Too quick to be caught,
Too free to be bought,
A dream, a feather.

Diaper dilemma

Off late, I haven't been able to take so much as two steps out the front door without ramming right into a wailing toddler, in a pram/in harassed mommy's arms/under daddy's armpit, crying bloody murder. Everywhere, EVERY-BLOODY-WHERE there is a child. Whether crying or not, the sudden baby boom scares me. Don't get me wrong, I like babies. But I cannot possibly fathom how and why there are so damned many of them at every corner you turn.

One Saturday night, the whole family with hyperative mad cousin sister in tow, decided to dine in at a new little restaurant two blocks away. So while waiting for our entrees, an adorable little baby girl waddles her way around the restaurant, wreaking havoc with her chubby arms a-flutter, sending crockery and paneer masala all over the floor. Waiters scurry after her- Mommy to the rescue- Haggard father looks orey troubled- My mood officially murdered. In order to cheer ourselves up afterward, we walk to the tiny little dessert shop down the road and sit down to attack our apple pie and tiramisu when in walks a man with a babe in arms screaming, "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ennaku chaaaaaaakalate ice cream veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennum!!!!"

And dawdee cannot help but to succumb so he says, "Seri chellam, I will get it."

"Dawdeeeeeeeeeeeeee, don't leave meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"I am going to the counter da!"

"But don't goooooooo!"
With which, he bursts out into crocodile tears and fake sniffles. Cunning little runt. In utter desperation, I run out to sit down in the nice little portico with my best friend on the phone bleating along to some stupid pop song. But aah, we know the Lord Almighty has no mercy. So while said best friend is halfway through the chorus and I am yelling about how people have no control and should learn when to stop and avoid having babies, he (God, damnit :P) sends another one my way, a twerp (albeit a very adorable twerp) decked in an outfit that would have done Govinda proud. His obviously mentally harassed parents try wrestling him into the restaurant. "Arjun, vaa da... There's so much cake inside, paaru da kanna!" But Arjun is firm in his stance. He will stand where he is, in all his two foot-two inch glory and NOT go in. There are too many people in there, too much noise and too much damage to the senses. I like this big eyed, curly-haired kid. I have half a mind to hold him up like an exhibit and plead with the rest of the world to make babies like this one. Smart and antisocial.

Next stop, local supermarket to stock up on bread and eggs and everything that provides for a good, lazy Sunday morning. I stroll down the confectionery aisle, comparing fat content of various cookies and biscuits. Five mintues into my phenomenally pathbreaking research, I hear a thud, followed by what sounds like the rustle of a hundred leaves of aluminium foil and a wail. I try not to cringe. For that is the typical baby wail. I walk three steps and find a pile of pink frills and Lays potato crisps packets with two tiny pigtails sticking out from in between "Zero Trans Fat!! No cholestrol!!" labels. I try hard to not collapse laughing. I help her up and put back three of the ten hundred thousand things she has somehow managed to displace. By this time, her mommy has managed to find her and instead of spanking her on the bottom like a good mommy should, she gives her a hug and ruffles her hair like a good mommy really would. Then it all dawns on me. God has turned on the lightbulbs in my head. THIS is why people procreate. Accidentally or intentionally, it is for this. This being able to love someone despite their dirty nappies and 3 am coughing fits. Despite the one million mistakes and the snot on clothes, the stains on the carpets and scribbles on theses.
Just to watch someone grow from being irrational and selfish to smart and ambitious. To watch them grow, one baby step at a time.

Now, I know why there are babies everywhere. And now all the pieces of the puzzle seem to fall into place.

BFFs

Me:- So, what do you think?
BFF:- I don't know, your ankles are your best feature.
Me:- What does this have to do with that?
BFF:- I think somehow they might be connected.
Me:- Phwoar. That's total bullcrap.
BFF:- But seriously, black looks best on you.
Me:- Even bloody Vadivelu looks good in black!
BFF:- Uh huh.
Me:- So, razor cut my hair or not?
BFF:- I think I might still like him.
Me:- Yeah? OMG, I haven't finished biology!
BFF:- There's this question in a sample paper... The sum of seventy two terms of an AP is.... ACK that hot guy that hot guy that hot guy.
Me:- Is he all clean shaven again?
BFF:- Damn, I screwed my diet today.
Me:- Okay, my new favourite colour is teal.
BFF:- Bye.
Me:- And oh yeah I spoke to xyz and he said that the question paper won't be very difficult cos it's a new syllabus.
BFF:- Yeah?
Me:- Hmm... Bye.

