Her cigarette finds its way out of the golden box. She looks at the box for a while, the horrid picture of a man with something that looked like cancer, makes her light one with ever more ferocity.
Her tattered orange kolhapuris have walked a little more than they should have today. The wanderer left from nowhere to nowhere. She loved this. She got lost until she could feel the rush of being found. The happiness she felt was unmatched when each time someone was worried and came looking for her. She loved the almost teary eyes seconds before they let a sigh and called her name.
She was waiting for him this time. Doing the things he hated, doing whatever she could to get him looking for her.
She inhaled the smoke deeper than she usually would have, just to feel the smoke go down her wind pipe until her eyes closed on their own. Her throat felt dry and tongue,bitter. Just like his words. Time and again. It was difficult for anyone to accept that it was his genes that had shaped her. Nothing about them was alike. Physically or otherwise.
His hair was turning grey and his heart colder. The one which couldn't love her mother. The one that couldn't love her. Or maybe had loved too much. She didn't remember him smiling or talking too much to anyone. With those strong eyes and sharper tongue he could intimidate possibly everyone. That's the reason why people hated him so much. She was nothing like him and that's the reason why people loved her. She was the most vulnerable girl they'd ever laid eyes on. Men especially loved helping this damsel get out of her distress. Obviously she'd return their favours by feeding their egos with sugar coated lies.
Today she wanted him to come for her and nobody else. She painted a picture of his face when he'd see her. Almost lifeless and barely emoting anything. It sent a chill down her spine and gave her goosebumps. Oh this can be cured she said to herself and gulped down the leftover rum from her purple flask.
She looked up at the sky and watched the blue beauty with the madly placed spots. There's nobody for you and I'm not going to take care of you, that's what she said to him last, in her mind this morning. Then she left, left the table,her house,her lane,her city to come here. Where they were once happy. Her eyes welled up as she remembered her mother whispering into her tiny ear that if she told daddy that he's the best dad, she'd get an icecream. Obviously she did what her mother asked of her and then he picked her up,smiled wide and hugged her tightly. Maybe his only hug which she remembered. She looked around and there was no trace of him as yet. She knew he'd come, even out of anger he would.
And then he did. She heard his car and froze out of fear and happiness. She didn't know that turning her head around would make her see this. His eyes traced with worry and teary as he called her name.
She smiled, dusted the sand off her clothes and walked back to him.
Maybe to his love and maybe to an unexpected hug.

Since life is pretty much being a bitch to me, I decided to make a list of the things I CAN do. (Yes, publicly. Cute no? No? No.) 

• kill someone right after I wake up. The only trigger being someone trying to hug/kiss/talk to me. 
• make bearable chocolate tarts. 
• procrastinate.
• sing norah jones' songs which can make up for the worst covers?
• shut the hell up and watch a sunset. 
• talk about anything way too passionately. (minus sexual undertones almost like a person with OCD) 
• pretend to look intelligent in class. 
• pretend to look dumb in class. 
• doodle an entire book. 
• eat an entire pizza. 
• run for 3 minutes on the treadmill. (any longer and I can faint too) 
• finish a book in a day without moving my ass. 
• read about psychology for hours without getting bored. 
• avoid getting glasses due to my awesome genes. 
• brag incessantly about myself,people I love, stubble and Sherlock. 
• laugh while being mad. laugh in any inappropriate situation basically. 
• get bored while making lists and stop. 

Okay bye. Will blog more often with lesser self-obsession. 

Yes.

And here's the end to the perfect mess.

Sometimes, all you can do is stop your thoughts.
Block them, burn them and not let them get through your door.
It doesn't matter why or for whom but you just have to put on your brave mask and march on.
It could change everything or it could change nothing.
Honestly, If you have been bending backwards to save something, stop.

It will just complicate and add to the clutter. The worst part will be when.. you know it's not even going to count.That the truth was a completely different story, the one which you never could've imagined.
The truth will burst the bubble you were comfortably living in (without knowing of it's existence). Then throw you off a cliff and yes, a really high one. And when you hit the ground, you'll get shot at. Just to check if you're dead enough.
This post was a result of the fuckery happening since a few days and http://www.vibhasuvarna.blogspot.in/2012/10/how-much-exactly-is-too-much.html
Well, I think I've crossed the line of too much. It's time to stop running in and away and finally lay my head in the arms of acceptance. How romantic!

