Right, I went for a mini vacation. Very cool, up in the hills, with little rain, lots of mist, wildlife and nature. And it's a good thing I don't suffer from motion sickness. Cycled after aaaaages. Was totally breathless, but no big surprise that. Good fun. Shutterbugged. Ate. Read. Slept. So yes, feeling all invigorated and happy. We all needed this. Some pictures on Flickr.

Oh and, I am NOT a party person. Just for you B.

Stairwell

Dark and dusty. Next to the dubious little elevator. Cobwebs and cracked glass. A little moment.

Peek-a-boo

Found it. Lost it again. Christmas Spirit baybeh. Dhur.
I'm so fake these days that, even the other fake people are starting to look a lot less faker. And some fake people do that to you - look all vindicated and correct and good coppish. And you feel shallower than ever, while they do noble things like save humanity and stuff. Arrgh.
Had a dream of the downstairs dog, who used to wake me up from my sleep sometimes. I wish she were alive and I were loved unconditionally.
This year I got everything I deserved. Good or bad. It was all justified.
But somewhere down the year, I stopped feeling anything. Like last year, when I heard the choir, I felt all goosepimply and happy. This year, I did too, but only towards the end. Initially, I just felt empty and unable to react. Just like during the results, which refused to feel like a big deal in my head, but perhaps it was. Or like the play, where I felt nothing, when everyone cheered during the final drumroll, or wished each other luck. I had to try really hard to feel anything at all.
This has been a year of some pretty heavy losses. But mainly the loss of spirit.

Ok see.

Oh yeh. "Nandeenee" gets 10 points for being ultra cool today. Haha. I feel surprisingly lighter. And wiser.

Omg. I saw my chottobalar crush today. Like, when I was 8 years old or something like that. Ming, if you're reading this, you know who I'm talking about, right? Hehe, sufficiently starstruck. "Dreamy", still.
Okay *after gagging a bit*, I gave this funny little exam today, where all the boys wore tikas and chameli ka tel and had pan paraag tainted teeth - at least most of them in my classroom did. I had to do math after 5 years or something, so I didn't do it. Anyway, it was good fun, and not at all examish, and very tickle IQ testish (in which I'm supposed to be some sort of mathematical visionary genius or something, haha).
Then I had coffee, smoked chicken sandwich and muffin, all of which were pretty cruel to the pocket and not at all satisfying when divided by three - so I had some phuchkas as well. I was craving for a Biki Max, but I let it be.
I'm getting into the bad habit of not taking out the orange I carry for lunch (and conveniently forget to eat) everyday. They just get a little squashed and funny, and as soon as I open my bag, well, you know. I have this paranoia when it comes to bad smells. Not the expected types - like dhapar math, garbage can smells. All that I can deal with pretty easily. Even farts I've learnt to deal with (there is a serial farter in our class, and I suspect, she sits in front of me). But it's the opening-a-jar-of-something-rotten smell I'm talking about. When, it not only stinks, but it looks - mouldy, green and unmistakibly spoilt. It scares the bejabbers out of me. Especially, when it's something nice and inconspicuous, like jam or cheese dip or uneaten tiffin. And Eeeew. Greeeeeen, Whitefluffy stuff. Eewww. I know, I'm grossing everyone out.

Anyway, later. Oh, and I'm told that there's some problem with my blog and no-one can post comments. Which is probably a good thing, what would you say to something like this, anyway?

We saw Paul Newman's version of The Glass Menagerie at the American Centre today. Joanne Woodward was the perfect Amanda, really. I couldn't see anybody doing it better. And I loved what John Malkovich did with Tom. I liked his Tom better than the one I had in my head. Also, adore USIS. Despite security hassles. With it's shiny red granite and posh everythings. It's almost 4 years since I've beeen there last.
So anyway, it was a pretty happy day today. Free food, free cha, free entry, free weed, free movie, a nice auto ride back home, a surprise re-union, a namesake's wedding, tandoori chicken, butterscotch ice-cream - yeah, I'm fairly satisfied today.

I've been writing these letters of late, and they've made me feel really good. Sometimes, they are silly, but I know for once, I won't be judged.
I hate this stupid blog. I'm back to pen and paper. Also MS Word.

Yesterday, all my time was dedicated to Ma and JY. Work for JY spilled onto the morning, and now as well. Haha, the things we do for love, Sud?
Man, I'm tired. Really, really. But semi-satisfied.
I have a lot of things to say, but I can't type right now. I think they are important. So I'll edit this later.

