Remember me?

I was aimlessly looking at people entering the train. Forming opinions. Judging people on their appearance, the volume at which they talk over their phones, little nitty-gritties about their appearances.
It's fun. And its what most women are amazing at.
That's when I saw her.
She had a troubled look on her face. But that hair.
I wouldn't ever forget that mop of curly hair.
Despite it having been more than 8 years since I had last seen her face.
I go back to 4th grade.
The time when I last saw all of them.
Ofcourse it's her.

I can't be wrong.
(That's what my brain thinks.)
Nevertheless, I ponder over wether it's sensible, the idea of approaching her. I mean we weren't really close as friends.
I remember what my reaction was the last time I saw one of them. I was plain confused about how had my bestfriend from 2nd grade grown up into this beer guzzling, tattooed machine.
(No offence to that prototype.)
I'm still trying to gather the courage.
It's now or never.
Only heavens know when I will meet one of them again.
So I finally get up.
Just that when I look up from my phone, she isn't there.
And Goregaon just went by. She might have gotten off. It strikes me how all of them stayed in Goregaon.
Ofcourse it was her, Rexy. :)

Jumbled.

(Originally was published in July 2012, some stupid glitch in the application has forced me to republish it.) 

It's an uncanny resemblance in all my blog posts that I start with "so, well" initially and later get tweaked to god knows what.
I'm actually jumbled.
This stems from my disorder of thinking excessively.
I create things.
Half of the stuff, of which's occurrence I'm scared about, isn't even there in the first place.
My mind is like a machine, creating fictional situations, all of which aren't exactly possible. But let's face facts, I'm probably a masochist. I mean I keep hurting myself, thinking of the most awful outcomes possible.
And something in my head, tries to  pretend like all of that is happening for real. The end result - Me in a miserable state of mind.
Ah well screw that.

My father ran with me today when I almost missed my bus to school. Avoiding puddles and sprinting way ahead of me, he looked like he might have been blood-related to Usain Bolt.

I felt sorry for myself thinking of my awkward sprint which kept transforming into a jog and then a walk and back to the sprint randomly. Maybe I've taken after the plump side of my family and not after him.
The fact that this statement might be a fact made me curse my genes. :P

When I was sprinting/jogging/walking I called out to him asking him to stop running and walk because I was the one who had to catch the bus. He responded with something which sounds filmy but made me smile for the rest of the day "I'll run to the edge of the world with you"!
Thank you Papa. :)
Even though our relationship threatens to seem like a disaster at times, I'll always love you more than mom. :P