Friday, January 30, 2009

20SOMETHING I've-had-a-bad-day-get-outta-my-face RAMBLE

Twenty three is a weird age to be. In fact all of the twenties are 10 weird ages of one’s life.

At twenty one you graduate. Into the bloody Twenties.

At twenty two, you’ve been working or
just started working, so you’re getting you’re arse whooped at work.

At twenty three you’re juggling romance (if you’re lucky to have any) and multiple bosses who alternate between being MFs and barely tolerable. You’re arse is still being whooped.

At twenty four, you’re fairly settled at work, but barely getting up from being the chaiwaali. Arse whooping continues.

At twenty five, you’re wondering if you should screw the shit paying job and do a damn MBA because everyone is doing it. You’re not sure so your mental arse whoop worsens.

At twenty six, your friends are getting married and you’re barely in and out of relationships. Arse is still in being whooped position.

At twenty seven, hopefully your job situation is settled, but HEY, you’re still not married and your friends are having babies. Great, the boss stops, but your family and society continue the arse whooping.

Twenty eight- that eventful year when you’re supposed to have started the glory years at work and started a family. But there you are paying installments for your shitty car and your house in the bloody burbs. Economic arse whooping.

Twenty nine- Damn it, if this is the last of the damn torturous twenties, I will gladly turn my behind to have the damn arse whooping over with.

This to me, seems like the twenty something phase. It’s like age 1-4 all over again. You try to chew solid food and you choke. You try to walk and you fall. You fall twenty (that dreaded word) times over before anything eventful happens.

The twenties are like that. Re-learning everything again, sans parental support. No daddy to help with the homework. No mama to feed you your dinner after a shit day at work. You’re all alone- battling every thing the world has to offer- trying to find a damn place for yourself.

That fucking twenty-something phase. If it were not for the partying, I’d like to skip to the thirties please.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009


You are a part of my song,
The verse, the chorus,
The bridge,
And everything else in between.

You’re a part of my song.
It starts with a slight hum and becomes a tune.
Soon enough it’s a
Ten part harmony.

You’re a part of my song.
It sounds like the waves breaking
It sounds like the sun rising
It sounds like a breath of fresh air.

You’re a part of my song.
It’s about how you make me feel.
It rises and falls.
It pulsates fast and slow.

You’re a part of my song.
It begins with you
And ends with you.