September 29, 2010

What Could be the Possible Title!

I have learnt to be unhappy.

And you are reading it right.

I just don’t know how it happened. But it has happened and I can say that I am not happy with it either. Told ya!

I have been a quiet child. I also am in between the introvert-extrovert personality. I would talk well enough to save my a** but then at other times, you would not even notice me sitting, sulking under my unmanageable hair. That is how my senior school went and I have never been more glad that senior school is only for two years. The truth is that ever since my middle school, I am on a journey to find my identity. I know every journey has roadblocks, detours, empty gas tanks, flat tyres, hitch hikes, unknown destinations, strangers, and nonsensical characters. But lately, it does not look like a journey with roadblocks; it looks like a journey made of roadblocks.

I cannot call myself a cheerful person though I blatantly say that I have a crush on laughter. I am not peaceful. I sleep for 7 hours every night and yet, my mornings do not have “the radiant sun sieving in through the window”. I can tell, I am burning my skin with the sun and this is not even a metaphor.

I am not able to study because apparently the Gods decided that my brains would do better justice with someone else and change the world and all that crap. And thus, Einstein was born. How I hate geniuses!

That being said, I really cannot argue that my life is all that bad. It is just that black orb that surrounds my head. 

Oh! Wait, that is just my wild mane.

And ofcourse, I could never get this man. Not even close.

Oh! I would so like to take that place. But then they had to have the Miss Universes and Worlds. Gnetchy Gnetch would agree with me and trust me in a few days, this phrase will be taught in the Break-up Schools for women, “All the world revolves around one basic rule- All Good Men are Taken or They are Gay.” And the rest is a whole different story.

I have also lost my humor and sarcasm. Write what’s in my heart. My foot! Sure I have been losing followers. Either that or they have been way too constant for a way too long time. Apparently nobody wants to read sob stories. Who can blame them anyway!  

Sometimes I worry about myself. And then I write nonsensical posts.

I seriously have issues. I am just glad that I am not alone.   

*Image Source: Google Images


September 28, 2010

Virtual Coffee I

Hello my lovely friends,

Wouldn’t it be really nice that we could meet over a cup of coffee. Ok! You can order cappuccino or the Starbucks frappucino. It’s your money, so your choice. Well I recently discovered this Virtual Coffee at my friend Corinne’s blog and I enjoyed my time with our coffee dates. I really would love to have a coffee date with you my lovely buddies unless of course, if you pay your share...

join me for coffee!

The hostess of this super idea is Amy at Lucky Number13. The idea is to go on a virtual coffee date, talking and gossiping, giving out advice and asking for some, or just laughing out in a melodramatic way to attract attention… Mwahahahah… You with me!

So, if I were meeting you for a coffee…  

I’d tell you that I walked today. It was something that I had been putting off for a long long long time. Let me just put it this way, the last time I walked was last year. My friend Karen would be proud of me. :-D

I’d also tell you that the rains have decided to come back for the next year. The city river is overflowing after 32 years. The sun is out and although, I would still like the rains, I have decided to become a little less selfish. I have also been enjoying the sun and the mild winds that blow my hair at night.

I have been having an off start week at my office. Because none of the girls like me there. Well, can ya blame them! But I have been exceptionally sincere in my work and I can finally say that I have started to enjoy my work. Ah! The bliss of spending your own money. Ok! It does not always feel good but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

You would probably still see the blood clot in my eye. It has almost become redundant. The doctor said it was a hemorrhage. Well it looked like one before he said it. But I am enjoying it because everytime someone asks me, I flaunt it. Oh! Did I tell you that I like bruises? Oh! Ok we will move to something else. I must say we disagree on some terms.

I have lots of things to tell about my school stuff. Oh! Bloody money sucking mongrels. I cannot tolerate my dad’s money being sucked with such precision. I should have passed my computer course like past February but apparently, the institution just loves me too much to see me depart. I have that effect on people. Or that is what I think.

