Bombay Rains

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...