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

Blocks: Writing

Writing for pleasure is coded language forI’m into BDSM“.

There is a lot of joy and happiness when you see a finished piece is a big fat lie, an orgasm lasts longer than that fleeting moment of joy. I’m proud of my work that has been published but I always want to do better or I see a possibility of how it could have been better. I haven’t wanted to write in the last month or so and it has been nice. There was a huge weight taken of me, this probably is the most relaxed I’ve been in the last three years.

PC: Sad Dareen

But now that this blissful ignorance has passed a month and has turned into a little fear in the corner of mental thinking space and has started collected to go full judgement day on soon and I’m defenceless.

This blissful month wasn’t fear-free all the way, there were moments of pain, anguish and desperation to write anything. I gave and wrote a line or a sentence and sounded like a bag of shit and I didn’t try writing again.

Vague memories of travel are moments of liberation. ©Vinay

I remember comparing myself to Justin Bieber, he’s 10 days younger than me and has gained the fame and fortune that I’ve wanted since the age of 9. I wasn’t exceptionally talented, I had fairly good oratory skills and a knack to write funny or impressive stuff compared to my group of peers which impressed very few people, if nobody. So the possibility never died in my head and still seems to survive somewhere deep.

Screw JB, I just want to get my degree without having to do a Sirsasana and this is when I regret bunking Yoga classes in Jain College, maybe it would have come handy. The biggest fear I’ve been nursing like my first born is of losing everything. It’s easy to say everything and not mean much, but there is a possibility of losing everything and it’s only growing stronger with every fleeting second.

Flowers, books, and incense used to be therapeutic. ©Vinay

My laptop had a bad case of the virus and I lost all the digital data I’d acquired over the last three years. I had a lot of ups and downs in recovering the data and I couldn’t carry my heavy heart anymore and decided to cry; but not a single tear drop escaped my eye. We read narrative reporting in class and the piercing coldness hit so hard it was impossible to hold back my tears.

I’m on the edge, all the freaking time and its better I take things slow rather than trying to juggle too many things because if I blow up, it ain’t going to be a pretty sight. The pain won’t go away, but I can stop acting like a pin-cushion.

Emotional numbness, disregard, contempt, hatred are growing in my heart and I don’t want to uproot them. I don’t want to talk to people, there are a few I want to talk to but a minute or two into the conversation and I want to run. There isn’t anything I believe in, pessimism is my constant state of being and the height to which I don’t care has reached peak. It’s impossible for me to do anything else on daily basis, efforts I put to get through the day are draining me of my, everything. Exhaustion has left me paralysed and with bare minimum.


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.


For reasons I still can’t fathom I wanted to make a list of things in other people that in the past made me skip a heartbeat. I feel this blog post is partly to blame too. Anyways my list has a pretty simple start but as you go deeper I can’t promise anything about what you’d read.



I almost dated someone who loved the show, games and everything as much as I did, at 24, she’s one of my closest friends now. People who love Pokémon or know their stuff always, I promise always get brownie points. Even if that person is my mortal enemy.


There are very pretty smiles, then there brutally honest smiles, beautiful bitchy smiles and I know what you did last night smiles. My favourite is always when you smile or laugh before you think.


I fell in love with someone who was so honest, his words would cut till you bleed, but he never knew how to stop. It was easy to trust and probably why I feel in love. Honesty hurts, but it’s worth pain, BDSM too.


If you can enjoy a cup of filter coffee (or kappi) or more, this will work wonders. I can make coffee and if you can keep the conversation, we should get married. The Ross in me gets triggered by the “M” word.


Your playlist could be how I feel in love with you and the first line of the book about us. A good playlist can make me swoon.


If you can eat breakfast at home, lunch from your lunch box, dink tea at the chai shop on the shady galli, samosa jalebi from the hole in the wall on our way home and dinner somewhere fancy, I think the impossible is attained. Let’s sell our souls to the devil for good food and books.


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.

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

” I’m ‘T’rying “

Every time I say “I’m trying” there is an ex-friend of mine cranging in some part of the planet. I don’t know what to write about anymore and I don’t feel like writing too. I’m not satisfied with the way my writing, or  the way all the different relations I have seem to end on note of how I seem like a nightmare and needs to stop.

I always knew something wasn’t right with me; never choose to be so fucking anxious and seem to cover it up with stupid and unfunny things that just made everyone uncomfortable. I don’t even have the self control to stop talking.

I really want to stop being everything I am, and be everything I want to but will never be able to be.
As fucked as it sounds, very little seems to be under my control. I want to love myself, I want to be able to accept the love people show me. I want to be able to build a spiral staircase out of my pity hole and walk the road less taken to find lost hope.

