Arbit, random and foolish.

Somethings cannot be shared. And I am not speaking of razors and small clothes.
There cannot be two first persons you think of for an SOS call - whether of the physical, spiritual or metaphysical kinds. That privilege in life is pure and unadulterated (Ek dam parachute nariyal tel ki tarah).
Sometimes life looks like it is alternatively playing the roles of a witch and (insert a rhyming word). I mean, how is one supposed to choose between a kuan and a khai? Or between jalebi and soan papdi? But given that we only have one mouth and one heart, sometimes we must. And it gets difficult in the least. Downright agonising in the worst.
As I write this in a moving taxi, I realise that the gentlemanliness is not all lost in the taxi drivers of Mumbai. This taxi driver just stopped and waved at a passerby giving him the way to cross. Kudos paa ji!
Meanwhile, this folded-in-two A5 sheet looks like the haldi ghati of a 1000 ants. It is the strongest form of encryption known to humankind, mastered by that species called doctors. Come to think of it, there are so many 'ycin's, 'amide's and 'oxes' that removing a few letters will get you a birth control pill instead of cough syrup.
Sometimes, you encounter something so precious, you don't want so share it with anyone. In this maddeningly complicated world, where chain reaction happen as often in relationships as they do in nuclear reactors.
While I try to adjust the Thorium rods in my reactor, aap sunein aaj ka gaana. . .

Aur aahista, keejiye baatein,
Dhadkanein koi
sun raha hoga...