I don't know what I'm supposed to do. You're standing right there, smiling and looking as perfect as ever. You laugh. Your eyes crinkle. You run a hand through your gorgeous hair and look my way. I hastily turn around and slam into the wall. It doesn't hurt. No, nothing will ever hurt as much as the truth does. And it's time to face the truth. I will never be with you.

Move over Vandalur Zoo!

At the beginning of this academic year, I moped to anybody and his poor uncle about how unfortunate I was to have been separated from my bestest pals who, very conveniently, wound up together in bunches of twos and threes, leaving yours truly all aloney and on her owney in an alien section with prats and A-class idiots. I wallowed, because wallowing is what I do best.

Now, however, I take that all back. Whoever said a class full of nerds with Shoot-me-I-get-straight-As stamped on their foreheads, a bunch of football playing sweaty boys who like to think they're very sexy and that their red-gold-mud brown hair is a huge turn on, lost little twerps, annoying giggly girls whose mouths you feel like stapling together, annoying girls who gasp at the very sound of F and B words, the random metal head et moi not be FUN?

Take for example, this situation.

It is computer science class whoopa-bloody-dee. Our teacher rambles on about something while the testosterone bundles on two legs try very hard to strike up a conversation with the girl sitting behind me about whether or not she has recovered from her fever ("Eyy you're wokay now aa?" "Yeah." "Oh. Umm. Err.")
A note hits my head as I am etching the words to a song on my desk. It reads :Manui quak, ac/dc or bsbbbbbb???? And the afore mentioned metal head shouts "This fucker is asking... Tell him he's an absolute mindfucked bastard for even putting BSB and AC/DC in the same sentence choot!", while the afore mentioned girls are all having aneurysms/heart attacks what with all the expletives flying around. Two absolutely disconnected girls who sit next to me are singing Sivaji songs at a pitch that I assume has never been touched by human beings before, Thank God.

Our teacher yells, "Heggsadecimal vaalues are used to fecify golour godes in HutchTeeYemYell... While writing syndags, we zimbly say #rrggbb." As if on cue, my thin, pretty, hilarious bench mate stands up, points a long finger at him and says with a sweet smile, "Sir, #ffuucckk." And sir? Oh, he threw a fit, threw books and bits of chalk, sent her to the principal's room and asked for a suspension order. Yeah, in the land of Normal People, maybe. And seeing as to how this is NOT the land of Normal People, not even remotely close to it, all he says in response is, "Verrrry good, sit ma." No, I kid you not.

Then someone shrieks and the whole class erupts into laughter of the OMG-I-don't-know-what-is-so-funny-but-fucking-hell-it's-funny variety. A pen cap is thrown right onto the fan and comes back as two pieces, which when put together form the words "Add Gl Chiever". A crow flits in and out of the class and the giggly girls shriek, effectively blowing my eardrums out of existence. And then they begin giggling. So my Lunatic Benchmate picks up one of their pencil boxes and throws it onto the topmost shelf of the rack in response to their pissing off tittering and they nearly kill themselves with shock. "Let us party mann mera bole, let's get naughty mann mera bole, jaanemann!", LB screams into my face. I'm too bored to notice. I'm so bored, I start ogling The Coolest Nerd on The Planet.

Now, The Coolest Nerd on The Planet is very busy doing math in CSC period and since he's so cool, nobody complains. They're too busy contemplating his murder anyway. The poor sod sitting next to him, who is actually an absolute jerk owing to the fact that he's quite a nerd himself only a lot less annoying, is fiddling around with The Coolest Nerd on The Planet's pencil. And being the genius that he is, has somehow, God only knows how, managed to pull the entire graphite stick right out of the pencil. But, being the absolute moron that he is, says "Eyy goiya see what I did to your pencil ra!" Big mad move. "Ayiyoooooooooooo!", screams Coolio. "Assol! ASSOL ASSOL!", he says, with a Miss Universe-esque gasp and hand gestures. If only we had a tiara that happened to say "I suck", it would've all looked so perfect. "ASSOL ASSOL", he chants on. Okay, enough is enough. I walk over to him. "Listen dude, you're really cool and we're all warm for your form and everything but please, if you want to swear, do it properly, okay? It's supposed to hurt the other person, not make him laugh his ass off. Now say it with me, the H in asshole is not silent, not silent, NOT SILENT." "Eyy go yaa bloody assol" is all I get. Ayiyi, this animosity goes beyond me. So I ask him to hurl his fucking ass out of the country and he starts his "Assol assol" mantra.

