#9/11

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We are all lonely. Terribly lonely.

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Sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs in a crowded place out of sheer loneliness. And sink on the concrete floor with my head tucked between my knees. I want someone to look into my empty eyes and read my story. Then comfort me with a hug. But I stand quietly in the corner of this posh restaurant smiling politely at the couples walking into it with their fingers interlocked. They wait for their table. I wait for mine. In the meantime, I stand there alone, a thousand thoughts run a marathon inside my tiny head. What have I done to deserve it -- is one such thought. Sometimes I talk to others. Those who appear to have it all. After 15 minutes of easing into the conversation, I find they are no less miserable. If I'm a Siberian desert - cold and barren, they are Sahara - few people come to visit them - a very few walk with them under the scorching circumstances. Deep down, we are all lonely. Terribly lonely. We all seek one person with whom we can share that
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Because you are addicted to Gold Flake and I am addicted to you.

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Like that cigarette slowly burning between your fingers, I burn too. Because you are addicted to Gold Flake and I am addicted to you. The only difference - you can buy your addiction - but I can't win over you in a million years. The only similarity - you crush both cigarette butts and my hopes multiple times a day under your feet. You are one cruel b*****d. Oh man, why I still love you so very much? I think about that a lot sober. There has to be a reason for this unwavering, almost God-like devotion towards you. For the life of me, I can't find an answer to that question. I don't know why I want to walk barefoot on a black beach with you. Watch the sunset - and - watch your features turn into a beautiful silhouette. As the evening would sink into darkness and we will lay on the beach to watch the stars and crescent moon - I want to smell the salty ocean on your skin. Then when you will try to light that f*****g Goldflake and put it between your lips, I will th
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Soundarya Sabun Nirma

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It was a ruthless day when I discovered my real identity. As a teenager, I struggled through hot girls, rich girls, and famous-for-nothing girls. I often felt like a lost puppy in the crowd of bitches. Amidst the ting-tong of Doordarshan commercial, finally, one day I found answers to all my questions. My ray of enlightenment was none other than - Nirma Soap Ad. This karmic journey started the day my cousin infused the thought that a soap defines you. He bathed with Dettol as he was a cleanliness freak. And I should choose a soap that fits my character. When I gleefully jumped at being Liril Girl, he looked with disdain. With one hand he pointed at Preity Zinta’s poster and with other towards the mirror. I nodded. I had no dimples or shorts to be that cool. Even the bottom of my skirt was triple folded to adjust my growing height and our middle-class income. On that day of summer vacation, my arduous journey began. If there is a soap that my fits my short-rounded-desperate
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