A new world

“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love. ~Author Unknown”

I lie in bed upside down, craving a solidly frozen milk chocolate bar – preferably one that lasts me at-least an hour – and read blogs.
I’m new here, and this seems like a world in itself. I had wanted to start a blog for quite some time, and I kept putting it off. Too busy, too lazy. You should know, I’m an amazingly lazy person, one who could lie on an uncomfortable floor in sweltering heat for quite a long time, simply because I couldn’t be bothered to get up, fetch a cushion, and turn on the fan.

Which brings us back to now ( you’ll notice I gave an unfortunate habit of rambling).
Anyway, I keep reading these, and sometimes, clicking on people who commented on something, and reading what they wrote (it feels eerily like stalking to me). Its like a whole new world. I’ll read a blog that makes me smile in remembrance,  then one that’ll make me chuckle. Another will make me laugh out loud. Then there will be one that brings a tear to my eye. Another one will have me nodding my head in agreement. One that I will simply admire. It’s like a box of Jewels. Thrown together pell mell by someone. And I’m looking through it. Each time I pick one up, I unearth another. Each time I look at one, I see a glimpse if the owner. A ring inscribed with a heartfelt message to a fiancé. A bracelet, scratched with age and yet in good care, lovingly worn. An earring, broken and dented, as if thrown in anger. Every piece, original, beautiful, and a glimpse into another life.

I have always loved reading. I love fiction. A “book addict” would be apt. I have loved escaping into a world of wonders, of illusions. I did occasionally read blogs, and posts and articles. Yet it is now, dipping into this treasure trove, that I realize, this reading is very different. It is real.  And possible. Not like the reality stories and news pieces. Not the gritty stories of harsh reality. Simply, ordinarily, real. Something, that makes me feel that all those silly little things I think about, obsess over and fuss about, that make me feel like a drama queen, are things other people out there do exactly the same about.Gives me a sense of camaraderie in my weirdness.

I think I love blogging. Doesn’t make me feel less weird. But gives me a warm tingly feeling knowing there are other weird people out there. 🙂



I trace the veins on the back of my hand. Follow them to my wrist, to the insides of my elbows. I trace a ‘H’. A ‘W’. And then the intertwining lines. Soft touches, whispers on my skin. I watch my fingers play on my skin with unblinking eyes, almost entranced. Its obsessive, the repetitive motion. Soon enough, I’m staring, but I’m no longer looking. My eyes turn inward, and the fingers tracing my veins are no longer mine.

He is playing with my hands, turning them, caressing them, simply holding them. His fingers are intertwined with mine, warming my icy ones. Somehow, my hands are always cold, My fingers like icicles. And his, are just right. So he holds my hands in his, rubs them, envelops them, warms them.  Traces my veins, shaping the letters with his smiling mouth. His eyes intent, but laughing as he writes on my skin. His fingers, moving, always moving. Leaving ghostly messages on my skin.

I shake myself out of my reverie. I look at my hands. They are pale. absolutely frozen. I stuff them in my pockets and get up.

Pockets are warm enough.


A Time and Place

There is a time and place for words I am told. A time and place for emotions. A time and place for truths and lies. A time and place for being myself.
And yet, despite how many times I have been admonished, despite everything I have been taught, I find myself unable to conform fully to these rules of living. Fully, I say because my rebellions must be few and far, and mostly secret. Living, I say because they are not the rules for life, just rules to live it.

I find myself wondering how I look, while crying. I find myself wondering what I would eat the next hour, while visiting someone at the hospital. I find myself wondering whether that woman ever realized pink did not suit her, while giving a test. I find myself wondering whether I could go check on my hair, while in the middle of a passionate rant.

My thoughts are inappropriate. Ill-timed. Sometimes I think about boys and risque novels while lying in bed stroking my mother’s hair, and I would wonder whether my thoughts are obvious to her because of that point of contact.

None of these thoughts are particularly original I imagine. But then again, maybe the fact that they stand out in my thoughts makes them original?

