Am back in Pune. Feels good to be back. I'm rather proud that I adapted to conditions in Mumbai...at least the material ones. I have muscle strains in both my legs, first from my tumble on the stairs and then from dancing in stilettoes (have I spelled that right?)

BodoMa died on Monday. I was never close to her, but I've heard stories of her snap and sparkle. And before she went into unofficial coma, I have certain memories of her. How she used to love me in dangly earrings. How she wouldn't allow anyone to help her down the stairs. People are saying it's a good thing she died since she's been a 'vegetable' for years anyway. And it was painless too. I don't know what to think. It depends on how one defines 'living'. Breathing, knowledge, activity...

Wedding's over. No thrills for me, no gushing...nothing as I thought it would be. Am I a failed romantic? Is there any such thing? Why do things matter so little? Ever since January! Even writing. I wish with all my heart that there was familiarity again. Warmth. The cozy feeling of knowing I matter. Talk! God how I miss the conversations? It goes full circle. All the way back to him.

Giving wholly has passed me. With the exception of fatigue and pain, nothing comes to me complete. I'm not a complete slave to my moods yet...but I'm getting there.

Lazy, comfortable days. Drifting into the void of no-routine. There are recurring stabs of the same dagger. Sexually, emotionally, intellectually, intimately. I'm so glad I wrote to Shakun. She never worries me with regard to myself, only with regard to her. Roshni was here for a week. A hectic, peaceful week. We binged. On food, conversation, shopping, sleep, taking photographs, Gael Garcia Bernal, drives and watching the hill. I think we learnt stuff about each other this week.
Love you Rosh :)

Am reading 'Sophie's World' by Jostein Gaarder. The writing is rather amateurish but it's chockfull of ideas. Kind of a very, very simplified 'Intro to Philosophy' course. Movies I've watched include 'Mr and Mrs Smith', 'Parineeta', 'Batman Begins', 'The Motorcycle Diaries', 'Thirteen', 'Finding Neverland', and 'Pay it Forward'. Planning on picking up 'Malena' and 'Loves me, loves me not'.

My 'last' night here. Or is it? I shall remember.
The telephone I called him from...
The breeze through the kitchen window as I washed the dinner dishes...
My room which I permeated so terribly that it carries my stench rather than my essence.
So much has been hurled, so little touched.
I've grown hard and painfully these four years.

A married couple...the wife's a writer. In her own reality. She's writing about an errant husband. Unknowingly she's writing about her own husband's affair, his complexities. In some way, she gets to know her husband intimately through her writing while remaining distant from him in real life...

Peeling charred pieces of skin from my hand.
I felt no revulsion.
Perhaps I'll save them.
Wrap them in virgin paper.

There's need. To be honest, to be soft. I don't understand. I have intelligent, understanding, intimate friends. They would lend an ear if I asked. Why don't I? Am I meant to be a loner? By choice, by circumstance, by socialization?
I wonder if people have conflict regarding what they want to be...and what they want to be known as.