Some personal scientifish smells

I just breathed out these that follow. Literally. One person can get you so highly reactive and can make mind race at X speed with a feeling of twirling laughter. Marcel Proust could not see me pitying my own past and reverting back to the old wall like a chewed gum. So, he did some shaman magic and I got a call. Only later, I realised he was a scientist.

Can you not know the fact that you like someone? huh? huh? Can you ever just be so and not want to tell it? Tangerine spice. Fungal webs on the old golden wired chappals. Cold earth starts tickling my feet, I know winter is in. Can you smell it? Can you feel me (and my extremely heaving longing)? Have you shaken a tree after rains?
If you have not, then you may have never passed the foolish phase of puppy love poetry. Sheesh. Puupy love poetry all around the "inderned". Proust is better. So is Claudel. But we need to find out fast if they are the aim or talking is an excuse to bring them up and much more. I love Fugly Schmuck. I am a fit baybe. Fugly schmuck fit baybe!

Oh blue! Did you know Russian toilets work the exact opposite way? Conversation: Yes, they sit facing the flush. But, then how would they know if someone barged in from behind and stabbed 'em? Probable cause why Soviet Union fell. Hehe. But these immigrants disrupt hygiene in India.

Let me soothe your transit

Somewhere close to a dedication to a few friends of twelve years or so. Even others:

Your longing gaze that now, is ever flooded and drooling, oozing a strange batter of odd ambitions and little failures; your little flutter of a heartbeat that has long forsaken peace, sleep and the option of a graceful defeat, listen. Ahead is a lot of noise, I am afraid I will lose you.Come back.

You left today. I don't feel anything at all. You felt sad and uneasy while leaving this time. It is like this I think. Our life works in two worlds. We work with our minds and hearts shut to all pleasant heartwarming scenes and sounds in the world outside. Then, we eagerly run home in the break and suddenly our frozen bodies come alive. We laugh, talk and play. The real person that I am, the child within, etc comes alive. This is a magical town. Maybe some replenishing quality in the water. On the other hand, the world outside in those cities is like Gotham city, or the "Flying Dutchman" and its people are like those half dead rotting corpses. No matter how much they spend, what they eat it does not satiate them. Meaning: They cannot enjoy anything they do or cherish it in memory unlike you and me who meet every summer and talk the same and still feel joyous.
Who says that growing up is all this? Who says it means having to swear like a pro? I love the way you put so much effort in your argot and still end up like the funniest spoof of Max Payne. :) I like that you are so stupid sometimes that I want to "uplift" you from life itself.Hehehe.
Don't ask me how it feels to be left alone at home a day before leaving it. I can so dream the Hogwarts express tomorrow, cold and bleak, rain lashing at my windows while I am transported to the sea-version of Auschwitz where a monster (deadlier than Kraken) devours all buildings, people, memories, dreams, desires ( the usual bundle of words) but asymmetrically.
More I dread is those scumbags of scholars who have well fashioned me into priding the fact that I know I am not sure of anything in the smart world outside. They are the ones to blame if you and I think "The lover is actually the beloved" is a lame thought. Down with them if I cannot enjoy the Renaissance art and sing sweet old village songs. I hate Derrida and his deconstruction. I think he was a real nutjob to be not able to pretend that he liked the aesthetic of big pictures and start critiquing my nose hair.
Come back, I do not know where the train stops. The stops will change every few years but the train goes on. The point is how far are we willing to go? Figuratively and literally.

Samarkand Sweetheart

The death of a bicycle.

It has broken "peddles" and the basket is gone, the victim of your stunt rides, the bearer of your school bag, the dragged burst tyres and the faded metal gray finish. In blood, wounds, sun, rain and sports days, what stayed with me was this bicycle. When I proudly picked it, saw it being assembled and rode it to school everyday I infested a coating of the soul on it. Some bond was made on 11th of November. Some far memory such as Samarkand cold sprang up when you proudly chanted away how it is daily bruised now. I see the glare and guilt inducing stare. I know I am your culprit my dear Devil in red letters.You stand in the courtyard like everyday, just a little more worn, rusted, feasted upon by my brother. My mate in ruins, sharer of my grandpa's hopes and the most comfortable seat in scorching afternoons, I leave you at the mercy/non-mercy of the brother. Sorry.

Wanted urgently!!

Standing on a fleeting train is the most fun a girl can have in the absence of a camera. I was comiing back on the train via Launda-Meeraj route. It was so liberating that it could untangle knotted life strands in seconds. I saw the most beautiful Ghats that I see all the time. Then, I decided. I want to work for 8 months a year, for the rest 4, I will travel, eat, cook, click, meet and pass the self through shredding machines of popular culture, collect various whoa artefacts and be happy. All this sounded really fun until I realised I would not like to do it alone. But, I am very particular as to who I may not want along. But, I really want someone, girl/boy to come on this journey by trains, buses, planes, feet,cycles, rain, sun,night, day etc.I do not have too much patience and bag packing is not required for this stuff. So, just whisper if you wanna come along. I ll buzz you when I run away. Something very motorcycle diaries minus the life changing,world improving ambitions.

Blame it on the Black Star

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite that beams me home

I get on the train and I just stand about now that I don't think of you
I keep falling over I keep passing out when I see a face like you
What am I coming to?
I'm gonna melt down

I can't help being anal. I ain't bossy but I have compulsive ticks.
Blame it all on me. But, return. Actually, return so that I can show you the new me. Then, I ain't interested.