Losing it

“I wouldn’t be surprised,

In the middle of the night, to

Find Vinay watching me in my room. I’d just say

“Go home Vinay, it’s creepy.””

And she laughed loudly at me, then repeated it

To everyone around me.

We are… were friends, I tried many times to be


And not creepy.

“You’re so touchy!”

Yes, yes I’m touchy.

Because when you stand there mocking me,

Or joking about me or saying something to get a reaction from me and think

It’s “damn funny”

You are pushing me,

From the top, of my self-esteem, into a dark pit of anxiety.

I’m scared, if I stop being touchy

Then you’ll think, it’s okay to punch me;

Then I’ll be in high school again

Getting beaten up by the boys around me.

And I’ll be losing it.

I’m scared to go to high School reunions,

‘Cos my bully’s might want to throw a punch.

Or break my face,

Just for old time’s sake.

But I still met one, he convinced me

That maybe we could be friends, again

Like we used to be.

I met him in his car, we had a nice chat

And then he asked me

To blow him and I started crying.

I was losing it,

Every step into adulthood,

I forget who I am and end up in

My very own hell, inside my head.

Tart it up

A giant biscuit tart the size of a large pizza, first with a layer of fresh sliced bananas.  Then a layer of fresh cream, followed by a layer of farm fresh strawberries and fresh cream after. Now a layer of butterscotch cake and ice cream is added and topped off with a generous amount of caramel sauce. The tart would feel like winter finally arrived.

A bite of something this delicious and sweet is required because it finally hit me. The fact that I’m going to be leaving, I’ll be gone and wouldn’t want to come back has arrived. It’s sad, slightly painful and just a little cold (but the cold never bothered me, anyway). I’m not depressed, I still want to leave and go ahead but I can’t seem to shake off the little sad feeling lurking around in the dark.

Where the hell can I go find such a huge tart? And why aren’t I satisfied? I just want to be able to move on without being held back or caught in a spider web.


FLAMES a quiz from my childhood that helped reinforce hope in hearts of the boys.

F- Friends

L- Lover

A- Affection

M- Marriage

E- Enemy

S- Sister

This was a popular game in my 6/7 the standard,(grade) that helped verify if your crush and you were compatible. The game required both names to be written and then all the common alphabets were cancelled out. Whatever alphabets were left you’d count them and that number would be the key. Use the key number to cancel the letters in FLAMES. The example below will demonstrate. I’ll try to check the compatibility between the names Trump and Hillary.

T               H

R                I

U                L

M                L

P                A



The key here is 10 . Let’s use the Key on FLAMES.

F   4th


A   2nd

M  1st

E   5th

S   3rd

So according to the test the name Trump and Hillary have potential to be great lover but it will change if full names are used and it’ll be the same deal and everytime you finish the key, start counting again from the next alphabet. This is the way the love compatibility was calculated in my school and many others to help a brother or sister in need of common sense.

Or don’t

Either you do or you don’t; it’s a yes or a no. Life in my defence has always been either white or black and nothing else ever existed in my world view. The grey  area never existed up until then and the first time we met, I nearly drowned in an ocean of self-pity.

Or is this all my entitled, privileged and spoilt child attitude. It’s a question that I can’t answer honestly because personal bias effects the answer or opinions involved with these questions or conflicting thoughts. It’s a struggle that’s universal apparently because as a child I thought the worrying made me different and special but it clearly doesn’t do very much at all, because everyone else does it too.

Or is it just my constant need for attention or self that is so desperate for human approval and this makes my needs and urges seem normal for that brief period of time. Like Lucy in the sky and a rat in collection of a hobo’s sale of needless things. Idiot things to be or just not be worry about being horny all the time.

The ranting on a expensive bed after a rich dinner I’d add is the epitome of laziness rooted in the Freudian slippage stags.

Middle name: Second thought

I have second thoughts about everything, every step I take, every move I plan and sometimes even about eating. I don’t know what it means to not doubt my actions and just proceed with a thought. I’m not impromptu, never did anything spontaneous, and living everyday already feels too spontaneous to do anything else. Some classic second thought moments are below.

Breakfast: It’s pulav, smells great but don’t feel like getting out of bed. But I’m hungry, I’d have to brush my teeth too. I could just go back to sleep and get up for lunch but I may not fall asleep because I’m getting hungrier.

Meeting a friend: I’ll have to get out of the house and before that I’ll have to shower, wash my hair, dress up and talk to people. I enjoy getting out and meeting only people who are a delight to hangout with or I find interesting.
The Ride (to anywhere): I could still cancel, blame family and if it’s important say someone died and get out. But I tell myself, every few minutes to pull through the crap and I’d not hate it. Then as I get closer, the urge either gets stronger or gets weaker. Weaker it gets easier it seems to get through the ordeal, and on days it’s strong, I run back home from the venue and apologies for not showing up.

