So-not long enough

More ranting and tears after a long break…

I tried writing. Tried. But I really, really badly didn’t want to write. I sat in front of the laptop and wanted to type but didn’t know what to say. Then I picked up my phone and looked for things on various social media platforms to give attention. I even thought about how tacky it was that I wanted to do something just so I could write about it. I never actually tried, tried writing. But I did think about trying to write. It was exhausting. I even made a list of things I’d write about

  1. The movies I keep going back to
  2. TV shows that I’ve been binge watching
  3. then I add something else and forget all about it

Because I was making all these lists in my head… And then I forgot.

But these are things that are…

© Vinay Green, 2017
My work space

I decided to watch Captain America Civil war, finally. Captain is my favourite superhero despite my disapproval of the things he represents at least in the first movie. I love the way his character is developed over the each film and through the series of three films. It’s a great watch and beautiful distraction from my thoughts that don’t let me sleep each night.

My blog has enough substance to have been running by itself for the last few months even without posting its generating 50-100 views a month and none of them is me! It’s something to be proud of but these posts are embarrassing and private thoughts that I put out for the world to see. I’m probably going to wait for the right push and delete the site after backing it up, hopefully. Or just archive it. I finally did manage to do some of the hard ones from my to-do list. Maybe I can finish more of them before I leave the city that I’ve always lived in.

© Vinay Green, 2017
A summer afternoon on the streets of Bangalore

I did a month of superb standard of socialising that I usually seem to muster in the months of summer when the sunshine is impossible to miss. Now the clouds are here and I’ve begun to ware out and my socialising strength is dying and I just want to rot. I’ve been constantly told, “You love to feel bad for yourself. Stop doing it to yourself.” and a bunch of other things that belittled my barley and vaguely existent self-esteem. I have whined through my blog and I seem to whine always and so much it was a joke to call me Whine-ay. Apparently, it’s very funny. I don’t see it because it’s at my expense but whatever. My whining is my call for help and I’ve been childish in dealing with it but that’s what happens when children are indulged.

Being called a creep wasn’t bad enough because I still didn’t stop trying to impress someone who only wanted to detest me. I have always loved the approval of a superior, teacher or anyone in the authority figures place and Freud calls it daddy issues and he’s probably not wrong. I was trying to compensate for all the attention daddy wasn’t giving. These were times where I was very impressionable like I have been my entire life and I meet people that I want to be like or please or am jealous of because they seem to please the people I bend head over heels to please. Now this obviously drives me insane but I manage to hold on to my sanity or whatever passes of for sanity these day to function like I’m normal.

Self portrait
Self portrait- a pink attempt.

To me trying to impress was an epic fail of historic proportion. In the end I was the reliable guy, dependable but not good enough to be what I aspired to be for two years. Moments like these are when my life flashes in front of me and the numerous times I wasn’t good enough or wasn’t white enough, pretty enough, smart enough, rich enough and maybe even upper caste enough. I do want attention and I’ve never had a second thought in asking for it but I was never going to beg for it. When I knew something was over, it was over. I wasn’t going to pretend like it’s fixed but doesn’t mean I’d go around being silly childlike about it except when I’m “Whinay-ing” about it to a friend.

What will it take an individual to realise they are being a bully. Just because you were bullied doesn’t mean you can’t be bully. My degree in Psychology has helped me access information and valid proof that proves a dominant power position is all that takes to make an individual from a sweet, sullen and potentially harmless to a vicious and savage creature capable of monstrous things. And this transformation is so subtle that it’s impossible to spot it even when it’s painted red and right in front.

The beast
A kitty that can claw your eyes out.

I feel heavy at heart because a lot of hate was brewed against me. People who acted as friends were the ones after getting into troubles and graves that I didn’t even dig. I slowly learnt my lesson and by then I had found bigger fish that were taking bigger bites of my soul and flesh. I by now had entangled myself into a web that I had cast to catch dreams but it managed to pick all my nightmares and magnified them to an extent where I only wanted to kill myself because it was the easiest way out of here.

I came to the last leg of the race and I stopped caring, there were too many frivolous complexities that I had managed to build but couldn’t break so I let them all stay.  But I managed to build up so much hate, fear, contempt and just plain sorry for myself that it’s over flowing through me and I need to end this disgustingly heavy weight inside of me by setting on fire and purging this pain.

I’d forgotten what it felt like when a tear rolled down my cheek leaving behind a moist trail. (As it manages to curve down my 12 O clock shadow and jump on to my neck.)

