Skip to main content

My plate

This is my plate....
well mmm....wt do i have to say...the world is full of fools...so full of fools i'm surprised...

The day ought to be a good day but it would not be so...

Wit jon it went good..i do miss u dear...
Bhav... ur crazy!
Tsun...love u inspire me
Janey... i want u here...

A mosquito is biting my leg...that is not some sort of metaphor for aniket who i'm chattin wit right noe...there is truly a mosquito biting my toe...in india now...hindi song on the radio, men speakin in kannada..another singing in tamil...
multicultural country...multilingual...it's sad really...coz it doesn't take much to see wt it has cost us... a cloud of haze, traffic everywhere, need only to look out the window to see the kids running arnd in underwears and pissing on the road...i am not ashamed... just critical...this place could have been such a haven...

Talking abt pissing....i just about pissed in my pants today... result of not wanting to use the toilet at my aunt's place...semi-public... i guess my punishment fr being too snooty... embarassing but lesson learnt... USE WHICHEVER TOILET THAT COMES ALONG.... ok...i have soo much more to say bt the darned mosquitoes are pissing the shit outta me...
Labels:

Comments

Akshay Kumar G said…
Thank you Saro for finding me. ;-) We had loads of fun today, we should all get together more often. When you said you have been blogging for almost 10 years, I was intrigued to read your blog, especially your very first post. Very interesting thoughts. Will come back for more to read your new ones.
January 21, 2013 12:44 am
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Celebrations

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 16 ; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . It was a hard ground that felt like sand paper. When he started his journey, it was the soles of his feet that were in contact with the ground, but now as he pulled himself closer to the station, it was his whole body. His elbows were scraped, bloody and fresh scab peeled bled out to leave a trail of red on the wicked hot dusty ground of pain and suffering. All around him slow moving bodies crawled towards the direction of hope, all along leaving patterns of blood, sweat, skin and pus. These bodies had seen civil wars, droughts, genocide and lived to tell a tale of a people who now belonged to a nation listed as one of the poorest countries in the world. This is now, but before the list, was a struggle of massive proportions, under reported and quietly hidden
26 comments
Read more

Escape

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10 ; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . The Temple Widow A narrow dirt path, generously peppered with tiny pebbles, tiny miniatures of their gargantuan ancestors, leads to a bridge. It hangs, rickety and old. Old but not well used, old like abandoned and not frequently used. The bridge hangs low over a small stream that slowly gurgles past, happy unlike those that visit the place. The bridge leads to a temple. It is not very big, only perhaps the size of a small hut and at the most the size of an average temple hall. The temple has no deity; the temple has no one corner that doesn’t look like the other. It is clean, well swept, and empty. It has no furniture, and excepting a series of well spaced out windows, the walls remains uninterrupted. She stumbles in, the lady. She is not very tal
30 comments
Read more

Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8 ; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . I haven't got the memory of a vedic tantric. Neither do I ever claim to remember all. All I know is what I know, question my memory if you want to. I don't ask you to remember, I don't ask you to believe. In fact, I'm not asking you for anything at all. It is your choice to be here, to read this. So no, I don't owe you a favor. I happened to chance upon a watch, on one of my travels. Turning the dials of such a watch, could transport you to the past, to the future, to any time. But time, my friend, is not how you think it is. It is not a straight line, and you cannot just by chance hop into the world of dinosaurs and wooden weapons. It is a series of transparencies, like films of clean sheets of paper laid on top of each other. You look from above
31 comments
Read more