Ordering : I can never pick an order, I usually look up the menu a day before and decide what I’d want to order. It’s easy bit sometimes I fever EV CV hf

Trying and trying

The entrance exam was appealing and for the first time in my life, I had nothing horrible to say about an exam. That made me want to get in to the course even more. There was this girl at the exam, big eyes and red lipstick. Her laughter sounded like wind chimes and the boy with her, I hoped was her brother; even tried to find resemblance in their appearance. I got home pretty early that day, probably the earliest I got home for the next three years; the wait for the results of the entrance test was excruciatingly painful that evening. It was 6pm. The BlogSpot which would post the results was being refreshed on my phone every two minutes. I waited. It was 6:30, my names wasn’t on the list. It was 6:34 and I almost cried; for the next ten minutes, I was lost, life didn’t make sense. I had no future prospects, and I’d already given up on Engineering. My parents were worried about important things like how difficult it would be to find a good bride for me, I roll my eyes as I type it. Christ University had kept my results on a waiting list and that didn’t sound promising.

I was texting a friend who was in the course, a big boy with a three page resume. Then my phone vibrated, it was an SMS from a Prof Arul Mani saying I’d made it through the entrance exam. And tomorrow was the interview, my heart made a leap. I was in the second group of interviewees. I met 3 respectable looking men who were going to be interviewing me. I had a long practiced response to questions about my writing and reading habits. It was a question I was sure was coming and my HOD of English from Jain told me to not overdo it. “Say you write when you read something interesting or when something catch’s your attention or interest.” I did realise it was true, but not as frequent as it sounded.


© Vinay, 2016

School had always made me feel like writing was a punishment and reading was pleasurable. And it was even better when my parents disapproved it. I started reading things secretly, under the sheets with a pen torch like Harry Potter. The interview ended and they told me to go prepare for things that are a part of the course and I’d gotten in. I got through all the formalities and payed my college fees on the last day prescribed just 10minutes before the bank closed and I was Josephite. A week later someone called asking why I didn’t pay my fees yet; I freaked, but it was mix up and I was still in.

This was the beginning of the new reading and writing life I wanted and hoped, would be what sets future for a life where I’d be rich, famous and happy. Sadly three years later I won’t be any of it, but I’d be satisfied and leaning towards a future where that happiness thing might just happen.

Like expected, I was on over-enthu cutlet like most people in my class and on the first day of class I ended up sitting next to the girl with big eyes. She was funny, smart, mature and prettier close up. She laughed like a phone ring tone. We were in the same tutorial group and would chill once every week as we waited for our tutor. But once it was confirmed that she wasn’t available, I didn’t pursue. Weeks turned to months and the semester grew into an academic year, by then I met more women and also started writing like a mother-fucker. My writing showed improvement that made me proud and my tutor said, there’s more that can be achieved and that will always be true.

The year had managed to not kill my dark soul and there was still hope for a re-awakening and getting back to the light. But the next two years had things in store for me that only an Indian song could capture and could also manage to tell how much I died. The first year was painful, stressful, over-whelming and consuming but all of this only turned into things I could write about. There was so much to read, the course introduced me to Joseph Brodsky, Mario Vargas Llosa, Marjane Satrapi and so many other poets, writers, foreign films (and film makers), bands and texts; I was overwhelmed but not saturated and took everything it could offer. My reading grew a taste for graphic novels and comics; I saw everything in new light and the world was a whole new place that I never knew existed around me and in every corner that I’d been walking around for my entire life.


© Vinay, 2016

Towards the end of the first year I met a girl who lived across the city, she might as well have lived in Hyderabad because that felt closer. There were sparks and then there weren’t. Then there were fireworks and then the explosions got out of control; life was spiralling out of control. But then I met a blue eyed girl who made me smile, who was funny, smart, and strong and could easily beat the shit out of me. She was here for a month, I knew but I let her become so much more than that, and when she left to go back to the land seven seas away, I was overwhelmed. It was more than her, it was how she made me feel. I felt loved, warm, happy, and that I could never feel sad again when she was around or running her hand through my hair. And we constantly sought an escape from prying eyes and ears to a quiet moment, life was adventurous.

Then she was gone and then I discovered disinterest, my writing increased because there was so much to write about. It kept my writing at good length and I had so much to say, almost every day for a long time. But my reading started taking a hit and reached to the basic of minimum class requirements and then done. I had so much to say, it turned into whining, but that helped purge out all things I held onto. The second year was a roller coaster, the girl from far away drove me crazy and managed to break me. Then I met a boy, it was nice. He was nice, but he was also scary and made me realise how he was no different from the girl from far away. Then the girl took a back seat, the boy and I were doing everything together, every day, week and month.