Why am I not dead already? 

Getting there.

Arambol, Goa. Where nothing existed except for chilled beer bottles and laughter. 

. 

To moving on- No. Memories. No Memories.

Reflections in the best mirror. 

Two books = two friends.

Devil's in the mailbox.

Incredible book. INCREDIBLE.

The sea of separation and reunions. 

When i shut off the lights, you're missing. 

Kauwa. Aur kya? :-P

Click photos, make memories and type on your worst days. Life will be fine. 

2.

Two years to this bittersweet love.

Two years ago on this day there was a reunion.

A reunion that would change everything, forever.

He was a part of my childhood that I vaguely remembered and of course he rarely crossed my mind until 4th august 2010. 

Not sure of whether it really was him, I took a risk. Good move? The best. :) 

Two years of talking endlessly about the most random things, food, music and ofcourse us. 

Even though things arent what they could've been, I'm happy that you existed. as a part of me. sometime.

All I want to say to you today is thank you thank you thank you thank you. 

Thank you for being so patient with me. 

for always suggesting that we should go and watch the sunset. 

for understanding the weirdest of my mood swings. 

for letting me be your lemon tart.

for making me so mad that i could've strangled you.

for being the only person I know who loves butterscotch.

for not being embarrassed of me. 

for being the imaginary father of my imaginary child (.....)

for always knowing which video will make me smile/cry/laugh/shock the hell out of me and linking me to it ONLY when it was appropriate. 

for hugging me like i meant the world. 

for all the wars. Yes! wars. (even the ongoing one)

for listening to even the crappiest of music suggestions i gave. 

for telling me that my hair smells nice. 

for asking me "where was I all these years?" when I did something good.

for making my world perfect. So perfect that no one could resist being jealous. 

for being my best distraction. 

We may be on a parallel level as of now but...

H, 

You still are my vapour trail in a deep blue sky. 

Once insecurity hits anyone in a relationship, the boat has started sinking.
It will make you do and say crazy things. Do things that you wouldn't dream of doing.
Anything to come back to the shore and lie on the warm sand.
However it wont happen. Everything will sink.

(In a different context)
This song! Thank you Haruki Murakami for stirring my emotions and still keeping me sane with your writing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lY5i4-rWh44

Some men are not born to blend into the crowd. They are to stand out and decide what the crowd is supposed to look like.
-ME ME ME.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJovqpbjpao

Someone love me, but not today,
Will you show me? Show me a way, how to love
Got me.

Euphoric.

Not victorious, not lost. Just euphoric.
In the crowd, the two of them stood yelling.
In an intense match of a sport they didn't even understand well.

They met at a coffee shop and she looked like she would die if no one spoke to her today.

Stan. Stan had to go somewhere today. So he went to a coffee shop next to his workplace. The one which reminded him of the poor suburb he lived in, the dingy and dark interiors were bad enough already and then a few months back a shootout took place, leaving all the windows either cracked or smashed.
He stepped in and she was trying her best to be invisible, he noticed. The ray of light coming through the window on her right defeated her attempts. Her hair was a rich brown colour, almost like the dark chocolate he grated for his boss this morning. Long thick lashes and heavy eye bags. She adjusted her glittery gold muffler, to hide the marks from last night.

She hated her job, well who wouldn't?
The job wasn't exactly how she had grown up to think it would be. It wasn't about taking away people's sadness or making them truly happy. Instead it was just another job that had momentary and monetary benefits. No longer did she have to wait for months to buy a dress she spotted on her way back home. However this was the point where the pros of her job stopped. Too many bandaids, too many pain-killers and too much of concealers swallowed up her money and strength. Every night started dissolving into the next one and trapped her in the routine- Dress up, put on make up, put on a smile and lock the door.
Then she would meet a stranger and once he felt stronger than her, he would hurt her. Sometimes it would be her face and at times it would be her body. The bruises on her neck and shoulders from last night still burned everytime she adjusted her bra strap or muffler. The coffee she had ordered was bitter and felt good as it ran down her throat. Last night it had been no different. Ofcourse until now.

