You never returned that call

Hello internet people, if there's anyone left that is. Sorry - sorry about being incognito, and even though end of the year cheeriness is nudging me to promise regular posts, am not going to and then might end up actually. But I do come in peace and as an added incentive, have a post. (DUH)

So, Happy Boxing Day : ) Hmm..reminds of me Adrian Mole somehow. So Christmas day come and gone, everyone wearing Santa hats and feeling jolly or something like that. What did I do? Well, bought a cactus from my (ex) school carnival, that's a given, I buy it every year, and it dies before june the next year - though this time I inspected them from below and realised that half of them were burnt/dying already - so felt much better about my plant parenting skills, and hope this one lives as long as me, its quite a fat little bugger. What else? Usually this movie called Mixed Nuts comes on zstudio, (when it used to be called z something else, the exact nomenclature is eluding me right now), Steve Martin, Rita Wilson - madness, hilarious, I used to love, love it, but it no came this year :( and I resisited the urge to download Love Actually, that is going a bit overboard. Ate only junk food all day and wore my candy earrings; also cousin bro came over and for some reason we were 'studying' together (and breakdancing among other things, oh you do not want that visual in your head). Now see, life is definitely better when we're together (credit: Jack Johnson), but how do you get anything done? For example I cannot read, study, write(ha) or watch movies when other people are around - and that is pretty much 90% of my life - eternal paradox yes?

Anyway, saw this movie called The Wackness and just for Ben Kingsley I'd watch it again, about rap/hip-hop in the 90s etc etc, some memorable lines-

(Girl when bonding with the guy, MAJOR moment in the film) - "Dude, I look at the dopeness of things, and you..you look at the wackness."

(Boy confessing love to girl and getting really mad because not being reciprocated) "I love you, I'm not going to lie, It makes me wanna listen to Boys to Men."

Say no more? Got ya (oh but girl is Leah from Juno, so thoda sa immunity she gets)

Speaking of Ben Kingsley, also saw Elegy, which has him and Penelope Cruz, just a heads up boys, several nude shots of her, and extremely good print available online. Topically is so beentheredonethat - old professor, young student, imagine the rest. Thematically, was supposed to be different, voice overs, steady revelation of depth of characters etc. and twist in the end, because elegy right? so mean someone dies - but not who you think it is (wags finger) Though throught the film I just couldn't get over how lovely Penelope was looking, simply gorgeous by any standards, not enough to make me wanna switch sides but as a woman you can go like wow, you are indeed a good specimen, aand..that reminds me of the song - best of you by the foo fighters.

You know readers, I am getting the best of one person, two infact. For closure, V was here and we met up, at his place, and we exchanged movies, and weird book things and it was most wonderful, except after the buzz and elation, I felt empty, because it's over, well and truly and finally, and it's no fun not having someone to like. You know how when you get up in a start in the middle of the night, and you need a thought, a generally pleasant thought to focus on to go back to sleep..well, that lot is vacant now. Oh well, atleast I got the best of him for awhile.

Suppose that makes me "emotionally available" now..bwahahaha.

Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me & My Monk

On some days, it might seem like I have nothing. Depends on how you’re measuring really, because I have all kinds of bolted vaults and secret trunks stored away.

My trust fund is in smiles given and taken and every pair of eyes that look at me first when they enter a room. In books borrowed and lent, in sharing a blessed umbrella in the pouring rain with my left side and his right getting drenched. In phrases like bruising guitar and music that makes you ~feel. It’s in meeting someone and knowing within the hour that you’re going to become friends. It’s in someone saying - you should come, you’ll like it.

Its watching him without him noticing; the way his left hand twists and his elbow sticks out as he writes away furiously. His handwriting that I’ll recognise anywhere. In the inevitably, that you realise in retrospect, of a little crush becoming a friendship, all gained with no personal questions. I probably know every book that’s influenced him but not who he kissed and how many times. I wonder if I got the hard end of the bargain.

It’s when the sea is grey and frightening and I sit in a circle of cigarettes crushed in the sand as my sarong dances in the wind and he shouts to come back under the roof. It’s the times I’ve looked in the mirror and smiled at the person who looks at me secretly, and those times I’ve sat in a changing room and cried, that counts too. It’s the click click click that goes on in my head continuously, and to say it out loud would be to forget it, so I keep writing. The wallpaper of my cerebrum is textured funny with old cds and the black flimsy reels of cassettes, its lined with the doodles at the back of maths registers.

