Bombay Rains

Cherie as previously mentioned was inordinately calm and collected. She was a beautiful child that left people gaping in her wake. Having no parents or elders except an absentee uncle; she was quickly adopted as the collective ward of the village. Everyone loved her and wished to know her business. Well, her business was their business too wasn’t it? Except, what was her business? What was it that Cherie wished for? What did she like, what did she hate? What was Cherie’s favourite past time? Where was Cherie originally from? No one knew anything about this mysterious child who was god’s own gift to them. Cherie ultimately did not deserve all the suspicion that came her way although wonderfully disguised. Cherie had no deep, dark hidden secret; the revelation of which would cause a calamity. Well, maybe one. Even then; a calamity it would cause not. Surely. This humble writer can swear so on her life. All Cherie could do was dream. Her dreams had one peculiarity though. They ha

There was an odd thing about it. It rained. I stood under it and it rained and rained and all I could do was reach out my hand to the dry earth and wonder why it was here, all alone, under this lamp post that it would rain on me. This is a story not about love or death or misery. I don’t know if this tale serves any purpose in its existence. It exists. I have ever since that day attempted to know why it was this happened to me. And for that sole purpose I mimic the traveler who tells all about the albatross. I hope that at least you would help me make sense of this. I was in a foreign land. I won’t tell you my origins or where I was then. All that matters is that it wasn’t home. Abject and disappointed I was trawling the streets, barely looking up from the extremely interesting studying of my fraying shoes. The passing feet too caught my fancy. There was the staid, sturdy typical brown cap toes. The slow, grudging dragging of these told many a story of the weary traveler going h

Day 502, Who would have thought we’d get here? A long time ago; I hadn’t. I was just a young, idealistic, foolish young thing. This number had aged me in years and not days. Every day’s struggle had started to show in every line and crevice of my skin. The gradual wearing out process of age had accelerated and here I stood; far older than my meek 35 years. Struggle is an intrinsic part of life is what they say. Without struggle, nothing can be achieved in our billion-strong nation. Not just struggle but the daily act of putting on clothes, getting dressed and walking out to face an uninspiring, redundant existence. We were taught to be the ultimate sacrificial lamb. To do all we had to for our nation, our ‘cause’. When I first entered my consciousness, I was fired up to do all I could. Everything to save the world, save my nation, save the forests, save the wild boar; save anything and everything. I wanted to validate my presence on this planet, do some good and leave happy. A

Childhood: Happy, exotic, dresses, curls, love, sparkle Deepest regret: not living in Bombay just now Biggest aspiration: writing the book for rainy days' comfort what you fear most: frogs, regret, disappointment, not being enough yourself: Fat, tall, loud, happy, blabbermouth, impatient Love: flips, happiness, frustration, annoyance, coy smiles 

So, this summer i was going to write and write and write. 18 days. not a word. i suck. i know. my measly readership be nice to me, and agree with me here. So since, finding time to write is such a daunting task, I'll maintain a photo-journal instead. so nice, pretty pictures of bombay coming your way and some stories too. some will feature me because i'm as vain as it comes. Ok, not really but still. most of them are places i have been to and loved since childhood. They're all taken on my phone so no quality guarantees. Anyhow, this is all for now. 

Once upon a time though I can’t tell you when; in a place faraway though I can’t tell you where- there lived a young girl. That sweet child was as fresh as the morning dew; as pure as snow at dawn; as happy as a flower in the breeze. She could be called the ideal one. The one we all strived to be. And she was that. Her name, as beautiful as she was; was Cherie. Cherie. French. Does that give you a clue? Don’t be too sure. Cherie was the sweetest thing that had ever lived in that little provincial town. Everyone went to her with their problems; her being all of 14 yrs old. She had a way that only a child could have; to simplify things and with one smile from her; she could make people forget all that was wrong with their lives. But Cherie had problems of her own. As much as she could, she hid behind that brilliant smile of hers. Where everyone knew everyone’s business; no one knew hers. Cherie was an orphan; living with an uncle who had been an absentee guardian for most of her

Dear mom and dad, it is just as well that you will not read this. God bless technology. This is not next on the list of letters to be written but I need to write this. I need to be furious enough to get out all the frustration of the last two months. And maybe by the end of this letter, I will let it go. Who knows. You know I love you. So I'm not wasting time saying that. I need to tell you about the amazingly vast gap between us over the last two months. I don't know how, or why, but seemingly you can't understand me anymore. Or maybe I have lost the patience to try and make you understand. Mom, I am like you; and I love the fact but I'm not someone who takes all that suffering and bottles it up and doesn't say anything. I care about everything; maybe a little too much and I need to tell you. I need to get angry; and scream and shout and I will be okay. But for those ten minutes/half hour/two days; let me be. Dad, I love you most in this world. You are my first

