Transatlanticism

Listen Up, Y'all.

2008-12-14T17:24:00.001+05:30

THIS BLOG LIVES ON WORDPRESS NOW!

http://adaywithoutaparacetamol.wordpress.com/

PLEASE CHANGE YOUR BLOGROLLS IF YOU'VE ROLLED IT ANYWHERE!

<3

Great Nature's Second Course

2008-12-11T23:47:00.002+05:30

I have made a startling discovery. The more I sleep, the less rested I am.

Word.

My Sketchbook is called Carmen Sandiego...

2008-12-09T12:46:00.003+05:30

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego?

Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?

So here's the story. When my dad came to visit a couple of months ago, the expected happened. He and my mum had an argument, and for some reason, that made my dad want to visit this giant bookstore near our house, and since I was a wastrel around the house even back then, I went with him, hoping I'd get some supplies in the bargain. And I did. Bestowed upon me was a wonderful sketchbook with 160 creamy texturised pages, that were comfortably smooth to allow happy shading, but smooth enough not to screw up your drawing. (I even blogged about this book when I just got it in this post). And then I spent many a happy day, making exactly THREE pieces of art, that too, not even for myself. Then, like an idiot, I lost it.

It would have been alright had I known WHEN I lost it, thereby making it easier for me to FIND it, but I don't even know when exactly it was lost, so I don't even know where to begin. I miss my sketchbook very much, even more because the mother has chastised me for being irresponsible and I'm not going to be given a replacement.

The sketchbook is largish (slightly larger than your average A4 sheet) with a white cover and cardboard back. It has a Mountain Lion on the cover. The first page is blank with a margin, the second page has the face-portrait of a man that I never finished, the third page has a sketch of two people coloured in 60s style, and the fourth page has a rather elaborate pencil-outlined-with-ink drawing. I have not written my name on it (yes, I am rather stupid in such matters). If you find it, will you PLEASE let me know?

I miss my sketchbook. I never did much, but at least there was that little glowing bubble of knowing that if I ever felt like drawing, there was a very nice sketchbook waiting patiently for when I am truly inspired. It's not fair. I didn't even complain when I lost my Macbeth text before the exam and had to improvise my answers, I didn't whine even once. Because it didn't really matter to me, that Macbeth book. But my sketchbook really, really matters, and I am very, very depressed. I miss my sketchbook very much.

Carmen Sandiego, won't you return?

Playlist -

This River is Wild - The Killers

Crazy in Love - Snow Patrol

Sexy Boy - Franz Ferdinand (Listen to this one, it may just seriously beat "Michael" as my favourite song by them)

Please just take this iPod from my hands!

2008-12-06T11:02:00.002+05:30

I know I keep posting my most recently-played songs all the time, and it's often kind of horrifyingly cute how Snow Patrol pops into all of it all the time, but this is truly, truly disturbing. All iPods have an auto-playlist where the Most-Played 25 get gathered together to fuel your obsession further, and THIS is what my list (in order, I think?) looks like -

Woman Like A Man - Damien Rice (Bloody Fantastic.)

The Planets Bend Between Us - Snow Patrol (Best chorus, ever.)

The Golden Floor - Snow Patrol (Un-Snow Patrol Snow Patrol)

Michael - Franz Ferdinand (You saw this coming.)

Lifeboats - Snow Patrol (I didn't know I liked it that much.)

An Olive Grove Facing the Sea - Snow Patrol (Instruction Guide for all Elementary Stalking.)

Unplayed Piano - Damien Rice (It's a song for Peace, that means I give a damn.)

Set the Fire to the Third Bar - Snow Patrol, Martha Wainwright (Again, not unexpected.)

Crack the Shutters - Snow Patrol (Shut up)

Accidental Babies - Damien Rice (Again, Shush.)

Butterflies and Hurricanes - Muse (It's all good until you hear me try to sing the piano bit.)

Grazed Knees - Snow Patrol (Whaaatt? Stop staring at me.)

Whipping - Pearl Jam (I'm as relieved as you are, believe you me.)

Somewhere Only We Know - Keane (Sure.)

Crushcrushcrush - Paramore (Why yes, I like Paramore. Bite me.)

Party for Two - Shania Twain, Mark McGrath (*squeals, runs away and hides*)

If There's A Rocket, Tie Me To It - Snow Patrol (Aw, Here it goes again)

In Command of Cars - Snow Patrol (This is a little scary, innit?)

Possum Kingdom - The Toadies (Yay!)

Lazy Sunday (SNL) - Chris Parnell, Andy Samberg (If you can call it a song...)

All You Need is Love - The Beatles ("She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!")

The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice (The first Rice song I ever heard. )

Rootless Tree - Damien Rice (If you knew the chorus, you'd get why it's often played. I dare you, Google it.)

I'll Make a Man Out of You - Mulan Soundtrack (Oh God. Oh No.)

Cold Water - Damien Rice (This list is over. Do not attach any value judgements, ok?)

This is scary, it really is. Although it is somewhat funny to find one of SNL's Digital Short raps on the list, and yes, it is a little mortifying to find that song from Mulan (but hey, atleast it's classic Disney), there is just too much of DR and SP.

I thought I was diverse and all. But I'm just a obsessed maniac.

Eh well.

Care for a Smoke?

2008-12-03T19:45:00.002+05:30

Adt got mint cigarettes to school today. Remember when we were little, there were minty ciggies that came in a disgustingly green box with a cheap picture of Charlie Chaplin? And they were red-tipped? She found those. I ate two of them, and I still want more.

And they cost about Rs.4 for ten.

Playlist -

Shout - The Temptations (!!)

Jigsaw Falling into Place - Radiohead

The Lightning Strike - SP (!)

R.I.P.

2008-11-29T23:24:00.003+05:30

A Mother begs. She wants her son's corpse to just open its eyes one more time, so she can whisper to him the goodbye she never got to say.

The sister is dead and the brother cries, she has gone away.

An infant is orphaned, another is carried to safety and his father is tired yet triumphant.

Shrapnel. Bullets, debris. Attack, defend, attack. Men in uniform, bathed in sweat, blood, tears.

And all we can do is hope for the best, and that is the only weapon we have? The other side has Kalashnikovs and hand-grenades.

The only thing under siege is the fate of humanity.

STEEL DRUMS!!!!!!

2008-11-28T12:31:00.003+05:30

Ok, first, a bit of background. In school, I'm part of this class called Pit Ensemble. In essence, it's an opportunity for me to slack off and play piano, xylophones, vibraphones, assorted percussion instruments (bongos are serious fun), or, in some cases, steel drums. A rival Catholic high school called Santa Margarita started a steel drum band a few years back, so we had to have one also. Because of this, I have played the steel drums a little bit since the school year started. Now, fast forward to present day. It's currently Thanksgiving Break (an excuse for us Americans to be gluttonous and pretend we're thankful for everything), during which I have an entire week off of school. During this time, I convinced my teacher to lend me a pair of steel drums. So, I've been practicing on-and-off during the week on my fantastic, amazing, incredible, jealousy-from-Sahana-inducing steel drums! Well, it's late at night and I got bored, so I decided to teach myself the wretched melody from Soulja Boy. Let this be clear first: I loathe that song. When I hear the cursed tune, I instinctively reach for my ears, not to cover them from the torrential onslaught of noise, but to gouge my eardrums out so they may never again have to endure the Aushwitz level suffering that is induced by the...*sigh*...Soulja Boy. Anyway, here is the video. And in case you are wondering which piano video I am referencing in the Soulja Boy video, look at my other videos, there is a nice clip of me playing the piano solo from "In My Life" by The Beatles. Anyway, without further ado, here is me playing (with terrible light and poor audio quality) Soulja Boy on steel drums. Enjoy!

Artsy Eskimo Lover.

2008-11-23T13:51:00.003+05:30

It's not that great, but it kind of fit in with the lyrics from "What if this Storm Ends?", Part One of Lightning Strike, from A Hundred Million Suns. (Yes, I'm that obsessed. I wanted to draw Golden Floor, but I need time for that. And I have LOTS of artwork to finish first.)

Under the girl, the lyrics are - "The perfect halo of cold hair and lightning sets you off against the Planet's last dance."

And for the dude, the lyrics are - "Just for a minute, the silver forked sky lit you up like a star that I would follow."

Also, if you're up for some pretty lyrics, please see the chorus of "The Planets Bend Between Us". The lyrics are -

"I will race you to the waterside,

And from the edge of Ireland shout out loud

So they can hear it in America,

It's all for you."

Man, that Gary can write.

*heart*,

Velocitygirl.

Another Day...More Procrastination

2008-11-21T11:04:00.004+05:30

Seriously, I think I may have a problem. I have tons of homework to do, yet here I am, writing up a post on blogger. Maybe it's because I feel bad because Sahana's been spamming the site lately, I don't know. What I DO know is that I do not feel like doing homework. Hell, I actually have no clue what I even intend to write about, I just knew I needed to write something, and here I am. This is very stream-of-consiousness-ey. I feel like Virginia Woolf.

Well, I have been succeeding in school as of late. In the same week, I got an A on my APUSH exam, a 9/9 on the Free Response Question that we took the day after that exam, an A on my AP Chemistry Exam--the list goes on. I feel like such a good student, yet I know that it will have to come to an end eventually. But, in the meantime, I'm flying. Perhaps I should go do work in order to maintain this ecstatic feeling. When I'm done with this post. Let's see...I need something substantive to talk about. If I just ramble the whole time I'll end up deleting the post, and wasting more time.

Oh, I know. Here is my official (updates will come when I think of additions) list of things I must do before I die.

-Play Butterflies and Hurricanes with a full band in front of an audience.
-Travel the world. And I mean all over the world. At least 75% of all countries.
-Visit Sahana. Maybe we'll go to a bar.
-Be in some sort of touring rock band.
-Deliver a speech to over 1,000 people.
-Make some sort of positive influence on the world.
-Invent and subsequently patent something.

There, was that such a bad blog post? Shakey start, but I would say I saved it. And it does have a cool Emily Brontë-esque feel to it. But less feminist. And more cheuvenistic. And much, much more awesome.

Oh, and Sahana--

You're welcome. :)

And you listening to Queens of the Stone Age, Steely Dan, Franz Ferdinand, and Snow Patrol is amazing. Seriously. Fantastic tastes.

The Hundredth Millionth Sun

2008-11-19T23:01:00.002+05:30

Two successive Gary posts in a day. Somewhere in the world, something wonderful must be happening. Maybe ~~HotBody~~ Lightbody is googling his own name and he finally found this blog. Hallelujah, 'tis been a long time coming.