I’m not a big expert on love, you’ve realised that, they all have. Love can mean anything, it doesn’t have to do with anybody. Because I think if I was to love someone, or be loved by someone, it would be Agastya Sen. It would mean something to him, it would matter, he’d think about it, and I’d like to be thought about by him. In Madna or wherever. And if I was to be friends with someone, I’d be friends with Ammu because if anyone ever needed someone to talk to, it was her.

So I might not know a lot about real life, but I am an expert when it comes to my life. Right now though, I’m unavailable for comment.

Because you see it might not be much in kilometres but it sure is a lot of millimetres.

Just because I'm losing...

Doesn't mean I'm lost.
Doesn't mean I'll stop.

What is it with the blogosphere these past couple of weeks? It seems like one person lost their nerve and so did everyone else simultaneously. It's a chain reaction with blog-blahness, and suddenly things are either too trivial or too huge to put in here. However abandoned readers fear not, for I am back with..err, vengeance?

So the easiest, let's talk about books. Have several to read at the same time, which is no fun but the most memorable one is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's - My Melancholy Whores. It's a nice, small compact book and fits in your hand nicely, besides it's hardcover which is a plus. I can bet you a huge load of cash that Marquez himself kept a diary where he counted the women he slept with. I mean first Florentino and then this guy. Or if he didn't, he thought about it alot.


Anyway, over the past couple of days I've had long long chats with old friends, and you know what they say, all birds come home to roost. Guess we leave bits of our selves scattered in the past that comes a full circle. They recount all their escpades, sexual and boy related, over the past couple of months, like getting sorta drunk and holding hands with Goan boys who jive. And then, after half an hour of them, it's like what about you? Man oh man am I glad I have no news.

Among friends then, there is that reassurance that yes, we have the same life for tomorrow and the day after and the year after that, and I'm really happy about that - someone has your back you know, who'll give your proxy attendence if you're not in class or pick up your fee form when they get theirs, or order two cups of chai without asking. It sure is nice to have a friend.

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.

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.

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.

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.

This years love had better last

Sometimes you get goosebumps about just being alive, and I want to love you, Nothing Man.~Caught a bolt of lightning, cursed the day he let it go.~ Isn't it something? It is Eddie. How can it not be..

Hmm, exhausted is the word I'm looking for. So much work, so many things to do, usually life is happiest when I'm busy but I haven't got 8 hours of sleep in a row in about a month now. At the risk of sounding like a CPM politburo member, the "honeymoon" period with my blog is definitely over.

Met aforementioned friend, such a riot I tell you, some people are just funny, and I got lots and lots of american frat movies with naked boobies and lewd jokes off him, Superbad(ha-HA-Ha-ha), Oldschool, Van Wilder, Eurotrip, Girl Next Door, Blow...you get the gist.

Yes, Andy is engaged. Joy, normally I'd be happy but do you know how he met her? He saw her picture in a Sports Illustrated isssue and had his agent track her down. What a fucking cliche, its like boning your secretary. Gah. As fly says, it's like he picked her out of a catalogue. I mean imagine the call she must've got, hi, erm, there's this guy, who's sorta famous and a little rich and he wants to be in your pants. Sure, that's my twenties taken care of.

Also have become friends with that new boy at work place, even though he's a kid and all, we're pals now. Ha, dropped him to his hindi class today, these firangis types I tell you. Laughed about superbad stuff, and duh, Celtics won(heehaw) and he was all Lakers, na huh, there time had come, it was going to be Celtics, everyone knew that all along.

Read Wild Sheep Chase (Haruki Murakami,) and can definitely see why he's so popular. The story is literally about sheep and you're reading along thinking, man, a whole book about sheep, this should be weird, but it so isn't.

Something I've been meaning to put up here, I can't stress the importance of Zeitgeist enough, seriously folks, go watch it. Tis this really radical left wing documentary type thing, and even if you're skeptical and don't believe everything, STILL, it's stuff that we just have to know, and think about.

For all those who've slow danced to Strangers in the Night

We came out of the movie hall, with the sun making our eyes crinkle and the warmth tingling the air-conditioned goose bumps on our arms. There’s a sleepy contentment that washes over us, as we make our way out in a community shuffle. He has his arm around me as we walk down the sloping parapet, back into the mall.

It’s hot but not too hot. Not unbearable, not muggy and there’s an ever so slight breeze.

We move past the food court into the open air sitting area. We smoke. We chat lazily. He talks about something in the movie which reminded him of something he did as a kid. He goes to get me a gelato, because usually when I see chocolate I want it. He’s being nice but I don’t really feel like it today. We have a spoon or two and watch it melt between us., forming an icky brown mess.

A person from a nearby table comes over, an old friend apparently, he smiles and shakes my hand, I’ve never met him before but he obviously knows about me, whether through him or common friends I don’t know.

It’s early evening, and a different kind of crowd is thronging the mall, less students, more families who’ll end the evening with dinner in this very food court.

I feel like a chilled drink, not a heavy, milky one and definitely not an areated one. The waiter comes over, I ask for seventy rupees worth of ice, water and strawberry flavouring in a tall glass. He brings it fairly quickly. I sip at it.

We talk some more. He’s restless I can make out, because he doesn’t know where he’s going to be this time next month, he’s wrapping his head around the ideas on his tray, and all of them are just ok. None of them involve me. Because I’m still going to be here. I’m happy though, I’m out with him and the impromptu movie turned out to be much better than we expected.

The ice melts and the drink tastes like water that’s been poured into a used juice carton. I abandon drinking it altogether and play around with the straw. We smoke some more. As the sky darkens, he pays the bill and we head to the parking lot.

I give him the keys, because he likes to drive. He’s a careful driver with no cursing and no sudden braking unlike me. We’re quiet most of the way, because the music on is good, he sings a little, I hum, we listen.

We reach his place, he gets out and I scoot over to the drivers seat, he gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and goes inside, I head back home. The music is awful now.

My parents are throwing a big dinner party tonight and I must get ready, wear something ironed and suitable and talk to some horrifically overdressed women and some debonair, aging men who were once young pilots and tell them, how I spend my time. I don’t mind, because we bargain stories, I get to hear about places like Kalaikunda, obscure Airforce bases where these men spent their youth learning to fly Jaguars and MIGs. Now they’re gentlemen of course who talk of their chicken farms on the Jaipur highway and holiday homes in Mashobra.

“I was at Tezpur and your grandfather was doing reconnaissance,” said a suited elderly man in a dull red turban cradling a whiskey soda in his hand, “he’d come down from Agra and we’d fly down to the China border together and he’d report back the next morning to Agra.” He’d cackle and thump me on the shoulder, carried away by the impishness of it, the merriment of the moment.

He’ll message me soon, to check in, in case I need a lifeboat, how’s the evening going? Should I call?

Fine, I’ll say. Just fine.

come back and haunt me, follow me home

So the boss type person at the NGO thing is leaving for good. Tis funny, but in this one week I think I know everything there is to know about him, he's jut one of those people. I was hanging around on my first day, not sure of what to do exactly, no one was taking any notice of me, I pulled out my book cautiously but as I sat vacant reading, he took me under his wing and boy, did I do a lot of work for him. He alternated between calling me M'am and bachoo, kaam ho raha hai m'am? yea yea, and aise nahi bachoo, ho hum ok. He'd make tea for us and he took a sip from my mug by mistake once and ever since then he goes, don't drink my tea. And he cracks lame jokes like;
he(nonchalantly while filling a form) what's the date today?
me: date,
he: aaj birthday hai..
me: whose?
he: hoga kisi kaa..
/guffaw.

Weird, don't think I'll forget this dude in a long while, considering I might never have met him.

So now I'm working on something else and heard that this guy from Singapore was coming down to also volunteer on the same thing and I'd decided I'd have a crush on him BUT he turned out to be a nanha munha school going baccha who likes Akon. Hovering friend said we've become grannies. Indeed.

