You do not intend to, but I do

I have always wondered, what if I understand more from a piece of art, than the artist intended to convey. A piece of music, the lyrics of which meant something more to me than what a simple guy intended to express through his music, a piece of written work, where I read between the lines, when all that was there between the lines was empty white space, an act of lovely love, where I got more emotional than the person intended me to be, and so on.

I have taken a liking to look at the rendition of music by random people, of course, on youtube. These random people compile videos for some piece of music, the original video of which is quite different, and means a lot different from the rendition.

I have treated myself to one such video very well:

The insects in here crawl on me, grow on me, enter me, and treat me bad with all their cruelty


She was all you wanted

The address she gave you sounded queer. You had never been to that place before. Neither had you met her before. It was going to be your first date with her.

When you reached the place, it was all grey and brown about you. There was no smell of room freshner. No sight of bright flowers. The tables and chairs was unpretentious. Four legs and a slab to hold stuff like plates and asses. There was a creaking fan right above you.

You knew better than to run for your life. You had been on enough dates and in enough relationships to know that it did not matter where you met her, what she talked about, how and where she was brought up, if she wore an expensive attire or not.

The shabby waiters could not dampen your spirits either. You were there to meet “her” and “she” mattered. Nothing else did. You were as happily anticipating what would unfold here as you would at any other place in the whole fucking wide world.

You called her up. 10 minutes. She knew the trick, didn’t she? There were butterflies in your stomach? You were all jumpy. Happy. 10 minutes flew past. She still was not there. 30 minutes. But you waited. You knew she was teasing you with all her might. Even before you had met her.

Then she arrived. With a lazy gait and a simple simple simple look. You stared at her. By now you knew there was something about her. To prove you right, she sat on the table, right in front of you. Not the chair, the table. You kept staring at her. Man! She smelled divine. Hidden in that simple attire was a vixen. You already wanted to devour every part of her. Taste her. Eat her whole. You did not care who looked at you. And no one did! With you bare fingers, you dug into her and ate her up. She was worth it. Worth all your patience, all your wait.

You promised her that you would come back,

If you love food irrespective of how it is served, where it is served, how it looks like, and if you want to go on a date with foods from different parts of the world, irrespective of its culture, looks, presentability, and all that crap, visit

PS: I was working on a project with a friend which never really took off. I had envisioned this to be the story, and could not help but share it 🙂

Floating away with all the weight…


I play this song in a loop almost all night. I get up, and play it in loop again. Oh no! She is not disturbed, not disappointed, not begging or complaining. Sure there is a frown on her face, but don’t let it fool you. She is just expressing. So wildly, so effortlessly, so delicately. And I play it once again –

I would trade my mother to hear you sing….Ooooh ooooh ooh!


Tugging behind her friend, in pain, she starts off with her song of heartbreak. A colorful song of heartbreak. Behind that loud moustache, unkempt hair, rugged manly coat, corduroy cap, is pain. Her glassy eyes and unsmiling lips bring out the tunes only a broken heart can strum and hum.

All her oblivious histrionics make her all the more beautiful. And the song? I play it again. And again. And again. She will be fine. So will I be. So will you be. Oooooh oooooh oooh!

Listen to one of the very few happy heartbreak songs –