it melts.
and forms a gooey mess
on the floor.
step on it,if you will
or gently pass it by.

the mirror has grown a new face.and it refuses to go away.she stares at it,willing it to go away.it just stares back.

it has a voice too these days.says things like,"your hair looks flat today.what did you,do comb it too hard?"
or,"when will your pimples stop?"
or,"hehehe,your nose is ridiculously big."
or,"don't smile too much.your teeth shows.did you know you have uneven teeth?"

and all she says is,"is it?do i ?"

the previous mirror was nicer.paid more compliments.
and when critical,it would limit itself to calling her fat...say"uh uh.fat day.wear black".

the only thing this mirror likes about her is her eyes.

"my eyes?"she protests."besides being myopic,they are slightly cross-eyed.and one is smaller than the other.and one eyebrow is higher than the other.how can you possibly like them?
AND the kaajal never stays put.it always smudges."

"they 're nice ",it says.

"nice?just nice?"

"well half a loaf...."
thats another thing.this one is way too proverb-quoting.rather irritating.

she has to get a more flattering mirror.
one thats not proverbial.

disclaimer no. 1:she is not me

disclaimer no.2:
eating alone,
my alphabet soup,
speaks to me.

these words are not mine.
by brenda s. duster

if she had half a brain she would hate this city.if it werent for these city-streets she wouldnt be thinking about him.or obsesssing about him.nor would she confess,far too much, to this new found confidante.
yup its all her fault.stupid city.

she has other memories too,you know.pleasant ones.of early morning solitary walks to coaching class.she'd be walking down the pavement, hands in her pocket,a little lonely perhaps ,but happy...and she'd hear someone call her name from far away.she'd turn around,smiling, happier to find someone to walk with.
lots of other memories in fact;of bonding over junk jewellery. or pretty shoes that you have to have,but can't afford.of heart to hearts, at wintry dusk,over tea that costs Rs 1.25p

but she doesnt think of those anymore.now everything ledas her back to him.all the roads and by-lanes keep going back to just this one place.

him,who she'd rather forget.or not talk about.nor obsess about.

yup its all her fault.stupid city.

a lot of my life is planned around this one thing right now.if "this" happens then i will
1)get a mobile
2)tell my parents about the guy i'm seeing
3)blog more often
4)quit smoking
5)learn to play the guitar
6)read\finish books that i was too impatient to read before
7)stick to my diet
8)start daily riyaaz again......
the list is endless
but the thing is ...that it might not happen.what will i do then?besides being utterly devastated that is .
what if all these neat sandcastles that i made come to nought?
i am really really scared.

its a strange feeling of disconnection.as if the voice in her head can't reach her tongue.or her fingers .
the lines have somehow snapped.so that no matter what she writes,or says,it seems forced.and alien.andthe voice always disagrees.

the rest of the times,its like being in a play.just sit back and enjoy.
watch the pompous ass swell up with pride at saccharine flattery.
watch the otherwise levelheaded college student reduced to a bashfultongue tied wimp.
laugh out loud when she identifies with and is teary-eyed at corny love ballads.
smile conspiratorially, when she doesnt get the joke,which is onher.

there is just so much to smile about these days.

happy new year, people!