Happy Valentine’s Day!!

Bright moonlight is dawning upon the night of 13th February, and shimmering in it are little droplets of rain – looking like pearls. The roads are lonely. Office goers have reached their homes; spending lovely time in company of their beloveds. Valentines’ couples who celebrated the day hiding behind the bushes, have now gone back to their special hotel rooms. College students who were out in the evening, roaming about the streets and “checking out” the couples, are now back in their dorm rooms, cursing their miserable lonely lives.

I decided to enjoy the weather and the occasion by climbing up the rooftop and looking about the beautiful night (I am writing this sitting on the rooftop. And yes, the rain has stopped.) The weather is way too pleasant, and the scenery too beautiful. The dazzling reflection of lampposts coming off the wet roads only adds to the beauty. Ah! It all seems like Paris to me.

Somewhere down the main road is a little shop that’s open. And people in it seem to be working hard. Very hard. There’s a complete team of dedicated people – three women, two children, one man, and one perhaps – someone in between, I can’t call on it’s gender from this far (no offence, please). They are all gearing up to make You feel good – that’s their business; they cash in on your happiness. It’s a small roadside flower shop. And tomorrow is their most profitable day.

Roses, Lillie, Tulips. Red, Violet, Yellow. All stacked up. Ready to be clubbed together in beautiful wrapping papers, sprayed upon by decorative frills, and stamped upon by love letters. Wow!

It seems all so pretty from up here.

“Well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
Neath the cover of October skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I’m trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the nights magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush”

A Very Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your beloved. ¬†ūüôā


Say Hello, Wave Goodbye!


Sometimes I feel empty, sometimes I feel void.
Well, my beloved I understand that you were meant to go, and I respect your decision.
I understand I expected too much off you and that’s the reason why my heart aches. Had I realized that Love is not an act of exchange I could have garnered our relationship better.
I still cherish the moments that we spent together, and I still feel it could have worked out.
But now, I don’t want you back in my life.
I met you by accident. And you left me by choice. You taught me to love, and I thank you for that.
But, I guess I have learned my lesson. And this was meant to happen. You were not supposed to be a part of my life. You had to come and go – play just a small character in the book of my life. And so was my part in yours.
I don’t know what lays ahead of me, and I don’t know if I’ll encounter you ever again.
All I wish is that you stay happy in all the endeavors of your life.
Take care.

O Womania!

[I wrote this article as a part of my ongoing journalism internship. Thought of sharing it with the blogging community. ūüôā ]

Twenty years of existence. I have been immortal¬†for what a mathematician would calculate out to 7370 days; taking into account five leap years, and +2 days which this article will take to get published (assuming the editor doesn’t send me a “go through it again” mail).

That’s quite a time as compared to the long breaths of the short lived multicolored creatures “dazzling” around our rooms in the rainy nights – the moths and their accomplices. For once, that makes me happy.¬†I have outlived a few species of living organisms, including the moth; perhaps the one that distracts the last bit of my concentration required to write an article.¬†Hooray! No more¬†delays Ms. Editor; kidding!

There are a lot of things that get men off the hook, and most of the times its women and cricket; as for me, include the little dazzling party “hanging out” in my room.

A sugared thought of fair skinned clad – the sweet smelling opposite sex (homo-sapiens-sapiens¬†only; no chimps, please!) is enough to get ¬†me laid (back). “Thou lay at ease, O dear master! The article can wait.”, and so it does, and so rings the bell of my editor.

Well, “Women! What can you say? Who made ’em? God must have been a f**kin’ genius. The hair. They say the hair is everything, you know? Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls, just wanting to go to sleep forever? Or lips. And when they touched your’s, were like that first swallow of wine after you just crossed the desert. Tits.¬†Hooaah! Big ones, little ones; nipples staring right out at you, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don’t care if they’re Greek columns or secondhand¬†Steinways.¬†What’s between ’em? Passport to heaven.” ( from “Scent of a Woman“)

In India, we worship women (for no one wants to loose their “passport to heaven”, let alone the priests). But dear “single-guy”, dare you worship the young voguish girl of a metro (Yeah!¬†exactly¬†the one whom you aspire to make your girlfriend), and she’ll rip apart that beloved organ of yours (Ouch! that hurts).

“Thou filthy fellow! Bloody fudoo¬†(Punjabi for fucker).¬†How durran (dare) thou stare at me?”. This was the latest addition to my book of “memorable insults” (already two volumes complete).

That’s the “anomaly” about women, they are¬†captivating¬†at imagination – they’ll grab your thoughts, grip your brain, and take you on a “Dear- O-Dear!” ride, but in reality, just try sniffing around one, and she’ll shoo you off.

“Shoo Shoo! Hurr..!”

It’s only a matter of time until every guy gets his due of the bitchy treatment (even the committed ones ).

Yesterday, I happen to sit by a woman, a twenty year old something, in the metro. She wore a stern look on her face, and just when her cell rang, “Don’t you ever call me¬†baby¬†again. I am never ever going to talk to you. Kutte¬†(dog)¬†Kamine¬†(Roman-Hindi for fucking),¬†Dafaa ho jaa (Go to hell!).” And to hell did the poor guy go; he became single – the genre doomed by the society as the bunch of incapable dogs roaming around just to impregnate the bitches; in other words, worthless.¬†¬†

Perhaps,¬†O Womaniya, Ah! Aa! Womaniya… Jaa Jaa Womaniyaa!¬†No more Womaniya chasing for me now. (And yeah! on time delivery of every article from now on; Cool! isn’t it, Ms. Editor? )

%d bloggers like this: