House Insanity I

I live in a big house in DLF. Well, big by Delhi standards. Having lived my whole life in a two bedroom flat with my parents, this place is mammoth. Sharing my new home and stealing all the hot water, is Blue (also known as boyfriend). Blue and I are owned by two dogs, Darth Ravenous and Darth Gazelle. Yes, they are in fact proficient in the secret arts of the dark side. Come visit and you'll see.

In retrospect, I must rephrase. I live in a mad house in DLF. Insanity pools in the bathroom floor along with the bathwater because the drains are clogged and can only be cleared through demolition of the neighbours kitchen. Needless to say I will be wading through both insanity and bathwater until the end of time.

Adding to the merrymaking and chaos is the household help, lovingly referred to as Idontknow. There is also the more explicit version of her name, prefered by Blue but unsuitable for use in this blog. Idontknow is called thus because she speaks no language discernible by modern man. Or women. Or canine for that matter. My mother, who speaks more languages than most of the people I know combined, informs me that she speaks in an obscure dialect of Bengali. As a result, giving her instructions to do anything has more inherent dangers than a game of russian roulet. I once told her to clean the bathroom floor, you know, mop up the bathwater and the insanity. Ten minutes later I found her on the first floor balcony wringing out the stray cat that had adopted us. Blue thoughtfully told her she did her job very well, and she took the afternoon off, reduced to bitter tears.

We never did figure out what it was he said in that obscure dialect of Bengali. Though since that day she has come in every morning and stood over him while he slept, watching with what I hope is maternal tenderness. Though its not likely.

She is currently on a fifteen day hiatus, no doubt trying to regain some sort of perspective on life outside the gigglefest that we conduct here. OR she is off to her village to recruit other, more voluptuous unintelligibles to come and stare at Blue. The possibilities are endless.

Urban Legends

When people first discover that I live with my boyfriend they all react the same way. Their eyes glaze over, they emit a deep sigh and generally exclaim with great sentiment, “How ROMANTIC!” (Yes, in capitals)

Usually I respond with an indulgent smile. Let them have their delusions, everyone needs some hope for mankind. But sometimes, when for example I’ve had a particularly ‘ROMANTIC’ morning at home, I break into vigorous laughter tinged with rampant hysteria. I try to stop before they begin to edge away and talk soothingly of therapy.

Unfortunately this romantic concept of living together is shared by many who have never tried it. Its not all candlelight dinners (unless the electricity has disappeared again and you’re forced to eat cornflakes with wax dripping into it, again) and soaking together in bathtubs (what do you mean you forgot to put on the pump? Is there no water at all??).

The one sure way to kill romance sadly is to move in with it.

Dont Come to me for a Watered Down Love

Im facing a bit of a dilemma at the moment.

This space, though obviously not private in the true sense has always been safe to speak out in, because the people i have met here have been open minded and generally tolerant. Im not saying there arent bigotted and nasty bloggers (both who read and write are included in this definition), but i hvae been fortunate enough to have almost no interaction with them.

I never write to fit accepted social norms. I havent kept my life a secret, either on this blog or in the 'real' world. But in both places, my choices, opinions, views, though not always met with agreement, were always met with tolerance.

What Im trying to say, is that I have led a very sheltered existance, and am thus unused to being judged. Though in theory, and occasionally in practise, I KNOW what kind of reaction my decisions and lifestyle will bring out in educated, intelligent, conservative sections of our society, actually hvaing to deal with said reactions is exhausting.

I have been evicted from my closet to be honest. Or rather, I woke up to find that the back wall of my closet disappeared and the world was staring in, watching me dance around my living room to revolting love songs wearing My Little Pony flip flops and my boyfriends boxers. Its not the best feeling.

However, we (thats me and the new personality I developed due to the psychotic break i suffered at being discovered in boxers and flipflops slow dancing with a pillow to 'unbreak my heart') have decided that this is the year we are going to become proper grown ups. We live away from our parents, we earn money (not a lot but some), we share our life with another grown up who has given us much to want to be grown up about (and we thank him most affectionately), so we can deal with gossip and disapproval and outrage.

And I smoke too!

*Screams silently until blood vessels burst in brain*

Cookoo

I do believe Im losing my mind.

Rubbish, Im right here, and not even a bit dented.

This is what is bothering me to be honest.

The fact that you havent lost me? Are you trying to fit into some kind of cool gang? Or develope the stereotypical image that is associated with the young people of your generation? Or just generally trying to be different and goggle the masses with your self deprecating humour? Are you bothered because you are in fact like everyonme else?

No.
Im bothered because youre actually TALKING to me.

*pauses, discovers the concept of self awareness, gets sinking feeling in stomach* Oh dear. I hadnt thought of that. Do you suppose you actually are... you know, *indicates insanity by wiggling fingers*

Its very possible. Though that is not my primary concern right now.

Why not? What could be more important?

Where on earth did you get fingers from?

