||superwoman||

Burrrahh! It’s funny. Really. Read it. Like, Now.

 Why, I ask why? Why should I put up a title that makes sense. Why should I endure the #ouijamovie ‘s  trailer before watching ||superwoman|| ? YouTube, hope you’re listening (reading).

Anyway, as if title dekh liya toh people will come running to read the rest of it like kids towards a cotton candy stall. So, we’ve had this really long (5 days) holiday. And the only constructive things I’ve done are…do my laundry (50%); run 300m; bought fruits; cleaned my room…and that’s just about it. And we have exams coming up on the 13th…next week, if you don’t want to check the date. But here I am, chooosing my jolly rancher sitting on my bed (ever since I put the new white-rajasthani sheets, I’m loving it more) and watching YouTube videos. Thank you college for the slow yet whatever WiFi. Tussi great ho (conditions apply)

You know, just recently I learned this fact: You can use only one exclamation mark (!) per 100 words. Leh, I can’t use it again now. So, my question is, to all those English professors (who are frowning upon my slang and grammatical errors) …what about the bracket usage? Because I have so much of sarcasm, extra notes, explanations, etc:- to add to my text. Plain sentences are too mainstream. Like Jane Austen books. My drama is of a totally different genre, you see. Can’t be mixed with lay-language. So, my new hostel is pretty cool with this sweet manager (I used to call her warden and by-mistake repeated it while talking to the Real Warden on the phone and bloody hell, he go pissed) who is stern yet nice to that ONE odd good girl (meaning : me). The others are toh aiwayi putting lipstick and wearing hot dresses and enjoying a nightlife while I play Sims 3 with All the expansion packs, mind you. So she’s like accepting all their fake letters (I write most of them) of going home, going to a localite’s birthday dinner; going for competitions. All bullshit. Bwahahaha. Anyway…she, the maids, cooks and few other girls are the only people in the hostel and I’m not saying its boring. The food is actually sexy, now. To all those chics who went off home: we are happy. Blah! Okay, no ranting. So yeah, that’s how it is. The only respite is the Back Gate. It’s actually a road. It’s the back gate of the most popular college in the *town* (where I study, not showing off….really…or am I?) where you have one Megamart; hundreds of fruit-juice stalls because, you know, kids need their Juju. And More: Departmental Store (Charges so much tax I’d like to sew them but they supply fresh fruits so what can I do?); stationery shops; eateries where you can splurge and become fat; tea-shops (we all know what boys do there); bakeries (different bakeries have their specialty: egg-puff; samosa bun, cream-bun, cigarettes, milkshake, sandwiches and whatever); there is this lovely Hot Chips shop where you get such awesome chips of all kind. I want to be a millionaire just to shop to my heart’s content there. And so that’s where we other  people who didn’t go home (because we are too cool for that, yeah right :/) socialize.

Yesterday I met my friend there after like, ages. He has a great voice and can sing Only Hope so good. Anyway, his name is Zain just like that 1D guy. So, in the beginning, when the two of us got selected for the Music Club (or whatever its called) the seniors typed his name as Zain Malik with mine and it was posted EVERYWHERE. Like, seriously. And the reason could have been me.

Jokes apart, I still have 2 buckets of clothes to wash. And I’m praying to all my Gods that the one’s that give off colour have not ruined my good-expensive ones, already. If that happens, I swear to God, I’ll kill myself. No, I’ll break something. No, I’ll skip lunch. No, wait, I’ll just wash my face.

Okay, then, I’m trying to write up short stuff for my Travelogue (which only God knows when I’ll publish). And then I have some more poetry. I wrote this one for an Arjun-Kapoor look-alike with a better nose, less bulk, cooler calf-muscles and …okay I’ll stop drooling…who I saw (not met) in a Converse store where I was struggling with a food baby (Remind me to tell you what it is, later) and Raya…actually Rhea (my roomie) was checking out shoes. I never…ever…never…buy branded sheez without my Dad. Like never. Because, well, he pays for it, so. I know, sounds so spoiled-bratish. Do not judge me. You’ll come to know the reality when you see me begging and embarrassing him in the store for a Marie Claire with 60% off (still costs Rs. 1280) or with a pile of books at Landmark…and he’ll be like, ‘This is my last warning. You have two minutes to replace them and leave.’ Yeah, that’s him. Typical ex-army.

