A Letter

To the Snob.

I hated you.
I hated you when you looked down on me because my task was menial compared to yours. And the fact that at least this time, you looked 'at' me didnt make a difference.
I hated you when you showed me again and again how superior to me, you were.
I hated you when I looked out of that window, wondering why in the world I took up your offer when the only reason you offered it at all was to feel superior. I wanted to back out so many times. But I didnt.

I still hate you.
I hate the fact that you gave me one word answers when I tried to start the proverbial conversational ball rolling. More than once.
I hate the fact that I felt uncomfortable in your world, while you felt right at ease in mine.
I hate the fact that every time you look at me and smirk your condescending smile, your eyes are mocking me and you're screaming in your head - "LOSER".

All this because I am not or ever will be part of that part of the universe that you think is yours.
I hate you.
I hate myself as well. Because somewhere down in my heart, I know fully well that I admire you. And I cant stand that.

Feeling Cold

You know how when you're on the verge of liking something or someone, something happens to put you off? When you look back and think - "Dang it! That could have been someone who I need around me now and what did I do? Pushed them away!" ?
No? Never felt that way?
Well, I almost did. You have no idea how close a call it was. But sometimes, when you're on the verge of being put off by something or someone... something happens.
Except now.. I wonder if the other person is looking back and thinking "Dang it!... "
Sometimes, its easy to fall into a crush. Or back into love. Or melt into comfortable, familiar depression. Especially when you're as terrified of change as me.
I'm scared. Something big seems to be looming ahead.
All this restfulness, the lethargy of yesterday seems to have been the calm before the storm.

When did every moment become such a burden and living through the day become such utter torture?

True Sisters

She stood at the door
Undecided, hesitant, glancing,

Her bags in her hands, then back at the room.
New and fresh, yet old with spurned memories.
Should she or shouldn’t she?
The cost of her thoughts - her whole life ahead.
There was nobody around.
Now was her chance, to steal away like a thief.

She listened to the ticking clock,
Harrying her nerves with every second,
She dropped to the floor then, heaving with tears.
Knowing she couldn’t leave
She would never leave. She was trapped;
Her vision: A free deer caught by its own antlers
In a low tree branch –
Her traitorous snaring thoughts.
She loved him. How could she leave?
She hated him. How could she not?

A key turned in the door.
She sat there, waiting, tarrying.
The footsteps coming closer every second
Each a frozen instant of fear.

A dark shape crowded the door
Saying nothing – watching.
‘You wanted to leave?’ the final ironic question.
She mutely shook her head.
‘You would leave me?’ the accusing blaming voice.

She looked up at the taunting face
Hating herself for loving it.
‘You have changed. I don’t know why.
You scold, scream and yell. I only cry’
She thought but did not say
Fear crowding her mind once again.

He pulled her up, glared at her silent plea
‘You want to go? Why?’
She didn’t know what to say..
The doorbell - her saviour, clanged in urgency.
He left her there gaping, swallowing
Trying to breathe as the door opened.

‘Sis? What happened?’ she heard him ask
Between sobs not unlike those she’d shed before,
His sibling’s whisper – ‘I couldn’t stand it, anymore’
She said before he could ask.
‘He speaks harsh words. Does harsh things
I just needed to leave'

A burst of anger unleashed.
Envy for courage greater than hers.
The smirk of irony, through it all.
She listened quietly, standing behind him.
Watching him take it in – like a mirror.
Hearing her own thoughts – from another’s mouth.

Her own curved into a paradoxical arc.
‘Why do you smile? Do you find this funny?’
The other spoke, shocked at her callousness
And her brother’s silent frown.

Glancing at him, turning towards her,
She said slowly yet surely,
At last finding her voice,
‘It is now, we are truly sisters.’

The other day, my sister was watching some silly thing on Pogo. Pogo is such a silly channel. (Still its the one channel everyone at home has to watch - else my brat of a sister will make a huge fuss with teary eyes and a runny nose - yes, I know how cute she looks. She isnt really all that adorable. I mean, we arent even allowed to talk when Tom and Jerry is on even if its an episode she's watched a hundred times on DVD!)
I asked her, politely, if she'd let me have the remote she was hugging(hogging?) cos I just wanted to see something for a minute and I promised I'd let her have it back(fat chance!). Well she's too clever for me, now and refused to give it.
I had two options.
1. Wait patiently by her side until she let guard down.
2. Grab it from her forcefully - this almost never works. Even if I do happen to get the remote(which is not easy - five year olds are really vicious) she starts crying and I have to give it back. Sigh.

So I waited. And then Pogo in a rare show of brilliance put on Snow White, the cartoon movie (surprising since Harry Potter is the ONLY movie they actually put on - for May 'movie magic', and Diwali Dhamakha and August something something... yes, I know the names of the silly program schedules. How pathetic is that? Well - you try having a five year old sister who wont eat or sleep without watching Noddy or Oswald. )

As I was watching Snow White, I was watching my sister's reactions to what was happening onscreen. She was so engrossed and involved in the movie, and except to look at me, occassionally and ask 'nice, no? you like the movie?' patronisingly that was cute in a way, she didnt take her eyes off the tv.
Sitting there watching her watch the movie, I wondered where she would be in fifteen years (that would make her 20) and what she would be doing.
Then I realised in fifteen years, I would be bloody 34.
And I dont want to think about what I would be doing then.
Sigh... 14 years is a long gap between sisters. She'll never think of me as a sister - prolly as some sorta aunt. Poor kid.

Scratch that - poor me! When I'm 35, I'll have kids who look upto my sister as a sister.
Phew! How screwed up is that?

English, I tell you!

Men-struation.
Men-arche.
Men-opause.

If you're thinking this is going to be a feminist post.. well, I dont know yet. It may become one.
What the hell is wrong with this world where a woman's important bilogical functions all begin with 'men' ? Except 'Pregnancy' which is the only one where Men have anything to do with it at all.
And what's with the similarity between the words 'menstruation' and 'mensuration' anyway?
Two wholly different things altogether..
Well, dictionary.com says that 'menstrual' is Latin for 'monthly'. WhatEVA!

Wonder why people say that. 'whatever' means 'anything that'. But Dictionary.com also adds this meaning to it - used to indicate indifference to a state of affairs, situation, previous statement, etc.

Now you're probably thinking I should stop with going on about words.

Diwali Showers!

The rains have arrived!!! And as always just in time for Deepawali!!!

This year has been one hot sweltering bunch of months. After last year's long bout of heavy and incessant showers, it was not a surprise that 'kathiri - masam' this year was hotter than most years. That's how Chennai rolls – from one extreme to the other.

The rains of 2005 were the highest in the last decade; while the years before that - 2003 and 2004, were very very dry.
With power cuts due to water logging, flooded roads and houses, suspended trains, the angry monsoon took the lives of over ten thousand people. Even though Chennai is mostly a hot, dry city, the rains are welcomed with open arms and dirty feet by most people.

If only nature would have better timing! Every year, Diwali time is 'fire-cracker time', 'sweets time', 'new clothes time' and in Chennai, sadly, 'rain time'.