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?

Perfect situation

Sometimes, life can be cruel. It always seem to choose the random few with dreams and hopes and bring all of it crashing down. And one of those poor sods might just be me. Yessir, little ol' me with a hundred bucks to my name and whose most prized possession may just be a tube of lip balm. I know not what I did to the Good God to have a life like mine and I don't think I ever will find out.

Last Saturday, two guy friends and I parted ways with the rest of our gang after watching a sad excuse for a film, to head home, seeing as to how we all pretty much live in the same area. So we stopped at Subway to grab a bite. So there I was, gobbling down my enormous, very stuffed sandwich, arguing with the two boys(Who are cute in a very small rodent way, if I may add. They're my best friends, yes, but hello?? Do I have to wait till I'm a hundred for them to grow taller than me?) about Thierry Henry and Mike Shinoda when in walks *Cue drumroll* The Guy Of My Dreams. There he was, with curly hair (Me likes.) an eyebrow piercing (Me loves and wants but is denied permission) and a black shirt (Me loves and lives out of these).

Oh what a majestic stride! What fiercely curly hair! Even the Amazonians would've lost their way in there!! I could just feel myself putting on sheep's eyes (When a sheep has a blade of grass stuck in its throat it tends to make a rather odd face. Eyes big and frozen. C'est est tres amusant.) and ogling him for eons and eons. Atleast, until he turned around. And saw me. Being beaten with a sachet of ketchup by my best friend. My pint-sized best friend squealing "Aaargh, I hate the Pussycat Dolls!!!" and the other saying "No. Their music is groovy, yaar!" Yes, I kid you not. He said GROOVY. Me, dumbfounded but screaming on the inside sitting with them, coleslaw and tomatoes on my fingers. The Guy Of My Dreams looked rather disturbed. Frightened even. I wanted to throw the sandwich, maybe on the dumb boys and yell out loud, "Where HAVE you been O pierced one? How long I have waited for you!!"

As luck would have it, the boys chose to have a food fight (Furfect timing) with MY sandwich in a restaurant I go to most of the time with The Folks. I could have died. "Dudes!!! Stooooppp eeeet. Pleeeease, yaa!!!" Yes, I went ultra-sonic. In front of the manager,the amused staff, half a dozen customers and The Guy Of My Dreams. And phat! went the cucumber on my t-shirt. Where's the bloody atom bomb or earthquake when you really NEED it? The Guy Of MY Dreams looks at me with eyebrows (Pierced eyebrow! Pierced eyebrow!) so high they almost merged with his hair. His face read "Poor kid". And the manager's face seemed to scream "Get out and don't ever come anywhere near my shrine of fast food ever again. Ever."

So I exit, annoyed, with a doggybag of cookies and two red-faced, loony loons.

See, see, see what I mean? Life S-U-C-K-S.

A day in the life of us.

March 25, 2006
8th grade.

Sitting in science class, all our brains dead from all the tests we had written (6,okay, dudes...including algebra!!!!) Treemortrauma was kind enough to make it optional that we take down some important notes she was giving us. Having written all of it ahead of time, I had nothing to do and resorted to observing my class and simultaneously noting down my observations in a notebook. I can proudly say it cracked the peoplehood and four other people up after school when I read it out loud, standing atop a bench. Here it is, unedited: -

I wish I could stuff cotton in my ears and go to sleep. The class seems to feel exactly the opposite...lively fools. JJ is chewing on the end of his pen right now. If Treemortrauma weren't here, I'd slap his chubby face. Gabbar and Kunki are laughing and smiling at some stupid joke. Ma'am turns a deaf ear to Cyclone's screams of " Ma'am, for God's sake, STOP...I DON'T WANT TO WRITE, PLEASE!!!!" Monkey is being his hyper self, hopping up and down, his hair flopping like a Lhasa Apso's. Gabbar is bopping South Pole's head repeatedly. Bop, bop, bop. Treemortrauma says, " How duss faallouu laand inkriss soil furrtility?". Really, who is even listening to her? P is bending backwards and has rested her head on the empty desk behind her, looking funnily uncomfortable.

