Nostalgia Engulfed...

She looked over at her watch. 'He's late. Ughhh. Okay. You gotta chill. This is no big deal. It's just coffee. Chill.' Ten minutes later, her phone rang. It was him. "Where are you? I can't see you." "Right in front of you." She smiled and it soon turned into a grin. He had that effect on her. "You know what they say about the thing you're searching for being right in front of you.." He smiled back at her as he took a seat next to her in the crowded coffee shop that had the most amazing smell of coffee beans surrounding them, enclosing them in their own little bubble, away from the crowd. This was one of his favorite cafés in the city. He used to come here a lot, mostly with a book for company. Only this time he had decided to read this beautiful girl instead. 'How can he say things like that and expect me not to fall for him.' Her heart questioned. She ignored this silly remark and went on to fall even harder for that s...

Okay, everybody who hated the movie, let me stop you right there. This post is for people who could relate to the movie, so if you ain't one of them you better click that cross sign on the tab soon. This is not one of those movies that need you to leave your brains at home so you can laugh your heads (yes, heads not hearts!) out at the stupidest jokes to make you feel better about spending so much money over a shitty movie. And then these movies turn out to be blockbusters. Tamasha..is art. The kind of art you can feel in your veins as soon as you see it. Its not one of those pretentious exhibitions where you stare at 'art' and make analyses about it to sound smart even when it's just a red dot on a white canvas. It's the kind of art that makes you feel alive, that makes you aware of your beating heart. Let me put it this way. Imagine the girl you like. Now imagine her all decked up with a pretty dress on and a whole lot of makeup, ready to let her hair down on t...

What's Murphy's Law, you say? Let me explain to you with instances you can relate to : A girl used to falling on flat surfaces in front of her crush.  The guy who runs out of words every time he musters up the courage to go up to that cute girl and talk to her.  Missing the lift by a second. Your crush is in the lift. Running smack into people you're trying to avoid. Getting late to work on the day you have an early meeting. Being the lucky person whose head a pigeon decides to shit on while they're waiting at the bus stop. (Yes, that's why they're pigeons, not doves. They're uncouth little noisy creatures.) Getting your top stuck to a nail in the Mumbai locals.  Falling out of a bus flat on your face while alighting. Being friends with a loud person who has a crush on the guy you have a crush on who, of course, has a crush on someone else. Taking halloween costumes seriously and showing up as a troll when everyone's in black tie. Running ou...

'This is getting out of hand.', she thought to herself. It had been over an hour since she was holding a book in her hands, trying to solve a few problems to distract herself from the distraction that was taking over her life. After pulling out a few hairs off her head and realising she had only solved about ten questions in the past hour because she was using the wrong concept altogether, she finally gave in. She pushed her books aside and decided to lay down on her bed with her head hanging off the edge. She let her hair fall over her face and let it do its magic. This, she had learned over the years, was one of the most effective ways to calm herself. She closed her eyes and then her mind wandered off with the train of thought she was trying to miss. She rolled her eyes. She loved this phase - when everything you think of connects to a snippet of a conversation, the inside jokes, the 'I've just met you but I feel like I know you' phase. She looked over at her b...

She's sitting in the balcony, phone in her hand - going through their old messages. Her left temple has started to feel like it'll burst from all the throbbing it's been doing for the past half hour. She's been doing it again - overthinking, overanalysing everything. Irritated, she gets up to fetch a couple of migraine pills from her room. She stops mid way and turns to the kitchen. She hasn't turned to coffee for a long time now, but today she suddenly wants to see if it'd still come to her rescue. She was back to the balcony in a few minutes, this time with coffee and earphones. She plugs the earphones in and set the music player to shuffle. She looked over the horizon and found it uncannily familiar. This used to be her go-to routine every evening till a couple years ago. She would get some coffee from the hostel mess in the evening with her roommate and they'd rush to the terrace to occupy their 'adda' as they used to call it. The sun would hav...

-There's gotta be one thing about weddings that you like. - Open bar. - No. -All right. So when the bride comes in and she makes her giant, grand entrance, I like to glance back at the poor bastard getting married. 'Cause even though I think he's an idiot for willingly entering into the last legal form of slavery he always looks really, really happy. And, for some reason, I-- What the hell are you looking at me like that for? - Are you shitting me right now? - What? -That's my favorite part. She paused the movie and looked at him with a big grin on her face. He smiled, her genuine smiles made him want to always keep her happy. He raised his eyebrows and when she still wouldn't answer, he asked "What!?" She squealed, "That's my favorite part too." He said "Buuuuut.. Indian weddings aren't like that." She started laughing so hard he thought he'd unintentionally cracked a joke. Looking at his confused and baffl...

He withdrew from the beach after a while, smiling as he saw his friends having fun like kids. It was amusing to him how alcohol sometimes worked as a truth serum, bringing out the truest child within each person. He turned back and started walking towards the girl who was with them only in the physical sense of the words. Her mind, as anyone could clearly tell, was elsewhere. He went and sat next to her, silently watching and trying to demystify this person who sat next to him. Every time he had tried to do that in the past, he had discovered there were far too many layers to her personality for anyone to be able to understand her at all. He watched as her fingers thrummed against her knees, playing to some music on her mind. Her hands were.. interesting, to say the least. She had those long fingers that artists are known to have, with rings on way too many fingers. She wore some junky bracelets on her left wrist, beneath which he could see faint scars peeking out. Her right wrist was ...

I woke up with an uneasy feeling in my stomach, the good kind. It was finally here - the day I had been waiting for about a month and half now. But to me it felt like this was what I had been waiting for all my life. I was moving to Mumbai with a new job in hand and a few dreams safely hidden beneath my eyelashes. I didn't realise these dreams completely yet, just felt their fidgety presence and the excitement they instilled in me. It seemed unreal, like a childhood fantasy coming true. Growing up through my childhood years, I'd seen pictures of my my friends posing in front of the Gateway of India or chilling in their shorts at Juhu. I only began traveling when I was fifteen and to places that I could easily count off on my fingers. More than anything else, the writer in me had her hopes pinned to this change in my life. A part of me believed this was the answer to my increasingly frequent writer block issues. I was desperate for a fresh start, a do over. I had made too...