Carpe Diem!
Friday, March 16, 2007
wishes at the moment
i wish a cold wouldn’t block noses
and little girls didn't worry bout their weight
i wish coffee didn't stain teeth
i wish rolling was an art (that i knew)
and my head didn't hurt right now
i wish i didn't have to listen to Shaggy(ever)
i wish a fly wasn't dirty at all
and the world worshipped only ONE god
I wish money didn’t exist
I wish people weren’t nosy enough to peep into my computer right now
And they’ just leave the hell out of me alone
I really wish I’d get chocolate right now.
and the whole world liked colors.
and it was okay to ramble
and and...
(to be continued)
Ask me what a foghorn sounds like???
I know because me blowing my nose sounds a bit like that. My head has a perpetual pain. (I’m actually getting used to it now!)
If I sleep on one side, I risk blocking my nose on that side and along with it, that side of my head too.
It sucks to wake up in the morning when the first thing you do is try hard to breath in through your nose, and that doesn’t happen. So then you do what you do… breathe through your mouth.
Well, it’s nice if you get a double scoop of raspberry and yogurt ice-cream. It’s really not nice if you get migraine AND sinus. (together).
Leave alone both, I can’t handle one on a normal day.
If I sleep on one side, I risk blocking my nose on that side and along with it, that side of my head too.
It sucks to wake up in the morning when the first thing you do is try hard to breath in through your nose, and that doesn’t happen. So then you do what you do… breathe through your mouth.
Well, it’s nice if you get a double scoop of raspberry and yogurt ice-cream. It’s really not nice if you get migraine AND sinus. (together).
Leave alone both, I can’t handle one on a normal day.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Brave, eh?
If you think you are brave, then try walking through the Shauchalaya on the railway platforms, without holding your breadth.
Well, those who are used to traveling by train to or beyond Bandra, might be ok with that one. There is one section en route, where it seems like the whole city’s sewage unites.
God help you if you’re stuck next to some obese fisherwoman. Obviously FA is just too FA from her hygiene regimen!
Over the years I’ve realized that being a part of Bombay means being ok with
1) The stench of dry fish in Colaba
2) Women poking you in the train, as their paunch pushes you to the edge of the running train (and you secretly pray for your life)
3) Your cell getting lost anywhere, anytime.
4) Being ok with your washed and hung to dry clothes, not drying for days.
5) Walking into office with wet jeans, all folded way up till the knees and muck on/in your shoes.
6) Vada pao for dinner.
7) Celebrities craving for attention. (not everyone is lucky)
8) Holi day not looking really like 'Holi' day and Christmas day looking like... (well there's a whole month dedicated to that day.
9) People talking in their respective, very typical accents. (Wat men. this no, is no, really out of reach. you bugger. when you're goign for mass men? what this is?? and the famous 'Aavyo choo...' and a really loud... 'kai zalah?' 'shembood, shamboor... so on and so forth..)
10) people assuming you wil know Marathi. Even though it's not really IMP. to know it AT ALL.
11) Shahruck Khan is wow. (that might be appicable for most parts of teh country.)
12) Washing machines can't be put inside bathrooms, cause otherwise there is no room for peopel to bathe.
13) Colleges looking more or less like commercial buildings. And houses looking more or less like match boxes.
14) Roads getting dug up. All teh time.
Well, those who are used to traveling by train to or beyond Bandra, might be ok with that one. There is one section en route, where it seems like the whole city’s sewage unites.
God help you if you’re stuck next to some obese fisherwoman. Obviously FA is just too FA from her hygiene regimen!
Over the years I’ve realized that being a part of Bombay means being ok with
1) The stench of dry fish in Colaba
2) Women poking you in the train, as their paunch pushes you to the edge of the running train (and you secretly pray for your life)
3) Your cell getting lost anywhere, anytime.
4) Being ok with your washed and hung to dry clothes, not drying for days.
5) Walking into office with wet jeans, all folded way up till the knees and muck on/in your shoes.
6) Vada pao for dinner.
7) Celebrities craving for attention. (not everyone is lucky)
8) Holi day not looking really like 'Holi' day and Christmas day looking like... (well there's a whole month dedicated to that day.
9) People talking in their respective, very typical accents. (Wat men. this no, is no, really out of reach. you bugger. when you're goign for mass men? what this is?? and the famous 'Aavyo choo...' and a really loud... 'kai zalah?' 'shembood, shamboor... so on and so forth..)
10) people assuming you wil know Marathi. Even though it's not really IMP. to know it AT ALL.
11) Shahruck Khan is wow. (that might be appicable for most parts of teh country.)
12) Washing machines can't be put inside bathrooms, cause otherwise there is no room for peopel to bathe.
13) Colleges looking more or less like commercial buildings. And houses looking more or less like match boxes.
14) Roads getting dug up. All teh time.
Monday, March 05, 2007
the silent poem.
The cold from the marble floor is seeping into me through me feet as I walk barefoot….
Even my sisters’ hands fail to transfer any warmth into me, as she holds my hands, inot her soft pudgy hands.
The sound of mom walking towards the room is a sound that brings relief to me. It’s a bit like poetry in the middle of silence somewhere.
No one knows what to say after sometime, and neither does anyone know what to do. Only mom runs around taking care of all the people. (some people who were’nt even wanted there).
Sometimes there is a sad poetry in silence. Atleast I could hear one on the 1st, as I lay on the bed trying to fathom the loss I will feel forever. Once more.
Even my sisters’ hands fail to transfer any warmth into me, as she holds my hands, inot her soft pudgy hands.
The sound of mom walking towards the room is a sound that brings relief to me. It’s a bit like poetry in the middle of silence somewhere.
No one knows what to say after sometime, and neither does anyone know what to do. Only mom runs around taking care of all the people. (some people who were’nt even wanted there).
Sometimes there is a sad poetry in silence. Atleast I could hear one on the 1st, as I lay on the bed trying to fathom the loss I will feel forever. Once more.
