Songs to listen to while reading this: With Friends Like These, album by Bangalore based band Short Round Yesterday was a couple of lovely people’s birthday. Both of them my classmates and friends from childhood. Now, the thing about Nahan, where we all grew up together, is that roaming around on the roads and market with […]
We moved to a small two bedroom apartment (It’s total space is equivalent to an average one bedroom apartment). We have about 5 families in the neighbourhood. The people who live right next door, in a big bungalow, are the sneaky and clever ones. They are hideous, avoid confrontation, prevaricate to work around lies about […]
There is an old family house, built on flattened out contours on the left side of a mediocre mountain, that is now void of its makers. One was a nice man, but a drunkard, who had taken his own life insidiously. His wife, everybody called her Maati (माती), was a giving lady. Their son, a little […]
A Travelogue about Leh-Ladakh, India.
A week ago, I wrote When Family Becomes A Distant Memory. Khawaja Musadiq, a wonderful wonderful poet turned it into a poem, thousand times more beautiful. Although he doesn’t know the context and details I wrote the blog post in, nonetheless he wrote so beautifully. surviving on a bleak glimmer of h o p e , […]
I’m on a motorbike a lot. I’ve my father’s Royal Enfield (a.k.a Bullet a.k.a Bullt (Punjabi folks would understand)), and I’ve a Yamaha Fazer. This noon when I got out to run some errands, I found an unusual lot of people on their two wheelers with their headlight on during the daylight. I get irritated […]
Okay, so nails. This is a story of nails. Not necessarily just mine, but it is a story of nails. Nails, the dead cells elongated at the tip of our fingers and toes. Nails, which I almost always cut in time. Nails. Okay, so nails.
I started cutting my own nails when I was in 7th grade. Before that mother was in charge. Hand nails’ cutting was a breeze. But when the toes would be up, I’ll take my face away from both the nails and mother towards the opposite direction and would cringe in advance for the nail that might cut too deep (which it never did). As soon as I started cutting my own, I started giving an arc a little too deep unintentionally. That resulted in the shortening of my nails’ length, which was a bummer since I liked long length nails (long as in the core part of the nail, not the one that increases and one has to cut regularly). I guess this previous line was a little presumptuous, I’m sorry for that.
I can’t stand a broken nail, it makes me want to run on the road, as far from it as possible, as though it had had a ghost living in it, and now that the nail is broken, has been unleashed. One of the reasons I wince at the sight of it is because I’ve never had a broken nail. So I guess, because I’ve my imagination to aid the ghost rumor more in the stretches of how much the pain would be, I shudder. I’ve seen my basketball teammates’ broken nails, mother’s, brother’s and I go Yuk! Eeew! silently in the mind, as I slowly manage to slip out of the scene.
Have you ever had a broken nail?