I reviewed the album. You saw that coming, didn't you? I spent an hour on it, and listened to it twice. And even wrote half an essay on Chekhov, so I feel quite empowered right now. I tried not to sound like a know-it-all, but I can't help the comparisons and the references, its not my fault I've heard all their songs. Being a GL stalker is hard work.

One thing is for certain. Snow Patrol has certainly cheered up.
While Eyes Open was a heart-wrenching word description of the trajectory of a failed relationship, filled with sensitivity (Chasing Cars), frustration (It's Beginning to Get to Me), penitence (Make This Go On Forever), separation (Set the Fire to the Third Bar), desolation, and acceptance (The Finish Line). Eyes Open brought with itself a set of fourteen masterpieces that merged into one to give the world Snow Patrol's best album. It was an album that defined poignancy, and each track stood out as favourite, and the album as a whole made one surrender, made one float, and made one soar.

A Hundred Million Suns comes two years after Eyes Open, conceived in Germany, and partly in Ireland, in a house that was located on a cliff that overlooked the sea. The band firmly maintains that this is their best album yet, while most fans tend to believe that with AHMS, they've succumbed to the pressures of chartbuster-music, brought on because of Chasing Cars. Their opinion is that SP's best album is still a toss between Final Straw and Eyes Open. That's what the general mass of them thinks.

And quite obviously, I disagree.
Yes, AHMS is not Eyes Open. It's cheerful, it's happy, and it's reflective, but in an optimistic way. Both albums make you feel nostalgic, but while Eyes Open will make you think of the days when you felt your worst, and of the days that you wanted to curl up and die just at the thought of another day in your dreary existence, AHMS will bring to your mind the colours of an amusement park flashing past your eyes, the smell of buttered popcorn, the feel of your favourite blanket on a cold night, the taste of your favourite food on the day that you feel the sickest. I wouldn't exactly call it upbeat, but it's definitely one of those albums that will make you smile. Eyes Open reopened wounds and made you cry inside, and AHMS is a phantom kiss on your forehead, it is a reassuring hug, it is a wonderful band-aid.
Snow Patrol goes all out in this album, reverting back to their more gutsy songs, reminiscent of Final Straw's Spitting Games and Tiny Little Fractures. Although their lead guitar has definitely mellowed down, and yes, their bass guitar is not that discernable anymore, Snow Patrol has definitely mastered the art of combining all the standard band instruments, mellowing them down to their style, and throwing in a few piano chords in the mix to make it unique. The chorus of each of their songs is more crowd-friendly, with simple background vocal effects that exude the aura of a large stadium without compromising on the homeliness of the band. Snow Patrol has always maintained that they are not one of the bands that will be remembered for on-stage theatrics - their music and their entire persona is based upon their approachability and their easy going attitude. AHMS amplifies this very maxim.
Eyes Open was an album which when played in the order of listing, started off with the atmosphere-creating "You Are All I Have", became softer with Chasing Cars, reached a crescendo with Make This Go On Forever, employing martial drum beats, church-choruses and the persistent piano, then quietened again with Set the Fire.., and died down with The Finish Line.
AHMS is not an album that requires you to play in order, but if you do, then each song will make you wish you had heard it before, because the chorus is so infectious, you wish you knew how to sing along. There is the notable introduction of an acoustic guitar which lends a somewhat pleasantly jangly note, making you feel like you were at a live bar listening to them jam. Take Back the City, the first single from the album, is one of those very songs, bordering on an anthem-like sound, an acoustic bass-line and a tune that grows on you. I know someone who hated it at first listen, then went around humming it the rest of the week. It'll catch your attention, and it'll stay there. My favourite track as of now is Crack the Shutters, with a soundscape reminiscent of You Could Be Happy (high, isolating piano tinklings!), but this song is just so uplifting, it's amazing. A first listen will get you hooked, but by the time you read the lyrics, you wish this song had been written for you. Lifeboats is another one that is racing up my most-played list; I think it's because of the pitch - it just sounds a little different, like half-an-octave off the regular. Of course, I might be wrong, but I think that's why. The Golden Floor is slightly off the beaten track for Snow Patrol, with a very interesting beat that piqued my interest. However, the song that got me all curious was Snow Patrol's first 16-minute long song, called The Lightning Strike. The Lightning Strike has three parts, What if this Storm Ends?, The Sunlight Through the Glass, and Daybreak. All three parts are isolated songs on their own, bound by a common thread. While I would think it ambitious of Snow Patrol to infringe upon long songs that are normally the territory for more "hardcore" progressive rock bands, it's a brave try, and while I wouldn't say that the experiment entirely succeeded, it's nice to see that they're constantly try to reinvent and challenge themselves musically. It's not that I don't like it, but I just really don't see the point of having one long song, when clearly, it's just three songs. I'm assuming they know something I don't?

Conclusively, I'd say that AHMS certainly does not deserve the criticism that it has been the receiving end of. Most people who listen to Snow Patrol are those lovers who've only heard Eyes Open, and a few famous old ones, like Run, Spitting Games, and Chocolate. Yes, Eyes Open got them attention, and yes, it made them very, VERY famous, but it's presumptious to claim that the generally radio-friendly nature of AHMS is a desperate, Billboard-hungry claim to fame. No, Snow Patrol is not trying to knock anyone off the charts with this album, but it's rather clear why they say it's their best album ever. It's subtly diverse, with different beats, different styles.
But before I finish, I do have to lech over Gary Lightbody.
This guy is just unbelievable. I have ABSOLUTELY no words for him. He is just hot. The dishevelled wild look of Chasing Cars, the clean, light-stubbly Chocolate, and then neurotically love-struck in Crack the Shutters, this man makes me melt. And as if his visual appeal wasn't enough, he has an Irish accent, an amazingly English sense of sarcastic, wordplay humour. And he has pretty eyes.
And on top of that, he is about the most sensitive lyricist that I have heard of. He is one of those people who manages to write flattering and wonderful things about a girl, without being even a tiny bit corny, or cheesy or cliched. In When It's All Over, We Still Have to Clear Up, he makes being a stalker sexy with An Olive Grove Facing the Sea. He makes bonfires adventurous with Firelight.
In Songs for Polarbears, he sang Velocity Girl, and we all know what that did to me. In Final Straw, he brought on the apocalypse with Chocolate, became a high-school stalker in Spitting Games, and showed the magic of plain and simple piano with Same and also, the violin in Grazed Knees. And then in Eyes Open, we all forgave him for his mistakes, and we all fell in love, even though the album was penned by Lightbody in the avatar of a repenting philanderer.
And then in A Hundred Million Suns, he finally pushed me over the edge with Crack the Shutters.

Thanks a lot, Gary. Because of you, my expectations is the opposite sex are soaring high. They need to be tall, they need to be songwriters, and they need to be friendly.
~~Bonus points if their name is Gary.~~
~~Bnous browniepoints if their surname is Lightbody.~~

Oh God, I need to get a life.

I'm in Love.

2008-11-19T12:07:00.004+05:30

I'm very sorry, potential beaus. You can all shove off and go to hell. (Or stick around and worship from afar.)

I love Gary Lightbody.

And if you still want to change my mind, then I challenge you to write something more beautiful than the lyrics of "Crack The Shutters Open". (songlink) (lyricslink)

(Or you could just listen to it and float away like I did.)

~~P.S. - I f***ing HATE our postal system. Is it that hard for you guys to actually do your job once in a while, you lazy, bureaucratic, sloth-like, gosh-darned c***s?~~

Update - (19-30)

IT'S HERE!!

Dear (Nicholas) Michael (Way too lazy to type all your names) Stropko,

Thank you.

I'm Going Slightly Mad

2008-11-17T13:32:00.002+05:30

I wonder if this happens to everyone? Every time that I actually want to sit down and study, something keeps happening. Like, if I'm googling something for an answer, I'll start Facebook-ing (is that even a word?), or I'll start up conversations on MSN, and have about seven tabs open. If I'm doing Math with my iPod plugged in, I start doing karaoke and I start bopping (What a godawful word) to the beat, and then it goes downhill from there. I haven't studied at all (honest) this weekend, or even today, and the thing is, I want to but I feel somehow incapacitated. I open a book, and I cannot decide where to start, and by the time I start, I'm already bored. And I find ways to run online, or watch TV or something. I know, yeah, this is just EXTREME procrastination, but it's getting to a point where I'm beginning to scare myself. I'm not under any sort of pressure or anything (Psh, the ISCs are ... well, okay, I lied.). The thing is, I've never behaved like this before. I'm startling myself - I've never been one for studying much, but I'm not studying at all, and if I EVER want to escape to college I need to get through this.

Obviously, spending twenty minutes blogging about it has not really helped.

Playlist -

Do It Again - Queens of the Stone Age

The Caves of Altamira - Steely Dan

Spitting Games - Snow Patrol

This Fire - Franz Ferdinand

(As you can see, Disturbia is off the list. Happy?)

Reviews, Lists, and TAG!

2008-11-16T22:56:00.003+05:30

I just got home from watching 'Dasvidaniya - The Best Goodbye Ever.' It's a beautiful movie, and if you can, then do watch it. It is the story of a man who lives the most unimaginably sedentary life, and how he loves making lists, and how he makes and fulfills his penultimate list of Things to Do Before I Die. How one man is so inspired by death that he resolves to live life, fall in love, fall out of love, make a family, be famous - all in three months... it's a well-scripted movie with a strong plot. The background score is by Kailasa (Kailash Kher's band), and they produce some very rustic and earthy tunes that go wonderfully with the homeliness of the film. I would compare this score with Vedder's score for Into the Wild - it's very simple, it's very acoustic, it's lyrically rich without forced language, and it's got the feel of being very grounded. Vinay Pathak is effortless as the bumbling protagonist, but I loved the woman who played his mother, she was splendid in her scenes. All in all, a well-packaged, tightly scripted gem that I would definitely recommend. Most definitely.

What the film made me think about is my list of Things to Do Before I Die. I am morbidly afraid of death. Not in the way some people are paranoid and are afraid they are being trailed by mad hitmen and assassins; my fear is more of the kind where I worry about what happens when you die. My dad's father died when I was thirteen, and I remember some people crying with all their might, and I remember some people sitting quietly and contemplating. I remember my dad being stonily impassive through all the proceedings (he's never been the openly emotional kind), I remember seeing him glassily stare as they shaved his moustache, and I remember how the family looked for a suitable photograph that we could frame for the wall. I found the picture they finally used, he was smiling in that photograph, but what was he thinking before he died? Did he know, or was he just thinking of what he was going to do that day and then was interrupted by the Grim Reaper? Does he exist somewhere, spiritually maybe, physically he's just another set of ashes set to sail in the Ganga, does he like the picture we picked out, does he worry about where I'm going to go to college, is he even there?

