Friday, December 1, 2017

Bombay Dreams

It is just a flicker of a moment that whizzes past while you bat an eyelid, your heart stops and the emotions come crashing down on the sea beach of your conscience. Certain glimpses of a certain city make you stop short and think about the days bygone. Days spent lone in the massive throngs of a city that spares no one from its magic and cruelty. 

Friday, November 10, 2017


What are the signs of your marriage going through some surely rocky times. There are those  loud rage-fuelled verbal combats, or that truckload of sarcastic negativity in the air. There has been a lot of snapping and ranting on my part. But what to do. Even blogging about it does not feel right. A 30 year-old woman venting out her issues online. Seems like Facebook would want to lap it up with it's "tell us about your day" stance.

I have had a shitty one. Okay Facebook?

Saturday, November 4, 2017

Dreamy is 30 years old

Dreamy is 30 and married. She dusts her bedroom window panes every alternate week, she changes pillow covers, has a bottle of Colin and a bed broom towed away in her room. She washes her clothes every now and then, dutifully hanging out the wet clothes after taking them out of the washing machine. She makes plans about investing in book cases and bedside cabinets. Sometimes she weeps into her pillow. As this happens she tries to listen to the sound of her heart breaking, but its mostly silent and unperturbed.

Not being the kind of person that plans for the future rather than dreaming about it, dreamy is still high strung on a certain version of her future. She knows not what to do because the version of future she still dreams about is the one that won't ever occur in her real life; it might though, it would be mighty sad if that future occurred but nonetheless dreams and visions are what dreamy ultimately thrives on. Its just that she is getting old, and as far as she is concerned, there is no future beyond 40.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Dreamy's Vlog - 2

Minuscule Diary entry

I wish I could scatter all parts of my brain into something vast.  This happiness could spread as far as the sky and beyond; these vast acres of my happiness spreading out large between the different spectrums and hues and grooves and rhythms.  Calling out as my hunger is, as physical as it could possibly be.
So why am I hungry, you might ask? It is because I ate early and will sleep late. This void in between will be filled with pangs of hunger so vast, almost as vast as my happiness could possibly be,
Wow that was some deep shit I wrote. Possibly under the severe effect of you know what. I don’t idolize and celebrate the habit, as much as I used to, when I was younger. I just take it all in. and realize how bloody good it used to feel. Yet, good as it was, it also created this huge hazy illusion of perspectives. Like truths that were created in your affected mind, truths that are far away from the real truth. Things you believe and feel all jumbled up and getting further away from the real thing. Make-believe feelings don’t go that far out, so somewhere you are bound to stumble, like suddenly getting slapped by someone you least expected from.

This feels good. Writing feels good. Things I write down for myself to read later. Maybe I will try and write a paragraph each every day. Maybe that will never happen; maybe tomorrow. 

And now a random picture of me with a waterfall for a background and suede boots for shoes.

Thursday, March 9, 2017