Where the heart is tickled, a feather running over and over your underarms


That image only makes me feel all ticklish and shit.

In the morning I was thinking that perhaps Hrithick Roshan is like this inspiration for hitch hikers all over the world. Cause, you know,  he must doubly efficient and all that. Do you think somewhere, in some forgotten corner of the world, a group of hitchhikers meet and share contraband posters of Koi Mil Gaya? Gasp in awe over photos which show the magical extra finger, the extra thumb!!!! Like totally o.m.g ya.

It could be true.

I can’t remember the last time I hitchhiked. Shit man, lets see. there was this one army truck in Arunachal. Oh no, before that, we got a ride in an ambulance down the hills to where another bus was supposed to take us to our final destination. Fuck. Can’t even remember the name of that town. Anyway, the ambulance dropped us down and then we waited and waited and no bus came by. And finally an army truck stopped and so we got into the back and reached the Inspection Bungalow. What was the place called. Can not remember.

I do remember visiting the only PCO that village had though. Army men and people from the border forces. Crowding over the phone. There was this one bearded sardar who was crying into the phone, telling his mother that she should not wait for him and that she should eat her food now otherwise she will fall sick.

It was one of those conversations that I wished I had not heard.

Speaking of which, I just realised that reading someone’s letters is such an intimate experience. Can you imagine dripping into someone’s mind, hiding in the corner and watching the words and emotions slowly form themselves? Slowly take shape and dance and move and slide from here to there. And all the time, the words are so completely oblivious to your existence.


Went to Tea Centre and helped myself to some apple butter tea. Did not quite see what the big deal was but that place, oh I love that place. Fondest memories of going and stuffing the face with bacon and eggs on a rainy monsoon morning and then walking down marine drive and seeing these massive, massive waves crash into the wall.

I wonder what would happen if you tied someone to a chair, put a keyboard in front of them and then told them to type. And then you started tickling them. I wonder what they would type. I wonder what you would say when you are laughing, if you could say anything at all. Laughter can be so powerful if you think about it, wiping away the power of speech and leaving little room for anything all inside your head.


Oooh, I went for this symphony performance and it was one of the awesomest things in the world. Full gandhi seats and all but wow. What a show. I am quite sure I missed out on all the subtleties and all that shit but as a proud ghaati, I haveta say that I really really enjoyed it. I think I had forgotten that music can carry so much emotion along. And the lack of words – I don’t know it was almost as if the words were hidden in the music and if you strained your ears you could pick them out. There was love and anger and hope and betrayal and peace and war. It was all very sexy sexy cause when you closed your eyes, you felt that you could see the music. If that makes any sense.

Went to Prakash for breakfast on Sunday. Sala stuffed my face. There was thalipeeth, saabudaana wads, piyush, poori sabji and the most subtle cup of chaa I have ever had. That poori sabji though – what a dish boss whattey dish. Crush the nimbu all over the sabji and take that crispy-soft poori and wrap up the aloo in it and chomp it down. This weird alien taste of sweet and salt and lime and all that mixed together.

Whattey dish man. Whattey dish.

If I ever have a dog I am going to call him Harami. Or maybe frosty. Naaa I dont want it to end with a teeee – makes it too easy to cutify. Perhaps Vegan.

Ya I think thats a good name. Here Vegan Vegan. Vaay-gennnn, where are you?

Good Vegan. gooood vegan.

So much trash on the internet. Bleddy even I have the right to add to it okay.


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