When i was a child, i used to say that trees didnt speak because they were caught up in deep thinking all the time. I carried on with this imagery for so long, and even now maybe it still remains some where in my mind. The other day, i drew out a fresh green plant as a symbol for myself and my imaginary person seems to be quite much... some day maybe i'd wind up in a house by myself.. as my thoughts shall leave no room for others to visit or stay...all kith and kin shall be dead..nd all lovers left... so that they lead happier lives with others..

memories, i will store in pickel jars... nd thoughts shall flow with white linen curtains as sunlight filters in through them...


Someone i hardly know remarked: you know, for your own kind.. you think too much, are unusually suspicious, tend to talk a lot but go write short little poems instead". i chukled.

i am alarmed at how gooey i have got off late since the monsoons.. perpetually fluttering eyes and dream mushing even in sticky, patchy bus rides.
these days i can manage to de-annoy myself, to be a little distracted from this squarish life and act like an anthropologist living amidst the village within myself and meticulously documenting humanity ...

p.s :)