Pooja Sweets

I tried to write an emotional piece about all the good and bad things about 2015 so far, and I wrote three paragraphs. It was shit, like the shittiest thing I wrote this year and that’s saying something. I tried fixing it, punctuating it, putting more emotions and it seemed to only get worse. So I ate a hot samosa from the local Pooja sweets and snacks, now I’m craving a rasmali. They make their sweets and snacks, in the evenings after five (5) pm you get to watch them deep fry the samosa, onion and dal kachori, bondas, and bajjis.

So I’ve decided to make a list or two. First will be of all the things I’m glad for, and the other of things I want to do or continue doing in 2016.

First list

Things that came to an end

Everybody who walked away

All the new food places I’ve discovered







Riding like a mofo

Trying new things

Second List

Going on dates with myself

Buying myself flowers



Going out with Friends



These are the things that made the list, I’ll probably update the list till the 31st based on what I remember or re-collect.


Scarlet hair

It’s raining again, the damn weather is so unpredictable; but I guess its good thing that it’s raining right now. I’m sitting on the corner of the bed and staring outside her window; memories rushed on to me like an avalanche. “Who the fuck has a giant glass window that doesn’t have any means of opening it?’ she said, the first time we got here. She hated it so much that she fell in love with it.

She seemed nice, very polite, and always said the right thing, wore the right clothes, would always get her hair trimmed, and never let it be a mess for longer than a day. Always wore clothes that covered her arms, and legs; always wore a scarf around her neck, it made her parents very happy, and her land lord always took a minute in the morning to tell her that she’s a good girl and it’s a nice hair cut that she’s got or some polite crap.

Neither the dragonfly tattoo, nor the scars from cutting herself for the last so many years saw the light of day. At least not till that evening by the beach, when we kissed for the first time. It was where our first everything started, where we started to fall for each other, I think. We sat by the beach, on my green blanket, and sipped on the ice tea that was heavy on some old monk and shared a joint under the starry sky.

I woke up with her hands in my hair, and mine around her waist; my cheeks turned pink under the soft sunlight and I just watched her breath. The sand grains on her cheeks, hair and everywhere else glistened; she woke up to me staring, shot me a smile and pulled me closer.

A picture from the beach was on her wall, we were smiling like carefree children, building sandcastles, but that smile didn’t last very long. When we got back to the city, things weren’t so pretty, we fought a lot, didn’t have the patience to deal with each other’s flaws or problems; felt like we rushed way too fast into everything. She didn’t like the way I kept my hair, was always angry with life, people, the world, and just about everything. If only I knew what she was dealing with, or that she channels her anger into the world, because anger was the easiest emotion to muster at any point of the day. I guess patience isn’t my virtue, and with my terrible learning skills, I was no walk on the beach, and dealing with my shenanigans  only made things worse.

I run my hand through her wet, scarlet hair; and my eyes moisten because the last time we fought, she yelled at me for touching her hair, and told me to never set my hand on her hair again. Now I don’t want to stop running my hand through her hair, in hope of her waking up to yell at me.

The lilies I bought for her last week had started to rot, her room smelt of both the lilies and the stem rotting; that should have been a sign, because she always took care of the flowers and plants in her room. She poured all her life in to them and they never could love her back enough; and the void only grew bigger.


I still can’t believe that she’s no more; or that I’ll never hear mellow and vibrant voice singing to me, waking up to her warm smiles, falling asleep in her arms, or how she says “I Love You” after kissing me. My room will never smell like lilies or rajnigandha that she always picked for me and left in that green wine bottle we first split and emptied.



Pungent aroma from the soft yellow petalled rajnigandha, fragrance from the incense stick dance to Pandit Ravi Shanker. The only light in the room was from a candle in a jar, and even that danced to the music.

I took it

I sat on the edge of the bed, next to a beautiful cupboard filled with books, and tin boxes with herbs. There was an ash white curtain with a navy blue or black print, something sold at FabIndia, or to foreign tourists as authentically Indian design.
A soft, gentle and cold breeze kissed my neck from the window right above my head, I can still feel it lingering sometimes.

Day 4 : Smells

The food and places have been hyperlinked to let you know what they are if you haven’t heard of them.

Today was supposed to be an amazing evening, because I had the day off and decided to go eat masal dosa, and smell flowers before buying.

So the evening that was supposed to be about ghee masal dosa, the aroma of kesari bath and khara bath (upma), fried vada, hot to warm idly at Vidyarthi bhavan and walk through Gandhi bazaars flower market turned in to a nap in my aunt’s house while it rained.

All the reasons why today was a fail –
1. I’m lazy
2. I Procrastinate
3. Weather’s unpredictable
4. I overslept
5. Friend had to move plans
6. I was under dressed
7. Because I made a list
8. I over think

I didn’t go swimming today.