Saturday, February 28, 2009

So I write in afternoons. It's nice to wake up in the morning and know that you don't have to do something because you have to. It's fun to forgive your past and listen to Dylan's To Ramona and see winter dying in front of my window. It's good to remember all the things and then not give a fuck. It's good to meet new people and forget yourself in them and then sleep in your bed alone. We wonder the what-ifs, but the what-ifs are swollen and lifeless. Words and more words, cam you write every single day with a hope that you're making sense, when you know there is no meaning in anything else. Yet it's beautiful as how I remember your eyes but now there are too many distractions and bitten fingertips.
I went for Siddharth Dhanvany Shanghvi's The Lost Flamingos of Bombay and the reading was horrid, yet if you like your literature to be written, prepared and read out as soft-porn, that's up to you.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Awesome line --- "see winter dying in front of my window." As for Flamingoes, I hv really been wanting to read it for sometime.... hope it's good enough. Anamika

1:41 PM, March 02, 2009  
Anonymous shesturningblue said...

"winter dying in front of my window."
lovely, what an incredible line.

7:56 PM, March 03, 2009  
Blogger randomrobin said...

At least you have the liberty to see the winter dying in front of your window.
Some people don't even get that. :)

5:59 PM, March 13, 2009  
Anonymous Product Junkie said...

Frankly i loved SDS's first book. They guy is a vivid storyteller.

With 'Lost Flamingoes' he's lost his touch. The book starts with a promise but ends up being a mish mash of the Jessica Lal case and a few other incidents that grabbed the news.

12:49 AM, June 14, 2009  

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