He hated his job, well who wouldn't?
Stan was eleven when he first noticed the tremors. Initially he thought it was because of an earthkwik his mom kept talking about. She always told him that if too many people did something wrong, there will be an earthkwik. He wondered what wrong did he do? Other than crossing Mr.Bram's fence once to get the ripe oranges for himself which weren't even as sweet as he thought they would be. As time passed by, earthkwik in his hands became too evident because of the things he broke. Mother's favorite crockery, father's spectacles, texttubes at school and even his superman mug. The doctor said it was temporary and medicines would make it go away. As years went by, the medication only worsened his tremors and then a real earthquake hit their home.
Stan now lived with his uncle, a man who never thought of him as a nephew. Just another boy that he had hired to lessen his work at his patisserie. Coloured in mint green and powder pink, the colours of the patisserie reflected nothing about his uncle. In contrast the walls should be painted black or red or grey he always felt. As his boss, he made Stan grate cheese, chocolate and vegetables in huge quantities. Silently hoping that someday his hands will give up. Everyday blood would ooze out little by little and Stan would cringe in pain when his uncle wasn't looking. Today had been no different. Ofcourse until now.

He sat next to her and waited patiently for her to notice him. She looked at him only when he asked the waiter to bring him the same coffee that she was drinking. He smiled at her, it wasn't the kind of smile she was used to getting from men. It was earnest and harmless, just like her dad's. She couldn't help but smile back. A few minutes of talking and they were walking out of the cafe and hailing a cab. The driver suggested a place and they agreed without hesitating. And boy! was he right.

In the crowd, the two of them stood yelling.
In an intense match of a sport they didn't even understand well. The man in blue shorts had just been punched in the jaw. He spat fresh red blood and his bloodshot eyes were welled up with tears. As his blood fell on the ground, the two of them screamed and cheered at the top of their voices. Then there was the sound of a bone breaking somewhere, the thud of the loser's head hitting the ground and blowing of a whistle.
The two of them stood there covered in sweat and sore throats-not victorious, not lost.
Just euphoric.
And for once they were the spectators of pain, not the receivers.

The rain.
It could wash away all of your anger. All of my selfishness.
If only had we let our umbrellas fly away on the windy days.
Till we were drenched, in nothing else but the rain.

The bottled nobody.

Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands were sticking out just like her hope.

Eyes bright as the streetlights and pupils, the size of elephants.

Her hands were shaking as the screen of her phone light up.

Couldn't be him. Shouldn't be him.

It wasn't. Again.

She closed her eyes tightly and inhaled in some of the sea breeze. Sharp, saline and full of memories.

She could see his face, almost angelic. His lively eyes, his not so perfect nose, his week old stubble, his perfectly full lips and his crooked half smile.

The smoke coming out of her lips formed an unclear shape. Something she couldn't name. Well, even if it had a real name, she wouldn't remember it. Always forgetting what she didn't like.

Cigarettes were her emotional dumbbells or so she had thought of before lighting this one.However when it started leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, she threw it away.

Wishing silently that it would start a fire, somewhere.

Like the made one start, in her belly. Pill one. Slow death. Pill two. Funeral.

Her head felt light between her hands but she just couldn’t let the tears come out. There were no two ways about it, it was the only option. The right and rational option.

She had left or had he?

She looked up at the summer sky, bright orange, clear and harmless. The ambitious waves kept trying to reach her feet but ran out of their will midway. Just like him. She had to return to them.

2 am. Her eyes are weary and tired. Of waiting and wanting. She put her phone away and got into the covers. She light up one of the three joints lying scattered to the headboard’s left. It made her smile how everything she thought was a sign and couldn’t see the obvious ones. The night was warm and humid. The smoke made it worse. Her sweat and tears started almost at the same time, just like their kisses would. She touched her stomach over her t-shirt and laughed at the thought how her own body had betrayed her. An hour went by as her head shredded off all the weight, a little at a time. She could almost see him. He was looking at her and giving her his best smile. Sitting there with a guitar in his white linen shirt and faded blue denims. Hair tousled and nails bitten.

No she couldn't be closing her eyes, not now. She could almost hear him singing their song. In his buttery voice.

we saw a storm from far away 
and we laughed as it wandered by
then it turned around to hunt us down
so we ran away to hide
and she said
love don't leave me now.

Her fight had ended. Eyes had lost. He was gone.