Also, you know how to get everyone to agree to YOUR plan, like the place you want to go and the movie you want to see, esp when it's one of those impromptu things? Me has the gaadi, we're going ____, I say and everyone sits down meekly in the car. ~power <3>

Sometimes, a friendship is not equal, and with this one person I just know that I was a better friend to him than he ever was or can be to me. I listened dude to loads and loads of neurotic, egoistic stuff and said lots of nice stuff which I actually meant and prepped him up and anticipated his moods and didn't gloat when I beat him by a long shot even though he sat on my head in the rare ocassion(ahem) that me got two marks more than me. He said used to say I was his good luck charm...Don't know what happened to that really, classic case of Drifted Apart, but somehow I feel like there's something incomplete there, like when you give more than you get, the bank balances don't tally and the ledger can't be closed.

Moribund similies aside, his role in my life is not quite done it seems. I shall find out I meet him to cough:: take his insane TV show collection ::cough hang out and other such.

And now he's gone and seen Chester in flesh and blood, that's the ONLY thing that rankles me up. Say what you want about LP, I loved them and howdya manage solving maths sums without Hybrid Theory or Minutes to Midnight?

and you know the lyrics to In the End so don't pretend otherwise.

Cause I'm the one that jaded you

This is a long, self indulgent type post - so run away now and no one will know.

It all started last night, was watching the frenchie final and then the prize distribution after when people talk on and on, and basically embarrass themselves and put everyone else off to sleep. Reminded me of NS our crazy nut of a music sir in school. See, as the school band (not those shady school bands of south delhi schools but a proper Brass Band with percussion, euphoniums, trombones, trumpets, French horns et all) we had to play for the major functions - valedictory, passing out, sports day etc. and as soon as the principal or chief guest came up to give his speech, NS would say, instruments down, sit back, take a nap and start mock snoring. Was also watching Spelling Bee side by side and all those kids man, 12 and 13 and so brilliant got me thinking of me back then...

Now, NS was mad and a musical genius, and a godfather of sorts, he had the run of the school, no one could say a word to him. He knew everything about every single band member and would get us out of trouble and so high up in the hierarchy were we that no teacher could lay a hand on us, both literally and figuratively. We all had nicknames (mine sniffy, gremlin, iguana, nurse, and malai kofta) but you realise this guy was crazy right, I mean everyone was shite scared of him and if you got on his wrong side, that’s it - he’ll torment you the rest of your school life. Anyway, there was these boys who used to make my life hell, as in I'm sure they never intended too but it used to make me sick in my stomach and not want to come to school. Ofcourse NS got wound of it and would regularly come to class, rough them up a bit and never once acknowledge he did it becasue of me. If you ever read this NS - thank you whatever twisted logic you might have had!

Then, one fine day, a note appeared on Faiz's desk which said -

Dear Faiz,
I love you.
El

What an uproar it caused. Obviously I didn't write it, I was cleared immmediately and Faiz was like no man, 'someone' put it on my desk. Kriti - this bossy pushy type girl who all the boys were scared of and not even really my friend, took it upon herself to solve this case. She inspected and studied the note, the paper and the ink and pronounced that a gel pen was used. She made Faiz take out his pens and lo and behold the gel pen he had been using just in the last period was missing. *gasp* Faiz denied all knowledge so such a pen. So, she went down to the stationery shop and asked the sir there if Faiz had bought a gel pen that morning and it was confirmed that indeed he had. Case solved! Then the confrontation, she pulled me along to the basketball court in the 12:20 lunch break and demanded of Faiz- you wrote it, don't lie, she shrieked, and I just wanted to curl up and disappear.

And there was this other dude Olsen too(Anglo school ya, there was a Ryan, Harry, Steve, Gary, and William in my class alone) who'd follow me around in break..loads of other stuff happened, like these two they had a tug of war match and apparently whoever lost had to back off and some such - stuff I found out only later. Once I got a note, always getting these bleeding notes, that if I didn't meet Olsen at the Lunch Shed after school he'd jump of the builiding. Dramatic I know. Oh yea, I was quite the diva then and could have been in real life too, instead I turned into me. He failed the year though, and I moved school and sorta never saw them again.

And how dare they not be on facebook so that we can keep wary eyes on each other? It's a time bomb ticking, I tell you. If they were to meet me now. Huh, let's not got there.

Talking of blasts from the past, Akash was this dude in my colony and our dads worked together etc. and he took it upon imself to chase me and declare his ahem, feelings publicly - that dude just wouldn't give up. Oh, and he was the first boy who 'asked me out'. Guess what I did? Go tell mummy dearest ofcourse, what should I say to him? Mother's eyes duly popped and gave me the be friends lecture which I relayed to him. Let me give you some background info though -
a. He wore mickey mouse shorts
b. I was listening to nsync those days

Thats's how low we were.

