I love CANDY.

I like all sweets, all sweets are just like any other sweets but haribo is better than all sweets. Because sweets are sweet but haribos are nice, if you had given me a choice of haribo or some type of sweet (which is sweet) i would choose haribo. Its like orange is orange, which is why it’s called orange. So that’s why i like haribo because they’re not just sweets, they’re haribo sweeties, but sweeties and sweets are not the same thing, because sweet is a taste and sweeties are blocks of sweet made from stuff. So i love haribo!
Okay then… well that question is totally like the hardest question EVER… Candy… Floss is absolutely LUSH, back when i was a youngster id love to try and fit all the candy in my mouth at once and let it melt down into sugar… mmm... I was a fatty! : D Sweets… anything good to suck on… rhubarb and custard, kola cubes, rosy apples e.t.c!!! I like to chew it chew it i like to chew it! Chewits rule…: D YES!!! But the best of the best of the best has to be CHOCOLATE… Sorry but chocolate out rules candy and sweets any day. Though i guess its candy ...: S Nehoo.s CADBURY Chocolate… WOO YEH WOO!!! IT’S Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!!!!!
POPROCKS!!!! BECAUSE… BECAUSE… THEY POP!! AND THEY ROCK!! AND IF YOU PUT THEM IN A CUP OF SQUASHED ICE… AND… AND… TELL PEOPLE TO LOOK IN THE CUP… OUCH! THEIR EYE MIGHT GET POPPED ROCKED!!! MUAHAHAHAHA!!! (Based on a true story...) DID I ALSO TELL YOU THEY ARE FULL OF SUGAR AND OTHER THINGS THAT MAKE ME HYPERACTIVE?! YAY! BOUNCE! BOUNCE! (Get Abhik some Prozak maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan....)
My name is Abhik, and I am candy-holic. Despite being an admitted candy-holic, I’d like to point out that there is a fine line between being a candy junkie, and a candy aficionado. Ah hell, who am I kidding – there’s no distinction. I’ll eat it all! Jujubes, Popeye Cigarettes, Nerds, and Liquorice sticks, Shoelace Gum, Hershey’s Kisses, Sponge Toffee, and Mr. Freezies – my kingdom for some Sweet Tarts! Oooh, I’m salivating like Pavlov’s dog just thinking about it all! For a quick fix, I’ll scarf down a giant heap of penny candy; but when I’m feeling extra naughty, I’ll linger over a few of the most outrageously expensive, delectably sinful hand-made chocolate truffles. Either way, the euphoric wave that washes over me as the insulin rushes through my veins bringing me to the very edge of pure ecstasy, is the same blissful feeling of exhilaration that can’t be obtained by any other means than the simple, sweet, sugary delight of candy.
Yummy ......Just been i robbed barista of their sugar sachets last night ...and i downed almost 70 of them since 8 this morning ....and gee thanks i love you two
Haiku for sweets”unwrap chocolate chemicals rush to my brain antioxidants”
I am certifiably CRAZY. What's with the rushing burst of glucose-drenched words..Willy Wonka paid me a visit in your sleep last night? Or did I drown in a tub of melted Sour Punk and emerge with sticky, treacle-laced eyes, strips of Lindt for fingers and hazelnuts for fingertips? Jello-O spikes in place of hair, and evil, glinting M&Ms for eyes? Or did I shave with Sainsbury's cream instead of Gillette? OR ARE I JUST TRIPPING ON ACID?

After Tonight

After tonight, will you return to love me? We looked at each other across the table and the vibe was right my knuckles ached with anticipation as you walk across the room to come over and ask me for a dance. I’m frankly overwhelmed; it’s been a long time since I danced with a stranger. We link arms and walk towards the car. You the perfect gentlemen hold the door open for me, when we arrive at the hotel. I don’t expect anything but you surprise me. We drink wine and look at each other again and then the ritual eases and we touch your fingers and my fingers your lips and mine. You caress my hair and I yours. The moon shines through the porch doors as you kiss my lips. We kiss for what seems like eternity. Lieing in your arms make me feel like I’m in a warm safe. I don’t want to walk away now I want to claim the rest of the night as a dream that is unfolding like a vision. You look into my eyes and I know you’re the only one who I will come back to. The memory of your face wants me to run from the emptiness of this place and run right back into the moon lite porch into those arms which are mine. We lay naked in each others arms till the moon turned into sun and till we slept and dreamt of heaven in each others embrace. I’ll still be standing here when you come back for me. I will never be happy with any other lover as I have experienced your love.

To me!

