Bombay Rains

How do you know when enough is too much? When it is time to cut the chord, to rip off the bandage? I can't seem to make that decision. It veers into as yet unexplored paths of insecurity and trauma. So I carry on without pause, without review, without looking at what my life is becoming. Sometimes, you wish that you could simply shrug it off and walk to the restaurant at the end of the Universe but the moment passes and you look around, see reality closing in, and continue on. Since today is one of those days, I want to do nothing more than curl up in my bed and cry but tears seem to be lacking and thankfully so. I fear that if I start, I'm not going to stop. Esquivel's 'Like Water for Chocolate' sums up my fears aptly- "And so, arms around each other, Nacha and Tita wept until there were no more tears in Tita's eyes. Then she cried without tears, which is said to hurt even more..." I wish I had some great tragedy in my life. At lea...

Oh can't you see what's waiting here for you in the middle of the sea the sirens call you their song bewitches your head resists but your heart still listens you've been here long you're only bones someone trips passing you by heeding the call of the golden ones they don't see you anymore they've left you for dead but you still live, waiting to tell the tale of the horror behind the song lying for eternity in your shallow bed. You've stayed here long, you wish to go to meet those who left you here their eyes call you you open your soul and shut your ears. 

I'm resurrecting my blog. Hopefully I can move past all the memories. Disclaimer for new readers: A lot of it is trash that must be explained away by the summer(s) of bad language skills. The chick-lit-esque stories were on demand and I still love them all. Haters gonna hate etc. The sad emo stuff is probably closest to what you shall get were you to continue reading this blog. You have been warned. Thanks etc etc. 

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

It was a brand new day. Cherie opened her to see a big flaming ball of jelly in the sky. Hmmm. No. Too much. She closed her eyes and minutes later, a regular, flaming ball of fire was back in its place. The beauty of it all lay in the simplification. A purple, dripping sun may just be a tad too much. Today was day one in the Candy castle. How was it to be? Cherie jumped with excitement at the prospect of the Royal Games. Now she could live in a world of her making with just what she wished to exist. With her most favourite thing in the whole world at the helm. A big, giant marshmallow. Cherie set about changing her form. It would appear rather suspicious if she was the lone human in the town. And while Cherie had the pick of the lot; all she had to do was make sure she never took the same form twice. She had to completely disappear from the town memory to be able to view this undisturbed. It wouldn’t suit her purpose to be on the roster. For today; Cherie picked a sweet li...

The thing with writing is that no matter how much I do of it; it never seems nearly enough. This is further compounded by the fact that I do very little of it and only in times of great duress when I am trying to procrastinate. Such as now. And it isn’t helped by the fact that with each passing day; I get more British in my way of writing. It sounds like that in my head at least. I can see someone, sitting with a cup of tea, reading this and going- Oh! How perfectly dull. Furthermore, I don’t enjoy my fiction anymore. I call it fiction as it is mostly not real. I’d be far more depressed if I allowed myself to think that the world actually had as much violence and self-loathing as many of my characters display. Please don’t think that I actually manage to write a decent amount and try to get it published. No. No such luck. I also can’t seem to decide on a genre I like enough, to stick to it. The only one I really, really enjoy is comedy and I am absolutely horrid at it. Which ...

I'm in that mood where I can't decide what to type due to the sheer frustration I feel. I don't get it. How can one person be so absolutely contrary to what you are and still stick around to annoy you. I typed-backspaced-typed like a zillion times until deciding not to say anything because status updates are a sham. You type in some heartfelt message good or otherwise and later on when unsuspecting viewers ask you to explain yourself, you realize you can't. No one would understand and more often than not, it's a really stupid reason and it's embarrassing to reveal it. Which is why I like my blog. No one really reads it. Not even my family or my best friends. Not even me. But I write this crap; I can't be expected to read it too. Let me just turn schizophrenic and start conducting conversations with myself. Out loud.  I do speak to myself in my head; they're very intelligent conversations too. It's very hard to find someone who likes Marqu...

Became friends, sustained friendship, fought, argued, made up and learnt tolerance. Plus, we all love pretty pictures of ourselves :)

So, as usual, my parents in an attempt to gain publicity for my not-so-good writing wanted me to send in an entry for the Eastern Region Defense magazine thingy. Their way of motivating me to do the same- "People actually read this magazine honey!" Now, whoever said that parents don't say the right things. Anyhow, it started this morning and I spent the last 4 hours trying to pick one non-depressing story that people will get. My only instructions. Nothing about abuse, sex or death. That ruled out 80% of my writing. Now, before you go away screaming, not all of it is depressing. I wrote some fantasy-genre-imagination-magical realism-type stories too which can be found here- http://byrdyee.blogspot.com/2011/04/candy-castle.html  and here; http://byrdyee.blogspot.com/2011/10/dreams-of-cherie.html but seemingly I was high while writing this. I remember very little. So, it came down to three stories. One was about death (I write about nothing else, whatdoIdo?!); ...

She had always been a normal sort. Not given to too many fancies. As she grew, this grew with her. She was never known to ruffle too many feathers, till the end of her life. Even as she lay, breathing her last, all that she thought of was the uneventful blur that was her life. But one thing that she was never given to share, one thing that in her heart would always remain hers and hers alone, was her bed. This wasn’t philosophical or metaphorical. She hadn’t taken any secret vow to join a nunnery or anything. Her bed was something she thought of in the most absolute, literal sense. She spoke of her four-poster, with its chipped post and creaky hinges. Her bed was something that no one else could lay claim to. It was her inner sanctum, her place of absolute privacy and was designed to appear just as that. It was arranged with numerous cushions and a single, solitary pillow; a sign as clear as any that screamed loudly- ‘only one allowed’. A single bed sheet, a single blanket. In t...

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...