Where the conversation stops and starts and stutters, much like that beautiful vintage car in chalti ka naam gaadi

That song is worth watching for all the shots of old Bombay. Those alone make it worth your time.

Babuuuuu, chalti hai gaadi pum pum pum.

.

The inner instagrammer has taken a rather prominent space within my split personalities. Looking at this scene and that, imagining how it would like with this filter or that. Thinking up short, hash-taggable words that I can fill in the description. Like there would be this shot of the City Bakery ka chimney. And the description would read something like,

“In this city, you always cling on to the things that don’t change. In this city, you always know that some day, some day, memories are all you will have.”

Boooyakasha motherfucker!

Boom.

Sometimes I like to pretend I am one of those Sunburn dudes. Especially when I am stuck in traffic. To be a SBD all you really have to do is speak with your hand waving over your head. All the time. Waving to some techno/ebd/ebm/flashdub/stepdub beat that is blaring inside your skull.

..

What else, what else.

Oh so the rains in the city means that I have switched to carrying my stuff in a backpack and that is fucking cool. Cause I get to snap the buttons into place and zip up the compartments. And then walk around as if I am going on some fucking journey. Trekking. Or some shit like that.

Alvida na kehna. Kabhi alvida na kehena.

If I had an elephant, I would totally sing that song to the elephant. And the elephant would  be all swaying to the melody and shit. While inside wondering what the fuck was going on.

Elephants.

Like dogs who eat too much and grow a trunk.

No man. These words are too forced. Just way too forced. I need to re-think and re-do. And re-scratch.

I think people underestimate the creativity push that comes for a little bit of scratchy scratchy.

Nope. Nothing.

Wait.

No. Still nothing.

Goddamit.

 

 

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