Rendezvous

… In the women’s hostel!

I walked into every room, with a stone in my hand assuring everyone that he will not stay for long. The responses were not greatly positive. Ok, didn’t expect too much of positive energy anyway. At least not with a stone in my hand. I heard him walk up the stairs and into the lobby. I wished he was a little quiet. Does he want the world to know? Yikes! Men were, are and will always be men! I’m sure he’s going to chant about entering the women’s hostel during the day and his version of the story will have fifteen million exaggerations! Couldn’t she shut him up? Well, she, let’s just call her Peanut here, because she is tiny. Well, Peanut was helping me in bringing him up to my room. And she was of great help.
There, he entered the corridor. Ohmigosh bigosh! No guy ever entered my room before.
I put out my hand to shake his.
“Thanks very much”
“Pleasure.”
Pleasure of course! What confidence! Has he entered the women’s hostel before?
“I’m Sai. What’s your name?”
He was tall, muscular, had all the charm of a moderately attractive gentleman, and he was Komal (meaning tender and delicate. Usually a girl’s name in the northern part of India.)!
He took the stone from my hand in an un-Komal style and knock! Strike! Smash!
The lock broke.
So, I had returned from my aunt’s place that evening. And I forgot to carry my room keys with me. My roommate was out of town with her boyfriend and I was locked out. I made continuous, unsuccessful phone calls to the hostel authorities and Peanut and I collectively mustered all the strength we could to stone that lock to no avail.
Finally, Peanut offered to bring a guy up, as the guard had gone for tea. And there he was, sans red nose!
He walked in with Peanut after me.
”huhh! First time!”
I didn’t really believe him. I only smiled. I wanted to say stuff, but he helped.
“Guys…”
Peanut piped up “we know. Don’t worry. We’ll feel free to ask if ever we need help from you.”
“Yeah man. Anytime.” Komal said.
But I wasn’t really thanking them. I was worried about something else.
“The guard. You guys got to be going.”
Uh-oh. Subtle!
“I mean…” *sheepish grin*
“I know I know. Really nice room man. I’ll come back on the hostel night (hostel fest).” He patted the awkward, scared, borderline rude girl on the shoulder and walked away with Peanut who gave me a fleeting hug before leaving.
I just stood there, speechless. I mentally kicked myself to at least utter a final thank you. I swear, I must have lost that social mechanism that gauges social situations and handles them appropriately. This is crazy. Whoever took my social abilities away is lucky I’m not trained on using a gun.
And I never got to see him again. Chacha was right, what a ‘Trist with Destiny’!
Hmmm. Rendezvous never the less.
Cheers to anti-climax!
Because I don’t stun people within a fifty meter radius of my, err, charming personality!

Human rights because humans wrong!!! :P

This was someone’s Facebook status few days ago. Duh! Duh!
Love, you are my friend, but no. Sorry. But I still love you.

So, the point of this post is that it’s blogger activist day today and bloggers all over the world, irrespective of cool or not, are posting this and that and more about human rights. And me being super cool, decided to follow suit and change directions midway.

There’s generally something very cool about bloggers. I’m a chicken in public sometimes. When someone seemingly very cool starts intellectual masturbating in front of me, many smart and witty come backs knock on the back of my lips. But my mouth wouldn’t open.

Sometime ago, this guy sharing the dinner table with me:
“Sai, you’ve bloated since I saw you first, 3 months ago. Please!”
“Okay?”
Yeah. That was all what I said. I wanted to ask what was troubling him. As if I was hogging on his dad’s income (Tum pareshaan lag rahe ho. Tere baap ke paison se thoos rahi hun kya? What the fuck does “please” mean?). But no. I didn’t say anything more. However, we became friends.

Another random conversation:
“1$=55RS and 100$=…”
“What?” he growled.
Ok, I know it’s around 65RS now. I read the news.
“What world are you living in?”
Chill. My dad is a currency exchange trader. I know. I was just recollecting something he said to me 5 years ago while explaining about US hegemony and the value of dollar.
But what’s the point? I was answering myself.

