Nothing much

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I am in the middle of some work but I will take some time out to write a little bit.

I was just going through the shelves of my bedroom. Now that I am in Bombay, I don't have a room of my own. So I don't get to go to my bedroom anymore. But today I did. I found a notebook in which I had written earlier. You know what I love and hate simultaneously? Notebooks that have so much written and a few empty pages. It's like an invitation to stop everything and purge your soul, writing and writing and writing. I wonder if there is a parallel to do through writing what Buddha did under the tree - meditate and not move and not give up until enlightenment is acquired. 

Long time ago, in college, I had once told a friend that I would like to die after having finished writing a book. Just put in the last word, cap the pen, close the book, settle down in a rocking chair, and go.

But then I changed my dying dream again. I thought of going away parked in one of those nice, quiet, leafy neighborhoods in Juhu. I am sitting in my car, listening to a song. My hair is long and it;s tied in a pony-tail. I don't know why that is important. Except that sometimes these details come to me. In the completed book version of me dying that I have written about earlier, I am wearing a pink pleated skirt. And a thick white shirt with large roses printed on it. I had such an outfit earlier. In college or school I can't remember when I was very very fat and could not fit into jeans. Also, the pleated skirt made me look hippy. It had box pleats. But it was so comfortable. 

I love skirts and dresses. I just love them. And I also like palazzos a whole lot. I don't quite like denims. I don't like anything that is tight or constricting around the navel.

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