Oh dear. *recalls sinking feeling and realises it has a stomach. Begins to have heart palpitations* We're in trouble arent we?

*The eerie, whooshlike silence that follows suicide*

Post Mortem Report: Jane Doe 342

i have been feeing a little trapped lately.

I've never been comittment phobic, because to be honest Ive never taken committment seriously. A bit of an oxymoron I know, but Ive ever actually committed to anything, or anyone. Nothing has ever been forever, or permanent. Ive always believed that everything changes, and what we take so seriously now, will in a few years/months/days mutate and rightly so, into something that is completely inconsequential. So I have never had to take anything seriously.

I find myself now, in a situation where for once in my life I have to take responsibility. For my actions, for my feelings, for my decisions, because the consequences are real. And serious. Im having to grow up and im not sure i want to. I miss being responsible for just me. I miss having to look after just me. Decisions I make now, must be made for two people.

I miss being alone.

THE SEX (Or whatever you kids call it these days)

I am a reasonably attractive woman in my early twenties, and I hvae been sexually active for close to six years now.

I have recently been forced to acknowledge, very much against my will, how incredibly spoilt I am in this respect, and how much I take THE SEX for granted.

How, you may ask, did I come upon this particular epiphany?
Like you havent guessed.

Ever since I accepted the first sexual advances of my first boyfriend (GAWD that was so long ago) I hvae never had to pine for, well to put it bluntly, action. It has always been freely available, for me to chose to indulge in or refuse out of sheer moodiness. It was something that I never had to think about and never had to wait to long to get.

Though thinking about it, I hvae to admit, it wasnt the THE SEX as much as it was the motivation behind it. I am thoroughly addicted to feeling wanted. To being desired with such passion and fire that THE SEX becomes all the man Im with can think about. That dinners are left unfinished, clothes torn, work ignored (temporarily ot otherwise) and good sense and responsibility are simply forgotten in the all consuming passion that comes with THE SEX.

It wasnt always one sided of course. Too often, it has been me that was abysmally late for work because the man I loved stroked my bare shoulder a little too suggestively as I was heading for the door.

The problem, with where I am now and with who, isnt that THE SEX has disappeared, its that the passion just never was. THE SEX is good and absorbing enough as its happening, but... Its not copmpelling. Its not consuming. Its not... THE SEX.

Its just sex.

A List

The room was at the end of a long corridor, but i could hear the screams and shouts quite clearly. They would not deter me though, and I set out towards the door, gripping my clipboard firmly, adjusting the pen in my pocket, smoothing back any stray strand that might have escaped my tightly coiled hair. I stopped in front of the door, re affiring the stiffness in my back, setting the stone in my heart before i stepped in. There were more of them there than i had thought, but i didnt let it show on my face, that they had surprised me. There were the old men, and the young ones, the light skinned and the dark, the small girls and the awkward adolescents, and they had to be sorted.

They didnt notice me though, their focus was far away, their eyes watching a distant field hungrily. Every drop of blood and essence of being was tied up in the happenings in another place that most of them had never seen, and probably never would.

"Attention" I called out, stratling those closest to me, but registering just barely to those farther away, "I have come to divide you into groups. When I call out your category please raise your hand."

My announcement was met with a soft wave of confused mummurs, but I had got their attention.

"Muslim" I called out, "will all the muslims please raise their hands?"

They exchanged confused glances and whispered amongst themselves, but no one raised a hand.

"Hindu" I caled out quickly, slightly flustered by the response, "will all the hindus please raise their hands?"

I glared expectantly at my audience, but they held my gaze with an openly bewildered one of their own. They clearly had no idea what I was talking about. My training had never covered such a situation, and I could feel the panic begining to rise in my throat.

"Sikh?" I called out hopefully, "Christian? Jain? Parsi?"

I surveyed my now silent, and mildly amused audience with growing desperation, i had to put something on my clipboard.

"How can there be no hindus or muslims? You," I pointed to an old man hunched over a stick, "What are you?"

He looked blankly at me for a moment, before shaking his head sadly.

"You," I pointed, "or you! You! Someone has to tell me what you are!"

A light tapping on my wrist halted my fervour. I looked down into the wizened face of the old man I had first targeted. He smiled at me kindly, like one would at a child who is asking obvious questions of busy adults.

"We dont know," he told me softly, stroking my hand gently, "we dont remember. We dont care. The match is on."

Stars

You are happy. Content. You have found what you were looking for your whole life, and I have never been new to you. A part of you for forever. I fit inside your head.

A prisoner?

Certainly. I have no choice it seems in how we are. What we are. I exist inside the bubble you have created for yourself, and my unwillingness to be exactly what you have always wanted has no effect at all on reality or what it is that I could possibly want in my future.

A future with you?

How does it matter. I have a plan that I can live by, one that you have created and will probably amend and construct as you see fit. I have never been asked, and I suppose you could say that I never volunteered any opinions.

