the diary of a romantic- II

It doesn’t follow any set instructions. Does not come with a user’s manual, or a warrantee for that matter.
some days you are a tough cookie with the world fastened to your shoelace and on others you are a soddy piece of muffin, friable, out of place with the slightest touch.
all of it comes with just one certainty, JUST a single dogmatic certainty—It gets ugly, at SOME point. Time and again.
so there I was in a self-inflicted oblivion, and no doubt charmed to my toenails, counting on to what was for sure promised on the cover. It always is, by the principle of a Gaussian curve forsooth.
I had seen people cower, deny, lie, cheat, escape. They in essence made me sick to my soul, but when faced with such a probability I couldn’t help but be vulnerable myself.
BY the usual protocol, I start questioning my choices, cower, lie, and cheat. No, I don’ t escape, at least I think I do not . Until one day, it all withers away on its own.
the same old vicious circle.
I’ve had my share of tears, to an extent that I barely cry now.Its pathetic.period.
Dry eyes can be such bitches.
so what now..
what’s this?
shared passions? Astrology? Food ?

“what do you think is the matter with the 0.1% bacteria that dettol cannot kill?”
“I don’t know, he’s from Rajnikant’s spit??”

“have you read Aatish Taseer by any chance?”
“I LOVE HIM!!”
“*sighs*”

“The beatles, Leonard Cohen, Frank Sinatra?”
“Geeta Dutt, Gulzar, and Celtic folk songs…”

“we aren’t really cheesy are we?”
“Oh baby, we sure are not..”

“*ahem* I don’t share my food, NOT even the omlette”
“sure, I’ll have the tomatoes then.”

“flirt around please, you look so happy when you do..”

“my sole says hi..”
*wiggling toes at the screen* “hiiiii!!”

You are hell bent on being your old garden-variety-pessimist, what with 10,000 miles and a tiny plastic blue sword.
, and suddenly the shuffle picks ,

“maybe there’s a God above, but all I’ve ever learnt from love,
is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya,
its not a cry that you hear at night,
its not somebody who’s seen the light ,
it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah ‘

which leaves you wondering,
just like before,
the rains that you somehow could never love,
the unexpected winters
a few more unexpected gifts life has had in store,
fights over photographs
, crossword dates,
and one pina colada too many.

that rock-solid fact.
you keep on mapping out your destiny,
waiting for miracles to happen
but life doesn’t give you miracles ,
it gives you chances.
and this,
is the only one

So you clasp your hair into a neat bun,
put on your reading glasses,
and finally,
wait for that call.