Nostalgia Engulfed...

As I find myself three seasons into my favourite show again, I involuntarily see the patterns and lack thereof every time I’m inclined to watch it.  Gilmore Girls. If you seek me out on a random day and ask me my favorite show, you may never get the same answer twice. I don’t like being held down to favorites and my mood swings like a chandelier most days. But if you ask me which show I gravitate towards most, this is the one I’ll quote. If you see me talking in weird phrases and references that don’t make sense, this show is the culprit. Having watched it over 7 times in just 3 years, it amazes me how I’ve watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S. way less times even though it might be the show I look to for comfort. If you ask me what I watch when I’m sad, I’d probably say This is Us. Somewhere between the spectrum where one end is F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and the other This is Us, smushed between How I Met Your Mother, Suits, The Office, New Girl, and a number of other shows I like to rewatch, is Gilmore Gi...

I woke up this morning thinking about writing this post because I couldn’t fathom how one year we were going crazy with friendship bands, everything was simpler, love was friendship, movies were influential and then I wake up today and it’s a pretty normal day. Also I wanted to try out my cute new keyboard which otherwise seems like money not so pragmatically spent. I wanted to reminisce a little bit about all the different kinds of friends I’ve had over the years. The one you rang first on the landline every time you got the tiniest bit of gossip. The one you went running around the school playground with, jumping off corridors as your fancy birthday dress flew up in frilly cuteness. The one you spent hours with coming up with numbers to cryptic-name your multiple crushes/persons of interest. The same one you found sitting on the first bench after assembly, new to school but so old and wise beyond her age (still). The ones you keep thinking you’ve said goodbye to but they keep coming ...

  It has been a year and a half since I last wrote anything, well, significant. (Coincidentally, also the exact age of my dog.) So I figured it was time to get out all the stupid. Here goes nothing. He’s twenty eight, almost twenty nine. January has always been a difficult month, it’s been the month of departures in his life. Most people are excited about the hope January brings with it, he’s terrifyingly cautious of the signs it brings - of people leaving, of things changing, and basically everything going to shit. His fears are not unfounded, he’s not a vague person like that. He’s seen things happen, he’s felt things hurt and he’s experienced darkness in its complete, mystifying totality. People think he's naïve, his problems self-made but tell that to the spiraling tornado in his head that won't quit screaming. Fast forward to two years later, it's his thirtieth birthday eve. He grew up celebrating and anticipating this month, now he plans to sleep well before midnight....

 Remember. The first time you held a mic and heard your voice boom. Remember the genius you carried in that little head of yours. Remember how the words just flew and remember how they've never failed you since. Remember when you were eight and had a tiny party in your class with all your tiny classmates. Remember the butterfly wings on your back and the irony that they scare you. Remember the tiny best friend that would come running each time classes broke just to sit with you and watch you not eat your lunch. Remember when you were twelve and you had friends you could count off on your fingers but also remember the adoration that came your way from the other young adults. Remember the moving proses, summer reading and the fierce, fierce intent to win at everything. Remember when you were sixteen and you could charm people who didn't know you. Remember the stark, silent nights with your lamp on, multiple mugs of coffee, colourful highlighters and the sheer ability to wake up e...

Here is a bouquet of little pick-me-ups to make you feel better when you're having a bad day. Seeing how this year has been a gold mine in that regard, I'd consider starring this one. Spending hours in a day reading long, painfully typed text messages from your friend who's giving you a play by play, processed, eight year old friendly version of that horror show that is deeply intriguing but you're too scared to watch, even if it makes sleeping more difficult than it already is Dreaming about familiar places - a bench on the school playground, a milestone on the highway, nani ghar in summers, that nook in your old room that you used to hide in under the bed with a book and a torch after it was dark Watching Wake Up Sid with your best friend, after having a long, excruciating week, stuffing your face with momos, following it up with good wine, forgetting everything you've been trying to forget and passing out happy in the middle of the movie Smoke breaks in between w...

He nudged her to bring her out of her reverie. She was lost again, zoned out, overthinking. "Penny for  your thoughts? Or do you want it to be punny?" She laughed in that way she only laughed with him and broke out of her spell. It was easy being around him, effortless. It didn't matter what she had to do to be near him or how many intolerable yet genius puns she had to endure to hear him giggle at his own damn jokes. Maybe that's exactly why she couldn't describe what about him made her happy. She had been asked that often, a lot, really. And she couldn't figure out how anybody who knew him even the tiniest bit couldn't understand it. It felt natural for her to gravitate towards him because he was it. Not in the epic love story and grand gestures way but just the I-can-just-be-myself-around-you-and-you-put-me-at-ease way. She was wound up and every year of her life and every incident that came along with it had built her up a nice, cosy layered wall tha...