I was waiting, because I thought you might want to know what I wanted.

You decided to dispense with the first year of us, you went straight to comfort and familiarity and I have been floating around behind you, a kite on a string in a soft breeze. No option, no recourse just a thin tie to the person way below me, who holds entwined in his fingers my entire life.

You seem to think I want the same things that you do, that I’m at the same place that you are. That I am you.

The rush is what I live for. After its over I leave because I hate the tedium of being in love with someone so completely that its ok that things aren’t perfect. I hate that sex becomes something that has been pre-discussed and routine. I never stay after the rush is over. There is never anything to stay for.

I had decided to stay for you. I had decided that you were going to be worth growing old and boring and completely oblivious to the demands of youth and the thirst for constant excitement and action with.

So you are killing us before we even started. I hate that you have an iron clad reason for me to be alone. You sleep three inches away from me and I couldn’t reach across the distance and touch you to save me from choking to death on the thick loneliness that suffocates me every time I stop moving.

You are in this alone honey, and you have made it so that I could never tell you how much I will miss you. How much I already do.

You might as well say goodbye. You asked me to leave before I decided to stay. You sent me away because you knew I was coming.

i wont cry for you baby. You never let me feel enough to cry. You never let me be a part of you and me. You never let me be me.

I am the girl you wanted. I hope that you will be happy with her, for as long as she exists.

Prophecy

Somewhere in a little house
On the plains and greens that surround you
Under a blue sky
I wander and wait
My heart in a cloth bag
I drag along behind me


Along these lonely streets
Somewhere
There is a door that will open
And I will find you
Looking for me

"... crazy"

You scare me.

Not because you are going to fast, or because of the scary lecture that you gave me some nights ago.

You scare me because it would be so easy to just let go.

To trust that this will not end without a good reason, that you wont ever see me like I do, that you wont wake up one morning and wonder why there is a child sleeping in the bed next to you, instead of a grown up.

To let you become my life completely and be deliriously happy when we meet after work (or whatever I would call it then) and know that there is no other place that either of us would want to be.

To know that this is real.

Not a foolish whim, or a another way to find what you had been looking for for years and have suddenly found, in someone that may not interest you once you've made up for what you had lost.

I know, that if fell in love with you, it would be the kind of love that scares me when I see it in other people. That repulses me in movies and songs and the old couple snuggling on a park bench. All consuming. Overwhelming. The kind of love you could drown in if you arent careful.

So I have to be careful.

I could live inside you so easily baby, without thinking or noticing I had moved. Without regretting anything that I would have left behind. Because I would have you.

You scare me because if I came to depend on what I sometimes see in your eyes now, I would die if you stopped looking at me like that.

No, not die. You cant die of a broken heart.

You can only pine for a lifetime, curled up in a backalley of your mind, begging passing shadows to have mercy and kick you to death. Living on the memory of a kiss you shared years ago.

So im scared. Not conflicted, not unsure, not averse to changing my facebook status without being asked. Just scared.

That i will love you like a foolish child, and you will love me like a dignified adult.

The Dave Matthews Song Man

Can't see the light

Open up my head and let me out, little baby

'Cause here we have been standing for a long, long time

Treading trodden trails for a long, long time

So much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say

So much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say

...and yet we say nothing. To each other. Everyone I speak to about you will comment, on the redness of my cheeks, the brighness of my eyes, the laughter that fast becomes incessant.

Crazy how it feels tonight

Crush me with the things you do

Sitting smoking feeling high

And in this moment it feels so right

Im smiling, but I dont know why. Perhaps, I have to wait for you to tell me to stop.

Rain on me in my dream,

and time drives my mind

oh Im not safe

and no one can save you

for some reason talk to me

I talk to you, I talk to myself

talk to someone else

Something to get lost in, a gallery of protraits that runs endlessly. Each face in it strikes a chord. You remember something else, and it makes you laugh and look eagerly at the next painting on the wall.

And now our finest hour arrives,

See the pig dressed in his finest fine

And all the believers stand behind him and smile

And the day lights up with fire

Let me in

Let me in

I stopped feeling crazed, betrayed

Out on my window ledge

How much do you have to touch a persons mind before you can touch their bodies?

I fall so hard inside the idea of you

That's why with you I can't say what I mean

Wanna stay but I think

God get me outta here

I fall so hard inside the idea of you

Perspective

Across a table on the deck of his ship, Davy Jones and I sized each other up. We werent enemies in the strictest sense, too detached really to hate each other. We didnt need to meet but we were here, bored and curious, seeking a way to distract ourselves from the burdens that we carried.

He grasped the dice that lay between us with a hand that was withered and mottled and encrusted with decay. The dice rolled and we watched, again without much interest, and only a hint of concentration.

