A Good Place

There are good places, and there are bad places. They can be anywhere. They can be houses, parks, roads and buildings. Nothing good ever seems to happen in the bad places - they are full of negative vibes, like an accident-prone area. The good places don't actually make you feel good, or fulfilled, or anything of that sort. They help you deal with life's problems, come to terms with yourself, or just leave you with a full head and a smile. You may chance upon them, or they may invite you in. But once you go, you can't help doing so over and over.

I went to a good place today.

It's called Sky Café. It's the neglected, forlorn restaurant opposite Sterling Cinemas that no one seems to want to visit. In one of my spontaneous moments, I asked a friend if we could 'check out' the food. It was raining cats and dogs, it was four in the afternoon and I was going to miss my 4.16 Thane train. But I didn't care.

In the one and a half hour I spent with my friend there (unlimited coffee for ₹55), I confronted feelings I had been repressing for the past month - the bottled-up emotions that had led to my recent illness. My friend is the type of person you can have heart-to-heart conversations with. Her, along with the soft golden light, the white umbrellas and the sweetly polite staff made my day. I felt like I was going to burst into tears when I got out of there. I had just explored all my unexpressed emotions.

I will go there over and over. Because, it is a good place. A place for the spirit. A place where you don't need chicken soup to heal your soul.

That Thought Whereby Jai *Lives*

You may imagine where I come from (and those of you who don't, are deemed beastly henceforth). I come from a land where cakes go burnt, and where your co-bloggers tell you they don't have time to blog, and that you must blog 'NOW'. *smiley-face* (I don't have to be pushed to write always, do I.)


And so, I have read in the newspapers been told that the First Year Junior College admissions are just happening any moment. That means we get to see what we saw last year, only from a newer, senior perspective. Anyway, so, all this while (not all this while, but some while, yes) I have been thinking, I am not getting a boyfriend. And so, I need to do something. And do something could include make-believe stuff.


And that was, has been and is, till today. What I have made myself believe now, though, is that there could be a Prince Charming in the coming-up FYJC batch. What, he can be younger, okay? That is one of the many thoughts whereby I live.


Anyway, Sharvari hugged me thrice on the same day, and I just made my own Great Book of Google Searches Among Other To-Do Lists.


The best part, Sparrowhi realised I am a freak too. Earlier, she used to tell that Sharvari was a freak, to me, and now she says they are all surrounded by two freaks. I wonder how fat we both will have to get for that.  Ciao! :)

After The Dormancy, Comes The Activity!

Just as I was entering my password into the box that read 'password', I was worried. I wondered, just for a second, if Sharvari Aai had deleted me from the admin-cum-co-author list. Thankfully, she hasn't, till now.


BTW. The best news in the otherwise dormant (I see I have many dormant things in life, including life itself) season, is that Malhar's coming. Named after the Indian musical scale Malhar, that is seen by musicians and connoisseurs as a harbinger of the rains, Malhar is a big college festival, second only to Mood Indigo, IIT-Powai's festival. It's filled with cool stuff that we unfortunately missed last year because of the botched-up pace of admission to colleges. 


So, the fact is, Malhar is bringing that tingling joy of being able to put together something on a public platter, irrespective of the fact that you may not be able to put a proper cake on your own platter.


Oh, and I forget to tell people that the college canteen has introduced blueberry muffin on its menu, and it tastes like heaven. Umm, they also introduced (not the college canteen   this time the management) a teacher for Psychology, and pleasantly so, she teaches damn well, if you can pardon (and should rightly do so,) her expertly jumping acts on the podium. No, but she is awesome. She does activities. And she knows my name and didn't mispronounce it the first time she pronounced it. THAT makes her awesome.


And anyway, I don't think you can get everything good on your plate. If you do, you are either too lazy or you are too lazy. You can't have your cake and eat it too.


Yikes! What's with cakes and me today? :EI

What's this nonsense?

Life is crazy, really. Especially if you're a teenager and an Indian citizen. If you've read the Da Vinci Code and the Lost Symbol, you'd know people are saying that this is an age of transformation and revolution. Hey, I know we're lucky bitches to be born when we are, because if we weren't, we wouldn't be us. Like if I was born a year earlier, I may have been a great dancer, but not a writer.

