She loved the smell of smoke

In the small hotel bed, the two of them lay next to each other.

He had opened his arm out on the pillow and her head rested in the crook of his elbow. Turning away from her, towards his side of the bed and he pushed his other hand into his backpack on the floor, riffling for a few moments, and fished out a cigarette pack. He flicked it open with one hand and pushed a cigarette into his puckered mouth.

She watched him with a mixed look on her face. Her forehead wrinkled with disgust but her mouth slightly upturned with fascination.  Her plump cheeks were flushed pink, from his proximity or from the wear and tear of his prickly stubble. She looked away from the cigarette smoke and laced her fingers through his other hand. The one on which her head rested. That’s when she noticed them. Small, dark, round marks on the underside of his wrist. Several of them.

“Are those..”  she gulped, turning her head back towards him.

“ Cigarette burns” he said between puffs.

She looked at his hard chiselled face. It was a weird face that he had. He had a soft school boy dreaminess around his eyes, but the rest of his face was all string and chiselled. High cheekbones, a strong square jawline and smooth, thick black hair. But his eyes were a light molten brown. Darkened amber, but light milk chocolate. She loved his eyes the most.

“Don’t worry so much,” he drawled lazily, “this is from way before.”

“How does it burn like that though?” she asked hesistantly.

“When the cigarette is at its butt end, I just quashed it on my wrist,” he said casually, like his wrist was just another spare ashtray he had lying around.

“Did it.. didn’t it burn?”

“Like hell”

She looked at his thin, almost black lips. That too was from his smoking, she knew. He had been smoking from almost 12 years, since sixth grade. He had tried to quit a few times, all half-hearted attempts.

“See these marks?” he jerked his cigarette hand towards her, “these are lighter. They will go away with time.”

“The ones on the other hand won’t?”

“Nope. They are not meant to. I held the butt to my skin for longer.”

“Mmm,” she said, already back to her thoughts again.

He smoked out a couple more drags before she spoke up again.

“How does it hurt?” she wondered out aloud, “Does it sting, does the flesh smell?”

He thought for a second and replied, “It was a long time ago, Kari.”

“Can you..” she looked into his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued, “Can you quash that one out on me?”

She held out her wrist.

“No!” He almost screamed, his voice thick with horror.

“It’s not going to kill me!” she exclaimed

He shook his head firmly, “No. No way.”

“Niel,” she pleaded, “c’mon”

“Why do you want me to do that??” his voice was raw, hoarse, suddenly.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, and the sheet slipped away from her shoulder to her breast, revealing her low cut tank top.

His cigarette was burning out now. He reached across her to his ashtray.

“Niel,” she implored him.

“Kari, I..” He was at a loss for words. “Why?” he asked her, again, heavily.

“I want to feel it,” she answered simply, “I want to feel a bit of the pain you did.”

“What will that get you?”

“I don’t know Niel,” her voice became quick now, urgent, “Maybe some understanding of your life.” She brought her hand closer to him.

He looked at his cigarette. It was starting to singe his skin.

“Kari, please” his voice still hoarse.

“Do it,” she said simply and led his hand to her wrist. She held out her hand, palms open, exposing her wrists underside.

He brought the cigarette really close to her skin. Her soft, white, fleshy skin, with a hint of pink. He was looking at the cigarette, intently. She was looking at her wrist.

A bit of ash rolled off the burning stick and touched her white skin. Her eyes, expecting a burn, opened slightly wider. When she realized it wasn’t the cigarette, she looked up at him. “Niel,” she smiled, “Do it.”

He brought the cigarette down on her wrist. Held it there, and looked up at her. She had shut her eyes.

“When I turn 18, I will start smoking” Kari promised herself.

Smoke's Poutinerie - Vegetarian Poutine!

Location :  2019 Rue Bishop, Downtown Montreal
Website :  http://smokespoutinerie.com/

Damages : Next to none! $6.99 for a small and $8.99 for freakishly huge meal

Food : Awesome!

Ambience : Like a fast food restaurant

Service : Again, like a fast food restaurant

So, this review might be slightly biased since I am a first time Poutine eater. Actually, no. Second time. But the first one was so bad, that I have 1) Erased that experience from my mind and 2) In comparision, this Poutine, was OBVIOUSLY great.

One amazingly big brownie point goes to this eatery for the simple fact that it had Vegetarian Poutine! In a city where everything is meat based, in a place where the Bacon is named after the country, getting the state dish's vegetarian version is a find. 

