I wont say it

I won’t say I miss you or that you mean a lot to me. I’ll try not to say it before I hear it first. I won’t. I’ve done it in the past and I feel like an idiot.

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this morning


I took a plain and boring brown coconut and turned it into an elegant piece of dried fruit art ready for a night out on the fruit basket town with it’s other tropical friends.


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today the Toronto Blue Jays played at home against the Boston Red Sox (or as I first thought the New York Red Socks) and they won! Toronto is the best city in the world and close second is Mumbai.



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it’s 12:10

Midnight. It’s raining. Pouring. It stops, settles down and then it begins again. Rain is the most perfect background noise. I hope it rains all night long. 

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today he said

He is just a friend who happens to have amazing hair, a wonderful way with words and a complicated mind (which I cannot figure out and don’t think I want to) that I am love with (on a purely platonic level, I promise unless he lived near me then perhaps….I’m just kidding. My love is unrequited remember?).

“Mumbai has to be a magical if it loved by you, especially since you’re living in a place like Canada”

Of all the cities I have visited the word magical only describes Mumbai.

I wonder if Prague and Berlin will change that. We’ll see in September *fingers crossed* 

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I began blogging in 2011. It was mostly out of sheer boredom and my need to let my thoughts run loose and wild (not that I keep them tamed in my off-line-life). The prospect of having my words put together into coherent sentences articulating my ideas, beliefs and raw emotions floating around in internet space and being stumbled upon Karan Johar also tickled my fancy. Who am I kidding? That was ultimately my goal. I thought that perhaps somebody on Karan Johar’s team would be on the internet one evening enjoying their day off work with a glass of wine about to call it a night until she or he saw their twitter feed “you may also like @apple_kaur” it would read. They would immediately be drawn to me laughing at the cute and witty play on words. Their curiosity would be heightened by my academic preppy-esque display picture of me smiling wearing my rectangular designer glasses, dressed in a blue satin top and black cardigan. This would cause them to stay online just a wee bit longer. After clicking my twitter page and reading my profile they would quickly learn that apple_kaur’s real name is Kiran and she is an unhappy consciousness who loves peanut butter, has an unusually large collection of socks, books and dead philosophers are her friends. After scrolling through my tweets they would learn that I find existentialism quite sexy, am very comfortable naked, have tried (and tried and tried but have been unsuccessful) at trying to make #KaranHaveKoffeeWithKiran become a trending topic in India, know a lot about unrequited love and have a low tolerance for alcohol, Punjabi guys and stupidity. By clicking my pictures they would learn that I love Mr Bear, collect (steal) airline cutlery, am in love with India and have an unusual fascination with toilet paper. At this point they would be hooked on me like a fat cake on cake (just to clarify, I of course being the cake).

Eager to learn more about this Canadian girl named apple_kaur they would begin to search the web to find more information. Their heart would race as they search frantically only to end up in disappointment as they learn that I don’t have Facebook! Almost on the verge of tears and heart break, almost about to give up would return to my twitter page. Conveniently enough I have provided the link to my blog on my twitter profile (because I knew this would happen) and voila! More apple_kaur! What they thought would be an early night would turn out to be a long one as they would read each and every word of my blog.

My first post would intrigue them, the second post would tug on their heart strings and by the third they would feel the natural inclination to text Karan Johar in the week hours of the morning (despite being told never to do this unless Shah Rukh Khan agreed to film a DDLJ sequel) to inform him that they have discovered his new couch! AHHHHHHH!!!! I would receive a call from a Mumbai number on my Blackberry just minutes before I begin my menial job as a bank teller for which I am overqualified and too good for but do out solely out of desperation and necessity as I find my dream job. “Hello Kiran?” he would say. “Hi!” I’d reply with excitement in my voice almost trembling with anticipation for his next sentence. “Hello! It’s Karan Johar, would you like to have coffee with me?”

“YES YES YES YES YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” I’d reply, non-nonchalantly, keeping my cool as if stuff happens to me all the time. “Great! I’ll have my people call you and we’ll keep in touch, I think you’re so fresh! Exactly the creative mind and writer that Bollywood films need, and you’re cute too!” he’d say in that cute Indian guy accent smiling the entire time he speaks with me. Without thinking twice, I’d run to get a piece of paper and pen, write my resignation letter clearly stating that I am formally giving my two weeks notice and slide it under my manager’s door. I’d then jump on my terminal and serve my line up of customers (who despite living in 2014 are incapable of using other more convenient methods of paying bills, making deposits and transferring money between their accounts) with a smile because I’m leaving Etobicoke and going to live in a cute, colourful and eclectic flat with an open space concept in a building that has a breath taking view of Mumbai’s waterfront. I’m quitting the bank and moving to Mumbai to make it as a writer and have coffee with Karan!

So as you probably may have figured out, the above scenario has not materialized but I’ll tell you what did happen through blogging. Not now though because I am tired.

This blog is incomplete.

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cooking with Stella

It’s the summer of Netflix and today I watched Cooking with Stella. It reminded me of 3 things. 1) men who can cook are so hot 2) I forgot how beautiful Delhi is! 3) I am Canadian. I miss India.

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