 All the Pictures on this post belong to me.

© Vinay Green, 2017

When the past bites

​”I want to go home!” Fouad yelled, jumped, screamed and cried while clinging onto the nearest door, window or pillar as Mary dragged the little boy and threw him inside the room and with a lot struggle locked him inside and went to work. Ahmed after cleaning up the paint mess off the floor walked in and pacified the child. They went shopping for groceries and managed to make dinner for everyone else. A scene from the French film “the past” that is stuck with me.

The film is like the scene described in the above paragraph and it only manages to get more complicated after every secret is unraveled. As the characters open up, the plot thickens and the film only manages to make everything more frustrating. Each character is well built and shaped, even with minimal screen time most of these characters manage to leave an impact on the viewer.

The sound score was invisible and so well hidden that it’s existence isn’t even realisable till the closing credits. The colour palette through out was very pleasing and each shot was well framed, drawing emphasis to all the things on screen that the directer wants you to see. This makes it very appealing, visually and the pleasantness is of the right amount to keep all eyes glued on to the screen. The film is Ashgar Faradhi’s attempt to tell us a story we’ve heard of, been a part of or may have just caused. And these are the stories we know but don’t want to talk about or hear about.

Image credits:


My life is a series of bad days… Bad decisions, awful music, terrible haircuts, ugly clothes, stupid choices, dead- plants, pets and brothers.

And then the bad days go out on a vacation and I have the time of my life because I don’t have demons to fight, arrows and bullets to dodge. These are ice cream like days of my ice cream like (short)6 adult life (one year, because I’m 22) that are between a series of bad or awful ones. On days like these I’m sitting with a friend(s) at a café or bar, sipping my drink, crunching food modestly and messily as I talked and listened. Days like these I cherish because they are the ones I use to cast my patronus against them demontors.

I’m a gladiator but without my armour, shield or sword, I’m fucking useless because my physical strength isn’t very reliable.

Pic Cred:

My physical strength is a sad joke, and that’s the last thing I can rely on not like there is anything else to rely on when my mental strength fails. And my mental strength and ability, constantly gets fried and fails because of how much I overwork it. I guess life. There are questions that haunt me, which form to become my demontors and demons:

“Does X love me?”

“Why does Y hate me?”

“How can I make Z like me?”

“Why am I so unattractive?”

“Would life be easier if I was fair, pretty and athletic?”

“Why can’t I love?”

“What is life even?”

“Why am I so Whiny?”

I’m a very whiny person, like clearly. It’s my 200th blogpost and this one like the last 100-150 or more blog posts is my whining and complaining. I’ve realised I whine even when I’m happy and love something, so whining is a constant state of being and living.

Since puberty hit me like a truck in the face 9-10 years ago, body images have only grown. Meeting new people, making new friends and building a support system has only helped me see that I’m not unattractive. To say this and believe it are still not easy but it’s possible to make the effort.

You get perks if you’re good looking, that’s no secret but it doesn’t mean life is a cakewalk. There is work that goes into looking a certain way, this means gym, clothes, make-up, food etc. Which too is a challenge.

I can’t help people who hate me for who I am. It took me a lot to get here, won’t be jumping planes or plates in the direction the wind sways. Will hold my ground and stay firm as I take each step, hopefully to go ahead.


I’m spiraling down into nothingness,
Like the oblivion in her eyes. Where
worlds seemed devoid of lust, leisure, love or life.

The fast light, strong wind, showers of rain
It’s too much, can’t anymore; hope
It goes away, like the bout of happiness from yesterday.

My fingers traced the morning light on your skin,
I’ve felt you, every time I try to catch you
Light’s gone and it’s time to say goodbye.


I want to be admitted to a hospital. No, not a mental hospital, visiting hours there is horrible. I want to be admitted for something physical like a broken bone, appendicitis or some other surgery because we’re not equipped to deal with the injuries to mental health.

After the surgery I’d be placed in an semiprivate ward, where there would be another patient and his family, with whom we’d make a single serving friendship. We’d share meals, gossip, dark secretes (not that dark also) and phone numbers that we’d never use.

After the surgery I’d have all my relatives, family and friends (if I have managed to not piss them off) waiting to see me. I’d be passed out and under observation in the ICU or if it’s nothing that major I’d bed in a ward bed couple of hours later. Once I regain consciousness I’ll be flocked by a lot of family members, aunts, uncles, both my great aunts, my mother’s oldest brother (for as long as he lived), my brothers (when they were still alive), and sister. My grand mother didn’t ever show up, and nobody ever complained.