She opened her eyes and peeked at the light seeping in through the curtains. The light didn't wake her, her thoughts did. She tried to get up, but couldn't, her legs seemed incapable of moving. It was cold and it made her want to curl up inside her blanket and never wake up. She glanced at her Kindle, lying two feet away from her. She thought of the book that she'd been dying to read a month ago. And then she thought about how she hadn't been able to read in days. She tried to sit up and look at the sun - absorb some of its magnificent energy to be able to get on with her day. She thought about what lay ahead of her for the day. Meetings, unnecessary stress, disappointment and waiting - a whole lot of waiting for someone who couldn't care less. She closed her eyes to push her thoughts away and before she knew it, she was asleep again. She woke up in the middle of the day to realise she's missed work, work calls and more contact from people who didn't matt...

'Introvert!' 'She's not much of a people person.' 'He's weird.' 'Annoying.' 'Perfect!' How dare you? How dare you limit an entire person, his whole life, her complete individuality to a single word? How do you describe a person you have barely, superficially known for only a chunk of his lifetime in a few, simple words? Is this why we have eulogies? To make up for all the limiting things we say about people when they're alive. Is it a way to apologise for trying to put down a number on the distance between their being and the horizon? Are we trying to make up for the infinite possibility in them that we carelessly ignore? 'How would you describe your personality?' 'I'm lazy. I prefer pulling up my blanket to turning off the fan 'cause the switch isn't an arm's length away. I put down books when I don't love them anymore because they remind me of how my preferences change....

She had this way of living in the past, that's what he always said, didn't he? "Why are you living in the past? It's like you are obsessed with everything you had but lost." She couldn't disagree, the polaroid camera in her hands was proof enough. She trudged on, looking for things that caught her attention - a tiny squirrel, a disoriented puppy, clouds that made the day feel gloomy. She had become so attached to the pictures she had taken over the years, her room showed more pictures than walls. It was like she didn't want any moment to run away, like catching butterflies. She felt the inside pocket of her jeans, still there, tattered from the multiple failed attempts of tearing it apart. The first polaroid. It was the only picture she had with him. Of him. He gave her photography, an eye for details, an obsession with moments. He had lost someone. Someone he could never get over. He made up for it by trying to capture everything that touched him. He pa...

"Are you a mountains or a beach person?" "Mountains." I loved the mountains. I loved the green, long, winding roads with me and my friends in a car. I loved traveling to the apex and feeling like being on the top of the world. I loved the ear-pop games the altitude played with me.  I loved the adventure that the mountains always stood for, beckoning from high above, tempting to be discovered. I always did things I had never done before. I looked forward to these firsts. Sometimes I went to watch the same movies twice or thrice, but does that really count? I went on long walks. I spent nights just blabbing away with friends. I took 3 am bike rides across the city. I talked to people. Finally. And I couldn't stop. I loved wine, and a good ol' girls' night out. I loved my roommate, who dressed up to work and made me do the same. I loved the late night musings on a balcony with a cuppa coffee in one hand. I loved gaming arcades and how my friend cheat...

I stare at the words in front of me that I've highlighted but failed to comprehend. I know this is important but my brain cannot fathom why. Instead, it takes its voluntary infamous trips to the past, it digs out memories I hate but those that define me. These memories are like popups, my brain has this ability to find out things that would trigger my current state - statements from the past, feelings from the archives. Maybe everyone is like that, maybe that's how they punish themselves, for what though, I fail to understand. My laptop is at 2%, I am too lazy to find the charger. I want to curl up and sleep. But I also want to think about that one time when I said I could never compare to her because she was too beautiful. "So pretty he can't take his eyes off her", is what I believe I'd said. And apparently, at 1 am in the morning, this is what I want to think about. "But let's not talk about such things okay?" Okay. But how do I...