And y’all think we Fauji-brats are so cool. Its only those hot ones with Dads too busy para-gliding to notice their kids poofing money in Connaught Place. And these kids post all these coolbeans pics from Andaman and Leh. And I’m like, I went there too. But my poses made me delete the pics. Anyway. Stuff happens. You just pop in a Pudin Hara and let it go.

PS: Everything above was to make you laugh or die. No offence intended. Hope you Enjaaaid.Leave a comment And hit that like so I know I’m not talking to myself, pervs, aliens or well, bots.

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Reel Past (Bhopal Chapter)

Bhopal arrived at 2345 hours. The night air was chilly and all of us stepped down the train, bedraggled. I still had some night-cream on my face and my hair stuck out in impossible angles.  While the others scurried away into the bright and lively railway station for a cup of coffee or a warm samosa, I stood by the sign-post that read Bhopal in two different languages. A million memories reeled past me. A fragment of my childhood remained here. And it was high time I returned to, if not collect them, pay them some homage. 

I remember my sister being hardly an year old with just two milk teeth sticking out from the center. Dad was the Officer-in-command at that time and so we had a lush green garden behind our house. And I remember the swing with the floral-cushions; the summer evenings where I’d lay on my back and look up at the sky; collect rocks and leaves; cook at the servants’ quarters on the kerosene stove; the Diwali parties and this incident where some one set the tree on fire, hopefully by mistake. 

I used to be the ultimate Tom-boy or was I more of a solitary reaper who rode her cycle all around the place; enjoyed evening walks with her little sister and sahayak; acted like a bully to hide her loneliness, collected pennies to buy burgers in the canteen; spread Ghost stories about the convent we studied in and God-knows-what-all. 

This was also the phase where the entire family, besides Mum, got admitted with Malaria. Though Rhea’s became very serious and everything. Those were testing times but we triumphed them nevertheless.

I had a room of my own with all these fancy things my Grandparents sent for me. I remember a particularly strict Hindi teacher who smelled of lemons. And an infamous-hitler-like teacher…Mrs. Joy who later turned out to be amazing and wanted to adopt me. Yes, I can be adorable like that.

St. Josephs Convent, Idgah Hills, Bhopal houses some hilarious and precious memories from my childhood. 

My parents would come to see me during the sports day expecting me to be a front runner or athlete. Instead they’d find me in some funny-sports-costume in the Drill. I was never a runner.

Once an Owl and once a Robot, fancy dress competitions were a delight for my parents as they could experiment with my chubby self as they liked. And I was a pretty flexible child. As long as it didn’t prick, I’d wear anything.

This was also the time when Sister Mummy (a dear family friend) came to stay with us and she used to take me to the Sunday Mass every week. And that’s something I distinctly remember. We had to cross all these rural settlements to get their…bustling with kids and street-sellers.

VIP Road alongside the Lake was a great weekend spot and there were some continental restaurants we often visited. And then there was the Sanchi Stupa not too faraway from Bhopal. Even the Army mess was pretty Dapper. I remember bits of it. Dad had also helped build a temple within his office campus and I remember visiting his office quite a lot. Just images left in my head. He’s give me math problems to do while I checked out his stationery items. Kids.

So, I had my fair share of travelling and madness, in Bhopal.

And as the train left the station and I stood by the door…allowing the breeze to gush in, I released whatever feelings I still held back. I wanted to go back to that phase and experience it all, again. As a child.

Pascal Campion

Gentle Reminder

Hey folks,

Into the Wild; my laziness towards writing and sketching and well, a few other not-so-important-yet-I-gave-it-importance things led me into deciding that…no more social networking on my phone. I don’t need it. I will request my class buds to text me if there’s anything important and I’ll call if I’m dying to talk to someone.

And I’ll spend more time writing rather than uploading statuses.