Then the bell rang- pandemonium- food flew across the class- Metal Head and Coolio have a heated debate punctuated with the choicest expletives- I am laughing my ass off and we all lived happily ever after.

Confusion, aiyo confusion.

I claim to be a pessimist, a goth, a cynic. I like to believe that there is no joy in the world, that everyone is merely putting up a wall of fake smiles and fake happiness to cloak their insecurites and true sorrow. But then again, I am the same idiot who goes giddy at the sight of a puppy and grins at the crazy sunshine.

What in the name of Hindi Hitler's front teeth is that all about?

I can't hear you because your silence is deafening.

Legally bald

I am going to shave my head.

And no, I am not joining the Blue Man group and endorsing Mirinda. Neither am I renouncing the world and moving to the Himalayas. I am going to shave my head because it is the only thing I can do that isn't illegal and that will shock the living daylights out of my parents.

My parents choose to believe that tattoos and piercings are a form of self-mutilation. Yeah sure, and I am Prince Charles' twin brother. "You're not allowed anything of that sort till you're 18. Okay?" No, no, NOT OKAY. No license, no alcohol (Not that I want to get drunk, it's just what falls under the category of fun. Or atleast fun till the next morning..) no super-cool movies like 300 (Which I already saw on pirated DVD out of sheer desperation and loved despite the godawful audio) no NOTHING. And here they aren't letting me get a tattoo? I am not driving around like a maniac killing people, neither am I being sent to jail for club-hopping, because frankly, I wouldn't know the door to a bar if it were dancing naked in front of me. So what in God's name is wrong with a tattoo? Everything, if you're my parents who think I'm conspiring to rule the world and then rid it of the anorexic.
There is NO justice in this world, I tell you.

So anyway, before I execute my plan of world dominion, I want to shave my head. And I really don't give a shit if it doesn't look like Persis Khambatta's head. My head is mine, it CAN'T look like her's, you hear me? and I am going to do this with the sole intention of pissing my parents off. And also partly to avoid trimming, conditioning and of course, shampooing.

Yeah.
Shave.
No more **gulp** hair.
Nothing left for my animal best friends to pull **grin**

Bald is beautiful, no?
No?
No.

You don't know how sick you make me!

Have you ever felt that there are somethings or some people that the world would be way better off without? Has something ever driven you to within an inch of your sanity?

If yes, please read the given list and nod your heads in agreement to whichever thing irks you out of your tree.
If no, kindly shut this window and avoid wasting time grumbling about how vetti I am. You really don't have to rub it in.

Things/people that'd make me jump off a cliff: -

1. Text message English- "So, howz lyf dood????" , Umm I don't know "dood", you tell me how life is when I'm carefully slaughtering you to bits.
2. Idiots on Orkut- The kind with pitcures of beer-bellied cricketers, puppies, kittens and babies all over their albums, and not one of their own mug. Get a life, or a camera. Whichever's easier.
3. Abhishek Bachhan, Shahrukh Khan and John Abraham- Bleeargh.
4. The Olsen twins- Didn't your mother ever tell you to eat food?
5. Spinach- I don't want to be Popeye. Okay, Mary-Hate and Assley, you can throw this one out the window.
6. Hilary Duff- Oh, I'm sorry, I've already jumped off the cliff, what was that you said?
7. Onions trying to impersonate the actual filling in a roll- If you have tasted the Chicken puff in our canteen (Priced at Rs.7 wonly) you would know what I mean.
8. Sapottas- The smelly brown fruit. Need I say more?
9. People who wear their pants either at their ankles or at their necks- God made a waist and hips for a reason, you dolts.
10. Messy eaters/Mannerless fools- See the fork and spoon that are sitting near your plate? Well, Einstein, they're not for you to ogle, they're for you to eat with, thus ensuring that the people you're dining with don't pass out or are repulsed to death. And using the napkin won't kill you either.
11. Squirrels- Okay, I have nothing against them. They just freak me out. You ask me to pick between a venom-spewing snake the size of the Empire State Building or a squirrel for a pet, I'd pick the former.
12. Women who stare at me in stores- Not because I bear an uncanny resemblance to a platypus either. Yes, my T-shirt will say "Mental Inside". What becomes of you?
13. People who ask me which college I'm in- Aha, I don't know. What I do know, however, is that you graduated from The National University for The Soft In The Head.
14. Condensed milk- Someone shoot me. Puhleeeease, just get it over with.