"I would give anything to be you"

The words surprised him. He looked into my eyes and he could see I meant it. Behind me he watched my home, spread out over a vast piece of land, he glanced at the jewellry that encircled my wrists and glinted at my ears. His eyes wandered over my body, young and healthy, smooth skin and tight muscles, pleasingly shaped. My feet, that could walk on land or on the decks of ships at sea whenever and wherever I chose, were what held his gaze. He did not understand.

I brought his hand to my chest, and held it over my heart. My heart, that screamed with every beat. My heart that was withered with pain, mottled with anguish and encrusted with longing, my blasted heart that wouldnt die of the deep wounds it bled from.

"My heart cannot be cut out and left on a beach, alone in its anguish, in puinishment of its betrayal, away from me."

The wind picked up, singing a sad song in mockery of our loving.

"I would give anything to be you"

Stand by Your Man

Have you ever felt constraind by the laws of society?

I used have the perfect man, for me. Yes I know, its hard to say that at 22 and mean it, espeacially since I had him when I was 16, but truly, I have never met anyone who was so suited to me. It was like taking two halves of a mind and joining it together. Finding the person who knew the joke you were going to make up, because they were making it up too. There was a lot of laughter back then. A LOT of laughter.

But (yes that was coming obviously)

Though our minds fit, and our personalities fit, and we really knew each other, I found myself forever reluctant to leap into what I think would have been an awesum twosome. The reason? We are not a perfect fit, in the material sense. The real world is a wall that we could not cross, the bonds of societies ever watching gaze kept us from commiting.

Oh fine, Ill be clear.

He's short and runty and Im tall and un-runty.

I know I know, this is shallow and mean spirited, but which gurl doesnt want that? We all grow up with pictures in our heads, and this boy, no matter how much he made me laugh and understood me, never figured in that picture. He just couldnt be that guy.

Of course that isnt the only reason why this didnt work out, for those reasons youll have to go to his blog and no Im not linking, but in the many many years since we were not together, when we have both been alone and in touch and laughing together, I never once took that step, or even considered taking it.

A gurl just shouldnt have to bend to kiss her man.

Use your Imagination

You can ask me 3 questions...Any three, no matter how personal, private, or random.

I have to answer them honestly
(And you've just got to trust that I *will* answer honestly)

IN RETURN, you have to post this message in your own blog and you have to answer the questions that are asked to you.
(Note: If the question is too personal or whatever, I dont *have* to post the answers up here... the asker of the question, however, will get an honest reply in private...)

Vacation

Im off to Singapore...

WIll regale you with hilarious travel stories wen I get back.

Lets Talk About Sex

Why is it so important to the average homo sapien to get laid? So much of our lives revolve around it. So many of us define who we are by how much of it we have, and who we can convince to do it with us.

What does it mean to you?

Admittedly, I have not had a great deal of experiance, in my short but illustrious career as an adult, but I must be missing something huge. I really cant understand the human obsession with sex. Especially now, when as a race we've turned sex into something rather inconsequential.

Dont get me wrong i dont think sex is a sacred act between two people or any such shit, but the thing that always made sex special for me was how I felt about the person i was with.

How does that translate into a random act of intercourse?

Animal passion has quite a lot going for it, and if you find it with someone, Hell go for it! But when sex can be cheapened so easily, shouldnt we be more careful?

Shouldnt sex be more than just a sensory sound and light show in your pants?

Seriously, where does the bread go??

There are so many things, in this world and the possible next, that are beyond our comprehension, and yet we arent terribly interested. Much more interested are we, in what Meredith and George will do now that theyve had sex, or who Ryan will hook up with now that Marisa's dead. Noble queries, true, but shouldnt we spend some time at least trying to understand why there are chemical imbalances in our brains, how life evolved or the nature of the universe?

Or, where does the bread go???

Proudest Moment

Tholen from the Steif

Consider yourself tagged Aaki, Jerry, Yohan, Madhu, SAJ, Saattvic and Shasta if you have the time with all the moving.


1. PICK OUT A SCAR YOU HAVE, AND EXPLAIN HOW YOU GOT IT
Jagged semi circle type thing on my right calf from a rafting trip to Rishikesh when I was 13. I kicked an underwater rock. Dont ask.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?
LOTS of posters, mostly of various mouthwatering men and staggering movies that left me slackjawed. Some photos also, but not many.

3. WHAT DOES YOUR PHONE LOOK LIKE.

Its silver and black and flippy, though I dont love it so much. Bloody waste of money. Thats it over there.





4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?
Almost everything. My moms a musician so I grew up listening to her kind of music, and every once in a while I feel compelled to listen to Manhatten Transfer or Peter, Paul and Mary. I love Sheryl Crow and Evanescence and The Offspring.

5. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT DESKTOP PICTURE?
A picture of College, early in the morning, near the Chapel. It makes me feel very nostalgic and a touch sad because that time is over.

6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?
A way to eat a giagntic ice cream sundae and not get fat. Actually, to be eternally free of this bullshit weight paranoia.

7. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GAY MARRIAGE?
Marriage is for idiots. However I do believe that gay people should have the right to be idiots too.

8. WHAT TIME WERE YOU BORN?
5:58 pm

9. ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL TOGETHER?
Nauseatingly so.

10. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?
Alanis and my dog snoring.

11. DO YOU GET SCARED OF THE DARK?
Rarely. I like the dark, everything is more mysterious and easier to like.

12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?
Readers Digest. I know, but damn, even if I accidentally brush my finger against an RD I burst into taers.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOGNE / PERFUME?
Green Tea, Elizabeth Arden

14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOUR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX?
I cant say I have any preferences. What colour is Brad Pitts hair this week?

15. DO YOU LIKE PAIN KILLERS?
Yes.

16. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT?
Nooooo... But I have to have got some very clear signals to act thus.

17. FAVE PIZZA TOPPING?
LOTS of chicken of every kind, and LOTS of chillies of any kind.

18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Mmmmmmm..... Heavyweight Chicken Pizza from Slice of Italy with extra cheese and green chillies and jalapenos. Oh god.

19. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?
Kartikey. Ten Seconds ago. Bloody stupid game.

20. IS ANYONE IN LOVE WITH YOU?
Either three or none. Im not sure which would be better.

For Aaki II

This came to me early in the morning today..

There once was a girl called Aa-ki

Whose spirit was remarkably free

She jived with the stars

And hopped down to Mars

Whenever she fancied a pee

Poetic genius, what can I say?

Da-pers and Mom-pers

(I know this is a rerun, but some of my fathers friends wanted to see these.)

Da-pers

As cool as my mom is in making no sense and dabbling in the absurd, my father is even better. Here are a select few incidents from a very vast selection.

• “Has the government really made that many mistakes?” a reporter from the HT asked my dad during an interview.”Yes, in this act alone they have made several huge bloomers. You wouldn’t believe some of the bloomers they’ve made! And they don’t even realize they’ve made these bloomers!” my dad responded passionately.
• At an international conference my dad was attending with my mom, an elderly gentleman stepped forward and introduced himself to my dad.”Hello, I'm Mr. Black” he said politely”Hello Mr. Black I'm… Errr. Uma what the heck is my name?” my father responded, suave and in control as always.
• My father was flying through Amsterdam, and discovered that all the cabin air had chapped his lips, so when he sat in the lounge, he pulled out a chap stick. He proceeded to apply it liberally to his lips and then sat back and waited for it to be absorbed. Five minutes later he was in the loo vigorously rubbing lips with a towel to get the glue of them. Yes that’s right, my father glue-sticked his lips together.
• My father was an avid camper in his youth, back when they wiped their bum on leaves after a dump. So my dad gets up early in the hills around Shimla, and finds a nice secluded spot to himself. Five minutes later he’s all set to leave and grasps at a promising clump of leaves. They’re soft and springy and make excellent impromptu toilet paper. Except for one small detail. Those leaves are actually stinging nettle. My mother tells me he couldn’t cross his legs for a week.

Mom-pers

• My mother and I were visiting the local vet, with our notoriously fussy dog Spin. Spin is a connoisseur of fine dog biscuits, and does not try new types easily. My mother was worried that the biscuits the vet was recommending would all go to waste, and was determined to get a quality guarantee.“You must have tried these Dr.,” she asked him innocently, “do they taste good?”
• (Like all Indians, my mom loves to make random words rhyme. Unfortunately, she doesnt think them out first) We were in a department store, and my mom wanted to buy a hideous set of tea cups. I told her just how ugly I thought they were, and in a fit of outraged laughter, infront of about 15 salesmen and hundreds of other customer, she pointed at me and shouted "Meanis Penis".
• My father and mother were having dinner in a fancy restaurant, and the waiter offered my parents some very hot sauce. My mother eagerly sprayed it all over her food, but my father, being more cautious, declined. My mother was delighted by the apparent superiority of the female race, and, loudly, called my dad a "Wussy Pussy"
  
  

The New Look

I will now try to not change skins for at least five minutes.

A song of sixpence..

"hmmmmmmmmm hmmm hmmm....."

A tuneless hum that permeates my soul. Soft background noise that plays to everything I have ever done. Lead weight that hangs around my neck. The beating heart beneath the floor board even.

Can you hear it?

Im almost sure that everyone I know and everyone I meet for the first time, the last time, can all hear it. The soft strains of tuneless humming. I shake my head to sway the sound and the people think I disagree, but I dont. And the sound just never stops humming.

But there was this one time, or two or three times, when the humming made sense. When I could hear the little girl that sang that song, no that nursery rhyme, in a clear, pure voice that was untouched. The song didnt hum in her mind.

Like it does in mine.

There was a moment you know. A moment when that little girl stopped being a child that could sing a rhyme in innocence. Her body stayed young and childlike, and that was her crime. She was no longer untouched and pure. She couldnt sing anymore.