I’d tell you that I would have loved to take pictures, pictures and more pictures. I am obsessed with photography and Masterchef Australia. I learnt to make pancakes last evening. Don’t laugh please. A girl learns at her own pace. Can I ask you something? What flour do you use for making pancakes? I’d also tell you I remember, two years back, I was browsing a food picture book with V. A was not for apple, it was for Apple Custard and P was for Pizza. We were just kids, working hard, saving, and when others were hanging out at Pizza Huts and Dominos, we would stand in the Toys Section of Odyssey, counting how much sales we made. That day, we were all alone, which seldom happened and I had found this book. This book- with pictures from its very first page to the last. From A to the Z. It was bliss.

Maybe this is too much for the first coffee date. And maybe not. But too much of caffeine is not good for health and besides you don’t want Starbucks to earn from your pocket.

We would end our date, with hugs and smiles. I will probably order a muffin after you leave.

Until next week…


*Images: Copyright Rathi R


September 24, 2010

I Am from Here and Here and Here... You Guessed it Right! TRDC Meme!

Okay so, I missed the last and the last meme, but I did not want to miss this. This week’s meme from TRDC is “Where I am from”. Awesome, isn’t it? Well, it is…

I am from the pages of unfinished books, from martial arts, morning juice, and icecream.

I am from the quandary rooms of a silent house where fights and disapprovals reek from the walls.  

I am from the daisy and the neem tree, colourful and releasing medicinal perfume on a rainy day.

I am from the strangeness of a family living far away in an equally strange city and of quirky silence, from unexpressed love and meaningless words and arrogant will power.

I am from the off shore emotions and unsaid frustration.

From inexplicable circumstances and conniving interiors.

I am from God is my friend and conscience is my God.

I’m from the city with a flowing river, miles away from the sea it which it flows into, of white rice and oiled gravy.

I am from ageless ego, the sweaty forehead, and the dreams of a once-so-close friend, gradually fading away in time.     

I am from possibilities of an undiscovered power, looking at your child sleeping, a mirror showing weird smiles, and a wardrobe devoid of current trends. 


September 20, 2010

I Am No Jane Austen Character... But I'd Like to Try

I am no Jane Austen character. But like Jane Austen believed in the influence of a letter in expressing one’s emotions, be it love, hate, indifference, apathy, or whatever emotions humans feel, I admire this art of writing letters. I agree, phone calls and meeting have their own charm and ecstasy. I also agree that e-mails can never match the enamor of a hand-written letter. But then, you have to turn every tide for your benefit.

Now, I would never undermine the web world and its jargons because I enjoy them. Everytime Google brings up something new; I celebrate it like my own creation. I have never proclaimed my love to anyone blatantly. But for Google, I would do it with a shameless boast. I love you Google and Gmail and Blogger and Google Talk and anything that comes with the G-word. Think straight!

And lately, I have developed the habit of writing letters- e-mails to make it precise, but I enjoy it all the same. It is like reliving the world Jane Austen’s characters would have lived. It feels good to hold a string of trust over the overwhelming distances. And I know, for the most part, we will never meet one another except, ofcourse, if I marry a Hollywood hunk or probably Sarkozy. But, the magic that transfers through the little e-mails between us is beyond words. I understand that it is hard to comprehend and to believe that something like this can be anything but surreal. But I guess, that is just the way it is.

I enjoy the part when I find an e-mail from my distant friend making its presence in the Gmail Priority Inbox. It may be a simple “Hello” or “Whatcha doing?” Sometimes it is a simple “Where are you?” But all of that matters, every little statement in those letters. If not much, it makes your day knowing that someone took the pains to write something just for you when most of your friends do not have the time to give you a call.

I have always been scared to commit. Relationships are hard to contemplate for me. And it amazes me that I have been able to talk about so much to some person; a person who a few months back would have been nothing but just another person. We have people in our lives as a witness. Some people have witnesses of the sort of a crime scene where the information deluges with distance. To open yourself in brighter dimensions is a new feeling to me.  

Wouldn’t it be great to write letters to one another telling about your life, your city, your favorites in the city and the things you cannot tolerate? Handwritten letters showing your handwriting, talking about the silliest of things you would want to share, or maybe something important. I am surely not a Jane Austen character, but I would love to give it a try and see what they saw.

Do you have a pen pal or would you like to have a pen pal? Would you start today or tomorrow, if given a chance?