The many white polythene bags will be filled with fruits, bread and rusk. Sometimes smaller paper bags carrying sapota or grapes fills the room up with it’s aroma. There would be another big jute bag from Anugraha / Anuyogya (clothes stores my family shopped frequently from) or some clothing store with two steel plates, spoons, a bowl, blanket, towels, steel water glasses, knife, Thermos, clothes, and anything else they felt would be required for someone who’d be staying the night.

I have watched my mother or aunt (Dad’s older brother’s wife) pack such bag on multiple occasions for the night because someone met with an accident, tried to kill themselves (has happened often), is having a surgery, or giving birth. My aunt with the hardened facial expressions, moving around the house and packing things or my mom is panic or grief stricken and deals with the moment by distracting herself with the packing and making calls regularly.

It wasn’t scary or worry some as a kid because I was very confident the adults would fix it, because adults and they could fix everything, right?
My fear for hospitals only arrived with an awareness towards death, simply that people who die don’t come back and if I miss someone who’s dead I can’t just call them up, listen to their voice and feel okay, because…

This fear gained more strength when my brother died, I sat with his lifeless body in the ambulance while everybody else was crying, shrieking, and getting things in place for the funeral. I cried too, to my hearts content and this is probably the only reason I’ve been able to accept he’s dead and not try to reason that his death is a conspiracy theory.
I wish as kids we weren’t inculcated with this awkwardness for touch, because I’ve never hugged my brother but once on my birthday he held me awkwardly and that’s the only thing I have to hug.

The fear of hospitals only got worse when my Uncle (mum’s oldest brother) suffering from liver cirrhosis was in the hospital. Looking at him as anything less than his grand and majestic self seemed was too painful, so I never visited him at the hospital.

Hospitals and I shared a very awkward relationship, I’d go to one only if I was too sick to go ahead with daily routine. Then I visited a friend at a hospital and it was so hard to keep myself together and not fall apart.

But days later I constantly put myself in a hospital and realised how much I miss some of aunt’s or uncle’s who won’t come under the same roof without bickering unless someone died, is dying or hospitalised.


Why do I miss you?


I hate you, don’t I?

I hate the way you smell. Old spice isn’t a perfume I’d buy because of you. I hate the way your prickly hair pokes, and I can’t seem to forget how much it stings. I cannot stand your voice and hate how narcissistic, stupid, immature, and foolish you sound. Your face makes me want to punch it, but feels like your personality does enough and I shouldn’t ruin your chances.

Yet I look for your scooter as I walk through the parking lot. I take a minute to compose myself when I run into you and you seem to need a minute too. But you don’t feel the way I do, but what do you feel?




Because you never bothered to tell me anything about this. You’ve told me about how you felt about the world, your ex, your family, your passion, love, life, art, music, films, books, food, my choices in life, my life, but never really about me.

You’ve said a lot of things to me. We’ve been to places together, we’ve done things together, we’ve gone out drinking, riding, walking, we’ve fought, screamed and insulted each other, we’ve laughed and cried, you’ve kissed me and I didn’t because you didn’t like it.

It was love of a different kind, unconventional, stupid, and one-sided. I guess after phasing out of denial, anger & hatred, now I’m probably going through acceptance and after this I hope to be over you, for good.

Hope is all I have left.

Gestures and stuff

Did you ever think we’d be friends Punit?

I never thought we’d be friends. You were that guy constantly running his hands through his hair or just flipping it. Those wannabe or cool dude types; you are… but like we’re friends now. Damn it.


I’ll remember you as the boy in the department standing at my table or Nirmala ma’am’s table hugging a book or whatever your holding. This is the image of you that will be with me.

Skyla ma’am walks in and agrees to everything Divya ma’am just said and tells me that’s probably how she’ll remember me too.


Vijeta ma’am can I talk to you?


Can I sit and talk to you?


It doesn’t bother, annoy, intimidate, or irritate you right?

No, it doesn’t. How’s the writing workshop going Vinay green?

It’s good, do you know what our writing task is Vijeta ma’am?

No Vinay Green, I don’t.

We need to write about a gesture or quirk that is unique and ours.

Are you asking me if I’ve noticed anything?

No. I don’t know…

Aye! You do this! You put your hands on the table or hug your bag or book and talk.