And the vegetarian Poutine was great too! Out of the two people in our party who ate the meat versions, one of them liked the vegetarian more.

Both of us veggie people got the Onion and Mushroom Veggie Deluxe Poutine. So no variety there. Though I, like an idiot, ordered for the large portion. Let's just say, that we all took home leftovers, but Ashwin and I, the large portion orderers, well, a week later, we still have Poutine sitting at home. After being consumed as an entire meal 5 times already. THAT huge.

Well, the Onion and Mushroom Poutine was amazing. The gravy was well spiced, onions perfectly caramalized and the mushrooms soft and well dunked in the gravy. The fries were as good and crispy as fries should be, the cheese curds used were soft and creamy and melt in your mouth cheesy. Topped with fresh green peas, the entire thing came together really, really well. Though next time, I think I'll try the Nachos Poutine, because that looks like an amazing fusion of cuisines. Mexican and French? Yes Please!

Ashwin found his favorite meat combination, Chicken Bacon Poutine. Let's just say that he likes it so much, he refuses to let me throw out the leftovers, a week after too. He believes its the perfect combination to go with the Poutine-y fries, gravy and cheese curds combination. 

We were way too hungry to take pictures this time, since we went there directly after Ashwin's Soccer game. Which was directly after work hours. But the pictures here are from the Poutinerie's website, and that is exactly how our food looked. So you won't mind me pilfering the image from there, will you?

Last piece of advice though - When eating Poutine, always always opt for the smaller portions. No matter how famished you are. It will always be more than enough. I promise you. (In case it isn't, Montreal is full of desert studios to fill your stomach after anyway right? ;) )

Some songs are best forgotten

"Nanu, STOP running around!!" Blanche screamed at the three year old toddler. It wasn't a fun age to eat veggies she assumed, but she did not know when would be a fun age to just be calm.

"Masi, if I sit, will you let me watch TV?"

Goodness, the kid knew how to bribe!

"Love, my cable is out. You will have to watch whatever comes on the normal channels.. is that ok?" Blanche did not really want to get bribed, but there was no other way she could get Nanu to sit in one place and eat. "And you will have to promise me that you will eat at least half of these veggies."

Nanu thought for a few second. While running. And then came sat next to Blanche. "Put the TV on!!" he urged.

"One bite first," if the kid could bribe, he could for sure forget his promise.

Nanu made a face and shoved a spoonfull into his mouth while pointing at the TV.

Blanche reached for the remote and put the TV on. It was a soap opera rerun that was playing. "Do you even understand anything?" Blanche asked Nanu after a few more spoonfulls.

He shook his head in response but stubbornly refused to peel his eyes away from the set.

Blanche turned back to her book when she heard a familiar song play faintly in the background of the dialogues. 

She stopped reading a looked at the scene. It had nothing to do with the song. It was an old odd song. A song she had refused to listen to since years. And now it was playing in front of her.

I knew I would always hold on

While you would let go

You would let go

'cause no faith, my love, no faith

you have no faith in our love

You are too quick to judge

Too fast to run

Too fast to shut 

While I stand here and wait

I wait while you would let go

you would let go cause

no faith, no faith, no faith my love

you have no faith in our love

He used to sing this. To her. For her. And here she was. Still holding on. 

(This post is dedicated to two people, both will remain unnamed. Though the first one is who I used to call my little darling. Nanu is how I imagine him to be today.)

No one knows

He looked up from his book and craned his neck, his eyes hunting for her face. She wasn't there. 

He pushed his chair out and then swung on it a bit, trying to look beyond the end of the row he sat on. She wasn't there.

He stretched his hands out casually, and humming and hawwing gently stood up. He strolled to the end of the room and looked out of the door to the lobby. She wasn't there.

"Seen Divya Madam anywhere?" he asked of the guard. 

"Madam left some time ago. She signed out also" the guard quipped back, hiding a smile.

These people, they thought no one knew. But he knew. He knew everything that happened here. 

He caught the swallowed smile. He knew, he knew that the guard knew, but that did not matter. He was no one.

