say - what's wrong with continuing with casual relationships all your life and why does society put so much pressure on us to be monogamous when it has been proven that humans are polygamous by nature? What if I don't have the need to go through the regular rigmarole of marriage and kids? What if all I wanna do is become a nomad for life; finding comfort in strangers and affections at the mouth of a different person every week?

Nothing, really. There's nothing out there to say that you're wrong except the accepted rules of the society. Now if I can break one societal rule (let's say - living in with a person of the opposite sex) then why should I judge someone when they break the societal norm of monogamy? Are we being hypocritical? Are some norms more critical than the other? Can we have them prioritized cleanly on one sheet of paper for convenience?

I don't have the answer to all that. It's best you do what suits you best. A friend once asked me - "If I'm emotionally completely my wife's and wish to grow old with her because she really is an amazing woman, then why am I a bad person if I just occasionally want a blowjob from this totally hot chick from my office who has no problem whatsoever hooking up with me?" All I can say is - what if your wife gets to know? Will she be ok with it? If not, is it right then? Would you be ok if she went ahead and did the same thing to you? Do whatever you want, as long as there's mutual understanding. That's where I stand, on that topic at least.

Given that beggars can't be chosers, I'm really in no position to comment on fidelity because a) I've done things that I'm not very proud of, b) Currently even fidelity and sex with even one person sounds like a distant but tempting oasis.

But I do have an opinion, because that's really how you go around making sure you have something to base your decisions on! I have to admit, I'm very very put off by guys who've been with too many women, there's something incomplete about them, like there's a warmth that's been missing for too long.  It's not that I think they'll never be able to commit themselves, but there'll always be that part of them that'll never quite be there. I can't imagine a guy like that being crazy about one woman for the rest of his life and do everything in his power to work towards the relationship, when things go awry. They've always had options and why go through the discomfort (because we women are oh so annoying) when you could just jump on another bandwagon. You know what I mean? I know it's a guy thing to accept sex when you're being offered some, but from where I see it, I wouldn't want to be with a guy who prefers quantity over quality; he who might have used the same line on the other hundreds that he has used with you. There is always a bell that goes off in the brain and makes you wonder if you'll ever be special enough for him to be satisfied in his brain for him to commit to you completely. Of course, there'll be insecurity and of course there'll be questions. What have you really done to instill confidence in her, by talking openly about your prowess? The same can apply to women too I guess. And yeah, we can agree to disagree on this topic, for I'm saying this from my point of view. I would prefer to be monogamous and expect the same from my partner (But who's to really say when you're as single as me).

But hey, I also have friends who don't have the roving eye but are half-single, half-involved. I think some sort of fear of loneliness and/or want of companionship keeps them there. I don't know what does not keep them there. Maybe they think something better is waiting out there.

Maybe something better *is* waiting out there. At least, I hope so.

Just another mousy Monday

Feeling a little frisky so thought I'd slip in a blog post between work. I'm badass like that.

Sick to my stomach (literally) cuz I've consistently been sleeping at 3-4 am every night, no clue why. I'd like to blame it on no parental censorship, not complaining though. Making mango shake and playing Monopoly cards at 2 am isn't exactly commonplace. Another chance to feel like a kid again, till all friends start falling prey to the M-thing like bowling pins.

Being in Delhi with parents for the last three years, I almost felt like I was going to be forever in that black hole. Ennui itself can age you an extra 5 years, I talk from experience. There are days I struggle to be my normal self because self-repression has became supremely mechanical! Initially, i.e. 3 years ago, I'd rebel and do things I wished to, but then all the discomfort at home tainted every fun thing I ever planned for myself. So eventually, to avoid confrontations (I HATE confrontations), I acquiesced to a particular situation, just to keep the peace and parents' blood pressure in check. I almost never get angry now, I simply walk away.

It's not easy being a girl. It's even harder being parents of a girl. In Delhi. In EAST Delhi. So I'm not sure if I should be blaming them for being absolutely distraught and in turn, fuck annoying (pardon the language)  every time I stepped out.

Anyway, not in that situation now. Though I shudder every time I imagine going back home. *bites nails*

Also, Mondays aren't really that bad, it's just one of those monsters you imagined under your bed when you were little. 

A nicer way to give the middle finger, I suppose.

So many times I think I'll write about certain things that bother me. But every single time there's always that thing where I imagine at least one person rolling their eyes and going "Oh my God, she needs to stop whining". Or the person I'm slyly writing about to say "It's a good thing I got rid of her when I did", so I never really end up expressing about it.

To write here is not about judging anybody, it's really about purging (like I've mentioned so many times before). I'm not trying to say that I'm right or not. But there's no harm in saying it like I like it, right? If I'm disturbed due to something YOU said or did, I should be able to talk about it without feeling like I'M being judged, in my own space.

I'm very accommodating of other people - their whims and fancies, their desires, their orders, their lifestyle, their expectations from me. And quite frankly, I've started to get extremely irritated by it. I'm never the one to spew poison but this is just getting too much. I don't see the point in raising my blood pressure over it any more. I go out of my way, time and again, to make people happy because I love them and all they do is disappoint me. When you care about them, they turn around and go "I never asked you to do that!". The least you can do is acknowledge somebody's effort, not deride them for it. So much so I've been craving to keep a pet, so maybe I'll get some love back, even if it's conditional.

This time, I'm NOT going to walk away quietly. I swear to God, I will break your balls and do everything in my power to make sure you don't mess with me again. Just get the fuck out of my life and take your two cents of disrespect with you, because "I never asked you to do that!". I wish someday someone comes around and hurts you the same way or worse (All hail Schadenfreude). Oh how I wish it were me, but I don't seem to have that kind of effect on you.

