Boring does as boring is

Log in to gmail. Log in to Net banking. Log in to each of the 3 accounts. Change password. Why? Cos its 'time'. Log in to Facebook. No one ever messages or scraps me. Neither do I have interesting status messages that invite comments. Pretend to have something to do there. Log out. Come to office. Log in to gmail. Chat offline. Decide to email songs for some reason. Patiently email an entire album. One after the other. Song after song. Its 1130 by now. Shit! Need to work. But.... after finishing sending the songs.

Log in to facebook. Log into netbanking... to check if the new password works. Open google documents.... just to check. Then close. Check out random people on facebook. Nothing interesting. Leave it open. Click on every bookmark saved. Nothing new. Log in to blog. Check for new posts. Nothing new. Read some of the old ones. Sign out. Sign in again. LEAVE IT OPEN. Why? Just. Just in case.

Just in case what? Nothing.. just, just in case.

Hmm..... maybe I should try twitter now....

Bang on...

The thing is...

See. Like he says,

The thing is…

The thing is. The thing is that,

It’s all done now. Almost.

To use a popular phrase,

It is but, a matter of when

And not if.

So, the rest doesn’t matter.

You went out,

Laughed a little, dimpled,

Even burned a few ends,

But, smile…

It’s all done now.

The social rituals,

They came in handy

When it was something you

Felt you lacked.

But then again, they

Were just that.

Aberrations on the particles

You actually contained.

Heady sways and, a penchant

For the unstable apart,

The familiar measuredness

Of everyday hard work,

Can now be smelt again,

On your fingertips,

And on the ones you hold.

I know you haven’t

Forgotten the claustrophobia.

Sandwiched between,

The then unknown,

Deluded giggles of others,

And your own stillness.

I know, even now,

A certain turn of phrase,

Air-lifts you backwards,

To a certain mood, you

Learned to hate, and

Wanted to fire, with

A palm-held flame,

But didn’t… and didn’t

Let go of the singed ends

For a while after.

I know, that somewhere

Despite your self-critical

Mistrust for words, you

Learnt that to live, is

To operate within

The confines of our

Shared vocabulary.

And that it was alright

To make the most of it,

And accept with a smile

Some of the salutations that

Came on their own.

Self created image, always

Tangented off that of

The Others. And sometimes,

Did too good a job of it.

But… the thing is…

The thing is, Suchitra,

It’s done. And now

There will be more reflected image,

Than ripple. More crisp

Fragrant brown, peppered

With the stubble of everydayness

Than smoke filled substitutes

For independence.

So the thing is, Suchitra,

The pages in the unwritten

Pocket diary are almost over.

Its now time, to arm yourself

With brown paper scrapbooks,

And to ensure that

None of the scraps henceforth

Will be missed.

While listening to 'Fuck You' by Lilly Allen..

Sometime, in the last week or so, shuffling between bumbling buffoondom and self-righteous indignation, I decided to go bald. And ended up getting as close to bald as possible without putting an end to my personal life.

Its probably a little too late, short haired rebellion at 26 IS..well.. ever so slightly, sad. But I couldn't help it. Besides, I told myself, I save a lot on conditioner... this, of course, after having spent a cool 2k on expensive herbal conditioner produced in the UK with Indian products like henna and shit. Anyway, it isn't like it has a shelf life... and so we move on. Apparently I almost made the day of the owner of Perfect Men's Hair Saloon... almost, cos I couldn't afford the head massage he so eagerly offered to give me. But that was only because he charged me 80 rupees while I'm sure he charges everyone else 40. Anyway, I walked out feeling atleast a couple if kilos lighter. Not to mention, for some inane reason, slimmer and taller.

Bombay doesn't ever let go. Always springs back onto you... like shadows on clockwork. And its within a couple of weeks sandwiched inside expensive weekends... that you might find the space to breathe.

I've started running recently. Its all forgiving.. except on your shins. The best part about it is no matter what the emotion welling up inside, it will wear your body down... till your mind is worn down... to singular thought.. breathe, gasp, stop, wince, breathe... continue. I love it. Doesn't cost a dime.

So, almost bald, almost light, almost thin and almost solvent it is. For a while to come.