When our grandparents were children, the country was being roused similarly, but to fight against outside forces. The country was one, and not many people were criticizing our efforts - except the British themselves, of course. They called it the Indian Freedom Struggle. And today, the country supposed 'leaders' are mocking that revolution. I'm not talking about the politicians - they're crap and everyone knows that - but about the 'for the people' people.

Yeah, about the fiasco on Ramlila and the deal with Anna. A friend of mine talks about this on her blog. Democracy, they say, is the best form of government. Is it? A dictator might clean this up quicker than Satyagraha. Gandhiji gave us a tool, so let's use it. Let's all go on hunger strikes. But dude, Gandhi used it in a different atmosphere, a different setting. And the best part, he was doing the right thing.

Whether the Lokpal bill comes into play is not material. We all know that in India, people enter politics when they have nothing else to do. It's a quick money maker. The media, the government, the public - isn't everyone blowing this out of proportion? Calm down and talk about it! Did no one teach you that? There's only one thing that comes to mind reading the newspaper every day:

What's this nonsense?

Circus

I used to like circuses. When I was a kid, I'd been to this circus tent (I think it was the Gemini Circus troupe) and I had loved the show. I remember a girl feeding meat to a dinosaur. And my dad thinks I'm lying because he says back then, I did not know the difference between a camel and a dinosaur.


I tell him that I knew the difference between meat and grass though. Camels are vegetarians, aren't they? Or are they? :O


Anyway, so, the circus I am speaking about is what has been adorning (that's called irony :P) the newspaper front-pages these days. A man, dressed in orange and hair. Ew.


So, having opinions is a great thing. Voicing them is not going to help keep the baba prancing around on Ramlila ground and obviously not going to help drive him away.


:O The sinner that I am! How could I dare to promote apathy?


It's not called apathy.


If we can actually see animals getting flogged by the ring-master at circuses, we could very well draw a parallel and let the holier-than-not-just-thou-but-every-flexible-thing-in-the-world-and-yeah-I-can-bend-like-paperclips-can't guy handle the show   entertain us.


And God, that guy's really flexible. Like Sharvari. :P

Shrink Training

I feel awesome because for once I'm not blogging from my ghisa-pita home PC or my mom's same old laptop. No, I'm in Pune and I have Internet access here. So, I need not rely on Jai baba to bore the life out of you. I can do it myself.

I have been giving free advice to my friends (when they ask for it, I'm not narcissistic enough to do it otherwise). Advice that works. Jai baba would call it 'shrink training'. I took the privilege of calling it that already. I'm gonna be a good shrink.

Pune's great. It rained a lot on the Expressway. It was the first time that I ever saw lightning actually split the sky in two. Our cab had some technical difficulties but we got where we wanted to safe and sound, owing to my generous luck drawer.

I'm trying to be witty these days. I can't manage it right now because I haven't had enough sleep. Like most things I try, this too works. I stupefied a friend of mine, though I shouldn't consider it an achievement since anyone with a brain can stupefy her.

I'm going to go now. Ta-ta! Have fun with Jai baba.

Pitter-Patter Raindrops

I hear thunder, I hear thunder,
Oh! Don't you? Oh, don't you?
Pitter-patter raindrops, pitter-patter raindrops
I'm wet through, so are you.

Are you?

I was. I was blogging about bromance in the evening (what an utterly interesting topic to post about) when my sister who'd returned from school started acting weirdly and started telling me that it rained. I told myself she surely was a fool to have thought that a few drops of drizzling water from the heavens above could actually be rain.

And then, I turned back.

The tree in front of my house was waving ominously. I could see waves of soil as the wind blew them in layers.

Chuck all that. I wouldn't go into the specifics. The jingle I mentioned above I guess that is an essential part of almost everyone who has been through Kindergarten. And as a younger kid than I am today (I still AM a kid) monsoons, to me, as I hope, to any other Indian kid, meant long raincoats; rain-soaked uniforms; umbrellas.

And today, after I don't know how many years, it's perhaps assumed a more important role in life. It's that lifeline we all live by. And it is also a devastating factor when paired with another lifeline that we live by our Indian Suburban Railways. It's come to mean eating bhajiyas at home and looking out of the window as the rain lashes everything it comes in contact with. And lastly, and most importantly, it has come to mean everything that nurtures, everything that gives birth it's come to mean everything that holds love in it, everything that love holds in itself.

