Wait. What?

Claustrophilla is apparently a thing. Read books under the blanket with a torch light. It’s not even dark outside. Chill under the bed. On the floor. Under the bed. Play hide and seek. Hide forever. Curl up inside a cardboard box. My home inside my house. Sleep with a pillow over your head. The weight induces sleep. Wrapped myself in bubble wrap. I’m too fragile for this world. Two is a crowd. Party is behind a dark curtain. Crouch on the sofa. Claustrophilla is definitely a thing.

The only funny thing about turning 30, is the episode on Friends when they all turn 30. And by funny, I mean sad. And by sad, I mean meh. My only question is, what next? Turning 32. Oh, would you look at that, age is increasing while bra size remains the same. Turning 35. Girl, I think the One came. And came again. And left. Turning 40. Still cry to mommy about period cramps. Aww. Absolutely nothing is what is next. I have no more aspirations, or dreams, or all the things our beloved APJ stood for in life. While my motivation to get up from my bed remains the same (breakfast) the satisfaction of living throughout a day is dropping unrealistically. I finished The Hand Maid's Tale two weeks ago, beautifully written, and the fact that I could relate to woman of such deep emotions was surprising. But the fact that I ran to bookstore to buy the book's sequel the very next day, and to not read a single page from it since - alarming. Turning 45. yaar, mera ...

I have a super bad headache. Must be from all the old sitcoms and tv shows I’ve been watching. I finished Seinfled, almost finished with Gilmore Girls. I’m thinking of Gossip Girls next or Pretty Little Liars, I’m not sure. Yes, these are not what the cool people watch, so bite me. I’ve also watched Dawson’s Creek. I subscribe to a newsletter (weekly column?) from a (not so)famous person, every week when I see the mail in my inbox, my heart just sinks because I know I am not going to read it and my guilty conscious just gained a bit of weight. I’ve stopped interacting with humans. The only emotional connect I have is with my dog. You know when you have a problem (like, that is so rare right?), but you don’t want to tell anyone that you have a problem (oh the sheer, i-am-so-over-humanity), but you want someone to figure out that you have a problem (the world doesn’t revolve around me? Oh shocking!). And if they do figure out that you have a problem (thankyouverymuch), yo...

If you are a vivid book reader, you’ll be familiar with the post-book-feelings, especially if it’s one which plays football with your heart (your heart being the ball here. I’m sure you understood that but I am trying to increase the word count, sue me!). And I have read more than a couple of books, if not too many, to be very familiar with this feeling. • Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Rowling wept when she killed Fred, and so did the entire franchise. I was bummed for three or four days after this book that I couldn’t pick up another book. • Kite runner - left me in tears in the middle of night; I lost a piece of me to this book that I will never recover. • Farewell to arms - I needed a break from humanity. • A man called Ove - this is one of the books that I’ll never read again, the overwhelming feeling is not easy to deal with. • 11.22.63 - Stephen King has dug a hole in my heart so huge, more than any boy ever has or ever will. • Green Mile - my most precious and...

Okay. Haven’t done this in 75 years. If my future self is reading this, then we are in the year of the most fuck you’s ever uttered collectively by the human race. Top most thoughts that must be addressed - Why are we entitled for only two days a week to relax without guilt? We spend the entire five days, waiting, waiting on the toes for Friday evening. And next, live in a constant shower of Monday blues. Because it’s almost there, just two days later. What a criminal waste of emotions to deal with. It’s 2020. We have advanced in technology. Youtube can now play music with its app closed. That is a huge improvement. But do we really have everything? No. Why am I deal with my emotions philosophically. Ek pill bana bhi lo na to dissolve post break- up hurt wala feelings. Should I paint? Should I read a book? Okay. Paint. Wait, do I have paints? Do I have brushes? Shall I buy new brushes? New paints? Okay. Amazon. Wait, I need an easel too. Oh wait. When did we last bu...

My mind plays its own background track when I gaze at you. Enormous you. The nature imitates your swagger when you walk. A faint thud I hear under my feet. I step across. The muddy wind along your wings. A growing rage in your eyes, I sense. Yet, your childlike innocence flutters around you. Wake me up with your vociferous  inspiration. And carry me to the battle field.