And what happens when you die? What happens to the world you leave behind? Would you miss me, would you think of me when my favourite song came on the radio, would you delete my e-mails, would you visit this blog, would you wonder of what we could have still been had it not been for death? Would you cry, or would you put your grief in a box and grieve in seclusion, would you grieve at all? Will you remember me?

And here's a little more morbidity. My list of Things to Do Before I Die - (no particular order) (will be updated, keep looking.)

1) Publish a Book.

2) Go to a Snow Patrol and a Pearl Jam and a Damien Rice concert.

3) Throw a party for everyone I know and like, and tell them what I truly think of them.

4) Visit Stropko. (Like for real-real, not webcam or otherwise.)

5) Go to Russia. ( In the winter.)

You can do this tag if you want to, I just thought it would be interesting. (I'm tagging Michael in particular, but again, 'tis optional.)

Listening to -

Disturbia - Rihanna (Surprising, innit? It's not a bad song, and it's rather catchy.)

Tell Me Baby - RHCP

Viva La Vida - Coldplay

Textbook Love - Fleet Foxes

Artsy Girl and the Beggar Babies

2008-11-15T19:38:00.008+05:30

I hate the beggar babies outside school. There are two sets of them, one near the BITM bus-stop corner, and the other set lives next to the mosque, close to the place which sells all that junk-food. They're pretty horrible, these children. Every time you buy some street-food and savour it on the way back from School, (before you're forced to share it with the people in the carpool), they'll holler at you while hanging from the metal bits of the bus-stop railing, and they'll turn their eyelids upside down until your entire appetite disappears, and you're forced to relinquish your food to them. Friggin' beggars. I hate the ones at the bus-stop.

Not as much as I hate the ones around the mosque. This one time, some of us were eating ice-cream outside the gate after one of the papers and a whole bunch of them descended and went, "Ey, Ey, Ey, Ami-o achskrem khabo! (x N, N=ad nauseam.) (Translation: "Ey, Ey, Even I want to eat ice-cream".) Then they circled us and sang that. Then the tiniest one tried to grab the ice-cream. A little while later (after we came out of hiding), we saw that the tiniest one had been abandoned by the rest. Although it looked kind of happy, because it was sitting on the goat that the people from the mosque had tied to the railing. (This was before Bakri-Id.)

So, anyway, I hate the beggar babies outside the School. Very uncouth.

But, this post is not about them. This post is about the only beggar babies I like. Near my house, there is a flower-store run by this oldish lady, and she sells really old and bad flowers, but people still buy flowers from her store for some reason. And near her store, on the pavement, there are these two little children who play and squeal all the time. I just assumed that they were part of the Indian-Suburb scenery. Not that I live the suburbs.(Tollygunge is hardly the suburbs, but still, it's sort of quiet-ish on the street where I live.)

Then this one morning, I was waiting at the gate for my carpool to arrive, (It's always late.), and then I noticed the two beggar babies (one of them is five, and the other is two), skipping along the street barefoot, going, "Lalalalalalalalalaaaaaa!!". And since they spoke in my language of the Lalala, I grinned at them, and they grinned back. My mum, (who'd been watching from the balcony above all this while, the sneak) later told me their story. It's sort of sad, but it has a happy ending.

The two beggar babies are the grand-daughters of the old lady who sells bad flowers. The flower-lady's son was married to the mother of the beggar-babies, but then he died (well, that's what they presume), and then, their mother ran away and abandoned them. So, their grandmother adopted them (unofficially, duh), and now they live with her. They even go to school because some extremely nice rich guy in the neighbourhood has been financing their pre-school education. On days when they have no school, the two beggar babies (they are both girls), help their grandmother by skipping along to every house in the neighbourhood within walking distance and deliver flowers. I'm assuming the only reason the old lady still has customers is because her little delivery-girls are as cute as hell. They always run barefoot on the street, despite the fact that they both own shoes. They are friends with every stray dog in the locality, and all the dogs do their bit to protect them in the mornings, when the deliver the flowers. There's always a stray dog that accompanies them when they walk along, and every time a vehicle comes by, the dog nudges them to the side. They thank the dog by trying to climb over it, but I really don't think that the dog minds it. I have a feeling it likes it.

The two-year-old tries to even ride bareback on the dog on the return journey, but that is something even the dog won't put up with.

So that's their story. Two abandoned little girls who are growing up as neighbourhood children.

Sometimes, all it takes to change the world is a random act of compassion. (I didn't make that up, it's a quote from Evan Almighty.)

Also, in completely unrelated (well, not really) news, I've finally done a little more artwork. I did this on one sheet of paper, but I don't have a scanner, so I had to take a picture of them, which was essentially pretty sub-standard, so I cropped and made them separate images. I know the signature is not very necessary, but I'm like that, so there.

I was actually trying to draw the beggar babies, but they look nothing like this, but it's still quite good, so I'm going to put it up. You can critique the art, but be nice. I'm not normally this artsy.

Listening to -

Apocalypse Now - Muse (They amaze me with every song. Except Starlight, which was ~~a piece of bullshit~~ - Well, it's not that great, Pff.)

Schrei - Tokio Hotel (Stuck in my head. And it's German, and the only part I can sing is "Nein nein nein nein, Schreeeeeeeiiiii!")

Whipping - Pearl Jam (Bloody awesome bass riff.)

Matinee - Franz Ferdinand (It's never complete without a seductive song by FF, now is it?)

Ponderings on the American Electoral Process

2008-11-14T18:31:00.003+05:30

Well, the election is finally over. Two years of ponderings, debates, scandals, arguments, speculation, and mindless drivel has finally ceased, so I figure I'll take one more look at the results and give my personal opinion on them.

We'll start with Barack Obama. He seems to be quite the lightning rod these days...I've never heard anyone express an indifferent opinion towards the guy. He's either the second coming of Jesus Christ, who will free America of all of its burdens, escort in a new era of prosperity and wealth, and bring CHANGE! (who woulda thunk it), or he's the Anti-Christ, a demon who was sent here to turn us into socialist weaklings who get terrorized every week, have abortion kiosks in malls, and allow men to marry inanimate objects. It's simply amazing how people can have such differing opinions on the exact same guy, with the exact same issues, and the exact same information. Anyhoo, while I personally would have voted for John McCain, I do wish Obama all the luck in the world. He's gonna need it.

Sarah Palin. Gah, why did McCain have to pick Palin. Yes, she did excite the base for awhile. Then, it kinda kicked in that she's a hockey mom with no foreign policy experience. And she's so. Damn. FOLKSY. Seriously, is it necessary to wink at the camera every five minutes? We know you're a mother who's incapable of naming her children names that will not scar them for the rest of their lives, but take this seriously. We know you're folksy. Show us that you can do, you know, political stuff. I think it might be rather important, no?

John McCain. Ahh, John the Maverick. Creating political turmoil for everyone but himself everywhere he goes. He doesn't conform to one party, he gets things done. I kinda like John (despite the fact that I think his constant reminder that he's a maverick is a bit weak--you're in Washington D.C., not the Old West. You're just a politician.), and I'd say I agree with him on a lot of issues. However, he kinda was the fall guy this year. After eight years of Bush, the conservatives didn't stand a chance. I think he ran a great campaign, he had a lot of dignity, and I've got a lot of respect for him.

I'm not even going to touch Joe Biden, because no one really knows about him. I will, however, leave you with a quote that he said during the Primaries. "The presidency is not something that lends itself to on-the-job training". I hope that Obama keeps that in mind when he picks his Cabinet.

Oolf and the Girl

2008-11-11T23:20:00.003+05:30

Listening to -

Michael - Franz Ferdinand. (This GAY song keeps getting stuck in my head.) (Oh, and haha.)

In Command of Cars - Snow Patrol. (Very, very moody. Unknown, and awesome.)

Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend. (I don't know, but it's very hooking. "Why would you lie about something dumb like that?")

Red Morning Light - Kings of Leon. (Just like that.)

Seriously, just because Anushka wanted to marry a wolf when she was four or something does not make her a true wolf addict. In any case, not that I care. However, you should know, that I am, and that I shall always be, the first of the greatly vocal wolf-lovers.

I'm not going to tell you when and/or why I began loving wolves. Trust me, it's a very embarrassing story that only about two or three people know. The fact is, I fell in love with the amazingly masculine wildness that wolves embody. There is something so mysterious in their eyes, and their eyes have so much depth, so much of that erudite shine. There is that fantastically stately aura about them, that sense of power, that sense of dignity, and yet that slight strain of humility that stops it from becoming arrogance. There is that body, that shape, that streamline of a vicious hunter. The powerful ribcage, the ripple of muscle underneath that fur, the claws that are capable of unleashing utter bestiality. Sharp ears, alert ears. Powerful legs. The walk that borders, yet respectfully refrains from being a swagger. That gait, full of mastery. The turn of the head. The magical silhouette. And the howl that is just so raw, and so rugged, and so haunting.

Wolf is just hot, okay?

Yes. If you will excuse my animalistic lechery, I shall tell you more reasons why I am Oolf Lover Number One -

I can draw a perfect wolf silhouette in under 10 seconds. It is an art.

I did a 25 page project on wolves. The Iberian Wolf, to be precise.

I once had an imaginary wolf pet called Cinnamon. This would ordinarily be cute, but it's a little bit scary considering that I was 15 when I said this.

Cinnamon was a Cinnamon Wolf. I may not be original, but I have my facts right.

Besides, I love Wolf. I wanted to call everything Wolf.

And if you notice, even this blog is slightly wolfish.

I always WOLF my food down. This is off-topic, but still.

I can also Howl like the Wolf.

I am always Hungry like the Wolf. (For food.)

And since I have begun babbling, its time for me to hit Publish. Hahahahaaa!!

Saturday. And Sunday. And Suicide.

2008-11-08T23:06:00.003+05:30

I hate this weekend, which is saying a lot, because school sucked this week too.

A fifteen page Physics project, Chem orals, a random debate, Rogue Badminton(!). There's only so much I can do running on sleep-deprivation. And then comes along glorious Saturday, and then in the morning I realised that the Math tutor was arriving at 3.30, and I hadn't done any of his homework, so I had to solve three hours worth of Math in four hours, then the mother ranted about stuff, so I couldn't slack off in the evening either. I spent my evening studying Alternating Currents Theory, and I just noticed that the set of numericals at the back has 76 sums, not counting short answers, multiple choices, and higher level questions. And that inventory is for one book, and I have two books on Physics, so there goes Sunday. Solving about 200 sums on currents that go up-and-down, periodically. Whee. Grr.