To love,

To craving,

And to the unquenchable thirst to love and be loved,

A happy monsoon, to whomsoever it matters! :)

Of Beer And Bromance

“Even in a drought, a bro flushes the toilet twice.”

-         Barney Stinson.

And I thought all gays hated bromance! Barney Stinson’s straight, but Neil Patrick Harris is gay! (I am at my stereotypical best right now.)

Nothing in the world turns my stomach like bromance does. I swear.

India has had a long tradition of bromance. Fathers decide to speak to their sons about the birds and the bees. Girls are kept in the dark, well, because, umm, I don’t know. Right from Amitabh Bachchan and Dharmendra trying to assert that they won’t let go of their 'really awesome' friendship in Sholay, to today, when there are some defined styles of behaviour in public—in shaking hands and giving those ‘friendly punches’—not much has really changed.

I would say it has got worse. I mean, there’s this mobile service provider ad where guys share underwear. Beat that. *Pukes*

And not to mention the wife-sharing Pandavas.

Dexter and Miguel.

Barney, Ted and Marshall.

But what takes me by surprise the most, is the fact that most men (Yeah, I am not included because I am still a boy! *angryface*) are able to convey what they want to without actually referring to any of it in a serious manner.

I think I better applaud that. J

C.I.D.

Man, that show has been running for a long time. Thirteen years, to be precise: from 1998 to the present day. Sony TV has made a huge profit, so much so that they can't seem to stop airing it. Whenever you switch to Sony between 14.00 and 18.00 hours, it's always C.I.D. Fulltoo timepass.

C.I.D. is no stranger to awards. In 2004, it entered the Guinness Book of World Records for their episode "The Inheritance", which was filmed in one shot for 111 minutes without a single cut. One of their characters won the award for the best-looking guy on Indian television (crazy, right?). They also organised a grand function called the C.I.D. Gallantry Awards in 2010.

There is a certain fun in watching that serial. Like most Indian media, it's a 'leave-your-brains-at-home' thing. For how could seven officers investigate every case in Mumbai? Or how did they justify finding a laash in every episode, or never investigating anything apart from murders and kidnappings? Kuch to gadbad hai.

Inspite of all its faults, C.I.D. is a noteworthy attempt by director B.P. Singh, who has cleared both national and international records. And if you haven't watched it yet, there's no doubt you have never been in the vicinity of a television set.

Crossroads At Crossword

I always called Crossword 'Crosswords'. 


What? There's absolutely nothing wrong in doing so, because a crossword could have a plural. My only problem was that I did that when I referred to the bookstore Crossword.


And so, Sharvari aai called me over to Mulund to browse through books and whatever they sold there. They sell, predominantly, books. Goos books. So. I texted Shruti and Maddie:

Going to Crossword's' tomorrow. 

With Sharvari. 

Coming?

But they had 'other plans' and so I was to accompany Sharvari to Nirmal Lifestyle, which is a bitter-sweet venue for reasons unfathomable and reasons indescribable. And unnecessary *wide-mouthed grin*

So. I realise I am 'so-'ing a lot, but that's forgivable. 

And I realised on my way to Mulund that I must have eaten something inedible (read: addled, and for those of you who don't know what it means, ask Thomas Edison. His teacher used to call him that.) and I felt like puking during the whole 'journey to the mall'.

It goes without saying, that the mall had a men's room. And the rest, you have understood, I hope.

And then, I went to Crosswords where Sharvari stood with my wallet and phone in hand. *Phew, she had it* How could I live without texting.

And then, I was confounded as to what to get for myself. I had a strict budget. And I am very indecisive. You can ask Sharvari. She just made a decision for me. And today, aai helped me with my budget, and I got a book on Psychoanalysis! *Yay*. Yes. We are both Psycho-freaks. Not psychotic! :O

So. Then we went to McDonald's to eat ice-cream and Sharvari aai wanted waffles. He did not have 'vafls'. We then had a regular ice-cream 'softy' and coloured our faces with chocolate sauce and oh, also our hands. And we left for the railway station.

