Don't people get it? There's a world out there thats screaming for help. It's on the brink, on the edge of a cliff yelling, hoping someone will notice and stop it from jumping. And some people glance towards it and look away and ask “so what's the gossip from last night?” Meanwhile the world is tottering dangerously on the edge, getting hypnotized by the little specks of sea far below. It's deliciously inviting. A concerned few shout out “hey, don't go that close” between swigs of beer and a joint that's doing the rounds. The world starts singing like a madman. At first its faint, like a distant song, coming from a radio a few house down. And then it gets louder and LOUDER until its at full volume, an anthem at the top of its voices. And the beer drinkers are forced to look over. They sit up, and they like it and they start keeping the beat. But the girls, they get annoyed and shut the window cause, like, “there's too much noise outside, say that again, she kissed who?”

tick-tick tick-tick tick-tick tick-tick the indicator continues till long after we make the turn. how can he not hear it? does that blinking light not catch his eye? does the ticking not annoy him? its so loud, it sounds like there's a bomb in my head about to explode.

I’m brave but I’m chicken shit. - alanis morissette

i always thought (subconciously), that the earth belongs to humans and animals happen to be there too. now i think the opposite.

sleep
engulfs me

like a warm hug,
like a cozy blanket,
like a sunday afternoon,
like love.

right there in the middle of my meeting.

shameless it is.

i want.

an iphone

an airbook

3 new acs

a new digital camera

a toned body

great skin

good nights sleep

free time

a nice man

shoes

bags

holidays

happiness

and i want to quit my job.

kyurious

ripoort

politeesian

why can't the english learn how to speak?

आज हम हिन्दी में लिखेंगे। पर मुझे माफ़ करना पड़ेगा, क्यूंकि मेरी हिन्दी काफ़ी बेहूदा है। अब मुझे लगता है की बेहूदा शायद ग़लत शब्द है पर में उससे वैसे ही छोरने वाली हूँ।

अब मज्जे के लिए में भाषण देने वाली हूँ।

भाइयों और बहेनो, हम्मे सब साथ मिलकर रहेना चाहिए। हिंदू, मुसलमान, सिख, इसाही, और हर धर्म के लोग में खून जोह बहेता है वोह एक ही है। यह भाषण बहुत बोरिंग है।

ओके बाय।

do you ever think you were born to do things other than what you do now? to maybe run a school or save the trees or clean the rivers or reduce plastic or find solutions for all of the above.

wouldn't that be more meaningful than writing a jingle to sell hair oil? or toothpaste?

you think?

you think they'll let him live? you think this time the dream will become a reality? you think the young ones will remain clean and pure? you think the old ones will learn a lesson or two? you think they'll think before taking a bribe? before stuffing their pockets and every available orifice with our hard earned money? you think they'll think and then say no? you think the electricity will finally come and the hunger will finally end and the hatred will finally vanish and the bombs will finally stop? you think that man in budelkhand will finally stop digging the well that yeilds no water? you think?

i think.

i hope.

i pray.

so many people running on the tread mill.

the thin girl is running from the divorce thats yapping at her heels. its so close now that she can feels its hot breath on the back of her legs. she runs faster and harder, but it never seems to get tired or slow down. that dirty dog.

on the treadmill next to her, the fat lady, running from the doctors. they've jumped into an ambulance and they've got the sirens blaring. they're coming to take her away, to jab needles in her arms and take her blood pressure and pump her with pills. run lady. run. your life depends on it.

in the mirror i can see the gay hair dresser. trying to run like a boy. every now and then, his arms flap a bit, like he's just spotted his favourite rock star, and like he's going to faint, and like, its like, just too much. eeeeeeeeee.

then there's the 40 something woman running from her age.

the israeli body guard running behind the terrorists, running from the terrorists, running with anger, running from fear, running to save his girlfriend, and the rabbi and the wife.

the 40 something man. running to forget. forget the woman he loves. loved. forget that she married someone else. forget the times they made love together. forget. forget. forget.

and then me. i'm just running so i don't get fat :)

i think someone took away my laughter.

i can't seem to find it anywhere.

looked in my bag, looked under the bed, looked through the heap of mail, behind the sofa, in the kitchen, in my jeans 5th pocket, in the gap where things fall behind the dresser.

can't seem to find it though.

now what'll i do?

i don't get it.

why are we born?

some people have the kindest eyes
like my nani
but she died
:(
and i miss her

The husband who doesn't care. The wife who told a lie. The widow who eats alone. The mother who started from scratch. The father wracked with guilt. The girl who was abused. The woman who's husband strays. The silent sobs at night. The drugs to cut the pain. The alcohol to sterilise the wounds. The laughter to hide the tears. The bravery to cover the wretchedness.

it was getting dark. a familiar wave of unease swept through her gut. she thought maybe she needed to use the loo, but then it passed. as she looked out of the window, people were returning home. tired, defeated, carrying the burden of the day with them. she tried counting the exhausted shoulders that went by.
to her, their dispair was palpable.
jobs they didn't enjoy.
loans they couldn't pay.
homes they weren't proud of.
wives they has nothing to say to.
children who hadn't turned out like they imagined.
aged parents.
dreams that lay dusty and forgotten, locked in the battered aluminium trunks that they had packed when they left home all those years ago.

city life sucks.

the sighs behind the smile

the cry behind the laugh

the scream in your head

the tears you never shed

blah

The amusement park.

Bright lights. Happy colours. Joyous rides. Pink, sweet, sticky candy floss. The kind that lodges itself in your teeth and can be tasted hours later. Multicoloured balloons.
I want to go in and taste the madness. I want to laugh hysterically and run wildly from one crazy ride to another, undecided on what i like best. I want the wind in my hair and my stomach in my mouth.

But i something stops me. Something tells me this isn't any ordinary amusement park. Its the kind that sucks you in and leaves you craving for more. and more. If i go in, i may never want to come out again. And and something tells me, if i go in, i'll never be happy outside. again.

The Building AGM

In an unpainted room i didn't know existed, a broken tt table served as the chairmans desk. He was flanked by the secretary, a disgruntled mousey-looking man who used the opportunity to shout at all the neighbours he didn't like. Much like a batty school master, he wagged his finger and raised his voice. He seemed quite ready to throw people out of the class or send them into the corner till they learnt how to behave. On the chairmans right, sat a man who would periodically stand up and shout about how much research he had done into ganiteting/cementing/cable connections/water pipes.

I sat in the back with my brother and watched. this was definately better than reality tv.

if i wear the wrong contact lens in the wrong eye, will i be cross-eyed?