corn

Let me introduce you to the joys of a corn-cap. If you develop a patch of harmless tough skin on a limb or digit, you are expected to promptly cap it with a white bandage with what can only be described as a ‘ring of fire’ in the middle. The little felt surface contains a ‘medicinal’ (read mildly acidic or skin-eating) paste that will destroy your corn within a span of five days or less.

Meanwhile, you have to sit around, with a dirty white bandage on your foot or finger, patiently waiting for your skin to be corroded slowly. Is it just me, or does that sound like a government conspiracy right out of a flesh-eating-virus movie?

Just me, then? Fine!

scatter

For every one you save, there is always one lost. and until you can distance yourself enough to see the pattern in which each loss and gain is just a thread in the fabric, each loss hurts.

And you can explain everything to yourself, bit by bit, till you think it makes sense. but then an epiphany, or something as insignificant as a cancelled plan, makes everything scatter like sunshine on water. then all is chaos, it's too loud to hear yourself over.

then what do you do?

recluse

when i'm alone, i'm more sedate, more sensitive, better attuned to the million vibrant details the universe wants to show me. i like myself better that way.

late night conversation with a friend made me articulate what i'd known about myself all along. i'm not a people person.

is 3 A.M. very late at night, or very early in the morning?

return

i have so much to say, that i'm at a loss. constantly. so i blog less, talk less. instead i doodle, fold all my words into paper flowers in the brightest colours.

meanwhile, there's monsoon. unpredictable and abuzz with dragonflies. so i look up before it rains, and after, and grin to myself.
the last of the red is fading from the Gulmohars, still they leave the occasional perfect crimson blossom in my path.
red is the colour of wonder.

life has settled back in its own odd ways. some things one has to leave behind.

p.s.: in a city of 4.5 million people, there's not one decent pet and stray care clinic open on sundays. people just don't give a shit.

hate

it's just beginning to dawn on me...what a detestable person i really am.
and this isn't an indulgent self-loathing exercise. believe me.
more and more people I've cared about deeply, fussed over, trusted, been proud of, criticized, loved, choose to make it clear that they hate me. I'm that something they can do without.

and it's a lot for one person to deal with.

p.s.: i have a job. boring, but it might pay well.

babies

why does everyone assume babies like to be cuddled?