It's who we are

I realise now, the value of liking someone. I used to notice the littlest things about him, which maybe had a lot to do with him in particular and not with having a crush in general.

I liked the way his phone was always on vibrate, just like mine and when he’d get a call, he’d say excuse me, I need to take this, and he’d talk and I’d wander off but he’d come back smiling to find me. How long his fingers are as he messages, how he laughs out when he gets a funny SMS. In a picture of him with his girlfriend, I noticed his phone on a table beside him and I grinned widely; a private joke between me and the universe if you will. I liked a lot more about him, his smile that breaks out of nowhere and the curly hair that would flop on his forehead.

And just like that, all those things recede and he becomes just another person I say a quick, walking 'hi' to. It all goes away, and there was no one to mark, it’s significance in my life or his. There's no one to notice it's over. That the little red flag I was holding has been quietly put away.

Those days have passed, and he may have Great Love in his life, he may not, I may, though unlikely. Some girl might notice the same things, might like his hair, might make him cut it. I feel the weight of the beauty, the moment, that brief time that I captured and siphoned, that I pinned like a butterfly on velvet paper and put away in a box. He becomes just that to me, but if I’d told him, maybe it could have been something for him as well. Maybe he'd remember me, tell our story while he's on his second drink...

But see I never wanted anything more, I love my house, my way of things way too much and I’m constantly haranguing to be left alone by the world, and I never succeed and I’m always glad.

Before I met You

It's small things readers, the tiniest of them -

like an extra library card

~like that whole bunch of giggling men hesitating to step on an escalator, and I want those virginities back for myself, and I know, like I've always known, that I'll live somewhere far away from all this.

~if you're not in class, having someone message saying - where are you?

~or driving all the way back home with stoner music on and not being conscious of the fact and when you pull up to park, the spell breaks and you go, how'd I get here?

~using a word, a new cuss word and all of a sudden everyone's using it, dingbats

~remebering oh yes, today is tuesday and there must be a new episode of weeds waiting on isohunt.

~the greet of airconditioned air over your sweat rivulets

above all, food and rest.

Because I know what to take seriously and he's not one of them. It's with birds of the same feather, that I can talk aloud, think aloud and that's when I feel the most natural, at my best. It's when people joke around, put you down, reduce everything to 'bookish' or 'quiet' that I feel vacant, not uncomfortable but irrevocably different from them. Becasue I don't want to explain myself.

I want to put a bandaid over my life. My toe nail came off, and all I had to do was put a plaster on it to press it down and let it just be by itself while the new one grows. That's exactly what I want for my life right now. There is too much going on, too quickly and all this that I'm learning, I might just lose it if I don't sit and write it down, or talk, or consolidate it into an opinion, that becomes mine alone and not something I read somewhere.

For that I need a really sticky plaster.

For Shane and Silis.

She sits with her legs crossed in yogic postition, tablets of cannbis in her jeweled box, beaded curtains around her. Horrible sickly incense clouds the red floor lamps and loud strains of Metallica float around, I bow, almost kneel as I enter.

"Blog Goddess?" I timidly beseech.

"I've been expecting you," her voice quietly booms.

"Err, umm.., it's just that I've come to collect my blogpost, there seems to be a problem, but I have been waiting and waiting for some kind of update to materialise and so far I have received nothing."

She stares into the distance passively, "Let's start with the most mundane, what did you do with your puny existence today?"

"Saw Hancock and went for a swim. Should I blog about the empty theatre and how these bloody popcorn movies are insulting us, squeezing our brain cells untill they're mere single cells."

"Who wants to know about that bugger, its not like you made a movie did you? You think anyone gives a shit about the one line you write about some one movie which everyone has already seen."

"Possibly, but there was this girl at the pool whom I totally recognised as a junior from my school but while I was busy avoiding her and averting my eyes elsewhere, she approched me and said Are you el and did you go to S. School? and I said yaaaa..really slowly, and she's like oh I'm so and so and I was like get out, no way, even though I knew exactly who she was I pretended to be surprised and oh, I never realised."

