Weekly Captures



Writing Is Pooping

You feel light after writing. You feel relieved after ranting about something that’s been hogging on your grey cells the entire day or more. Hence, writing is like pooping. Waste within you goes out. If you don’t write then you feel intellectually constipated. And much like bowel constipation, intellectual constipation is chronic and painful. Please forgive the gross but fitting comparison. Now if you would care to read further, this piece is a very contemplative, non-joking affair. Continue reading “Writing Is Pooping”

Absent minded, talking on the phone, I felt the weight of eyes upon me. It was a train station, many people exchanging glances, so didn’t think twice about it. I had been standing at the same spot for quite some time now, facing the same wall, on my phone all the while. It was curiously irritating to feel watched for so long so I turned around to look at my visual assailant square in the eyes. It was a security guard. He gave me a suspicious look and walked away. Mentally shrugging, turned back to the conversation and the wall and realised why I had piqued the guard’s interest. The spot on the wall I had been facing, had a poster on it. The poster showcased three men wanted for unintelligible crimes. The watchful security guard had probably judged me a dubious character based on my choice in posters!

I laughed aloud at the thought. Staring at a most wanted poster, I had culminated into a suspicious individual! Most intriguing and insightful episode, this. Interesting is the society-inherent concept of right and wrong. The altering of social psychology due to … a lapse of concentration coupled with a rationalising mind.

The Arabic Menu

So I was strolling down the road, in my hand I had a restaurant’s menu written in Arabic language. Someone had slipped it under the door to my house and I found it lying on the floor when I got back home. I was on the way to a pharmacy to buy some medicines for my roommate who was having a really bad headache. We’d eaten pizzas an hour before and I could hear him throwing up in the bathroom. So I thought I’d go buy some real dinner and get pills for this guy’s headache.

Continue reading “The Arabic Menu”

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