" Lux called me baby!!!!!! He called me baby!!!!" shrieks Beauty. She's sitting right in front of me, writing Hindi. Talk about studious. "No, sweets, he called you Devi!!!!" I say. Her face has fallen by a few feet. Cyclone keeps fiddling around with his hair, making me lose my focus. He's cute enough...what's his problem? Metallica is shaking her head with such vigour it might just fall off. Ash boy is scratching himself in the weirdest of places...boys, I tell ya!!Blue has been swivelling around again and again with speed like lightning to ogle a yawning, tired and thoroughly uninterested Sree. Oh, well.

Ma'am says " Reddy, get out of my class nooooowww." Reddy jumps off his bench with surprising agility and says " No problem ma'am", while Treemortrauma looks on, insensitive to his irreverence. Ank throws a ruler at SRS nearly knocking his eyeball out. SRS aims at Ank, throws and misses. The ruler has whacked Ashboy squarely in the head. Ouchies. Ashboy's groin scratching comes to a rude halt and he's shrieking "Ma'aaaam!!!!!!" right now. And what's ma'am doing??? Screaming at Gabbar and Monkey, asking them to shut up. I wish Ashboy would shut up...he's sitting three feet away from me and bleating like a goat. "Ma'aaaaam see thiiis boyyyy...Ma'am, look, no, pleeeeeeeeease!!!!!!" he wails. Treemortrauma doesn't give a shit. She very bluntly asks SRS who's now thulping Ashboy " Are you mad?" SRS says yes.

Hottie is yawning so wide an elephant or two could stroll into her mouth and do the Salsa. Kunki stands up. He sits down again. Dibbadinky's looking at Cyclone like he's the fruit punch in the middle of the Sahara. Ooh la la. Treemortrauma's staring at Monkey. Is she ogling him? No...no..no way...that defies ALL laws of nature!!!!! Okay, she's only screaming at him... Pheeew. Pu has thrown an eraser at Nivi and it's hit her in the ear. "Ooooooow, Pu!!!" she squeals. Metallica's baring her metallic teeth....all 32 of them as she smiles at Kunki. Poor Kunki. Now, she's laughing like a jackass. Oh, boy...

Kovi pokes PR in the eye. PR lets out a stream of foul language, all of which is incoherent. Dibbadinky gives me a look. The freakazoid. SRS has now shoved a piece of wood down Ashboy's collar. Ashboy's blushing. Why's he blushing??? Oh, Lord... Answer me...what is wrong with these people??? I ask him why he's blushing. He stares at me like I'm talking Greek. Sigh. The bell is ringing. Treemortrauma exits, furious. " Dadiya, pooshnikai ( Fatso, pumpkin), get your massive ass off my desk da!!!" screams SRS, obviously addressing Ashboy. Ashboy stands up in response and waves his hands in the air like a triumphant track runner who just crossed the finish line. Yeah...this is only ten minutes of a normal day in our class. Ten minutes.

Monkey business

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep!!!!!

The alarm goes off. The maid and the cook's nonsensical chatter(Told ya she's an expert at bitching) is enough to wake the dead and set them wandering around in broad daylight. So saying, I'm awake and not very pleased about it.

"Aackckcakakak-kikiki-koooo!!!"

What the hell??

"KKKKKoooooockckckckaaaack"

Oh, Lord God above, please don't let that be the cook. I get out of bed and hurry out of my room to see what all the fuss is about. " Amma, paaru maa, korangu!!" Says the cook. Monkeys. No way. Oooooooooh, I HATE MONKEYS!!!! Ugly little things with the worst manners, pink butts and huge eyes that stare out at you from underneath a mop of hair in dire need of conditioning. They've tried to steal my little sister once, no... twice ( She looked human THEN...it's only now that she's got in touch with her inner primate and shows all the signs of wanting to climb a tree.) They've eaten my ice-cream, played with my stuff and have made me wet myself with fear ( I was five...what WAS I supposed to do?? Call 911???). They send chills up my spine.

