When Shahrukh Khan makes you post at 5 o'clock in the morning, as he dances on top of a train in a rhythmic fervor singing to you about his lady love who reminds him of a fragrance as she speaks a language which is soft and expressive like Urdu, how can you then not believe in Love?
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
“I really like you, Midori. A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
“Like a spring bear,” I said.
“A spring bear?” Midori looked up again. “What’s that all about? A spring bear.”
“You’re walking through a field all by yourself one day in spring, and this sweet little bear cub with velvet fur and shiny little eyes comes walking along. And he says to you, “Hi, there, little lady. Want to tumble with me?’ So you and the bear cub spend the whole day in each other’s arms, tumbling down this clover-covered hill. Nice, huh?”
“Yeah. Really nice.”
“That’s how much I like you.”
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
I would like to fancy that I'm getting addicted to a certain kind of sadness- fast becoming a way of my life. I've been reading Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood and the protagonist's straightforwardness makes me restless. Murakami fills page after page with such sincerity and ease, that it almost breaks my heart. He's not to blame though, hearts break too easily. My cellphone blips a name after a long time, conviction follows suit of my heart and drip drip drip. I'm turning into the kind of woman I didn't think I would.
"Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty-the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.
So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight."