Yes, I'm back. And yes, I have news.

Hello, my babies. Missed me? I certainly didn't miss you (read: Jai didn't let me with around 463 messages a day). Ah well. My trip to Talegaon was fantastic, for those of you who care. Trees, trees and more trees. Long walks through mountain paths, a white swing set, books, and a granny that can only be described as 'cool'. The wind in my hair, fresh air in my lungs and good food in my stomach. Oh, did I mention the fabulous inspiration coming from the surroundings? What more does a writer want?

The news I was talking about: for some reason, both my other blog and this one have hits from the USA and Malaysia. The other one has hits from Russia (Russia!) and the UAE, among other countries. I don't know any Russians, I swear. What about you, Jai baba?

I think we need to promote this blog a little. I officially hand over the Marketing Department to my fellow blogger. I'm sure he'll do a great job. He has friends who read blogs (:P)...

Adieu, for now!

Birthdays

Well, 'like dad, like son' they say. I would prefer 'like parent, unlike child'. 
*ahem ahem* It's, for now, 'like Sharvari aai, like Jai baba'.


Amazingly, differences form the basis for similarities. For we find similarities, only because differences exist, too.


And I take the liberty (of course, after attributing the first line to Sharvari) to begin with the now clichéed sentence.


Birthdays and I have a weird relation.


Birthdays. They tell you you must act your age. They tell you you went around the sun as many times as you have had days when people wish you a happy birthday. They tell you how you must rejoice Creation if you are to mourn Destruction. Well, they tell me much more.


I shall call my birthdays, days of excess, if I may. 


However, I celebrate birthdays, considering I have my 'celebratory' rights intact. That said, it is like the tank that is about to overflow overflows after it can hold no more. Birthdays, to me, officially, are a splurge-friendly day. I can get what I want on that day. Like, this time, I got an electronic tanpura. It is like being what I am not, the other 364/365 days. For which, I have to think before I spend each Rs. 20 note in my wallet. Like, "Couldn't I skip it? Skipping it isn't worth a tanpura?"


On the other hand, I prefer to call it a day of excess, because I am conditioned in a way that I must have something new that day, go to a good clothing store, and get decked up that one day. Never realised why. Like, even if I choose laziness to be my way to spend my day, it doesn't have to be really fulfilled. Birthdays are supposed to be joyous, awesome, and enthusiastic. Officially.


That, to me, is birthdays.

You Wish Blogspot Were Twitter When Writers' Block Infects You. Swear.

Doesn't the title speak for itself?




Why am I doing this?




Because Writers' Block won't allow me to write anything good. That Loser. Here it comes. To hit me.




But I am powerful, am I not? Well, I know Sharvari is not here to say "Yes, Jai, go for it!" but of course, the void can voice it out, can't it?




See, it did. I came thinking I might end up losing to Writers' Block, not being able to write a single sentence that made sense, even to me. I don't guarantee that all this makes sense to you peoples, but yeah, it makes a lot of sense to me.




And thus, Writers' Block v/s. Jai Baba:




The judgement remains unchanged.




The writer weeeeens.


Oh, er, well. What was I going to write on the next line? :O

Without Twilight

Hehawhaw.

And oh, yeah, shesawsaw.

This is Jai baba, and the blog is in my hands for until 26th April *wink wink*, when Sharvari aai will be baaaaaaack. Fully refreshed, and possibly, pleasantly hit by another wave of feminist delight. Phew. So let's see what I've got here...

Time. A looooot of it. Work. Supplementary, but nevertheless useful-for-the-future. But no intention to begin today. And since the definition of today changes everyday, it is meowish and lazy to sit in front of the computer all day and have no one to talk to. 

And I have thought of a word for what stereotypical pigs (like I was at one time, one time being not more than two days ago) refer to as 'blond'. And not the physically 'blond'. Well, 'zany'. It's short and sweet and fun. And the best part is, it works. It frigging works!

And now I'll go watch Khuda Kay Liye. Have spent nights wishing for that CD. Havit now. 

So, until next time, which possibly is tomorrow, M-E-O-W. 

La Naissance Et La Mort

Okay, so here is my theory of why we should celebrate birthdays, even if they are made to look insignificant by those around us.

When we take birth, it's Creation that is happening. I told Sharvari this morning that it's not because you got created that we celebrate birthdays, but because you got created that we do. We see so many people around us. Most of us do things for ourselves. Like the monkey that places it's baby beneath its foot before it climbs up to safety. We are, by default, self-centred. But to varying degrees. If God decides to Create and not Destroy you, there must surely be something special about you, right? And then, you walk the tightrope between Death and Life during your birth. And if you survive, you do something special, and so, you get a gift each year. 

Your very own birthday.

So, shielding myself with the adage better very late than never, 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SHARVARI!

Birthdays

Birthdays and I have a weird relation.

