Monthly Archives: July 2014

I’m Addicted to Coffee but I Wouldn’t Dream of Changing

I just feel this article! Addictions can be beautiful 🙂

Snotting black

coffee coffee coffee coffee

What is dependency? What is addiction? If I can’t force myself to leave the house without the promise of coffee, is that a problem? If I buy more than one, sometimes more than two, and rarely but not too rarely more than three coffees a day, is that really so terrible? Is it childlike and irresponsible, or is it supremely adultlike and admirable?

If I, after arriving in Boston (the city of my alma mater and priceless collegiate memories), think only of bed and of ending everything because there is no coffee in the house and the nearest coffee shop is across a bridge and through the rain, what does that mean?

My brain is made up of chemicals. My body is an assemblage of elements and amino acids. My hair is a collection of grease, sweat, and whatever kind of weird shampoo I used this morning…

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“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced–or seemed to face–the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

The Girl In Red Heels – II


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Such a turn off, I smirked as I pulled myself out of the sight of those attention seeking only to meet the most attention seeking eyes IRCTC could ever offer.

“I’m sorry I’ve been pissing you off,” she said coyly. Someone had to break the awkward silence anyway.
“Nothing like that, what makes you say that?” I blurted out unaware of what to say
“I’m sure you are aware” she laughed

The sound soothing, felt like the best thing to be done in this world is to make this lady laugh.

“So you heading to ..?”
“The last station. You?”
“My station shall arrive in the next two hours.”
“Interesting. You must be a real gutsy woman to wear these heels.” She laughed again. Heavens!
“Actually I had a function to attend back there and couldn’t just find time to change or even buy something?”

“Hmm” I nodded, “I’m actually going for my sister’s engagement I’m sorry I messed up”
“It’s absolutely fine Mr…. ”

She smiled. “Actually I’ve been quite occupied. My father’s company also runs a non profit organisation for women empowerment. I am busy with the fund raising.”
“Oh. By the way my company is looking forward to invest money in NGO.”
“Great! I can give you my contact number. You can give me a call if at all something interests you. I mean the company.”

We laughed. She wrote her number on a small piece of paper. We kept chatting for another hour. Politics, contemporary India, need for awareness, entrepreneurship, fading importance of arts.

The all formal and composed woman had a childlike enthusiasm. Having a million things to flaunt she didn’t flaunt anything at all. Not even the tips of her fingers. Even in that blazing costume she could reflect so much of serenity and peace. Even behind all the laughter and smiles and expressions, a hint of grief, a sting of sorrow could be seen in her eyes. Why would such a beautiful woman be sad? I wondered. And then it was time to say adieu.

“Anyway Mr. Zeeshan” she said as she picked up her leather bag, “Your company was a delight. Nice to meet you.” We shook hands.

“Your name?”
“Tatiana Singhal”
“Pleasure to see you Tatiana” I said waving at her. “I hope to see you soon”
Oops! What did i say!! Damn!!!!!

The Song


Sing her the song that her heart yearns
Teach her the notes her mind learns
Dark in the night when the city sleeps
The daughter of the knight in the corner weeps

Sing her the song that her heart yearns
Tell her stories of flowers and ferns
Deep in sleep when everyone will be gone
Sing her your heart till the beginning of the dawn

Sing her the song that her heart yearns
In the busy hours when the city runs
Hold her hand like the world has stopped
Get in her like her heart is robbed

The Girl In Red Heels – I

It was a hectic day. Late November, it was pretty cold and the dry November breeze had surprised us with rains. The weather was pleasant but the roads weren’t. I hurriedly took my backpack which I had fortunately packed and brought to work, sat on the backseat of the Royal Enfield of my all time buddy Rajeev and we rushed to the railway station.

The station was still ten yards away and there was a lot of traffic ahead. I got down and ran in full speed. Banging and pushing I tore through the crowd well aware of the fact that a few seconds and I shall be missing on my sister’s engagement. Reached the platform, “Where the hell is S7?” I yelled at the top of my voice trying not to pay attention to the deadly horn my train had just given. Again accelerating I finally saw S7 written and got on the train as the train swiftly moved stamping on someone’s leg who was standing on the small step at the entrance of the train. “Can you wave at your relatives later?” I murmured cursing the woman with blood red heels as they were. “Women with money, without brains” I thought to myself as I refused to even look at the one who had just annoyed the hell out of me. I stepped inside the compartment and after a bit search found my seat, the seat on the side with aligned with the motion of the train vertically. Glad to find the seat I sat there and settled down.

I was feeling very grateful for the back rest my seat had blessed me with. After sometime it felt like the weather was actually cosy. I crossed my legs and sat there dreaming of how a cup of mocha and Mom’s onion fritters would have added cherry on the cake.
Hours passed. I didn’t even realise when I fell asleep unaware of the metal box I was in, unaware of the speed at which my co ordinates were running and woke up only to the noise of the vendors who started coming. I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on my watch. 8 am. It felt like all the lethargy, the pain , the exhaustion had gone away with my sleep.

I turned my head towards the other side of the part of the train I was in, to find a woman dressed in bright yellow. Her colour flawless Indian light wheatish, sleeves of her Kurti were pushed up to her elbows, fingers long and slender painted deliciously red with a pearl ring in her little finger. A brown leather bad lay on her lap as she sat looking out of the window. I could see only one side of the face, locks of her coffee brown hair falling down her shoulders in a neat fashion.

I thought I’d rather freshen than observe this creature of God. I went inside the washroom and while coming out as I opened the door in a swing stepping out, my eyes popped open to the stinging pain in my foot, I saw the lady in yellow giving me a blank expression. “Crap! Her eyes are so beautiful!” I almost shouted in my mind as she walked inside the washroom.

I came back and settled back on my seat. The part of the foot had become black. After sometime I while I was killing time looking here and there I discovered. The girl in yellow was the girl with blood red heels.