'Rain time' doesn't always negate crackers and fireworks. Invariably and incredibly the rain always stops exactly on Diwali letting everyone have their fun bursting crackers, lighting deepams or buying new clothes, as the case might be. (My personal preference, though, is eating the heavenly homemade sweets!)

And after all the noises of the Festival of Lights go quiet, the rains come down again, with a vengeance, as if to wipe the city clean of all the litter and smoke.

Although many righteous people might claim that bursting fire-crackers is to ignore a lot of issues like Child Abuse, Noise Pollution, Air Pollution, etc... Even they will have to admit, that with this year's rate of occurrence of Chicunguniya in the city, one good thing about the fireworks is that we will happily bid goodbye to Chennai's own pet creatures – the mosquitoes, at least for some time. All this, of course, is at the mercy of the whims of nature and the abetment of the heavy rains.

Now, before my computer shuts down – it's showing all signs of doing so at the rapid fluctuation in voltage corresponding to the intensity of the deluge outside, I better post this. As I am saved (again by the lovely showers, which receive no thanks from my mother) from taking the trouble to put laundry out for drying, I will curl up in bed, listening to Radio Mirchi while reading a book. What about college, you ask? Well, it's been cancelled due to the heavy rains!!!

Cross-posted at Chennaiist

another one

I've decided to start a new blog.

Sometimes pictures do speak louder than words...

Ha ha ha !

Its such a relief.
Its gone.
I'm back on familiar ground.
I finally did it.
Cut my hair so short I cant even tie it up!
Bangalore may have bad roads, be too cold for my linking and may make me sneeze too many times. But it still brought me back to my senses.
all my life except for the last three -four years, I've had short hair..
and now.. I am a liberated woman again!
How glad I am that I dont look bald anymore!

Getting a haircut is so different from any other renewal experience like a new wardrobe or makeover or anything.. just the act of cutting one's hair makes one feel fresher, rejuvenated and ready to face life again..
So what if my dad disapproves? So what if its too unmanageable for hot, sweaty Chennai? At least I dont look like I am 25 when I'm only 19!!!

Yeah!!! I am so soo happy, nowadays, I darent think about it (or blog) too much, for fear of my new found contentment going up in a puff of smoke...

Love my hair! Love my life!
But I still dont love exams which pull me back down to earth with a harsh jolt.
Just three more days till 'free-bird' time! almost...
But complete freedom comes only in six months.. when I'll be done with this degree.. done with this college.. and done with everything thats grown so tiresome in these three looooong years!
So close yet so far!

Finally!

What do I have to do if I dont want someone linking to my blog?
Is there some way to remove it other than changing my url or directly asking them?

These few days have been hell...
Thankfully I am going on a holiday.
A well deserved break at last! Even if it is only for 2 days.. I will be far away from college, home and other things I'd rather not think about..

A few other things..
The G Talk status wars have declined. thankfully! it was getting a bit too much.

Some things have happened that make me feel like quitting blogging altogether. Whats the point really? but I have no heart to delete this blog. And if I dont delete it, I might as well write. Its going to be a year. And that scares me more than you know.

A few people I didnt credit with a lot of creativity have surpassed all expectations. Suffice to say that stories involving balconies and pipe climbing have impressed me so much that other tales of transfers and eating binges fall short.

Caught up with a friend after a long time. Missed her a bit more than I thought I did. She managed to shock me too. And tempt me. And scare me. Smoking is very fascinating to watch.

Quite cheerful, I am these days... I am proud of myself for not cracking under pressure and god knows there has been enough and more of that...

Well.. Bangalore awaits!

a big tip...

The spoon stopped mid-air. Just before the dripping wet ice cream reached her lips.
"What ?"
He looked away, embarrassed. Whether for her or himself, he didn’t know.

“What did you say?”

“I asked if you are a virgin.”

The spoon went back into the bowl.

Hands whipped up the napkin as she leaned back into her seat and smiled sadly.

“And I thought you were different.”

“What’s so wrong about asking you if you are one?”

“Why is it so important to you?”

“Well.. Erm.. ” He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t going as well as he thought it would. Quite the opposite actually.

“I don’t get you chauvinists. All of you are the same. Irrespective of who the guy is, it always comes back to that single question. ‘Am I a virgin or not!?!’ Well. What if I am not? Will you tell mama and papa to stop the wedding? Will you change your mind because I have had sex before? Hell! You probably have had ten times more sex than me!”

“Actually I haven’t.”

“What?”

“I said ‘I haven’t.’” He sighed. It seemed like his future bride was going to be deaf during important conversations. It was going to be tiresome having to repeat everything he said.

“I haven’t had sex before. I am a virgin. That’s why I asked you.”

“Oh… I see… Well, I haven’t either.” She looked down. This time he was embarrassed for her. “I... I am sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She looked into his face, earnestly.

“Oh well. It’s okay. A lot of men are assholes. I am one too. Just not about virginity.”

Paying the bill as he stood up, he motioned for her to get up. As they walked away from the table, the waiter stared at the unfinished bowl of strawberry ice cream and the exorbitant tip. He looked up to see the last of his most generous customers of the day and silently thank him. The man looked back and winked at the waiter while guiding the girl towards the exit. Two fingers on his left hand were crossed...

Onam!

Guess what I did yesterday?
We celebrated Onam!!!
I know its too early .. there are two more days left.. but its the weekend and so much more convenient.

The great thing about Onam is that its secular. Its for ALL malayalees and not just for hindus or christians or muslims.. EVERYONE celebrates onam.. And there's such lovely fooood!!!

One of the first things that come to my mind when I think about Onam is the 'sadhya'!! thats the huge elaborate meal.. on banana leaf.. We dont have many 'leaf' meals at home. Except at weddings..And Onam and sometimes Vishu (in spite of us not being hindus we celebrate it, once in a while).
This year, we also decided to put a 'pookalam' which would be a kind of flower carpet or a flower 'kolam'. For a pookalam, there needs to be 'poo's! So I was sent out to buy some flowers. And I went grumbling, because of all e`rrands and chores, I hate 'buying stuff' the most.
Since we live in Besant Nagar and since for the past week or so, Besant Nagar and Elliot's Beach has been invaded by hordes of religious devotees of the Vellankani church, i grumbled even more.
But because of the loads of shops lining the roads, spotting a flower shop shouldnt be that difficult, I thought. It turned out that most people buy flowers only right next to the church, so I had to walk my way through the huge temporary shopping arcade to the other end. I was, unwisely, wearing jeans and t-shirt, so I hope I didnt scandalise too many aunties.. I did, however, hugely enjoy looking at all the shops on either side and admiring how prices fall at festival times.. and half wished that fab-india, which was also on the same road had also joined in and slashed their rates as well in the spirit of festivity!!!