When I was in school, I was a loner and didn't have many friends. To top that, my birthday always arrived in the summer holidays. Consequently, I didn't get too many birthday wishes. My family, too, has no tradition of giving 'birthdays gifts', as such. They will wish you and prepare a delicacy, but they will not get you something you want or make your day special. They will still scold you or pick out your faults, stating the very fundamental reason: you're grown up now. When I was a kid, I used to throw a party for all the little friends in my building. I eagerly awaited the gifts they would get me...as those were the only ones I got in the whole year. They were usually repetitive: pencil cases, lunch boxes, colouring kits, and the occasional board game. When I turned twelve, I stopped throwing that one party. I got used to not celebrating my birthday. Not only mine, just anyone's birthday. I couldn't understand why it was so special to them, because it wasn't to me.

When I went into college, I'd just turned fifteen. The first few birthdays I came across made me feel insecure, wondering if there was anything wrong with me. Then I learned to be weird, to stand out. I refused my friends' offer to celebrate my birthday. I wasn't used to it; I wasn't comfortable with it. And yet, at 00.00 on April 19, I received so many calls and text messages that I was pleasantly surprised. Among them were some of my closest friends in college. From the crack of dawn, wishes started pouring in on Facebook. It felt nice to be wanted.

I'm still insecure; my family tradition still remains the same. If I want something, I have to ask. That's the rule. But I can't go out and ask for a gift. It makes me feel selfish. Gifts are given without asking for them. If you ask, then it isn't a gift anymore, is it? My friends make me feel loved though. And I love them in return.

I leave for Talegaon tomorrow. I shall be back by the 26th of this month. Till then, the blog is in Jai baba's hands.

Farewell to you all!

Loving What You Love

Blossom, commander and the leader,

Bubbles, she is the joy and the laughter,

Buttercup, she is the toughest fighter.

Which was is your favourite animation series? Mine was The Powerpuff Girls, and was because they don't air it anymore. Losers. Anyway, why I liked it is something I still don't know. And wouldn't want to. But I like it because it's hip, and fun, and liking it is so stereotype-bashing.

Well, since I've begun getting that itch about stereotyping, why are guy babies gifted bikes and cars always and girl babies given dolls and doll-houses? And it would be steep hypocrisy on the part of the West to say it's typically Indian (or safely, Third World) that that happens. Well, we Third World people (at least Indians) never categorised pink as girlish and blue as boyish even though we had, and we still have a million other restricting stereotypes. Like the kitchen being a NO GUY zone. And people pull a face when a girl's into cricket.

Just thought about a very complementing idea. Liz's  Pizu's Pizz's (and I advise you all to read it as Pizz's Pizu's Liz's) first post on the Groupies blog. Like, *ahem ahem* some great person *ahem ahem again* said, when you are born an original, why would you want to die a copy? If we all went by what the world wants us to go by, we wouldn't be humans. If the first person (not necessarily a man like our 3rd standard history text goes) hadn't thought of going against the current and making a wheel, it wouldn't be all the same today. Obviously, not all people in the Stone Age thought of wheels at once. Imagine. We would be going on square wheels today. 

Ouch, that hurts.

And The Beginning Gets Weirder

*tapak tapak takpa kapat*


And that, folks, was my keyboard. Uh, well, not opening, but typing. I don't have a mental pen, but nor do I have a keyboard. And when I write, I literally throw out words. Well, then, what brings a mental-pen-wielding-Chewy-writing typing Sharvari and an instinctive raw-words-spewing-format-manic Jai to write something as weird as; (pardon my limited imagination today); uh, weirdness.


To begin with : feminism, environmental conservation, individualism and/or individuality (and no, they are not exactly the same) , complex theoretical issues, enigmatic and curiosity-inspiring lives   almost all coming to one word. Different. Fr. Terry told us once, that there is no such thing as weirdness. It is differentness. Like Terry's accented Hindi. I called it funny. He called my accented English funny (which I think will get better in time), and then told me that things may be funny to one and not necessarily to another. But different, they are.


Like è and ë are similar-sounding, but not the same. They are different. Like each person has his her their own fingerprint and tongueprint.


And this blog stands for the right of an individual to what is theirs; for the right of an individual to question as to why it can't be tongueprint if it can be fingerprint; for the right of an individual to find everything in what they profess; for the right of an individual in realising that everything, as it boils down to that something, boils down, actually, to nothing. That Everythingness could be, and usually is, Nothingness. 

Weird Beginnings

*squeak squeak*

That was the sound of my mental pen opening. It's a ritual to be followed whenenver I start to write.

Otherwise, the yellow bear in my head gets angry, and he has a bad opinion of me as it is. Anyway, Jai baba and I have started this blog as a free representation of our repressed desires (*sharpens elven knife*) and thoughts. Here, we shall say whatever we want, about whoever we want, however we want to say it. We shall be completely random, and we shall discuss everything under the sun, from books to theories to politics to surrealism. It will be filled with emoness and joyfulness, with white and black, with rainbows and vampires. We shall try to spew out posts almost everyday, or as soon as we can.

Hail the Freedom of Expression!