Main jo bhi kahungi sach kahungi. Sach ke alava kuch nahi kahungi.

So i've scene many bloggers making the "truth" lists and i think it's really cute. It's now my tern to be cute! so, being honest to goodness:

1. The truth is I really like dressing up for no reason.
2. The truth is I immensely enjoy planning presents for people that sometimes I feel like Santa Claus's wife - a deadpan matron.
3. The truth is Tailor Swift, sitting in the States, having never been comunicated with me has an uncanny ability to describe exactly how I feel about all sorts of things. Her lyrics are just so girl power, yo!
4. The truth is that because I am 21 and am not dating anyone, I sometimes feel like a social outcaste. Lol.
5. The truth is I would trade anything to be sired to a guy I met at a church. See, god knows.
6. The truth is that if I could pick a place to live in, it would be a place where exotic food like cheese, chicken, chocolate and chaat come at an affordable price.
7. The truth is I love wearing siren lipsticks, metallic eyeshadows. I automatically feel pretty as a primetime heroine.
8. The truth is that I get very very excited about birthdays. Mine, others', stranger's on the street.
9. The truth is I miss my long gone British accent. It was darn cute.
10. The truth is I attend parties and gatecrash weddings just for the delicious, structurally inspired food.
11. The truth is I love the tinkling sound of bangles. It somehow adds to my lady luck.
12. The truth is extra spicy maggi and lemon icetea fix bad moods for me.
13. The truth is that I can never end a phonecall. I love the phone, Maybe because it comes at a price. A huge one for that.
14. The truth is that I have an 'annoying complex', that is, I am always worried about annoying everyone around me and feel as though i do it most of the time.
15. The truth is that I also have a 'victim complex' because I worry way too much about being cheeted or lied to.
16. The truth is I can't understand how people love mangos to the extent that they can eat every variety . I love mangos too, but only Dasheri and the Pakistani mangos we used to get in London.
17. The truth is when I grow old and marry my children off, I'll adopt a street puppy. Every morning when my hubby dear and I take our doggy dear for a walk, kiddy dears from school busses can wave at us and say "aunty uncle dog. Happy happy family."
18. The truth is I'm as lazy as the London Bridge. It's easy 'falling' asleep.
19. The truth is that I find every moderately attractive gentleman hot. It's not me, it's the stalker in me.
20. The truth is that I'm a huge perfectionist. But only about the things i enjoy doing.
21. The truth is sometimes I think about my life as a movie, complete with a killer soundtrack, and really really good clothes.
22. The truth is that I cannot go to sleep unless my room is a mess. A real mess. Once, one of my weird roomates called my bed a bird's nest. Needless to say I was offended.
23. The truth is that I become extremely self difensive without any reason.
24. The truth is that the two best compliments that I've ever had came from boys who had no idea how bad a crush I had on them.
25. The truth is that I don't quite agree with super dainty, but i love Audri Hepburn and it was her right to be superdainty.
26. The truth is I am nocturnal, give me piles of work and I'll work overnight. Working with the owls, such piece, such reverence, such joy, I claim.
27. The truth is I get unreasonably excited when i find other Harry Potter fans who will talk about my love for Harry with me. As in i jump up and down and clap my hands.
28. The truth is I love saying "lucky bitch" and "lucky bastard" but I don't because usually people mind. Wonder why!
29. The truth is that sometimes, only sometimes I wish I was a little more normal. otherwise, I'm happy with my crazy self.
30. The truth is I love the taste of vibhuti.
31. The truth is that I love the taste of undissolved, leftover sugar in my coffee cup.
32. The truth is I love the smell of new sanitary napkins, they kind of smell like Johnson's baby powder.
33. The truth is that I had a faze in life when I thought I liked Justin Bieber. But now I know that the Baby song is a bomb that Canada through at USA after Rebbeca Black's Friday-Friday song.
34. The truth is that at least half of these things must be true for you, reader, because even though we're all wildly different in many ways, and live in such different places, there's a strange string that makes us all kind of think alike in some asspects.
35. The truth is I like posts like this where everything has everything to do with everything random and cool and true.

