R.I.P Summer Holidays

Wake up in the morning (not feeling like P. Diddy, Deedee maybe), go for a nice 2 hour long swim, return home, devour a perfectly ripe mango, go back to play silly games, return home for lunch, SUNBURNT, stuff your face with awesome home-made lunch sans a complaint, invite friends over to play a game of Monopoly, don’t stop until one of you cheats (*_*), gulp down that customary glass of milk, go to the club to resume the session of silly games, don’t return home until mumma calls out your name for the seven hundred and second time, go straight into the shower without ANY interoggation whatsoever, change into a fresh pair of nightclothes that smell of detergent, watch some cheapskate horror show on T.V, fall asleep on the couch, walk into the bedroom in a state of unconsciousness and drift into the deepest slumber ever the very moment your head hits the pillow.

Oh, AND…there’s that huge ice-cold pitcher of nimbu pani in your fridge all the time. Mm..

Now, THAT is what I call a summer vacation.

And I miss my summer vacation. I miss everything that comes with it. The tan, the new friends, the new collection of books that you exhaust by the end of your vacation, cousins from all over, long cycling trips, picnics, late-night banter on the staircase, chasing your older brother’s cooler friends, sleepovers, shorts and worn-out t-shirts and family holidays.

I hate that we grow up to be monsters who work even during the summer. The only kind of recreation that seems possible is alcohol infested. All we think of is money and members of the opposite sex. I don’t like that growing up sucks the living hell out of you. It makes you robots. Robots, whose only way to get nimbu pani is on their way to work. I don’t like how matchbox offices have conveniently replaced playgrounds in my life.

I want to go back to being 10. I want a lock and a key. I want land and water. I need Doctor-doctor.


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Day 900

The hot mug of tea that she was cradling,

her eyes just as moist,

every nerve of her body, tingling,

for that familiar touch;longing.
Love and desire in each crevice,
warm and fuzzy like her insides,
her heart howling for him,
exasperation in every move.
Yes, she missed him,
Every minute of her day,
every moment of her night,
she pined for him to be by her side.
But he was oblivious,
to her conspicuous love,
Work to him was,
as he was to her.
Work and coffee.
His best buddies.
She lay captured in but,
a mere picture.
900 days, she thought,
it has been.
But I’ll be gone in a month or two.
This disease has got the better of me.
This disease called love.

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I was 10 years old when I wrote this.


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Funny how situations change in 1/10th of a millisecond. Funny how emotions simmer for hours and do not reduce like soups and juices. Funny how smiles perish and tears flow endlessly without no rhyme, without no reason. Funny how places change; today you’re sitting, tomorrow someone else is. Funny how you grow up, funnier how I don’t.

Funny I’m seething right now, funny how you’re blissfully unaware. Funny how champagnes pop, funny how cherries remain untouched. Funny how she spreads for you, but never for me. Funny how milk curdles but yet, gets used. Funny how little children grow up to be cheapskate whores. Funny how democracy is overrated and individualism, underrated.


It’s a funny world. So are my nostrils. So laugh. The world might not laugh with you. But, laugh.

I spring a toe. I climb into bed. I put my phone off. I buzz. You go.


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Railway On My Plate

After a ridiculously well-spent week in Goa, we were obviously annoyed that we had to go through a 12-hour long, day-train journey back to Bombay. We boarded the train at 9 a.m and were expected to survive till 9 p.m. Ashwami and Archis dozed off within the first fifteen minutes of departure and, Rahul and I had nothing much to do besides gazing out of the window and potty-mouthing.

That’s when the vendors started pouring in, selling all kinds of tempting delicacies. R and I are perennially hungry. So we decided to sample EVERY food item that was being sold on the train, and rate it. Akin to the T.V show on NDTV Good Times called ‘Highway on my Plate’. 🙂

So, here’s what we sampled and their ratings.

*Chai (regular) – 7/10.

It was sugary and milky. A little more than required.

*Kanda poha – 8/10

Duuude, this one was better than most of the kanda pohas we’ve ever tasted. Barring the fact that there was no potato in the poha and they didn’t serve us chutney. 😐  Weren’t we asking for too much, now?

*Chicken Lollypop – 9/10  (to be bought hot)

This tasted fuckin’ fantabulouslyawesomeyummalicious. Served with Sichuan chutney, there were 4 pieces priced at Rs. 50. A tad bit overpriced, I say. But the taste made up for it, definitely.

Although, when we bought it for the second time, it did not quite taste the same. It was cold and shriveled and limp.

*Curd in an earthen cup – 10/10

This is, by far, the best and the most well-set dahi in the history of dahis! Fresh and fabulous. Deserved a high score!

*Chicken Biryani – 9/10

Although it didn’t taste like an authentic chicken biryani, it was still very taste-filled. It contained 2 huge pieces of chicken and it was served with spicy gravy. Mmm.

*Chicken masala thali – 8/10

I did not quite like it but Rahul seemed to savour it. He claims it would’ve been the best thing in the world had they also served dal. The thali contained chicken gravy, lots of rice, 2 rubbery rotis and lots of salad. Neat, eh?

*Chicken fried rice – 7/10

Bland and strictly okay. Did not do much to the palette.

*Sukha bhel – 2/10

I don’t understand how a pantry that makes proficient Chinese food, can go wrong with something as trivial as ‘sukha bhel’. It was undoubtedly the worst sukha bhel ever!

*Tomato soup – 9/10

Served with 2 breadsticks, it tasted impeccably awesome. It was soothing to the ‘alcohol-drenched, tobacco-habituated’ throat. Very. Tomato soup with a delicate flavor of garlic.

*Masala chai – 5/10

It was spice-laden. Sweet. Weird- tasting.

At this point, Archis began to get enthusiastic about this entire rating deal and insisted that we sample two last items, the aloo parantha and the masala dosa. Oh the drama!

*Masala Dosa – 5/10

It was random and stale. The masala tasted strangely sweet. But the fact that a train serves masala dosa thrilled us all, and we decided to give it a thumbs up.

*Aloo Parantha – 6/10

Maybe they would have tasted better had they been hot and fresh, but they were served cold to us. The composition of the parantha was decent but the only deterrent was that it was made of ‘maida’ or refined flour. It wasn’t bad at all, but after all the awesomeness that we had devoured earlier, it seemed like a let-down.

I had never known that a train journey has the capability of being so pleasurable and entertaining. The food was scrumptious, really. And it definitely tickled our taste buds.

We got home, popped a Gelusil each, and hit the pillows with the smile of a satisfied eater. The way to anyone’s heart/ head/ body is through his stomach, fo shizzle!


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I want you to know..

I love:

– Tabasco

-Midnight snacks




I miss:

-My brother

-Going to school

-Fitting into size two shoes

-Some friends I don’t talk to anymore


I detest:

-Feeling like this

-Hunger pangs


-Milk and cheese

-The concept of money

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On the Rocks!

He meant it,


She heard it,


And then they hugged,

When his best friend got mugged,

…the half eaten salami sandwich,

the freshly baked apple pie,

the warm schmoozy caramel latte,

left half devoured on the couch,

with or without the spouse.

Whose thong is it,

Definitely not Jane’s,

Because Amy was here last,

And I needed some space.

It was in the air, the electricity,

The stagnant acrid smell,

Of virginity.

Every dog has his day,

Just like every loser has his say.

And then it happened,

to me, and to you,

snow-ball fights and women’s rights,

Scrabble all night and colorful kites,

black and white, crisp and bright.

Words, screams, cries, noises.

Shut them out.


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