Dear Diary,
It has nearly been four years since I last wrote to you. I read my last entry and realised how good and virgin my life was then.(Don't laugh on my use of word virgin). But I was a student then and life was like being in the Beatles’ Strawberry Fields where everything was unreal and there was nothing to get hung about . But then I changed three cities after that to finally write to you in this cold December night in the Ghalib's city of Delhi.
I won't bore you by talking about my past four years of life. About how I have grown and matured or how stupid I have become. I will talk about this moment as I had told you before that nothing, nothing exists outside the moment.
I finished reading Murakami’s Norwegian Wood few days backs. You would be surprised to know that there exists a book after the lovely Beatles song but the book is titled such because in the book the protagonist remembers about his girlfriend after hearing to the song Norwegian Wood. The book is good, Murakami is a nice weaver with a good description sense as he makes his characters so uncanny that u start loving them. I loved the character of a girl called Midori the most. She was an outgoing girl, the kind of girls I like, you know. The protagonist asks her about love and what sort of guys she liked. And she replied that she liked being selfish in love. She would ask her boy to get her a juice and he would run down 5 floors of stairs and climb back to get that juice for her and then she would throw that juice down saying that she didn’t need it anymore . And then he would apologise to her for being late and she would ask him to get some coke and he would again run down 5 stairs and climb back again with the bottle of Coke and she would again throw it down and when he would say sorry, she would hug him and make love to him. Such a selfish type of love she needed.
Anyways, I am searching for a new place to dwell in. And it seems like all landlords hate us. They show us the shittiest of places and tell us that thats where bachelors live. And then they hate us further because we have jobs in Times of India. And then Brokers would show us houses and highlight the fact that owners didn’t live in the same building and hence we could bring our girls and have parties with them. We feel so foolish then, I can't even tell you.
Oh okay, you are getting bored so I will tell you a fact I stumbled across. It says that some people actually believe that if they eat makeup they can be pretty on the inside too.
You know I miss Bombay at times. And right now I am missing Bombay and specifically Andheri station platform number 4 and 5 where I used to catch 9:11am train to Churchgate daily. Thats when an old man would play flute on the station and we would throw money on his green towel. I used to board that train but then the wind would still carry those sad lonely notes of that flute. I miss those sad lonely notes of that flute the most right now.
Anyways tomorrow is Monday. You know no wonder how beautiful a tone I set it to, Monday’s alarm is what I hate the most.
I promise that I would write you often and sorry for the dust collected on you.
With Love,
vC
It has nearly been four years since I last wrote to you. I read my last entry and realised how good and virgin my life was then.(Don't laugh on my use of word virgin). But I was a student then and life was like being in the Beatles’ Strawberry Fields where everything was unreal and there was nothing to get hung about . But then I changed three cities after that to finally write to you in this cold December night in the Ghalib's city of Delhi.
I won't bore you by talking about my past four years of life. About how I have grown and matured or how stupid I have become. I will talk about this moment as I had told you before that nothing, nothing exists outside the moment.
I finished reading Murakami’s Norwegian Wood few days backs. You would be surprised to know that there exists a book after the lovely Beatles song but the book is titled such because in the book the protagonist remembers about his girlfriend after hearing to the song Norwegian Wood. The book is good, Murakami is a nice weaver with a good description sense as he makes his characters so uncanny that u start loving them. I loved the character of a girl called Midori the most. She was an outgoing girl, the kind of girls I like, you know. The protagonist asks her about love and what sort of guys she liked. And she replied that she liked being selfish in love. She would ask her boy to get her a juice and he would run down 5 floors of stairs and climb back to get that juice for her and then she would throw that juice down saying that she didn’t need it anymore . And then he would apologise to her for being late and she would ask him to get some coke and he would again run down 5 stairs and climb back again with the bottle of Coke and she would again throw it down and when he would say sorry, she would hug him and make love to him. Such a selfish type of love she needed.
Anyways, I am searching for a new place to dwell in. And it seems like all landlords hate us. They show us the shittiest of places and tell us that thats where bachelors live. And then they hate us further because we have jobs in Times of India. And then Brokers would show us houses and highlight the fact that owners didn’t live in the same building and hence we could bring our girls and have parties with them. We feel so foolish then, I can't even tell you.
Oh okay, you are getting bored so I will tell you a fact I stumbled across. It says that some people actually believe that if they eat makeup they can be pretty on the inside too.
You know I miss Bombay at times. And right now I am missing Bombay and specifically Andheri station platform number 4 and 5 where I used to catch 9:11am train to Churchgate daily. Thats when an old man would play flute on the station and we would throw money on his green towel. I used to board that train but then the wind would still carry those sad lonely notes of that flute. I miss those sad lonely notes of that flute the most right now.
Anyways tomorrow is Monday. You know no wonder how beautiful a tone I set it to, Monday’s alarm is what I hate the most.
I promise that I would write you often and sorry for the dust collected on you.
With Love,
vC