When I finally reached the shop, the lady who was staring down at me (they erect platforms that come upto shoulder height for those shops adjoining the church - i dont know why!- the result is very disconcerting). The Lady who was staring down at me, pretty much figured out that I wasnt here to go to church, I thought, because nothing else could explain her frightful glaring. When I asked for some flowers (uthiri poo - loose flowers), she asked me what flowers. I did study Botany in school, but I really didnt know the names of the flowers, except for rose and 'mulla'(jasmine) in tamil! She was very irritated at my hesitation, so I pointed to some garlands hanging nearby and said that I wanted some loose flowers which were yellow and looked like this. She, was now very annoyed, because there was a huge line of other people behind me (who were also glaring at me), who I think she prioritised over me, because they were genuine. After I guiltily let one couple in front of me, I saw her smile at them and decided that I would not give way anymore. Finally I got her to understand what I wanted and she gave me 2 huge packetfuls of flowers (the colors all mixed up!) and I made my way back home.
Excited to start the 'pookalam' I forgot to crib about my harried experience and me and my lil sister started work. As much as I really do hate 'buying stuff', I love 'doing stuff' just as much. It was fun and I love the result.. We did two pookalams and the green leaves are from a nearby tree. Here they are.

After that I had bath and changed into my onam salwar (;) - yes I do have an 'onam' salwar) and sat down hungry for the 'sadhya' which, by the way, was the most amazing ever! Vegetarian food never tasted that good!

Update... Or 'Down'date?

Its been a weird week. Two fights.. A lot of shocking/surprising news.. and so many other things..

So there's this guy. The only guy I used to talk to school (in chennai - XI & XII). And we lost touch like ages ago..
Suddenly he's on Orkut.. and from his communities... I discover he's a drummer!
What the hell was I doing in school? How come I didnt know he was a drummer???

All of a sudden I am finding old and new friends.. College is ending.. I have things to do.. I have assignments to complete..

And I need to apply to universities..
And I dont have a passport..

*sigh..
Its falling apart.. I hope I survive...

Bloody movie!

I dont know why I went to watch the movie. I did want to go. But I knew I would cry. And I am not one of those people who get a high out of crying.

But the point is... I did go. I did cry.

Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna is a horrible movie.
Horrible in that it was so real that it was scary.

What will I do if i get married and find love out of it?
I think I would do just what SRK and Rani did in the movie.

And that's scary. For a lot of reasons.

Ouch!

What a crash! What a disappointment!
What a waste of time, energy and that scarce resource called hope!

Having friends never did suit me.

*If you're wondering about the cryptic post(s).. well.. Lets just say that this blog is far too public to say more... Sorry, my dear readers..
As for my friends who read this blog-you will not get any sort of answer from me. My mouth is shut.. and tightly this time.. *

Why doesnt Russia like me?

Mmm... Petrichor...

When I did this tag, I didnt expect all those I tagged to actually write. I was right. They didnt. But a great many did. Then they tagged other people and as tags go, it now has a life of its own. Questions are modified, answers are sarcastic, but its essentially the same 50 tiresome questions.
I've come across a lot of people who actually sat and wrote down answers for them all.

Question 48. Favorite Smell?

The answers are 8 times out of 10, 'smell of the ground after rain', 'fresh smell of rain', 'wet earth', etc...

Since I was the first one to write this tag and I put in that answer, I dont really know if its a domino effect or just a very popular smell.
What I do know is that there is a community for those people who love this smell on that monster of friends networks, orkut.

According to wikipedia, 'Petrichor' is one of the most frequently cited favorite smells (guess I wasnt responsible for the domino effect after all, eh?) and is essential the scent given off by a yellow organic oil in the earth which is released into the air during rain. It is composed of more than 50 distinct chemical substances and is strongest in the desert after a long awaited shower.
Petrichor is also a UK site dedicated to graphics and photography.

But enough of facts, a lot of sites, and people, talk of it as a perfume and a fragrance but as far as I can find out, no one has actually tried to put it into a bottle and sell it. All the more the pity. Considering it is a chemical substance, it can be made into a wearable perfume and being everybody's favorite smell would probably be a hot item in the market.

Anyway, what I want to know is, why is it so popular? What makes it likeable? Is it the feeling of familiarity? Or nostalgia. Almost everyone I know has at least one fond memory of rain. It also gives one a feeling of good things to come. which is probably true, because in most places and particularly in a rain and water starved city like Chennai, rain is a good omen and brings with it pleasant weather - relief from the scorching sun.

In spite of its fancy name, its one of the most basic elements of life. The kiss of rain on the dry parched earth. Is there anything more basic than water and dust? Is there anyone at all who doesnt like petrichor?

sigh...

A chance remark from a friend, an enemy and a stranger.
All of them said the same thing.
I have a complex.
Having ugly parents is better than having beautiful ones.
especially when u know u can never measure up.

*sigh
more later...

Mmmmm... Chocolate!

3.50 am
What in the world am I doing up and blogging at 3.50 am??? I don’t know, myself. I woke up at 2 and haven’t been able to go back to sleep... What do I blog about? I don’t really know.
Most people have commented on my previous 'depressing' post about how I should be positive, and cheer up, and all that... Thank you, all. I never get to R. I am always stuck on 'Chee'.
That’s how I feel about myself and my life right now. So forgive me if my posts get a little depressing. It’s sometimes the most difficult thing to live with yourself. And having a blog is a catharsis and makes it less difficult to live with myself.
Anyway, what does one do when one is depressed?
Watching sitcoms and cheesy chick flicks, always gives you the impression that high cal ice cream is the best medicine for an emotional breakdown.

Oh! How wrong they are... Chocolate! Yummy, creamy chocolate! Its heaven. Not only is it heaven, it also doesn’t leave you feeling bad for having eaten too much.
My first chocolate – I really don’t remember what it was. But it must have been something really really good. In fact, every time, I eat chocolate and especially if I am low, I always feel like I am Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. ‘Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good …’
My favourite kind of chocolate varies from mood to mood. If I am doing something (like an assignment, watching TV or reading a book,) then I like to have biscuity wafer-ed chocolate. Like KitKat (which is my faaaaavourite), or Perk or Munch. Crackle is for those times that I am hungry and want to muse over the scrunchy nitty-gritties of life. Cadbury’s Dairy Milk is an energy booster, while Temptations is for an occasion.
Of course, chocs from abroad, loving bestowed by cousins, uncles, aunts and friends with loving cousins, aunts and uncles, come into a whole different category, of which my favourites are Hershey’s almond bars, and Hershey’s kisses. As for Snickers and Mars – They are nice, but I don’t see what all the hype is about!
But I somehow like Desi chocolate just as much as foreign chocolate if not more.
Coming to types of chocolate, Milk chocolate is first. Bitter/dark chocolate comes next (cooking chocolate is usually the bitterest of them all, and once you get started on that, you’re hooked for life.) but not everyone likes bitter chocolate. White chocolate... I don’t know if it is chocolate if it is white! It’s not great, but I’d eat it anyways. One kind of chocolate I cannot bring myself to enjoy - Chocolate with coconut. I know everyone thinks its great and heavenly an all that. But I cant stand it.
But, with all the brands, types and preferences, there is one brand/type of chocolate I would like to worship. That is FERRO ROCHE. It is the greatest, most unbelievably addictive form of chocolate.