A bit of fire creates wonders

... But mind, you don't want to burn your fingers!

Hhhahahahaheeahhehahahahehaahhahehehehahhaheheha.... I'm only talking about the stove! Doesn't it create food - the wonder? Yeah, it creates disasters too, but if you're sure of how your hands move - which box to open, which spoon to pick, how much of what to add and when to put off the flame, you're good to be the fire's friend. You're very very hot. Every guy wants a wife who can cook. Naaaaaa, that's when I decide to marry and disown my cooking skills at the right time!

So, for us students out there, a few recipes. Easy ones for that.

Butter maggi:

Cook your maggi dry and add butter to it. You're done. A few tips for becoming a pro maggi chef -
1. Add only 3 teacups of water to cook your maggy.
2. Add your taste maker before you boil the water. This avoids the formation of lumps. I always use an extra maggi taste maker sachet because i like my maggi all spiced up.
3. Butter maggi tastes the best when it is dry.

Ema datshe:

Ema datshe is an easy peasy cheesy dish from The Land of the Thunder dragon - Bhutan. I learnt it from a friend from post grad college. It's real real simple and real real delicious. All you need:

2 tablespoons oil / butter
2 chillies split
2 cloves garlic chopped
5 potatoes sliced
5 cubes of cheese
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:
1. Heat the pan and add oil and add the garlic and chillies right after and saute for around 2 minutes till the aroma of the garlic releases. Adding the garlic to the oil before it heats prevents it from burning. Don't over fry, chilly and garlic burn easily. Keep an eye.
2. Add the potatoes and fry for 6-7 minutes on high. Keep stirring.
3. Add the cheese and cook on medium flame for around 5-6 minutes. Cheese - more the merrier. Add a lot. And keep stirring.
4. If you think the gravy is thickening too much, then add a little water. Do not add more than 1/4 cup because the cheese gravy is meant to be creamy thick.
5. Season with salt and pepper and remove off heat.

Serve with rice. Perfect! You're cool!

Bhel puri substitute:

This has always been my favorite. No hara/lal chutney, but yummmmm never the less. What you need:

1 packet of aloo bhujia (the pack, not the sachet)
Half an onion, chopped
one small tomato, chopped
2 green chillies, chopped
Few coriander leaves
Juice of half a lemon

Mix all the ingredients together and dig in! You can add or quit ingredients according to what suits your taste buds.

Ghee fried rotis:

Needless to comment on the sort of roties you get in hostels and PGs. Here's a tip, apply some ghee to your badly cooked hostel rotis and toss them in a heated saucepan for a few seconds. A better dinner. Yayyyy.

Tequila mock:

Last but not the least, tequila mock. It's the shiznit, baby! Because it's your right to chill! All you need to stay away from alcohol and create yourself a pure natural paramount flavour with an edge are:

Juice of half a lemon
2 chillies, sliced
Half a teaspoon of sugar, preferably icing sugar for the kick. But any other sugar should work just fine.
2 pinches salt
2 glasses of chilled soda
Lemon slices to garnish

Method:

1. Squeeze out the lemon juice into a bowl and add the chillies. Release the chilly oils with a spoon.
2. Stir in the sugar and the salt and add the soda.
3. Put the lemon slices in and poke them using a spoon.
4. Leave aside for around 2 minutes with the lid on for the ingredients to infuse together. Don't forget the lid or the punch will be gone!

Bottoms up!

Give your taste buds the sensation!

tweak a tweet

i've been off facebook for a while. for multiple reasons. like selfcontrol, giving myself some "me" time, and to stay off my oh-so-inviting laptop who's
my besty. well, the speech software is a male voice, his name is Jaws and i automatically associate him with everything masculine. heheheheheee... :D :D
:D and i've also been thinking of giving him a name. what about Earnest? heheheee... because he is earnest, the nice man. and maybe he could be nicknamed
Earny? lol. i'll just call it a silly thought, and move on! because, what does "i'm working on earny" sound like? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! no! not once!
but he does everything i press. on the keyboard, no, just clarifying! hehehehehahhahahaheheahhhaha.... there was a crazy little game we Virgin, Slightly
sexually frustrated, undergrad, LSR girls used to play in our women's hostel. we would type something crazily horny and make him read aloud. then we used
to clutch our stomaches and giggle like thirteen year olds! "ooh ah harder baby" hahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha omg omg we're so dirty, such bad
girls, let's keep this a secret.

so yeah, back to the post, and as i said i've been off facebook, mum has kept me updated on little things like a friend's status, or a school kid's overly
grown up pose, or she reads out to me some wise man's wise quotes. or their tweets that they repost on facebook. so one such post that caught my attention,
is by Chetan Bhagat. hmmm, those of you who like him, read. those of you who don't, read anyway. he's a writer who caters to the lowest common denominator.
no literature is bad. ask me, i'm a major in English litrature. and i enjoyed reading two states with a friend who is also an English major like me. and
now she's postgraduating in the same field. and she likes Chetan Bhagat too. Babydoll, right?

here, i'm re-re-posting his tweet that he reposted on facebook.

Hello. 3 Idiots. Kai Po Che. 2 States and today, Kick.
Sometimes, I look back and wonder, how on earth did all this happen? I remember my days at the bank in Hong Kong, and getting a performance review from
my boss, telling me I don't deserve to be promoted. That I lacked something, while everyone else was ok. I remember thinking I need a drink, and wanting
to get pissed drunk at his treatment of me. But right then, another thought came to me. Let me express my hurt in another way. And so I started a book,
about three friends in an Engineering college.
Six books, five films and a hundred columns later, today as I see Kick release in more screens than any other film ever, I wonder. What if I had chosen
the path of getting drunk to cope? What if I had not written that first sentence? What if I had believed my boss, who said I lacked something vital? Thank
you God for giving me the strength and wisdom at that moment.
All of us are told we aren't good enough. Sometimes we believe it also. But don't. Because nobody, not even you, knows what you are capable of. The criticism
will never stop, ever. As I write this, many on twitter must be posting hate tweets about me, telling me how useless I am. But all I want to tell them
is this. Buddy, I heard that one before. And it is because I heard that is why I am where I am today.
Congratulations to the entire hard working team of Kick for the big release today.
And thank you boss. Thank you so much for not promoting me.
Chetan Bhagat.
25 July 2014

now, those of you who don't like him, gather some substance. please. his books have been published, they have been best sellers, they have been appreciated
by many, many and now look at yourself before you call him "bug-at" (he doesn't care). yes, you choose whether or not to like his writing style, but that
doesn't make him a bug or a writer.

i read this yesterday. and since then, i've been thinking of it. isn't he right? doesn't he write about what you and i, us young-ings feel day in and day
out? and then, rejection - that one hard thing- that giant, skindeep, brain deep brooze that makes us all want to get "pissed drunk"? oh man, been there,
done that - pissed drunk, blacked out. and i am a woman. judging eyes away!

i have also been looking back and wondering about a lot of things, about how i am a changed person, completely. totally completely. i guess environments
do that to you. school then graduation then post graduation. and the kind of people you meet at different points of life also changes with phases. first
parents and grandparents and elder siblings if any, then parents and grandparents and aunts, uncles, cousins. then maybe or may not be - a younger sibling.
then school, classmates, teachers. so on and so forth. i hungout with batch mates, seniors and juniors till i graduated. there wasn't an age gap more or
lesser than one or two years. it wasn't all hunky-dory, there was a bit of plotting, a lot of bitching and many more secrets. there could have been a bit
of slapping too, if LSR had been coed. but yeah, i remember a huge catfight, a date (not mearly, just hungout with a guy classmate from senior secondary
school at a street cafe over a plate of
mozerrella momos). that's when i called myself a dating disaster and never went on any anounced dates after that one. what's funny is that i dressed in
black, distressed boyfriend jeans paired with a colourful woolen jumper with extended sleves. i also had a pink dragonfly brooch sitting where a badge
usually pins, or maybe the dragonfly was a little below the badge spot - right above the left boob, right below the collar bone (intended). awww i still
think it is cute. i don't have the brooch anymore, Babydoll had gifted it to me, and my grandma's doggy tore off the pretty pink fabrick. so that's done,
majoring and all the fun.