I’m just trying this. I;m not saying its going to work or I’ll make it work. I’m just giving this a go. One needs to keep up with oneself. And lately I’ve been experiencing thi eternal unrest which needs to be inked. And other pent up emotions and frills have diluted my resolve.

By the way, its rainingbeautifully outside and Rhea’s turned off the fan because its getting a little chilly in here. 

Well, the rains always add up to my good mood. So do guitar strings, camphor, incense and my sister. Did I mention the smell of old paper and chocolates?

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The Study Tour 2.0

Just about 6 hours left for the journey to begin and my hair is all oiled and tied into a knot behind my head with a clutch-er. There’s this turmeric thing I’ve put on my face. Still, trying to get rid of the Andaman tan. I’ll leave the rusty-brown look to the foreigners who enjoy sunbathing at seashores. As for me, my stuff is packed. It took me. like. ten minutes to make that list after my friends started sending me theirs through snapchat. I had to buy a few things and go to the parlor, once that was done, the packing was done in a jiffy. Its not an extravaganza…more like an educational trip with a hectic schedule. Covering 6 cities in half a month. So I’m not carrying the leather boots or the marie claire. Just the walking slip-ons and slippers. And a bunch of comfortable and breezy clothes with a  few pair of sturdy jeans. Not going to create a hullabaloo there and travelling light with all the essentials is such a a blessing, trust me. And there’s gonna be so much yummy food, amazing places, people. old friends, shopping and experiences to look foward to that I don’t wanna weigh myself down with that one suitcase that dragged me instead.

I’m sure going to miss my room, here because lately I’ve been in a very happy place with my best friend as my roomie and so much fun she is. Its almost like we don’t live in a hostel with curfew and everything. She’s also promised a travel playlist. 

I’m going to NOT get any more artificial dopamine high. I’d instead see the places and experience them in person. I hope my whims don’t carry me away and my health supports me in my little endeavor. Last time, it was Kerala and I did have quite a nice time with my seniors. Amazing places. Oh, Matancherry is still stuck in my head. 

This time its Chandigarh with all its Corbusier planning, Amritsar with the Golden Temple, Dilli…meri jaan…so many memories from when we lived here back then when I was in Middle School, Jaipur and Udaipur which are almost home and there I plan to meet my best friend from school, Agra with the Taj and another dear friend from college and lastly Ahmadabad with Doshi’s Sangath and Sabarmati Ashram, Baolis and what-not.

I’m going to update you guys throughout the trip so you don’t miss out on any of the one.

Love.

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Again and Again

A shattered heart mends but it has stretched

The stretching creates room for even more love.

In fact, the loveliest people are the ones who’ve

Been Burnt and Broken and Torn at the seams,

Yet still send their open hearts into the world

To mend with Love

Again and Again and Again.

Victoria Erickson

 

 

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Reflection of Love.

“My wife got sick. She was constantly nervous because of problems at work, personal life, her failures and children. She lost 30 pounds and weighed about 90 pounds. She got very skinny and was constantly crying. She was not a happy woman. She had suffered from continuing headaches, heart pain and jammed nerves in her back and ribs. She did not sleep well, falling asleep only in the mornings and got tired very quickly during the day. Our relationship was on the verge of a break up. Her beauty was leaving her somewhere, she had bags under her eyes, she was poking her head, and stopped taking care of herself. She refused to shoot the films and rejected any role. I lost hope and thought that we’ll get divorced soon… But then I decided to act. After all I’ve got the most beautiful woman on earth. She is the idol of more than half of men and women on earth, and I was the one allowed to fall asleep next to her and to hug her. I began to shower her with flowers, kisses and compliments. I surprised and pleased her every minute. I gave her a lot of gifts and lived just for her. I spoke in public only about her. I incorporated all themes in her direction. I praised her in front of her own and our mutual friends. You won’t believe it, but she blossomed. She became better. She gained weight, was no longer nervous and loved me even more than ever. I had no clue that she CAN love that much.And then I realized one thing: the woman is the reflection of her man.If you love her to the point of madness, she will become it.”

- Brad Pitt