Not to beg.

And oh. I don't remember where my ill-health went off, or when. :)

Choices

Inky Pinky Ponky.
Daddy Had A Donkey.
Donkey Died, Daddy Cried,
Inky Pinky Ponky.


Sheetal is a good friend and classmate of mine. We were talking the other day at our maths tuitions about an exam called NATA. She apparently has to do physics and chemistry for the exam, which obviously *phew* is not on the humanities' to-do list. *phew again*


So, Aabha, classmate and friend, said they'll select their answer by choosing a random alternative from the four given.


Not too random, though. 


Inky-pinky-ponkeying will do just fine.


What?! #1 - I'd do the same thing, okay? 


And so, moving on to worse decisions, Sharvari aai made a decision for me today (or so she says). Well, I think she suggested; only I took it too seriously. 


What?! #2 - You can obey your friend, okay?

We're Birds Of A Feather -_____-

To my dear co-blogger and everyone who is reading this now.

I love Star World. 

And, FYI, I love Animé.

My favourite cartoon, to date, is not Powerpuff Girls. 

Feels goos* to pull the carpet from under Sharvari aai's feet.

My all-time-favourite cartoon has been The Cardcaptors (the Sakura thingy). 

As you might know already, I am NOT averse to fantasy. Make that ALL fantasy.
:)

It was is, like, the bestest cartoon ever. 

I went so mad for it that after it got over, I actually started thinking I could capture and use natural elements to 'everyone's' benefit. 

And yeah, I'd cried when Sakura captures the last card, Hope.

So. 

I think Animax could challenge Star World too.

Aai, we are birds of a feather.

(NOTE - *'goos' is equivalent to 'good and comfy' and is a result of constant misspelling on the keyboard and the keypad while typing and texting respectively.)

If you found that note a bit too formal, go, chill, watch some animé, because it's goos.

Cartoons

I've been addicted to cartoons for some time now. Not Powerpuff Girls or Ben10 - though Tom & Jerry is still hilarious - but anime cartoons that they play on Animax. My favourites include Busou Renkin and The Stigma of the Wind. They're in Japanese or Korean, but they have English subtitles, and as you know, I'm not averse to reading.

Why, you ask? Apart from the fact that I have nothing to do in the holidays and hence have no choice but to watch crap, Anime has every fantasy element I love. Magic, martial arts and weaponry, all so tastefully done that the plot seems to dissolve from one end to the other. Star World is no match for Animax. Yes, Jai, I just said that.

When you say cartoons, I remember my vehement defense against my brother as he tried to wean me off Cartoon Network a few years ago. I found 'adult TV' boring. For all I knew of it was that it aired saas-bahu quarrels and songs. Yes, I was a kid once.

But for now, Animax keeps me alive. Hail cartoons!

No, hail Anime cartoons!

Cleanin' Up After You're Done!

I realised I could be forgetful at times, horribly forgetful, at that. I came to WeirdnessGalore twice today, now, and I was listless at what exactly to write, because I loathe not blogging. And then, *poof!* I realise I have a piece I had thought about writing yesterday. And that is about the awesome, butt-back-limbs-whatever-exercising job I did yesterday. 


The Kurl-On mattress is getting a bit old, and we're getting a new one next month; so I thought we better keep what we have in a good condition, and so, I decided to turn the mattress over. AND to my horror, there was a lot (read hellalot) of dust accumulated deep, deep (Alterspeak- Deep down what now? Nothingness? :s ) uh, just deep, or behind. Whatever. So, I took all the linens and furniture (most of it) to the hall and let them be there for until when I get my room to how an INFJ's room is supposed to be    spic-and-span. And so, I pulled the heavy wooden bed (Alterspeak- Sadly, for you, beds don't come in plastic. :L) to the centre of the room and got all the dust under it into my vacuum-cleaner.


No, I can sweep too. But the dust was fluffier than my broom could ever get. And no, my brooms don't get fluffy. And then, I brought a bucket to the room mopped the floor clean (the good ol' way) and re-arranged. 


And lo! Oh freak! My room looks the same as before. :O


But just, just to satisfy myself, I might as well bend down a little and look at the nice empty space *ahem* deep down under the bed I've made.


