Cerebral Fallacies

He likes And she hides He's scared She's poised He attempts She's miffed He blinks She's charmed They fall In love or lust or whatever They pick up Pieces of each other Puzzles of the other and piece together She calls He calls back She possesses He retracts She arranges He combats She cries He's haughty He's calm, She's tacit Rearranging, retrenching, retrieving and recouping In spite, in love, in loosing and winning… in them!

If you thought having five years of an intense experience as a hostelite and then some is not enough to write on then you would be wondering what would. Leave aside a bestseller, the kind of extreme situations that a boarder has to face to complete a decent education away from home in India would make for a gazillion case studies of the bizarre leanings! But we will leave that to the saner; right brained ahem babushkas (whatever that means). While a lot is being done about making hostels luxurious and livable mostly ‘India’ still thrives on the ones that I have been to. Having been an avid reader of the wrong kind of moral books like the very tame Enid Blytons in my childhood, the little adolescent in me had created my own very magical world of how a hostel life should be! It was full of midnight parties, tuck boxes and fun unlimited. Well you could say that it was much 'more' than a mixed bag for me. Well the tuck boxes and the midnight bashes were there all right, but so were...

A genuine piece of boredom I gift to you a yen for inspiration, an elsewhere, a has-been moment of guiles and of potentials, scattered in droopy eyelids that nursed a dream just a few sleeps back a genuine piece of boredom I gift to you it catches you with a net, slowly enveloping your senses, marauding, it suffuses you with a pink light and sharp shooting caffeine hungover mornings are better dealt with a sip of nonchalance a grip loosing itself to reality a truth dawning on known unknown faces. it's an interesting moment to be in a bubble that should not crack until awakening returns you to the folds of this life-induced pill...

The Tempest tossed: My trysts with cooks n cooking… Sometimes you just have to do it, Fortunately I always evaded doing it, Those cumbersome chore-like, sweaty, smelly actions Those permutations, combinations, and for some people letting loose emotions as well Bah who needed it anyways? But then one fine day, I did it. I actually cooked! My bhindi pyaaza became like a sweltering oil plaza instead. What a pity, indeed! My burnt citadels of bhindis that had so stoically stood when I bought them were razed to embers like those in a war town country. Concerned and slightly zealous friends painstakingly gave me recipes with their worst-case scenarios, and a list of what-could-go-wrongs. Each gave me their simplest versions of how a recipe so simple jus simply cannot go on. And I would jot down every uttering like my life depended on it. After all, it must be life learning how to drive a car or a cycle. No skill on earth can master me, but I will master all. This wasn’t my only tryst with co...

THERE.... There they were....there they were sleeping on the corner of the busiest road in town in the daze of the traffic, in the blur of the headlights, screaming vehicles, ready to go on a rampage, horns yelling their heads off in a wanton effort to be heard to and attended to and given way... but they slept undeterred, their backs to the whole wide world around them. to people in the relentless race of their lives...They slept on untired,unmindful, unheeding! The three laid out to rest while they day dragged itself to a loose end. My three witches, they slept on...I encountered them on a 'rimzim day'...It's not so much the monsoon but the idea of those buxom winds that makes this dry state put name to indulgences like a sweetened soda water, with a rainy name like that...But id havta go with the name...Nothing else quenches your dry senses on a hot dry day and perks up your eyes like you just got out of the longest stupid, languid stupor. Well, that’s when I met them......

That is my blog preamble... To be taken with appropriate leaves... I can only ramble and cannot edit I can only be wordy or confused I can be motlyey and never whole I can be eccentric and never bizarre I can only be full of myself I can only write at length I can only be appropriate as and when I please take me nimble, take me tame so ...