He used to play this computer game Aladdin which was all the rage back then, and apparently when you win all the rounds, you get to kiss Jasmine the Princess and you can name her something. After this episode, he changed Jasmines name from mine to some other girl in his class. Oh the treachery. He kinda stayed that way then, always just out sight, refusing to make eye contact etc. So met him at a Lodi party last year after AGES and he was still wearing funny clothes and kept glancing at me furtively, while I hovered around the bar trying to sneak some vodka into my coke. You might ask readers, why couldn’t I have gone and said something but I spoke to his sister, friends and dad and he would run out of sight. I mean sure I’m not the skinniest person in the world, but atleast I’ve grown up!

Hey Andy, did you hear about this one?

*Blogging about Blogging ~ Right, so dunno how the whole thing started but do know that it's going mighty fine. I was expecting long months of a lonely 0 comments at the bottom of the post, but pipi and zorro were sweet enough to spread some love and left a comment on the first post itself. So if you're forced to read this it's their fault really; I would happily have given up after 4 posts (like one in every 2 bloggers did you know?) It's fun and oddly exhilirating being anonymous though lately I've begun mentioning this little corner of the internet to people I actually know, as in friends and stuff, the response is either - What do you blog about, or else What do you blog about? Search me.

*I'm tired of driving folks. I'm tired of traffic and and having the tank empty every three days and that bloody Sarthak on 95 f.m. in the mornings(don't even bother plugging my ipod in) and being at the beck and call of everyone concerned and I've had it. I'm going to sit at home for one whole week and not go anywhere my legs can't take me.

*Oh oh, I came up with my very own joke! ready?
#1 Darn, I'd give my left leg for an automatic car...haHA(geddit?)


*Finished Something To Tell You, which is every bit as good as expected though it dragged a bit towards the end but it saved it in time, and Charlie Hero and Karim make a comeback in this one, was most excited so see them again.

*Anyway, the best time of the year in descending order July (Wimbledon) September (US Open) January(Aussie Open) and May-June(French Open). Dude the parisian crowd is so droll. They're all suited up and don't clap for anything. The semi final matches are turning out to be fantastic though. Safina, ole ole ole! Except I'm not saying anything because I jinx these things.

It is time then to reveal to you fair folk, my One Great Love. Now this guy is sexy. I know, I know, he's American and boy-bandish and not even close to winning a slam ever again. Infact read this, it'll give ya more fodder. But I can't tell you, just how much I love him without reason. So much so, that people get embarassed when they're watching a match he's playing with me, apparently I can't contain myself. Infact, when this boy, was kinda trying to flirt with me and it was a big maybe between us, he'd watch Andy's matches and then call up after to discuss them and he' keep dissing him to rankle me up, which I happily obliged because we both saw right through it.



There is little that gives one greater joy than having him win a game 40-love with back to back aces and that swagger when he walks back. :grins: He's also very very funny, he's just naturally a charming guy, like when he was runner-up to fedDUHrer in wimbeldon a couple of years back, the interviewer at the presentation said - Andy, you wouldn't be in the mood to talk right now and he says "ya, I'm actually in the mood for a beer," and the crowd claps and cheered wildly and goes all, good fella that one.

Just look at him.

*sigh*

Because El feels like writing

How do I put words to this gossamer thing within, permanently stationed and cautiously building; to call it intelligence would be wildly inaccurate though in a boomerang way not off the mark. How can I tell you the rush of life that I feel when a book can sing for you, teach you, inspire writing of its own, how constricting is a novel? How many permutations exist to be able to write on? What will mine be like? How will it read?

