Saturday, July 25, 2009
It takes you a meeting to miss someone so much you never you realized you could miss!!!
Chicken strips... hahaha!!!
To Radha and Danny :) :)
Labels: friends
Monday, June 15, 2009
"Sunday, June 18, 2006
I felt tears sting my eyes. How could I have possibly got a GPA as low as I did when people less better than me did way better than my pathetic excuse of a result? I’ll never forget how I felt that day. What could I possibly write worth reading? Rejected, bitter, jealous of all who had done better than me. Sad, depressed, deflated, broken.
I stopped writing.
How could I have possibly got a GPA as high as I did? Topper?!!? How can I possibly summarise the journey from then to today in a single sentence, or a single post? How will anybody understand what this means to me? It is not about grades, it never was. Accepted. Elated, astonished.Grateful.Alive, mad happy, mended.
Tears sting my eyes. A full circle.
I start writing…
"Sunday, June 18, 2006
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Because she screwed up 4 credits!This is the story of Ms. Menon. She is a teacher. But she does not teach. She has a bunch of students. But because she does not teach, they do not learn anything. She used to ramble in class and the students ate biscuits, wrote poetry, carved graffiti on desks and dreamed of non-existent futures in Culture Studies. Thanks to her obviously. She foamed and the students were reminded of the sloppy consistency of the Upma served in the mess that morning. She rolled her eyes and the students thought they might eventually fall out of her sockets. Nothing materialized. She proclaimed love and suicide threats in the same breath. Again nothing materialized. Her tales of punctuality were made of legendary stuff. She was usually ten minutes early for next week's class. So the students waited and ate biscuits, wrote poetry, carved graffiti on desks and dreamed of non-existent futures in Culture Studies. Thanks to her obviously.
Anyway, one day as she was rambling, foaming and rolling her eyes, she began giggling. Now, rambling, foaming and rolling eyes the students could stand, but GIGGLING??!! That was the last straw for the students. Seeing an almost 100 kg woman giggle while she put them through 240 minutes (when she did turn up) of pure, undiluted and unadulterated torture every week was unacceptable.
So they all pounced on her. She foamed, rolled her eyes and even issued suicidal threats. But the students were used to all of that now. They remembered what a very wise professor had told them in an Indian Writing in English class: "If you want something, you have to do something about it. You have to take matters into your own hands." And so they did. They took the almost 100 kg matter into their hands and squeezed the living beejesus out of Ms. Menon. She poured out her usual red and black salwar kameez onto the floor creating quite a 'graffiti' in the classroom. After they realized they had taken enough matters into their hands, the students surveyed their class project. "Ah," said one. "Aha," said another. Ms. Menon had oozed out her extra matter and was a thin, attractive, SINGLE woman now. She ran out of class, got married, had four babies and never foamed, rolled her eyes, or giggled ever again.
As for the students? Well, after "ahaahing" enough, they got Mr HOD to teach them. Last heard, they have decided to take matters into their hands again.
~Fin~
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Her name is Fray. (Because she was listening to “The Fray” and was not in a creative mood). She is the most anti-social girl/woman (Fickle minded) that you will ever (Not) meet. She lives far far away. She used to be a simple girl. Simple enough to fall in love and never tell. Simple enough to dance and feel she conquered the world. Simple enough to stay awake the whole night and message and then think it is love. Simple enough to cry for every romantic movie on earth. Simple enough to be happy and high on wine.
She had friends. Oh, thousands of them. Each better than the other. They made her laugh and shared their impossible dreams with her. They taught her how to swim, how to write and how not to fall in love. They taught her how to drink and how not to burn her face. How not to cry when the boss screams or how to wear spaghetti tops or get a new haircut to catch the eye of a certain somebody. They spoke about their fears, they wept. They made her world worthwhile. She never told them.
Then one day she moved away. Far far away. And everybody did the same. They told her she could not write. (One step behind). They told her many things that she could not handle. The results made her hard work non existent. (One step behind). They told her to buck up, get a life and go do something else. (One step behind). She complained, oh, that was all she could do. Anybody called and she would switch on the sob story. Her blog spoke of nothing else!! (One step behind). The calls stopped. She stopped blogging because she was scared people would judge her. She doubted if she could ever write again.(One step behind). What happened to her next was out of the movies, just before the heroine hits the jackpot. She was alone, broke and just plain tired. (One step behind).