And now, since all bad things must come to and end, Thank God, the last icky thing would be-

15. Paris Hilton- You make me sick. Like totally.

Twins from magical pink land (Part 2)

For part one, go here : http://www.raspberryfield.blogspot.com/
There's this girl I know.
Not a girl, really. A twin soul, more like.
She is so much like me, it is not even funny. We are the same people in two different bodies.

I don't get to chat with her at school. But those IM conversations...Sometimes, they're the one thing I can't wait for. I will come online and there will be Akshara, with her gorgeous display pictures and jokes that I'd like to think only I would understand.

She wears clothes that I will adore and gush about all the time. And the other day, a best friend told me that Azhagi's awesome pastel Kaftan was the kinda thing I'd wear. And you will not believe how happy that little exclamation made me. Delirious.

From jewelry to life stories, crushes to best friends, there is not one thing that we don't agree on.
She is the twin sister I never had. Only taller, prettier and older.
And sisters, as Azhagi knows, are... well... sisters.
The stuff dreams and nightmares are made of.
**Big hug Azhagi**

Home

Pink lines streak the sky, flirting with the dusk sun as it inches its way down into the horizon, to be swallowed by the glistening turquoise sea once more. The sand is fine and chooses to stick to our wet feet, peeping out from between our toes. A stray polythene bag dances around, a black slipper wades away with the water.
Kites dot the sky. Kites everywhere, flying recklessly, like they don't care.
Children squeal and run around, chasing shiny red rubber balls and vendors with all sorts of knick knacks that make noises, change colours and are a general nuisance, vendors with blue cotton candy and sundal carts. Garlands of green chillies adorn the bajji stalls that are bursting at the seams with the crowd.
Gunshots are heard but nobody panics. It's only the balloon shooting, where silver bullets that are nothing more than toor dal or urad dal (I really couldn't care less) in disguise are shot out into wide open space, but the maximum damage they can do is burst balloons. The tinkle of bells is heard, one can smell roasted corn. And if you cared to spend a few extra seconds straining your nose, you'd actually detect the slightest hint of lemon, so tangy you'd drool.
And then the flower girls, not more than two feet off the ground, run around with baskets of Jasmine, in the secret hope that someone would buy the whole lot and they could run free like the striped kite or the polka dotted one, or any kite for that matter.
A gorgeous chocolate labrador trots down the pavement. Her name is Sheeba and her long brown tail wags with tremendous speed as people coo at her and loudly exclaim that "She is lovely" and must be "High maintenance"
A baby's wail pierces the calm and all eyes fall on the squabbling couple who are frantically searching for diapers or a bottle or something of the shut-the-baby-up sort. An army of children in hues of orange, blue, green and red are led by a plump lady in a green kurta with long black hair, stress written all over her face. The Kwality Walls pushcart is their source of joy.
Guys on flashy bikes with flashy phones and flashy sunglasses at 7 p.m. at night impress anorexic girls who lazily stroll down the promenade. The orange Barista sign glares at the unfortunate lot who cannot afford to pay 50 bucks for a decent pastry like they are the scum of the universe. Fuck you. Boys "drift" in their modified cars with music blaring. Boom, boom, boom it barks as the brakes screech. And the tranquility flies away with the clouds, a thing of dreams.


And amidst all the noise and mess, I sit on the damp mud, pants rolled up to my knees, hair flying, the sand castle I dug the dark earth for is left forgotten. I look around at everything, taking it in slowly. I smile. For this is Besant Nagar.
This is home.

Memoirs of a freakshow

Thursday, 12:13 p.m.
Free period.
Havoc.