I can't get enough of marker pens. I'm getting high on my orange one now.
I've realised I'm not strong enough to not be prejudiced sometimes. I am. And I can't help it. I hate bullies. Lousy bastards.
Anyway. I'm fascinated by zippos. And I really like Ritesh's WWII one. Although I'm a little scared of burning myself - the flame totally has a mind of its own.
I'm going to Chalsa again this December, if all works out. I loved it last time, but I really, really wanted to go Ranthambore or Kanha this time. We were supposed to go earlier this year, but I think the time wasn't right for tiger spotting. It's best in summer. Lessee, lessee. I'm just excited at the prospect of a trip. Anywhere!

Hmm. So the last few days have been whirlwind frenetic and my nerves are wondering what in the effing world is wrong with their usually nonplussed existence. Oh but so what. It's good to do some work sometimes. Even if your shoes are killing you and your creativity is raisin (that's like, dry grape - and that's how bad I am right now!). The fest thing went off okay-okay I guess. A few bloopers here and there, but none that were too embarassing. I didn't really have much to do, but the shoes, fuck, the shoes. The biggest potential-embarassment-causer (the sari) was well behaved enough (thanks to 10,000 safety pins). The laptop refused to behave, although I don't think it was its fault (aah, I just know it got performance anxiety in front of a certain somebody...poor thing, it happens) and yeah, everything else was okay. I think I called Bertie Ma'am at some point of time, but I don't think he heard. I made a few trillion faux pas with Arjun - talking about movies and shit, I really shouldn't try. But thassokay. I'm sure he doesn't think I'm particularly intelligent anyway. And I wasn't allowed to write in the creative writing thing, which was fine by me, (see: raisin) - sitting around on my fat ass and occasionally smiling at random people is what I do best. Besides, I got to see the play, which was really colourful and nice. And the first years carried out all my instructions. Which is, fuck, a fucking first I think. I felt all grown up, mother of three kids types. Anyway, I dunno who in their right mind would be interested in all this, and I think I should have just put pen to paper and written in my journal instead. But wtf. I'm happy. And this one's just for fun - Nandeenee. Heehee.

I mean wtf. I thought you were supposed to get acne in summer or something like that. I haven't "broken out" like this since I dunno, I was 13? Really (looking upwards), how much worse could you possibly, possibly make it for me? Please don't take it as a challenge! (still looking upwards!)

Oh listen children. There's a literary and fine arts fest on the 9th at Senn Jebiah's. It's all very been there done that, but come anyway, there's food packets, tea and Marlon Brando (well not really, exhumed et al, but oi arki). There's also creative writing, creative art (art attack-ish if you've ever seen the Disney thing - I lurve it) a play and a semi-pretentious seminar on American literature. They say any publicity is publicity so this is publicity. Also, I will be wearing a sari in all probability. So if it's mere comic relief that you want...*sigh* glad to be of assistance.
10 o'clock. I'd love to see faces I know.

Caught!

The letchy smiles are for John Abraham. Hehe.

Getting published is fun. It's like looking at a newborn. I know, I'm making it sound like a big deal, but the few times I've had something published, it's been so yayyy. Hee.
A-N-Y-W-A-Y.
Tomorrow is a bloody bandh again. I'm so tired of Bandhs. People have to come up with a new way of protest. I feel like I'm living in '92 all over again. Stocking up on eggs and milk and not having transport. And missing college, which would be okay under normal circumstances, but not now, not like this. There's just too much to do right now. Why can't bandhs be more constructive? Why don't people do something useful for a change? What good is a hunger strike or the shutting down of a shop or the burning of a bus? What's the point of breaking furniture and tearing books and creating a ruckus? What? What? What? If it's the "pipul" you fight for Didi, then do something more than this dramabaji. Help to rehabilitate them, help to compensate for their losses, TALK, THINK and then bloody act. I hate bandhs. For simple selfish reasons, not altruistic ones. I hate them. There has to be a better way of protest.

I'm too tired to type right now. So later.

What super fun these past 2 days have been. I've been filing my nails, oiling my hair, lying on grass, having oranges, reading, hip-pocketing, hanging out, eating, eating and eating some more, wearing high heels (or hells), grinning, gathering guts and what-not. And really, it's these little things that make me very happy - like Ragi running across the spongy grass at 2 in the morning, like Smarty finally getting a night out, like getting mindfucked by Hey Joe, like talking to JatYamla without stuttering, like the Lalalalllaahlaaaah song in Rosemary's Baby, like delivering letters in strange alleys, like Tollyish pancakes in the morning and like a lot of other things. Me like. I'm cataloguing, I know, but I'm not in the mood for sophistry. I just want to ramble happily for a change. This may not last very long. So there. And I saw Houseboat again.