I’ve always wanted to have friendship that seemed like the famous five, or secret seven, or Hermione, Harry, and Ron, or like Ross and Chandler, and so many more. I spent a good amount of time fantasising about these friendship through some terrible times. That is throughout school, when bullies made life hell and I was counting days to turn 16/18 and coming out of there, living the fantasy of a beautiful friendship.

I finally got there, made the friends I’d always fantasised about and a few others too in the process. But I never really could accept that friendship because I couldn’t accept the fact that I was worthy of this love. *Taylor Swift singing in the background “this love“*

I was too busy crying, to realise that I was washing away my friends and relationships. Every friendship or relationship that was in my vicinity or ever was around me or involved me seems to be dead or dying; makes me feel like a piece of radiating garbage. If only I was half as cool as a radiating tea pot, life might have been different.

I could and can live with all that jazz, except every time someone is walking away from me they either tell me how, I’m their worst nightmare or that they are afraid of turning into me if they stuck around or I’m simply a reminder of the worst possible situation or nightmare.

Monsoon rains

I wanted to write about nothing and I just sat on the end of my bed looking outside the window, holding my phone to type… It started to rain and my mother wanted me to park the scooters inside the gate, where they wouldn’t get wet.
I put down my mug of black tea and walked out with the keys. I still didn’t get the tea right, it wasn’t bitter this time but I still couldn’t taste the two spoon of honey.
I decided to ride till the end of the road before parking the scooter back inside. It was the second time it rained today and I had no complaints.
The smell of rain, grey clouds and the wind brought back memories. Memories of all the monsoons I’ve loved and hated, tears the rain has washed, people I’ve watched the rain with, bike rides in rain, blue eyes, beautiful hair and warm hugs.

Attention Seeking

I just want attention.”
I thought it would feel different, to say it out loud. I was hoping I’d have an epiphany and all my problems would go away with a “puff” (sound). I just had to say the words and Magic, “voilà” its all gone.
I realised that there was a problem and tackled it in a way that wouldn’t physically harm people around me and or even myself (Jump from one person to another and don’t get attached or emotional). But my friend pointed it out that in the process I was hurting myself on the inside and I’d tip myself over considering how vulnerable I am, it annoyed me. But I didn’t understand why.
A lot of things were said, it hurt a lot and I wanted leave then, because my eyes got moist. But something told me to stay and I listened to it, I heard everything he said. I processed it, “you don’t have to act cool with us, we know you aren’t”, laughs and “we also are not cool”, he said as the cigarettes he smoked crossed my face and I continued to dodged the smoke. A hard save, but not good enough to get away from the smoke.
“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to. It might seem like a nice thing but its going to hurt you.” A small exchange of nods, she tells him to stop and he dives in for a save with, “You are in a delicate place, and stress on any side can break you.”
The pungent beer was up my nose, she made eye contact and he abruptly but smartly ended it and moved on toba topic.
Her, “I told You all that, your reaction was ‘wow’, X had more to say about it than you. And you complained that I’m replacing you with x.”
“Some people have real problems. And you crib about little things.” He was now telling me my problems were smaller than other people’s problems.
Him, “slow down on the cigarettes, how many are you going to smoke.”
Her, “you know sometimes I come to college just to smoke…”
Conversation about where he asked I bought her, I say same place I bought him and that atleast she was worth the money even if she was more expensive than him.
*laughs, smiles, Stares, glances and hums*
*beer sipping, cigarette puffing and munching on cheesey fries*
I sat there quietly, let the tears burn inside and a few minutes later I was in a better mood and asked him to complete his thought, because I wanted to hear it.
The conversation furthured and she asked, “what do you want to hear or know ? It shouldn’t matter what he says, its his opinion and didn’t you tell me you want friends who’d be honest with you and not keep things from you?”
Him,”tell me what you want me to say ? Should I tell you, your awesome? That you are very cool ? Is that it ? Will that help you feel better?”
All this went down when I told him,”say it. You’ve got me all figured out and know me the best. Go on, tell me yoor opinion.” He says it was an observation from what I’ve said and he’s seen. Somehow he picks a fight and does he not see how much distress he’s causing?
Or am I just a terrible person?
He’s angry that I dislike people. I don’t like people, he gets to hear about it because he asks. All he has to do is not ask and that’s the end.
I don’t hate him or her, I love her. She’s the best thing that happened to me when I was in the worst place or time of my life. He is one of the few guys I don’t feel like I’m tolerating, I actually like him.
I know these relationships may not last forever. I’ve spoken about it with both of them and decided to enjoy the present with them and not worry about a future I have no control over.