Tonight I have decided to take up a Herculean task and I know I might get a lot of flak for it but tonight, TONIGHT I'm gonna *attempt* to defend Ae Dil Hai Mushkil. I'm gonna attempt to answer all those people who go "Really? You like that movie?" with a not-so-slight hint of judgement in their voice. Tonight I will attempt to explain to you why the plot of a movie isn't everything. So okay, let's start with why most people don't like the movie. Too much drama. Check. Wannabe unexpected plot twist. Check. Hype to friendzone. Check. Overpriced casting ensemble. Check. Blah. Blah. Blah. People will go on and on if you just utter the movie name in front of them. Eh.. why am I wasting my energy then? I'd rather focus on the good parts now. For me, whether or not I like a movie is hugely dependent on my mood, the phase I am going through and most importantly, if it's the slightest bit relatable. To tell you the truth, I'm really not that hard t...

It happens all of a sudden, no transition time. One moment I'm walking towards the lift, the next I find myself running up the stairs to the gardens. I walk and walk, I circuit the park twice I think. It gets too much to bear, I need to talk, I want to get it out. I call a friend, and then I call another and another. I can't get the words out. I feel like it's nothing and I'm worrying everyone for nothing. I try to smile and it doesn't work, my lips won't curve - it's like they won't listen to me. My head is getting excited, Content, Content, Content, it's chanting. It won't stop chanting. I try to talk, I try to say what's worrying me but the words won't come. I'm scared I don't know what's worrying me. I look up to my building, I spot my home, but it's not home, it feels weird to call it home. I don't want to go. Not yet. Maybe that's what is worrying me. I give up trying to get the words out, I stash my phone ...

There are days when I'm okay, then there are days when I'm better. And every once in a while, there's a slow, lazy Saturday that refuses to go by soon enough. I make sure I'm always occupied on Saturdays - eating out, writing, reading something calm. But then gradually the day passes and as the dusk follows, it brings the moon along. Full moons are the worst, when the earth's stalker is predominant in all it's beauty. It's difficult to ignore it even when I know I really, really should. Because looking at the moon makes me feel like you're here, and that's dangerous territory. I want you to be here, all the time, we both know that I do - but we choose to deny it because it's convenient, it makes life easier. Well, Saturdays are hard, but Sundays are worse.

"You know what's the worst part about being a writer?" "Enlighten me." "You can't really differentiate between reality and fiction." He looked confused, so she tried to explain - "For a writer there's always a thin line separating the fictional realm from the real one. The scary thing is, at most times the line is a little too blurry. Most of my stories are what really happened, parts of them are made up. Some things I write about, I've dreamt about. Others, I wish would happen." She looked to see if he was bored, but his attention was rapt so she continued - "Over time, you give up all the segregations and start seeing everything in terms of words, in terms of stories. Like right now, you could really be here but could just as well be a figment of my imagination." He pulled her hair - "I'm real." "Oh I know." She said. "Just making sure you do. Anyway, I still don't see how this i...

* I finally have access to my blog again YAYYY! * I wake up. I get ready. I go to work. I'm out of the house before I can properly adjust my eyes to the morning brightness. I book a ride to work. I get to work. I grab a bite to eat so I don't fall asleep again. I work. Work work work work work. I have lunch. Say me have to work work work work work work. I take a break. I work some more. I book a ride home. I have dinner, maybe watch some videos while I eat. I fall asleep before I even realise I'm sleepy. This monotony is heartbreaking. There are mornings where my alarm goes off and I don't want to wake up and wish there was an infinite snooze. There are afternoons where my head feels like it's bursting at the seams. There are evenings where the breeze doesn't bring solace but a speck of loneliness. There are nights where I'm so tired I can't sleep. But every time I'm about to give up, I remember the little things. The morning - just cold e...

She was late for work. She tried to hurry out of the lift of her building, bag in one hand, breakfast in another. Adulting was hard. Ugh! She walked towards the society gate with hurried steps. As soon as she had stuffed her mouth with the sandwich she held, she called home. It was a daily ritual. This was the only time she got where she could call her parents almost in peace. A couple auto-rickshaws stopped in front of the gate hoping she wanted an auto. She took a right from the gate and started walking along the pavement. She liked to walk in the winter mornings. The breeze chilled her face but sun rays beamed on her at irregular intervals from between the tall, green trees. She was arguing with her mom about having forgotten to cover her super-sensitive-to-winters throat with a stole when she saw a baby, about two years old, dressed in the kind of pink fluffy winterwear they have for kids these days. The kid was going round and round and round looking at its pink shoes clad feet. I...

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...