Damn! With all this talk of chocolate it’s extremely frustrating that it’s so early in the morning, and there is no stock of chocolate in my fridge.
All I could find was, one tiny Hershey’s Kiss.
So with that in my mouth, I will publish this post and say good night. I will try to wake up by 7. College is at 8, today…

There are somethings you can tell some people, there are somethings you can tell everyone. But there are somethings you shouldn't tell anyone. (Like the time you peed in your pants in seventh grade, or the time that you had a crush on your 'old' teacher, or the time that you accidently told your friend something your 'other' friend told you not to tell her.)

Knowing how to make out the difference between these 'somethings' is what is the most important to do to have a successful relationshipwith anyone/everyone. (Of course this is only if you 'want' to have successful relationships. You could just be in an anti-social phase like some people)
So that you don't hurt them or more importantly, yourself.

Sometimes, somethings that you knew were inevitable, surprise and shock you no end. (Like the fact that a friend used you, that people actually do gossip about you as well, that you got low grades in a really bad exam.)

Sometimes, the truth about yourself hits you so hard you can barely breathe.
Sometimes, you realise your mistakes are un-correctable.
Sometimes, you realise you don't care about or trust people you thought you cared about and trusted.
Sometimes, you learn things the hard way.

Its going to be a long year...

THANK GOD!!!

A lot of the time I assume that when something bad happens to me, its cos god hates me or the world is against me or something like that.
Of late, however, I have come to realise that there are very good reasons somethings happen to you.
Like a break-up or an almost date that you wish had happened or an exam you failed or somebody you forgot or that lousy hair-cut.

For the past few weeks, a lot of the things that I cried about when they happened have turned out to be good things.
Take for example: When my hostel had to be painted, I had to lug all my stuff back home. I kept cribbing about it at that time. But now, I dont need to go backto hostel, its ok.
So next time I wont crib.

Have you felt intensely happy that things turned out the way they did, although you moaned and groaned about it before you knew all the facts? and saw all the pictures, so to speak?

Thats the way I feel now. Intensely happy and elevated.

Have you ever felt the pressure of no pressure?
Like having nothing to do gets on your nerves?

Something you didnt know before...

Some really innovative bullshit interesting information I came across.
Do you know the expansion of DOWRY ? Daughter-in-Law's Own Wealth Released to You! By the same logic, the full form of SOWRY is Son-in-law's.... And did you know apparently SOWRY is the silliest most swept-under-the-carpet 'Western disease' in India? That this is the main reason why the suicide rate of men increases by more than fifty percent after marriage whereas women's suicide rate is the same? (Of course, the fact that women suffer emotional upheaval and abuse even before their marriage has nothing to do with it.) Among the imaginary most horrifying strands of western disease that are spreading throughout th country, some of the most important are DOWRY,(which came from Greece), SOWRY HARASSMENT(which hardly any of us know of), FEMINIST ACTIVISM(The venom is really potent. It has made most girls in our country think in a way against our culture), GENDER SENSITIVITY(really?!?! Where did that come from? Why do we have to be sensitive to women, anyway?), CANNIBALISM(Damn Europeans!!!), ABUSE OF ELDERS BY THEIR DAUGHTER-IN-LAWS(All these bahu-witches!!!)
India is a country of old and glorious beliefs. And how can we let the WESTERN CANNIBALS change the way we live ?
Quoting from an article on this enlightening site...
'These western activists must be opposed as soon as they reach Indian airports. They should first culturally improve themselves before they preach others. Slavery, cannibalism, dowry (read article greek dowry), feminism, reductionism, judgementalism, patriarchy all are western diseases. We need immunity from all these diseases and the time is running out....'

Please if you have a lot of time on your hands and you really want a good laugh an informative 15mins... Do read the entertaining articles on this site.
Link courtesy: Megha.

SAVE INDIAN FAMILIES!!! Cos in spite of being the SECOND MOST POPULOUS country in the world... WE ARE GOING EXTINCT!!!

P.S.- What sort of a person puts up a nude picture of a pregnant woman and then several pictures of mothers breastfeeding their babies as a dedication to all the 'sweet mothers' in the world?
And father's day is coming around the corner... Wondering about that!!!

Bleh.

Somebody wrote about revenge and its uselesness on his blog.
Do you think revenge is not fulfilling?
I wouldn't know. Because I have never taken revenge on anybody. But because I dont know, I feel it must feel better than sitting and doing nothing.

I think I am going to take a break from blogging. Not for lack of things to write. Just dont feel encouraged by my readers. Yes! You!

Oh. Who am I kidding?! I have no readers. Just those few friends who I force to comment.
Bleh.

Who writes a post on Valentine's Day and yet mentions nothing about it?
Who says 'Oh Lord Jagannath' in the middle of a blogpost?
Whose boyfriend has a whole blog dedicted to the love of his life?
Who claims her hometown is Ker'E'la?

Answers: classmate, classmate, classmate and classmate.

Just a Rant

Sometimes I feel like banging my head against the wall. Talking to some people is like talking through a one way door. Only the things they tell you seem to come across. And when you try to tell them something it bounces back. Except when you speak their way (read as walking backwards. Like moon walking or something!).
I hate when people think what they do and what they say is right. They are so stuck in their own shit that they just cannot put themselves into other people’s shoes. And even if they do, they bring their foul excreta with them. They are just sick sick sick!
I also hate interfering in other people’s messes. It gets really stinky most of the time.(Forgive me for the malodorous metaphor.)

PS- To all those lesser mortals who don’t know this fact, I have put it up in bold red.

WHEN TWO PEOPLE BREAK UP, SO DO THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY. AND THERE IS ALMOST NO EXCEPTION UNLESS THEY WERE ALREADY FRIENDS OR FAMILY EVEN BEFORE THE TWO PEOPLE GOT TOGETHER.

I know this is entirely unrelated. But of late I have come across no less than three failed relationships in which the one or both of the two souls or their friends and family trespassed this golden rule. (And one relationship in which even formerly friendly families became less friendly and more than just a lil cold to each other.) The result has always been a sticky situation including delicate conversations, hurt feelings and lots of melodrama.

I have stayed away from interfering in anything for two whole years. And now I find my fate almost inescapable.
*walks slowly away with head down, thinking…*
To meddle or not to meddle…

Last night

Stasis.
A condition of balance among various forces; motionlessness.

Last night I realised I identified with this word more than ever before in my life.
Is stasis a balance or a lack of force? You could argue that the balance is achieved with the help of two or more equal and opposite forces.
The dictionary also gives another definition. ‘Stoppage of the normal flow of a liquid substance'
This is more like how I feel. Like everything has just stopped happening. Not like my life has come to an end. But more like I am waiting for something to happen. Not a full stop. More like a comma. A pause. In balance. In stasis.

You would think that this is the last thing I should be thinking of, being in third year of college, 18yrs old.... The funniest part is that in some ways I am happy. At least I have my peace of mind. But then it always comes back to the very same question. Do I like being at peace?

Last night, there were three words running through my head as I was lying down trying desperately to get some sleep. Always in the same order. Always in the same tone. ‘He, I, we… He, I, we…’ Almost like a chant. Or a lullaby. Take it any way you want to. And I wonder now, why the order never changed. Why was ‘I’ never first ? Why was it always ‘he’? (To those who are wondering who this 'he' is, I wish I knew. I feel like I will never know. If I did know, I doubt very much that it would be 'he' running through my mind. Wouldnt it be 'his' name?)

There are four types of women. Women who always put themselves first – the MMers. Women who always put others first – the YYers. Women who put themselves first but maybe not always – the MYers. And the women who put themselves lastbut not always – the YMers.

Most people (both men and women) consider the MMers to be the selfish bitchy women. And the YYers to be females with zero self respect. I don’t know if I agree with this perception. But what I do know is I that I always thought myself to be one of the MYers. But of late I have realised I am more likely an YMer possibly even one of the YYers.. And I don’t know if that is a good thing. I also don’t know if all this logic makes any sense to anyone other than me.

Last night I realised there are many times when I am glad I joined this college and made the greatest set of friends ever. I am glad for that. I am glad for the particular friend who made me realise that. Not withstanding her repeated attempts to persuade me to agree to let her instigate an event of rowdyism and which would result in a pair of broken legs, she really made me feel better. And that got me thinking. If I hadn’t joined this mediocre college, I would never have met all these people.

Last night was a night of many thoughts. You would think with all this thinking I would be too busy for anything else. You would be wrong. I finished a book (Eleven Minutes-Paulo Coelho), one that I really don’t know whether to classify as a good one or a bad one. One thing is certain. I certainly identified with the protagonist.

from the book:
' Considering the way the world is, one happy day is a miracle'
'The art of sex is the art of controlled abandon'
And last of all, my favourite(!!!):
'The true experience of freedom (the author was talking of love):having the most important thing in the world without owning it'

How was your night?

Four eyes and two smiles

Looking at my nails. Thinking too much to look up. Suddenly I feel them. Those eyes. That formidable feeling of fate. Of destiny waiting to happen. Butterflies. Scarcely brave enough to look up. I see nothing. No fearful sight. No haunting scene. Just normal everyday traffic. But I know. Those eyes. They are here. Looking at me. At my face. Into my soul. A sudden movement. A reflection of a jerk. A darted look. A mirrored glance. Its him! That familiar face. That known silhouette. Those very same deep deep eyes. Can it be? I blink and look again. Maybe. Maybe not. A chance sighting in the rear view mirror. A honking bike. A ray of sunlight. Identical looks of surprise. Pleasant faces. A smile or two.
3..2..1.. Green. I blink again. The traffic surges ahead. We're lost again. Hope is subdued, the heart falls, practicality reigns. Life moves on. The blink of a chance.

Back!

SO?
GUESS WHAT?
Its RAINING!!!
RAINING!!!

NO... I am not in Kerala... In which case it really wouldn’t be a big 'surprise'...
Its JUNE... and its CHENNAI...
And its RAINING!!!

la la la la la la(ok... credits for This Happy Song go to Divs)

Well... I am back. And I thought I would be happy and jolly after the almost-one month break…Turns out I am not… I am just as crabby and cry-baby-ish as ever.After bawling like a baby, I think I feel more cheerful.

I missed Chennai. I missed my friends. I missed my family (ahem ahem. Yes. Turns out I actually did!!!) And here it comes... I also, surprisingly, actually missed my college…

But most of all, I missed blogging.
Really horribly tearfully missed it. Well… I missed broadband more than actual blogging. But! Same difference, aint it?
Dial up is really terrible.

Hmmm…
Thought of writing posts all the time.

On the road. In the middle of traffic. While walking head down and trying to ignore all the lecherous looks that come as a result of walking dupatta-less on the road. While watching some cheesy snivelly ole romantic movie after months of being HBO+StarMovies deprived. Feeling lonely on a stormy night. Watching my dad open his very active mail account with over 8342 new(unopened)mails dating from over 5yrs ago while opening my mail account and seeing no new mails or ‘Inbox(0)’. Trying on a t-shirt and realising that I HAVE really bloated! Unpacking my suitcase and realising I would have to unpack lots more when I shift back to hostel. Realising I don’t WANT to shift back.
*sigh….*
Do all you fellow bloggers out there, do all this? Or am I more addicted to blogging than I thought? Or am I just more naturally creative?

*Among the other things I found out(and revised) about Kerala. Good looks and height are inversely propertional. Particularly amongst the XY half of the population*

Storm

The sky lit up.
I sit here watching the clouds fight.
I realise here and now,
That this will be my life.
Watching sparks fly
Watching myself cry
Watching drops fall
Irresistibly cold,
Dark but for candle light,
And the sudden angry flashes
Stark rage
One after another
Again and again
Over and over
Always bigger, louder.
Then sudden stillness.
The sky rages no more.
The storm is gone.
All but my mind is calm.
I sit here watching the clouds calm.
Of light there's none.
Just dark and darker.
The rain falls still.
The candle is out.
The wax is cool.
My hands are wet.
The world spins.
Its time.
I can no longer wait.
I must sleep.
The anger can wait.
It will be there.
Tomorrow.
Forever.
Distilled and pure.

*The last line is inspired by a friend. :-) He knows who he is. So I wont mention his name.

I am going to bloat!!!

My appetite is an indicator of my state of mind. If I'm happy at home and comfortable then I hog. If I feel extremely uneasy I starve.
I also feel hungry according to whether I am doing something productive or not. In shot, if I'm a busy bee, I need just a little to munch but if I'm quite jobless, then I need a lot of food. I realise that may sound quite weird. That it makes more sense if I'm more hungry when I do more work. But I think my psyche is wired in such a way as to make me feel hungry only when I am not working.
And sometimes even what I'm doing effects me. If I'm reading or watching tv (esp with all those scenes of people eating food!), a movie or even working on the computer, I need something to munch. Preferably potato chips. If I'm working I hardly ever eat. And I'm talking about half a meal a day.
And then if I'm in hostel, I eat little. But I eat more than I eat at home. Why you ask? Beause lets just say... There are some people who make me feel hungry and some who positively make me barf at the smell of food. As a result, a stint at home makes me lose weight while the rest of the time I'm 'putting on' (also prob cos my hostel believes in cheap yet filling potatoes. In everything!)

But this stint in Kerala, I hope, is one I'm going to enjoy. But the bad part is I will put on weight. I'm sure. The food is too good to be repulsed.
This has to be about weight and food, cos I have been buying a lot of new clothes. And all that shopping is going to go to waste. I'm sure...
Dammit! I hate lipids.

On a totally diff note...
Check this out... Isn't this a sexy tattoo?

TWO MORE DAYS AND COUNTING!!!

I am going !
to kerala!
la la la la...
I am high..
I am gonna fly...

Let me run.. and go PACK!!!!

Of sex and life

'Among the coral reefs in Australia there are certain fish which change their sex on demand. If there are not enough female fish, then some males change into females. If there are not enough male fish then some females change into males. The fish of changed sex are fully functional in their new role.'

'After mating the female house spider wraps its mate in a cocoon made from its web material and then proceeds to eat its mate at leisure.'

'While the male praying mantis is in the process of making love the female nonchalantly starts to eat him from the head down.'

'When two prarie voles of opposite sex meet, they make love for forty hours. Then they are chemically locked to each other forever in a sort of mutual obsession.'

'A genetecist in Australia has claimed that 'intelligence' is linked to the X chromosome. This means that intelligence in boys always comes from the mother. Girls get an X chromosome each from both the father and mother. '

'There is a part of Indonesia where women buy husbands. If you fancy a man, you go along to the family and make an offer. If the offer is accepted, you pay the money and have yourself a husband. In that region only women can own property.'

And finally, we come to...

'In India, there is a custom that when a daughter gets married, the family has to provide the groom with dowry or promise money. If a family has many daughters, they can be ruined. That maybe why 90% of illegal abortions are on girl babies. Yet in other cultures, the groom has to pay the family of the bride in order to marry her. In South Africa, the bride price is the imbola. One highly educated young woman had diffiulty getting married because any prospective groom would have had to pay two hundred head of cattle. In the Middle East, a good bride might cost $30,000. So it is usually cheaper to marry a western woman who costs nothing at all.'

Potato Chips

(A piece of almost-fiction I wrote sometime back)

I sat in the auto staring straight ahead… Trying not to concentrate on the racket made by the loose screw that attached the useless meter to the rod. It was so damn irritating. Why didn’t the autowallah fix it? Was he so used to it by now that he couldn’t hear it any more?

My stomach grumbled. I was hungry. (When am I not?!) And I didn’t even have a strip of gum to chew. At the next signal, I asked him to stop and bought myself 2 packets of potato chips. I opened one packet immediately and began to gorge…

The chips were crisp and yummy. The way potato chips always are. I sighed as I let my fingers mechanically stuff the chips into my hungry mouth.

I looked up to see the auto driver staring at me in the mirror. I looked away. Hmph. So what if I was hogging all by myself. Surely he didn’t expect me to offer him some, did he? Besides I was starving. The least he could do was not stare at me like that!

I turned my attention back to my packet of chips. It was a real wonder. I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t like potato chips. Those thin, crispy and tasty wafers have enough and more charm for everybody. Unless of course, they are dieters.

I, for one, despise and pity dieters. People who deny their body’s natural craving in order to bring their weight under their control. So what if you’re fat? Just live your life to the fullest, and eat all you want, instead of putting yourself through all sort of tortures thought of by depraved sadistic minds. Just for an emancipated ‘figure’ and a well-below-average body mass index.

I have a friend, the first time she sees a person, she notices their weight and size. This stems from an inferiority complex that makes her feel that she is, to put it mildly, fat. Which she is not, if I may add. And yet, the only interesting thing about anyone, when she first sees or meets them is whether they are fat or not.

Coming back to potato chips, the salty taste is damn addictive. Talking of taste, Lays is the best. Especially the orange “Hot & Sweet – Caribbean Style” I loooove it! But normal, regular, salty, potato chips are so unbeatably the best.

As I was munching the last few chips of the packet, I thought I saw a familiar face advancing towards the auto. Asking the auto to stop for a moment, I stepped out and stood where my friend wouldn’t miss me.

“Oshu??? Is that you???” Wow! She had changed, I thought as I hugged her and mused about her fashionable three-fourths and red spaghetti strap. She was the last person I expected to see here, and that too in such chic attire! Especially because she had been one who sat demurely in one corner of the class in her proper salwar and dupatta and the only animated movement she made was to frown crossly at me when I breezed in with my regular jeans and t-shirt. The last time I saw her was in school. And boy! Had she changed since those shy quiet days!

After the short chat, and exchange of phone numbers, I got back into the auto, glaring at the grumpy sour faced auto driver.

“Ippo ponga. Time ayiduchu” I told him curtly when he hesitated to start the auto. As I waved to Oshu, I vowed to call her tonight itself and talk to her. It had been a really long time.

It took a moment for me to register that something was wrong. Where was the second packet of chips? Oh! I frowned at the auto driver. Did that greedy fellow eat it up? I didn’t ask him. What would be the point? He would just deny it, anyway.

When the auto finally reached home, I took out my purse, as I pondered over whether to broach the subject one last time. I decided against it. The guy looked nasty and I didn’t want to make a scene. Yet, I felt a pang, as I handed over the forty rupees. I was about to turn and leave. “Madam!” he handed me the packet that had been behind the seat all the while, with a twinkle in his smile.

Why not men?

Disclaimer: Not fit for easily-offended people... Such people please stay away from this post. And contains content that is not suitable for children.

Why is it that when you try to abuse a man in english, you usually end up abusing their mothers and not them?
Look at all the examples :
Son of a b***h - You are calling his mother, a dog.
Bastard - You abuse his mother's character by implying that he and everyone else doesn't know who his father is.
Mother-f****r - You see what I mean?

This is to name a few. Why is it so? Is it because society is patriarchal enough to deem men as un-abuse-able? And are there any names to call men which aren't mother-related?

And thanks to everyone who has commented on my earlier post... But I'm not going to stop blogging till the very end.. till 8th night to be exact! that too, prob everyday... since I'll be at home...

Time

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
I wish upon a star tonight...
And yet... no matter how many stars I wish upon.. time will not go faster, will it?
It is most annoying when one is looking forward to something thats still quite some time away....
I know time is relative.. and I only feel like its getting slower every minute... But that doesn't dispel the mounting frustration I am feeling...
I am going to kerala on 9th... Hurrah! A visit to God's (and mine) Own Country that has been long awaited and one that has been pending for long... It is almost two years since I went to ente naadu!
For the one month I am going to spend frollicking in the green fields and mosoon rain.... there will be no blogging... I will miss it... But what has to be, has to be..
Pushing the needle on the clock... Encouraging it, pleading with it and doing all I can to make it go faster...
Oh! When will 9th come?!?!?

Thin & Thinner

Disclaimer: I mean no offence to fat men or thin men or diet-addicted females. I am just expressing my opinion.

A friend has written about women and weight loss. His views include a lot of very misogynistic comments, which I prefer to overlook, for now. But the part that interested me the most was where he talks about how almost every woman is jealous of every woman thinner than her.

Now this, I thought at that time, was absolute nonsense. And I still think it is. Only I am sure that a lot of women are jealous of those who are slightly thinner than them. The operative word here is ‘slightly’. No woman can be jealous of a stick insect. Here I exclude all anorexics and bulimics. I feel sorry for them but they definitely have a mental problem.
I too sometimes wish I had a slimmer frame, (to say the least). But I must say that I pity all those girls and women who starve themselves in order to lose a few pounds and since these starving sessions rarely can be sustained, and almost always end with a huge eating binge, they gain all those precious pounds in a matter of days. I have a couple of friends who do this and listen to no reason when they are on one of their ‘slimming strikes’. One of them even threw away all the chocolates in her fridge!I have no idea how she could do that when there are plenty of food-aholics like me surrounding her...
Another one proceeds to starve whenever it strikes her that she has put on weight. She also imagines often that she has lost weight. The rest of us just politely and patiently indulge her. What is the sad part of all this is that it becomes an obsession with these people. The only thing they notice about everyone and everybody they see is how fat/thin they are. Every time they pass any reflecting surface, they look at themselves to see whether they ‘look’ fat or not.

But this post was not about these silly girls. This post was going to be about how a lot of women don’t like thin guys. Thin guys. I wonder why that is so. Because most of the time we,women obsess about weight, it is to become thinner. Or slimmer. Yet slim/thin guys are not desirable. For prospective friends, there is no such issue. But when looking at a guy from a romantic perspective, I have noticed that ‘thin’/slim guys mostly go to the bottom of the list. (Or should I say ladder?) Why? The only proper reason I could come up with is that all women have a loathing to be fatter/wider than their better halves. This could be because if they were, they wouldn’t be able to protect her and keep her safe. After all, protecting her and keeping her safe must involve lifting her in his arms and running away dodging bullets in slow motion, shouldn’t it? This is not to say that most women like obese men. They don’t. In fact I am of the opinion that most of them loathe them even more than they do thin men. After all, a thin man can at least run with her at his side, whereas an obese man would probably slow her down as well.

And all that being said.. I would like to add that a thin, balding better half is one of my recurring nightmares! Add bifocals, protruding teeth and a really bad accent and you have my worst one, yet!

P.S. My friend, Lakshmi, has written about her views on smoking.. and they are strong views to say the least...It might also interest y'all to know, that I am the friend mentioned in her post...

Halve an incisor and what do you get?

One insecure, embarrassed, scared-to-smile, always fake-smiling, asymmetrically-faced girl.

I broke my left front tooth when I was in 8th std...
I was in boarding school and it was a cold cold day.

We had jogging everyday morning at 6. I think it should be made illegal to wake up kids (esp school kids staying away from their parents in a godforsaken hill station) before 7. It was sheer torture. And in spite of the jackets we were allowed to use, it became unbearably cold at that time of the morning. Sometimes there was so much mist and fog, you couldn’t see your own hand in front of you, let alone the person in front of you or the uphill path we were sometimes forced to go on cross country jogs for...
They were some who enjoyed it. But the more sensible people like me, loathed it. Considering I still dislike exercise in any form or shape (be it running up four goddamned floors in college to reach my class, or lifting my ass to go buy something to eat from the canteen), its quite surprising when I find I actually miss it - but that’s only when I'm in one of my nostalgic moods... In fact thinking about it, I think the root of my dislike for exercise has its beginnings in Munnar...
So anyway... like I was saying…

It was a cold cold day, and I hated the sound of the bell that was rung to wake us all up... As I curled back into my cozy blanket (yes - we had nice cozy warm blankets), I knew I was going to be late...
Just as I had dressed and was sleepily combing my hair... One of the early risers came in and announced that we didn’t have jogging but we had exercises.
Happy that I didn’t have to drudge up the shiny wet slopes tired and glad I didn’t have to listen to "You there! No walking! One lap extra! Jog, I say!" from the PT master, I ran down the stairs. Exercises were considerably better than jogging... Because, they didn’t involve much moving away from the same place.
I was quite cheerful throughout the exercises unlike the jogging days when I had a distinctly sullen and sour look on my face. Perhaps because I looked more forthcoming and positive, the PT sir chose me for a race. Sheesh! Me! Who hated physical competition of any sort, because I knew I would always come last and I hated losing...
But anyway this race was of a different sort. We had to race while doing exercises. Like 'frog jumps’ (which are sit-ups, I think) or hopping (which was easier than the rest) or 'bear crawls’ (which meant just that - crawling on fours-only not hands and knees but hands and feet).
But the one that would scar me for life was The Crocodile Walk.
How do I describe it? I cant, no matter how much I try. So I choose to source it from here.

Crocodile walk - You're face down again. This time the object is to crawl along the floor with your torso as close to the floor as possible without touching. It's hard to describe the leg/foot and arm/hand positioning. Just plop down and figure out what works for you.

What did work for my PT sir was dragging one's body along the floor (without touching the torso to the floor - of course... only I always conveniently forgot that little detail, and since no one can really make out.. I got away with it, too) with one's elbows.
I was in the first race. There was some rainwater, or some other puddle (I'd rather not imagine what. With my school's open corridors- it could have been anything.) And my elbow slipped. Just like that. Slipped! And because I was panting and gasping, my mouth happened to be open. All my weight was supposed to be on that elbow... Which slipped! Something else had to yield... And so my head flew forward, mainly due to inertia and not due to willingness to take the weight, and my tooth hit the hard stone floor.
When I got up, my head was dizzy and I knew something was wrong. And then I saw it. A bit of white porcelain on the floor and some powder alongside it too. Like it was broken off from something. Couldn’t think what it could be. You see - My mouth was still open and my hand was holding my nose, because my nose had hit the floor hard as well.
Then when I closed my mouth... I could feel something missing. Then I looked down and everything fell into place. And I started screaming...
Everyone thought it was because it had hurt when the tooth broke off. The secret I kept to myself was that it had hardly pained at all... Those were tears of dismay... How could I walk around with a half tooth? What would my dad say? Most likely he would be mad! Which brought tears...What would he think?!?!
One look in the mirror was enough to convince me that my new nickname would be Ms Dracula. And since I knew someone who I liked, liked me back, my first thought after my dad was whether he would ever like this new avatar of mine. And that brought even more tears.

In the end, however, my dad was too pre-occupied with other things to be mad about this, and other than for a small homily I escaped unscathed.
My crush was sensible enough to calm my fears and assure me that it mattered nought to him.
He even thought it was cute and continued to call me Ms. Dracula for months in spite of my many protests not to.
I got it fixed during my two month vacation and I was as good as new when I entered the 9th std confident and minus vampire phobias.
In 11th the cap fell off and I got it fixed permanently, this time.
Two months later, it fell off again, while I was chewing a pencil, earnestly studying for my boards.
My dad, has since then, been promising me that he would take me to the dentist. Unfortunately, he loathes exercise just as much as me.
I still have my half tooth. I have recently got over all my insecurities and have decided to smile properly. As a result all my recent pics look horrible. I am undaunted.
I am also in a bit of a muddle whether to fix it or not. I am comfortable with it and I think its ME. But do others? Yes. I am shallow enough to think about what others think.
So I have given my dearest daddy a deadline. "By this year or else...."
(But knowing him and his loathing of exercise.... *sigh* )

P.S. - I noticed I strayed away from the topic quite a bit. Sorry, please forgive the nostalgia!
P.P.S. - So since I have only have one and a half front teeth... when I say :-P I actually mean it!

Why do I feel so bad?
So what if I was the last one to come to know of something momentous?

Why am I so hurt?
So what if the person to whom it happened to is (was) someone I considered very close to me?

So what if I had to know of it through someone else minutes before i was told by the person concerned?

Why do I feel so left out?
Like I'm not in the circle anymore? Was I ever 'in' the 'circle' ?

So what if the person concerned is feeling terrible for not having told me before?
Why should I forgive him?

Now isn't this cute ???

http://img.tapuz.co.il/forums/8572800.swf

Why ?

I hate tuesdays.
Because everytime I go to that house, and see that person... Its a tuesday...

I hate pulsars.
I hate french beards.
I hate tattoos.
I hate so many things I like.

