Prose before hos

Last minute rush

A few weeks ago, I (thought) I'd disabled this page and the last entry was in the same vein. Of course, women in stem had a late realisation that not only is this page active but that very embarrassing last post is fucking public.

Since then I've had a few life-altering things go down, including, but not limited to—

Seeing Dua Lipa live. I might swing the other way if she's an option

Hating carpeted hotel rooms. I don't know but it's finally happened

Pav Bhaji. Don't understand the fuss (anymore)

Embracing obesity. It's not bad when you accept you'll never fit in your hot clothes again

Accepting passive behaviour in relationships, it is what it is sorta thing

Baking cake(s) once every week, to have some semblance of control over my life, that nothing else seems to give besides baking

Cutting friends loose. Long incoming, so long

Smoking up with vertigo is a terrible idea

Getting stuck in a corset in a trial room is a worse idea

Understanding that promotion has nothing to do with your desire, effort, hard work, and capability. Everything boils down to circumstances, how liked you vs the other person and the budget allocation

It's not personal until your boss feels it is personal

Mad Men has aged well but is still a heartbreaking show to re-watch. 10/10 recommended while moaning and whimpering about the Winter rains in the city

Texting someone you once dated isn't the worst idea, as long as you keep it to non-verbal meme exchange

Wondering if I can truly be just friends with someone I once loved or still do. It's a difficult prospect but life doesn't always (or ever) swing the way you want and losing some people is harder than losing others

Watching your parents grow old is an uncontrollable, deeply upsetting and isolating thing that no one should have to go through alone but some of us have to

Accepting that there will be days you'll be sick in hospital alone and nobody will come rescue you because you chose your cards that way

Astrologers are always a bad fucking idea. Spend money on green

Some people moved from Olivia Rodrigo to Sabrina Carpenter while I moved from Sabrina Carpenter to Taylor Swift to Charli XCX to Billie Eilish and it is okay to guess the colour of underwear

F1 stops being fun when your favourite driver is thrown out mid-season

You feel like a child of divorce when you watch your other favourite driver and favourite team part

To more shitty realisations, next year.

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, by Snobster

Things that I would tell you, if we spoke like usual

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, by Snobster

In anger, dating's a losing game

Foam

I need to absorb my anger, I need to grow out of blaming people for what they've put me through and instead, look outwards and onto new things.

Resentment has defined the tonality of my relationships—nearly each important person in my life and I've had a moment of bitterness (a moment only if we're lucky) but it is transcending onto something stronger and I can feel it in my bones, burning.

It's trauma, it's a whole pile of shit that I've balanced for far too long and everything is coming down.

You know what's worse? It's all falling down to the tune of the least inconvenient bit, the one that is supposed to make no difference. I suppose the most silent farts are the smelliest so that's that. I'm currently in a room of rotting relationships, each worse than the last.

My heart bleeds when I think of where I am and how I've come here but I don't know how else to be. It'd be like doing a disservice to myself if I fake being okay with things or people or circumstances. Unfortunately, it boils over when I'm PMSing so I guess we knew today was going to be a day.

I don't know but something about being the person I was last year makes me miss myself the most. I was heartbroken and deeply sad but not angry. I was not reactive nor was I acting out of uncontrollage rage and pure hatred. I was operating from a space of tender love, care, thought and detail.

In a year, I've traded everything for anger. I've cut relationships, some important and most trivial without a thought, I'm in process of writing others out. In the last one month I've met so many people who probably did very little to irk me in the past and it made me realise how my anger got the better of me then to cut myself out and hideout. Today, when I look back at them, I see what I'm doing, but the best part is, I'm unable to stop myself. It's like participating in arson when you're in a burning house yourself. Let me burn some sage, why not keep myself warm in the midst of fire— like I can see I'm self-destructive and yet I'm on it.

This morning, I was burning with seething passion and trying my best to keep it in. I don't even know why, but I think this journey will last me a lifetime, everything I experienced through the 1.5 hour ride. Not a moment of it felt normal. Everything felt stretched and loud and I would wipe the whole experience if I could but I lived with it and everything reminded me of a time from last year that I wouldn't want to be in.

It's a loop, I get angry when I reach out and I don't get the response I am expecting, I cut people, I self isolate, I get angry when people reach out and I don't give the response people deserve and then I self-isolate out of hatred to myself. I lose in both scenarios, except in one I drive myself to anger and in the other to insanity.

I need to whack my uterus out of my body so I can feel like myself but I guess it'll take it's time. How many good fertile years do I even have in me now? 10 at best? Do I have to nurture this rage until then? I'll lose my whole fucking mind.

Anyway, the bloat and the medicines might kill me before so either way, it's an angry road to hell and I'm running to it.