Dear sush, So you probably know this is coming your way and after all the build-up don't kill me if this is a let-down. I don't really know where to start. i can talk about how awesome you are; but it's there for the world to see. you are smart, intelligent, completely in love with United(I don't blame you), and insanely beautiful. You don't believe us when we say that but it's true. you are also NOT fat. where you get such ridiculous notions is beyond me. you helped me out through a lot of shit over the past few months and though you're aren't the one people know; you are my best friend. you understand me; you recognize my quite-often-than-not claims for attention and you give it to me. you haven't kicked me out of your house yet; despite the fact that i practically live there now. you make my mum happy with your constant request for poori-chole and you share a dirty little secret with me ;) the month of feb was as big a deal for you as it was me

Dear Iffat, I don't know why I bother writing letter/mails/fb messages to you. I can call you. But considering how our families don't let us talk; this is better i guess. you are crack. and stupid. and thick. and slow. and insanely annoying. you are also intelligent and beautiful and incredibly talented but considering you never believe me; i insult you before i praise you. :P i have known you for four years and you are my best friend. everyone knows that. so do you. and i dont say it too often but i'd be lost without you. you understand my need to whine. you set me straight most of the time; even when i am not asking for it. and though that pisses me off; it does help :) i don't need to say anything you don't know so i won't make this mushy. so these are some things we will do/won't do. 1. do another movie marathon! 2. not appear gay. my aunt got scared. she really did. 3. won't tell the whole world we're dating. 4. won't tell the whole

Dear me, I don't know how old you are and what you're doing but you're awesome.If you're ten, then relax. you're not fat; nowhere as fat as you will become. But it doesn't matter really. Once in a while it will hurt but ignore it, it will pass. And the summer of 2011 will hopefully change that *fingers crossed*. If you're twelve and trying to deal with the presence of Anurag in your life; don't. He's not worth it. He is not a best friend because like all the other defense kids, he leaves and doesn't keep in touch. This letter wasn't to depress you. Sorry. 2002 me; thanks for starting writing. That Russian mafia story is still good. Maybe I should start work on it again. You have two very amazing best friends who love you more than anything and will do anything for you; as you will for them. You're doing English Literature and you love it. You write and are actually appreciated. You are a person, people turn to for help and advice a

On my tumblr; i'm doing an open letter challenge. i don't know how many will i write and how many of those would be truthful but still. here goes.

*write a letter to someone/anyone* When I first saw this on my tumblr challenge, I thought of writing this letter to my imaginary/future boyfriend; asking him to get here soon. just like all the girls my age i wonder if i'm normal to have not had the inclination to like anyone yet. then i decided i need to set things straight with my best friend whom i dont talk to very frequently. but then again, i can just call her. for the last one week i've been deliberating on getting you something. to thank you for the last two years in college. basically, a book. but you've probably read everything that exists. i thought i'd ask susan ma'am but she'd probably tell you and then you wouldn't let me. so i figured i'd write you a letter. when i joined this college i had serious doubts. i didn't want ot end up in a college in chennai, no matter how academically good it is. i wanted to go to bombay, to xaviers. i was anyhow doing literature. i didn't think

*1987* "i can't believe we're pregnant together. I can't believe we're having our babies together!" "yes! best friends forever." "that will always be a lame term nitya.""i know. can't help it. it makes me laugh every single time pooja!"         * *1991* "cake!" "hold on vaibhav! it's not going to materialize itself!" "CAKE!CAKE!CAKE!" "VAIBHAV, AHANA. Stop it both of you!" "but we waaaaant caaaake!" "why did we ever have kids pooja? our lives were so much easier." "i know. i know. don't remind me."         * *1999* "mum, could you hurry up?! I have to go!" "ahana. you're not going to paris. you're going for ice cream with vaibhav. will you relax?!" "but muuuum! He's buying me ice cream! for the first time in so many years! and we get to go without you AND aunty! it IS a big deal!" "oh

"I don't like you." "who the hell likes you?!" and she walked off. One day. One day i will hack her to tiny little pieces and stand and laugh. and i will be the happiest person alive. That nauseating; suffering idiot will have died and i could then live my life in peace. yes, i hate her. and you probably are right now going: wha-? So i will tell you everything. starting with that floating piece of fluff's name. her name is namrata. we're family friends. now we study together. she detests me. i hate her with a passion i never knew i possessed. but why? one asks us, quite often. why? because that foolface is my best friend. and no one infuriates me more.                    * jackass. jackass. such a jackass! what the hell! I gets the highest mark, he fails. and it is my fault?! oh yes, because i study. and i'm supposedly a "floating piece of fluff". jackass!!!!! who? arjun. family friend and now "best friend".