Despite the hollowness, I am happy. Yes happy.
No really I don’t mind the emptiness.
The time of meeting my inner dialogue is over.
Really no mistakes now, I run my hands through my clean hair and I feel a rush of adrenalin. I don’t contemplate anymore.
I want it I have it.
I want it I get it.
Don’t blame me if I have a great job. How is it my fault I earn pots of pennies?
No really how is it my fault if I crave for a good life?
Didn’t you say work hard and have a good time?
Wait I need to light my smoke.
And please I don’t need sermons and guidance.
There is no one to reason out my freedom.
It’s my eyes.
They do all the work, they conduct the magic, and they execute all my sins.
And trust me I like them, it.
And I hate the letter Y.
At lest, I’m man enough to look my self in the mirror daily and say “I love you”
And please don’t bother judging me. It’s an effortless exercise, I am sure. But please don’t waste precious energy.
I’m sick of hearing “save for a rainy day”.
The rain gods can conserve their resources till I lie in my grave.
How is this cynical, how many men do you know would freely admit to all this.
How many men do you know?
I’m man enough to **** anorexic models without rubber. There I said it. I don’t give a **** if this sounds crass.
What was that?
“Look inside my self and see if this is me talking”
(Evil laugh)
Yes Sherlock it is I.
It is I who has sold my soul to the devil.
It is I who trip on expensive LSD.
It is I who buys Dolce and Gabanna and don’t think twice of starving children in Somalia. Should I kill my self? I think not.
You want to know me ah?
So here know me.
Do you know what I see when I squeeze my eyes shut?
I see glamour.
I see money.
I see promiscuosity.
I see light.
I see mirrors.
And I see hell.
Oh please I can’t cry anymore. Crying is a sign of loneliness and fear.
I’m alone and I’m scared.
I am.
Loneliness
Alone
Solitude
Alone
Fear
Paranoia
Stress
Alone
Panic
Pressure
High
Drop the pressure.
I can’t, because I don’t know how.

The art of seduction.

Sunday afternoon, post brunch, post one and a half bottles of white wine.
Drop into an art show looking around I spot her and she me.
The curator is the only common link between us. While he explains the subtleties of colour, the nuances of brush strokes, I and she have already taken off on a journey to the stars. For us there is no tomorrow, so tonight we dance like no tomorrow.
Famous first words from a liberated woman, “your place or mine”. She drove, again like no tomorrow.
My place, a company guest house. With two sleeping occupants.
We sit on the couch respecting the next five minutes of an unnecessary prelude. She calls me enigmatic and I call her my forbidden fruit. She wants to see my bedroom and en-route she pins me to the corridor wall and kisses me. I kiss her back with as much adventure as in a racy sex novel. To the sounds of the Morning orbits, a song close to my heart now…“all your sex and your diamonds”.
The evening is on. We both get that adrenalin rush of making love in house with other guests. No bedroom had we. But that did not stop us for one nano second.
Having sex with all your clothes on intensifies the element of mystery and intrigue. For a while we stretch out on the dining table and make crazy love. Panting for more, we use the quentiessential marble kitchen counter of with her halter and off with my Levis in darkness in perfectly rehearsed synchronization we make love. Back on the couch we can’t keep our hands off each other, necks covered with the remains of the evening we want some more there is no looking back now. Just like in the movies we move closer and closer and touch more and touch deeper. Each time we kissed we heard music divine.
We don’t want to stop but someone wakes up and walks into the room. To the naked eye we were just two regular people having a drink and a chat. They exit and we start whispering into each others bodies. We must stop, it’s highly dangerous that someone would walk in again and we could be compromised. But this is not a confidential secret society meeting. Oblivious. Sexual abandon and our dreams came true.
I walk her back to her car.
I don’t have her number neither do I know her name.
But we promise to meet before we die!

Luxury brands and the Indian market.

Like Marie Antonette once said: “If they can’t have bread, give them brands instead!”…

Diamond dripping & air kissing Indians can sip their champagne in peace, now that the Indian government has introduced a porthole for foreign direct investment (“FDI”) in single brand retail. In January 2006 the Indian government gave upscale retailers a further boost by allowing foreign companies to own a controlling interest of 51% in joint ventures operating “single-brands” stores. India has been pushing for enhancing FDI inflow, the FDI inflow into India stood at 5.5 billion in the financial year 2005-06. The Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy group, the French luxury goods conglomerate that owns, Christian Dior, Givenchy, Donna Karan and Dom Perignon are in talks to invest 500,000 euros in India over the next five years.

