Prances and Puffs

Yes, after contemplating for five years I finally decided to start writing. It was honestly not a concious decision, I still think I am a little too high on extra strong espresso and cigarettes and by tomorrow morning I would have conveniently forgotten all about this page. Well, I am hoping its just one of those nicotine rushes and nobody would come to know about these tiny letter that have been hiding with my old jeans in the rickety steel cupboard all this while.

The only reason I was avoiding to write a blog was probably because of this very concept of "writing about yourself". Never thought, it is going to be this difficult to pen down five sentences on "Me." How can somebody possibly know oneself completely to talk about oneself? To break the ice with my readers I can try to start a conversation....

"Hi.. Beautiful weather isn't it?"


(awkward silence)

or,

"Hi.." *wink*

Was I being a little too creepy? Sorry! I will go back to my old jeans and simply talk about why this pair of ripped fabric knows a little about me.
I am a painter by heart, but somehow my fingers refuse to listen to anything they are told to do. Probably the dull paint stains and lead patches will justify my secret passion for painting. Also photography has been very close to me, so has being alone. Taking long walks with my camera and reading poems in stranded coffee shops has been a few routes of escapism I tend to prance upon, and the ripped edges of my jeans would prove the fact that I prance and rarely walk. My pockets would always be stuffed with old chocolate wrappers and hair-clips, mostly because I dislike littering and also because I can never remember to clear my pockets. Lastly, like any other twenty year old, I am born with a hole in my purse, and mind you the hole has not been made by the cigarette manufacturing companies.