Where the drops are fat and heavy, like a bloated sumo wrestler with a cast iron thong

The more I see the world, the more certain I am that the song “What if God was one of us” carries more than a hint of truth.

I can well imagine the human world to be the creation of a human being. There is so much chaos and uncertainty and unpredictability. At the same time, I think Nature is the creation of a child because it would take a child to cut off all the emotion and create something which is so simple and yet so fascinating.

You know if Nature was the creation of a child, it would explain why grown-ups don’t really understand it.

Just a thought.


There is something maddeningly beautiful about riding a bike. It is equal parts magic and serenity and heart-bursting love with a couple of spoonfuls of real freedom.

I rode past Haji Ali and down Marine Drive and then up through Walkeshwar and then down again past the Tower of Silence after Hanging Garden and then up Peddar Road until I met Haji Ali again.

All the time, there was sea breeze and there was rain and the breeze was throwing the drops all over the place and it was beautiful and a little bit cold and just so wonderful.

I quite like the rains.

And Bombay in the rains is something else.


A steaming cup of coffee and a good book is all you really need to travel, now that I think about it. Watch as the words carry you and throw you into all these different places.

I just finished reading The Extras. Superb. I think I had forgotten what dark comedy is. That man is a frikkin genius. So am gonna get all his books if I can.

So many, many books. So little time. Right now there is City by the Sea and Serious Men and The Last Hundred Days.

Damn you flipkart. You and your bloody wishlist making thingie.


I dont think I will ever be able to tweet properly.

I wonder whether these are the kind of self-esteem issues kids face these days. “Oh no, I will never have more than 500 friends on facebook” or “Will I never make my own meme” or “Why does no one like my status”.

The last one would make sense in the recent past as well.

I am going to go on a trip somewhere far far away. And I am going to carry a pair of swimming trunks, a toothbrush and a bag which can only carry four pieces of clothing. I am  going to put a couple of thousand bucks in my pocket and then I am going to leave. I wonder how long I would last and how far I would get.

All this F-1 talk (dude 7 races, 7 winners) made me wonder whether there is a starting line in life as well. And a finishing line too. So, when you are seventy million years old and about to die, some paunchy dude suddenly appears and starts waving the checkered flag.

This posts make no sense whatsoever. What shit. What garbage. I cant believe I just wasted so many precious seconds of my life spitting this out.



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