Curious

What I don't understand is, how do people write?!? Organizing your bedroom and even wardrobe are damned so less tedious compared to doing so with your thought flow. Like:
This is a fresh morning
I want to have coffee in my farmhouse watching my dogs play around in the nearby pond while my cats are messing with each other's tails.
Saw the brown pant she was wearing? Why don't I get one like that.
These days am seeing my old classmates' faces in people I see at traffic or malls.
Why do I always feel like penning my thoughts while am waiting here on the road in the open burning under the sun?
Why don't people have time sense. Why am I blamed when I do that even if without intention.
That coffee had better be in a large light mug.
Remember that pink dress I wore on my 5th birthday? Gotcha ask mom where it is.
What do you suppose should be the best breakfast for tomorrow?
Know what, my stylist is right, I presume. I do have good hair, I just don't take care.
How can people really watch these typical serials on TV!
What if papa never aged at all? Would mom not age too?
What was the name of that crater, you said?
Who says cutting chicken is violent and criminal while cutting veggies isn't? Instead, necrophagia seems a neutral option!
Politics these days! I didn't vote this time, but hoping for a better govt.
Talk of talking nonsense - do you suppose I've been doing that all this while?
Am out of  thoughts.

How do you manage to surpass all these and segregate them as per need and arrange them at par with where you want them to be - all in one go!

Relax

Whatever happens is for good.
I know you have always wanted to lift me sky high and walk me down the lane, I know you have always wanted to see me content and smiling, I know you have always wanted me to be your queen no matter what. I know. I know all.
Yet I say be patient, as I am.
You holding me high up in the sky and walking me down the lane wouldn't have let me feel the earth. You seeing me content and happy wouldn't have let me feel your pain. You making me your queen right away wouldn't have let me know what it is to live a life other than as a queen.
Now I know. Now I know all.
Whatever happens is for good.

Amit

This man I am married to is my first rightly-perfect-amazing-mistake of my life, something I can repeat any number of times in any number of lives am allowed to take.

That red card still sings Vande Mataram. Come sing with us.

I once had a pen friend, 'very sweet and caring', as a 16-year-old would put it. Out of the 4-5 of them he had the best hand writing and was a naval pilot. I must have exchanged a maximum of 4 or 5 letters with him. He wrote at length and expected lengthy reply, something he could cherish for long, to help keep him from missing family. I know nothing of him other than the person he was and the thoughts he would share through every paragraph he wrote. I never saw even his photograph. But I can recognise that handwriting from anywhere, anytime.
Subir Kumar, was his name. I remember the largest card of my life received on my birthday in 1998. He promised me a gift for my next birthday. I suppose I was to expect his photograph or him then.

Kargil conflict took place between May and July 1999.

Subir, you still owe me that gift.

new to Pune..

its nice dry hot hot weather, less pollution, less dust, un-understandable Marathi, biz-minded ppl, less show-off more attitude, beautiful zoo, nice restaurants, markets with same prices as Dharwad, Amit hates buses due to crowd, hates share-rikshaws (no one shud touch me!), and I hate regular rikshaws due to fare prices (1st km. 11 bucks then on 9!), bought a cupboard, large cot and bed for a total of 11k, got 5 large (min. 3ft length, 3ft height and 2ft width) fish tanks and a few small tanks and about 15 mini tanks in a 1bhk....

and life continues... ;)

bas 3 din -- 27th aur Guru ji ki jayanti

I lived in Indiranagar near the Flyover for a year or so from 2005 December... tab hum ek Punjabi dhabe pe jate the, 80 feet road pe. It has been ages I have seen the place.
Last wednesday I went there with someone who had a very short term work on 80ft road.
While returning, as soon as we hit the flyover I rememberd that we could actually have an early dinner at the dhaba - it had been ages anyways.
So we had to turn around the large big Scorpio and really struggle to get back in the big vehicle amongst the traffic at peak hour, just to find that the dhaba was closed. I was pretty surprised coz amongst the months that I lived there I had never seen it closed.
Saw the manager, eventually a Punjabi (not that i counted him among any sardars) and we spoke to him. He was very happy to see me and spoke of all the family matters as always and finally came to the point to say that they had closed for just that day due to maintenance work. As i turned to the car I asked him when all is the dhaba closed. He quiclky replied, "kabhi nahin madam, saal mein bas teen din - ek to 27 tareekh ko aur Guru ji ki jayanti par."
I asked him again, "kaun kaun se din?"
He respectfully, faithfully, dedicatedly repeated his reply.

I have still not been able to figure out the third day.

Me

Am so very tempted every next minute to say, 'he spoiled my days, weeks, mind, soul.. and finally, he failed me" and all the more..

But I try to control and say to myself, "I wish I had never met him, and once i did, I wish I hadn't invested my emotions in him - something I had restrained all my life. And once I did that, I wish i could control my emotions to the least of its extents and stop thinking about him."
I have never had a good memory, but this time I failed to keep it as bad.

I failed myself.