Brand consciousness is suddenly on an all time high. While shopping for luxury brands more than its sensory gratification, the social approval is what most people try to buy. A higher price implies a higher level of quality and a certain prestige. For this, brands invest a lot of time and a lot of money in advertisements. They constantly need to have a certain sex appeal to attract consumers, this is quite evident while flipping through a perfectly photo shopped magazine or browsing the net. The urban Indian consumer wants to own products that inspire, awe and envy. Whether its drinking Pellegrino water or decking up in brands like Manolo Blannik, uber trendy, super sexy, extremely rich Indians are cashing in on luggage from Louis Vuitton, jewellery from Bvlgari and fur coats from Fendi.

Luxury is derived from the Latin word “Luxus” which means indulgence of the senses irrespective of its cost. Luxury brands are those whose ratio of functional utility to price is low while its intangible utility to price is high. What really makes a brand a luxury brand? Is it its heritage of craftsmanship, its exclusivity or its fashion intensive uniqueness? Its premium pricing, highly customized and limited editions creates an aura which make these brands desirable and luxurious. Whatever be the reason, the





debate on whether luxury products sell if so how much, who its buyers are and whether its market will grow has comfortably ended. There are an estimated 73,000 multi millionaires in the country, number of households with an annual income of more than 1 crore.

Till a few years ago rich Indians would shop for their fixes of luxury items while they went globe trotting, but now with many brands from all over the world deciding to open stores on Indian shores, one really doesn’t need to go across the Atlantic to indulge. It stands correct to say that India has come of age; in as far as the luxury goods market is concerned. Though most brands function from the confines of five star hotels they not only had a very limited footfall but also inadequate visual impact. Major Indian cities lack the concept of high fashion streets which else where provides a symbiotic cluster of posh retailers. While New York boasts of Fifth Avenue, Paris the Avenue des Champs Elysees and Hong Kong the Causeway Bay the luxury shopping experience is missing. The Indian market is fragmented and rather disorganised.

But with malls sprouting at an incredible speed things are about to change Indians can do retail therapy at high end malls and not have to depend on their next vacation or that invitation to the Milan fashion week. The Gitanjali group are investing in high end luxury and wedding malls in eight cities across India. Delhi and Mumbai have their high end malls and selected areas where one can shop comfortably. So apart from raising a toast to such sparkling growth it’s safe to say its passé and so last season to be seen in domestically made shoes and clothes, now its Jimmy Choo and Hermes all the way.

Leftovers

And so the process of living starts, as soon as the lights come on and the music starts the game begins.
The stage is set and the writer’s job is over now over to the iconic act of playing begins. That’s my mirror hanging like a corpse from the ceiling. But that’s fine right, because the eyes can’t see further than the sound of the symphony. She takes the floor, eyes on you, each one of us. Her hair has a life of its own it cascades like a monsoon fed waterfall, eyes locked on her, feelings getting stronger, magnetic vibrations echo through the room. Slowly, very tepid now, the word on everyone’s lips is “now’, but she starts moving, one hand like a wisp of a feline shadow, it travels across from her face to her nude waist, then the other hand, slowly very poised and very slowly both her hands move too reveal her face, the piano prelude starts and the entire orchestra picks up tempo and she moves her right feet, a highly pronounced step, her entire body follows suit. Like a whisper, she tortures the watchers. The importance of foreplay was never so divine. The mirrors and her whispering body accentuate the tears in the eyes of the director. He stands in the upper room, with shivers running down the entire length of his body. The woman moves like a surreal painting come to life. Her existence seems to be just this, whispering through her body the secrets, the secrets that she hides the secrets that she lies, the secret that she hopes will die. Her naked body seems clothed in an aura of sensitivity. Her limbs move, no they whisper, a tale of longing. Her hands play with her only desire, the atmosphere. Between the devil and the deep sea she seems like a gulp of last air a mouthful of sweetish poison.

The Lost Tourniquet.

From my fistful of vesper, the expiring day seeps,
I twitch in my skin as my wounds wail and weep.
The cruel gashes went far too deep.

Warm blood drenches the white sheet,
On which I daily made love to sadness.
Today the knife and I are ready to sleep.

The distant church bells chime,
Those bastards all preach blasphemy
The promised messiah isn’t beside me in my hour of grief,
And the prince of peace expects me to muster up belief.

My deceased, diseased mind seeks no help.
Let the crimson flow,
My head aches, miraculously no more,
My soul parched with sin, instead abhors.

The fresh pink flesh peeps out through
Skin and bone, through my teary eyes I smile,
I am pleased once more.

Limp like dead
The arm lay and bleed, first tiny droplets of blood appeared,
Trickles,
Drips,
Spurts,
And then with a final surge the blood an ocean smeared.

