tuffy aur puffy



French Worm Sings

My french, singing, worm-friend :D


AJ ... I will find you!

This is one of my closest friends AJ, I've posted versions of him before ... he inspires the funny in my life. Honestly, if he wasn't in my life I'd be living on a rather serious note.
We're found 'in our element to the T' at conferences, discussions, festivals - basically in large public gatherings where we are like two giggly 10 year old girls (no he's not gay!) who think that everyone and everything in the world is SO funny that, like, you won't even believe it ...
So, this one time, we were at a very, very serious 'there is nothing more important than films' type of gathering where I was trying to make a point, of course, completely unrelated to what the panel of speakers were talking about ... and I was trying to say it in proper hindi (me the 39.5 on 100 scorer in hindi in all of my school life) and I wanted to say 'hum yuvavastha mein hain, we are in our youth or something' and instead ended up saying 'hum yaunavastha mein hain, we're in very sexual stage of life or some such thing' ...

... and of course I'm pretty certain the panelists figured what I was saying because AJ was pissing himself laughing. And every third week of our life since ... he relays this anecdote to anyone who will lend him an ear.

Oh! and by the way everytime he makes me laugh (the kind of laughter that makes you split your sides) he times it to when I am drinking something ... so drinks coming out of my nose, or me spluttering them is a regular kind of thing!



in your eyes I can see the sea in mine ...



forever be my one moment in time

and in you, i could live an eternity


Study Abroad?

Some of you know that I recently went on a rather longish holiday to Europe. Some of you also know that I don’t, like a few other 26 year olds make a lot of money. So, how on earth did I manage to fund this vacation? (No, I wish I did. But I don’t have a money-tree. Neither am I ‘Jumper’) … I simply decided to use the funds that had been generated and saved for my education “abroad” … Having realized that studying in Europe would prove to be an expensive affair I chose to ‘holiday’ instead :D …

Why? Because what I wanted to study, in the UK specifically, was – creative writing. As per plan, my parents were to pay for my tuition and I was to work whilst in the UK to support my stay. A bit of research made me realize that working part-time would not only be a very non-lucrative proposition, it would also be a futile exercise, leaving me with little time to ‘actually write’ which incidentally is the overarching ambition. Don’t worry, overseas students are not allowed to work full-time and study part-time (which is what most other creative writing students do), which even if it was possible wouldn’t really leave me with much time to sit, think, and write.

All this research also had made me utterly indignant about the fact that overseas students have to pay a tuition fee that is usually more than three times of what natives or in the case of UK, UK/EU students have to pay. Developing – Developed? Tomato – Tomato? Who gives a rat’s ass! Of course, overseas students studying in Indian Universities too have to pay twice or thrice the amount than Indian students do but look at our fee structures!

Let me not even go into the whole ‘being treated like trash’ debate because some of you already are going ‘Whatever! Sour grapes! My friend studied at so-and-so and became so-and-so’… To you I say ‘Good for your friend’.

So, I had my vacation, made my peace with the situation, and decided that I did not want/need to study in another country unless one day, overnight I became insurmountably intelligent by some unnatural twist of fate – and landed a fat scholarship, which as we all know is as remote a possibility as me becoming, like, uh as thin as Naomi Campbell or someone. Whatever!

To compensate for my “loss” (Pff) I decided to buy books instead whilst in the UK, so I could learn whatever they taught at these good-for-nothing, architecturally spectacular, gianormous universities on my own. Interestingly, I came across some books that have been written by professors teaching at these very good-for-nothing universities. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that these books cost me twice the amount similar books written by the non-ginormous university professors/writers cost.

Since one of these books seemed like the preferred course-book for the university that is one of the most revered institutions teaching creative writing, I decided to give it a shot … despite the fact that it cost me two perfectly decent meals at a good restaurant to buy it.

I’ve just started reading the book and the first paragraph of the introduction itself has caused me such immense heartburn that I had to put it down and pen this.

Now, the story isn’t complete without you knowing that this University had rejected my application last year. So, in my head it had sort of become the un-gettable get! This book was to be my answer to ‘what it is that I am missing out on by not being invited to study here’.

Nothing. I am not missing out on anything.

The head of department starts her introduction with – “There remains in circulation a myth that writing can’t be taught. That despite the proliferation of writing courses, creative writing is something esoteric, unpindownable, something inspired by muses and shaped by geniuses … The success of the course at University of ___ belies this myth. Under the pressure of sustained practice, criticism and exercise, we see, every year, students emerging from our courses who will go on to become successful writers.”

My contention is that my rejection letter from this university went something like this - “I regret to inform you that we are not offering you a place on the course this year. For your information, we receive a high number of applications for the course each year, and the standard is extremely high. Competition for places is therefore very intense.” This had come as a complete surprise because the representative from this university, who I had met at a conference in New Delhi, had been extremely interested in my work and references and had stressed on the idea that I make my application the very next day to when I met her … I do realize now that, that could have been ‘just a hook’.