If you think this post is about you, it probably is. 

FUCK YOUR BLOG! Vs FUCK, YOUR BLOG!

Ayyo long time.

Dropped in to say hi, was wondering if the link had expired. Have no theme for you today, just gonna ramble along. I should be working right now but there's so much going on in my head I thought maybe a blog-vomit would help.

So yadi yada I've moved to Bombay. New job, new life, new home, a little fatter me (The cupcakes in this city are mindblowing)

How's it going? Tell me fun stuff. Tell me happy stuff. God knows I need it. Life is great though. Little bored today but can't complain. I miss my piano, miss her a lot. Every now and then my fingers keep searching for her, and then it makes me sad to not find her around. Cuz when she's there, and after spending a few minutes with her, I feel like I had a long chat with a girlfriend about everything that's bothering me. I cry in private, I cry freely, I cry with joy. Must make efforts to get her to this city. Pronto.

Throat was also out of commission for a little over a month, getting better now. Vocals are coming out all flat but still not completely out of key. Haven't practised in over 3 months so no surprises there. Fear has taken over. I don't know where my next note will land. Very disconcerting. Love is fading slowly. Why is love fading? There needs to be something...one thing that I love passionately still. What's the difference between the next person and me if that doesn't remain?

Phone also left me bereft. Gone for repair. Handicapped every which way, do you see?

But I'm fine. I always am. Things get better. They always do.

P.S: Tell me...what do you wish you never fall out of love with? Living or inanimate, anything. Talk to me.

I don't know if this makes any sense at all to you - the weird freaky musician love

Today I was at the Norah Jones concert and I was constantly trying to observe this friend who's a huge fan. I was trying to imagine how she must be feeling when Norah was yet to arrive. Then I remembered the time I went to watch Incubus in concert.

Prior to the concert I thought I was gonna cry my eyes out, faint, cut my hand and write Brandon's name and all. But even on my way to the venue, I just wasn't quite getting there. I wanted to feel something - jitters, overwhelming emotions - but majorly I was just excited to fulfill what I set out to do.

Then I got to that very second when the band came on stage. Nothing. I had a smile on my face like any normal fan would. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react. Suddenly it felt like I had something to prove. Like my 6 inch heels that I wore to the concert (I didn't want to be disadvantaged for the view cuz I'm short) or my knocked out spectacles or my high temperature or my spending thousands and thousands of rupees to get to Malaysia had to culminate in some proof of accomplishment, a miracle, a gift from God for which I'll always be thankful.

Instead, I sang to every song. Every word, while being pushed around to the point of having bruises on my body till a week later. The smile never left my face as I watched Mike looking all nerdy with his periodic table T-shirt, playing the most badass guitars, or Jose with his naughty childlike little-drummer-boy vibe, Chris K coyly dishing out the most ridiculous samples, Ben supporting Brandon with a mean bass and backup vocals AND Brandon, looking like a picture of serenity, with the genuinity of child and the words of a mad-wise man. And when the entire hall was reverberating with about 10,000 people singing Drive altogether, I was floating in a reverie, the only reason why I even believed it was reality was because I video recorded it.

They were not somebody I flew down and paid to watch. They were my family. In my mind, I had talked to them, laughed with them, hugged them a million times, cried with them, wished them well in their personal lives and thanked them for existing. You never even realize how much time you've invested into people who don't even know you. But they do know you. When they look into the crowd, and you think they're looking straight at you, you know they know you. Am I making any sense?

I'm their great fan. I'm one of their many great fans. There's nothing more beautiful than admiring someone to the point of obsession, as creepy as that may sound, than maybe getting together with people who share your obsession. We, on the innumerable Facebook groups, talk of Incubus as they were our best backstreet friends. Music seems coincidental. But music is the way we communicate. What would we be without music, obsessions and obsessions with music?

I'll never feel the way about Norah like my friend does. Hell, I'm not even sure if she feels about Norah the way I feel about Incubus. Because our love is so inexplicable, moreso private. So, I'm not sure I want to know. How the hell does it matter? I'll never understand it anyway. 

Completely unedited

Oh no, I'm doing it again
putting all eggs in one basket again
flirting with tremendous risk
I'm the pony with just one trick.

The last time around
when I did the same
the brain said... the next time you start you do it you better hold on and look again! Because woman, the first time you were screwed, the last time you were devastated and the next time you'll be destroyed beyond recognition
and you don't want that.
Do you?

Nope.
Sure?
Yes.
What are you doing about it?
Ummmm.
Ummmm is right.
So?
Widen the network.
WIDEN the network?
That's what I said.
That's ludicrous!
Is it now?
Eh, yes! Who talks like that?
Me. Your brain. Your best friend. Your..
Worst enemy?
Pardon me?
Can't a girl have some fun?
That's exactly what I'm asking you to do!
Hmmm.
See, wasn't this nice? A little mano-a-mano.
GO AWAY.
You're just lazy. Why must I work so hard at putting all nerve connections together to give you thought and logic and you leverage the only weakness I have?
Which is..?
Will.

Wasted

every single day, I’m wasting

I’m wasting

every single day

every single thought

is so hasted

like I’m waiting

on something better

that something may never come

yet I dream that it will

someday

and I won’t waste it

I won’t waste every single day

Baby in a basket at your doorstep on a rainy day

Hello old friend,
We meet yet again.

The knife in my back
The insurmountable attack.
The fuel to my fire
The disappearance of the object of my desire.
The ying to my pang
The poisonous fang.
Not even a friend to his zone
It's another year, alone.

While everyone is getting hitched
I'm looking at you, Rejection, you crazy bitch.