see, the thing about love stories is that there is always a template. boy meets girl girl meets boy they fall in love might have a fight( if you're going for the indian version) one might cheat on the other (if you want to take a cheap shot at love) they work it out because of their all-consuming love for each other. but what if love wasn't so easily defined? so easily found? what if you passed that "one true love" as they call it; lived parallel lives but never met? In college there is a clear status order. wildly popular. mildly popular. not popular. aliya was mildly popular. arjun wasn't. not even a bit. He studied. got proficiency; and was in love with post its. she spoke too fast; had a zillion friends and never knew him. different classes; different lives, destined never to meet. but they did; one fine day. aliya was taking photographs of unknown people being really good at it. arjun, sitting afar was holding a discourse on vain people, tell

some say death is scary. some say that when death comes for them, they will look him in the eye and tell him to bugger off. no one really does. most just sleep right through it. everyone close their eyes- no one wants to see death truly. death comes in many ways- stealthily, unexpectedly but no one ever expects death. no one but frank. frank simply put was an oddball. ofcourse he would take great offense at that statement. i can just hear him- "excuse me sir! i am many things, an oddball i am not!" who cares. frank was an old man who had been through all of life's circus. he had earned, worked and just when it was his turn to truly live- someone tried to kill him. it wasn't a very smart attempt i must say- scallops filled with peanuts. frank was deathly allergic to peanuts; he ended up spending a month in the ICU. but then on, he was on his guard, yes he was. not a waking moment was spent not alert. and the nights- yes.... the nights were spent in dreams. dream

The weather was very cold. Everyone snuggled in their blankets and the four residents of the house sat around the roaring fire. The old man looked at the three young children around him and smiled fondly. The children sitting around his knees looked up expectantly. The old man cleared his throat grandly and began- “Once upon a time, there were three old owls in the great big wood out in the far east of the west of Lithuania…… are you following me?” “Yes grampa” they replied in unison. “Good. So in the great big wood out in the far east of the west of Lithuania, these three owls couldn’t decide who was the wisest. There was only one who could be called the wise owl of the great big wood out in the far east of the west of Lithuania. And all three owls wanted that lovely sounding title.” “But grampa, why can’t we call them the three wise owls of the great big wood of…er…east…” “No sonny, there is always only one owl. You remember when I told you the story of Winnie the Pooh?” “Yes grampa

…And they lived happily ever after. She closed the book. Right, because fairytales exist. There is a cute boy waiting somewhere for you to let your hair down so he can climb right up and rescue you. She had tried. Oh god had she. She fell a couple of feet short. But if she sat in her room on the ground floor and let her hair out, it nicely sweeps the floor. She had long hair; that’s where the whole obsession started I think. The reading of fairytales. Watching the Disney movies. Collecting the dolls and dreaming. She could sit and dream all day long. But everyone grows up someday right? Her mother said that.   All.The.Time. It was like a tape that had got jammed in the player. Everyone has to grow up. It’s high time you did too. She’d heard that so much she wanted to give up. On the fairytales. And the dreaming. And the waiting. But why should she. Once in a while, you would think that maybe… your parents are right. Thankfully that time hasn’t arrived yet. Her mother was not right. Th

Some say you should fall. They say that when you fall, you may die. But maybe, just maybe, you will fly. So I tried. I fell and I fell and I fell. I broke my bones, my heart and my spirit. I fell repeatedly till one day there was nothing else to break. And I fell one last time. That day I flew.  I saw myself, lying down, broken and I smiled. Because that was no longer me. I saw my life. I saw my love, my heart and all it's pain. I saw my familiar worries and suddenly they didn't matter anymore. I saw the things that mattered most to me and there was nothing. I saw the love of my life. And suddenly he didn't matter anymore either. I went higher and higher till I saw nothing else. I flew that day. I soared and that was the best experience of my life. I came back. I came back to my life,  my love, my heart and it's pain. but it's okay. I fell and I fell and I fell. I broke my bones, my heart and my spirit till one day there was nothing else to break. And that day I

He walked into a room while I kept thinking oww.. The lights dimmed and my head went-WOW That face and those abs, I was in girl heaven. And then the fog cleared The lights came on and I noticed the specifics The long kurta, the chiseled bod The manicured hands, the diamond rocks. He looked to his left and his face lit up He was clearly in love and and I thought- fuck, Until the tears cleared and I looked further The guy was hot but his boyfriend was better. I was in the temple, god, I was praying to you You answered them alright just not the right ones. There’s ugly, there’s stupid, there’s gorgeously hot There’s gay, there’s straight but for me there’s naught Next time, listen better, pay attention dear god I asked for a hot guy, not one that’s not Interested in girls. Boys will be boys, but when will you learn?

As dawn came closer, the threat of an impending day loomed large. How comforting the night was in its utter darkness. As she rose from the cold floor and moved towards the doors, she couldn’t help but feel at peace for the first time today. The constant clanging that never left her side, faithfully accompanied her now too albeit silently. She had long ago learnt how to move without moving at all. It had helped greatly. She was now here, in somewhat fresh air, looking up at a starless sky, reveling in not being able to recognise a single shape. The whole universe was a black canvas. No moon, no stars, no planes, no life. Just her and the infinite darkness. There had been a time when the night had scared her, when she went everywhere with lights in her pocket. When darkness was a thing to be feared, shied away from. Light, sun, sight; these were prized possessions, things to be valued and enjoyed. She woke everyday with the feel of sun on her face, a smile already spreading. She left w