And Sharvari did not help me. But it was fun. 

The Two Things I Love the Most in the World

The two things I love the most in the world: books and nature. Both very aptly represented in this picture I clicked at Talegaon. A plumeria flower on a copy of Brisingr, written by my favourite fantasy author, Christopher Paolini.

Christopher lives in Paradise Valley, Montana, USA. When you look at the mind-blowing, breathtaking scenery in pictures of that place, you realise and understand why he could create a world in which mountains loom over the clouds, where the towns are full of boisterious humans, and where a dragon spreads her wings as far as she can in the mighty blue sky.

I agree this post is going away from what it was supposed to be about, but once I start talking about Christopher, I can't stop. His story is what has inspired me to get going in the last few weeks, mostly because I find similarities in us. He was homeschooled and graduated from high school (correspondence) by the age of fifteen. He took two years to write Eragon, after which his parents decided to publish it through their company. Paolini International LLC was a small business, and Christopher had to market the book himself. It was hard work, and his efforts at selling the book meant putting food on the table. Then a writer picked up Eragon at a bookstore and showed it to his publisher, who decided to buy the rights from Christopher. From then on, it was all uphill. At nineteen, Christopher was a New York Times bestselling author.

I want to be like that.

I want to be as much a 'nature writer' - as he calls it - as a fantasy writer. And that is what my story is about. The power of Nature around us, within us. The two things I love the most in the world: books and nature. What better to do than fuse them together and have a career in it.

I want to be like that.

The Procrastination Bug

The hardest thing in the world is to plonk your ass down and write.

Disagree? Let me tell you something: I've been trying to finish a novel that's been in my head since I was 11 years old. I had my 16th birthday a few weeks ago. Agree now?

No matter how many 'How to Motivate Yourself to Write' pages you read online, no matter how many times you beat your computer at Solitare, no matter how much you sleep, no matter how many long walks you take, you still need to have that writing material in front of you and a pen in your hand. You still need to put that pen to the paper and start scribbling words. You still need to open MS Word and type out what you need.

And that's exactly what you can't do. Why? Because you're lazy. Because you procrastinate. Because in a few years time, you're gonna have a paunch and bigger-sized clothes from all the sleeping you've been doing. Because you never plonk your ass down and just WRITE.

When you do open MS Word and start typing though, words flow like water. Which is why I make blog posts and do not write chapters. Because I'm always looking to 'exercise' my writing skills so I can make a start on the book. But no, The Procrastination Bug comes down and bites. Hard.

Now you know why my personal blog has been 'dormant' for years. :L

The Return Of The Passport

Heylao peeples. 


That is so off-me. Hello people. Technically, it wouldn't be wrong if I wrote 'peoples'. That is so, because people of the world, as a collective group can be referred to as peoples. And so, peoples, as I am coming to it, I have become a part of 'peoples', which is to say, that if and when I am stranded on an island (that has a government :P), I am entitled, as a part of the peoples of the world, to get help from my country's embassy. 


Like, they'll have to help me get medicines even in Antarctica if I happen to catch a cold. But wait! Antarctica does not have a government. And you don't catch a cold there. Losers.


Anyway, moving to greener pastures. To dark-bluer passports. That postman at the post office asked me if my mom had sent with me, some chai-pani    in plain words, a bribe. I had two hundred and fifty bucks in my pocket. 


I told him, no, she hadn't. And she really hadn't, suspicion-personifieds! It was just money that I was carting around. And he told me it's a passport. And that, therefore, chai-pani was, uh, mandatory.


Chai-pani, mandatory, the world's foot. And he's going to come home, he told me, to ask for chai-pani. My mom's not home, so I am going to do a plainly good job driving him away or to the Anti-Corruption Bureau. 


And I never told you before that today's was my first visit to a post office. And for those cynics amongst you who think there always has to be a first, this is, I hope, also my last visit to that dingy place. Looked like an over-sized laundry.


And there is something more dismal about my passport. I opened my passport booklet. It has my photo and information about me. I thought they might have 'more info' about me on the inside pages. 

Apparently, those were *sniff sniff* blank. 

What a waste.