"And I care because?.."

"Blogs are so fucking one dimensional you know, text-image-links. Maybe I'll recycle some old pictures, pass em off as new. "

"Oh no you didn't. Blog about blogging, and then you come in my house and insult me?"

Sorry?

Maybe you could write about your college which has reclaimed it's sweaty time consuming place in your life.

Two words, no V.

You're kidding right? Are you honestly that delusional? You didn't even know him till a while back and suddenly everything's seen in context to him. So, same motherfuckers walking the corridors?

Check.

Still clueless about the future?

Check.

Allright then, you, have nothing to say, I'm bumping you off.

No, no, how about the yummilicious momos I'm eating right now, hot hot hot steamed chicken, with red chilli sauce that is all chilli and no sauce.

Girl I've got tablets, I mean huge tablets of this stuff and you're talking to me about food? One last shot, what song you listening to?

Harry and the Potters - Stick it to Dolores

Get the fuck out of my office.

Z is for Zeppelin Time

This is something I found quite by chance. Basically you post a picture related to the theme - which on this wednesday is Z, and the first thing that popped into my pretty little head was, what time is it? It's Zeppelin time! ( credits: xkcd)

So this is the room with the poster right down there over the hole in the wall which was covered by a wooden plank.

And this one's the close up. Yes I know it's blasphemy to put a Switchfoot picture right above the Led Zep one but in my defence I made this years back!...yea, doesn't count does it?

And that's the other picture which I like a lot, bottom left hand corner, it's a classic, black and white, Page in a teeny sweater and Plant blowing smoke rings, ah to have been William Miller.

Here I Go Again

You can't decide when you have a good time, when you meet new people, where the day takes you. Some folks you establish are interesting but they may or may not become your friends and that's when I wonder, what do people think of me? That's the only time I'm conscious that, you know, I'm not a vampire and I must have a reflection. Or do I?

So I had this nice morning planned, would wake up, go for a swim, get a haircut and then go meet my lovely friends Shai and Fly. However, due to unforseen circumstances, mainly my stupid ass body sleeping through several alarms, I was fast asleep at the time I was supposed to meet them and had to hurry, hurry, rush, rush as usual. Fuck I hate that, maybe its an inborn rebellion to my fauji-precision-clockwork genes, but I simply cannot be someplace on time. Thing is in the morning, every second counts, and after dinner, one hour here or there makes no difference. Sure you owls would agree.

Anyway, day still went off well. Lunch was good, I love my friends and I also love being alone and sometimes in life you get a perfect balance, and today was such a day. Madonna(because they have the same teeth) also joined us, and he and me have this mutual appreaciation society thing going, we both say nice things about each other and refrain from the other stuff, because he's one of those people that you have obvious and huge differences of opinion with, but that's ok, he is he and I am me, and in the end, I know I can count on him, and I know I'll totally come through for him, if need be and vice versa.

(Oh, but Rohan, no same teeth anymore! :D)

Also, maanged to get my haircut. While coolio dude cut away, in the parlour, there was a lady/woman getting ready for her wedding, full bridal make up, hairdo etc. and sure, she was pretty, with a busty magenta top, red cartoon nails(not even vampish) with rotting brown mehendi (haai, haai) and her friends were fluttering around her, and I'm thinking the last thing I want to do on my wedding day is spend hours in a beauty parluor - you know?

I'm not a big one for days, like I hate birthdays, not because I'm emo or anything, I just hate all the hoo haah and pressure to do something on that day. So what would I do? Let's see, I'd like to wake up without an alarm clock, with sun on my face, and immediately have something chocolate. Then, hit the pool, you know those whole body floats? Yea, float on the water, sun myself, nap whatever, have something to read, this I'll have to plan very carefully, definitely not the newspaper, because I'm sure for the rest of life I'll remember, on page 3 the mcd head something said something about potholes. I'm kooky that way.