I particularly hate long auto rides which leave me mulling over what would have happened if I had followed my insticts and grabbed on tight on that short bike ride. And I particularly hate the hypocrite in me that keeps promising myself that I will never again put myself through such an ordeal as that. I break my pomise. Every single time.

And most of all, from the bottom of my heart, I hate, I absolutely hate that person.

************************

P.S. - I posted this thrice.
First time - raw and unedited.
Second time - just the first two lines - cos I thought it gave away too much before.
Third time - Edited and longer - cos it was too short.

P.P.S. -
To the anon who posted this(below) as a comment on this-

Four places I have vacationed…
Numbers 1 and 3 are amazing
Tv Shows…
Just the 1st one
Fav dishes
2 and 3 though I love my mom’s biriyani
Sites I visit
1 and 2
Places I’d rather be right now…
1 and 2 is where I always am
Books…
Only one person knows about the books I love
Movies
1 is super awesome that I got my mom a DVD cos she loves it to the core…
3 and 4 are good…though I love the 3rd one better than the 4th
About the jobs…
1 yes…
3rd…ive done that for my dad…
2nd..i’ve done that for my mom and sis when we rush for a wedding or to the church…
And the site that you had in your blog about the image changer is really good…
Nice blog…keep rolling…

Well.. glad to know that you and I like a lot of the same things. But I do wish you would tell me who you are, and what your name is and sorry for the late response.

A splash of moods

Blue. Black. Grey. A sudden whirl of stark red. Like a gash. And through the gash flows a calm river of purple. Soothing. Peaceful yet intensely strong. And if you look closely you can see that the purple is actually navy blue, pink and white strokes interwoven to form an almost perfect mesh of colour.
And somewhere on the edge, there lies a bright yellow sun. Orange and sparkling. And the sky around it shimmers with a rainbow. A riot of colour.
But the sun lies at an immeasurable distance from the red gash and the purple river. Eons of miles away. Minutes of metres away. Far away yet so near.

When will the sun rise above the river to drive away the black and the blue???
But not completely. Because white, the opposite of black, is plain, stark and dull.

OK Ok.. Enough about my eyes!!!
Now..
This is a sort of semi-post.. something for my faithful readers to mull over...
In general, I am not a great fan of blonds. (or blondes, for that matter). I, somehow, prefer dark haired guys to blonds... Maybe its because I am Indian and so I like Dark haired guys.. whatever, the reason, i've always had crushes on dark haired guys...
So thats why when I came out of the theatre after watching Harry Potter and The Goblet of fire I was real surprised that I had a sudden liking for the Weasly twins... Or rather the actors - James and Oliver Phelps. I had hardly noticed them in the other three movies, but this movie .. well... lets just say.. they stood out...
I'm not saying I suddenly developed crushes (always has to be plural with twins.. so tiresome...).. but I certainly did give them a lookover. Sure they look pansy and girly but so does Orlando Bloom... And they are not really blond.. so I've redeemed myself!

Mew Post!!!

Well.. After all the tags and the issues..
I am going to finally post something thats totally about myself....
Me, me, me...
And to people who think like this anonymous commenter , i have only two words to say...
Don't Read!

Well.. I had this farewell thingy we were supposed to host for our *ugh* seniors...
The theme was gypsy/hippie...
Considering the party itself was last minute and very disorganised, it was dumb luck that we got food let alone thematic decorations!
Dumb luck and efforts of "The Saint".. (Oh, pandu.. What would we do without you?)
Anyway, the "theme" being Gypsy/Hippie.. the aim was that everyone look as much like Phoebe as possible...
But.
Make that>> BUT. Not everybody was sportive enough to turn up in weird clothes.. :-( I wanted to go as weird as possible.. But things just didnt add up at the last moment.. The most Gypsy-ish woman there was Lakshmi, not to mention prettiest! (Really, babe.. You looked very cute..)
Anyway, I wore a tee, and jeans and a stole and a bandana and some beads... I know.. not very gypsyish... But still.. It was pretty cool.. And I thought I actually looked nice for the first time in a long time..
But when the pics came.. L mailed them sometime ago.. I was disappointed!
I looked weirder than usual.. and i made an astounding discovery..
I look like a cat!!!
In almost every picture ever taken of me!
seriously! very sad... My roomie once told me, that I looked feline because my eyes were tilted up at the sides and that was probably because I am Leo. She, is an expert on sun signs and can cite the sign of most celebrities by heart not to mention look at someone and accurately (well... most of the time) predict what sign they're going to be... Apparently most signs have specific physical distinctions.. I dont know about that... But that is digressing from my dilemna...
My cousin once told me i look like a chink(No offence to anyone).
Well.. Looking at all the pics on my comp.. I'm thinking I do look weird... because of my eyes.. check this out...
These two are the more "feline" pics.. Also, its probably because I am almost closing my eyes in both.. lol..
The following pictures though show what my eyes really look like... Do forgive the unshaped eyebrows and all other flaws.. I am only human... unlike Nina... :-) lol..











I look like a CAT!!!
Don't I ???

Four jobs I’ve had:

Editor- English journal (ugh… hate the memories)
Sari pleats organiser (I do it quite well… really…)
White hair plucker (My dad was quite conscious in his younger days when I was in my early teens!!! used to earn five bucks per hair. Unluckily for me, my dad had and still has very few white hairs.. lol)
Blog template changer???

Four movies I could watch over n over:

The Sound of Music
(I love it. Unlike some people who didn’t even have the patience to sit thru 10 mins of the greatest musical ever. Even if it does get boring after the first hundred times... to not see it even once... tch tch..)
Van Wilder: Party Liason (Yes. I know. It’s a silly movie. But I still like it.)
Shrek
Ice Age
And one more for luck... Dr. DoLittle

Four places I’ve lived in:

(Easy peasy..)
Bangalore
Ernakulam
Munnar
And my beloved ole Chennai

Four TV shows I like:

FRIENDS
Will & Grace
Frasier
The New Adventures of Lois and Clark

Four places I have vacationed:

Ootacumund
Mysore
Bangalore (when I wasn’t staying there)
And most exotic of all – Sikkim!!!

Four of my favourite dishes:

Chicken (all and any kinds)
Pizza
Mor kachiyuthe (mallu speciality – yellow colored buttermilk.. yummm!!!)
Pachcha Payir (another mallu speciality – green gram with cocnut…)

Four sites I visit daily:

Gmail
My Blog
LCFanfic (yes. I am a superman junkie.)
Google Image Search

Four places I’d rather be right now:

On my bed.
In London
In M’s house (its been long)
At the farewell for the third years, tomorrow dressed in hippie style!

Four books I’ve read (actually re-read) recently:

The Class
The God of Small Things
The Rainmaker
Angels and Demons

Four people I am going to tag:

None.
I am sorry. But its too tiresome. However I will leave an open tag… You’re free to take it up if you feel like it… This way no one curses me…

PS- I think i have blogger's block. anyway check out the post below and do tell me whether you can make out what it is or whether its just a big blob of 0's and 1's like nina says?

A text image...

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This, Ladies and gentlemen, is me...
Courtesy - a wonderful site!!!