She blogged. She tweeted. That’s how I know her. She liked reading. She liked sharing. Many XXFactored links came from her. She was still a girl. She was almost a woman. She was both. And she was discovering her ideas about womanhood & relationships. She had ambitions like everyone else….
Visualising the wardrobe of the future.
I am tired of telecommuting friendships. I’m tired of meeting people because they’re close to where I am geographically, rather than mentally. Geography should not be a criteria for friendship but unfortunately, it’s the most important one now. I never thought I’d say this but I really miss having an…
Unlike everything else, the heart gets hungrier, the more it is fed. No wait, that describes the brain too. Well, my brain and my heart.
Love has left the building.What’s more, it left without paying the rent.Don’t bother chasing though,I know where it went. Off to confuse another lifeAnd mess up someone else’s scoreAnd to shake up things forAnyone who dares think that life is such a bore. And since it is such divine entertainmentMethinks…
This is over. I am single again. I don’t wish to say anymore about this right now. I believe I’ve spent as much of my life on this as is humanly possible and fair. I want to get on with the business of the rest of my life. So don’t…
Big dreamscrumble to dustAnd mix with the debrisof everyday And tomorrowor next weekNo one will even rememberor know A life was built hereAnd tiny victories wonTill a final stormBlew it all to dust Before long though,These shattered, scattered remainsWill mix with the dustAnd be the stuff of another dream Another…
I want to believe that flowers bring me luck, good luck only. I want to enjoy wearing white jeans and not be thought tacky. I want to revel in the bright colours of summer without having to worry about heat stroke. Here’s all my summer desires captured in apparel and…
They call this emotion blind.So if love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist. And it’s food for the soulSo if love were a banquet, I’d be a glutton.If love were a bottle of vinegar, I’d be pickled in it. But what would my love be like? I’ll tell…
Mumbai’s victimisation of South Indians happened a little before my time. But I remember life in the city before and after the Babri Masjid incident. My city, my beloved home has gone from an all-welcoming abode to a place that hates Muslims as much as the rest of the propagandized…