Lucky Bhadrakali

Hello. I envy Goddess Kali. She had so many hands! And I'm guessing [(whatever number of hands) divided by 2] heads. And I so wish I had some thirty hands. Not asking for too much, am I? 

Since yesterday, I have been wanting to text, talk over the phone, write a blogpost, write some *other* write-ups, revise some Sanskrit, read The Da Vinci Code, do some math, do some riyaaz, to be quite basic. But see, I have only two hands and only a single brain! And oh, oh, oh. I mustn't forget watching Dexter.

I don't like Dexter anymore because Rita is dead. And I liked her characterisation the best. And so many things could have prevented her death   she could have not returned home to get whatever crap she needed, or she could have turned up late, or she could have never met Dexter, or Dexter could have never met Arthur or interfered in his life, or Arthur could have not had the terrible childhood he had had. But could I have been not as much of a stupid emo person that I am? 

Maybe.

And I hate it when friends call you over and then cancel the plan. Loserness. Mine or theirs? Oh, well, I need to have a fight with my I-shall-contradict-your-reasoning-abilities-in-whichever-way-possible alter-ego. 

And Sharvari aai isn't totally wrong. 

A pillow fight sounds juuust fine. 

Classes

I had a nice time with my gal pals the other day. Though I know Jai baba doesn't mind fluffy pillow fights and shopping stories (believe me, I did neither of these. Never will.) but- though they include a very interesting card game, jokes about my vegetarianism, and falling oover each other while wrapped in thick blankets - I won't go into all that. What I am here to talk about is my train journey on the way back home.

My friend lives in Andheri. Since it's accessible by the Western Line Railway, I had to go all the way to Dadar by Central Line, then cross over and double back to Andheri. I was tired enough when I got into the wrong train at Dadar on my way back, but after I got into the right one, something really pissed me off. A quarrel had started in the compartment. Quarrels are rare in First Class, but when they do come up, civilised women fight like no barbaric ones you've seen before. As usual, it was over seating space. I don't understand why the Railway ministers don't enlarge the Central Ladies' First Class compartments like in the Western Railway, but that's another matter altogether.

After a while, as I was waiting in line to alight at Mulund, I heard the girl who'd been quarrelling come up behind me with her friend. She was still ranting. I listened in (What? Admit it. You'd have done it too) and was appalled to hear what had really happened. Apparently, a Second-class-dikhne-wali female had got into our compartment. As always, the women in the train bristled at her and asked her to show them her ticket. Turns out she did have a First Class ticket.

The woman behind me had a problem with her Second Class behaviour. Angrez chale gayein, inko chhod gayein.

Are we really like this? I hate to admit it, but whenever a cheap-sari-clad, dark woman gets into the compartment, I have a nagging doubt in my mind as to whether she is allowed where she is. I never think at first sight that perhaps she is a hard-working, self-reliant woman who has bought her ticket through her own earnings. Some feminist I am. Until we change our mentality, progress - change - cannot be achieved. Are some prejudices so ingrained that sheer will power cannot uproot them? I am a feminist because I want to be one. I am a vegetarian because I want to be one. But again it comes down to Nature vs. Nurture.

For some reason, Nuture always wins.

What It Takes To Set Your Foot Out. Like, Out.

And you thought of vestments and money and and your toothbrush and Listerine, duh! Well, you don't actually fly unless vous êtes votre passeport. And ask me, it does not come easy. Well, to date, hasn't.

I literally started wishing making passports were like making yearbooks, as easy as holding those little crayon pieces and drawing myself and writing my address and about myself. A burnt child dreads fire.


A harrowed Jai dreads the queue.


Yeah, especially when you have to get out of the queue if your forgot to bring a certain document. Oof, saying "Ma'am, I didn't bring my Homeworknotebook" at school would be easier than explaining why you did not bring what you did not, to the person behind the counter. No, the bullet-proof counter. 


And then, not to forget, this is Hindustan भारत/ India, and so, you must know that it is not odd to log in with your passport details on the Web on the 28th of April, only to be told that your passport will be despatched on the 26th of April. Losers.


Well, so now that I have no US trip to look forward to, I can be an idiot-companion to Sharvari aai. And I have many small things to be happy about now. Like books. Like yummy fooood. Like my bicyle. Like friends. Like Maths. The last one possibly does not count. :P