When I'm all deliciously wet and the sun is drying the water drops off, have fresh watermelon and grape juice, french fries(oily not deep fried) and maybe chicken-mayo-capsicum sandwiches. Then a rollercoater ride, or several, and paint ball and in the evening we can dress up and go somehwere nice, or do whatever he wants to. But avoid people at all costs. I'd love for my parents to have a big party in their house, with the lawn and fairy lights and everyone can 'congratulate the happy couple' but maybe sometime the week after.

What about you guys?

Incidentally, downloaded lotsa 80s love songs, just because, and have been blasting Can't Fight This feeling(REO Speedwagon), Whitesnake, The Bangles, Cherish (Kool and the Gang) , Dangelo and The Temptaions. heehee, I've also always had this neighbour thing. Like in the previous house we lived in, it was two floors, downstairs people had a lawn and we got a terrace, and this dude, Jha, used to make all his phone conversations from the garden, he'd smoke, talk loudly, and scratch his you-know-what when he thought no one was watching(ewwww I know.) My study table was right next to his window and trust me when I tell you I knew EVERYTHING going on in his life, no kidding, from his friends to his hassles with his parents, to the girlfriend to his job(pilot, waddya expect).

There was a point to this..oh yeah, so like I knew everything about Jha without him having any idea, I have this fantasy that somebodys always listening to the music I play. Almost like I DJ for some invisible folk down below. Don't get me wrong, I play for myself, but maybe someone will have huge overlapping tastes and come searching for my door, and we can hangout and burn CDs for each other and stuff.

Hmm..too many movies.

Steady Hands Take The Wheel

It was my market than our market. I like how some things that were mine, we now share, including friends. Baristas and neighbourhood store owners who earlier recognised me, not recognise him as well. Even the guy who checks the air in the tyres at the petrol pump.

We drive by that market, everyday now, becasue to get to any arterial place really, crossing that choked road is the only way out.

There’s a dressed up crowd that hangs around the pubs and outside the theatre. Girls with their hair in sheets below their shoulders, with outfits to match their bags, who wear pin pointy boots no matter what the season. Guys wearing those t-shirts you get, you know? the ones that have a skin coloured extension of cloth under the noraml t-shirt to give the impression that the entire arm is tattooed? Flashing 10 rupee diamond studs in their ears and caked hair on their head.

Further back, beneath the tree and the circular cemented area, next to the cigarette stalls where I go to get polo, is a different sort of crowd. The girls have backpacks and is it just me or is their hair curlier? Tied up carelessly or the tangles let loose, glinting nose pins, dangling silver earrings, wearing washed out cotton kurtas, or maybe a black band t-shirt with a matching belt. They chat placidly, smoke comfortably and laugh occasionally.

Me, I don’t dress up, am a books and chai kinda girl, sure I’d love a bar with loud music as much as the next person, but tis just not my thing...yet. I will have shots and give in and dance to Usher and wear a Penny Lane faux-fur coat with a hoodie and pub hop. Someday, those times will come for me.

What a granny, he says, but he’s not much better.

At the front of the market, near the car park, boys and girls get out of big cars, their school bags stuffed with their uniforms and they're so self conscious of their outfit; it's not fair, to make them choose that one t-shirt that represents them the most, to wear on the day their exams get over and they hangout.

And African men, lots and lots of young African men, are they sons of diplomats then or sons of housekeepers? Does it matter? Which countries are they from, I wonder as I lock eyes with every one of them, Mozambique?(Maputo, my brain automatically says) Somalia? (Mogadishu) Niger?( Niamey) Guinea Bissau or The Guinea? Mali or Mauritania or indeed Malawi? Congo or the Democratic Republic of Congo? The Gold Coast or the Ivory Coast? Zambia or Zaire, now the infamous Central African Republic. Tunisisa or Tanzania? Maybe Morocco, though I doubt it.

