i've been up to some prosaic deeds off-late. like mending the undone chain/zipper of my bag. and i really miss the last year, as in pg 1.

left and right the city breeze blows, scattering the scent of the urban rose.

people complain that my blog is devoid of posts...and so it has been of late...i think i'm suffering from emotional anaemia...and every time i think i might just wish to begin liking someone, i suppress it as quickly.

i can't come up with titles

jasmine looked over her wedding jewellery yet another time, sitting on her silent bed, isolated from the boisterous bustle of the rest of her house. the necklace was an ornate affair...a symphony in gold and emeralds...not that she cared much for emeralds...at least that was what she'd told varun on those pleasant evenings which now seemed so distant. her eyes didn't reflect the heaviness of her heart...maybe because she wasn't feeling as bad as one ought to on such occasions...perhaps she was relieved that she was spared the ordeal of an ugly confrontation with her family. or maybe the heavy make up, which was causing beads of perspiration to trickle down and tickle her neck was doing a good job of concealing her grief. she was being given away to an unknown stranger, a man she'd only seen posing against a huge car in a flashy photograph. and to think she used to squirm at the mere mention of an arranged marriage! or had she secretly accepted this as an inevitability, through out the long years she dated varun? maybe latching on to varun was her devised method of keeping this final truth in abeyance? i can't make up my mind. and what am i doing imposing my fertile imagination on a woman who might be a perfectly prosaic, formerly unattached bride? i move away from the open door of her bedroom, leaving her to admire her jewels in peace...and turn away quickly, before my mind concocts a new story.