Carlos and Pepe's Mexican Restaurant - Go if you must

Location : 1420 Rue Peel, Downtown Montreal
Damages : Inexpensive - $9 per plate (average)
Food : Strictly average
Ambience : Casual
Service : Great
I judge Mexican restaurants by a simple standard - their guacamole and salsa should be better than my homemade one. And based on that, this restaurant lost by leaps and bounds. Which is sad. Let me tell you why..
Carlos and Pepe's has the advantage of being a stones throw away from Rue St. Catherine. It also has the most pretty seating arrangements, with table placed by its huge glass walls facing the streets and small booths in little corners of the restaurant. Its servers are warm, friendly and smiley.
As soon as you enter a small basket of heavenly spiced tortilla chips are placed in front of you with a small dipping bowl of a unique salsa and barbeque sauce combination. And a little bit into that basket, the server will get you a warm mug of vegetarian soup, on the house. So far, so amazing.
But the main order is where things go downhill. All dishes don't come with guacamole, and I know I'm complaining just because I am a crazy avocado lover but hey.. chili with guac, quesadillas with guac.. always taste awesome. Anyway, we went for the fajita (which did have guac accompanying it) and a veggie chili platter (no guac).
The food came fast enough, but boy, did it disappoint us. The veggie chili platter was a bed of rice, which barely visible beans on it smothered with cheddar cheese. The Salas served on the side had less than sufficient dressing and Ashwin refused to touch it at all.
The fajita was served on a Sizzler platter, with four tiny plastic containers filled with a sparse helping of cold refried beans, salsa, discolored and over salted guacamole and sour cream. They also gave us a bamboo basket with soft tortillas with it. All the veggies in the fajita were not seasoned. Some tasted just of oil. The condiments in the tiny container were just vile and the soft tortillas tried their best to bring the dish together but failed against the rest of the component's conspiracy.
We left both the dishes not even having eaten them halfway. The desert menu was like any normal restaurant's but so disgruntled were we that we refrained.
The drinks menu showed an impressive range of margaritas and martinis but since it was a workday lunch, again, we refrained.
Both our verdict at the end of the meal was that even though the quality of the entrees left a lot to be desired, having tortilla chips with salsa and some margaritas here after movie wouldn't be a bad idea.

Old Love

Hiru aunty got up form the table, and took her plate to the sink. She rinsed her plate, and washed her hands right there, looking surreptitiously at her husband still chomping away at the last piece of gulab jamun. Shaking off the water from her hands, she walked back to the dining table. " You going to take time?" she inquired, as she starting clearing out the space where she had gotten up from and stacking some books there. 

Joseph uncle looked at the clock on the wall in behind him. 12.45. "Your students dont arrive for another 15 minutes, woman" he growled without looking at her, "let me have my gulab jamun in peace"

Hiru sighed and opened one fat book from her stack. Quantifying Mathematics. 

"Are you mugging up the theorems again?" Joseph uncle asked, stealing a glance at her past his bowl of Gulab Jamuns and the smile he was hiding behind it.

"Shutup!" Hiru retorted back, "I dont need to mug up anything. I am just.. " Hiru reached out for the small box of mouth freshners she kept. She shook out a coin-sized heap of the it and plonked it in her mouth.

"Are you eating those specks of flesh again?" Joseph had not even turned to look at her.

"Dhana ni da'ad, Joseph, dhana ni da'ad" she sighed, "why do you harass me so?"

"But you should try flesh. If you stir fried it with a bit of Olive oil and some pepper, it would taste just like that Gujarati mouth freshners of yours."

"Joseph, no matter how you try it. No meat will enter this house. So stop trying."

"Damn woman" he muttered. 

"That's right. Abuse your wife of 42 years now."

"42 is it?" There was wonder in Joseph's voice now.

"Unfortunately yes. I should have listended to my papa when he told me life would be difficult with a catholic"

"Yea. And I should have listened to my drunk friends when they said during my bachelor party that that would be my last drunk revelry kind of night"

"Oh oh oh" Hiru turned to look at Joseph full faced now, "Your bachelor party. Wow. I still remember how angry I had gotten"

"You turned a shade of mauve I had never seen before."

"Baingan Mauve you called it"

"Yes. My baingan. You even resemble one now"

"Joseph!" Hiru complained.

Joseph chose to peer into his gulab jamun bowl looking for any specks of the round mound of sweet that he might have missed out. He put a finger in and licked out a few drops of the sweet syrup. Hiru had turned away from him by now. Her face had gone back into the Quantifying Mathematics book. Joseph sighed, and stacked all the empty vessels in his plate and got up. He trudged towards the sink and dropped his plate in it. He came back to the table and cleared it up, put the casserole dish of vegetables into the fridge and all the while kept looking at Hiru expecting her to lower the book slightly.

"You have dried up by the way. You look like an autumn leaf that could be sucked away by a gust of wind." Hiru said suddenly, her head still buried into the book. 

Joseph grinned.