post graduation began just five days after my last English exam. what's funny? i was told i had to start post graduating just five days before i started
post graduating. bahhahahahahhahahahahaa... a flaw in the admission process. and there i was, all dainty and flighty, in a damn inconvenient world. and
the people were also very different. whoa, that was the first time i sat with people much much older than me. "i'm 26". "32." "21." "23". "27, that ain't
old at all, i know how to chill with not-yet-20 year olds like you" "i'm 50, i have twin daughters who are 21, they didn't clear it to be here along with
me." wow, now you see where i was? being the youngest meant being the kid amongst everyone. there were voices lowder than mine, whispers softer, heights
taller, some shorter, some almost the same. but it all differed. and there was more to the crowd than what met the eye. there was everything out there,
hunger, spook, creap, nice, birthdays, elections,
politics, maggi, nachos with salsa dip, cool, hot, shit, mean, smart, cruel and much much much more. one wrong choice, you're doomed. i'm not doomd, just
discombobulated.
i'm not newly disillusioned, that phase is long gone. just wondering how it all happened, and the time flew past, like a jet plane!

this post just keeps me going, i am supposed to go do the moonwalk workout to reduce much more than a few pounds, i'm on a diet too. a crazy one. i keep
whipping up all sorts of amazing home made junk (oh maybe i should do a recipe post, yo!) with cheese and cream and... well, you know pizzas and brownies
and doughnuts and pastas and cookies? consider bribing me sometime, i'm fantastic! so, anyway, i'll be right back to get on. in an hour.

hey again. so i totally digressed and this once, the digression makes complete sense. but there's one thing that i need the world to know.
i hate to admit it because i like appearing strong. i fain mighty strength when in real i'm a one hundred per cent a chicken. but i guess it all reaches
a saturation point.

so, people - they've said and done a lot of mean things. and like a poor darling self-pittying baby, i believed them. not once, a lot of times.
i've once been told that i shouldn't drink because i'm visually challenged. hello, i'm a responsible adult.
i've also been told that i shouldn't trust boys and befriend them because i'm timid, disabled, and i might be raped. beat that! beat that! i've had boy
best friends till i enrolled at a women's college for graduation. the stopping to my boy memory lane is miles away. that lane for another blog post.
once, a bugger offered me a friendly advice - he told me to unfriend all the people i call best friends because they're all fake. he thinks so because
i am not the sorts who deserves friends without disability. "friendships happen in leagues" he said. and he's right, none of my friends are out of my league.
well buddy, you know what? that drew me closer to the people i love very much. and you should also know that they love me back just as much. thanks very
much.

i was nervous, upset and anxious. being left behind was never something i excelled at, even if the circumstances couldn't be helped. and i darling'ed my
self way more than i should have, because i thought no one else was doing it for me. no one darling's grown ups, do they? but that ain't true. mum was
there, assuring me that things are going to be ok, and i shouldn't work like a robot, just to prove my abilities, i shouldn't take different paths just
to experiment. there were friends who took my calls in the middle of the night, just to console my sobs. there were friends who wrote to me very often,
they were my energy booster vitamins. i received birthday presents, random presents, warm notes, dinner treats, kind shoulders.
but the difficult times were over powering, they meant much more to me because i don't think i really grasped exactly how selfless those gestures were.
now i know, everything is going to work out for the best.

no, i am not as famous as Mr. Bhagat. i only publish blogs, here on my portal. but it's a lesson learnt - "All of us are told we aren't good enough. Sometimes
we believe it also. But don't. Because nobody, not even you, knows what you are capable of. The criticism
will never stop, ever."

i will live out the confusions till they become clear. i will lower my expectations and exercise my rights to life, liberty and most importantly, the right
to chill. and... i'll remind this to myself very very often.

i really will never understand how i got so lucky.

A dyslexic heart

A dyslexic heart,
Is a dreamer's buddy
It listens
It understands,
And it hopes to scurry.

It has a funny walk,
Beginning with imaginary strength
It takes a step
A confident move
Straight ahead.

