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 :)