See! It’s as if all of my social skills automatically recognise that I am thoroughly dependent on them and decide to take a vacation all at once. But, when I tell people that I am a blogger, I suddenly start appearing under a bright, white light. I’m thrown off my throne of social ineptitude. Intellectual bullshitters recognise my levels of intellect.
“Hey, I’m a blogger too (don the pseudo American accent). What do you blog about?”
How very cool!
“Stuff. Generally about this. Sometimes about that as well.” *smiles like Abhishek Bachchan from the idea 3G add*
KICKASS!

That’s what! That’s how! Some people are cool on the net. If they can’t show off in public, then I propose to the law, showing off should be declared as a human right. Every person is entitled to possessing and displaying their knack for coolness. And everyone is cool in some way. I am, she is, you are and he is. We are all cool.

Choose your style! Show off! Stay cool!

Only you and I know why!

“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon is soon?”Well, my persistent question.
I never got the answer. Or maybe I did. In the form of extermination of a flurry of emotions.
I looked forward to a moment that would never come. It was only meant to be lived in dreams.
So I lived. Then re-lived. Then re-re-lived and many times more. In dreams of course.
Then I asked for it. Then I asked again and again and again. In reality.
Then the realization hit me like a steam train, soon was a polite way of saying never.
Because…
Sometimes, everybody lives.
For themselves.

Well, take your call!

“Here, let me light it for you” I offered.
I took it between my right fore and middle fingers and between my lips, trying hard to imitate the damsel in distress style of holding a cigarette, feigning the confidence of an advanced smoker. Honestly, I only read about ways to smoke online, second hand experience does not equal to firsthand experience.
Click. Click. And another click and a hard draw!
Cough cough cough cough cough… Cough cough cough cough cough…
I must have drawn stares. Maybe even sniggers. Surely a few “first timer! Huh!”’s.
The best way to stop worrying about it is caring two hoots about it.
“here.” I sounded choked, but I still aimed at nonchalance.
He just patted me on the head.
“Ok?”
I nodded.
“Water?”
I nodded again.


* * * * * * * * * *

“First timer?”
“First timer!” I was extraordinarily loud, aiming splashes of Zandu Balm at the guessing numbskulls. But I think the guy was slightly taken aback.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”
“Mean to aim splashes of tobacco down my throat? I was helping.” With that I smiled to put the conversation to bed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Someone I like smokes twenty cigarettes a day. Someone I am friendly with calls herself an addict. Someone I talk to gets high on cigarettes and advices me to stay away from those ugly cancer sticks. Someone I call “mum” tells me to not entertain the ideas of “healthy motherhood” and “a good smoke” in one thought because they cancel each other out. But who do I hold responsible for my trend following fantasies? Then later who will I blame for falling ill?
Heaven is symbolic of paradise. God is symbolic of goodness. That bearded guy in the skies is kind, loving, nonviolent, and everything good you can think of. Then why do we fall sick? Why do we die at ages that are short? Why do people tell you to “ask god for help” when he does not really help?
Can’t I smoke and smile at the same time? If the word “disease” is so soothing to Mr. God’s ears, he should have let them affect lesser dangerous parts of our body.
Take my advice, Mr. God:

• Toenail cancer
Really. I am too lazy to chop off my toenails. Also, no one looks at your feet when they meet you first. And if you get them removed because of whatever reason, they’ll grow back. Or you can simply get fake nail extensions.

• Finger nail cancer
Sometimes, short coloured nails look all sporty and sexy. But whatever man, who cares about nails? Someone as stunning as Megan Fox doesn’t have thumb nails. She is still very capable of making you go wooooooooooooooooohhh like a wolf!

• Chemotherapy and loss of pubic hair
Not having pubic hair forever is a luxury, ‘nough said!

• What sounds better, heart attack or body hair attack?
You won’t require waxing for some time.

• Decay of the bacterial layer on the tooth
Dude, leave the tooth alone, and kill the germs if you want to kill.

