I've spent all day writing nonsense poetry about people I love.

1.

Once upon a time,

In a strange land far away

There lived a young boy

Who liked to laugh and play

He was like any other

With arms and eyes and leg,

Except for one little difference

His head…it was an egg!

His friends were always worried

“What if it cracked!” , they said

“What if it smashed to pieces!”

They were filled with complete dread

But this was not just any egg

Was what they did not know

It was filled with songs and stories

And theories!

And so much, SO MUCH more

The boy was full of questions,

He jumped up and down

“Why is the sky BLUE!”, he yelled

“Oh, why are tree trunks brown?”

Of all the things that he liked

Numbers were his dearest

Of words and smells and thoughts and shapes

To him they were the clearest

And now he is older,

And taller, I am tolder

But his head has not smashed or cracked

It lives,

Strong as a boulder.

Egghead is a strange one

But his heart is full of gold

And if you ever met him

There will be a story to be told.

2.

This story like all others

Is about someone strange

But the someone is a girl, not a boy!

Which is the little change

Sukanya is a bum

She just hates to be clean

She loves to scream and cry

So remember not to be mean

She has a voice that croaks like frogs

And feet as large as whales

Her hair is sometimes white as snow

And sometimes rough as scales

She has a clan of many aunts

Who are absolutely mad

They are happy, gay and thundering

But sometimes, they might be sad

Her sister is madder

Her toes are all funny

She likes the smell of frying fish

And cannot handle money

Her cousins are eccentrics

So much, you would never expect it

They are happy, gay and thundering     

And full of wondrous wacky wit

Sukanya is a bum

But that is not all
She is loyal, kind and full of laughter
And also very tall. 

My moof is roving. 

I'm sitting in my living room drinking beer and watching Live at Pompei wishing I could have touched David Gilmour's hair. It's funny how many times you find yourself being a sad stereotype.
I wish being mopey didn't have to sound so generic. 

I don't understand why everyone chooses wrong people to love. People who confuse you and make you think that being in love is about putting someone else in front of you and killing yourself slowly till you're not a person anymore. The kind of person that makes you feel inadequate and doubtful till you try everything you can, be everyone else you can be, and it still doesn't work.

The thrill of making mistakes slowly dies out which is how I know I'm growing into an adult. A little bit.
Weddings are weird. 

The Social Network is full of indignant outbursts about the gang-rape of a 23 year old student in Delhi in a bus. It makes me uncomfortable to try and say something. I've lingered at my status message 'what's on your mind' box but I don't know what to say. I've lived a reckless life of somewhat luxury. I fight with policemen as they stare me down, I yell back at men who stare me through the windows of their trucks, I mock old rich uncles as they drool at me on the road. I have been what according to me, is courageous and resisting of all the lechery that women are exposed to in this city. Sometimes when I drive on the road post 1 a.m with my female passenger friend, for a second I think about what would happen if I was stopped in the middle of the street, have my clothes torn off and shot. I think about what my father would see if he ever saw me like that.
But that is the closest I have come to sexual violation.
I think about the 23 year old lying in the hospital, beaten and scarred, and I'm filled with respect. I think of her whispering her report of her violation and I'm filled with remorse and an instant of fear which I quickly remove from my heart.
I stepped out of my house to go to the India gate protests yesterday but never ended up making it. The roads were blocked and all I could see were  far-away tear gas clouds.
The capital blocked headlines in today's paper make me uncomfortable. 'Hang The Rapists' makes me uncomfortable. Because the thing with rape is, it's not about sex. It's not about quick gratification. It's about putting a system back into place. It's about a man being challenged when a women tells him no. It's about a man having been taught that a woman cannot tell him no. It's not about staying away from your 'watchmen and rickshaw vaalas' (credit Sushma Swaraj) but knowing that we are all part of a system that perpetuates rape.
I have hi-fived my friends while making 'bitches love architects' jokes and nodded along to Honey Singh when he chanted that women must not drink and smoke. I have watched Akshay Kumar watch women on screen with the numb opinion of 'woh aisa hi hai'. I have read and read about Feminism but I have not once had the courage to try and make a change. It is not about sex but a system of thought that has been in place for what seems like eternity. The deeming of aggressive patriarchy as normative is because we have not known where it began. It has always been like this.

My constant suspicious of protests puts me in a position of discomfort. I feel lazy and hesitant  but I also feel hopeless which is why I am still in my bed, angry and hopeless. The capital blocked Red font headlines in today's paper add to my hopelessness that this will fizzle out. That soon, I will be yelling at men from my car windows and somewhere a young girl will be scared for her life to board a bus on the way home. I cannot help but feel that they are missing the point. If 'Hang the Rapists' is the final claim, the government will not hesitate to take the lives of six guilty men, to restore apparent justice. Castration is to challenge brutality with brutality is not an end of a war, but the quiet perpetuation of it. It must be realized and noted that rape is about power, that sexism is a system that must be challenged from the root. Daughters must be loved and wives must be respected. Protesting women must not be seen as brave, courageous and one of a kind, but equals. A free-spirited woman must not be celebrated or degraded.

Last year I wrote a paper about how women are born in a place of contradiction ad struggle. How we are always already in a revolt, in a revolution. This made me fulfilled and glad. The idea of an automatic endless revolution added drama to my existence. But I want to change that. I want to have daughters who grow up in a world where there is no space for revolt. Where they can walk the streets not having to 'hold their head high'. Where ideals of beauty are vanquished so they never for once think about what's wrong with them. Where they never have to live in fear, and not question why they aren't scared. 

I know I'm about two years late but HAVE YOU GUYS WATCHED THE BEST MOVIE EVER?
I've decided which superhero I want to be. Purple hair and knife skills, it's all I ever wanted. 

List of things I want to say out loud to indulge myself:

You know you've grown up when people on your Facebook are getting engaged and not putting up long status messages about best friend betrayals with all words starting with caps. I used to hate that.
I Thought I Could Trust You But I Was Wrong.

With the winters descend days of lounging in bed, moving over from one side to another and telling yourself you're just having a week where you want to lay around and watch movies.

I've always wanted to be a writer. I wrote it into my table when I was ten years old. Somewhere down the path of growing into different interests like booze and philandering, I forgot. But now I want to do it again. Not knowing what you want to do is hard but finding out is worse.

Putting things down on paper sucks. Finality sucks. Black and White, sucks.

My friend is having a 90s themed party which might the only good thing about this week.


I don't like it when my friends go to abroad universities and I have to share them with other people from that university. It makes me irritated.

Year ends make me anxious. I hope for a better year the next but I'm afraid it won't be any different.

My sleeping with people standards seem to have escalated madly because when you have met the best person you have ever met, how are you supposed to top that. Only wait until you have met the best person you have ever met once again.

This person is now in Scandinavia, which is rather unfortunate.

I want a real pyaar. Not a party music drunk talk about people you know kind, but stare into eyes and insane sexual tension kind.

I sound so incredibly stupid right now and I'm actually a little afraid some pedantic douchebag will tell me off on my own blog.

Dear Pedantic douchebag  human, please don't tell me off. I'm having a bad week.

I can't decide what sort of job I must get. One that I've done before and will pay me money and will keep me going, or one that is in a different city but will pay me a little but is more exciting and MIGHT make me really happy. Job number two is also for a better cause.

I really do hope I start to write better. All these 'tips on writing' by famous authors just make me sad.

Is is only when a question becomes an answer that it ceases to be a question.

Goodbye.