He looks at her from the corner of his eyeThinking she won’t noticeSecretly hoping she willSo secret, he won’t even admit to himself She feels his lookLike sunlight, warm on her cheeksHer eyes stay downcastShielded from his blinding gazeWarmed nevertheless by its intensity Then it starts to rain.
The thing that bothers me is that people confuse virginity with purity and use the first to prove the second. Please, people, let’s get this straight: Virginity (or rather, the state of never having had sex) is physical, purity is spiritual. Really now, aren’t we all adult enough (and that…
It’s a filthy city, no doubt, strewn with plastic waste. But when you have someone real to walk with you, even a walk through a plastic world can seem romantic. Apparantly romance has nothing to do with beautiful places and comfortable surroundings. Who says Mumbai is not romantic? This is…
How to be an escapist in the all-seeing 24 x 7 internet.
If love were a poem, I’d be an ode to your being.
If love were a song, I’d be a serenade to you.
If love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist.
A short tale in 55 words. Her parents say that she was born talking. Then she discovered writingEnglish grammar compositionsStories and poetryLetters and emailsChats and instant messagingSMSes, Orkut scrapsResumes and reports Then she stumbled onto bloggingAnd anonymous postingEven editing and deletingAnd much later, private publishing But silence is yet to…
I have a weakness for men in spectacles. Quite mad for them, in fact. Maybe I associate that with intelligence. Maybe it’s my Electra Syndrome.
I explore the difference between ownership and connection, and the destructive nature of jealousy compared to the compromises of possessiveness.
A short tale in 55 words about value, money and worth.
The thought that everyone’s expecting me to be cheery, happy, and ebullient…usually has the reverse effect on me. Intoxication, it’s not fun.