Voice of a Coffee Cup!

tumblr_mruhkl3X3a1qhu7x0o1_500How many of you e’er talked over a cup of coffee in your life? I dare say, most of you – on zillions of clips, discussing zillions of affairs. What if I paint the coffee cup’s voice for a variety? Yes! You scan it aright…. THE COFFEE CUP, a frail porcelain, with a cylindric body, curvy hand grip, basking majestically on the window sill; savoring a panoramic view of the alfresco. Oh oh… what am I making? I made a commitment to loan my tongue to the cup for a limited time.

Over to coffee cup:


I am not hither for an interview so I am not carrying any CV. I am a bare coffee mug (height: 6 inches, build: cylindrical, wall thickness: 6mm, diam: 88 mm, complexion: ??????) I am aware, this is not required but FYI. All you dazzlingly beautiful women and handsome men, please do not fall in love with me conning my measures. Ladies! Pardon me. I am already betrothed to a cute little tea cup. And men, you must be knowing by now that I am a male and I am not “36-24-36”. Others, I beg off! I have not devoted any idea to it. (No umbrage intended).

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My lil tea cup hates to see this!

I am imparted a vox for an abbreviated length, hence would let you know the things that matter. Arriving flat to my likes and dislikes…………. I love balmy lips adjoining my rim, particularly the brightly lipsticked ones. I detest smoke dried and chapped lips because they veritably scathe me. More than the warmth of a hot coffee, I love being caressed by clean manicured hands. Men, do not take me wrong. I do not mind if you deal me gently, sparing your stern hands for other intent. Only I hate, you pinking me with your nasty fingers on my body wall. Do realize that I am no playfellow. I cannot abide by its jarring noise.

Talking about the deeper things, the thing that resides in me. Coffee? Nah! Coffee lodges in me but does not make me.

  1. It disappoints me to see my body wall tattooed with cartoons, quotes, weird sketches, your face, his face, her face, etc. Although I am signified for coffee, you imbibe beer, coke, whiskey and what not in disguise but that is within concavity. The quotes and weird faces on my convexity? They are seeable and readable. I just cannot fend this. My body and your nameplate on it? Just unjust! Can you ideate “Coffee Cup” etched on your body?
  2. Alike you, I as well feel. I experience a burning pain while you relish your steaming cup of coffee. I am not prompting you to renounce coffee. I am just giving my honest self to genuine eyes. Please do not entertain any guilt. I am civilized enough to understand your love for coffee. I hold no ill will of any sort. My anguish wears thin beholding the satisfactory smile dancing on your coffee kissed lips, discovering your abstruse aaaaaaahhhs and hmmmms that you make while your lips still compacted against my rim.
  3. The justest thing about me- I neither preferred my love (little teacup) and my friends (other coffee cups) based on their physical appearances nor I discriminated anyone based on their make or monetary value. I hire pride in looking thru the lens of heart. I know this is amusing you a little but I do have a heart and it beats. When in doubt, ask my little tea cup. She knows how my heart hop-skips seeing her.
  4. You call it CONFIDENTIAL sharing your dingy and dark arcana in front me. LOL. You never guessed I would be reading your closed book. I took heed your tales of love, hate and treachery but never dropped my opinion any time. I witnessed your crimsoned cheeks over the proposal and also your wept eyes over the betrayal. I mutely contained your frustration and vexation ‘cause all I wanted was you being unbothered. It never mattered to me how many times you emptied me.
  5. My biggest fear- I am scared to death when I am palmed by young and impish, arrogant teen, scorned woman and scurrilous man. They might flap down me in any moment.

Hey, what are you doing? Don’t ….don’t you dare to put me there……hey you.  No No No …not there. Not on the edges at least. Please someone help me….



My lil tea cup!

Where am I? Oh great! I am still intact and one piece. You see, my heart slumps to abysmal depths when you place me on the edges. I hate being in such states of affairs because I do not own up an insurance. Please understand that I cannot tell you “please put me safe” and hearing me is not your cup of coffee. Now, do not start editing me. I am aware of the original phrase “not my cup of tea”. I am mindful that even when I am shattered to pieces on the floor, you will not sigh for me unless I were your favorite cup. The most regretful part would be no one being there to console my weeping little tea cup.

I should slap myself tightly. Why am I sharing my poignancy with you? It’s weird to anticipate your empathy…………… your hands won’t even stretch out from the pockets to wipe your fellow being’s tears.

Enough of my life’s account because it exacts your time and forbearance. I guess, you have no time to listen to others in your busyness and it is unmanageable for you to re-learn the art of patience in your hastiness. Hence, I am better unspoken.