*Image Source: Google Images


September 15, 2010

Learning the Art of Impatience

I have had my issues with patience. Waiting for buses and trains- well they are okay with me. I am just not patient with life. I want everything now. Given that certain things come at the pace of your Ashton Kutcher-loving grandmother and let’s just pretend for a moment that was the reason I did not get along well with her. Face it, a girl has to fight for her man! Anyways, this post is not about Ashton Kutcher and definitely not about my attempts to keep him for myself. This post is to break my dry wordless spell for the past week and a surreal attempt to find out why I am this impatient when it comes to almost everything.

Ever since I was a kid, I was this expression-less, dumbfound and sober girl. Trust me! I had this reputation going on for a long time. People just loved me from the very first sight. And then I learnt to talk.

While you are growing up your parents become more annoying. Your sibling becomes the cherry on top that you eye devilishly to have all for yourself, before anyone else gets to it. Only to put your cracked tooth under your pillow later that night because of course that cherry was evil too. You wake up the next morning for your coin but lo and behold! There is no coin. There is nothing. And there begins your first lesson of becoming the impatience virtuoso.

Then comes your high school. This phase is simply outrageous. Your hair never sets right. Your skirt is always an inch too long. And that stupid boy you have a crush on would NEVER turn to look at you. Oh! and did I mention he would easily locate the Nictitating membrane of a frog in your biology class but there you are sitting just across him. But he would never turn to his right because ofcourse a better looking girl with her hair set is sitting to his left. And there you graduate for the second time in the Impatience degree. Bloody frog-reading jackasses!

After the second year, you give up the search for any of the unexplained phenomena that trouble your life. You are pretty sure that your college would be as mundane as your high school. There could be nothing better than an all girl’s college. Nothing. You lose your patience here because the bathrooms are never free and apparently because it is an all women’s college. So, you appease yourself with posters of Ashton Kutchers and John Travoltas. This is when your Ashton Kutcher-loving grandmother finds out your secret affair. And like they say A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. You fight, b****, and then fight some more.

Bada bing! College is over. Three years… swoosh! Gone! Now is the time to sit and contemplate what you are going to do next. Patience. Patience. Patience. Twenty years of life do not go by without teaching you about patience. Patience is something that you would never get.

How could I possibly SIT and CONTEMPLATE when my mind runs like Jesse Owens? Unless otherwise for a math exam when my brain mutates to a SLOWPOKE. Questions fly, sail, and do a slow-mo walk. I shake my legs when I sit. I toss a million times before I reach my sleeping position. I have to keep things in their place… I would lie there thinking about that towel that I left in the bathroom. MUST GET IT. I know my heart beats faster almost all the time. And I know that I enjoy a fast-moving day.  

Thinking is such a waste of time. I am impatient, obsessive, and surreal. Maybe I am not impatient, impatience is me.  

*Image Source: Google Images


September 9, 2010



I usually like travelling in city buses. For one, they have helped me see things that I would have never known. But on other days, days like today, I choose not to take any sides. Today, I was crumpled between sweaty hands, bodies, hair, and annoyance. I dressed well today. I was looking good. Fresh and green. But today was not my morning. It was the morning for the girl who got the 8:35 am bus. I got the 8:47 am bus. I stood there precariously. Someone was poking an elbow. Someone was attempting a desperate attempt to reach the exit. Someone was talking on the phone. I admire such people. It is an art. Being able to forget that there are 50 odd people staring at you… I must say, it is one worth skill to learn.

I was trying to keep my balance. Dangling and dropping. One hand clutching my bag and another my lunch pack and a book. Fifty others were holding laptop bags, lunch packs, cell phones, cartons… I was running late. I looked tacky. It was simply not my morning. My legs hurt and my migraine had found the opportunity to sneak in.  

For the 22 years that I have known my life, I have been trying to balance things.

In School- The Math Score Vs the Biology Score
In College- The Missed Classes Vs the and the extracurricular activities.
Now- My work and life.
Today- It is a clash between my pride and vanity.  

Not every day goes as I had planned. Sometimes, I am hit by this air of absent mindedness like when I got down at the wrong metro stop. I also tried to let go of my logical pride succumbing to the tenderness of being the elder sibling. I cannot believe how much of our lives depend on balancing. It is frustrating sometimes, but at other times, when the heavens open up to our foray, things seem to be fine… well balanced.

