A lot can happen over a plate of momo

They say, “A lot can happen over a cup of coffee”. I say, “A lot can happen over a plate of momo.” It is a story of a plate of hot piping momos and how it had become one of the good vibes of my life. My city was truly busy enjoying the sudden 9°C temperature; the crazy north winds shivered my bones, a multicolored muffler protected me from cold, a glass of hot ginger tea from a roadside tea stall gave me some comfort, the swarming crowd near Esplanade metro made me realize the presence of strenuous Monday and then, adventitiously you appeared before me when I just ordered a plate of chicken momo. God knows, why you had to come on the same stall to have the momos.

You are not my parallel, not my almost, not my ex, but something I can’t name. You looked at me whenever you got slightest opportunity, I even caught you smiling when I passed by on office corridor. Sadly, you never made any move to talk to me; probably you were happy just seeing me there just like people enjoy an elegant piece of art in a museum. I was stupid enough to believe, you were in love, in love with me; but I was so wrong.

“Hello Jinny” your sudden voice made me look at you; you are in a brownish yellow jacket and black jeans. You were looking really handsome.
“Hi” I responded slowly.
“How are you?”
This time I had to smile, “Like you care!” I felt some spots of guilt in your face as you looked at the billboards to avoid my intense gaze. A few minutes had passed without any words from any side. I patiently waited for the momos to come. I was astounded to realize we just talked for the first time.
“I do care…and stupid enough to realize things very late.”
I had to laugh at his words; a man calling himself stupid is a nice thing to watch.
“Thank God, you realized…sooner or later!” I sighed throwing my words; he too sighed. I saw a strange kind of pain in his eyes but soon he turned it into an awkward smile. Then, a comfortable silence clinged us into a nameless thread. Perhaps, time stood still for a while and we too. I didn’t feel uneasy; he didn’t feel any urge to look away. I didn’t notice when we both started having the mouth watering chicken momos.
“The momos are really delicious, aren’t they?” he said to break the silence. I just nodded. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want him know my helplessness, my loneliness. Probably he was eager to say ‘you look beautiful’, or ‘remember me’ or ‘let’s exchange the numbers’; I was eager to say, ‘let’s stay in touch’ or ‘let’s go for a walk’. Sadly, we ended up saying “goodbye”. We moved away without exchanging phone numbers, without looking back, with a constant effort to behave like a normal person. And once again head won over heart.



An open letter to the guy who is a mess

To the guy who is a mess,

I cleanse my room, decorate the walls, cover the floor with carpet…and wait for you to come over and make it a mess once again! You scatter everything of its place, rumple the bedsheet, take down my favorite posters, erase my written words from the wall, you attempt to make coffee or omelette just to make my kitchen a mess, you feed the whole milk to our pet cat, you polish the fish off plate and keep rice as it is, you bring cauliflower when I ask you to buy broccoli, you spill the ‘Bourn Vita’ on my freshly prepared bed, you leave the half eaten biscuits on the table and ants come to bite me, you make airplane tearing my notebook page, you fill the washing machine with your old dirty jeans and my favorite jacket, you replace my face wash with your shaving cream, you open the window amid storms and dusts come to puzzle me; you open the window amid rains and the sudden splash makes my things wet…
Still I open the window and wait for you. I see two people in the same umbrella and imagine us; I watch the colorful cars on nearly empty rainy streets and imagine us on a road trip. I enjoy our midnight conversations, drunk confessions and fights over a bar of chocolate or a tub of ice cream. I miss the passionate kisses. I love it how you skip the dinner and eat all the cookies at 1 am. I love it how you save the last cookie for me. I watch you as you fall asleep on the floor like a baby. I truly wait for you to come and make my room a mess once again. I find messy things really attractive when the reason is you. I inhale you from those messy things, I touch you through them. You are my mess.

The girl who waits for you.