Screw weekends.

My jailer is being an absolute mother this week. And reports come out next Friday, so in essence, I need Cyanide. Or Happiness. Either will do, but I may require a lot.

Oh, and By the Way...

2008-11-01T19:07:00.004+05:30

"The last time we talked, Mr.Smith, you reduced me to tears. I promise you that won't happen again."

I saw you today, but you didn't see me,

But maybe that was because I was hiding behind a tree.

For a long while, I debated over whether I should say "Hello",

Or whether I should just look at you, and then let you go.

I didn't quite see what you were doing,

But that was okay, because I was busy debating.

At first sight, you seemed just as you were sometime before,

Then I realised, I don't hero-worship you anymore.

This what they meant when they said, "Move ON!"

But back then I was too bust crying over the fact that you were gone.

See, the thing is, I still like you,

But it's just too much of a bother to love you,

Because, when I do that, I become an anti-me,

And I'd much rather be happy and be lonely.

You're not worth the trouble I put myself into,

Screw You.

By the way, the situation is something like,

It's your problem, all yours, not mine,

Your loss, all yours, not mine,

I've moved on, as is evident -

I just thought you'd like to know.

Procrastination--Friend of Foe?

2008-10-27T10:05:00.004+05:30

Well here I am. Another Sunday night. Another load of homework to do. It's times like these that I ask myself, "Why the hell did you do this? You weren't that busy this weekend. You could have knocked out half of this already." But no. Of course not. I must yet again torture myself in the name of homework and procrastination. How much longer can I keep this up? Am I going to be like this when I'm older? Is this something I just grow out of? Gah, I'm much too speculative. And yet, these questions nag me. Sure, I could be like most people and just take my procrastination in stride, taking things day-by-day and living for the moment but no, I must persist in my constant worrying. And to top that off, I need to be reading, not writing blog posts. Oh well.

And on top of that, which college am I going to go to? I'm not even going to get into that. I'm worrying too much, I need to relax. And do AP Chem. Gah, I just realized I have AP Chem.

Yeah, this is starting to feel all rambly and stream-of-conscious-ey, so I'm thinking I should just stop. Yes, that's probably the best idea. Ok, I'll blog post sometime when I'm less introspective. Bye all of you Indian people...

Oh, and what's with the lack of comments? The only comments I've received are from Sahana correcting typos. Thanks for the hearty welcome. Psh.

Post-It

2008-10-22T22:33:00.003+05:30

Okay, just a teeny post-it sort of blogpost today. First off, Stropko, congratulations on the license, now you can sneak around the tempting hamlet of SJC on four wheels legally.

I noticed just now that this blog has three followers. We're getting popular, aren't we? Eight-odd readers and three followers, how perfectly peachy. (Yes, I said 'peachy'. Get over it.)

Not a lot has happened this week, aside from three days of school. And I haven't ditched yet, and I don't plan to. I feel very responsible. (*evil laugh*)

We've begun studying Quantum Physics in class, which is quite a trip. When your first lesson includes a Nobel-winning theory and something called Planck's Constant, you know you're in the major league. In the same vein, I must add here that I can now name all the major bones of the body, something that makes me feel very important. And I just have to, HAVE TO, add that my Bio teacher (M.Ali, not DrD) has the oddest sense of humour, ever.

Learning about bones, he remarked : "The femur is the most powerful bone in the body, I should know. Why? Because a medical student once hit me over the head with one."

And then, he told us the story of how he used to play cricket in college, and the med-students got annoyed over some faulty umpiring, so they came to beat the opposing team up, with ten hockey-sticks, and one THIGH-BONE. So much for dinner-table anecdotes.

OH! And I passed Chemistry. Sometimes, the big guy up there can't resist proving his presence to us non-believers.

I'm also indulging in a spot of artwork, which makes me feel at peace with myself. Ah, love.

Snow Patrol's album just leaked onto the Internet, and I am resisting temptation. I am NOT going to download it. I am NOT going to download 'A Hundred Million Suns'.

Two-Odd Months to Christmas.

Playlist - Blackest Eyes, Porcupine Tree;

House of the Rising Sun, Muse;

Who Wants to Live Forever, Queen.

P.S. - A slightly happier alter-ego post is in the works. Maybe this time I'll focus on the relationships instead of the breakdowns.

Licensed, but to what degree?

2008-10-21T13:25:00.007+05:30

I am an officially licensed driver as of today. While it is extremely exciting (combine that with the fact that I now have my new laptop and you have one fantastic week), it got me thinking as to what it means to have a license. While the implications may not seem like much, I'm beginning to see that I'm not going to be hanging around home any more. It's a bit of a wake up call--while still under the complete jurisdiction of my parents, I will be out of the house soon. I'm becoming more independent, taking on more irresponsibility, and preparing myself for the ominous "real world" you always hear stuffy adults talking about.

And am I ready?

HELL NO.

I still feel like a kid. Yes, I have reaped the benefits that have inevitably come with age, and while I have grown much more intelligent and accumulated an impressive vocabulary, I by no means feel like an adult at heart. I'm not ready to hold down a steady job, or pick a career for that matter (sorry Sahana, I'm still not sure about the whole Cardiologist thing). I see an impasse approaching, but do not know what to do but avert my eyes and shield my face. Where do I want to college. What in the hell am I going to do with my life? I've got unbridled potential but no direction. As of late I've been leaning towards doctor of some sort, but sometimes I think maybe a lawyer would be cool. And then there's the rebellious side of me that wants me to just travel the world and fuck it all. He is in constant battle with the diligent, responsible part of me, who wants me to go to college and get a career. While I think when I get out of college I'm going to travel, I don't want to get tied down to some career I don't like. So much in this life you see people doing boring jobs, and being stuck there because they have a family to support. I want to avoid this, but I don't know what to do. Gah.

What to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to do what to doooooo?

I'm confuzzled.

Oh, and P.S.--Something really annoying is happening. My PreCalculus teacher always likes to make up words that sound like other words (for example, he'll say slob instead of solve, or cluckulate instead of calculate), and it's rather infectious. Combine that with the fact that I have Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd stuck in my head, and I keep getting the line "to be a slimple....kind of man" stuck in my head. Damn Mr. Bakhos.

It's time for a rant-post!

2008-10-18T22:43:00.003+05:30

Listening to - All sorts of Country Music by Shania Twain and Carrie Underwood.

Lot of random blogging to be done, so bear with me here.

The most important thing that happened this week would be that I returned to school. Now, if you can ignore Stropko's loud whoops of extreme joy and victory. One day of school made me more tired than two weeks of holidays. I went to school on Wednesday, and spent most of Thursday morning agonising over strained leg muscles, then I did school on Thursday (I would NEVER miss school on Thursday), then VOICE, then Chem. and then I collapsed. So much so, that I skipped Friday.

We've more or less entered the last term of school. Ever. And Winter terms are always the shortest, so by all standards of sentiment, I should have a countdown up somewhere. People have already started doing that, by the way. Every event that we have is greeted with the shout of "This is our last in school!", followed by some dopes who start bawling their guts out.

It happened on Teacher's Day, when we had that really amazing programme. While the majority of the student body was most fussed about the teachers leaving for lunch so we could feast on the leftover food, some dumbass yelled out this thing about this being "Last Teacher's Day EVER", and that-perfectionist-in-Humanities started crying, although I didn't really notice until after I was done stuffing my face with the cake.

In any case, my point is, it didn't really matter to me. Somehow, all this talk of leaving, and of farewells doesn't really bother me. It's a little scary to sound so indifferent, especially because I have absolutely NO idea where I'm going for higher studies, or whether I'm passing at all (which would make all farewells futile). I know it sounds callous. On numerous occassions, Anushka's asked me to stop being such a black-hearted-nutcase and show some feeling. Even over talks of the VOICE farewell. I don't get it. I really don't. Like I keep saying, I'll be happy to get out of here. It's not as if I'm not going to miss school, but quite frankly, 12 years is kind of an okay point to give it a rest. It's been a great 12 years, and I've loved all the three schools I've been in, and I've never regretted any of it, but I want to move forward now.

Maybe that makes me an "Stone-Queen", like my mum puts it.

Whatever. I'm just choosing to focus on the 'entering a new phase' more than the 'leaving of an old one'.

I don't even think it makes me emotionless in any way. People who know me well enough know that emotionless is not really my kind of label. I'm more of the throw-yourself-into-it-with-all-you-got-who-cares-what-happens sort of person. I'm just throwing myself into the other side.

At the start of 2008, I decided to keep a diary, because the conformist-sentimentalist in me wanted to record the events of my last year in school. It contains -

Some entries from that brief phase when I dotted my i's with hearts.

Entries from when I was completely pissed off because I wasn't made a prefect, when some other people were.

An entry cursing my Hindi teacher (Quote - "I hate you, you killer of English thoughts. I could curse you in a thousand vernaculars, but I'm afraid I'll spell them wrong. I hate you, Hag-ess.")

One page with the words of 'Hey There Delilah', a song that now annoys me.

Lots of scratched out doodles.

And finally, lines in multiple pages saying "I love bio. What would I do without bio? Bio should just marry me." etc. in a similar vein.

I don't know why I would choose to put up this on a blog. The six of you don't really need to read this if you don't want to!

<3,>

P.S. - Shania Twain and Mark McGrath's 'Party for Two' is stuck in my head. It's extremely nondescript, but oddly infectious. Don't listen to it.

On second thought, Do.

If VOICE members are reading this, please campaign for a larger cake. I guarantee we have funds.

Snow Patrol's new album releases in less than seven days. I need to conserve bandwidth for downloads, UNLESS..

Hypocrisy?

2008-10-17T12:30:00.003+05:30

Before I begin, I just would like to say that I am jealous of the story-telling ability of Sahana. I am not nearly that poetic or eloquent. Anyways...

It's about midnight here in Southern California, and my little brother is just getting around to doing his science project. He needs to find out a way to make an object more four meters without pushing it off...he's using a small tank of CO2. Now, it is extremely hypocritical for me to be telling him to do his homework, as I myself am still working on AP US History. The difference between us, though, is that I am a reasonably responsible student, while he is a slacker. I have mostly good grades, all of which the result of self-motivation, while he is always at the risk of being sent off to boarding school. No joke. If his grades fall below a B- average, he is sent to boarding school. Because of this, I (due to some form of pity for my brother) helped him search for a vehicle to be propelled by the CO2, and have motivated him through the night. Whatever, he'll probably end up in boarding school anyway.