Then it happens,
All over again
The same downfall
And bleeding knees
With no strength to regain.

Embracing the gravity
It thinks hard
For a way to straighten up
And dust off
Leaving behind failures to discard.

The bruised knees hurt,
The pain is searing
It calls out for help
To the clever hearts,
That beat away jeering.

It musters lost hope,
And invokes the gods,
Looks around for an even path
And pulls up from the ground
To squat.

Gently,
With hands on the ground
And feet following suit,
It begins to crawl with its head high
Imagining being crowned.

It tried picking speed
But it will take a while
This too shall pass, it knew
And it was sure
Of its chosen style.

countdown - hour after hour, minute after minute

"48 hours" the doctors say. she's a year younger, slipping away into peaceful sleep, the sort of sleep that has no awakening. we haven't met much, but she is like a sister, very close to my heart. i can't say why i am writing this, i don't know what to say really, "R.I.P" or "you're better off up there" or "you'll live in our hearts" and such crap don't make sense at all! i'll miss her very very much. "48 hours" is that little glimmer of hope, which i know will fail me. god i wish many more birthdays for her. and it's so unfair that she has to go this way. we all knew this had to come, we prepared ourselves to face it, its still a shock that this moment is arriving.

Apraajeeta aka Appi, (name changed) my dad's bestfriend's daughter. i'm not sure if she turned 20. her mum runs a bootique and god she looked so elegant. petite, that little face and that cute giggle and the way she spoke, so calm, collected and well, respectful. very very respectful. though i am just a year elder than her, she addressed me as akka, meaning elder sister in Telugu. even we treated her like a child, maybe because she never grew. the hight of a dwarf - but how does it matter?

i've always known her with a liver disease. the elders spoke about it and we were never to question. but i have a vague memory of asking, during my early teenage days. mum explained patiently and all i remember is that she won't live for long. wow, she was never given the chance to dream of a long, happy and healthy life. we all want our fairytale, cute and clichét, but she was always told to live a short life long. god she braved it! words fail me, it's so difficult to go on. no, i am sure she won't be very happy reading this, because i know, too much of sympathising and empathising don't float our boat! we are a little different, we have bodyparts that aren't too kind to us. eyes in my case, liver in hers. we've never wanted sympathy and empathy, we lothe those emotions, and we can not handle it! i was scared to ask mum, so i asked her.
"are you unwell? what's wrong with your health?"
"nothing at all. why do you ask?" she asked, aiming at nonchalance with success. she did not answer.
i was 11, she was 10. and clearly, i would have answered in the same way had someone asked me about my eyesight.

the world needs to know, heros like her lived, she had the truth presented naked in front of her - everytime someone met her, they expressed their simpathy. she lived till 20, obviously she was used to it, but still. again, a vague memory - "when i'm an older woman..." what? no, no more of it i can remember. then her mum repeated it to her dad "when she's an older woman..."

six months ago i heard of her again. mum was out when she got a call from her family. and it was no good news. she was diagnosed with liver cancer. cancer, the sideeffect of her medication. it had already spread to her lungues then and the doctors informed that she was too weak to survive the radiotherapy. now that's called a heartbreak. we, young women sob for the men who leave us! her parents had planned a liver transplantation for her. it took them years to earn to afford a highly expensive and uncertain surgery for their only daughter, and it was too late by then. mum was shakened, she did not speak to her family after that phone call. she didn't know what to say, she kept thinking about it and she cried a little at the thought. dad went for their house warming ceremony. they had planned it so that their relatives from around the world could visit her for one last time. dad described her as "fragile". we spoke to her over the phone and she was delighted to speak to us after so long. my throat knotted but i could hold it in. it was wonderful to hear her voice. i congratulated her. she had the choice to not study. they said high amounts of pressure could cause epilepsy, but she took it onto herself, the 12th board exams in the Medicle stream - something we crib about all the time. she aced it with grades above 85. she aspired to become a doctor. god, you could have spared her another 10 years, you saw the spark in her.