I like thinking in a convoluted manner. I like stretching things out and going round and round in circles. It fascinates me. And even more, I like it when people go round those circles with me.
I like making up sentences that only barely, disjointedly, make sense to me, and are probably a mess of tangles to anyone else.
And more than anything else, I like talking to myself. I like arguing endlessly with myself, because really, who better to argue with after all?

I wonder then, whether all this makes me a little insane. And if, there is a time and place for me.



He pulled her close and without a word, wrapped his arms around her. He buried his face her in her hair, taking a deep breath, smelling the clean fruity scent that was her, and felt a calm settle inside him.

Her hands stroked up his back and his eyes filled with tears. His lips opened on a shaky breath as hers pressed a kiss on the edge of his jaw.

He looked up, blinking furiously to rid the moisture even as his lips trembled, and his arms tightened around her. He could feel each breath she took, each beat of her heart echoed his.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them hard.He hadn’t dared to dream of this day, and now he could hardly believe it. He could touch her, feel her, hold her, smell her, see her. It felt unreal and it scared him to the core.

He felt more than heard her laugh. Her hands cupped his jaw as she pulled back her face to look at him. His eyes moved over her face taking in the wide shining eyes, glistening with tears, the mouth, lifted in a trembling smile and relief etched in every line.

He stroked a thumb down her cheek, catching on her lips, slowly tracing their outline.

“I love you”

A tear caught on his thumb, as her smile widened.

“I love you”

He pressed a kiss on her forehead.

She closed her eyes, as though her every nerve concentrated on that single point of contact.

” I am never letting you go. I will tie you down and lock you up, and don’t you dare resist. I will keep you no matter what. You are not escaping my sight for one second. And you better write that down because I am going to do it. ”

He bit back a laugh at the fierce look on her face.


And then he laughed at the disbelief on her face.

“Oh sweetheart, I am not going anywhere. Ever again. So tie me up if you want. You have me. Forever.”

She locked her arms around him, and he winced at the force her tiny body held as she squeezed hard.

” I have waited a lifetime to hear you say that.”

“And now you can hear that for the rest of your life.”


I suck in a shallow breath and try to recapture my train of thought. I stay still, talking softly, continuing the conversation. I try not to move the littlest bit, not to think too quickly, not to breathe too deeply, not to do anything at all that might startle. I want to close my eyes and drink in your touch, smile at the flush creeping over my skin, but I stay ever so still. Lest, you stop.

Your fingers are curled around the base of my head as your thumb moves slowly over the edge of my jaw, stroking gently. Your thumb moves back and forth, softly brushing the skin. I prattle on; all my attention centered on that little point of contact on my body, giving no thought to what I am saying.

Your thumb moves to my chin, your fingers now cup my face. I draw in a breath, forcing myself to stay still. I feel flushed and tingly. I cannot think of another thing to say. Your thumb brushes the edge of my lower lip and I look at your face. I do not think I need to talk any more. You are looking at my hand on your face and I can look my fill at you. Your eyes are lowered, a slight frown drawing your brows together. You are completely focused on what you are doing. Warmth blooms inside me at this thought and I can feel heat travelling up my neck. Your thumb brushes my lip fully, this time actually stroking it. My breath hitches I am suddenly scared you will stop. That somehow I will break this spell. But, I relax into your touch when you do not seem to notice. Your thumb moves up, covering my lips, caressing them, soft, and then a little firm, then softer again. Your fingers move gently over my jaw…..

I am not moving. Not speaking. Hardly breathing. It is like when a butterfly lands on your hand and you freeze, so scared that you will startle it into flying away.

Your other hand is on my knee, rubbing softly. Almost petting, as though you are comforting me. I do not know at this point, which one of us is trying not to startle the other. Both, perhaps. So scared that anything too fast, too sudden, will cause the other to draw away.

I drink in the look on your face. Revel in your touch. I do not want the spell to break. Because anytime, would be too soon.