Everyone has the right to live till hundred. Everyone has the right to die the day after their hundredth birthday. Trust me, we are not asking for a life span as long as yours. When you send that guy, Yamraj, to pick us up during our wheelchair days, we only want to jump up and sprint towards him on our weak feet with a broad grin!
Why such complicated messes, Mr. God? Are you scared that you’ll die of boredom if you did not have humans to play with? Really, you are the parent of the colonialist Briton!

Memories are funny things…

…Very randomianously random! They can come anytime. Anytime, even if it means the night before two exams.
Me and a darling boy from school!
Me: “I’ll have mansions in Paris. I’ll own vineyards and mushroom farms and chicken farms!”
Darling boy: *smiles* “I’ll live with you then. Let’s get married and become wedding planners for the firangs!”
Me: “we can become wedding planners without getting married. And don’t you dare let anyone hear about the marriage shit bit!”
*half blushing but mostly not*
Darling boy: “I’m kid…”
I cut him off.
Me: “we’ll be cool. We’ll be both like Band Baja Baraat cum Jodi breakers types. We do it all, pre-wedding, during wedding, post divorce!”

Darling boy: *pipes up* “great idea! We can do more! Clothes, venue, cake, I can also do the ‘kiss the bride’!”
*laughing uncontrollably*
Me: “no. that only her ‘lawfully wedded husband’ will do. After ‘I do’ in French!”
*clutches stomach*
Me: “’I do’! Hahahahahahahahahhahahahhahhhahaaha! Le...le...Let’s have choreographed sangeets too!”
Darling boy: “chicken dance! Monkey dance! Victory dance!”
I begin to cry! Bah! My tummy hurts!
Me: “bassssssss! Ha-ha! Mamma! Aiyo! We’ll make the best mix!”
Darling boy: “we’ll even do funerals if anyone kills their spouse!”
There! He dropped it hot!
Me: “we will also get detectives on board if someone wants to spy on their worst half!”
Haiye! Tauba mera jalva, tauba mera pyaar… Mera emotional atyachaar!
How will the guffaws stop?
Darling boy: “stop laughing; otherwise people will think we are drunk!”
Me: *gasp gasp* “Theek hai theek hai ok”
We paused for two seconds and burst out again!
We decided to call ourselves ‘The Handlers’ and commenced our deal with a high-five…

What makes Sai blog today?

Guilt overflow.
Yeah. Blogging is a better thing to do compare to what I have been doing for the past 2 months. Please don’t excuse me for being late. My conscience hasn’t excused me. She is looking for a hammer to knock some sense into me. I wish she was a little more assertive while telling me to study! Stupid she part of the stupid me!
So it’s usually in my quantitative research methodology class that I sit to blog. A few of my posts forced my fingers on Thursday mornings between 9-11. This teacher, lovingly called ‘Nagini’ (go, read Harry Potter for reference), is dross and snakelike, the meanest bitch, stingiest evaluator, and the best teacher. She starts off the class by quizzing and throwing people out for not being able to answer. I guess I have been the lucky one for not being questioned, for blogging and sleeping soundly and not have been caught. Ha ha ha! *open mouthed* You know the feeling?
So, today was our last class. And for the record, I started this post there. We had a preparatory non-evaluated quiz today. And knowing myself better than anyone else, I decided to turn up my laptop and take down the questions. And needless to guess what else I was doing.
First 13 questions. Blank. My reaction:
Ok, the balloon has officially gone up. I am sitting on a powder keg. 13 is the only one I know.
Question 18:
Ah-oh! I deserve a felicitation for studying hardly. The rest is all Greek to me.
Question 20 – list the key ethical concerns while doing a research: I guess I know 20. Isn’t confidentiality a key of ethical concern? It’s difficult to maintain confidentiality and write about the issues you come across in your research (I’m a social work student). I think. Hurray!
Quant is a cloud on the horizon. Trust me. And this is the only subject I actually kind of like. Lol! Rofl!
My conscience started off with the mental kicking! Now guess what happened! A few students walked in. whoa! Guts man! And she let them in? And repeated a few questions for them. Sometimes actions speak louder than words. I gaped! And guess who walked in with the late comers? A pregnant ginger cat. And Nagini loves animals. She barks with dogs and meows with cats, you know?
Ginger resembles Crucshanks. I was playing with her few months ago. Awwwwwwwwwwwww! Kitty mummy!
Few minutes later, my phone pinged my chichora whistle message tone. And it was her turn to react:
“Woh kya tha?”
Hahahahhahahahaahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Question 23 – What is the level of measurement of the following variables, and is coding required or not.
She dictated many. Like Gender, economic class, monthly income, and…
Shoe size:
Yaar, I don’t have footwear. What’s the point of good clothes? Shirt size:
Madame, you are hitting on touchy subjects. Shift from medium to large. I am bloating!
Weight in kilograms:
Ok, that will do. Around 68KGs.
Height:
There there. I’m consoling myself. I’m 5.5 inches, but my mum is 5.6, my sister 5.9, and my dad 6.1! And they all call me Potti (meaning short in Telugu- my mother tongue).Potti! Potti! *howls*
Subject of study in bachelor’s degree:
English was way better. “Kya hua? Tera vaada? Woh kasam, woh irada.” Social work padhne ka…
Level of satisfaction with the hostel facilities:
Hostel, accustomed. I sleep in a mess!
Nagini:
“now. Answers. Let’s see who’s in how much trouble!”
Poori ki poori pani mein hun ma’am. But suddenly I’ve started liking you. For this quiz, I’ll study.
Couldn’t keep up with the answers. Haven’t studied. I will solve the quiz myself.