I am bubbling to share more and more but I fear my words falling on deaf ears. 😦


“I’m Perfect” Oops! I mean Imperfect.
This world never had any time to empathize the reasons behind incarnations of my imperfections and it would never have any. I know, I am not good at others expectations of me. But I have my ground and I do not solicit the world’s agreement on this. Masses in and around me has got a mammoth listing of adjectives warranting my imperfections in their own way. Few of the many adjectives often invested for me are IMPOLITE, IMPATIENT, IMPOSSIBLE, IMMATURE, IMBALANCED, IMPROPER….bla bla bla.
If I sit back and review my distinctive day  then it simply appears like this…
 I unremarkably get up at any time in between 7.00 am and 9.00 am. The instant I wake up, I go straight down to my mom’s kitchen. Yes, it is hers………as I bear no role to play there. The path between my bedroom and my mom’s kitchen is dented by my granny’s room. There was never ever any day where I arrested any luck to fly the coop; especially my granny’s penetrating eyes. I go, look at her, she reciprocates and remarks IMPOLITE girl. She requires me to wish her GOOD MORNING and  that’s the argue at the backside of her comment. 
 I make my way into kitchen to snap up a cup of coffee.  I go along requesting for my casual dose of coffee and mom seems overly engaged, readying breakfast for the rest since 4.30 am. I ask for coffee and she screams IMPATIENT. I ask once again and she cries IMPOSSIBLE. You see, my mom is so benevolent. She affords me TWO adjectives for one mug of coffee. More often than not, I find my dad trying out his noesis about weird gizmos. He expends a big ratio of his morning time fixing up things. A midst all my liberally given personifications, I have a genial heart and I extend complimentary assistance to all. I say, “dad, need any help?” He answers, “nope dear. I am all fine.” Till this point, I feel good and the succeeding adjective narks me a lot. He sums up, “you are IMMATURE to deal with my dealings.” I walk uninfluenced, not learning how to react. I guess, I should take to heart only when I veritably consent with what they say.
Anyway, I gear up to my college, where a bunch of my unlike friends wait for me at the gate. They feel that my behavior is ill-timed.  According to them, I laugh when I am expected to turn up a grave face. Yes, I laugh too much because I feel happiness is life and I see the life silently laughing tickling my funny bone.  Not more than ten feet I displace, they echo “she is IMBALANCED.”  
In the Science lab, my teacher asks me to draw some shapeless creatures and label them. For example, an amoeba, a formless protozoan. I draw an amoeba and she says, the diagram is IMPROPER. Blooming heck! She says there is no definite shape to it and how the heck it matters if I draw any form.  Perhaps, she meant creating new form of amoeba………..a kind of evolved amoeba with a definite form.
I return home………….everything repeats, just  with a svelte edition. Granny anticipates an evening wish instead of a morning one and I beg for a cup of tea instead of a mug of coffee. The remaining time finishes in my room; precisely, inside me. Every night, I  feel………….. I am a big hoo-hah. Perhaps, heart of heart, I wish masses to cognize the things beyond their perception. I feel  my mom has time for everyone. She is speedy at doing others’ things except mine because  OTHERS demand a good deal of her time. I never exacted to be her priority any time. I unremittingly prayed for my morning coffee and was invariably the final to ask for my evening tea. Given a moment, I feel my mom takes my conforming nature for granted. I also feel, may be, I am the only person with whom she can be little easy with.
I am barmy being greeted by OTHERS. Every time, I be the first to wish a guest, friend, neighbor, teacher, headmaster, anyone for instance. I do not mind greeting my granny but in the deep pit of my heart, I pray others to greet me before I do. 
Witnessing my dad  dissecting the gadgets, as part of his morning ritual, I expect him to count on me and accept my service. I cry out to prove that I may not be that wise like him but I am mature enough to help my part. I guess, not holding yourself back when you see others breaking their heads is a sign of maturity.
I love all my friends and I wish they understand the way I feel about things and situations. After all, life is not  about being serious all the while. I pray, they accept me with all my imbalances of  which they whisper at my back.
I respect my science teacher sincerely. She never called me IMPROPER. By improper, she meant the diagram not me. I am so habituated being tagged with words starting specifically with “IM” that I end up taking the remark too personally. When the rest of all tags are categorized in one where should I put the only one meant for my diagrams? So I resign without googling for another category.
Oh! I deliberately left the rest of the pages until the last but one page blank because there is absolutely nothing to pen down. Just  Ctrl+c and Ctrl+v needed. Do mind to witness the date changing on every page. 
A year passed and new tags used in my honor pooled up and the list started fattening. Whatever the tags be, they all meant ‘imperfections of mine’. At this point of nothingness in my life, there descended a special friend.  This friend on a peculiar day, obviously my birthday, read my diary. A day before my birthday, I earnestly prayed for someone to edit my life’s story in my diary. This friend was the first to even out the handsomest blunders ever in the literature of my life. The first line in the diary was a total catastrophe.  My friend counterbalanced the opening sentence and the remainder of lines got switched automatically. The structure was corrected and  the whole story got a new definition and a renewed dimension. The friend executed a very fiddling job but the result was magnificent. It was just about restructuring IMPERFECT to I’M PERFECT. All the IMs were exchanged to I’Ms. Find and replace did a commendable job in my story. It was amazing to witness the result of this command. The adjectives read from Impolite to I’m polite; Impatient to I’m patient; Impossible to I’m possible; Immature to I’m mature; Imbalanced to I’m balanced and so on………
I guess, the first line was no accident. Connecting all the dots surfaced so far, I feel, I wished for someone to  change ‘I am Imperfect’ to ‘I’m perfect.’ May be it was a little business to remove  A between I and M……. put ”  ‘  ” after I . Or its just that I prayed for someone to recognize this  deliberate error of my subconscious mind. 
Guessing who is that special friend of mine? Just look into the mirror and you will find yours. It is a waste of precious time yearning for someone special to change your life for good. There is no one as special as you are and as unique as you are and as gifted as you are. No one, ever walked on this earth, can replace YOU. It is YOUR life and only YOU have the unlimited potential to mess or mend your life.
 Imperfect! Oops. I mean, I’m Perfect.
I guess, punctuation is damn important.