this was the time when one of my friends was highly disturbed about his brother's cancer, somewhare near the throat, it eventually affected the food pipe, and days after, sometime in February, he left behind a young wife and a son around 10 years old. life doesn't just stop for the heaven dwellers, does it? but heaven dwellers, really? i just can't muster the courage to say dead!

then there's the fault in our stars. what a desirable love story. the book is tragic, beautiful and fiction, but talking about the movie - the terminally ill cancer patient, the heroine has perfect skin, perfect hair and a history of radiotherapy sessions. she bumps into an ultra-gorgeous, extremely chivalrous gentleman who falls for her even when she does absolutely nothing to impress him. what does it lead to? puberty hitting, discovering and sexually frustrated women craving to share the story with the protagonist. films really need to grow realistic. cancer is the last thing anyone should romantisize about, please, it isn't cool at all.

dad is leaving to see Appi tomorrow. mum was telling us about the pictures of her craft that Appi had uploaded on facebook. she was selling them. i heard mum telling dad to buy a few for us.

the last time Appi spoke to me over the phone, after her cancer diagnosis, she said she wanted to come visit us in Delhi. but the doctors forbade her from travelling. mum called up and her dad was telling her about how Appi had been criing for going to hyderabad day before yesterday. she fell weak while travelling and threw up blood. the doctors informed that she would slip into coma and she did, at the given time, around 1:30 in the afternoon. they took her home. we have only 48 hours, they say. math counts lesser.

we don't want to do this, but we are counting down, hour after hour, minute after minute. and you know what? Appi was never told she has cancer. she kept looking forward to the liver transplantation. i can't really say if it is right, because her parents didn't want her to suffer. she deserved a normal life, and she lived it.

editing:
Appi is gone. it's her amma's birthday today.

Babydoll's guestpost

Perfection is elusive and also; unnecessary not to mention, impossible. But it still has a lot of fans. Scores of people trying harder with every morn to achieve a little part of it; to fake it or to be destroyed chasing it… only to realize it doesn’t exist. For those few who still manage to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and move on with a smile on their face are lucky. But those who can’t; they exist but don’t really live unless they being their imperfect self, bump into someone. Someone different. Someone perfect.

I first saw S at the college. She was so enthusiastic about the first day of college. You know the type; it was a first day of my college journey- I will study so hard and be perfect – look at all these new people I’m meeting- I’m growing up kind of day. The kind of day when your mental refrain is a nauseously happy American song about being happy. I had that song in my head too; on repeat, but by habit I don’t talk about these things. By a very bad habit I mean, of constantly preferring to be a cold distant observer in any new situation. She is the perfect opposite. S was pouring her heart out to anyone who would listen, making best friends by the minute. I smiled and stood alone. We met at the departmental orientation. I was the girl who asked so if our classes start from the second period on a particular day, do we turn up straightaway for the second period or the first. Someone said, “Could you please accompany me to the college gate?” I said yes and I held her hand; that was the first time I held her hand in the years to come. Each time with a different emotion, purpose, destination but each time with a stronger bond. She asked me about me and told me we’re from the same state, from a city I had never heard of. We didn’t see each other for a while after that. But something stuck. Something always sticks about S. it’s impossible to meet her and not have an afterthought about her days, weeks later. She impinges on memory. I quizzed my dad on where this city was that I’d never heard of and he said there was no such city. I was confused but quite amused. And it was just the beginning.

It was sweet and sour initially. I was an aloof judge-y bitch and she was the queen of sunshine. Always doing something new, always sharing it with people, always smiling and discovering new things. Always friendly. I was amazed to be quite honest. I wondered how it was possible; to always like people and always be liked by them. I liked her too no doubt; on the good days when I absorbed a bit of the sunshine and even on the sour days when I didn’t say anything but she still sat by me.
I can’t point out the exact moment when I thought that this woman will be one of my closest friends for life. But I did think of it at several points. The times when we spontaneously decided to paint the town red, the parts where we discovered our mutual love for junk food, and even the parts with the boy talk; sharing everything with each other, our aspirations, ideas, fantasies and even fears, remorse and guilt. There were tough times, there were blank phases. But I knew that I will never let go and neither will she. She was always so giving… she’s the kind of person who plans for people’s birthday gifts a month in advance, the kind of person who hears shit from people and bears it to collect money for a poor person’s hospital visit who she thought was sick and she thought was her friend. You know, the kind of girl who when decides to love someone does so with the entirety of her tan, man and dhan. Tere pyar mein fana ho jau and all that.