As for God, I believe in God as much as I believe in life. I enjoy the concept of life, most of the times. It looks so alluring. The mystic variations that every single living being has… At other times, life becomes a b****. It is irritating, too bulky, and annoying to say the least. My relation with the Big Guy is somewhat similar…  

But, I am trying to respect the Big Guy’s intentions. He must have worked hard to create so much and then so much more. It is worth something, if not much, to see the things that He would want me to see. I hate to admit it but most of the times, He is right!

As I write this, it is eight in the evening. I still have my migraine, with a blood clot in one eye, and my feet are still hurting. But I was also praised for my work performance. I also felt the rain drops on my face. And eventually I looked good. Tomorrow will be another day. I may miss the 8:35 bus and I may not look as good as when I start from home, but I have this pure feeling within me that somehow things will be balanced.    

Like they balanced themselves today.   

*Image Source: Google Images


September 3, 2010

The One Month of Recognition

Hola, sister bloggers. Well, I was playing Real Life, Melodrama Style. That is where you fight with your father, get an eye infection, lie in the bed for two straight days, run hallucinations in your brain, and eat brown bread and brown bread alone, and forget that you blogged. Then, then you are to find the Real Life dossier, where you continue to fight with your father, still have an eye infection, get up from the bed only to lie down on the sofa, run hallucinations from Bones and Castle, continue to eat brown bread, and have the epiphany, “OMG! I have to blog.”

You can play along, if you want. Anyways, this week’s meme from The Red Dress Club is…

Write a short piece of prose (or a poem if you so choose) from the perspective of a broken inanimate object.  It doesn't necessarily have to be a toaster but it should most definitely be inanimate!

* * *

There is nothing better than illness. "Does that make me a bad person, if i say that?"

Because, she is ill. She cannot sit on that wretched box that takes her away from me. I watch her lying on the bed just next to me. She lays in a calm, monotonous manner- like I remember her. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen. But she seems to be enjoying her illness. And, so that defies me from holding any guilt or remorse for her.

The first time she saw me, I was stacked up in an ill-mannered way in the city library. People had looked at me, a number of times. But I have always stayed there. The same row, the same rack, the same level. It didn’t hurt much, you know. It was good to be there. But that window in front of me, it always disquieted my beliefs. Sometimes, it was beautiful- the outside world.

I am old. My pages flutter out now and again. When I first came to the library… that was somewhere in 1975… or 1978… I don’t remember… but I remember that they had placed me in a forlorn corner.

“People cannot see me from here.”

“I should make it to the center table. People will see me better there. Yes! The table.”

They say, “Things changed with time”. But my pages never had that line.  

When she came to my row, she stood there, her hands behind her back, with squeezed eyes. I did not want to be taken. Not by her. But people don’t even listen to each other let alone be a book.

But today, I am sitting next to this girl, the one whom I have known for less than a month. She wears glasses. I wonder sometimes whether she actually saw me or was I one of those mistakes that people make when they don’t have their glasses. Can she really like me? That is impossible. I am ugly. They have tried to preserve me at the library. I am all taped up. But I know I still am ugly.  

When she took me from the library, I was scared. I was scared to come out. The library was the only world I have ever known. The other one was the publishing house. It was dark there, most of the times. And, I don’t remember much from there either.

But since I have been with her, I have seen the subway, the metro rails and boy! they are so sophisticated, the buses, a cafeteria, roads, and flowers, bees, blue skies, and night lamps, stars, smoke, rain, sun, and so much more.  

I have heard them say, books take people to different worlds, the worlds that they have never travelled. We also teach about things, we teach them to contemplate, to make decisions, and we make them see miracles that life often skips in its lessons. I have made her cry twice. And brought a smile quite a few times. She had thrown me relentlessly thrice. And I have hated her then. I wanted to go back to the library at those three times. Atleast, no one treated me that way there. But who am I kidding. No one even knew I ever existed.  

On some nights I have slept on her and on some other nights I have simply watched her go to sleep, just like tonight. One month passes sooner than I think. The time in a library is different. It works harder in the real world.

She lays, ill and sober. This is my last night of recognition and respect. Tomorrow, I will be back at the library. But, I will be there in her “Books I’ve Read in 2010” and she will be there in my “Date Due”.