Of Prada's, Gucci's and Bitchy Diaries!!...

A random thought has popped up in my twisted Mind (As usual) to simplify my seemingly complex life. I am giving it a thought and bits pieces of research proves that this could actually be a solution to all my problems.

- Problem I, being stuck at a hugely underpaying, boring job that will get me nowhere. (Maybe in the next 5 years, but who's gonna wait that long!!??)

- Problem II, Relationship woes, Fights and marriage talks that has burnt me up till the last strand of my hair.

- Problem III, of labels and more Labels, which I look at, drool at, cry for.. but can never afford.

So, I realized to have a perfect life with Gucci & Prada in close proximity, with no tensions as such, no job and loads of money, with butlers and chauffeurs waiting hand and foot on me... I just have to Do One simple thing. Here it goes...

Find a Rich impotent guy, convince him to marry me. Or Go for an arranged marriage with the timid cow variety Rich guy. Then, if he is impotent, problem solved... go for an extramarital affair with my current BF. Plead and cry in front of the judge to give me a divorce to emancipate myself from the sexless (*sob* *sob*) life. In return, get a F***ing huge alimony. Go back to my current BF, and spent the rest of my life as a Rich Label Queen. Ahhhhh! the plan.

I'll get all the labels in the world, will never have to work again, and be married to the person I originally intended to. Although, I see a lot of loopholes in the perfect theory, I would appreciate if you guys don't burst my bubble.

Play along.. will you please!! :D

Blame it on Me!

When you sink into the Groove,
He swims back to the shore.
When you follow him through,
He takes a dive, n says one more to Go!

Some days you think you did your best.
Spoke the least and looked your best,
But you wonder if he saw, and you wonder if he'll ever say!
Forget the nice, bring in the Spice!
Tales of Fight and make up nite after nite.
You wonder if the blame will ever pay.
You wonder if the blame will ever stay.

Life goes on and so do you,
He goes and Yes! without you.
It's true, you know, you always knew
That he'll be happier without you.

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The Train Journey! (AKA the Burning train)

The last journey was the most 'disastrous one' in the history of disastrous journeys. Destination Kolkata: We took the Rajdhani with some faint, tender wishes in our young hearts that we will meet some young guys (Hunks to be precise) who will be very generous to us, and would lend us their perfect seats, in place of our middle berths.

Alas! As my friend pointed out "Murphy!" We met some strange old men and one very strange old lady, and one really not so young baby boy wearing diapers. We both believe that he should be OFF diapers now. But strangely enough we suspect that he is still breast-fed.

Now we have been surviving for more than 10 hours without fags and we can not bear the torture any more. The moment we got up in the morning, I realized that I would be having coffee without smokes, and even worse I can't even sing "Lucky boy" anymore. Aruni seems happy at that thought! (Singing or even humming anything to torture Aruni was out of question, as the 'League of Extraordinary Old Men' would have killed us by mere disgusted looks.)

The train btw has a hand brake. And can be driven like a normal steering truck. (We like to innovate in situations of utter pain). We stop and start with peculiar jumps and jolts (and jerks/ jerk: the train is). However, we are used to the bumps by now. But we are not really used to stupid baby talks, which majorly involve around "what comes out of a stupid bird." (Shit I dont care!) The pseudo baby was shouting out his weird questions. Example: "what if a hen lays a duck!!! what will the duck lay" . The Mother was laughing away to glory and was as if blinded by the baby's cuteness (utter crap).

And then the old men start!!!!! One of them btw writes Shakespeare quotes on our hangman paper, literally snatching it out of my hand. Me and poor unsuspecting Aruni were playing Hollywood/Bollywood when the paper was snatched from our hands and was made in to a Shakespeare material. With some quote staring up at us, we were bound to display our fake admiration by the silent head-nod.

And to utter desparation of Aruni the train attendant calls her "Khuku" (equavalent to a small girl child). I am the proud 'khuku's' friend, who is also apparently the bong bitch. I was introduced as 'also' a bong!! huh! the prejudiced world. We discussed that the old lady would have fainted if i would have showed them my tattoo. She discussed with her husband, how I was ALSO a Bengali, and they exchanged strange looks!!!

That's it from this shameful smokeless journey!! See you in the next episode of Kahani Is train ki!!! And now the wannabe baby boy is changing his diapers! Time to fade out!

What it takes!

What does it take to be independent? What does it even mean? Does it mean managing a livelihood for yourself, or does it mean taking decisions on those crossroads which decide the direction of your seemingly dependent life? Questions will always rise out of confusion and will never be satisfied with pecks of poetic answers. We seem to want it all.

Independent poses a problem for me.
I earn, I pay my rent, I cook my food, I have kept a maid.
I send money home and have had my mom's sari paid.
What matters now is what I do with the rest....
DO I stand up for a choice for the cause of dependence,
or do I sit back for the cause of love and regret.
If love is dependence, then dependence is too sweet to be true
But if dependence is falling in love, should I hold back, and repent?
Then there is a gallery of pictures on your wall...
Your first victory that is also mine..
Your first salary in my hand,
Our first Quarrel... seemingly incessant.
I ponder and I cry alone to make it seem as if I surround my universe all by myself.
.... But then..... again! We fall together and defy the laws of independence.