Oh, and in other news, I found an AMAZING website for classical sheet music. www.imslp.org has a ridiculous array of sheet music for all kinds of instruments, and as they're all public domain, they're all free. Hooray!

A New Technological Gizmo Beckons Me!

2008-10-15T06:08:00.003+05:30

Just a quick post on how I'm getting my new laptop. I'm VERY excited...it should be here in about two days. I doubt anyone cares, but I thought I would inform all six of you anyway. Cheerio!

-Stropko

(Note - I didn't publish this, Stropko did, but the typo was too painful.. sorry Nick, but I'm a maniac like that. - Sahana)

Making Enemies (When It's All Over, We Still Have to Clear Up)

2008-10-14T10:21:00.003+05:30

"I never knew the taste of blood till now,

It's clear I never should have known."

"If you shut your eyes very tight and you try to forget something with all you might, you might, End up eventually erasing the condemning memory, but all that effort will almost make you taste blood - make you feel the strangely intense power of the blood that flows within you,that makes you feel red, make you see red., and the realisation will make you feel giddy; it shall empower you, it shall frighten you, because it is in that fascinating moment that you realise what you truly are capable of doing in you anger"

She shut the book and flung it across the room, stunned and slightly pleased to hear a sorry 'thud' as it hit the wall and slumped to the floor with a crumble and crackle of pages. The blood, her blood, was rushing through, humming pleasantly in her ears, and she stared at her ink-stained hands all red and sweaty from the arguments and the subsequent writings.The clammy warmth was new - now she looked up, now she saw him.

He saw her writing furiously, her hands a blur as she struggled to pen the thoughts that raced in her head. He saw her fling the book across the room with a carelessly powerful flick of the wrist. She saw the glimmer in her eyes, and he watched transfixed as she stood against the window, staring incredulously at her own hands. She was wild, she was a silhouette as she stood, a black figure against the glaring sunlight pouring through the windows, her hair a mass of wispy flames that looked both incongruous and perfect against her face.

She saw him at the edge of the room, he was looking at her, as if he had never seen her before, in a way that he had never looked at her before. He cut a lean figure in the shadows, a face too childish, and an expression too serious. He had always been so secretive, and everytime he spoke to you, you felt special, because it felt like you were good enough to know what he was telling you. He had always been distant, she'd never understood it,

she had admired it, but never been envious. Today, she wanted nothing more to do with it.

No one ever understood why they had ever bought that house - the hallways sliced through the architecture, cordoning off parts of the house, relegating sections to permanent illumination and total darkness. They fell in love with it instantly, it was a house, they thought, built especially for them.

She was a creation of the Sun, she was born for the daytime, for all the spotlights, she was born to shine, she needed to glow, and the light was hers.

And the darkness was his, he revelled in the shade, he revelled in her shade. He loved to hide, to observe unnoticed, always the queer half-smile, always the slightly supercilious expression.

She was the fire, he was the darkness - he was that darkness in the heart of her flame, and they co-existed;

precariously,

dangerously,

wonderfully.

Everyone was slightly afraid of them - jealous of them - amazed at them. They were a whirlwind, chaotically impulsive, inexplicably destructive, one's presence sparking off the volatility in the other, at once it was calm, they were serene, silent, separate, and it was

just the calm before another storm.

But that was all in the past, the final storm had raged through, even they could not withstand it, and even now, the debris lay strewn.

She had smashed his favourite record against the wall - "I never really liked it anyway", she had whispered, with glittering eyes.

He had ripped her favourite book, the cover in one hand, torn pages flying out of the other - "I didn't like it either", he smiled back, with

cold, cold eyes.

He had pulled the curtains shut, closed all the windows - "Hurts my eyes". She had set his desk on fire, "Likewise."

They stood, he having cast darkness where she had shone, she having brought light into all his shadows.

They felt exultant, they felt feral - he could see how madly her eyes glinted, she could feel his cold wrath rising, and it was exciting. They realised then that it was all over, she had burnt it down, he had covered it, and there was nothing left.

He saw her now among the ashes, while the torn pages whistled around. She looked up at him defiant, and as he shifted his weight from one foot to another, she heard the faintly satisfying crunch of broken vinyl.

"I'm leaving tonight", she said, flatly.

He nodded, "Alright", then clicked the door open,

And walked out into the sunlight.

(Note: First off, this isn't really inspired by anything, if you must know. I just wrote it last afternoon because it was too hot and I didn't feel like doing Math. I don't like it anymore, but whatever. The opening paragraph on blood is something that I actually wrote a while ago. I promised you an Alter-Ego post, and here it is. And yes, it's in a story-format, not actually inspired by Anushka's story, just a startling coincidence. Much thanks to Snow Patrol's song 'Making Enemies' (Album - When it's All Over, We Still Have to Clear Up) for the title, and also the song 'Ways and Means' (Album - Final Straw), because the first two lines are lyric quotes. They're also very nice songs, in case you're looking for downloads.

Oh, and specifically, the argument didn't really happen, but I would, oddly, love to have such a ferociously enervating fight. Yeh, yeh. I'm done.)

The Times They Are a-Changin'

2008-10-14T06:31:00.004+05:30

Ahh, I walked outside the other night to accompany my brother on a drive, when lo and behold, it was cold. Not just cold, frigid. This was the first day in recent memory that I have been able to say that it has been truly cold. and I am exuberant. The cold weather brings back fond memories of Christmases passed when life wasn't so complicated. It's soothing, cooling, and it makes you feel so amazingly comfortable and cozy once you hurry out of the car, throw off your shoes, and dive under a blanket. Ahh, the winter.

And there's more. With winter (at least in Southern California) brings rain. While this may not be true for some, I absolutely adore the rain. It makes me feel like the whole world is cleansed, at least for a little while. Its drops fall on my skin and I feel at peace. Perhaps it's just me, but whenever this time of year rolls around, I'm overjoyed that at last the heat has passed, and it's time for another cup of hot chocolate and a warm blanket. I'm already wondering what this Christmas will bring. Ahh, the memories.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,
In the lane, snow is glistening,
A beautiful sight,
we're happy tonight,
Walking in a Winter Wonderland.

Gone away is the Bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird.
He sings a love song,
as we go along,
Walking in a Winter Wonderland.

Why 'ello 'ello there.

2008-10-13T11:48:00.005+05:30

My name is Nick Stropko. Or Stropko. Or Jesus-lovin'-white-boy, depending on who you talk to. I'm 16, and I live in the famed Orange County, California. I'm a bit of an odd one (one of the prerequisites to writing on this blog, of course), as I like a combination of playing/writing songs on my piano, writing lyrics that I can never write a satisfactory piano part for, messing around on my computy box, and generally geeking out. Oh, and listening to music is also a huge part of my life. I don't want to get too much into who I am, as I feel it would be better to let my personality develop over the course of my blogging career (would be considered a career?...oh well), so just be expecting some posts fairly frequently from me in the future. Be expecting updates soon!

-Stropko

Hello, Hello!

2008-10-13T11:38:00.003+05:30

(No, that does NOT refer to Chetan Bhagat's movie.

YOU get over it.)

Dear Six People who Read my Blog,

I now have a co-writer. While yes, it does mean that I get more publicity (because two people know more people than one person), it also means that you get double the crazy on this blog.

I'll let him introduce himself, if he wants to, or whatever, the thing is, I now have a co-writer. Please be nice to him. (*snork*).

Oh, and here's his awesomely pointless blog with four posts, written over the period of about 10 months. But, he promises to update more often on JuvenileSenile, and I believe him, for now.

I'b siiiiiig!

2008-10-11T19:53:00.003+05:30

Do kiddig, I agjually sound lyg dad ryd dow. (You may have to read that out loud to understand it.)

I'm pretty sure Chetan Bhagat read my blog and pronounced a teeny little death-wish upon my soul. But seeing as he's incoherent and rather stupid, the powers-that-be sort of screwed up his request, and gave me a common cold.

Either that, or the DAMN viruses FOUND ME!

Anyhoo, the point of this post was to blog about a couple of things from my twisted past. This morning, my mum and I were in a (rather rare) talkative mood, and basically, she told me about the first real school I ever went to, when I was three, and this girl next to me kept stealing all my pencils, and one day my mum got so tired of buying me new ones that she went and complained to the teacher, who then yelled at me in class the next day, reminding me every five minutes NOT to lose my pencil.

Which didn't help.

When I was Class One, my parents realised for the first time that I was a real smart-ass. We were doing homonyms in class when my teacher (who, by the way, is called CRYSTAL, AND she was a nun. Go figure.) said that Air, Hair, Hare were pronounced the same. Following her logic, I said, so, add Heir to the list. She refused to believe me.

The next day, I dragged a dictionary to school.

And when we were in Darjeeling, I had this really mean Hindi teacher who yelled at me all the time. Once, in her class, I had this really awesome colour-changing eraser, so I was playing with it, while she screamed in the background, saying, "Look at this girl! I'm yelling at her and she's playing with an eraser!!". So I smiled a little smile to myself, thinking how hilarious it was that the kid who was getting yelled at was ALSO playing with her eraser.

But she meant me.

I'm SO tired of sneezing. I'm sure the air around me has these toxic virus-thingies that are going to take over the world and infect other people. All I want to do is sleep, but my nose keeps acting up, and now it's all red and drippy, and I can't smell anything, and I can't taste anything, and my head is throbbing - I've reached that point of exhaustion where it's impossible to rest.

I'b siiig. >.<

Not What I Promised

2008-10-09T18:33:00.002+05:30

Yes, yes, I know, and I apologise to all of the four people who read this blog. I haven't been updating for a while. First the holidays started, then my father came to visit and kept snatching the laptop so he could play Freecell *snarl*, and I do have ideas in my head for one of my Alter-Ego posts, but I haven't really formatted it out in my head, so bear with me. All in good time.

This week has been pretty good, seeing as I basically gave up on studying and the mother has been quite alright with it. I had a Lotus Buds Editors Meeting the other day, which was rather fun, except for the fact that the Junior Editors are lazy pain-in-the-asses. I also survived getting hurled to death, because I was supposed to go on the Deshpriya Park ferris wheel with SGpt and Sood the same afternoon, but we were too contented after lunch to walk, so we decided to stay indoors and stalk people on Facebook, which we didn't do, but the thing is, the next morning I read in the papers that the ferris wheel had catapulted three people to their death the evening that we were supposed to go. So, yeah, I thwarted Death.