I opened the back door only to be greeted by a cheerful little monkey scratching its head and eating leftovers of last night's dinner. "Keeeeckoooo" it says. Yeah, well Good Morning to you too, my little simian friend. It chews on something that would have been a decent slice of bread five minutes ago. Soccer the dog is going positively hysterical, barking at the ignorant ape. It twitches. Soccer barks. It pauses half-way through its messy meal. The dog growls and barks woof-woof-wooooof, only to be interrupted by an ear-piercing "Keeee-aaack-keee-keeeeooo"

Remember the Crazy Sister?? The one the monkeys tried to take away?? Turns out she would have been much better off with them, for, in respsonse to the head-scratcher's shriek, she let out a deafening " MANU SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!!!! GIVE THE YELLING A REST, WOMAN, I NEED SLEEP!!!!!" which pretty much shut both the other animals up. I roll my eyes, and revert to admiring my ancestor. Only, it's gone!!! Where? How? Why? Millions of questions run through my head all at the same time. And then I see it. The Mommy monkey. Big, scary, fiery-eyed and very pregnant, she sits on the courtyard wall, like a queen on her throne. Oh, there's the tiny guy, hiding right behind her. If only I could reach out and strangle him and prove that evolution didn't happen for nothing. But, Alas, I can't...for his protective mamma's drawing close to the door. To where I'm standing. To my house. I'm gonna show this chick who's boss.

I reach out for something behind me, my eyes fixed on the pregnant primate. Aha! Gotcha...the broomstick!!!
I didn't take karate lessons for nothing!!!! I scream, and charge out the back door, waving the broom around like a lunatic. The pregnant female blinks. I fume. My parents have this weird fancy for collecting plastic bottles. Like the ones Pepsi comes in. I spot one and grab it with movements so fast, it'd give Neo of The Matrix a run for his money.
" Heeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!" I say. Which means, back off, monkey mamma, or I'm gonna show you one of the many things a PET bottle can do. So saying, I hurl it right at her. And, I miss.

The watchman, however, doesn't lose hope. He has abandoned his conversation with the resident tailor to come to my aid. He swishes around a metal rod. He yells. I yell. Soccer barks. My sister is out of bed and staring at us. The cook ought to have burnt something or herself, with all the racket. Finally, the monkeys leave. WHOOOOPPPPEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!! I jump for joy. Realising I've done a week's worth of jumping already, I stop, go in and turn on Animal Planet. And what are they doing? Analysing the baboon species.
Sheesh.

My family- Why we call ourselves The What

My family isn't exactly the world's sanest, nor the healthiest. These vacations have provided my sister and I with sufficient time to draw up lists of various kinds. One such list was about the behavioural traits/habits/illnesses which, God forbid, the two of us might just inherit one fine day.

1. We run a risk of being diagnosed as either diabetic, neurotic or heart patients. We can get either osteoporosis or arthiritis. We may also suffer from lung cancer and hypertension. Lucky us?

2. By the time we are middle-aged we will resemble beer barrels and will have no teeth at all.

3. We are highly talkative and, again, by the time we are middle-aged, we will know three different versions of our family history from both maternal and paternal sides.

4. We will have a weird liking for hair colour and by our mid-sixties, our locks will resemble the rainbow.

5. We will call ourselves...hic...Brahminical Iyers, devouring a biriyani all the time.

6. We will call our children by each others' names. Meaning, The Crazy Sister would address her daughter as Manvi instead of calling the poor thing by her own name.

7. We will spend lots of money on vessels, crockery and bed linen, but nothing will be spent on soap and facewash.

8. We will tell our grandchildren about Jayalalitha at those Sunday lunches, the same way our grandparents, grand-aunts and uncles ramble on about Mountbatten and Nehru. Sheesh.

