Of Hobos.

For a little over two years, there are a few people who have been as important a part of my daily life as Hobo. My friends remember the first time I saw him. It was a silhouette through the media department window. I saw a lot of hair and the happiest smile in the world and I thought, “I have to meet this guy”

Hobo quickly proved my gut instinct right. He became one of my best friends, my savior, my go-to guy. He understood that when I came stomping into a room, my hair on end, I needed to paint little things to calm me down. He understood that sometimes I danced to music only I could hear just to feel yay. He understood that when it came to me, great passion came with great crankiness. Hobo was one of the very few people in the world, who I ever confided to about F. Im not a big believer of airing your dirty laundry out in public, and so, very few people knew about F and my feelings for him. My mother, SS, and then Hobo. From the moment I told him, I knew that Hobo was going to be an indispensable part of my life.

The beginning of our relationship meant that he was more than just a boyfriend – he was a best friend too. He helped me with projects, with PMS, with family, with friends, stopped me from drinking too much, went shopping with me, listened when I needed to vent, bought me candy when I felt blue, and sometimes, just because, did boring chores that I hated doing myself, and before I knew it, I had been with him for 2 years. Something that was shocking to a commitment phobe like myself.

Unlike Hobo, I am a very secure person. Security, unfortunately, brings a frustrating nonchalance and detachment from the problems of those less secure. I never understood Hobo’s insecurity, and because I didnt understand it, I could never help assuage it. I tried, despite what people may think, I DID TRY. But unless there is understanding, things are rather well…pointless. I didnt tell him things I didnt think he needed to know, despite the fact that he felt he needed to know it, which is just as important. I was indifferent many a time, and my paranoid need for space&distance, especially in Bombay when I was surrounded by people all the time, made me a trying person to be with.

Heres to you, Hobo Babush Kapur and the hopeful yayness of 2010 and the years to come. Olive Juice, Olive factory, Olives everywhere.

To Candies. To cabs. To hobo feet. To orange curtains. And yellow sheets. To purple socks. To chappals. To Gudangs and orange candy. To chai. To kicuggles. To blogs. To FB stalking. To the 16th of December. To benches. To Polaris notes in your pocket, to a Leo’s napkin in my wallet. To a birthday walk. To mails. To saving my ass over and over again. To the click, which will never go away, not even now. To stocking your fridge. To kisses on a happy yellow sofa. To the 100 fights and the 100 make-ups. To venting. To everything. To you.

Chalo Boss.

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