Lovers on the grass

They lie on the grass, carefree. Carefree in a very worldly way. She has her bunch of papers open in front of her, he has his thick fat book. Their own little study nook. A corner of the University quad. A stolen hour in between rushing for class. A skipped lunch. In exchange for silence. Just an easy hour of pouring through work, fingers entwined sometimes, feet nudging each others' sometimes. A shared sip of water and a shared glance.

Lovers, they lie on the grass. Each immersed in their own love story. 

Doubts and tears

She woke up with a start. Last night came rushing back. It wasn't like her.. these weird sleep cycles. This erratic, unexplainable wave of affections she slept with and woke up with. It wasn't like her anymore.

She couldn't believe she was back there. Where she ended the night in doubts and woke up to tears. She couldn't believe that she had left the smiles that her life had brought with her behind.

Black Heart

Why do you have a black heart my love
What deed so tainted, words so impure
what joy rebuffed, what smile upturned

you always believed
that smiles are an anomaly
that the world is a bitch
that people are selfish

you always accepted that
that was your truth
imbeded in your psyche
fashioning all your moves

you revelled in the pain
Basked in darkness
enjoyed the screw drilling in
relentlessly, ruthlessly

what little action was it
that turned out to kill it all for you
why do you have a black heart my love
and how am i supposed to love it

Life on a soundtrack

If I had the option to rewind my life to certain times and places and replay it with a soundtrack, the first thing I would rewind to would be lying on sidewalk of a national highway.. just lying on the sidewalk.. hand in your hand.. and looking up at the stars, while the world passed us by.

And obviously, the track that would play to that would be

Snow Patrols - Chasing Cars.. If I just lay here, If I just lay here, would you lie here with me? And just forget the world.

We are all victims of life's speed

Some of us sit around trying to define the depth of a relationship, some flirt with definitions and some are waiting. Waiting for the relationship as you know it to start.

We each course at a different speed through these confusing relationships, but what speed is it that we want? Why are we always dissatisfied at the pace we are at? The fast want to go slower, the slow, faster. The one's at the red light just want the damn speed to pick up and the traffic to start.

I feel like I am on slow mode right now. Waiting for the full throttle to burst. For the rush of speed to take my life by surprise. I am waiting for my life to start. I am done with laying the foundation for my life ahead, hell maybe I am not done with it, but i am done doing it, you know.

I just want life to start. I am tired of waiting for things to fall in place.. just so I know where my place is in this Universe. I know a few basic facts, and I am ready to take on the world on them. No more brick laying for me. Bring on the cars, and let's crank up the gears.

It's irritating when you realize that you have no control over your life right? very irritating. But what can we do, we are all victim's. Of the race that Life has set up. Some like it fast, they get it fast, some don't, so they switch to double lane driving. Now is now right?

End of the era of selfishness

In so many ways you show me what I mean

In so many ways, you show me my place.

It just makes it easier for me..

Easier to understand that you are not the man for me.

You are so not worth it. 

When pants hang low, pull

What do you do when you see a guy with his trousers hitched so low on his non-existent hips, that one tug would have them on the floor? You tug. That's what you do. Or you do what I did. Tug mentally, smile impishly. And find the trousers on the floor. :)

Last weekend found me with two friends walking down this scenic beach-front road in Mumbai. One just-turned-20 guy was at a corner shop buying what guys buy from corner shops normally. And his pants were riding low, way low on his skinny body. Low enough to display a thick line of muddy blue underwear on brown skin. Yes, that low.

Low enough to make me want to pull it down just so I could tell him,

" There. Mission accomplished." 

 And while I looked at him straight in the face and contemplated the mental tug, the pants slid off his hips. Slid. Right. Off. His. Hips.

The boy caught them mid-slide, almost near his knees and looked accusingly at me. I was a safe 50 yards away from him. My friend and I were laughing quite unabashedly at him and he then had the good sense to look sheepish.

We continued walking, not letting the laughter break our stride, but I couldn't resist a 'pallat moment'. I looked back, and his pants were again riding dangerously low.

Sigh. This generation I tell you!!!

Finding my fit.

One chapter closes in my life. Another starts in a few days. I take over the residual wide-eyed excitement I brought to my first chapter with me.

But I also take renewed hope. Hope that this time, I will fit. Although deep in my heart, I know I am not the fitting types. I never fit in through my college years, or through school. I did not fit in in my completely firang department in University. Not because I was an Indian, but at that time, because I chose to not fit in.

Maybe I need to stop trying to fit? Create my space and be comfortable in that? Hmm.

