A short life.

Last week a friend killed herself. I did not know her much, but I knew her.
So many like her. She is me, I am her.
What led her to such depths of despair that she could see no coming back from it? She has a young child who will now grow up motherless. When she was alive I never thought about her but now I cant stop thinking of her.

Where does the sky begin? And other musings.

Do you ever get that feeling where there’s so much to do, yet all you want to do is sit and stare? At the blank sky or the black inky screen of the television, looking at the reflection of the still sofa and go into a numbness so quiet that the motorcycle buzzing on the street below pierces through your head like a long pointy needle? I call it being listless, feeling listless. But I think those are moments when the world feels too overwhelming.

Mad-O-Wat? Not really.

I felt Sapna Bhavnani would be able to work her magic on my hair. The tattooed bold stylist full of oomph was the cure to my malady. I was also majorly in love with her writing. She used to write in Sunday Mid-day about her life, being a woman, dating, her bikes and tattoos and S-E-X and I had read nothing like that as a 19 year old. I wanted to be her, I would look forward to her article every Sunday. 2006/2007 was a time of paper newspapers and I had to wait for my father to come home from his night-shift as a police officer, and hope that he would buy the very sensationalist tabloid Mid-day, a paper published only in Mumbai.