I’ll dispense with filial references for the time being, will refrain from stringing together millennia of me in the making, of genes that swam down, of wars that tore them apart, of whatever little of destiny that brought them here and by whatever chance I was born. How can I explain to you my vagina skipping a beat by a stimulated scene, by something that’s not actually happening, that didn’t ever happen but is simply one persons imagining. There’s a cycle, an unhealthy repetition of taking winter clothes out and putting them back in, again and again, and in the night, it’s simple why I lie awake, because it’s alone time, there’s the whoosh, of distant planes landing, of retreating truck horns and I try to think of the driver, what he must be thinking of and I fail miserably exposing my pathetic bourgeois-ness, my lack of adventure, of all creature comforts that have surrounded me and danced along all the way. I try to imagine my own novel, my writerly life and my fame, but what will that get me? Do we become famous when we appear on t-shirts? Will there ever be a night, a time when I won’t have to watch late night television with low volume or tip toe around, will I ever be able to make as much noise as I want? Women who wear sleeveless on a cold new year night, or any other for that matter, what must they be thinking and why do they do that? What are they trying to attract? How do they summon the courage, the attractiveness to spell out their charms? It’s something I couldn’t ever do. I find cold a tawdry partner, an unworthy opponent, it’s best to be tackled with a fireplace or a slightly more modern and utterly unromantic heater. I want nothing to do with writing really, I wish it would get lost.

Crossing continents and two men swing tennis racquets, hitting, hitting, fighting, fighting. What shall I do? Do I need to be there? Do I need to go check? See that those monuments, those castles are for real? Not really. I believe you, and my senses have been humbled, numbed even. I think of another woman, so benign, so banal so toxically boring, but saying it doesn’t mean anything, you have to meet her.

I tread another path in my virgin shoes, talking to boys at night and the intimacy that creates, the possibilities it lays out. We’re all in it for the experience right? In an ‘anything can happen’ mood? Looking for stories to tell and that’s at the back of my mind which has a lot to do with my lack of inhibition. But I keep my eyes firmly on the exit gates - simply because, but I’ve changed though, and I’ve noticed the hysterical edge is off my voice when I talk to him. So it goes I suppose..

Hysteria, when you're near

Hello world, been busy-busy and rather enjoying the flurry of activity amidst the nothingness, Me? I'm happiest when they're lots of things to be done. One of which is something like this. I figure as bloggers you're writers and it's all for fun so you absolutely must check it out and send in an entry just for laughs. Book coupons if ya win! Besides it's just 250 words or less which is less than a blogpost so do send in an entry.

Finished On Chesil Beach and I'm a bit disconcerted to be honest. *disclaimer - spoiler ahead*

I thought it would be painful to read because cmon, two virgins on their wedding night, pretty specific no? It read ok and it's slim so you can finish it in one go but I honestly didn't see the end coming. They, as in the couple, split up and simply don't talk to each other after that night, I mean wtf? I was almost convinced when I read the last page, that yea, maybe doing nothing, not saying something can change your whole life, the entire course of your marriage but, after I'd thought about it for awhile my conviction wore off. It's hard to believe that two people who loved each other all that much never once, in their whole life didn't even try to talk to the other again.

Or maybe I'm missing something here.

By the way, Van is a big fan of Ian McEwan and he loved Atonement(the movie) which I didn't and he didn't like Pride and Prejudice(the movie) which I loved. (Both of them were directed by Joe Wright, very British and ~ladila~)

me:No! how can you not like that movie?
he: oh they butchered the book
have you even read it?
Studied it. (ICSE or some such) You know that part when Darcy first confesses his love to Elizabeth, he says something like I love you. Most ardently.
nod head, uh huh
They ruined it and made it a bollowood filmy sequence in the rain with the clinging clothes and dramabaazi and what not.

Huh, I'd never thought of it that way and I came home, dug out the book, reread that part - and if I was on the edge about him before, I well and truly crossed it then.

Yea I sound dweeby and all but it's my blog shog after all.

I am the Eggman, I am the Walrus, goo goo gjoob

I borrowed just one book from him though we talked of hundred others.

There were lots of people standing in the balcony, some sitting on the railing, talking of this and that, it was an Ed Board meeting which turned into a Film Soc(iety) meeting. People were milling around, what to do now, lets go eat, where, here no there etc etc. He (who we shall call Van) said, I've been reading this book Travels with Herodotus by this Polish guy, Ryszard Kapuscinski (yea, don't even try pronouncing it) it's really good, you should read it. Everyone else is kinda quiet because well, they listen when he talks. It's this huge big circle but he's looking directly at me even though the conversation was a general one to begin with and me with shiny eyes, Sounds cool, can I borrow it sometime? Yup, then the rest of the adoring girls start off with the let's go, let's go and they walk off. But he got it for me the next day.