I’m dieing, I’m dieing to survive;
; Survive to slash
; Survive to lash
; Survive to butcher my flesh, my wrist, my god-damned life.

You say you love me,
Why then am I so cold.
The racing, alive pulse in my veins is gradually stopping, wilting, fading.

I’ll never grow old.

You did not help to stop me.
You could not help me.
You should have stopped, helped and saved me.

Numb I fade as my sinews weaken; I drop from my clutch the red hot blade.
Never to awaken, but on a crimson carpet laid.
My unhappiness and I drown in my tub of wrath.
Instead appears the muted shades of ever lasting hallucinated thoughts.

The clairvoyant in me foresees a shadow.
I slip into a sleep, a final much needed slumber.
Rescued from insomnia, saved from drugs,
I hug death, like my first blanket.

Snow-ummm

Just like special children we have a special dog. And we have gladly accepted him into our home with all our love, care and constant vigilance. Snowy, a name in our household that makes me and my mother either run for the nearest weapon of mass destruction or our blood pressure pills. The apple of my sister’ (and dad’s) eye Snowy is spoilt, foolish and extremely mal nourished, but definitely not the bane of your life’s.
Snowy arrived as a cute, angelic ball of white fur, hence the name (no surprise there).
Once the vaccinations and medical jazz was taken care of (taken care of by ours truly!), he officially arrived. And boy what a grand entry that was! In his wake he has claimed the life’s of cushions, shoes and chappals, phone chargers, loofahs yes you heard you loofahs bath loofahs, bag straps, plants, chairs. But we still love and care for him. He is the only domestic dog in the whole world who isn’t toilet trained.
Living in a metropolitan city apartment really restricts air flow into the house so we leave the main door open for a bit of wind and of course on several occasions we have had the wind knocked out of us, why you ask, Snowy takes the open door as an open invitation to fly with the wind and have us chase him. Well for one thing its good exercise once in a while.

But all said and written and done, he’s the only one I miss when I’m away from home for months. He’s the only one who will wait up for me when I come home late at night. He’s the only one who will give us unconditional love asking nothing in return, ok maybe a belly rub or that wretched ball of his. If Snowy likes you he will arrive at your footstep with his saliva soaking ball and then starts a real bonding between man and beast.

Even though I can’t breathe in my own bedroom, and need to reach for my Asthalin all the time due to his fur flying all over the place the warm presence beside me is not only reassuring but beautiful.

Well many people wish for unrealistic and impractical things daily, like a pet who doesn’t shit and piss, one that doesn’t bite things, and maybe with all the stress in my life I too have become a hopeless cynic and wish for those same things. But love him or love to hate him, Snowy till he lives, gives us a reason to scream and shout , a reason to bicker and a reason to fight, and most importantly a reason to realise that and creature who cant speak the tongue of man can still love us and love us unconditionally.

Amen.

"Au revoir- Goodbye till we meet again”

I bring so much shame to you
You lead me from the valley of shadows
Are the gods frowning?
In disdain do they look upon me?

I’m spent, desires remain unfulfilled
Or am I just being greedy?
To want the kiss of life, I breathe,
I’ll wear it like a tattoo.

It’s stopped what? The dreams
Harrowing, tear wrenching dreams
I lie, cry, why?
They scream, I still cry

Why do I lose my way?
Daily don’t I pray?
Heaven I will not go astray
Pray wipe these tears away.

I don’t like it here.
I have no where to run
Though I cherish the thought off home
I am so far away from it.

They are far too loud
In vain do I seek silence?
Oh! Why don’t you die the mutter, I see the mutter in their eyes.
And then I realise I am just a burden.

I’m burning, I shout to the heavens
Deliver me, douse me in darkness
The ignition stops, my souls wasted
But I can’t, stop loving.

Truth is my myth, joy my legend.
The promise land is but a mirage.
I tie the laces of my shoes
And set off…knowing not where.

The moon smirks and hides
I stumble, my feet feels the edge
My palms help me up.
I choose to sit and mourn.

It all ends at the very beginning or,
Does it all begin at the very end?
Disillusioned, I light my smoke
Through my nostrils, trail my secrets and disappear into the implacable night.

