My mother and I…

A comparative analysis of my mother’s and my daily routine…..

11:00 am
My mother goes for her Dance class.
I sit and watch TV.

1:00 pm
My mother takes out her scooty. Papa rides pillion and they both shoot away for market.
I sit and watch TV.

3:30 pm
My mother whatsapps to people around. Gets our tickets confirmed in JVR Plaza.
I sit and watch TV.

7:00 pm
My mother exploits her brand new Dell laptop, browsing through Mozilla Firefox on 3G.
I sit and watch TV.

9:00 pm
My mother cooks food for the family. And she makes my favorite (roasted eggplants, yeah I know it’s weird ).
I sit and watch TV.

The Place called Home

…..and every time I see my abode, it only gets younger…..

I’m home. This bursting ecstasy cannot be expressed in words. It’s something you can only feel, and not say out loud. Yeah, I know a writer should have the ability to put every tangible and intangible thing in words, but at some points, you are just too speechless and overwhelmed. Moreover, I’m not a Shakespeare. And neither do I intend to be one.
The journey was painful – no hot and sexy co-passenger – as it always is. Maa was there at bus stand, waiting for me, and guess what, the first thing she asked me after “how was your journey? ” was “you didn’t forget my dress, did you? “. Dear Lord! What’s with women and dress! Anyway, I assured her that I didn’t forget her precious saree and Salwar-suit and proudly rode pillion on the scooty. My mother rides scooty like a stuntwoman, so it’s kind of risky to ride pillion, especially provided that I don’t have a life insurance yet. Hell, I don’t even have an Adhaar card.
We reached home safely though, and every time I see my abode, it only gets younger.


We’re going for a movie tomorrow. Bajirao Mastani. Full family. And trust me, that’s no less rare an event than watching Halley’s commet.
Doctor (yeah, she’s a girl and we chat, like, everyday but only-as-friends ) asked me yesterday why novels have sad endings and like a moron I replied to her, “can’t talk. On bus. Dead sick. ” which was sick but also true of me. She wished me a happy journey and I melted like butter on a frying pan. Today I answered her question. The answer is a John Green quote – all love stories end in breakups, divorce or death. And that’s what novels tell. Love stories in their sublime form. Sad and mortal.
Anyway, back home, they are treating me like a war vet who has returned home after winning inter-galactic battles. Sweets, chocolates and the TV REMOTE!!!!
Life’s paradise. What more could one ask for!!??

Home Sweet Home.

It’s Time!!!!!

I am catching a bus home today.
And I am so excited that I just wore the wrong side of my shirt, which is not something you should mention in a blog……

Okay. It’s really tough to write a blog while putting your legs inside your pants. I know that because that’s what I’m doing right now.
Anyway, as I dress up, I feel like I’m a prisoner dolling himself up for his own execution. And dear lord, no one has even asked me my last wish. My last wish is to kill every Harry Potter fan in this world, because, frankly, that will reduce the world population by 3/4th and there will be more sane people, and no Hogwarts-maniac who blabbers avada kadaveda in their dreams.

I am catching a bus home today.
And I am so excited that I just wore the wrong side of my shirt, which is not something you should mention in a blog but I don’t think that’s possibly obscene. Indian Censor Board would have deleted this wearing-pants-and-shirt part.
So yeah, I’ll head home after that goddamn exam and finally eat some delicious food cooked by my mother (who otherwise doesn’t get much praise in my writings ). And I’ll meet my friends, and that’s no less than a  prize.
My mother has asked me to buy some earrings and caps and nailpaints and whatever and whatever for her, but I’m not going to buy anything because, hell, I don’t buy anything except for books, not even my own underwears. ( And that’s something Censor Board would have definitely deleted from wordpress. )
Yeah but don’t think of me as an evil son. I’ve ordered (actually received) two dresses for her. And for my father, well, all he wants is my school-fee card ( for adding in income tax statement ).
And even though this is a very loser statement to make when you’re an artist and a blog-writer, I hope I’ll learn how to ride a scooty this time.



I have my accountancy exam tomorrow, and it feels like I am going to light my own pyre the next morning.

The thing about exams is that they suck the life out of you, and spit it on the floor and squash it under their spiked soles, and then they piss over you before giving you a break.
I have my accountancy exam tomorrow, and it feels like I am going to light my own pyre the next morning. My expectations were never as high as 99.99% or above, but right now, a mere 33% seems like a distant and impossibly tough dream, like crossing Atlantic in one-size-small innerwears.
So yeah, I’m going to screw up big tomorrow. But that’s still okay, because I’ve developed some sort of screwing-up syndrome, and it’s fine if not heavenly. The problem is that girl who sits behind me and thinks of me as some high-brow Socrates or local Einstein or some omnipotent scholar which I’d have loved to play, but I just can not, and she some (most of the ) times pisses me off. I’ve never (okay I’m fibbing ) resorted to cheating (the last time I did, I was caught, and was mocked in front of the whole class) whereas the girl behind me takes up this risky venture as her favorite hobby, as if stealing answers is something cool and thrilling ( which it is, actually ). So anyway, I really want to say it out and loud at her face that I am a wuss and dumb, and so I can not show her the answers (or here, a blank answersheet ) and she should understand that. But since it sounds like making fun of myself, I won’t say it.
Then, my lodgemate sits on my left. And that is unsettling. I mean he is the one who transfers porn into my otherwise clean phone and brain. And he sits there, laughing at himself and at me, and through the looks in his eyes, says, “ah! Let’s get the hell outta here! ”
On my right sits a beauty who I get to see during exams only. She’s the only comfort in this otherwise godforsaken purgatory I’m being kicked into every once in a while.
But I loathe exams. I really do, with all my heart. They’ll never ask you what’s this and what’s that, they’ll always tell you this’s this and that’s that, so now tell me what’s what. How the hell one answers that question?
Plus, Maa calls and reminds me of my duty as a son, which comprises of two non-negotiable tasks :-
It’s taking me over. And I don’t even have a girlfriend. Yet.
So I guess, I’ll just flip through my accountancy book and then watch some porn and go to sleep.
Life’s tough.

Second Debut

Second Debut

Okay. This is not the first time I am setting up my blog. The last time I did, I freaked out. Actually, people unsettle me, and there were a lot of them around. I’m more of a self-obsessed introverted guy.
But still, I need to vent out.
And so I come back – to spit my frustration and pour out my feelings – and I hope, this time, I won’t run away.