Then she came back, and saw her friends. The one that told her that photo she loved looked ridiculous, or the cute boy radar was not working anymore. She had missed her. (One step behind). The another one who made her laugh and she had called teddy bear. One whom she liked to call her sunshine. (One step behind). One who had all her secrets and another whose secrets she had. One with whom she had sung all the songs they loved. One who always bought her chocolates. Another she had grown up with. So, so,so, many. She was blessed. (One step behind). She was thrilled. She had stories to tell them. Of what she had seen, what she had done. Her old friends. Ah, this time she would tell them what they meant because she had finally discovered what being alone had felt like. Alone, lying on a cold steel bed, in an empty room, shut windows while trying to chase her fears because she had no choice. (One step behind).
But she had taken too many steps behind.
To the year of social isolation, complete broke-dom, the only time she cried in that year (once!) and a far far away place.
Labels: fray
Friday, January 18, 2008
The hardest thing to do in life is to sit back and fail. I mean, no matter how much people dissuade you from thinking yourself as a success, you would never sit back and fail. It is in human nature not to accept failure.
So when someone tells you don't know how to write, you get the lowest GPA in class confirming the previous point, people don't answer calls when you want to talk, you can't see a future no matter how far ahead, you realize everything you have been hoping would not happen has happened and life is screaming at you in your face that you are a failure, you get up, snub it across its face and BLOG!
:)
Monday, December 17, 2007
somedayBiting cold wind blowing through the broken window panes. Socks, two pajamas, two sweaters, a scarf holding the stuffed cotton in the ears and a shawl to protect the bottom from the stone cold floor could not stop the goose bumps erupting in rhythmic continuity. The scene spelt an adventurous three am reading session. The lone tube light flickered as strange never-seen-before green bugs zoomed around the only soul in the stretch, bent over a book. You would mistake her for a nerd, a geek, which is what she planned to achieve with this stunt. But the tears that splashed on the pages made her write this post.
To play with words as to make them your own, to use them not to throw your world to the reader but pull them into your world. A world that taught you to dream. It was quite some time since she had read such a book. No, not read, but experienced.
She would love to write like that.
Someday.
No, that’s not what she really wanted. She looked at her hands and asked herself what she really wanted to do. Dance. And so she did. Up in front of the long mirror, she threw her hands up to an imaginary tune and did a full 360 degree turn. Her first heartfelt performance in two years. She forgot the cold, the bugs and the two pajamas. Long forgotten applause filled her ears. Three am was never this eventful. She wished she could do this her whole life. Dance. But she can’t.
So she forgot the night, the performance, the cold clamped her back to her warm seat. She came back and wrote this post realizing many would call it pretentious. None would understand the beauty of dancing to nothing but the stars in the sky.
Someday.
Monday, September 24, 2007
kolorsThe green Misbah-ul-Haq was the most powerful man in the world as he paced ahead and knelt to take on India's blue Joginder who-is-he Sharma. He held with him the blink of every eye, contraction of every heart, pace of every breath, sincerity of every prayer, faith of every hope and the fate of every colour that would erupt. Millions, including the still kneeling Misbah, watched the ball soar. A deliciously painful white elongation of Judgment amidst the recently dark sky. Sreeshant redeemed himself and the blur in blue got noisy and loud and red. Colours erupted over the stadium- green, saffron, white, blue- fireworks in the sky. Too much noise. Brown girls were screaming in the background, standing over grey chairs, I was jumping about myself. The whites looked amused. Pure pale-yellow joy, pure because it was momentary never to last. I screamed like no tomorrow and I do not know why. Seeing the blue run into a huddle brought back to memory bright hues of huddled orange, lost somewhere. We had won Darpan. There is nothing more spectacular than bright-yellow laughter. "We are many colors. We are one dream,' announced Martin Luther Jr. in this already recalcitrant and wild flashes of hued thought."You mean--like plain or milk chocolate?" voiced Soyinka. Loud, noisy and more fireworks in my head, 'GO DRISTIKONE,' I screamed!!
It had been a whole five seconds since India had won, since Sreeshanth had answered half the prayers that evening. The other half silently crushed the erstwhile most powerful Misbah-ul-Haq, who remained the kneeling green amidst the brilliant blue of victory and I retreated into the black night lit by a lone silver moon to write an assignment on racism.
About Moi!
aT tHe mOmEnT
sO yEsTeRdAy
tHe FrIeNdShIpS
the original duck-walker :)
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since may 23,2007
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