Irrelevant of whether or not the rep liked me, the jury in charge of the final decision (including the HOD) didn’t.

So, I am not wrong in assuming that they picked writers who showed more promise. The question is - if they showed more promise, did they deserve to be ‘taught’ creative writing more than I did?

I might sound like an embittered reject but I am actually very happy with how things have taken shape. I will not say that ‘I am never going to go study in another country now’ because who knows what the future holds for you … but I will say that whatever happens in the future, I will happily make an informed, and dignified decision.


She and I

I’m reposting this story for Crossed Genres magazine’s initiative to raise money for the Haiti earthquake relief effort – Post a Story for Haiti. There are many more stories at the link.If you enjoy the stories and want to show your appreciation, please donate to a charity involved in the Haiti relief efforts.
You could click on the title of the post to be directed to the page as well. Grazie!

She is your conventional dusky Indian beauty in a land of surplus, where nothing is out of reach.

She can cook. She can take twenty different tubes of food stuff from the supermarket that is two blocks away, empty them into a bowl, mix the concoction, put it in a plate, religiously garnish it with shredded Parmesan, and serve it to you with an impeccable, perhaps practiced, diasporic expectant look; to which you can say nothing but ‘Oh! It’s lovely/wonderful’ when the insides of your stomach are screaming ‘Oh no! Not this plastic trash again.’ She then proudly informs you that she doesn’t eat anything besides what she cooks at home since everything outside is so ‘processed’.





just chanced upon demure simba

of course this is pretence. she's prettier but not so demure in real life!



I am having one of those weeks wherein there's so much activity inside your head that every small artery of your brain (are there arteries in the brain? whatever!) starts hurting. You're constantly in hyper-mode best emulated by the happy tree hugging, hopped up on sugar emoticons, the once-cool yahoo had on chat ... i feel like sitting with a jar of nutella and a spoon right next to my computer all day isn't helping the situation. How can that be? 

Slowly as the Dave Mathew's Band's unicornian song 'You and Me' is replaced by the soundtrack of Pyscho in my head I'm beginning to feel that nutella is (this post isn't for those who don't know what nutella is) a globalization-al evil? Blimey! Can't blame poor gooey chocolate hell for everything. It could be the computer ... I have to use it for work everyday but, but ... there's so much more to do. There are important things to be taken care of ...like Facebook and Twitter and this blog ... and ... but today just seems specially stressfully (notice the sick {which now means cool} alliteration) ... what's this Buzz in my head? 



Snowdown in London Town!

Watch the video in High-res on Youtube!



save your sermons ...



And she can smoke, with her hooves, and everything.

Dialogue from the film 'Before Sunrise'

Fatman: It's a play about a cow, and an Indian searching for it. There are also in it politicians, Mexicans... Skinny: Russians, Communists. 
Fatman: Russians.
Jesse: So, you have a real cow on stage. 
Skinny: No, not a real cow. Its an actor in a cow costume. 
Fatman: (Indicating Skinny) And he's the cow. 
Skinny: Yes, I am the cow. And the cow is a bit weird. 
Fatman: The cow has a disease. 
Skinny: She's acting a bit strange, like a dog. If someone throws a stick, she fetches it, and brings it back. And she can smoke, with her hooves, and everything. 
Céline: Great. 

11: 00 am: Advanced Camera Techniques

my friend Andy Glynne, filming in Karnal, Haryana



i was new
until you found me
enchanted me
and soon began
spinning your webs
around my heart
tiny tangles of magic yarn
in neverbefore touched
simple nooks
once done
you tied them all in sync
and said you’d pull me
through the world
until we reached
a charmed end

i once saw my heart like that
in some shards of a broken glass
that’s when I saw the webs
that made my heart look
like an old tart
i liked it that way
it seemed lived in
it seemed possessed

and then one day
a spider’s way
you thought
you needed a new heart
so you left mine alone
to rot
and rot it did
without your fresh articrafts

before rotting
it bled a lot
the blood
i collected
in a brave mug
and brewed it into
furtive love
all consuming
tainted love
with it I painted solitude
with bold strokes
like I was taught
by you once
and before I knew it
another spider came along
and soon began
to spin his webs …

A liar is uncomfortable facing his questioner/accuser and may turn his head or body away




Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...
And the way you look tonight.




there she stood
outside my window
with her quivering lips
a drop of blood
traced her face
ensnared by rain
losing its glory

her eyes wide
will you keep my secret?
will you draw my pain?

she was once beautiful
she could make herself invincible

the rain had faded her
drawn her into paling history
outside my window
what had passed?

the roses from her summer dress
withered and breathless
lay in a pool around her feet
oh what had passed?

no, not the obvious
it was worse
she had lost something

no, not the obvious
it was more

come down I whispered
i’ll draw your pain
come down
i’ll smile at you all over again

yet she walked away …