One night out, and I’m happy high.Rapture tonight I taste rapture.I’m nervous yet happy and so high. Mesmerized and kissed what a feeling for one night out.I just gave up my job I think I’m in denial but I like this petty way of having fun and when I’m having petty fun I might as well do it with finesse and style.I am what I choose to be at that point in time, in life, in existence.The taste lingers on my lips. It’s so sweet it’s so desirable.I might have to wake up to an empty day.In an empty space, maybe even in an empty room, but I’m moving faster than fate. I feel like a cat, stretched, I get what I want when I want and I’m totally turned on. Big old world passes me by. I can do so many things now. Those high heels are no ones friends.I turn on at the thought of a job lost and a life time of possibilities right up ahead it’s almost like the commercial break is soon going to end and I will be back to the prime time show. Not caring for a minute but caring enough to stop and eliminate the mistakes and righting words I can spell. My mind is slowing down and my fingers are going faster.I’m so turning on right now. My eyes dim but my minds eye or the third eye looks deeper into the belly of the beast. Words and thoughts go swinging past the door to my mind.I’m afraid but I procrastinate those possibilities.I need to wash my dirty laundry and I need to air them out. Just like a virgin bride puts out her blood stained sheets in the front yard for the entire world to see. To see the consumption of sexual fulfilment on the night her virginity ends and motherhood and womanhood seeps through her vagina onto her sheets. Stand up I do, I call “it” I talk to “it”, “it’s” a new friend I like “it” “it’s” simple and I want “it” all to myself its like jay again I remember the nights I spent speaking to him on credit. Santana winds his guitar prelude and lets Chad get on with the lyrics. Its music that hits me hits me slap on the face and reverberates through the silent guest house. The bear and the boy ride a space ship the little boy holds the hands of an in-animate toy believing it to be real to be true to be his friend and to be his partner and the first bear to travel into space. I feel like “it”, I want to drive with him across the open roads onto blank empty highways and fly lovers, both intoxicated both bumping our heads on the roof of his Cadillac.He must laugh at me I think I like “it”, “it’s” sensible and grounded, nice and patient and “it” wants me to cut out on the overdose of please and thank you’s. Every body in the universe once in their lifetimes finds a belly dancer and while some go on to treasure their belly dancer others just keep moving on ignoring the loss of worthlessness.All that shit is fictitious, because I end every nice thing with a loud emphatic yummy. Define always,I put them on the fire and they all boil into a nice mix of incoherence if you really want me make me fish and chips, it’s tasty and it will make you crazy.And I listen on to the song to which me and me danced to at the fire house. I danced and she danced.She was suspicious but I put her on the rock and I drove down the block and slept on the street and she was witness to that.I hang my self upside down and we all do strange contractions to the tunes off a tropical song. Tonight we dance and tomorrow we hang. What a night out. The beats are riding to the gates of crescendo. Because nothing is forbidden anymore. I miss her. It’s been a decade since I saw her room and I saw her hair. She had pretty hair and my maid thought she was skimpily clad but I never left her side while we downed twenty two, yeah twenty two tequila shots. What a feeling in the stomach and then almost like the rhythms you hear on an early morning by the ocean our minds and our consciousness drove to the summit and we started towards glory. Not understanding the dim lights not understanding our bodies and our desires letting all of it come tighter in an exquisite symphony waiting for each other to communicate through the haze of purple pills. “I can change my life to better suit your moods”.Moonlight staircase. To the sounds of an untamed guitar I hate this thought it’s wakeful. But her apartment was named shine on you crazy diamond. The vile is opened and so soft and slow the acid hits the inner recess of his, my life. To suit my moods I pop a purple pill. It’s the same emotion I feel every time I do this. Reality. Yes please, thank you again reality is a divine restricted emotion. I clutch on to it. Like the little boy clutches onto the bear in space.It’s just like the ocean under the moon it’s just like the eagle soaring through the blue, sooty blue sky. She made out with him in an open car. She petted his tame tiger. She had sex with women. She was drenched in white wine when she started singing. I’m going to love her tonight. It’s dark and there are a lot of people loving each other right here, right now. I want to love her. She’s mine and I hate this thought. The music descends to the fires of hell. Eyes wide shut. All undress as the high priestess crawls out of the Corinthian pillars from in between her thighs she brings out the serpent the heated serpent is thrown into a pit of hissing snakes. They all mate and the sound of mating snakes provides the ideal background for seventy six men and seventy seven women to continue mating. From my body emanates a light. A soft, harsh light, she has a child her first and then she goes to buy a bag to put her baby in and bury in. But she buries it in the dead of night so that her eyes can’t see what she’s doing. So, please don’t stop the music because she needs to go back into the house and drink her whisky and go for her abortion. See it’s getting late and I need to go kill that beast named stress.I needed to be the baby, partying, under the freshly thrown soil over me. Face to face.I’ll touch the sky and I’ll be back before you. I want you to take me away so please don’t refuse me my last drink.I hope you get what I’m trying to say so please don’t stop the music or I might get cold.....