I only do it in front of you.

I’ve seen you talk to Arul sir like that.

Okay him. Oh! A teacher in Jain said something similar.

You also shake left and right or vigorously nod when you agree or disagree.


Stop lying down! You’re not Sri Vishnu to fall flat just about anywhere or wherever there’s place. You’re a young boy and what will happen to all your bones! You’ll have a hunch back and suffer for the rest your life.

Okay mom, calm down. I’ll sit and write my record, don’t scream.


These are the few conversations that stand out in my head when I think of my body language or gestures that are uniquely me and have been brought to my notice in considerably polite or nice words.

Once in School a girl asked me why my neck is tilted when I spoke and started laughing at me. That was the only harsh discovery, maybe.

The gesture or action I’ve discovered was while watching Scooby Doo and it was that I stand and bend a little like Daphne. It shocked me, dramatic window shattering cue. So I decided to not stand that way EVER again.

A good fifteen or eighteen later since, I know I’ve succeeded in keeping my Daphne stand hidden, by replacing it, with hugging whatever is in my hands. Body language analysis says my hugging stuff is me trying to keep myself in or being scared or some such shit.

Cry, but why?

The perfect place and time to cry is under my helmet while riding my scooter to college or back home. I don’t have to worry about being overheard, don’t have to worry about wiping my tears and mostly I don’t have to be conscious about myself or my body.
This was the third time I cried while riding, the first time was when I was heading home from college. I was sick, had a headache, felt weak, nauseous, and was in pain that made me cry all the way home, a forty five minutes to an hour long drive. That was a bad day, and the second time I have almost no recollection of except being stared at by strangers and the ass hole who I cried over.

I also cried while watching big hero six, Baymax was the trigger that turned the waterworks on and didn’t stop till I was exhausted and out breath. There are a lotta movies that made me sad, upset and all that jazz, but big hero six is the only one that made me cry.

My crying is usually triggered by all the things that remind me of my brothers’ death, a special teachers deaath, when I feel out of control, when I hate my life, self, body and remember that I’m a failure, can’t do anything right and all of that starts weighing on me and I break. But usually happens not more than once a month and often skips months and repeats in others to make up for the loss.
These are things I’ve accepted to be a part of growing up and adulting. What bothers me is that school didn’t have to be so. If bullies saw me cry everyday for three years because of all the shit they put me through, how do you not feel remorse? How can you be okay with yourself for being the trauma of someone else’s pain?
I want to know, teach me to be okay with it. Maybe then I wouldn’t ever want to cut, kill, or physically harm myself.

Why do I hate these bullies so much? I’ve made my peace with it but a shady kind, so sometimes they just end up pissing me off. They piss me off because all I remember about fourth (4th) to seventh (7th) standard or grad of school is crying, being made of fun, being called names, told I should have been a girl because I make such a terrible guy. Then once I was cornered in the washroom, slapped and accused of stealing, making up mean or rude things. These are the things that still bother about the people from school and what made me cry then, now I cry because of all the demons I’ve let in through the fucking front door.

Dear W,

It’s been exactly one year and a day, since the first night we hung out, on the roof a shady bar that was going to be our regular soon. Since then we’ve had multiple fights, stopped being friends twice and kissed once. I have fallen for you, then you said we can’t happen and turns out you thought I was still hitting on you. There was a lot of tension and we had a brief period of silence. Then we also went out on a date, I bought you flowers, went on a short bike ride, got wet in the rain, and we talked.

You were uncomfortable with groups of new people, or just new people. Wait, no, that’s only groups of women or a woman. I started to pull away, made a new friend and it didn’t go so well, we fought, you stopped talking to me for the first time. We ran into each other accidentally on a fucking crowded busy street that was celebrating iftar and we hugged right there. I felt the world melt away, like the rain you washed away all the grey and soot on me, for that moment I wished the world froze. It was perfect, all the bad things never happened and we were fucking perfect for each other, at least that’s what I thought.

We started talking again, life was pretty, birds were singing, flowers were blooming and all that jazz. Then it started to change again, it wasn’t working out any-more, between us and we were having too many difficulties. My mind wants to blame it all on you and walk away, but honestly that’s not true and I’ll never find closure if I don’t accept the honest to god truth. Once I do, washing it away, like you used to make me feel with life is like eating cake.