I also attended the birthday party of a three-year-old. While the child is question is one that I am quite fond of, birthday parties for toddlers aren't exactly the hippest place to be, but to salvage that, there was a ball-pit (!) in the room, and although no one let me in (on account of me being completeyl capable of killing a few children while in the pit), it made for some good daydreaming. And there was Chinese food, which is always a treat.

Oh, and an ant got into my ear that same day. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, and even if it is, in fact, a big deal, it is ordinarily something that people DON'T post about, but how many of the four people who read this blog have had an insect go into their ear? And FYI, it hurts like bloody murder. Slightly more painful than if you decided to saw your leg off and hopped one-legged around the world on a blood-stained stump of a footless leg. Ants that generally die because of my thumb's wrath finally got their revenge when one of their bravest ventured into my ear, and scrabbled all over my eardrum, causing me to writhe on the floor, having painful spasms. And my parents, (yes, both of them. My dad's visiting, remember?), well, both of them, for a good while, thought that I was being a whiner, and that I was throwing a tantrum because I didn't want to go to the party of the aforementioned Three-Year-Old. I think it was my repetitive cry of "MY EAR! DAMMIT MY EAR IS ON FIRE!!! *silently* FCKFCKFCK!! *loudly* MY EAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!"

At which point they probably realised, that me yelling about foreign objects in my ear is probably not the strongest argument that I had, and that maybe, just MAYBE, there was something in my ear?

I also went book-shopping today, and bought a wonderful new sketchbook for myself, because the old one that I had finished, besides, the pages were so big that it was becoming very hard to draw things that covered it entirely. The new sketchbook is so pretty that I'm actually a little afraid of drawing in it. And I went out and bought One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey, and The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More by Roald Dahl. The first out of curiosity, the second because I've been waiting a while to finally buy it.

On the way to the bookstore, I passed a cinema-hall which was promoting "Hello!", based on Chetan Bhagat's One Night at the Call Centre, or as rabid fans of the book/author say "ON@TTC". And at the store too, there was some shiny version of ON@TTC the book. Shiny book versions are only reserved for those books which are actually good, which essentially makes my blood boil, because Chetan Bhagat, quite frankly, is a SHIT author. His books read like the journal of a half-wit. The vocabulary is uninspiring, so uninspiring that in the course of reading, I am tempted to throw the book at the wall, because reading it is like working at an assembly line. You drag yourself through it because of no real reason, there is no brain activity involved, and each new thing you see is exactly the thing that was before.

My mother (who at least tries to be less opinionated, or maybe she just doesn't argue as vociferously as me) says that his books are meant for people who don't generally read, for people who aren't that naturally interestedin literature, and for people like these, it's an enjoyable read. Fine. Maybe. I'm not classifying his books are BAD literature, because (like this debate topic we once had), there really IS no such thing as bad literature. What I am APPALLED by is the singular fact that although someone as dimwitted as Bhagat pens his books, there are still people who read his drivel. Seriously, I know his writings are directed towards and centered around the common man, but all his three books deal with somewhat fat, loser-like Caricatures who, in the beginning, start off as highly useless and detrimental to general well-being, and then, somehow, normally unavailable Hot Girl becomes friends with them. Caricature will also have stereotypical friends - the Cool Dude (gets all the girls, is rich and is a poster boy for promiscuity and Brylcreem), the Total Loser (who is good at heart, and just like protagonist, only WAY lamer). Then, Caricature will sleep with Hot Girl, and no matter what the situation, things go downhill from here, everyone argues, screws up, cries blah-blah-blah, someone tries to kill themself/kill someone else, or some other life-altering change happens, Hot Girl and Caricature get back together, and the friends return too, and The End.

Once was enough. But if this guy tries to go all Bollywood of the 90s on readers and taints literature by mechanically selling us assembly-line drivel, SOMETHING'S got to give.

And all this, just because I saw a shiny edition of a shit book.

I just know it now. I'm going to become one of those short-haired spinsters with a cat, who lives in a sterile apartment, goes to bookstores to purposefully knock over stacks of crap books, and writes mean Letters to the Editor in the newspaper. I'm going to become one of those bitter old hags (who blogs).

Or, I'll become one of those women with more children than she can count, in a bookstore trying to buy good books while all the children slide across the store's floor - the woman who 'accidentally' knocks over a stack of crap books and blames it on the kid who happens to be running the fastest.

In either case, the thing is, stacks of books by Chetan Bhagat are never safe when I'm in the store.

Le Chanson!

2008-10-03T10:57:00.003+05:30

While I have, for a long time, believed that I am rather diverse in matters of music, I never thought my love for songs extended this far.

Yesterday,I was scouring iTunes for free things that were actually of any good. I swear, iTunes is rather useless. I know they're trying to make profit and all, but would it kill them to put up some good music on free sharing once in a while? All the good stuff is just way overpriced and the things that are free are basically junk. But during my search, I did come across an extremely interesting Podcast series, called Tempo Rock, and surprise, surprise, it's free, so I did download it, and surprise, surprise, it was not as crappy as I thought it would be. So much for pre-concieved notions, I'm sorry iTunes, I didn't mean to be so mean before. Although, your interface does kind of suck, and you are somewhat painstakingly slow.

In any case, Tempo Rock is fabulous, and it has all kinds of music on about half-an-hour long Podcasts, which make for enjoyable light listening, but what I didn't notice at first is the fact that it was called Tempo Rock FR. I did think FR stood for FREE, but surprise, surprise, FR stands for France. So, I have now, in my possessions, three Podcasts from a French Radio Station. The songs are English, but the radio jockey dude speaks French, and the song introductions are in French.

It's actually sort of fun, really.

"Le nouveux chanson, le artiste Flobots!". Ok, so I totally just made that up, but I do know now that 'chanson' means song, and that French spoken by native speakers is just as nasal as I thought it would be.

Still, it's a fun ride.

P.S. - My font is like the yellow polka-dot-bikini. It's itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny. *snork*. But if you do want to enlarge it, you can hit Ctrl and + together, and it becomes a little larger. <3

2008-09-29T21:01:00.002+05:30

I finish my exams in about 15 hours.

15 hours from now, no one will give a tiny little rat's ass about whether I study or not.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

And the pujos start from the 5th of October.

And lots of people I actually like are returning to the city.

ohthehappiness.ohthejoy.

and my font's going back to teeny.

Balls to you, Anushka.

For Some Reason, I Can't Explain It...

2008-09-27T15:54:00.003+05:30

For some reason, I am not studying Biology. The damned "b" key isn't working on my keyboard anymore, except when I jab it with extreme force.

I feel extremely useless, even more than on regular days. Sometimes, when I feel like this, I go to sleep, but yesterday, I slept for fifteen hours (yes, that long.) and now I feel like Superman. I want to DO something, only I feel rather incapacitated by my laziness.

I do not want to study Bio. I shall study it later.

I do not want to watch television. There is nothing interesting. I would like it if they aired an Ugly Betty rerun right about now. I love that show so much.

My mother has gone to some whole-sale cloth selling place. I don't even WANT to comment.

I do not want to call up anyone and talk on the phone. I do not like talking on the phone. It makes me feel very disembodied. And only people who don't know that ever call me up.

There is nothing on Facebook that I haven't already seen.

Even Stropko, the wonderfully-insomniac (Jesus-lovin'-White-Boy), seems to be either asleep, or otherwise incapable of instant-messaging services. Bah. Even Anushka isn't online. She's probably learning and re-learning her Psycho.

And I have an intense need to bite my fingernails, but I am trying to grow them (my fingernails), and the two needs are toying with my brain.

My Whole World Is Dead, I Tell You.

Agh. I wish the weather would stay like this forever. So comfortably icy. Also, I wish Snow Patrol would just hurry up and release their album. I want some new songs.

And I wish the Pujos would hurry up and come. I can't wait for the dhakis to begin playing, and the food, and the lighting, and the fact that no one really cares about how much you eat, not even your own digestive system.

PS - Because Anushka said so, I'm upping my font size from "smallest" to "small". Pff.

2008-09-27T13:58:00.002+05:30

One more, and then it is time for the Pujos.

*Evil Laugh*

Watching a Movie with Mummy

2008-09-24T10:44:00.003+05:30

So basically, me and my mother were watching Rock On! together yesterday, on DVD because we're too cheap-ass and bored to go to a theater, and there is this one line in the film which Purab Kohli, aka K.D., says - "When you're twenty, twenty-two, you think you can rule the world."

So, that made my mum exclaim, "SO true, SO true!"

And then she said - "It's so cute how these boys think they are rockstars."

At which point I was beginning to wonder whether she really understood what the movie was about. So, I said, "But they ARE rockstars."

Mum: "No, they're little boys who play on their instruments and pretend to have a career."
Me: "But being a rockstar is a real job. Like, with money, fame, and you know... stuff."
Mum: *puppy-dog eyes* "You're just seventeen, you wouldn't know."
Me: *obviously miffed with the age-related comment* "Mmpf."
Mum: "When you're 30, you'll know."
Me: *has thought of wonderfully witty comment* "Aww, you still remember what 30 feels like, Mum?
Mum: *is sending out wave upon wave of death threats and curses.. silently*
Me: *sidles away* "HAVE YOU NOTICED THIS BAND DOESN'T HAVE A BASS GUITARIST?"
Mum: *squints at television* "But they HAVE two guitars, na?"
Me: "Yes, but Joe is lead, and Aditya is a vocalist, and he's not bass, because he's not playing continuously."
Mum: "Which one is Joe?"
Me: "The one with the long hair."
Mum: *squints again* "They ALL have long hair."
Me: "The one who's playing a guitar, and has long hair."
Mum: "Oh. His hair is awfully floaty, you think they filmed the movie with a spot boy lugging a blower fan under him whenever Joe was on screen?"
Me: *is dumbfounded* *shudders slightly* "I don't know."

And so, now you know why I'm so dastardly random sometimes.

I do believe it's a little bit genetic.

Seventeen!

2008-09-21T20:57:00.002+05:30

This is my first blog post as a seventeen-year old.

Tomorrow's Chemistry exam *sigh* will be my first exam as a seventeen-year old.

Tomorrow's Chemistry exam will be the first exam that I shall fail as a seventeen-year old.

The debate at Delhi will be my first debate as a seventeen-year old.

Yesterday was a lameass birthday, by even my standards. I thought sixteen was sad, because I didn't get any presents, and no one really cared because it was right in the middle of the Half-Yearlies, and everyone was so assured and content in their failing grades that my birthday swooshed past without anyone noticing.

