Say hello to Lucky 6!

Nay! This isn’t about Mrs.Friggs’ cabbage-smelling fat cats or some distant cousin of the Famous 5! But this sure is magic- the Gringotts type! How?

Because here we talk of life-changing prizes. Think cash and luxury holidays! Didn’t think an itsy-bitsy game on your Smartphone could give you that instead of the regular virtual points and ofcourse, candy and farm crops (virtual ofcourse!), did you? So, well, say hello to Lucky 6!

Developed by Fat Cat gaming, the Lucky 6 game aims to revolutionize the world of gaming. Successful games are addictive and challenging but with repetitive arcades and virtual rewards, at a point they seem to lose their appeal. People get bored, the hype dies out and it’s gone. Lucky 6 talks of life-changing jackpots. They are huge and alluring! Read: they are everything that will pull gamers to it and make them stay. This is lottery, but with a twist! Lucky 6 has all the elements to change the lottery scene in India, most of which turn out to be scams. People spend hundreds and thousands of buck buying lottery tickets every day with hopes of winning big. Less than a fraction do. But with Lucky 6, everyone is a potential winner. And it just gets bigger and better if you invite your friends along to play as well. If they win, you win too! And it is not just a bunch of gemstones you stash away on your game account. It is real. It is tangible.

The interface is sleek and swanky- minimal white and green with li’l bit of colours thrown in. Moving around is very easy, and playing your first game is easier! All you have to do is pick six of your favourite brands instead of picking numbers, and see if their stocks see the highest gains on game day. Ofcourse, a little knowledge of the stock market won’t hurt! And if you’re worried, let me assure you that every brand involved is a household name. You don’t need to go googling them, checking their market goodwill, their market shares and blah blah! You just have to do the selection and wait till game day with bated breath! There is absolutely no worry about being scammed here! For every game, there is a player who wins the jackpot. Still wondering how can winning be this easy? Don’t worry, we are, too! Just tap on the thumbnails of your dearest brands, swipe around a little and you are all set.

If you are wondering, where the money is coming from, let me tell you that this game-changing concept applied here is called crowd funding and this is the word that differentiates Lucky 6 from traditional lottery. The market is enormous and revenue generation is very very quick. Lucky 6 will first launched in India, followed by Latin America, China and beyond.

Already hooked, aren’t you?


Looking smug!

This post is published for the Indiblogger Happy hours Contest, Getting lucky has never been this easy! Photo courtesy:

Official link:


my last watercolor calls herself a fake. studio is contraction for oblong walls talking to themselves all day. there is a window half-shuttered; not a living soul. a sprig of geranium bleaches itself in the dust. below, slate roofs sun themselves shamelessly.

winter is the taste of burnt sugar. how it clings to my palate with the tenacity of a five year old! my skin wears your laughter in her tepid gouache folds. look, these are my bones. and this is me lying naked across the coldness of your heart.

remember my eyes?

they can still set fire to the rain.


autumn has packed up. our driveway is
a theatre- vines curling maroon on the stone walls-
a buttoned-down fragipani tree

and look, it’s the starkness of winter again-
my fingers half-bone and blue-
i’d like to think of it as a long night, but it’s already
9 years of sunlessness and

i am still dreaming of dreaming of you

©Mohana Das

on this side of the phone

“my much loved words just underwent hysterectomy,” i tell him why there won’t be any more lessons and hang up.

outside, our magnolia tree is hurling curses at the cemetery of fish-bones below. i have given up swimming. winter crawls up my legs, marking his conquest with sharp canines. i am too tired to fight back. there on my face, my prized profusion of veins is already a sanctuary of thorns.

“get more piercings,” i humor myself. then try translating into a bird. a certain number from Bollywood plays itself in loops. our timelines stretch. halfheartedly, i will it to break but he won’t let go. on most days i hate him. the acridity of denial disfigures the boron-breasted sky. i suck in a jar of stale November air and try again.

the tiny star that had caught fire had long been ash. i had been a little too blind.

it takes me hours to gather the anatomy of a particular ode. Anatolia quietly fades on my palms. i dust promises off the hollow of my neck, sigh at the mammoth newness of now empty nights, stow my blinking phone under my pillow and play sleep.

that sinking something inside my chest is yet to hit bedrock. fortunately, it does not have a name.

