sometimes, it is me

when i’m cold, selfish, manipulative and distant. when you call and i don’t pick up. when you text and i am too lazy to recharge. when you text, i see it and it causes a genuine smile to creep into my face but i forget to reply for days.

when you say something, and i forget to empathise until it strikes me that holycrap, what you went through was real. but it’s too late then. the moment has passed and you were miserable and i didn’t do anything but act like a scornful idiot.

when you say something but my mind is somewhere else. 

when you say something but i don’t get there yet.

when i say i miss you but you think i don’t mean it because i didn’t show it then. i didn’t show it then.

when i stare at the part of the wall opposite where i’m sitting, thinking i should say hi, i should ask her if she’s okay, i wonder where he went, i wonder if she’s okay, what she did was amazing that day, i care more than she thinks i do… but i don’t get out of bed. i’m staring at that point of the wall, thinking. i don’t show it then. i forget to show it later.

who do you blame for that? the phone? the text message plan? the duckling in the pond? it is me. of course it’s me.

all the world’s a stage and i’m in a rut

Imaginary interviewer: How does it feel to be in a rut?

It feels stupid, that’s how it feels. Half the things you found fun just a while ago seem hopeless. You seem to have grown out of it (harry potter, skins, chocolate, happiness). And you waste twenty gigabytes worth downloading space to come to that original conclusion.

Worse, all you seem to do is lounge around staring at stuff: whether it’s laptop screens, books you painstakingly borrowed so that your break would be interesting or your phone, analysing people’s statuses and display pictures to death.

And then there’s the things you actually need to do… phone calls you vowed to make or posts you told yourself you’d write but those things feel so difficult.

You stare at your phone for hours… fiddling through random Apps but you cannot bring yourself to dial a number. Or catch up with that old friend who you fed the “we should meet up” line to. Or make a career-benefiting enquiry. That feels like a disproportionate amount of effort.

You feel tired all the time… because all you do is lounge around and make plans in your head… or step out of the house only to feel glad when you’re back until you realise you’re back to square one… and wonder what you did last year that was so darn entertaining because you cannot come up with anything right now.

Every night, you tell yourself the next day is going to be so much better. You make a schedule for yourself in your head, check because your horoscope suddenly dictates your life (since nothing else does)… and bam, nothing happens.

The sun rises in the east and you’re still in this nonsensical rut.

Protest Against Smelly Stubble activity: A Prickly Letter from Girl to Boy (#epistolarystory, Blogadda Contest entry)

Epistolary Story

Dear Boy,


So your friends heckle at your hairless face

Call you chocolate boy, mamma’s boy, basket case…

So you have decided to grow out that beard

Let the stubble tickle and spear

What’s left of us?


Now the friends call you rockstar!

The groupies tug at your shirt

Only I see it drain

what’s left of your mirth.

The stubble grates against everything,

It sticks to your face,

It adds to the heat,

It cuts against my cheek.

It makes you hot-headed,

Miss a beat

while you scratch the itch

Near your cheek.


Boy, if you’re not done,

I am. For

I hate that smelly stubble!

that makes you look older

but no wiser

strange, but no quirkier

lazy, but no nicer.


You have said:

judge me not by my looks

i’m a man, it’s manly

the resemblance to a crook

it’s not uncanny

How am I judging your looks

when I cannot see your face?

How is it manly

to ignore what’s sanitary?

How do I ignore the haunting

daunting, extra weight

it adds to your face?


I love you, Boy

I really do

It’s just really

I hate that smelly stubble

that is not a part of you

and definitely not

a part of that gorgeous face 🙂




This post is a part of the Protest Against Smelly Stubble Activity in association with BlogAdda

Protest Against Smelly Stubble activity: A *Rough* Encounter (Blogadda Contest Entry)

Protest Against Smelly Stubble

As Murphy’s Law would have it, Boy bumped into Girl at the market of all places, when he was looking his absolute worst.

You see, Boy hadn’t shaved for days. He had been slummin’ it and as a result, the prickly, sweaty hairs on his face had gotten in the way of his niece snuggling up to him, eating breakfast and now saying hello to The Girl He Liked without dying of mortification. He could see Girl fighting against the urge to cringe.

HER: Um, uh. Are you okay? Are you sick? Is everything alright? You look-
HIM: Uh, no- uh, I’m in a play! Yes… I’m…
HER: Oh! Um, that’s-
HIM: Igottago.

Boy raced past Girl to the nearest store, leaving Girl absolutely confused. 

HIM [to the shopkeeper]: Razors please! How many? I don’t care, all of them! Do you have a restroom?

Minutes later:

GIRL [picking up her phone]: Hello?

HIM: Where are you?
HER: Just leaving. Are you okay?

And then Girl caught sight of Boy exiting the opposite store. A little shaken, with that goofy smile, wearing those annoying orange shoes… but looking like… looking like him. For me?

"His clean shaven look bowled her over"

His clean shaven look bowled her over.

This post is a part of the Protest Against Smelly Stubble Activity in association with BlogAdda