Dear Convenient Arrangement

Couple black and white

It’s not the same, we could pretend all night, playing charades of being lovers in the moment. Sometimes intoxicated and sometimes, regrettably not. But I’ll never make you feel the way she can, she who can kiss away the frowns on your forehead and unclench your stubborn fingers. She who can melt into you like wax in flame and ice in rum, who can leave without leaving a trace and still leave your soul as hollow as a pitted walnut shell.

And nor are you he. He who can walk into a room and change the very air it contains. Who can make my guts clench into a tight pleasant knot with nothing more than a half hug, he who makes me want to crumble into a heap of peanut brittle in warm chocolate, whose hands on a discarded earring feel like a warm patient caress down my bare back. He who has become my temptation, it’s like I’ve been living in a dark Iceland with a fortified igloo around me and suddenly he decided to become the sun and come visiting. It’s like I’ve been welding an intricate cage around me for ages and ages past and in one snap of his fingers, the locks are undone, and the walls are none.

Dear convenient arrangement, my mechanical fingers make you live your fantasies; your experienced hands make me live mine while we accidentally moan a name that does not belong to anyone in the room. And later, we smoke in silence on either corner of the bed, half dressed and fully veiled. “You should come over for dinner sometime…soon…ish.”
I mumble something about a 9.30 meeting and begin to leave, physically.
And until next time we will continue, with our insulated emotions lodged deep into the no escape room of our corroding mind palace. And when the walls are threatening to give away, when the roof is about to collapse, one of us will message the other to get the cello tape and come and the other will promptly oblige.
And another night of temporary repairs will commence.

“Can I bum a smoke? … Thanks”

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Goodbye Dear Sorrow

Goodbye dear sorrow

I have fond memories of you

I have to go

To find you anew

In unknown lands

And stormy sands

I wither in the search

Of what gave you your due

 

Goodbye dear sorrow

You’ve lived here enough

Your rent is over due

And you’ve got a cough

You dance damn fine

In tobacco and green

I’m off to a loveless land unseen

 

Goodbye dear sorrow

You’ve bound me enough

I wish we could be friends

But I’m too frail for you

A gypsy once told me

I will make a world of my own

I’m off to a loveless land unknown

Goodbye dear sorrow, Goodbye

Denim throwback salad

Ingredients:
Basic denim men’s shirt
Black overalls
Moisturiser
Mascara
A bottle of quirk

So I don’t really ‘dress up’ every day but there are days I have my vintage on.

And these days I’m so drunk on denim its not even funny. So here is my favourite look from my experiments with denim, I like to call it:

“The Basic Denim seizure salad”

> Put on your black over alls

> Add a denim shirt front open or tied in a knot, whichever way you like it

> Moisturise your face, Put a heavy load of Mascara on those lashes and a bright lipstick, I go for M. A. C. Plumful I just love how the pink brings out my complexion!

> Add some quirk, since the whole look is so basic, you can accessorise with bling and not look like a disco ball, I love to pair my denims with shimmering gold flat ballerinas and a huge big bag, mine is a dark brown beauty from D&G, its so huge I can carry the world in it!

There, Basic Denim seizure salad served! Goes well with office, that catchup date with the girls, or just a relaxed Sunday on your own.

denim

 

Thats me in my favourite denim shirt! 😀
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These are the ballerinas I wear with the look, dirt cheap from the markets of Gk-1 M block.

 

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This Beauty here is my lovely D&G neither dirt, nor cheap! 😉 My absolute favourite!

Rains and her

He came home furious, he hated rains, especially in Delhi the roads were muddy and jammed, electricity had the mood swings of a Cancerian, and there were too many people on the road trying to get drenched in the rain.
“Why would anyone voluntarily want to spoil his or her clothes in a downpour of polluted water?” he said pouring a cup of coffee. He looked up to find her dripping from head to toe smiling sheepishly at him. He shook his head and sat down with his coffee.
She changed into clean pajamas and sat beside him, snuggling her neck through the hook of his arm. She was smelling of rainwater and coffee, and that’s when he remembered why he loved the rains.

#rain #love

This has to be the BEST advertisement in the world.

Oh my god! this has to be the most amazing advertisement I’ve seen in a really long time! hats off to the creative team whoever you amazing people are… HIRE ME PLEASE!

Mad Over Marketing

For those of you who don’t know, ‘Persil’ is a stain remover. Here’s how this works.

Stare at the Persil bottle for ten seconds without blinking and without looking anywhere else. You will be amazed. It’s jaw droppingly brilliant.

10406379_762300523792420_8696864518377580628_n10443546_762300520459087_7953794003840951280_n10509523_762300527125753_8070306996977369479_nJaw-droppingly amazing isn’t it?

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Mashed Potatoes

“Fat potatoes, round potatoes,

oddly shaped and sound potatoes 

Peppered and buttered by the pound potatoes

A bowl of comfort found potatoes.”

This was probably my first rhyme about mashed potatoes, I have loved mashed potatoes always! Probably because it was my mom’s way of telling me I was her favourite kid! You see, I belong to a punjabi family and it is a ritual to eat Aloo paranthas (spicy potato pancakes) for brunch every sunday in my pompous punjabi household.

Amidst the hustle bustle of the kitchen I’d walk in grumpy from sleep and hungry as a dog and my lovely mother would smother me with a generous helping of mashed potatoes seasoned with pepper and salt and topped with butter. She would keep some extra for me while she made the stuffing for the paranthas and no one was allowed to have that one bowl of mashed potatoes.

As I grew up mashed potatoes became a kind of symbol for home, whenever I miss my mother I boil some potatoes and try and make the same bowl she used to make for me, I never come close to it.

Perhaps love is actually an ingredient that can make food mysteriously sumptuous. Believe me I have had a lot of food! from fancy cuisines to horribly quirky but surprisingly yummy experiments.

But nothing matches up to Mashed potatoes!

Now as a weekend chef I can tell you one thing, You either love the food you’re making or the people you’re making it for, only then can you make magic even with mashed potatoes.

*sigh* I love you ma