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, by Snobster

In baddies get saddies, love and forgiving

Post-nap, Pre-bed sedatives

Feels like 90s supermodel in my head; strike a pose

Milk Chocolate Matte > Nutmeg Lips > Candy Kisses > Stolen and sloppy

What would Ghungroo have been like and would I have probably met the love of my life there, or would I have gone there post-divorce? Should I run a google search to understand the interiors so I can imagine that solo-fantasy land better?

Would have been a different life if my parents were the socialising kind and would do Ghungroo dates instead of cheesy, intimate shit they did

Should I convert ~~letters to him~~ journal into a web series skeleton? Who will play me? Ugh, I hope it's not a moral lesson on being fat and being in love with yourself because nobody including myself is in love with me. Ugh.

Man, how do I break the ice? Should I even break the ice? Is he genuinely sick of me or what the fuck? Should I ask him? I don't want to be an ass.

A warm touch of nutmeg coloured lips on the cheek, kissing me, an expired bath-oil fragrance that I hunt for in every person's touch and rarely ever find in my comfort zone

Old houses in South Delhi, comforting to know love exists even when people cease to

Liquid eyeshadow triumps all but my eyes have aged, I can feel it when I use make-up

Almost don't want to use make-up cause I can feel I have aged, with the skin really not behaving the way I'd like to

What happened to Natasha Singh and why didn't anyone write scathing pieces on the people who compelled her to do what she did and why did they instead hyperfixate on an SSR to the point it made me want to give up on the internet?

Why and how have I sucked at F1 fantasy this bad?

What did I have to google?

Why do I think the birthday gift I got is kinda lame and shitty. UGH.

WHY AM I ACTUALLY BROKE THIS MONTH AND HOW DID I SHOP LIKE THIS TO BE AT A POINT WHERE I OWE MY PARENTS MONEY AND HAVE MORE EXPENSES LINED UP?

What do I wear to my old school friend's wedding? I can't believe she invited me, what a doll.

Ugh, can't believe my friend from college turned out to be a sour puss. Wonder what everyone's wearing at the wedding?

Ugh, do I have anyone from college in my life besides Sinner? How have I become the Anurag Kashyap of my group when everyone has Barjatya lifestyle?

Shaloo is a dumb name but Sheetal is a pretty name.

I wonder if kids with the name "Shit" are bullied at school?

Why do I think of my school so often?

Sister Joyce telling me, "your eggs are flying" will never not be legendary. Especially around Easter.

Should I crash without wiping my make-up off and brushing my teeth? I'm sick and not like my boyfriend is caressing me to sleep so I need to look good in my comatose after-life.

That 5 pm nap was solid but waking up to a dry phone was like someone shot me in my head, unannounced. Bet Mr G felt the same way.

I'll miss my sister and I barely spent any time with her.

I barely did anything except be fucking sick and give everyone a scare about my health.

I should sleep.

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, by Snobster

In angry, boy bye

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

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, by Snobster

In memories like mammaries,

Fleeting Joys

I'm chasing happiness in moments that I know I can never live again.

There used to be a small Dhaba near my place. Growing up, my parents would take my sister and I nearly every Tuesday for years . We'd order the same South Indian lunch and the owner along with his staff would feed us lovingly. I must have been 13-15 when we did this, and we carried this tradition out until the restaurant shut. I remember trying the alternative, another Dhaba in the same complex that never hit the same way. It wasn't the food (though I still dream of the lime pickle they served with their parottas) but it was a sense of feeling safe. Like, nothing could ever change or go wrong and everything would be the same.

I believe my mum chased this similar feeling about her going to school. I've always found it odd to hear her say how she loved her school and everything about it. My mum's had a difficult adult life, in hindsight it does make sense when I put things in perspective. Perhaps school is where she felt safe and that nothing could ever go wrong. Even if it did, it was under control.

The eating out ritual for me was the closest thing I experienced to love and spirituality as a shared familial bond. I don't think I trust temples or places of worship as much as I do with restaurants and food joints. It means we are going to forge a new layer of love and trust with each other over things I love. My mum always tells me that food is more important to me than it is to her, perhaps it's because it gives me a reason to wake up every day and fill my heart with hope that my soul might be nourished with an emotional bond in there, somewhere.

Earlier today, I passed several school buses with school children dressed in their uniforms. Definitely seemed like they were headed for some event (private bus, at an odd hour). I don't think I've focused on a school bus since trying to track my erstwhile crush in his school bus since I was 15 but I did observe the faces today—overjoyed, carefree and in oblivion. I can't say they'd feel the same but I can speculate that the distraction of a field day out of school could beat everything.

I remember looking forward to school picnics, a day we could be ourselves and find joy in connecting with people we called our own. The closest I've come to re-living that feeling is when I'm out with friends I love, cherish and trust. I spent the day with an old school friend (who's featured in these now archived posts from '07) and later with girls from college. I trust these people with my life, they've been there for me when I was thrown out of a house in a different city (long story) and when I was dumped on a WhatsApp text in class (long story).

