Second Holi-playing chance today, am wondering whether to let it go or not. Second day of bhaang? Can't handle. Third two-hour scrubby bath in two days? Can't handle. Running around on crampy stomach and then stomaching biryani? Can't handle. But then it's homemade biryani after ages. Ma claims we're all secretly Mughal in nature. We like our saffron and we like our mutton and we like small paintings and in an earlier age I'd definitely be an annoying courtier-poet. More avenues open, more cattiness, I'd have had a ball.

My dad's been giving me guilt about dissing his idea to go watch Holi being played in the northeast; I only have his word for it but it's apparently very different and very picturesque and more than a little mindblowing. I had fourteen years of school where I played Holi nine times, that's five Holis gone where we could've been in the northeast. But this is a relatively new travelplan. We played in the para then, kids versus chengras, and it was like fighting a war. Here in the complex it's more Bollywoodish, with gulaal flung in the air and people jumping into the fountain at the end (na na, ota toh Fellini) and feeding each other laddoos. College tops all else in spite of the eggs. But I only have three years of college Holi, two down already, and given that this is one festival that gets me more hyper than Diwali I can't go away now. Even if it's to Arunachal.

Focussing on moss, no one shall know what this actually was, nothing but the moss.

The absence of school.

The absence of eyebrows.

I haven't slept in 30 hours. It's time I went thieving again. Leaves on benches, bus tickets, rubber bands, pieces of foil on footpath, I shall pick everything up and build up a bagful of things other people have used. I'd like to be sincere and earnest right now but it's so crippling to know that I'd rather be somewhere else. So much debilitation. I love spring and look, Holi's right around the corner, so maybe this weekend will swing things in my favour but till then I'll just have to live with me. I drew on my floor today and Minati di screamed at me. I want to buy paint, I want to buy cheese. I want to do things I haven't done in a bit, paint glass and create cutout smiley figures and collect chocolate wrappers and make phuchkas at home, it's been so long since I made phuchkas.

My camera's conked out, I think I'll die.

Wanna, perhaps gonna

Places:

- Rambha this April
- Pondicherry
- Coorg and SA
- Badami, Aihole, Lakkundi, Pattadakal, Hampi. I want this particularly.
- The Sundarbans
- Murshidabad, Gaur, Pandua.
- Malshejghat and SA

Books:

- The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak
- Vernon God Little, DBC Pierre.
- Lost Horizon, James Hilton
- The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, John Boyne
- On Beauty, Zadie Smith
- Everything is Illuminated, Jonathan Safran Foer
- The Charlie Chan Omnibus
- From Heaven Lake, Vikram Seth
- Gigi, Colette
- The Final Solution, Michael Chabon
- Collected Edgar Allan Poe

First three and Gigi read already, but so nice to imagine as gifts with dedications and everything. The rest, I don't know. Tried to make it achievable but now it's just about on the other side of hopeful.

So this boy he cried Oolf. He cried Oolf! without realising that he was looking at something else altogether, a something else that was ooden, expressionwise and compositionwise, and looked a bit like an oolly mammoth. And this oolly ooden thing it had these big round glasses, like the ones on Oody Allen.

Eventually and after his initial trepidation the boy noticed that what he 'd thought was an oolf didn't seem very interested in eating him.

One could even hear its indifference making an ooshing sound as it flew by his shoulder.

So this boy he ooped in mild surprise and picked up his axe. He stood awhile in thought. Then he gave up and went on to his uilage.

Lonely Planet mentions Iceland in a list that has to do with places where one can hope to find romance in the world. I need money so badly but no use whining, it's not like I'm a hermit. Maybe if I stop eating at college I'll save and lose weight at the same time but that's just another plan. If it weren't so much trouble and didn't involve meeting so many people I'd become an entrepreneur. If it weren't so much trouble I'd be someone else altogether. If it weren't such a royal pain I'd capitalise and promote because one can't study all the time if one's no good at it, can one, and then maybe I'd do something big and have really cool footwear. Whatever. I'm going to not think of this and go eat dinner. Maybe I'll write something gory later if I'm still feeling miserable, or take a bath, no guesses as to which will take precedence.

Noticing things has taken a backseat, I'm still largely a shady character staring at people suspiciously but I don't notice things the way I used to. Now it's flare of nostril as opposed to curve of nostril, the fascinatingly gross above the strikingly beautiful. But hey, I still remember faces. And I remember you. You're somewhere in the middle, your teeth shine in the dark.

Making special Sunday lunch, butter chicken included. Dadu's always been a stud.

Working class heroes, mid-eighties.

Spawn tries to be Camel.

The stud should've taught me to make butter chicken much earlier and the working class heroes should've kept the Rajasthan trip for much later but that's the thing, blood never flows the way it should. Also, now that I think of it it doesn't coagulate properly either.

So maybe I should ditch the whining.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
shutupandsleepwithmec'monwhydon'tyousleepwithmeshutupandsleepwithmecomeonuhhuhandsleepwithmeshutupandsleepwithmecomeonwhydon'tyousleepwithmeshutupandsleepwithmuhhuhwhydon'tyousleepwithmeeee

On a bad day it'd sound like Aqua, I think.

But there's always a neutraliser.

If I could do just one near-perfect thing I'd be happy, they'd write it on my grave or when they scattered my ashes. On second thoughts I'd rather hang around and be theeeere with my best friend if she wants me (paaon paaon paaon paaon)

Hahahahaha. Raichak on loop.