Bombay Days.
21.10.2008
‘The world keeps happening.’ The only sentence apt to describe this city. Somehow all of this does not matter, because in some weird way all my sense fly away and all the words are written down….I have a dream…a voice…I’m hanging on to something I know nothing off…It really doesn’t matter what I think and do, it’s what I feel and do that matters. Home? It’s an absolutely alive place that has managed to scare me and yet make it seem like a home. It’s suffocating not able to see a horizon. 21.10.2008
It’s always him-me, she-me, hers-mine, his-mine, theirs-mine, Them-Me…Comparison!!! I am confused. 24.10.2008
The train should not stop. No.. 20.10.2008
I am not searching for a living. But…20.10.2008
I am always getting ready to explain why or what I did…I always have a fabricated excuse….the point is to create what I want and how I want it. If the train never stops, I will never know where I’m going and will never be force to end or begin. Who cares if I do not become “professionally” able in everything I try. Then it shall be done with no sarcasm and cynicism. It’s the point of putting pen on paper and leaving the words and lines to flow. I am only what I feel. 
21.10.2008
I’m only as free as I feel. I am not going home! A complete part of me has been left within four wall of pink in a completely different city. If the point of being is to make a fool oneself. It limits one expression to a certain set of words. Every time I hear your voice in my head I cannot wait to write you down. But wishes are merely wishes, because if they weren’t I would have got off the train, because one must do what they have to do most of the times. Bluh blaaah bloooh! Language is starting to sicken me. 22.10.2008
It really hurts till the center of my tummy that I made of no talent or beauty at all. 27.10.2008 What is the whole damn point??? 20.10.2008
Watching out of the train at the expanse of the sea we were travelling on: Like a million people standing very close to each other, between the cities stands a smog dome. I am looking for a medium of ’search’. It seems like ages since I’ve put pen on paper or fingers on keys. To do I need no thought.
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