Pic courtesy: pt.depositphotos.com


To the girl who was my everything

To the girl who was my everything,

Girl, I know you are mad at me. I do understand your anger; that’s why I am writing to you rather than speaking on phone.
Yes, I am guilty. I have cheated on you with another woman. But believe me, I didn’t do anything intentionally. This is happening to me for the first time. I was always loyal to you. I never let any woman touch my shirt, keep head on my shoulder; I never hold their hands. I have politely said ‘no’ to coffee dates. Still, I couldn’t resist this woman. I have discovered a new me getting lost in her. She has colored my soul with a vibrant shade of red. And this red is the color of devastation. For the first time, I am letting my house collapse on fire, I am watching the storm raffle my belongings and a part of me getting shattered with you. I am watching you falling apart and dying inside.
I don’t know why this is happening to me. As if a sudden ray of the afternoon sun has touched me to make me do things that are purely illogical. I have taken off the shirt tagged with ‘good boy.’ For the first time, I’m enjoying being a bad boy. I didn’t gain anything being good for years. I know, being bad won’t help either. Still, I want to get carried away. I know, you are probably cursing me, praying for my destruction and I want to get destroyed, happily. The sin tastes so good!
I will never deny our connections; I will never disown any association with you. You will always be there in a secret cell of my heart.

The boy whom you don’t want to see anymore.


An open letter to the bad boy

Dear bad boy,
None can describe you; you are beyond words.
None can bless you; you are beyond blessings.
None can fight with you; you are beyond war.
None can win you; you are beyond defeat!
You don’t let anyone touch your soul. You are like an oozing river, carrying so many stones inside; those stones of indifference, lost love, hatred, loneliness, withdrawal and betrayal don’t let you settle.
I know you. I know that you want to carry a bird’s nest on your head. Your eyes cry of love, not dusts. Your heart is broken and beyond repair. Your home is broken long ago. Still, you crave for motherly touch, a lovely land, a homemade meal and a shelter when the sky is really overcast. You crave for a home, a sweetheart to return to at the end of the day. The reality is very cruel. Here, a bad boy has to be bad in every sense. Our society will always tear of the flower inside you and make you a cactus.
So, I have a request. Please carry the flowery heart always. Never let people fully know you; let them judge you from distance. And you carry on being the fresh raindrop of early monsoon!

Someone still sees good in you!


Dear nailpaints,
You come in small jars to give a dash of color in my life. I am in love with your appearance, colors, finishing and packaging. I never knew such small glass jars could bring so much happiness in my life. When I was too little to use nailpaints since then I am a fetishist of you. At my childhood I have mostly seen nailpaints in shades of red, pink, orange or violent. That generation hated weird colors on nails. As society never loved the idea of giving freedom to girls, nailpaints were strictly prohibited in school. It was really tough for a teenager who was completely in love with nailpaints.
Nailpaints had made my greish days brighter, dark days lighter with its appearance. It has taught me to fight against the Monday morning blues. Those tiny jars made me love myself, appreciate myself when no one is around or everyone has left. I have spent rainy days just playing with the brushes on my nails. I have spent my boring hours making weird designs on nails for the sake of nail art.
When I was on 11th standard, I only loved metallic shades and it was truly in vogue at that time. I had a box full of golden, silver, beige, off white, silvery pink nailpaints. Everyone wants to be a “dude” and painting your nails with metalized colors was a sporty way at that time. Actually those golden or silver colors gave me a little bit taste of freedom. I slowly started to know Hollywood gals and their blingy nails. Those nailpaints were a dash of sins in tiny bottles. I started hating red shades of nailpaints at that time. I still see people wearing red nailpaints and they are completely okay with it. I am sadly never okayed with the red nail polishes. Red nailpaints are like angels. And silver ones?? They have wings of sin; they desire to give you silver lining you deserve no matter how hard life hurts.
I also loved sparkler nailpaints. They too appear mostly in metallic shades and often in other colors too. Some love sparkling nails but my personal choice goes to solid colors.
Then the revolution of nail art started along with my college days. I can’t remember how many different types of nail arts I have seen at that time. From floral to geometric to checks to stripes to shades to stars to teddies…. Whatever exists in the world, people had included them in nail art.
Then all of a sudden, black nails started ruling as if the “age of devil” has come. People, irrespective of gender, started painting their nails with black nailpaints. Those were horrifying days. People thought their black nails as style statement while it looked like they have either dipped nails in ink or poured ink on nails.
Then we came to the age of fuchsia. The color God probably painted everything fuchsia along with our nails. Almost everyone started using nailpaints of this color. People have colored their dress to eyeshadow to lipsticks to ballerina to heart…. Everything. I loved this color a way too much. It gave me a weird feeling of living a purple life in tinsel town.
And now when I see people using five different colors in five fingers, I don’t get mad. Only one thing is constant in this life and that’s change. So fashion will keep changing along with our hearts. So whatever you don’t like today, you might like tomorrow. Don’t fret over today’s colors or decisions. Let time test it. Till then, keep painting your nails with the colors of your soul.

A simple gal