I couldnt sing anymore.

And the humming began. It never stops and I dont think it ever will. There is no safe place, where the sound wont find you.
I will live with those echoes forever.

Immigration Stamps...

Nothing like flipping through your pasport to see where youve been.

Romania, Bucharest, July 1999 a horrible trip to visit family, and worse stay with them for three whole weeks. I saw my first naked football match, got shot by a paintgun manned by my obnoxious cousin, got into shit for beating the crap out of my cousin for shooting me with a paintgun, stuck my toes into a glacier lake and threw up at the sight of blood sausages.

Spain, Madrid, 2001 a horrible trip to visit family and worse stay with them for two whole weeks. I saw my first live football game - Real Madris Vs Valladolid at the Bernabeu SWEEEEEEEET, flirted with cute waiters and overpaid for coffee and juice, got drunk for the first time on a jug full of Sangria, started a family feud that still rages today over the good tickets to see the match, seriously bonded with best friend who went on trip too.

(hmmm i see a pattern)

United Kingdom, London, 2002 a horrible trip to visit family and worse stay with them for two whole weeks. I cant even remember what I did so traumatic was the trip. I think i went to
Manchester and smirked at Old Trafford.

Thailand, Bangkok, 2005 a fabulous trip, just me and dad living in a five star hotel witha kickass spa where i had many a fine massage. I bought a teapot, a wooden dragona and met a real cute guy on their subway type thing.

Etats Schengen, Italy, Uk, Switzerland, France, 1998 an incredible bloody trip with no family cept Mom and Dad. Bought TONS of stuff went everywhere, had my bum pinched by cute foreign boy. Chased pidgeons in Venice and Trafalgar Square, ate pizza by drifting gondolas, was scared pissless by Gumbo Prawns in Geneva, took the Hop-on Hop-off bus tour in London and went to the London Dungeons. Ahhhhhh fun...

No Title

It has been a long time since I have felt the urge to just sit here and talk. I have after all a captive audience, and even if my loyal few decide not to read this particular litany, I would never know!

The truth is, Ive been searching for something grand and explosive to inspire me. Something that will leave my fingers and colour this page and scream out what a fantastic piece of writing it is. It isnt like the old days anymore. Now the things that I write have to be 'real' writing, whatever the hell that is. And its all because of the fucking labels.

(yohan I know youre a fan of the labelling, and there is going to be some bashing of it here, so you might want to stop reading now)

We label everything. I sit down to write and even before I type out a singe line I have to think, "what will I label this piece? I cant write just anything, it has to fit into a label!!!" Not the most conducive to writng a masterpiece. Though honestly, blogspots over enthusiastic organistion sickness isnt the real problem. I have been compelled to label myself and I chose the label of writer.

So obviously, now I cant write a bloody thing.

Its so infuriating. I have always hated labels, because the minute you have one you have a content, a list of ingredients, a recommended use and, worst of all, a best before date. Do we really have to go through life being followed by an expiration date??

I refused to be labeled a gurlfriend by any boy for years because people always got this knowing look in their eyes when they heard you being called that. It drove me crazy. (I relented eventually because not being able to call the gurl youre 'with' your gurlfriend leads to massive insecurity and drama queen tantrums, which is much worse than being equivalent to your average canned good {Canned good because they are almost all label [My god my writing has sunk to this level].}, but thats a different post altogether).

My point, yes there is a point, is this.

Once youve been labeled, youre fucking screwed.

So in the spirit of rebellion, I declare tomorrow official Un-Label Day! Get together and burn your labels! Celebrate your metaphorical nakedness!

Please dont stop reading my blog. Ill get better I swear.

For Aaki (happy love?)

There was a young man from London
Who was hatched from the egg of a hen
He clucked like a chick
And got hit by a brick
Cos he pooped on the top of Big Ben

A Small Story

Amrai stared miserably out of the kitchen window at the courtyard below. It was full of her family, at their happiest and best dressed. Her mother and younger sisters bustled around offering mithai to the guests, pouring out steaming kulhads of chai and forcing them into the hands of the men and women seated on the family's best divans. They had all been moved into the courtyard the night before, so that today's proceedings could take place under the blue sky and the shade of the family's sacred old peepal tree. In the middle of the group of women sat Paali, Amrai's youngest sister. Her head bowed shyly as was expected, her red sari shimmering in the dappled sunlight under the tree. She was surrounded by the women who would soon become her family, murmuring softly as they asked her questions, and blushing prettily as they teased her. Watching her, Amrai's chest filled with the bitter fluid that she was sure had started running through her veins in the last week, since the engagement had been announced.

A glint of sunlight danced suddenly before her eyes, guiding her gaze across the courtyard, through the crowd of relatives and servants, between low tables weighed down with food and drink, gliding across the distance in a graceful serpentine dance until finally nestling below the feathers in his saafa. Amrai felt her heart, which had been beating sluggishly and painfully for days, break into pieces.

