You Know I Gave You My Heart - II

And this is how we shall beat the Monday Morning Blues.

Signing Out,

You Know I Gave You My Heart

It doesn't matter how much life sucks.
It doesn't matter whatever crap happens.
It doesn't matter what I can't have.
It doesn't matter that Sundays are goddamn boring.
It doesn't matter that the one person I want to talk to the most is offline.
It doesn't matter that everybody is busy or asleep.
It doesn't matter.

I have the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to read, watch and listen.

That's all that really counts, I guess.

Signing Out,
H2G2 Happy.


Blogpost Random

I really need to go book shopping. I seem to be forgetting what the new book smell smells like! :(

I'd have to find a whole new identity if I forget anything about my love for books. Isn't that scary? But I just read all my James Herriots and Dick Francis together in a major marathon, so I feel better. No shit, that's 32 books. With horses, cows, dogs, cats, veterinary surgeons and murderous intentions. I wish real life had this kind of drama. Nope, real life just has people you can't understand no matter how much you try.

I'm becoming addicted to the sound of the camera shutter. Both in my DSLR and camera phone. I figured this out on my way back home when I was getting really excited about it getting dark so that I could get some pretty night shots in the auto. And when I fished Marcello (DSLR's have names!) out of his bag and randomly started clicking the road home while trying to balance my life and various other bags while in the rickshaw. I got really nice shots though.

This is a shot from inside the auto at like, 7.30 in the night. I like staying late in college. I'm usually the last one out.

This is in college. This building is a fully functioning Video & Audio studio built for our course. This also makes us snobs.

This is the sky in college at around 4.35 when I am bored of listening to my radio feature.

This is the part of the college that is really pretty.

This is the road outside my home when it's just rained and the dog won't pee.

Signing Out,



This poster is mine. All mine.
Hanging up in my room!
Where I can grin at it all the time!




So you know about all those people in the film industry known as 'Scriptwriters'?. It's kinda safe to assume I may not be able to become one of them for a very long time. Short attention spans aside, under my supervision almost dialogues will twist into a conversation that has nothing to do with the actual script 'cept maybe wanting to make the characters a little (ok, completely) schizophrenic/delusional/paranoid (you get the hint.)

Like today, my friend and I (let's call her N) were typing a script and I wrote out this particular dialogue:

Me: "Tumhari bahon mein main ek jahan paa lunga, aisa lagta hai."
N: What, uske boobs?
N: Yeah, like Boobistan.
Me: Or Boobsville.
N: Boobie Central.
Me: Ruby Boobie. Boobistan ka WOW.

Then we laughed like maniacs for a while.

N: Who'll be the mayor?
Me: Pamela Anderson. You just HAVE to stare at hers. They are so in your face.
N: Okayyyy.
Me: And this will be the official dance of Boobistan.
*Starts every single cheap-ass Bollywood dance step ever. And I mean, ever*
N: *Laughing* And the official song will be 'Choli ke peeche kya hai, chunari ke neeche?"
Me: Seriously. Boobistan. Boob-nagar. Mera mehBoob aaya hai. I don't think our character is messed up. It's just us.

And that's when things went a little out of hand.

Signing Out,
Boobistan :D


Star Child

Poetic justice, poetic hubris, poetic license;
Anything poetic, is you.
When the stars come calling down on earth
You shall be their first, their last, their only.
And when they define love; the word heart
You shall have been their only reason.

All that is melodious, has sprung from you;
You are the truth, the bittersweet symphony.
All that is worth it's weight in gold, is you;
You are the passion, the glowing epiphany.
When the worlds will die and the bluebirds sing,
I shall see you your face; the comfort of your words.

A wonder, a wistful firefly, a sugar magnolia.
A world unto yourself.

Happy Birthday Deboleena



Even though I'm a dog person, I absolutely wuv cats. That smug look, the graceful walk, the self satisfied expressions. And all of this because they can meowr. I kid you not, the art of meowing is what makes cats the way they are.

I know this because I spent the whole of last night, the morning and some part of today evening meowr-ing to myself. First a low pitched hesitant meowr. Then a more verbal sleepy one. And when I was sure neither Mother nor the neighbours had woken up at the noise, a loud demanding rolling the R's waala purr. It's a wonder nobody came and scratched my chin, the way I was carrying on. But the fun it affords you is worth the funny looks people give when you randomly mew in front of them.

Signing Out,
My Pizza Is Here.