Of course, I was a bit perturbed. I get a little uncomfortable around too much perfection. I didn’t say much because she was happy, so perfectly happy. And then it happened, the quintessential college heartbreak, twice and almost simultaneously. It was cool at first, something new! Something beautiful, something venerated and made perfect in dozens of pop culture books, films and what not. They call it the greatest emotion on earth. The purest part that everyone craves for, but few get. S did not get what she deserved- something pure. But being S, she imagined it was pure and went along with it. She was head over heels in love. And in this case, gorgeous branded 2k heels with neon motifs way above the standards of the one it went over the head for.
She came undone. Everyday a new phone call, everyday a new story of how people disliked her, avoided her, hurt her. I was disturbed and these stories didn’t fall into place. How could the sunshine S I know be disliked? Surely she was just being too harsh on herself? Surely, its just the heartbreak talking? Just the heartbreak… for tan man dhan chicks like us a heartbreak is never “just”.

There were bad days. As in I want to put the world on fire- be surly all day- everything I do turns to shit kind of days. There were many inspired days, I will begin again days. There were let me distract myself days. There were I’m totally lost days and there were happy days that ended in tears.

Slowly, with ever weakening, ever resolving strength she found herself again. That’s when I saw it. Perfection. It was never in constantly being liked or liking. It was never in meaningless friendly interactions. It was in her will to live, to really live not just exist.to learn something new and execute it, to accept, to move on, to adorn oneself. I saw that girl who sat for hours, touching every piece of jewellery in her bulging jewellery bags with a satisfied smile on her face. “you’ll get used to my madness.” She said then. Little did I know we would both get used to each other’s madness and what not. The heartbreaks helped put life in perspective for her and for me. And there are tears here and there, there always will be. And somewhere in-between it will find its way; hot and pulping- perfection.
Not in the non-klutz-y, non-creased clothes, perfect comebacks kind of way.
But in the I have something stuck in my teeth, lets laugh at fake bitches, lets gorge on doughnuts, I have a big smile on my face, my nails are neon, my hair is flying kind of way. Its something we tan man dhan chicks are quite good at!

I love you S! I always will!

Ennui, jilted, band aid on my heart

So, on a very fine evening, after a walk in the JNU campus and my first plate of the oh-so-delicious-Delhi-ish steaming hot momos with lots of the authentic mirchi chatni in ages, my skin felt more like skin. Delhi times, revisited.
Today is my third day in Delhi and I’m bathing in the distinct smell of weirdness and wonder! What’s so cool about Delhi you may wonder, nothing really. What’s so cool about the badti hui mehngayi? The poor is in poverty, the lower middle class is struggling to protect themselves from the kiss of poverty, the higher middle class is struggling to not struggle for long and the rich has felt the tremors. But I’ll tell you what. Fashion is cheaper than food here! Tomatoes I think cost eighty Rupees and guess what? I shopped three gorgeous stoles for one hundred Rupees, and many other such cheep goodies when I was out with baby doll (that’s what we’ll call my besty) and my sister at Sarojini Nagar (a local market). Omg, fuel for survival comes at a price, zero sized anorexia still in demand! Why?
What’s cool about the noise? Argh nothing. Not after living in one of the most beautiful valleys in Himachal Pradesh. The only noise that annoyed me the most was birds pecking at our windows, asserting their right to get breakfast, lunch and dinner early in the morning. Trust me, they do that. They are used to being hosted at our home every day. And it’s cool only for the first week, and for a late riser like me, it ain’t cool at all!
What’s cool about jams? Toasts and tarts and almost everything! But I’m referring to the not so cool kind of jams. The traffic jams. Oh you get that a lot in Delhi and those are a special kind of kolaveri that can only have been contrived in the deepest and most unholy depts of hell! It took us around five hours to drive to Delhi from Nauni, Solan, Himachal Pradesh. And it took us two hours to drive back home after entering the fringes of Delhi. Frustration sears in. seriously, I look up to my dad; sometimes he can be a paragon of patience.
Is the weather cool in Delhi? Nooooooooooooooooooooo! It is either toasting hot… Or spine chilling cold! Weather wizards don’t do cool in capital cities, that image is for the “Dilli ke dil waalas” to hold. Presently, Delhi is hot. Like jaw of hell hot. June is approaching and January and June in Delhi are the worst Js of the year!
No one in my little happy family finds peace in Delhi. But still, Delhi is happiness for me. As I said, my skin feels more like skin here. My heart beats the happy rhythm. Maybe because I found the almost most absolute people here. What’s funny? None of them are from Delhi. Neither am I.