She turned away from the window, and sank her fingers back into the laddoo's she was making for the wedding feast. The batter squirmed under her fingers as she blindly pounded the yellow orange goo, watching in her mind the long corridors of a palace far away, where she had spent a childhood, growing up and falling in love. Tears dripped from her face, tasting strangely of the bitterness inside her, tracking clean channels of skin across the backs of her hands, mixing the laddoo's.

At the wedding feast Amrai's laddoo's were passed out to everyone. She could hear the laughter and singing from the corner of the kitchen where she still cried silently. She hadn’t been allowed to join the wedding or the feast; her presence would have been uncomfortable considering… Anyways, Paali refused to be married if Amrai attended so that matter had been settled early on.

It was after the laddoos had been given out that it happened. One by one the happy laughing people began to weep. Softly and slowly at first, but then, as the memory of the pain grew sharper they wailed and sobbed and beat their chests crying for a love that they had once lost. Everyone who had eaten those laddoos was overcome with the pain of heartbreak they had once felt. Tormented again with that unbearable pain, that many of them thought they had forgotten forever.

Amrai's mother beat her well that night, demanding to know what she had done, and how she had done it. Paali screamed herself into a fever over the ruin of her wedding, and it was only on the orders of their father that Amrai was not beaten anymore. The truth they didn’t believe, no matter how many times she said it. That the only thing she had added to the laddoos were the strangely bitter tears that she hadnt stopped crying.


**This is not an original concept. I heard this story at a reading some years ago, and tried to reproduce it. I dont know who the author is, but if you do, please tell me.

List Thingy (Also a tag) (yeah that means you)

(from MatrixWarrior, sounded like fun)

Name: Misha

Nickname(s): Mish, Em, Chotu, Mishu, Mi and for ten terrible minutes 'Bordo'

Single or Taken? I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it may incriminate me.

Sex: Female

Birthday: 13th Nov' 84

Blood group: B+

Sign: Scorpio (also, year of the rat)

Siblings: Nope. Dogs though.... lots of dogs...

Hair color: Dark brown usually, but right now more red than anything else

Eye color: Brown

Shoe size: Somewhere in the limbo between 8 & 9 that ensures I can never find shoes to fit

What are you wearing right now? Blue jeans, black tee and black stephanian jumper thingy + Orange satin underwear
Where do you live? Noo Delli

Have You Ever:-

given anyone a bath? Yes *SHUDDERS*
bungee jumped? Noooo... I watched from afar though
broken the law? Ahem. Never. AHEM.
made yourself throw-up? More times than I wish to recall
gone skinny dipping? Nooooo!!!! Hygene people!!!
been in the opposite sex's bathroom? Yes very often. Their loo's are always less cluttered.
eaten a dog biscuit? Yeah.... Dont ask.
put your tongue on a frozen pole? Heeheeheehee nooooooo!
broken a bone? YES!
played truth or dare? I was CHAMP
been in a physical fight? Sorta.....
been in a police car? Forest rangers?
been on a plane? Ive been plane sick too...
been in a hot tub? Yeah, though, sadly, with my mom and my aunt who insisted on talking about their cellulite issues
swam in the ocean? Sorta bobbed around in it actually... I wouldnt call that swimming.
fallen asleep in college? Heh. I had some of my best dreams in college
cried when someone died? Yeah.
flashed someone? *Moans* yesssssss
lied? well everyone lies!
laughed so hard you fell off your chair? yeah... I feel kinda sad thinking about it now, ironically.
sat by the phone all night waiting for a call? Gawd yes. Bloody idiots who never call.
saved e-mails? I have Gmail, I cant freaking help it!
wished you were someone else? mmmmmmmmm yeah....
wished you were a member of the opposite sex? Occasionally... They do tend to have more fun
been rejected? No. Never, EVER. (see 'lied?')
used someone? Yeah
been cheated on? well.... not exactly.... I mean, not technically... Fuck it. Yeah.
done something you regret? Yeah

First Thing That Comes to Mind:-

Yellow: Tulips
Blue: Ocean
Happy: Kumar
Autumn: Rust Gold
Cow: Meadow

Have you ever had:-

chicken pox? yeah
sore throat? yeah
cold? yeah
stitches? nope
bloody nose? no, just short of it.
Sex? yeah

Do you:-

believe in love at first sight? Yeah
enjoy parks? yeah
like picnics? yeah
like school? Loved it
hate anyone? EVERYONE.

