Red ink. On recycled paper.
Singing in the shower.
Snowflakes (never seen one but whatthehell)
Side upper berth of an Indian Railways train.
Train rides, in general.
Mango ice-cream in winters. (yes…they exist)
Watermelon cut into pieces, refrigerated and served.
Fruits, in general. Except pineapple and cantaloupe.
Coffee. Filter. Hot. With froth, please.
Pasta in white sauce (with extra cheese).
Double cheese Margherita pizza.
Cheese slices on a freshly toasted slice of bread. And, butter.
Skirts. And earrings.
Marquez and Neruda.
Words. Poems. Prose. Writing. Fiction writing.
Smelling old books. And new books. And trying to compare it.
Smell of mud before the first rains.
Hand-made greeting cards.
Letters. Reading them. Re-reading them. Writing them. Re-writing them.
Baigan bhurta. And cooking it for someone special.
Cotton saris. Better: hand me downs from mum.
The message that reads “your account has been credited”.
Decisions. Making them. Sticking to them.
Getting wet in the rain for over ten minutes.
Missing the train/metro/bus.
Forgetfulness about a particular song’s tune or lyrics.
Bargaining with the local vendor.
Shortage of cash just when you need it.
Inability to sleep when I want to.
Writer’s Block (yeah…let’s personify it please).
Grammatical errors (not a Grammar Nazi, though. Yet).
Forgetting headphones on a day of long travel.
Shopping. In general (except for skirts and earrings).
When Internet goes in the middle of an important download (songs from the film Mohra, for example).
People not returning the books they borrowed.
Public displays of affection.
Public. In general. Ugh.
Compulsion to get married.
Compulsion to have a baby.
Compulsion to do anything in life. Coercion, basically.
Inability to remember a dream.
People making faces and imposing weird rules on menstruating days.
Pretense. Hypocrisy. Double standards.
The message that reads “your account has been debited”.