I’m sure I’ll have tonnes of things to say to them, if we get past the accent, that mammoth effort of a simple smile and hello. It doesn't matter that we're on the same sidewalk, because their continent travels with them. That's the size of the distance between us.

The odds that one of them has just finished reading Franny and Zooey like I have, and listed down the family tree – Seymour, Buddy, Boo Boo, the twins (Walt and Waker), Zachary (Zooey) and Franny in their notebooks..How high is that possibility?

We shall never know, because we can cross each other several times, but I'm just driving past, sitting passenger to steady hands on the wheel.

Go Rafa, Espania - ole ole ole!

Right, excuzi for the double post but, I am reeling right now with stuff to say.

What a final, this is why we love tennis, this is why people spend hours on hours practising and what champions. Delirious.

So as I was happily watching the match(wimbledon final - Rafael Nadal vs. Roger Federer for those who're not so into it) with Rafa 2 sets up, he(Shaan) really sweetly calls and starts talking about the match, no hi hello. For a once-in-a-month chat friend it's quite nice that he knows, just assumes that I will (duh) be watching the game, and it's one of those moments when we're talking and I can hear the shouting and TV ads on his end of the line and in my living room as well. It's also ironical because there's no signal in the TV room and Il'l have to get up and go to the balcony to talk to him and he's like tie break and I'm like oh fuck no, call you back.. Its nice that he thinks of me you know? And its a foolproof thing, if you want to talk to a guy, follow the club he loves or watch the match he's watching.

Anyway, weird thing - both Rafas Uncle Tony and Mirka(Fed's gf) were sitting in same box. So both the players keep looking up at the same box and when Rafa gets an edge, Uncle gets up and starts yelling and when Fed wins a point, Mirka starts thumping the box and you can almost hear Tony cursing at the back. And did anyone notice a most Jude Law like person sitting on Mirkas eft? Was confused and then I spot Gwen (Stefani) on his left and look, its Gwen and Gavin! (oh man how I love Bush. Infact, first heard of the band, waaay before the president. ) Gavin was so into the game and Gwen was just like, 5 hours of my life, there they go, never to return. Mirka too, was really feeling it; usually she sits tight lipped (can't help it if the girl has thin lips) but she was all cringing and stuff and and when I saw her, I was like come on Rafa, you can't let Mirka take out her digi cam and click pictures of Roger making out with the trophy, again. (ok, mean, but you understand right, this moment has been five long, long years in the making.)

Also, just when Rafa is taking the lead, inching closer to championship point, and he can feel it, and the crowd feels it and you can feel it and you look at Federer's face and it's so rondu and for half a second you feel bad for him and then he goes and hits a winner, and you're like no, no Rafa, just wrap it up, close the deal, COME ON. And when Rafa got the break 8-7, Venus who was watching stood up and started clapping and I'm sitting stock still becasue I have this dumb jinx idea that if I move, it'll change the tides. 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7, my god, what a match.

But Rafa won! And because the match went on so long, someone must have politely mumbled in Prince Philip's ear to keep it short, and so he didn't talk to any of the ball boys/girls forming the corridor as he usually does. 2 years back when he slaughtered Andy, he chatted with the ball girl for a good 5 minutes, the match was SUCH a no show, got over in like an hour and a half or something.

Also, I love the woman who interviews them after the ceremony, though this time she didn't address his highness Prince Philip, maybe cause the Prince and Princess of Spain where there was well? Who knows about the delicate matters of royal protocol? Regardless of the question she asks them, both of them say the same thing, first answer - say something funnyish, or rather self effacing, they'll laugh anyways and acknowledge the crowd. Second answer - say what a fantastic player your opponent was, how deserving, which seems all jolly but it's actually rubbing it in. Trust me.

And like the humble guy Federer is he starts taking a lap of honour, and everyone's like wtf? Sit quietly while Rafa does that. One thing though, if Fed's a rondu winner, he's a very graceful loser, that you have to hand to him. He tried very hard not to cry and he managed.

What a night. Whew, winding down slowly..