Today, while I lived through the sinking feeling that my relationship is past its expiration date I felt a sense of life breathing into me with the girls through the day. It was nothing out of the ordinary; a catch up over Boba, another round of drinks with a different group at a rooftop bar and later, an unexpected text from an old school friend inviting me to her wedding and pre-wedding function ("I want you to network cause why not"). I felt grateful for everyone who made me feel safe and secure during a tough, unexpected period.

I don't know why but that lunch hang with my parents keeps coming back to me. Maybe, that's the last time I felt like everything will be okay and that there's going to be people I love and trust around me. In the last 48 hours I found my safe space disappearing and since then I'm holding on to every interaction with a sense of gratitude. On the plus side, I'm looking out for myself, something I'd lost the sight to see but god, I'm going to chase this sense of love lost when I'm past the grief for losing it.

I'll fondly remember the shared dictionary of love and camaraderie we built over time. I'll remember getting called out for being cold and I'll miss the cold hearts we exchanged as we got to know each other. I'll probably miss it all.

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, by Snobster

In my boy only breaks his favourite toys,

Lifeboat

Days get presumably shorter after my birthday. It's the one event that marks the end of Summer and usually the romance it brings. I could have been looking out for my Winter cuff but I'm well-fed, or so I thought.

"What does he mean when he says this?"

"It just means you need to look out for yourself and this isn't good news."

I cried uncontrollably. My whole body felt like it was going to break. There was a cake interruption. "Your sister is in town so we should do your birthday together" seemed like a novel idea till I realised I looked like I'm at my funeral in the cake-cutting photographs post. "How was your weekend?" Just spent in emotionally regulating myself, how about you? How else does one explain this eclipse season.

The journal saw a return, the support system was invoked. "Man, I'm so sorry to call you at this hour" interspersed with snots and sobs, friends' "We are giving it another shot" was marked with my interruption of, "I think he's calling things off."

At some point I found myself getting short, "If you want to call things off, just go ahead and do it. Don't go around in circles." Cold brew is a lie, I slept for 8 hours straight and woke up feeling spent, like I'd pulled an all nighter. He slept like a log, I'm grateful for that. He once told me that he can't get much sleep and it's rare for him to sleep through the night. "Must be the biscuits," he remarked. Has to be me, bitch. I fell for that one, right there.

A few years ago, a man had said same things to me which led to our long-incoming break-up; not the biscuits but whatever else was said.

I was surprised at my response when I revisited that conversation in the light of what happened between us. In a way, I had been cruel, but not without cause. This time around I was measured; emotional reactiveness low and emotional support high. I wish I could do the same for me. Instead, I slathered my legs with Almond Shower Oil and threw in the most expensive perfume with a t-shirt and nothing else. Not about to wear expensive make-up if I'm going to be broken up with, lessons from my 20s I carry within me. Despite that, felt like he's almost glad to see me disheveled. Perhaps, I wasn't as proud of my choice when I saw two Brat summer chicks walking past me in fancy af outfit. A lot for coffee, if I'd done but not so much to show that I still got it. Another day, another slay.

It was strange to hear the question that had been going in my head. One that I had cried answering earlier that evening, "because I don't think I could have done everything this year the way I did, without him," and when I heard that again, it took all the courage to not have my voice break. "Why do you look angry?" I don't know. I shouldn't have napped. I shouldn't have journalled so hard.

There were other questions, ones I wasn't prepared for. It's like going to school and finding out you have a surprise test, an oral recitation and you're grossly underprepared. I hadn't felt a lot of feelings nor had a chance to prepare a well-rounded answer. He was mindful to catch that within seconds, "getting fidgety, are we?" I could have hugged him in that second if I wasn't caught red-handed in my nervousness about not knowing an answer. Either way, seeing someone call me out and perhaps catch me unaware was refreshing.

Yet, there's a nagging feeling. I woke up feeling heavy. It shouldn't have been that way. I felt angry. If he knew he wasn't doing right by me then why was he still doing it? Was this a reminder that I deserve better or an acknowledgement that he hasn't stepped up yet? I should sleep. There was no cold-brew and I'm sleepier than usual. Maybe I'll wake up with another perspective, one that shapes this piece into the lack of editing and forming coherent dialogues and maybe I'll feel better soon.

Don't take things for granted, kids. One day someone's gonna come and take your lifeboat of hope away and you'll be floating with a unicorn float all alone in an ocean full of muck and dirt without anyone to save you.

Welcome to 33, you have no metabolism, no energy to give and no fucks left in you.

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, by Snobster

Pages

Prose before hos

Last minute rush

Things that I would tell you, if we spoke like usual

Foam

Post-nap, Pre-bed sedatives

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Fleeting Joys

Lifeboat

About the Author

Lurk Here

Pages

Prose before hos

Last minute rush

Things that I would tell you, if we spoke like usual

Foam

Post-nap, Pre-bed sedatives

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Fleeting Joys

Lifeboat

About the Author

Lurk Here

Hos in Different Area Codes

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