Stop. You can’t love me because you’re lonely, or because I am the only one who doesn’t piss you off. I want to piss you off, I want to get on your fucking nerves. I don’t want the responsibility of always being your rock. I will try, but I’m a mess, too. I lie, I sleep too much and I don’t like children under the age of 6, really. I don’t even know if I want kids because I’m selfish, and mothers can’t be selfish once they decide to carry another life.
I’m always looking for the rain to come so I trip over my own feet. I know exactly what the air smells like before a storm.
Before you fall in love with me, I want you to know that I cry a lot because it feels good, and I masturbate at least 4 times a week, and you might fall out of love with me before either of us are ready for it.
I have no experience with this. I’m trying to be brave and smart but its almost impossible to be both at the same time.
You can’t love me like a fire escape. Sometimes I will be the match, or the smoke under the door. I don’t know what I’m doing, all I know is that we all catch fire sometimes, before we even get warm.
Before you fall in love with me, I want you to know that there’s a 50% chance that this won’t work, that one of us will wind up hating the other. I will try to keep your head above water, but sometimes I’ll need help, too.
I can’t be your savior, and I don’t expect you to be mine. Just watch me unfold and I’ll watch you unfold, too. We’ll get drunk and tell each other everything. I know that’s cheating but maybe it’ll be alright. Maybe we won’t wake up embarrassed.

I am going to fall in love with you, too, feet first. Maybe we’ll slow dance off a building together, maybe we’ll have forgotten each other’s names by this time next year. I don’t care, the sky is gray with or without you, so I’m not going to look up anymore, I’m going to look ahead .

before you fall in love with me | Caitlyn S. via (alonesomes).

an apple//autumn

At dusk these days, the sky is an apple. Clouds of dust have settled down. Rheumy mists discreetly entangle themselves on the trunks of sycamores, hang like scallops from the earlobes of the atmosphere. Perception has become a dizzying blush.

Sometimes I run my fingers on its firmness, and I stop at the blemishes, yellow and scabrous- think of the flesh beneath, wonder if the wounds are too deep to birth rivers sub rosa. A cut at the core cradles in its kind nook the seeds of continuity. When I exhale, the carbon dioxide is heavy with hope again.

Leaves unpin themselves, float in the crispness of detachment. My hair is papery, fanning out against a sickle-shaped star. The earth pats her tectonic plates. The red is a luscious gloss, plump cheeks swell with smoothness. No one talks of sin.

From the shade, a snake heaves a cathartic sigh and is gone.

Linked to D’verse MTB The things we see

Today, it is Monday and I want to be waking up with you.

Look — look at all the ways I shake. Look, I want to be good at this. I’m reaching for your hands and you tell me that you’re an earthquake just waiting to happen. I make a list of things I’d rip my stomach open just to do to you:

Take off your clothes and put them back on again. Kiss you awake in the mornings and in the evenings and at three a.m. when the nightmares come tumbling back into our bed. Meet your parents just to tell them that they’ve made a piece of art. Leave your house and take you to the dirtiest parking lot we can find, talk trash about the people that have hurt us both. Kiss you when you start to cry. Kiss you when the moon is full. Kiss you when my mind is empty. Kiss you with the TV screaming white noise in the background, just kiss you, just kiss you all the time.

Look — I’m bad at being loved because the feel of it is like a heart that doesn’t fit right in my chest. Some days I think I will be a cemetery for your touch. Some days I think I will start a war, all for you.

Look — I could be this. All this tender, this open and raw, I could get you inside me like a disease. Be my now, be my tomorrow. Be my five years in a bed we both own. Be my wedding night. Be my testament. Be the dirt they lay on my grave, but baby — let it still be you.

Let it always be you.

D.A.S, Backshelf Poetry