Tag Archives: baby

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The minutes you spend.
Looking at her clothes. How the neckline of her blouse is just shallow enough to give away her delicate collar bones. You spend a minute too long on this, in fact. And sigh.
Onto the next. Your fourth grade crush has bought his own BMW. Ah but, you think to yourself, it’s commonplace in the states.
Onto the next. Your ex boyfriend’s ex girlfriend. You make a mental note to unfollow her. Another time. Right now she’s got a cute puppy and you’ve forgotten you hated her.
You scroll down. It’s your mum’s cool friend, showing way too much cleavage.
Further down, your own ex. A post about his football non profit. Unfollow.
Next, your other ex. Married now, posting a picture of his brand new six pack abs. You smirk and don’t unfollow him, because it mildly amuses you to see his scantily clad calls for attention, the same reason you’re still following the girl from high school you never spoke to, who makes an appearance in the next picture.
You continue scrolling, fast now because the promise of entertainment from this app is slowly waning and making you restless.
And then you stop.
Scroll up just a bit.
Right in front of you.
The tiny thumbnail picture of the man you have a crush on.
It’s funny, you never thought you’d say man and crush in the same sentence. He’s posted something after two months. Not his face, not the weather, not some wannabe poignant picture of a derelict alleyway with a cheap filter and a borrowed caption. It’s a post of his latest animation, that he probably coded lying down casually in bed on a Sunday between his morning dose of Economic Times and his afternoon reading sesh (you think he likes reading Manto but you’re not sure it’s his Sunday vibe, so you don’t feature that into your imagination).
And then you scroll further. Slow now. Not really taking in anything. Memes. Selfies.
Comic strips come and go. By the time you’re back to the present, you’re already looking at pictures posted last night. With a pang of guilt you continue.
A quote with a bright background. A close friend’s terrible attempt at sketching. A stranger you follow in her latest gym attire (holy shit she got so fit so fast!). Because you like to know what exactly is up in their lives, three celebrities one after the other.
Your ex best friend with her new best friend. Your token cool colleague. And (just before it’s time to get off the cab) the guy who took his life last night.


































Two Ponytails

‘Di? Di?’ said the little boy, as he tore his gaze away from the open book on the table and focused his attention on his older sister, who was sitting on the bed and staring blankly at her phone.

Zoya looked at him, and nodded in acknowledgement.

‘Why don’t you ever make two ponytails?’

‘Because,’ she said passively, and went back to staring at her phone.

‘Tell na Di!’

‘What happened, Adi? Why do you want me to make two ponytails?’ said Zoya, now sitting up and noticing her brother for the first time.
He glanced sheepishly at the book in front of him before lifting it and setting it on Zoya’s lap. She watched as he traced his tiny fingers over the page titled Class Photograph 2013-2014: Nursery B, till they came to rest on a tiny face of a girl.

‘Di, see Meher. She’s the prettiest girl in my class and she always makes two ponytails.’

Zoya couldn’t help but smile as she got up from the bed, and looked at herself in the mirror. She decided to humour her baby brother for a bit.
‘So tell me more about this Meher,’ she said, running the comb through her hair and parting it into two halves.

‘She makes the best drawings in class.’

‘Okay, what else?’

’ And she likes strawberry ice candy. And after she eats it her lips become very pink.’

‘So do you talk to…?’

‘And she doesn’t like it when boys talk to her,’ he said impatiently, his gaze sad and steady on the photograph.

‘Here I made two ponytails. Happy?’ said Zoya, studying her twenty year old face in the mirror.

Aditya looked up expectantly and saw her. A frown swiftly set upon his face, his nose crinkled and his mouth went askew. He looked back at the photograph, as if to ensure she’d copied it right, then looked up again at her, disbelieving.


‘Do you like Meher more or Di more, Adi?,’ she asked, teasing him.

He picked up the book, threw one last disappointed glance at the sister he so admired, turned around and left the room, mumbling something that sounded like ‘You, Di. But she looks better in two ponies.’