Yesterday was my seventeenth birthday, and I made everyone promise that they wouldn't call at midnight, because I fricking hate being woken up, especially to scream HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAAAYYYYYY!!! into my ear. And I even switched the cellphone off. When I woke up, I was magically seventeen. I still had to study Chemistry. And the only thing special about yesterday was the pasta for lunch. And the chocolate pudding. I didn't get many presents. Some lameass friend of the mother got me a towel.

Yes.

A towel.

And a song.

It was a very nice song.

It rhymed, and it was sung rather well too. (I'm not lying. Really!)

Well, okay, it was a very nice try. And I am very flattered.

Thank you.

I am now officially seventeen, and loving it.

"You Don't Have To Smile if You Don't Want To"

2008-09-14T10:59:00.000+05:30

It was five in the morning, and I woke up cursing, because awakening a thirteen-year-old at the crack of dawn is tantamount to felony, and I promised myself, that once this was over, I would curl right back into the covers. I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve because no one cares about hygiene at five in the morning. No one cares about anything at five in the morning. And I shuffled downstairs to the parking lot, in oversize slippers that slapped against the dusty concrete, raising puffs of mud, leaving a trail of bigfoot-esque footprints. The dirt made me sneeze, I was allergic to dirt, it was five in the morning, I should have been sleeping, but I was at a dusty, allergy-causing parking lot, squinting against the annoyingly bright sky and the birds that sounded so rested. Rested, unlike me, and I sniffed again, and I realised that I loved my sleep a little too much, maybe? And the guard got out of that car which I didn't recognize, and I leaned against our own bug-like one. You bought it before my birthday. It was supposed to arrive on my birthday, but the delivery men screwed it up, and it came two days later, but the car, in my head at least, shared birthdays with me. But I didn't recognise this car. It was pearl-grey, it was shinier, and it was newer, and more expensive than ours. You told me it was a Baleno. I didn't care. I liked our car, our bug-car better. It had more scope for imagination. It looked like a bug. This car didn't seem friendly. Our car was home. That car was not. And it had a stranger at the wheel. A man in a white-suit and a white hat, and the starched stiffness of his clothes hurt my eyes and so I looked away. Behind me, a voice told me to say goodbye nicely ("You're not going to see him again for two months, the least you could do is smile and say goodbye, you know he'd like that. Stop being such a crybaby and wave goodbye to him") and in front of me, there you were, hugging me ("You don't have to smile if you don't want to") saying you'd visit in two months ("It's just sixty days, and just when you begin enjoying life without me, I'll be back to annoy you with Math again") and it would be great fun ("We can talk on the phone whenever we want, we can talk everyday, and when you visit, we can go to the beach!"), we'd go to the amusement park ("Wouldn't that be nice? Did I not love the amusement park?") and you'd buy me something ("I'm going to buy a new car when I get there, what should I get? A Baleno like this one? Isn't this Baleno nice-looking?"), and that I should do well at school because that's what matters ("Practise your math, and 9 times 3 is 27, not 24. Never mess that up like you used to when you were six"), and before I could reply, I sneezed again, the car door shut, and the pearl-grey hostile car drove out, and I knew it wasn't friendly, because it never let me say goodbye. ("Vroom")

And I snifflingly trudged back through the dust, the slippers hitting my heels, slapping the floor, raising more dust, making me sneeze more. Maybe it wasn't the dust, after all, that made me cry.

"She sits alone with her silent song"

2008-09-13T11:09:00.005+05:30

The Grandparents are leaving tonight. Which is a good thing, for me, atleast. I know, yes, that I sound very callous, and yes, I do believe that there is some form of love for them at the bottom of dark, black shrivelled up heart. But still, they're leaving tonight, and that makes me happy. Call me evil if you will, but I'm still pretty happy about it.

It's not that I don't like THEM, I just don't like the fact that while they're here, there's always someone around in the house. I'm not a people-person. I don't like phone calls, and I don't like unnecessary talking, I don't like small talk with people I barely know. I actually derive a sort of composed pleasure from coming home to an empty house. I like the power of having to open that front door with a key and walk in with no one to smile at and no one to ask about my day, or how my test went, am I hungry, do I want to eat or take a shower first? I don't like concern, and I find my relaxation in the sterile glow of the television as it blares on and on, and I eat my cold food in front of it, with my socks still on, and the bag thrown across the floor.

I don't like having people around all the time, I think absence does make the heart grow fonder. And I WOULD be, definitely more tolerant towards people if they let me live in a bubble. Which is why, despite all her (glaring) flaws, I do not actually mind living with my mother. She lives in her bubble, and I live in mine, and we're both quite non-invasive (most of the time). I like solitude. I like the sound of silence, and I like when no one is around. It does not make me goth. Or emo. Because I am not depressed, neither do I want to kill myself. I just like non-invasiveness.

In other news, I've been listening to a lot of Damien Rice lately. The man, if I do say so myself, is the baap of Gary Lightbody. His music is gut-wrenchingly heart-rending, and its primarily because his songs are stark and stripped down, using just the basic piano, strings and simple drums. And then, there's Lisa Hannigan, who's haunting echoes in the background make the soung even more dreamscape-ish. His music is slow, and it's raw, and controlled enough so that each song stops short of a masterpiece, making you want to listen to the next one. And if you can get past the highly-publicised "The Blower's Daughter", have a go, plunge into "Accidental Babies", and "Unplayed Piano". You might even like it.

There are six year olds playing cricket downstairs. It's almost noon, but they're still in their pajamas, and they haven't brushed their teeth. And even they're still a bunch of stinky, immature children, I think I envy them.

Puchka-Men and Physics Procrastinators

2008-09-12T12:37:00.004+05:30

I wish I was my iPod. On some days, when I plug it in to the laptop to synchronise, all of its own accord, it just self-destructs and mulishly refuses to respond to anything. I wish I could mulishly sit around and be stubborn. With reason. Because I do it for NO reason many times over.

I woke up this morning, completely optimistic about the fact that I was going to study Physics, and study it well, and that I would finish all of Section A today.

Bollocks. Here I am, and I've done nothing, except text Disha several times, whining about Electromagnetics, and then I came online. Stupid Physics.

I'm going to have to go back, eventually.

Last evening, blessed evening, we visited the great Ramesh Pandit. Ramesh Pandit is the world's most awesome puchka-man. I am aware that the title of Most Amazing Puchka-Man is a very disputed one, and there exist several Puchka-men who claim to have been bestowed with this title, but Ramesh Pandit is the best of all of them. His whole lineage is into the business of puchkas, and therefore, he's not just the best Puchka-man. He's the pioneer of the Best Puchka Dynasty. Let's the guy next to Harshita's Math tuition counter THAT!

Anyway, Ramesh Pandit's aloo dum is the finest. It makes your eyes water and your tongue cry out in protest, and yet you will be compelled to eat another one and feel completely psychedelic. This psychedelic feeling is actually just you walking around, and everything is blurry only because your eyes are watering. But still, the whole effect is rather trippy. The ice-cream man next to Ramesh Pandit keeps eyeing all the trippy people hopefully, hoping against hope that one of the trippers will succumb to the spice and buy an ice-cream to alleviate the pain. Never going to happen, that. Only snotty -nosed kids too wimpy to eat at Ramesh Pandit's buy the ice-cream.

I didn't eat any dinner yesterday.

Now you know why. Even though you probably didn't give a damn in the first place.

P.S. - If you don't know what a Puchka is (this means YOU), then googling it will not help. If you do know what a puchka is, give me a call, and we'll go to Ramesh Pandit's place.

P.P.S. - Ramesh Pandit's stall is at Lake Kalibari, at the edge of the road, opposite that building called Ashoka.

Redirected from Facebook

2008-09-11T14:08:00.001+05:30

Okay. Being the awesomely nice soul that I am, I decided to make a note of all the stuff I had for my math paper, and this may help you, and if it doesn't, well then, bollocks.

Matrices and Determinants - Supremely easy. I got one on transposing properties, a Determinant property question, and Cramer's Rule. Pair of Straight Lines, Conics - Proving an equation to be a pair, and using this to find "k", then solve the pair and find individual equations. From conics, there was a question on tangent to a parabola, which I think was a stroke of luck, because it's the simplest formula of the set. >Inverse Trig. - Barely anything. The stuff that was there was a cakewalk. Just the proof of a straightforward identity. Differentiation- Double diff. (we all knew this was coming), and one question on variable^variable. Integration- Nothing by-parts, but the Special Integrals chapter is proving to be the most important thing. Definite Integrals too; I got a whole 10 mark question on this (didn't attempt it, though.) Maxima Minima, Rolle's and LMVT - The maxima sum was supremely crunchy. I ended up not solving it (left it midway, actually, after trying thrice.) The compulsory section had one of these as well, but there was a 5-mark thing on LMVT, which was quite happy. Correlation, Regression- I got Spearman, with the correction factor thing , and for regression, the standard question of find byx, bxy, r and the value of one when other is given. Also, combined mean and s.d. featured in compulsory.

Section-B I'm getting zero on twenty, for this. Grr. Triple product, and geometric proof using vectors. Marry them. And also, intersecting planes and normals to planes. I'm getting zero on this. =( Hope this helped. No, I don't remember the questions. Since it was a separate paper, I also do not have my question paper with me, so no point asking for photocopies, it's a no-go there. And don't you dare sue me. Tag people who may need this.

Gossip Monger

2008-09-10T22:00:00.003+05:30

Sarah Palin in a bikini.

Sarah Palin's daughter is knocked up.

Sarah Palin is knocked up.

Sarah Palin's daughter's baby daddy is a self-professed "effin' redneck" who doesn't want kids.

Sarah Palin's husband is half-Eskimo.

Sarah Palin is using tax money for personal travel.

How come there's no suchlike shit on Joe Biden?

Not to be partial or anything. My political views are all over the place, although according to one site I'm conservative or thingummy. Anyway, my point is - why is there no scoop on Joe Biden? Why are the guys on Obama's side getting some sort of immunity? And how come every stand-up comedy act includes (1)John McCain being a crazy old coot (2)Sarah Palin, Bristol Palin or Levi Johnston or all three, (3)Cindy McCain's plastic face?

There's no mockery of the Democrats anymore. I mean, Hillary Clinton was around adn people poked fun at her, but now SHE'S off the scene. All the rockers and all the actors and all the actresses wear the T-Shirt for Change, and everyone is pimping Obama. Not that I mind the man, but it's just very odd, from an outsider and neutral passer-by's perspective, that a political candidate is more or less morphing into a celebrity of a different kind, and no one seems to have the gumption to stand up and criticize him, his inexperience, and his prophetic yet seemingly planless mantras for a Changed Future?Why? Are they afraid that the criticism might make them racist? It's absolutely okay to call an old guy old to get the laughs, but now what?