These difficulties led to the first time we had a serious fight and you asked me to leave you alone for good, then went ahead and block me on Whatsapp, SnapChat, Instagram, and un-friend me on Facebook. That was probably the worst thing to happen to me then, I was in a bad place and was acting out which only was leading me to a road far more terrible. Later, two months and a week later to be precise we had a conversation of a sorts on Facebook and you had unblocked on whatsapp. But you also had a boyfriend, who didn’t like me very much then and probably hates me now.

I sent you another friend request on Facebook and we are friends again. Took slow steps, we apologised, you a lot more than me, we met each other, and started talking again. You didn’t walk away from me like the last two times when we saw each other on the streets and it was nice to find you back, that familiar warmth that burnt me just the way I liked it. This went on fairly well, till you let all of hell out lose, again. I was a source of fights and problems, you told me. I told you to let me go if I was a source of problems. So you let me go again. Now you’ve blocked me and un-friended, again.

Shame on you for the first time and shame on me to let you do this to me again. So, I hope you have a great life, but if I don’t let you close again, you fucking know why. Honestly, knowing me, next time if you give me the time and wait, I’ll let you back in to wreck a havoc inside and then walk away, again. Take care and spare me the tears, heart break, and havoc by staying the fuck away. So please, please don’t come back.



Vinay Green

Class full of Ghouls

Scene 1

There was a lot of blood on the floor, blood splatter on the green chalk board and the new girl and boy were eating their classmate Jude.

Amit: You picked the right one Ananya. I didn’t want to eat the skinny boy Rishabh, Jude has tender and juicy meat. Can we eat Anisha for Lunch?

Ananya: I wanted to eat Rishabh for dessert but turns out he is already been marked for the apocalypse. Anisha does look appetising, let’s hunt for her. I think she’ll look pretty skewered on a barbecue stick.

Amit: I was surprised to find two other ghouls in this class. Who would have thought Shyla Bhagwagar is a ghoul? I almost wanted to eat her, she even smells like them but if you pay attention you realise it’s just a mask.

Ananya: I want the legs, his football practice has got the flesh toned.

Scene 2

A bunch of students were hiding in the basement of the library, that has an entry from a door behind the dingy, dusty, and forgotten textbook shelves that Alithea showed them.

Vismaya: Thanks Ali, for getting us here and showing us the safe place.

Alithea: I did very little, if not for Shyla we would have been dead and digested. Dude, I didn’t know you could fight like that, where did you learn to fight?

Shyla: Nagpur.

Varuni: What the hell is happening? What are those things? And that Suparna is absent today, of all days.

Vinay: They are ghouls.

Rishabh: This isn’t Anime bro, ghouls can’t be real. We would have discovered them by now.

Rijul: Not really, if ghouls were real a lot of things would make more sense; missing people, Bermuda triangle, human trafficking could be a channel for their food source, and of course Canada.

Scene 3

A ghoul had attacked the principal and a bunch of other priests in the college chapel and was now feasting on all of them.

Principal: I believed in you; you were supposed to be next, I was going to make you the next principal.

Beatrice: I’ve been waiting to feast on you. In this new world Madame Shantamma has promised me a city and all the people I can eat.

Principal: I was…

She bites into his neck and eats him up.

Scene 4

Varuni: Do you think the others made it through?

Vismaya: No clue, don’t want to think about it. Shyla, Vinay why aren’t you talking?

Rishabh: I still can’t accept ghouls are real.

Vinay’s phone rings.

Varuni: Is that Suparna calling you?

Shyla takes it from him and answers it.

Shyla: You said you’ll leave the college alone, that you won’t attack but why? What the fuck is wrong with you? These are our friends! Amit and Ananya are eating Jude right now! You stupid bitch, where are you? I’m going to eat you.

Throws the phone at the wall.

All of them were staring at Shyla.

Vinay: What the hell are you doing? Are you planning to get us killed?

Varuni: Can somebody explain to me what is happening here?

Vinay: Shyla and I are Ghouls, at least that is what you humans call us.

Rijul: A ghoul is a monster or evil spirit in Arabian mythology, associated with graveyards and consuming human flesh. The oldest surviving literature that mention ghouls is likely One Thousand and One Nights and the most recent is Tokyo Ghoul the anime.

Vinay: There are a few others in college, that long haired kid too. Shyla and I are here on an undercover mission to live amongst you and help take the world down.

Shyla: Suparna or Shantamma is the head of our division, and the only one in this city who can order an attack of this scale.

Part 2 is here