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.