Divya chews on her pen so much it probably looks like a lump of orange and grey plastic right now. Gunaseelan says "Ennaku orru readymade map thaa di Swarupa... I don't want to Mark indha pass, andha pass. Chee thoo." and then scratches his head when he realises Swarupa is not listening. Nivedha ogles Subbu with her mouth hanging open. Ladylike, I think not. Au contraire, Subbu is rearranging desks and benches and hurling the occassional "Panni.. Get up da.. Push the bench da!! Dai!!!" and stroking his hair so much it might fall out any second. Praveen- who is supposed to be the class monitor and all- sits on his desk and surveys the class with disgust branded on his face. "Eyy masala tea maserati masala tea!" screams Ravishankar, insane, as is evident. He bangs the door and runs to sit next to Asif but ends up sitting on him and nearly killing him.

Varun is swearing and saying "Eyy thoo, move yaa." , trying hard to flirt with Srujanya. Srujanya swishes her hair and looks at her fingernails, most definitely uninterested. Neeraja and Divya spend about ten minutes whispering and suddenly burst into laughter. Or what they think is laughter but seems like mentally harassed birds screeching to the rest of us. Manav flashes Varsha a happydent white smile. Naresh looks like he just walked out of the Kilpauk asylum. "Kaaaaaamedi, kaaaaaaamedi." he says, which we're supposed to understand as "Comedy, comedy" Good Lord.

Ananthu laughs like a maniac, banging books and going "Yeahahahahahaahaha. Bwahahaha" and simultaneously eating his handkerchief. Arvind is nibbling on the edge of a pink Barbie ruler and tapping a tune that sounds vaguely like, God forbid, the star spangled banner. Arun is trying to see how quickly he can swallow his hand till the elbow as a whole. These poor souls are so starved. What in God's name, I ask you, is the WHO doing to eradicate chronic hunger? I have an Ehtiopia-in-the-making in my classroom!!
Now, Ananthu is strangling Gunaseelan and shaking him so much you can hear Guna's bones rattle. Nivedha, who is supposed to be dictating Chemistry notes is saying something in her Nasal donkey-meets-Phoolan Devi voice. "Whhaaat is the vaylency of Carban? Dai madya... write da! Ennai sight adikiriyaa?" What with her resemblance to a refrigerator, I can safely say that she has high hopes.
"Nivedha sister... aiyaa... sister.. aaaaaa" Siddharth sings and jumps and down, and he himself being on the larger side of life, manages to cause a minor earthquake. Gunaseelan boldly scrawls "I am Shahrukh Khan" on the blackboard and borders it with pink x marks. "Ehehehehehawahawhaw" he yells and does the chest-thumping routine, revealing his inner primate.

And then, Subbu and Archit turn a corner of the classroom into a boxing ring. Damned Rocky Balboa. Suddenly, Archit's arms are flailing and we see Subbu sock it to him. Archit kicks Subbu where it hurts. He pulls Subbu's tie off his neck and dashes out of the classroom, bearing resemblance to a worn out Crazy Frog. Subbu chases him. They come back in, go out again, circle the corridors and then Subbu heads off to the loo. Just when we thought he'd left, he comes charging like we were bullfighting and pins Archit to the wall. "Who tied the knot da? Me. Don't mess with me again", he says. Big dialogue, small brain. Whatever. They fight again and Chanakya tries to wedge them apart but is beaten senseless by the two morons. "Chaaani, Chaaani, Chaaani!!!" Poornima shrieks like a woman demented while Chanakya looks on, clutching his head and Nike wallet that was being tossed around like a hot potato across the classroom three minutes previously.

Praveen thinks he's playing the Mridangam and starts singing away for glory, drumming furiously on his Physics notebook. Varsha is making a weird noise. "Hwangaga" is what I made of it. Sesha sayee seems desperately suicidal. He puts his finger in a plug point that doesn't work and turns it on and off repeatedly and then lets out a sigh of exasperation. I can't blame him, though. "RED ALERT! WAAWAAWAA" Manav's imitation of a siren has the whole lot of us scampering like rats, benches turning over, noodles flying in the air like crows, people yelling, pencils shooting up and of course, shoes sliding across the floor with a life of their own.
Saakrapi ma'am walks in just then. And a hush falls over the class so suddenly, it gives me goosebumps. She surveys us with, in the words of a brilliant senior, her "disco eyes". "Good. For once, you are all behaving like disciplined, civilised creatures." , she says and smiles, her keys jangling, ching-chang-ching-chang.
If only she knew.

You're perfect.
Don't you know?
I love you.
Doesn't it show?