I digressed completely. This was supposed to be an apology post. Because I owe my little bloggity a sorry post. I was supposed to do a holly jolly post on the 23/4/14. My little love blew her first candle on that day and I didn’t celebrate it. Not that I forgot, I just didn’t. My baby sister gave me a chocolate in celebration, I ate it, but I didn’t do the “happiest happiest blogaversary” post that I should have done.
Why, you may wonder. To answer that, I’ll have to elaborate on the title a little.
Ennui because this constant need to do something is driving me nuts. It is getting way out of hand. Where to begin? For a very long time I didn’t have the courage to really write, I wrote in bits and pieces, scraps and fragments. I have been micro blogging through facebook. I have been writing and erasing things, experiencing the blogger’s block, angry and disappointed with myself. There’s just so much to do starting from baking and quilling to blogging and a course in creative writing, that I did not know where to begin so I didn’t begin at all. A circle has no beginning!
Jilted? Jilted by that dream I fought to live. Began to live. Quit mid way. Quitting doesn’t sound good at all. Not a bit. See where the disappointment and the anger came from? Every idea of mine seemed recycled, from a movie or a book or another blog. I guess it is a human tendency to become extremely self critical when we realise a few of our plans have remained unplanned, or one wrong shot fired boomeranged on us.
I remember, more than a year ago, on a beautiful loverly (I made the word up, it means ‘for lovers’) night, during the pre-relationship days, he asked me who my current love was. The staunch amateur social worker in me franticly yelled “Tata Institute of Social Sciences”. I heard him shift, or maybe adjust. With his lips closer to the phone, he whispered “tell me!” and again, the staunch social worker in the making yelled “Tata Institute of Social Sciences” while my heart hushed a meek “not a lie, it’s just half the truth”. But, god knows, the passion for social work was greater. But still, I dropped the admission I gained to TISS. I know I will go back, but still, that guilt of returning home empty handed, in the process waving a huge middle finger to my physical, emotional and educational investments and responsibilities lingered for a month. Maybe it still does, but relatively, not absolutely. Though I made the decision for myself, it feels like being jilted. Congratulations, I’m still a graduate! Even after all this.
Thus, the band aid on my heart. I remember someone saying to me “Scars are sexy because it means you made a mistake that led to a mess”. How true, the game is in growing out of the mess you made for yourself. I have reached that moment when guilt reaches a saturation point and I am beginning all over again. But this time, baby steps. Starting off with wisdom.
Recuperating.

What contributes a certain cachet to starting this post you may wonder. Another fragment. You know what happened today? After the momo hogging bliss, dad told me off for eating too much. Like any other fat kid, I pulled a face in my defence. Then we went to a park and…
Self thought on a swing – “I love swings and summer evenings.”
The swing haled my name with its last breath, tossed me in the air with no respite, swirling I landed on my haunches!
Argh, is this how ecstatic swings treat healthy, grownup girls?

Its 2:30 in the morning and I’m typing away in super cute mauve pyjamas with clouds on them and an unmatched polo (my sister’s sports uniform for school). I should be sleeping. The Wi-Fi is turned off so I promise myself to post this entry tomorrow.

Anyhow, in all confusions, mishaps and wrong deeds, lord has been very kind. And this break, though it was uncalled for and unplanned, it is a much needed respite from everything heavy and unhappy.
Gratitude.