Chew on it.

Chances are all we have.

Tag: new beginnings.

Dear Shri

Shriya’s birthday card, for her 19th birthday. Published December 29, late in the evening for her birthday the next day.


Remember about a 100 years ago?

When we used to fight and keep doing kaandi to show off?

I’d never Imagine we’d land up even talking. But haven’t I told you this about a hundred times already?

It’s also about those times we’d drag the mothers into the fight (tolerant, loving, doosre-bacche-ki-side-lenewaali mothers) and our brothers would equally participate in further dividing the C- Wing B-Wing rift.

Of course, like we’re doomed to never forget- the times I spilled J&J baby powder all over the bathroom, and WE spilled J&J Baby oil, and MY mother had to clean up.

Also the day we put those red seeds into MY fishtank – now I think all the damage was done to MY property.

The hundred thousand times we said we’d never ever EVER (This time mother promise) talk to each other, and then we virtually killed our mums every other week.

The window conversations. I’d give anything to transport you back to C-11 and talk nonsense (define sense?) on rainy days when we couldn’t hear what the other one had to say, and invariably landed downstairs.

Somewhere in the middle of all this- came in Maanty- the third lost musketeer- and unknowingly, we wrapped her up in us. Have we ever been separated since?

I couldn’t buy a birthday card for you (I’m obviously paying for your gift :P) but I hope you’ll forgive me for never having done that one thing.

Birthday parties at 6 in the evening and being the first bum at the door is eons ago- but I’d still line up first at your door, for any occassion, or any time you need me.

From boys who broke hearts, to ones who chased you to those irresponsible bums who came, took a walk with the hopeful hearts, and then went off with other prettier ones, to the ones where we thought we’d never stay with- but landed up with infinitely.

I’ll be there for everyone of those episodes.

And a promise renewed.

If you get pregnant before you’re wed, and if you don’t have anywhere to go- I’ll bring you in. Slap you 50 times a day, but bring you in. You’re my friend, and I’ll never leave you. Even if you get married to someone I don’t like and then mess it up or if you’re tired and need coffee and your mum isn’t at home- I’ll bring you in.

If you lose out on my number I’ll kick your protruding behind till it’s sore, but make you memorise it amnesia-proof.

If Nishi and you have a fight, and Nishi is right, I’ll yell at you, and never once let you feel like you’re right. But if it’s the other way around, we’ll both tear Nish apart and break her knees and make her apologise. Deal?

Even if I don’t like Hrithik, I will never morcha against him (unless he cuts trees and litters).

If Gautam grows thinner and gives you a complex, I’ll steal your money and feed him till he gets back to std.10 ka size.

If Bryce cracks private jokes with me, and we’re laughing at you, I’ll tell you what it was about after he goes. Ussko bhi thoda badhaayi maarni hoti hai na. Chadhaane ka. THEN we’ll kick his butt.

If Manasi’s filtration system fails at the last moment and she says stuff you could kill her for saying- well, there’s nothing I can promise you know, I have no solution to that.

If Clarie doesn’t shut up about stuff you don’t want spoken about, we’ll boycott him.

If Vivek and Deepa don’t keep in touch, we’ll send them hate mail.

If Collin gets too sarcy and funny and his jokes hurt your intestines, we’ll takle a scissor and chop his mane off.

And if I don’t stick to these promises, you’d better find another friend. Because, I am replaceable.

You aren’t.

Happy Birthday :)


Ordinary Lives- 6.

She couldn’t stop giggling.

His exasperation grew. Her dimple deepened with every rush of ideas in her head.

He rolled his eyes.

She took a deep breath and paused to look at him. The smile wouldn’t go off her face.

His familiar frown, the brown of his eyes turning into caffeine. The Silver has just started growing, and years later she’d be tucked in a bed, his cheek in her hand, his nose against her neck, and she’d talk about this night. Not this moment- not this pause between his question and her answer.

His pout began to grow and his hands went into his pocket.

“This is uncomfortable.”

She looked at him harder.

“In what way?”

“I’ve asked you something. You start giggling. I need an answer.”

She bit her lower lip to stop bursting into another spurt of giggles.

“What will I do when you’re gone?”

“What you do at home even today.”

“Dad gives me pocket money.”

“I earn enough to give you that and run the house.”

“And if I forget the keys?”

“We’ll keep one at the neighbour’s.”

What was with her? He was opening the door he’d never known had existed within him, and all she was doing was staring through him.


“Already there.”


“I know how to. You should learn too.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But I’ll be away.”

She’s saying a yes.

“Okay Ma said I had to learn any way.”

They looked around for the next question.

“Washing machine?”

It’s a yes.


She started giggling again. This time, it was deliberate and slow. Like she was trying to say something.

“Don’t go away for too long.”

“I never want to.”

The curve of his lip choked her and she started coughing. He grabbed a glass of water and made her swallow it, rubbing her back, unable to believe his luck. His last straw had stayed rooted while he grabbed at it.

Her chin on his shoulder was the only reminder of anything else in the world existed apart from the light that flooded his eyes, and lit up his face.

He threw away the pills that night. She broke the news to her family.


Take a break. Take a trip.

Blast A Trumpet

Slowly making incisions in everything I come across

Raj Sivaraman

Part Time Genius, Full Time Hyperbolizer


Don't expect brilliance. Mediocre at best.

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