Space. It's a weird concept. Space was my personal bubble when I was in the US. Here, in India, it is invaded constantly. The woman who uses my thigh as a support to get up in the train, the man who places a fist on my shoulder to push me ahead in the bus, the colleague who peers over my shoulder to look into my monitor, to get a glimpse of whoever I am shooting an email off to.

Space. It exists where it shouldn't too. The one-time best friend who I don't hug anymore. The awkwardness in reaching out and grasping the hand of someone who has been making me feel much more comfortable in the last few days. The weirdness of not being able to sleep off mid-conversation anymore. The by-chanceness of missing out on different timezones.

What's a fit between all these? When I make my exotic dinner-for-one? Or when I bite into my mother's shoulder, over her giggles and protests? Yes. These are my fits.

Vicious

Her laptop pings in the background while she furiously types away at a word doc. She looks up, a bit disoriented at the ping, identifies the source as a new mail in gmail, and ignores it.

He doesnt deserve my time.  He does not deserve my patience, or my worry.

She goes back to her word doc. Clicks and clacks at the keyboard for a while and then grunts in disappointment. She is distracted. Her words dont come back to her, that fine silvery line of thought in her head has faded to the white blankness of nothing. The shimmer of words, pulsing with meaning, erased from their emboss on the white.

She sighs, and moves the mouse over to her inbox, angry with herself for having no discipline. Of course the email is from him. She does not need to check to know that. But it's not meant for her. It's meant for another, come to her because she was subscribed in the list.

More words, more charm, more sentences that clearly say I'm available now, do you want to hook up? Or maybe that's just her imagination. What it really says is, I'm available now, let's talk. Get to know each other.

The later was more scary than the former. Though the former gave her chills too. She had always seen that charm directed only to her, meant only for her. Just her's. No sharing.

She compose a new email, copied his message to her in the body and in the subject wrote three simple words, I hate you and then clicks on the send button.

 She understand the heights of viciousness she has reached today. But she also understands that there are levels higher up when she gets no response to her email.

He has moved on, she, on the other hand, hasn't.

Mini-Meals - an ode to our lives in champaign

I rush through the day, run for the bus
late for class, quickly take notes

No time for a bit of chat later yaar
I’ll have more research done on this later, sir

         Bite sized love, bite sized lives
         A little hurried hi, a little hurried good bye
         Got to finish this life, get out of U of I
         Masters is enough man, there’s a life outside

Two jobs to fund one life, two jobs to fund the calls to home
but there’s always money for the shots and beer

Nostalgic when we hear a song, miracle, we know the words all
festivals we did not celebrate have meanings now

         Bite sized love, bite sized lives
         A little hurried hi, a little hurried good bye
         Got to finish this life, get out of U of I
         Damn this PhD man, there’s a life outside

Second hand Honda, the pool of our savings
time to live alone now, dude sharing isn’t working

Profs are over-rated, so is research
that’s when I turn to singing, that’s when I turn to writing

                Bite sized love, bite sized lives
                a little hurried hi, a little hurried goodbye
                Got to move aheada this life, get out of U of I
                Fuck Post doc man, there’s a life outside

                Bite sized love, bite sized lives
                a little hurried hi, a little hurried goodbye
                Got to finish this life, get out of U of I
                what the hell is happening, there’s a life outside

                Bite sized love, bite sized lives
                a little hurried hi, a little hurried goodbye..

Can you sing a song to me?

You sing for the entire world, but I can't hear it. You play with the entire world, but I'm not a part of it.

Can you sing that song again, where you chased my afterglow. You might not be the best singer alive, but you are after all, my singer. My only singer.

Can you hold me in your arms again, and wait for me to drift off to sleep.

Distance, is definitely not an easy adversary to have, when distance, is all you have.

Ramblings

I just realized that I haven't done many things 'new yearsy'. Din't think of anything special that I would do this year, did not do anything spectacularly special meant only for the new year and did not wish a whole lot of people too.

It's almost like the onslaught of the new year sped by me, and I realized 13 days later. When I was writing a report in office dated 13th Januray, 2010. 2010!!! Almost sounds like futuristic generation!

But then I just saw something. This last year was sneakily good for me. Balance. That's what the year was about. I finally managed to bring my weight to a balance. After getting desperate about it, deciding to starve myself, over-feed myself, over-exercise myself and over-diet myself, I finally found that balance that suited my body. That did not make me do any of the above. And helped me lose all my excess fat. (Almost all). I am 15 kgs lighter that this time last year. And I think that has been one of my biggest achievement ever.