9. We will look at photos of our teenage selves and wonder if we still look the same.

10. Our first child might try to kill his/her younger sibling, stuffing dosa in their( The sibling's) mouth.

11. All the girls in the family will dance to "It's raning men" by Geri Halliwell whenever they meet over family lunches, 'cos it's so friggin' cool ( Our take on the way we were forced to head-bang to "Girls just wanna have fun" I really wonder what kinda loony family does these things. Oh, jeez, I forgot. MINE. )

12. When our adolescent daughter asks for a CD by some weirdly named band we will, unconsciously, say "Oh, I'll get it for you from Food World." because we think she's asking for vegetables. ( Think The Black Eyed Peas and The Red Hot Chilli Peppers.)

13. We will have this fancy for hurling saucepans, or even pressure cookers at any jackass who gets in our way. No kidding.

14. We will always, always eat peanuts while travelling on a train. We will also sing golden oldies and will run the risk of getting the skin of a nut stuck in our trachea.

15. When eating pizzas, beware, for we might just tear it viciously and smother it in ketchup like we do with dosas and chutney.

Note to the folks: - This wasn't meant to offend anybody. If any of you ever read this and don't like it much, punish me by letting me stay home instead of attending that wretched engagement. Or even that family reunion. And yeah, saucepans HURT, you dig????

(Much thanks to KD and her brother for giving me back my blog. I louwe you guys.)

Why?

I want you to know..
That the stars are shining like there is no tomorrow. And that chewing gum will not make me put on weight. Also, your favourite Kishore Kumar song is on the radio. I was at a party two weeks ago. We gave the birthday girl hell by holding her by the shoulders and ankles and kicking her. It was a bit like when you would hold me and threaten to throw me and then hug me really tight when I cried.

Yesterday, I ate those ugly orange-cream biscuits you'd always buy when you came home. "Biscuits are healthier than chocolate, sweetheart", you'd say. You will not believe it.. It's raining here. In your Madras city. Can you see the rain coming down in sheets on me? I'm singing Pink Floyd and dancing your mad dance. I'm playing the air guitar and I know you're laughing just looking at me. But I can't hear you.

I also want you to know, that I love you. Very much. You left too soon. Took all of us by surprise, you did. Leaving just like that. It's mid-November already. Two more months to new year's eve. Okay, one and a-half.. sheesh.. don't yell! I know you're yelling. New year's eve. Already. Only, this time.. there won't be any "Why aren't you out with a million boys and partying, doll?" There will not be any chilli-bajji and cappucino on the Besant Nagar beach. There will be no more phone calls from Bangalore, no more "Guess who, pretty girl?!" No more you.


Why did you go?
I miss you..

I'm slowly sipping my iced tea. I put down my glass and look around the dimly-lit restaurant and that's when I see him. His spiky hair, creased black shirt and denim jeans faded around the knees. He sits alone at a table for seven. He's attractive enough to have a lot of girls looking at him but apparently, he doesn't care. Either that or he's trying to attract even more attention with his odd behaviour. He pops a pill into his mouth and immediately clutches his head. His elbows give way and he puts his head on the table. "Boy, he sure is troubled", I think. "Could that..No...Maybe..Not in a restaurant!" I debate with myself. I make an excuse to go wash my hands, leave the table and walk past him slowly, trying to look as subtle as I could, looking at the pills out of the corner of my eye, but it is far too dark to read the name.

I make a pretence of washing up and head back. His hands hold his head and he swings from side to side. He makes me sick with worry and I know not why.
I sit down and try to eat without paying him too much attention. He sits up, scarily sudden. He screws his eyes up until they're nearly non-existent.And then, breaking all laws of decorum at the dinner table, or in a public place for that matter, he lets out a massive burp, loud enough to shatter the windows and the crockery and repulsive enough to want to make me scream in disgust. But, unlike him, I have tact. I make a belching noise in response. And now, he is revolted. Revenge, mon ami, is indeed sweet.

Shine

I look out of the balcony and my gaze falls on the moon. It's enchanting, radiant, the kind of beauty that poets could wax eloquent about. There are faint traces of shimmery yellow all around it, lighting up the sky just a bit, for all those depressed lovers with broken hearts to be comforted. For all the little children dressed in rags, chasing make-shift toys to look up at and love. For me to sit in my balcony and ponder over it for hours together. For peace of mind, for serenity, for everything the rest of the world tries so hard to be, so hard to give, but fails miserably. For upliftement, to make me smile again. The world is a beautiful place. And there just might be a God.