Kamna's Blog

Long simple stories with happy endings Short complicated stories with sad endings Faces of strangers with familiar smiles Familiar faces with strange smiles Beautifully written short sentences Thrillingly written long paragraphs Perfectly straight queueing by tiny black ants Random scattering by red ants Not knowing where your mind is Knowing where your mind is A lingering look from warm affectionate eyes A short look from cold unloving eyes A peaceful minute of standing under a shower A sheer second of water unexpectedly splashed Writing leisurely in cursive with pencil Writing hastily in block letters with pen Patiently undoing a particularly tight drawstring Impatiently undoing a particularly tight drawstring Cool water after roaming about under the sun Cool water after freezing outside in the snow Slow paced solo walking on unexplored paths Fast paced group walking on unexplored paths Sleeping and dreaming Resting your eyes and incessantly thinking Fasting ...

On Monday I measured the homo goblin's haemoglobin I tried thinking of things to do to on my two thousandth Tuesday in town I bumped into Arti on Wednesday, finding her choking on an artichoke Thirteen towels tumbled towards the tapestry on the Thursday Fashionably freaky friends fried some fries on the freezing Friday And I found Saturdays were best suited to snoozes and snuggles And when came Sunday I found the good booze to guzzle

Last week, I was rudely awakened at 6 am. I virtually spewed in the dark jabbing my stubby fingers all over the touch keypad of my phone shortly after : Is there nobody in this entire city who is accountable for this nuisance? Not a single officer who is promised a fancy promotion to ensure noise levels stay under a certain number of decibels? Not a single constable whose job it is go check year on year, the death toll of the animals, the deaf cases, the accidents caused during this Wonderful festival of lights? What is the purpose of this? Which God is being appeased? Is this not terrorism? How is this forgivable? When did the Festival of Lights become a Festival of Noise? Why does it have to noisy to be fun? What kind of person or groups of people take pleasure in this? Is he a sadist, is he someone who is only partaking in this because it is "cool" or "fun"? Is there a lack of entertainment options for these people in a city of Mumbai? What will it take...

The situation is dire. India is just too ill-equipped in preparation of the impending water crisis. I want to significantly increase the catchment of freshwater resources with the aid of sustainable and modern water harvesting techniques. Artificial lakes should be made. Look at Dubai with her fake beaches. Powai lake is a living example of one. Why can't we identify more such properties and do it? Why can't each building, each open space have a big-ass tanky on the top? It's always worth considering observing sensible governance adopted by countries who have been taking the lack of water as a resource seriously. Australia is a remarkable example. What I love about them is that they charge everybody for water. The concept of having to pay for water in your monthly maintenance bill in the urban areas is something that could help control wastage. The miser in each one of us will probably be far more conscious about water being wasted if we are made to explicitly pay for...

I am, and always have been, for as long as I can recall, utterly smitten by the moon. Nothing else is quite shocking, that blatantly reminding of the fact that we are a part of something beyond daily absurdities. Why I'm writing about my Moon Affinity (Moonity)? Because I am awake much earlier than expected on a public holiday and I've had a message from my sister asking me why both my status and profile picture on WhatsApp is about the moon. And because I gave her such a detailed reply, it only triggered the writer in me and I knew I would have to come and spew it all on this vastly ignored blog. My relationship with the moon has been cultivating itself from a very young age. My earliest memory of the moon is reading about it with my sister in this cute children's book. It was probably a different story or poem but I keep thinking it was in the same book or part of the story where there is a shoehouse where the house is a big boot, and people, or some kind of animals, w...

Why I made my blog private for so many months Why I woke up one day and felt like it was something to hide Why I felt like it wasn't readable Just because it felt private all of a sudden? To share with the world so openly my musings To tell stories To write garbled songs of seemingly meaningless (or meaningful) meaning Maybe. But tonight I was reading a post. A really good post I wrote. And I felt like I couldn't relate to the talent that was the writing. The sheer volume of humour. The snide wit. The sneaky punnage. I felt ashamed. And I felt like I shyed away from that writer. And in doing so I forgot how to write. Readership or not, writing doesn't have to stop. But in my case, my writing did stop. My writing depended on the blog being private or public. I think. I really don't know though.

The thing with a love so lovely is that it gives and gives That it refuses to take is so beautifully endearing Such love is purging and ever so sanct It makes you rather than breaks you It releases you rather than freezes you It is wide and deep and calm like the ocean Not like the rapidly flowing river Poor thing never gets to dry her hair The love makes you alive It lets you breathe It never seeks approval, forgiveness or reassurance And it opens your soul It sharpens your mind It is bright like light And it is warm. Like a freshly baked cookie.