The year before last, I met some of the most wonderful people in my life. But it is last year that I understood their significance. What they meant to me. What was their importance and what priorities needed to be set to make myself happy. I found my happiness. I made settlements with my expectations, understood what was not a fairytale and what was reality. And loved my life for it.

But while I have done these, I still havent been able to lay the ghost of a friendship past to rest. ABDC still bothers me. The friendship I shared with him bothers me. I don't know what it is about us, but something does. I understood my issues with Pilot. I know what needs to be done and what will just happen over the course of time. Balance.

I fixed up a job, got my brother married off. Hopefully, happily. I made new connections with a new family. Understood their quirks and whims. What makes them a different family.

I was faced with a situation where I lost my cool the way I never have before. I shivered with anger, and my ears turned red hot. Literally. I screamed my throat out. My mind shut down because of over-heating and squeezed out moisture in the form of unwitting tears. Abuses ran through my brains while my mouth tried to hold them down. There. I have a resolution. Never to be that angry again. When literally I have no control over any of my senses.

I took on amazing amounts of responsibilities, once back in India. Quite successfully, if not gracefully, met up to all of them. And then ended the year, trying to bake, hoping to cook, but not succeeding at either.

I am literally smiling while I write these last few lines now. Be cause I realize what writing this post has done. It's given my new year a direction. >> Avoid anger.>> Fulfil responsibilities with grace>> Bake more, cook more >> Travel more >> Lose 4 kgs more.

Not in that order.

P.S. I realize that this post is quite shabbily written, but it has literally followed my thoughts. And liberated me quite a lot. So, as long as it helps me, its all good right? :)

New year, new woes

I have had posts bubbling inside me from about a week now. When I stopped writing a year or so back, I couldn’t figure out why. I thought it was the pressure to please the readers, to soothe my ego etc which drove me away. I left it at that.

Then I was leaving everything that had become familiar to me in the last two years, and I found myself opening up the blog again. Once back, I got busy. Wedding planning, wedding attending. Etc.

Once all the hoopla settled down, I took up a job. Actually I quite foolishly took up the first job I was offered. I started traveling by trains again, rushing for time, eating from packed lunches, dealing with people’s temperaments, whims and fancies. I was touching ground again. And this time, I was touching Mumbai soil.

And lo and behold, my urge to write resurfaced. This brings me to the conclusion that I write when I need the outlet. I don’t write when I don’t. I was blissfully happy in the last one year... so I stopped writing. I was too involved in my happiness. I was writing short stories to fulfill my itch, but blogging, Nah. Posts just evaded me. Not that I even tried running after them. Thankfully, I had that good sense. When the feeling to blog stopped, I dint push it. No force, no have-puff-to-puff-do-puff-it.

Now I sit in my ad agency office, senior copywriter by post, but in a government office type desk with chair. Old almost defunct PC to work with (seriously, every key has to be stepped on, hard, to type the letter) and horrible stuck up mouse. Someone higher up who thinks banning gmail and facebook is the right way to go (really, when I work for social media and email marketing!!) and a feeling of being boxed-in in the very fourth day of work. Oh and did I include working 10ish hours daily? No, its not a call centre, it’s an ad agency.

I am writing stuff which I don’t believe in. Which is quite disheartening. I erase this stuff from my life when it enters, and apparently I am filling others lives up with this shit. Sigh.

And yet, I have made a promise to myself that I will stick out the initial 6 months. Or at least 3. I’ve already bought a first class pass for three months. Might as well run it out right?

what is reality, really?

It is about a year and three months since this day.

I don't know when it happened, but my surreal world became my reality. The U.S.of A became my reality in these last two and something years.

I loved everything I knew I would love, and some more. I hated almost everything I knew I would hate, and some more. I faced everything I knew I would face, and so much more. If before coming here, I thought I knew all the emotions and feelings I was capable of, now I know that that spectrum is impossible to define. If before I thought I was worldly-wise, now, I know what the word actually means.

But, come the end of my studying, my original plans loomed in front of my eyes. Taunting me. Asking me if I still wanted to go back to India. Firmly I said yes. In a few weeks the firmness kind of disappeared. I found myself floundering for a hold here. Then, the universe reminded me of what I had always believed would be my happiness.

Home. India. Mumbai.

And now, Two years and two months and twenty days later, I find myself returning back home. To India. To Mumbai.

And now, this, right now, feels surreal. Leaving my life here and heading back. Goinf back to where I was two years ago. But going back as a different person. Because boy, I sure have changed. I know what worldly-wise means now!! :D