The friendship grew stronger and when I realised it was more, he’d already decided it was over and in the wind. It was crazy, violent and noisy, before we knew it the year had come to an end. I was fighting with him as much I used to talk to him and that too, ended. I still see him around, we don’t talk and after the confrontation where he yelled at me and ran, things were never the same again. And in all the confusion the second year was done and I was interning at the ladies finger magazine. The writing demands were constant enough to keep me and my mind occupied. I loved it, there was never any time for feeling sorry or to sit and do nothing.


© Vinay, 2016

Third year started and I’ve been waiting to leave. I didn’t want to come back, it was weird and uncomfortable. But I could leave for good and with a degree if I just put up with another year and that’s what it has been and probably will be. An attempt in shutting my eyes to let everything fly so I could run, jump and leave the minute it all stops, but it just doesn’t seem to want to halt. In this process of shutting eyes I’ve manged to not read or write and I’m using completion and assignment as an excuse to write, write and write more than required because that is all I seem to be able to write. But writing now is painful, not the constipation kind of pain but pain where every part of the body and mind is sad and just wants to fall off and stay in bed and never come back.


The night I turned 22 very few people remembered and fewer called or texted. This was something I had to deal with on my own. I had lost friends and the few who were remaining, I didn’t do a great job holding on to them. Then again some are still around, and maybe I finally learnt my lesson.

Source: halfdirection.com

I couldn’t write anything about turning 22; about turning 21 I wrote a bit and was too happy to write beyond two hundred and fifty words. But 22 just seemed sober and felt like every other day and that was a little disappointing, I’d have loved a surprise party since I was nine but it never happened. Now it’s a little disappointing because I don’t think that it’d happen.

The day did have a touch, sparkle or whatever of nice, warm, fuzzy, and a few other stuff that I like. A friend took me out for lunch and we had a blast, she even made a pretty picture of me where I looked like a Zombie. We got back to college and I found out I was in the long list of a writing contest that I never expected would happen, so something had improved from last year, even though everything else seemed to have gone down the drain.

There was a performance of sorts with a boy playing a violin, another boy on a drum, a girl dancing to the music and another girl narrating. It was a very pretty experimental performance under the hundred and fifty year old banyan tree in the evening and the light source were little lamps around the tree. This was followed up by an acoustic performance with the singer under a spotlight, and I was flying. Sitting in the front row only made it seem like it was a private show for me.

It wasn’t the best birthday but wasn’t a bad one also, and I have list of awful ones so glad it didn’t make it into that list. I walked to corner house that night bought a caramel cake and ice cream and walked back home eating, all of this while I listened to Taylor Swift sing twenty-two.

A little after month from my birthday I wrote about turning twenty-two and it was the whiniest rant I’ve ever written and that’s saying something if you’ve read my blog. It’s three months since I turned twenty two, I made another attempt and this feels so much more sober than the last and doesn’t make me sound like a teenager who’s high or drunk. A great leap personally and hope that I don’t take anymore ‘U’ turns in life because I seem to be going in circles and that takes you nowhere apparently, I just found out.

The worst part is I hoped I’d be handling all my shit better by now and have something concrete in my life and the only concrete thing in my life seems to be my blog concrete sunshine.


Lizards make me uncomfortable, they creep me out, and make my skin crawl inwards. Their skin seems like the back of an old man, the creepy tail, and eyes that stare at you like a pedophilic, nympho.
Over the years, I’ve mastered the art of hiding this fear from the world. I see a lizard on the street, in class, or just anywhere in public, I slowly back away from the spot and excuse myself to the washroom or make something up and leave.
Indian myth says if a lizard falls on a part of your body it means something: the first time a lizard fell on my right shoulder and it meant pilgrimage; my dad took us to Tirupathi the very next day. Second time it fell on my left chest and it meant money, I got a lot of money from a rich relative. Three weeks ago a lizard fell on arm, the right arm and it means bad luck or bad things are waiting for you.


It was great and under control, till I met this girl who loved lizards. She had a lizard ring on almost all the time and wore a chain with toothless the dragon that also looked like a lizard. I was so relieved when she had to give the ring back to her friend, I could now give her all my attention. I met her nearly a year ago and it ended three weeks ago.


I could have told her that I hate lizards, but then she wouldn’t be her. I wanted to know her and like her for what she is, does and wears, which meant she had to be herself. I don’t remember ever telling her this and ever since it ended between us, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
On my souvenir shopping last weekend I bought a stone carved lizard for her, oblivious to the fact that we don’t talk anymore.


One of the many things I wasn’t prepared for in life is accepting or handling rejection.
I can think of many times I’ve been involved in destructive ways of accepting rejection.
I’ve gotten angry, lashed out at people, cried my eyes out, lived in my misery, pain and sorrow that it sometimes feels like I enjoy being miserable; a special friend once said.
Does anyone want to be miserable or sad or feel terrible? What if that’s where you feel the most comfortable because you’ve spent a lot of time there and made it your own.
You know it’s not healthy or happy, but it is normalcy that you’d sometimes want. And something you’ve wantedfor the most in life; to feel normal in an ocean of change and new.