Why I think women can't attain Nirvana:

Because they menstruate
Because they have maternal instincts (basic instincts!)
Because they tend to confuse sex with love
Because they have a penchant to carefully document every gaze and stare
Because they yearn to make an even better "aloo ki sabji" every single night
Because 1)either they are obsessed with male acceptance or 2) they can hardly take earnest male attention on face
Because they too, like men, believe that a woman should have less hair

Disclaimer:
More to come... Please add if you want. This is not a stereotyping competition, it is (as the label suggests,a a mere rant because this woman here knows all of this and can still not get over it)

Why I look down upon people

Well, I can't be more frank. The quotes that you see in newspapers are hardly ever spoken by those smiling faces with beautiful smiles. It is me, the psst-you might wan to say this-helpful but hassled reporter behind. Similarly, the enthusiastic sound bytes on radio that you hear and all those witty slogans and cheesy smartass lines that make you guffaw are rarely uttered by those squeaks. It is me, the sunburnt-deadline bound-tout savant jock who knows that it is beyond you and your spontaneous intellect/creativity to come up with such interesting things. Almost like a film director, everytime, I first visualize and then like some outcast Parajanov, I resign to fate accepting that nobody smart and funny roams the streets in daylight. So, I write a script. What to make people say. Done. Go, explain, street actors, brilliant work. Some can't even do that much. So? What happens when no girl can speak on cricket? Its me, I modulate-change pitch-package and its done. All this just affects in one way, I lose more and more interest in the queerness of people on streets and in media's "fun work".

The diary of a tired worker

It was hot, burning. I am singed and my face is red. The morning was spent in cold dungeon office setup like a lost puppy or a mole lurking in silent sound proof corridors, all red and green and locked and beeping. Shrilly women and men with the best sounding voices ever made me think what I would do for a month. Again the sinking feeling in the stomach of mine about corporate creativity and how I become a dumbass the moment I am hit by such waves of confident professional setups. Day got better. Evening even more assuring. Hopefully I should sail through. The burden of watchful ears is horrible. Hate to let em down.

In between, on the train

Running amok

Stones are walking backwards by me
Cars are bumping into me all along
I seem to pull the rain so down
The yellow hat can't fly back up again
Sandal shape invaded by my toes
The road is gathered more and more
Like a seven meter sari and my greed for all its ends
Running tunes are grabbed by me
Poor notes are chewed out helpless
As the clothes are hurled into bags
Their peace is disturbed by all my drone
Even the last of laughs is not spared
They are all pasted with glue to my lips
The chair swivels under my bum's weight
All the mint washed down in my belly
So many missed rings are buzzed to lure
But the answers are never picked by me
The world seems spinning and riveting
Off and even out of bounds
Wonders comes to the back of mind
When I realize
I am restless and my hands
Are unscrewing the well fit globe.