Who:-

is the last person that called you? Kartikey
makes you laugh the most? Mom and Dad
Can make you feel better no matter what? Kartikey
was the last person you touched? The last living thing I touched was Leaf, the last preson I touched was the checkout guy at the supermarket
you hugged? Kartikey
you yelled at? Mom
told you they loved you? Kartikey

Do You/Are You:-

like yourself? Ahhh.... Yeah sure.
dye your hair? hehehe occasionally, mostly when Im bored.
have piercings below the waist? Oh dear gawd no....
stolen anything over $50? I never steal. Except for that one time. Ahem.
like ice cream? YES.
Which is your favourite flavour? Chocolate Chip Super Fudge Cookie Dough.... MMMMM
Like Cold Coffee? Yeah I guess... Its ok.
smoke? *mutters ashamedly at the floor*
have beer? NO. cant stand the stuff.
obsessive? Yes
compulsive? Yes
depressed? Naaah.
suicidal? Not since last week! *bright smile*

Random:-

Prized possession: Nothing. Actually, absolutely nothing.
Last thing you said? "NO! Dont freaking pee there! BAD DOG!"
What is beside you? Empty bottle of Snapple Lime Green Iced Tea, Cell Phone, Empty bottle of Benadryl, Pee Soaked Dog Bedding, TV Remote
Last thing you ate? Finger tip full of Sour Cream
Are you right handed or lefty? Right
Favourite song: Right now, Teri Deewani
Worst thing that has happened to you this year: S Fricking OP

The Message That Coulda Changed The World

Deep in the 17th century, a tiny island lay oblivious to the human menace spreading across the globe. Though the most elite of their inhabitants guarded and patrolled their borders, the battle they would have to face could overwhelm them.

On one outpost out at sea, Del, one of the more enthusiastic members of the border police watched the horizon menacingly. He stalked up and down the deck of the wooden outpost, occasionally spinning around on his webbed feet to catch anyone lurking behind him unawares. Del was the original commando, a bird who was truly devoted to duty. And tonight that devotion would be tested.

On the horizon, appeared a ship; a Dutch ship in fact, but as Del had never heard of the Dutch, this is an irrelevant detail.
Ahem.

So a ship appeared on the horizon, and it glinted with an evil light in Del's mind. The island had to be warned! Del plumped his tail feathers, and plunged into the icy waters, paddling determinedly towards the island, his mind focused on the task at hand, and nothing else, the message of danger repeating over and over in his mind. He was so focused on the ship behind him, that he didn’t notice the ship in front of him until he plowed into it beak first. Del let out a startled squawk before his tongue slipped out the side of his mouth and he floated away, webbed feet pointing at the sky, message of danger still rotating in his mind, one beat faster than the little golden stars rotating around his head.

Aboard the ship, a large Dutch man peered down at the stunned bird floating away from his ship in the pre-dawn light.

"Dodo" he muttered disparagingly.

Love Letters to an Unfeeling Swine

2nd January, 2003

Toady you are clear, pure and transparent. Refracting light in a kaleidoscope of colours that appear just because they are passing through you.

Today you are poison. Lethal in small doses because that’s all you allow me to have. Little sips of something deadly – because you claim, you love me too much to kill me right away. I wish that I could love like you. Kill you and rejoice. Kill you and watch you rejoice because there is no greater way of dying then dying at my feet.

You swish around in your little glass bottle. Soaking slowly through the shapely brown cork that keeps you entangled inside it. You work that cork well. Never has a small piece of wood been so acutely aware that it may be too shapely. Whoever heard of a fat cork?

Stranger things happen everyday.

Like today, I let a fleeting desire to stick my face in a pile of mirror shards beat the shit out of me. It’s strange because I never felt that kind of hate for a few random features that innocently fell onto the same face. They were not right because they weren’t the ones that you would have picked, had you been given a catalogue of body parts and facial topography. You’ve more or less burned your way through the centre of that bloated piece of wood, and exposed to the sky you evaporate blithely towards everything. I’m twisted pieces of charred cork on a forest floor and love you even though you’ve left me again.

6th January, 2003

You visited me in hospital today. Stood over my bed, and gently ran your fingers over the leather straps that cut deep gauges in my wrists. I was alone with you for only a moment, but then you had managed to chip a hole the size of your fist into my skull in a few seconds less. Right now, you smiled; and carefully pulled of that cashmere coat I had woven for out of random strands of thoughts we had had together. Man had you grown. Your body seemed to have morphed out of the midgetness it had been trapped in. You were smooth and coppery and looked suspiciously like that perfect man I had pasted together last summer. The gag in my mouth was made of cotton. A relatively loose weave, hundred percent pure, undoubtedly made from the labour of some poor peasant who could not have known what it would be used for. It always tasted of nothing, except for the odd day when it would seep with old spit. You never touched me. You moved with this new found grace that I had never seen before; I didn’t want to know where you’d learned it. You decided slowly, enjoying the vain attempt of every inch of my skin and drop of my blood to leave this body that had driven you away and just touch you. You left softly… everything they put in my mouth now tastes of your tongue.

Do Not Get Involved With a Teenager: Reason No. 458.6(b)

Me: I watched Dr. Zhivago last night...

Him: That is my FAVOURITE bond flick!!!!

Me: *holds head in hands and weeps*