I am obsessed:   

with Karan Thapar’s aggression  
with the sounds of Periyar
with fast internet connectivity
with rooftop rides on the catamaran to Ali Baug

with Youtube and Gvideo
with rides on the roller coaster, giant wheel and Tora Tora
with alcohol filled chocolate
with hot, crispy, chicken momos
with steamy, hot water baths
with the perfect man-made waterfall
with spicy Goan fish curry
with the superiority of non-vegetarians
with night-walks at Pheroshah Mehta Garden
with TV journalism
with watching a Sukhoi take-off
with fake romantic thrills
with perfect looking hair
with salt-assorted Guava juice
with swimming pools that have well-coloured water
with stage performances
with chilled nimbu paani
with group dances by Shiamak’s troupe
with musicians and artists
with dog’s tails
with the view from the 16th floor terrace of my buildingwith drawing on wet sand
with the innocence of a horse’s eyes
with playful kitten litters
with Saurav Ganguly’s ‘over-smartness’
with Sajid Shaikh
with chivalrous men
with spello and typo free text
with Fali’s obsession for Elvis

with Shaxeb’s obsession for opera
with Meghna’s obsession for shoes
with the suave-ness of Macintosh PCs
with fully equipped blogs that have impressive traffic figures
with the moving image
with Citizen Kane
with Domino’s Pizza

with swimming doggies: paddle paddle
with Imli
with my AC
with spinning
with working out till you sweat
with feeling sweet-pain after a good workout
with staring at the moon with someone special who is far away from you
with well-composed photography
with tango-teachers
with installation art
with writing on a clean black board with a wet chalk
with my hide outs in school
with poetic writing in prose
with the smell of a new bag
with all my jewellery and precious stones
with well-falling jeans
with beautiful, long fingers
with clean feet
with slumber parties
with rowing
with clean, usable websites

with Lucky restraunt’s biryani and chicken makhanwala
with bungee jumping at Juhu beach
with night trails in a spooky forest
with the sound of a pebble thrown in a lake
with ’sources’ in other countries
with kissing babies
with being kissed by a baby

with Pug dog’s eyes
with holding my mother’s hand
with pulling my brother’s overgrown hair
with being popular, famous and discussed about
with documentary film-making
with the best technology
with a small hut at the lakeside
with Kashmiri house boats
with well groomed Pakistani men
with Uma Thurman
with Urmila acting
with cozy beds and warm blankets
with attention
with my beautiful lips
with goat herds
with fat, Himachali, ‘oh-so-cuddable’ dogs
with eating fried, orange, bony fish
with all kinds of puppets
with magic and magicians
with Karate kathas
with climbing a hill to reach a temple or crossing the sea to reach a mosque
with playing hide-n-seek in a foggy tea garden
with shopping for myself and spending mommies money

with saving all the big bucks I’ve earned safely in my bank (hehehehe)
with speeding BEST buses
with a visible clavicle
with erotica
with candle-light after the wax has started dripping
with buttered beans
with watching the paper I write for, being printed
with making smiley-faced chapatis
with glass-doored kitchens
with painting, only equipped with a new set of paints
with reading a fresh, untouched, un-crumpled, un-moved paper
with Shahid Afridi
with flat abs
with new comments on my blog