Egregia Cum Laude, with outstanding praise

I like being an older sister, though I think I'm the Queen of Inappropriate. Sisters birthday, her friends came over, still in their natal teens, and they wanted to watch a movie so I gave them Superbad, which is funny but full of dicks and lubes and porn bla bla ~ not a very good idea and got her Twister, so yea, kinda off the mark but the thing is, that awkwardness between boys and girls is so wonderful when you're on the outside, and my head is clicking every 2 minutes with something to jot down and write about later. It's a treasure trove of a minefield.

You know readers, I have this thing for younger guys, that sounds most crude and Michael Jackson-ish but I don't mean it in a paedophilic, robbing the cradle or even romantic/sexual way. I dunno, I just hit it off with them and we get along really well. My younger and only cousin brother is awesome fun, and at first it used to be only me who'd joke about with him, rile him up a bit, sit on his head about pokemon cards and things like that, but now he's growing older and has started reading, and actually wants to chat about life and Yossarian and girls and stuff, all the way fom Sydney, which makes me :)

Then there's this other boy, who's a family friend, and when they come down from America, God that accent is exhausting, half the time I'm straining my ear to understand what they're saying and by the end of their holiday I'm watching what I say because I end up sounding like them and when was a developing second hand Indian-American accent ever not jarring? I like that boy though, he's quiet and nice and dresses in all Black and used to be into Blink 182.

And the latest edition that triggered this train of analysis, is that leetle boy from Singapore, who's not quite so leetle because his favourite drink is a Blowjob(Baileys, whipped cream, some such) But see he studies in the American school there and so he had an American accent and now that the summer is over and him having been around us everyday, it's worn down to a Kal Penn type of accent in Van Wilder, heehee.

So they're just much easier to talk to and to laugh with and sometimes they'll say these really insightful things about me, which make me wonder, what exactly is it that they think of me. He said the other day, "You pretend to be stupid but actually aren't." Hmm..

But it isn't strictly a elder sister-ish relationship, you know what I mean? All I'm saying is several years down the line, when we're all grown up, we might run into each other in some airport lounge somehwhere and who knows what can happen? That possibilty is always open you know..

/wink.
/subtle.
/ok enough.

Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are

Dear V,


Because I have been watching badly made, pseudo-gothic Japanese movies with End of the World scenarios and male leads I can't tell apart; as gorillas spew out chomped human guts and people all over plan what they'll do on their last day on earth, I think of you.

Because I'm reading the greatest war novel of all time and Erich Maria Remarque writes, "Franz is dying and what if he were to open his mouth and cry out! But he only weeps, his head turned aside. He does not speak of his mother or his brothers and sisters. He says nothing; all that lies behind him; he is entirely alone with his little life of nineteen years, and cries because it leaves him." I think of you.

Because all I really have is ardor, its my only ammunition, my only protection. You keep me company up and down on that wretched train even though you're somewhere else.

Because you are my fantasy, my best case scenario, my triumph if you will, therefore I can only love you when I can't have you. For the rest of the world, I have other toys lined up.

Because you say, you like music without lyrics, but Chris and Eddie could wake me up from the dead. Even then, unwittingly, music which has been mine and mine alone, now reminds me of you.

Becasue it was always about me, and it didn't matter where you were, and that's why I can decide it's over. Because, these things aren't tangible and that's why they'll count as currency. It'll find you someday, all these things that went on in my head because of you, and maybe for a little while when you're down, it'll cheer you up, make you smile. And for that brief time, I would have finally found a place in your life.

~

Dear El,
I wish you'd shut the fuck up. And I really wish you'd stop writing for the sake of it, for trying to make yourself feel something just because you've read maybe 10 books more than the others. There's no need to be so smug about it. To be so antisocial. You've milked whatever we had to death and I really think it's time you moved on and accepted that you're bored and alone and verging on boring.
Find your own life please and stop trying to channel some of mine. I don't need your obsessive wheedling, it's not nice you know.
V.
ps - and stop memorising everything I say.