Celebrating the awesomeness that is Namrata Rawat!

Okay Naamu. Where do I begin? Now, please don’t holler “beginning”! Because I don’t want to type in my sleep. I am not starting from the day we met. No, not that day when I thought you to be this cute, immature, blabbering little kid. There you go… My first opinion about you! So, you are one of those people who I clicked with, in about half a second. Thank you for being in my interesting companionship, because I got to meet you! I’m glad we are still hanging on together, successfully keeping each other sane for the past two and a half months in our mission of surviving and doing considerably well in TISS. Really. If it weren’t for you, I would have caught on to a hanging electricity wire in the slums of Cheetah Camp! *Dramatic drum roll* But you get the idea, right? Have I ever told you that you are one of my most favourite people in TISS? Because you are! Have I told you lately that I love you? Because I do! You make the world a sassier place. You know you have the licence to criticize me ruthlessly and later pamper me boundlessly because I’m your “kiddo”! Your “suno!” and “koi baat nai” make me strong when everything seems to be going wrong. You are beautiful. As beautiful as some unconventional heroine, simple, intellectual and piquant. Adding a bit of Telewood drama… You are crafted so beautifully by the higher power (Bagwan Ji ne tume kitni fursat se banaya hai!). Hahahahahahhahahahahahahahahhahahaahahahahahahah! You know, sometimes, I picture myself draped in a worn-out blue saree, sitting in a rocker chair, holding a sepia tinted photograph between my wrinkled fingers. Its edges are blurred, colour faded, and somewhat smudged. But you can still make out the faces. The happiness beaming forth from the faces of two young women, holding on to each other, smiling away into the camera that was capturing the moment along with the background of TISS. The photograph is old, but the people in it are still young. It still retains its fragrance and it shall forever. Yeah, it still looks like a girl is hugging her younger brother. No seriously, even in a worn-out blue saree I’d want to carry off that school boy look. I’d still be jealous. Dude! I’m not going to try to be too poetic about our friendship, because what makes it so special and beautiful is the fact that it is so entrenched in the ordinariness of everyday life. And it is fun. And funny. And I hope everlasting, I want to enjoy the rocker chair moment to the fullest. Dude! You are an awesome bitch! I swear by the most beautiful of Enrique’s compositions! So, “baby doll”, moral of this blog post is… sometimes you should thank your mood swings. Because, hadn’t you deactivated your facebook account, this would have just been one of my signature “you mean so much to me” facebook statuses. And I write blog posts only for my all time, most favourite people! Biggest warmest hug! P.s. this should have been a birthday present, but then, the impatient me realised that presents don’t need occasions.