I thought it'd be really hard to read considering its a) Non Fiction and b) Translated - two of my complete no-nos. :shakes head: But it was surprisingly quite readable(relief.) It's split up into chapters according to the places he's been to so you can read them in any old order. Apparently he was this hands on journalist sorta dude who travels all over the world and is insightful in ways you least expect him to be. Herodotus ofcourse is an ancient greek who was one of the first infact the first traveller of the known world who chronicled his adventures. So basically Ryszard travels all over from Libya to Persia to Benaras and what not and he takes Herodotus with him and kinda sees the world thorugh the prism of his teachings.

Then, for my happy birthday he gave me Zorba the Greek, he'd told me about it earlier and how much he liked it, and written inside was - 'To the embarrassed Birthday Girl, hope you enjoy it as much as I did' this might seem like an innocent thing but it so. is. not. His coming was the reason I was really excited about the party and the reason I couldn't sleep that night, I was on such a high.

And I just know like Ryszard carried Herodotus with him everywhere, Zorba will be my Herodotus, It'll go wherever I go and I'll know it backwards and forwards. I have a feeling he(Van) and me will be great friends because we really are very alike and I can think of ten thousand things to say to him and counting.

If only there wasn't that other girl.

And if only I had some balls.

Sigh.

Love in the time of Facebook

I had green chutney today with yum yum Karim food , the kind that says - Hi. My name is Cholera. Just like it did to Agastya so many books back in Madna.

Speaking of Cholera, I saw the movie Love in the Time of Cholera recently.

Now the book, was intense. I read it during my boards, before the English one infact and books like those you can only finish if you have something really importnant that you should be doing but just don't want to, perfect example - study, especially if it's during prep leave.

Rob Fleming (in High Fidelity) said it really well - "I've read serious books like Love in the Time of Cholera and The Unbearable Lightness of Being. They're about girls right?"

Sure they are.

Confession - I wouldn't have read it or rather kept reading it if it hadn't been for the theme - luhove, because I didn't even attempt A Hundred Years of Solitude though I'm sure its fantastic and all his fans rave about the language! the metaphors! the surrealism!

The movie, stays true to the book though and Javier (ha vi air!, what a nice name no?) Bardem is really good. He's nailed the character to the t, with the shuffling walk and the shrivelled look but what struck me most was how love in all its glory, the true pure golden flying love is juxtaposed so blatantly with the dirty fucking behind the bush.

some thoughts if i may -

It has a very colonial feel, especially since it was written so long back and Colombia was a Spanish colony with the closeups of the fans, and the costumes and boat hulls(?) and the bustling market and what not.

priceless scene - at the poetry competition when Florentino is sitting in the audience and Maria walks in with her bustling voluptouness and crosses him to get to her seat, and he keeps clapping with serious determination becasue Fermentina is on stage and he gets up a little so as to not take his eyes of Fermentina (I'm not describing it very well but if you've seen the movie you'll know what I mean.) It's bloody hilarious and also heartbreaking, I mean you guffaw but realise it's a microcosm for their whole relationship, him watching her from afar.

Ofcourse the old people bit is done wonderfully. That's what wins you over if you're borderline about the whole thing.

See we've all cracked a facebook joke, If Catherine was to die today would Heathcliff change his facebook relationship to 'it's complicated?' and if Darcy had said "I love you. Most ardently, please do me the honour of accepting my hand lala" and Elizabeth hadn't said 'You're the last person in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry!" and said yes instead, would Darcy have rushed back home and changed his status to engaged?

*there is another story here which I'll tell ya a bit later*

Everyone's feeling it you know - the influence of fbk. but Did Florentino love Fermintina. He just saw her. When he was young munchkin. That's it. He made up his mind, just like that, and then lived it out, his life, in dogged 'faithfulness'. But was it love? Could this story have been if in the end, she said no, and if he didn't wear her defences down, and he died without her acceptence? Just like that. Does then what he felt and did on his own with no contact with her whatsoever count as love?

I dunno.

Becasue in some sick way, my osbessive tendencies are just like that. I stare at him a lot, hang onto his every word and I do, I do think out the message before typing it, and oh the illicit thrill of his fbk pictures(none of which he's added btw, 170 something pictures by other people, says something about the man no?) But i don't know if it's luh-ove. Infact i'm quite sure it's not.

But then what is?