Hot Mess.

I feel like I cheated on Bangalore with Bombay. I am not apologetic about it, and sure to repeat my doing, but for some odd reason it seems to be guilt tripping me.
Bombay was a fling. And Bangalore - my forever love.

Sultry air, humid breeze, and the kilograms of dirt you wash off in the shower is not at all something attractive. Yet it's that wild punch that goes straight through my solarplex, every time I set foot on Bombay ground. Who am I in that atmosphere? I feel like a spiked drink that really looks like a dry martini - shaken not stirred.
And then to stirring it up - Somebody stop my train. Every night feels like a one night stand. So fresh, so young, so wild.

Mode: Adventure
Well aware of what I am getting into, thanks to my grounded Bangalore ways, I unconsciously welcome the all mighty Devil that takes immense pleasure in reminding me of my angelic ways. And it's conveniently supported by the usual non-conformist in me that decides to be on holiday.

It's like a fully loaded gun of surprises. Those bullets blow my top off every single time, before I wake up to another day without even knowing that it's going to get me again. It got me by my weakness: Surprises. Clever, clever, I must say.
The spontaneity it rubs off on me, injecting some mean chemical that triggers off deranged ideas and not to mention, gives me a set of wings that work better than any pigeon. Even the messenger ones.

With ease, and maybe even with a blindfold on, it brainwashes me into doing the never before. Mind you, while I am trying unbelievably hard to hold on to the rungs of my morals. It got slippery, but gladly, I manage to half-hold on.

It's dirty, but it pleases with the momentous charm, effortlessly. Keyed in perfectly, without a blink, it skips all bases and gets me straight. Usually, I would hate it. But the boldness it gets me by could put any hungry eagle to shame. With a fearless push to the wall - it encircles my being without breaking away, lifts me up making me feel weightless. Cupping my contours, I press myself against the city letting my tongue speak things I would never otherwise utter, letting the feel grow deeper and deeper until I suddenly wake up to know I am almost undone.

I said it was dirty, didn't I?
It's not something I need. It's just leaves me thinking that it's something I want. God sent hot mess.

And then, to my darling, forever love city - Bangalore. It's my comfort, it's the place where I will return for a hug, a shoulder, a cup of tea, a whatever - it will be that reassuring place that I can always call home because it will forever overlook all my stray trips and it's nonchalant character won't let it do anything but love me back.


P.S: Bombay was a fling. And - always will be.

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Ears, bubblegum and the bright side.

I wish we had bigger ears to accomodate more anatomy between them. Bright things like minds and smiles.

-x-

I wanted to ask someone something and the rain washed my slate clean. Here I am with answers to god knows what.

-x-

Cruising through a quiet alley, the car jerked.
"Get the fuck out." he yelled.
Reeking with fatigue he locked his fingers tightly over her palm that rested on the gear, unknowingly contradicting himself.
Sometimes when a spendthrift tongue races a neural impulse not realising it, a helpless heart drowns in misery.

-x-

Won't you die if the sun wasn't around?
Oh dearie Sun, such a subconscious part of my life,
You'd like some more acknowledgement.
So would the brightside.

-x-

Bubble gum laughs while you do.


-x-


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Snow

Read this about snow somewhere:

It's been pissed out of rats, it's evaporated from the skin of the dead, flowed downs the shit-filled river, and at the end of it all, sucked up into the air and showered down on us. It's the sum of every dirty creature that's ever lived.

Yet still so pure?

a) Looks can be deceiving. Nature just proved it.

b) White is not necessarily pure. Suck it, racists.

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