I don't support McCain.

My problem is, that I don't support Obama either.

I'm just a lame-ass kid with a laptop.

Happy Families

2008-09-07T23:27:00.002+05:30

Stealing just a teeny bit from Anushka's blog, I shall, I shall!

My Happy Family Consists of -

Eddie Vedder as my father. If I promise not to go all Electra on him, can I have him as my daddy, er, father, please?

Marcia Cross, only as Bree Mason-VandeKamp-Hodge, from Desperate Housewives, as my Mother.

She's deliciously neurotic, fantastically interestic, and just the right amount of fastidious to meet my needs. It would also be pretty damn interesting, seeing Crazy-Perfectionist Bree with Grunge-Dude Eddie Vedder. I'd be a tormented kid, but I sure would love my home.

Jack Sparrow as my elder brother. Yes, I have a poster of him on my wall. Yes, he is hot. I'd like a hot elder brother. Even my friends would like my hot elder brother, Jack Sparrow, Captain Jack Sparrow. Bree would probably not let him into the house, but I'd willingly sneak the rum out for him. What are siblings for? And when he's not off sailing the high seas, he could teach me how to swordfight. Pretty darn bad-ass, if I do say so myself.

Gary Lightbody as that-friend-who's-your-best-friend-but-I'm-not-really-sure-if-I'd-date-him-but-if-I-did-we'd-be-perfect. Yeah, that guy. And he can write songs, talk in a sexy Irish accent, hang out,ride our bikes to the sunny isles of the Hebrides and take his shirt off or whatever, I'd love him. Welcome to the fold, Gary!

P.S - If you're reading this, I <3>

LOVE YOU. If you're not, I still love you, but a little part of me is sad. No, really.

Audrey Hepburn as the foxy aunt. Every fake family has a foxy aunt. Audrey would be mine. And I'd steal all her clothes, and enlarge them, and then wear them, and make sure she never died of Appendix cancer. And I'm quite sure Bree would like Audrey as a sister. They could be all 50's together. And I could have their clothes.

George Orwell as my grandfather. I'd think him to be odd when I was a kid, but then, as I would grow older, he'd be one hell of a guy to practise my debating and speaking skills with. Great conversation, and great man too. Not the typical grandfather. But then, this family is pretty screwed up anyway. I'm just addin' to the fray.

I'd also want a kid brother called Philip.Or Phoenix. Ooh, Phoenix it is. I don't care what he looks like, but he shall be called Phoenix. Phoenix is the sort of name that sounds just right. All I need to do now is figure out what he'd look like. I have a feeling he'd act somewhat like William Brown from the William Series by Richmal Crompton. I'd be his awesome elder sister. And he'd be my nutty kid brother. <3

There are a couple of 'real' people to be added to this list, but I'm not going to.

Maybe some other time.

"An Apple for Serenity, a Pendant for Balance"

2008-09-06T12:26:00.004+05:30

I haven't posted in so long, and that makes me feel guilty. What also makes me feel guilty is that I haven't been studying. What cancels out this guilt is the fact that even when I do study for a test, it still goes just as badly as it would have had I not studied. In other news, I am sick of school. Even English classes, (which are about the only classes that were still bearable), have turned hellish. Who in their right minds would test students on Quote Completion from a Shakesperean play?

Example -

Question - Fill in the blanks using the appropriate quotation from Shakespeare's Macbeth.

"To be thus is nothing _____, 'tis much he dares:_______ guide_____. There is none ____ and under him ______upon me, and ____; then ____ succeeding. If't be so ____kings!"

And so I hate English. And school, also.

We all knew this was going to be hard. Who thought it would make me want to gouge my eyes out? The school says your tutorials have already taught you, and the tutorials say that the school will help you learn in greater detail, and somehow when you get the time to read it on your own, it doesn't make sense in any case.

And as if all of this wasn't enough, you know that you need to do well, and that you cannot fail, and no matter how much everyone around you laughs off the fact that they study -

"Did you study last night?"

"Do I ever study?"

You're a liar. We all know you stayed up half the night solving numericals; what makes you so sure that we're going to believe that you didn't study? And what sort of heroic feat do you display when you do well in something and then proclaim loudly to the world that "SHIIIIT! I DIDN'T study and I did so WELL!!!"

No one believes you, you pompous, lying braggart. You stayed up all night. You skipped school not to sleep but to revise. You're not fooling anyone, dumbass. Stupid dumbass. Stupid because you think we're so gullible, and dumbass, because dumbass. Don't dispute it.

There is only one subject that I can stand. Biology. Even botany pisses me off now. I am sick of studying. I still don't mind Bio that much. But still.

I'm a cantakerous, grim-faced, snappish sixteen-year-old. What I want to do, most of all, right now, is to eat large quantities of very greasy Chinese takeout, wear my rattiest T-shirt, and watch Mulan.

But I have to study Chemistry.

Cheer up, Mum, It's Better to be Over the Hill...

2008-08-27T11:07:00.002+05:30

Than to be Under It.

My mother turned 40. Two days ago, my mother turned 40. Which officially makes her an old person. It isn't much of a difference, actually. She doesn't look different. However, she has taken to smelling different, somewhat like acrid plastic. See, the acrid plastic thing she brought upon herself. The morning she turned 40, she ransacked the dresser and extracted from its depths an anti-aging cream that my father had left behind a couple of years ago. The cosmetic thing, honestly, she doesn't need, but she doesn't believe me, and now, according to her, she is 40, and thus her own principles allow her to assault her face with things that smell like burning PVC. Good for her. Maybe?
I don't get the big deal about turning a certain age. Save for the fact that I desperately want to be 17. It's been a million years since I turned 16. But more importantly, I don't understand why my mother would be so miserable about turning 40. Yeah, SURE, now people can tell you to your face that you're old, but you know, aside from that. I'd love to be old, and yell at people for the simple reason "Because I'm Older than You, B****!"
My mum however, fails to grasp the simple concept of aging gracefully. I can only truly realise how potentially serial-killer she sometimes is when I objectively look at her antics, say for example this excerpt from an MSN conversation.
Sahana(11:03):
Oh, and my mum turned forty.
Sahana (11:04):
Which gives her more reason to be mad at the time (now she calls it cantankerous or menopausal instead of angry)
Sahana(11:04):
Not to mention, she's spending all her free-time buying anti-ageing beauty products, which not only smell like burning plastic, but do NOT WORK!
Sahana(11:14):
And in somewhat good news, I finally found a hairstyle where I don't look like an electrocuted dog.
Sahana (11:16):
My mum was throwing things around looking for her elixir of youth, and she nearly poked my eye out with this hairclip thing.

Yes, My mother is phobic of getting old. Happy belated fortieth birthday, Mummy.
*Evil Laugh*

P.S. - Any of you who comment back telling how angelic and humourous my mother is WILL be gravely injured.
I'm serious.

Rant Post

2008-08-22T21:36:00.001+05:30

I wonder what I will be when I grow up.

And when I worry about the future, I don't think of things like "Will I be happy?", because I know I will. I will MAKE myself happy. Balls to you, Destiny.
What I do wonder about is how much of me will be like my parents. Studying genetics keeps me in a perpetual state of bewilderment, because I know that everything I do is from one of them, and yet, it is something that I do. I find it fascinating how none of me is actually unique (genotypically), but then strangely, I am nothing like my parents (phenotypically). Or so I feel.
I do not want to grow up to be my parents. Actually, I don't want to grow up and be anyone else but me, but that's a stupid thing to say. Diversity is awesome and all, but there are finite permutations and combinations that behaviours can manifest themselves in, and as such, therefore, there is a infinitesimally small chance that I shall be unlike EVERYONE else. Besides, if I was different from EVERYONE else, I'd be kind of lonely. Individualistic, but still a teeny bit lonely. But if I had a choice, and I could pick who I DIDN'T want to be, I would ensure that I un-emulate my parents. It would be a little bit of an evolutionary travesty if I failed to be an individual and simply was a carrier of identical everythings from Parental Generation to Filial Generation. Besides, I'd probably hate myself.
Not implying, of course, that I hate the parents. I don't. And I do. As is the case with every Parent-Child Relationship. It's a Yes, and a No, but Rarely a Maybe. It's black and it is white.

It has been a long while since I ranted on my blog, and while I do feel bad about not having the Michael Phelps picture as the opening post, I'm glad I wrote this. I know that this post, in retrospect and for the uninitiated, will be rather incoherent, but you know what? I don't care.

P.S. - I'm aware that the parts about genetics and diversity are not completely accurate. What I talk of is simply my view/interpretation, so don't flame me for not being Galton.

Tee-hee.

2008-08-21T21:41:00.003+05:30

Whaaaaat?

He's pretty. I'm sorry, but he is. Very Pretty. Move on with your lives now.

Planning Futures

2008-08-14T23:26:00.003+05:30

Let's Never Grow Old, You Said,
And I Agreed, All the While in my Head
I Formed a World Where we Were Juvenile
But Also Senile.
And We'll be Off to a Universe, Custom-Made,
Where No-one Rains on Our Crazy Parade.
And there shall be Sandboxes with Glow-in-the-Dark Sand
And Chocolate Cornflakes for Dinner.

All We Need to do Now, Is to Get There.
To Grow Up, so We Can Act Childish.

To Adulthood and Beyond, then. I know I'll see you there.

Methylenedioxymethamphetamine, aka Ecstasy.

2008-08-09T12:32:00.002+05:30

08/08/08 -
The best day ever.
It feels wonderfully gratifying to win. (Screw you Pierre Coubertin. You meant well when you equated participation and losing, but you also lied, so screw you!).
It is about the best feeling in the world to stand up triumphant in front of your personal demons. (Balls to YOU.)
It is the best feeling in the world to have a non-hostile audience cheer your win. (It's true. The claps are much more sincere.)
It is the best feeling to see your debate advisors grin like six-year-olds with chocolate-covered teeth, to hear that your principal did a little jig in her office, and to have the whole class whoop for you when you enter, grinning from ear to ear. (Also true. Although I don't want to picture the jig.)
It is also pretty awesome to be told you were brilliant by people you have never seen before, and people you will never seen again. (I'm a junkie for attention. I know, so do you.)
But it is even more awesome when people you've lost to have now lost to you. (I'm also a junkie who loves to gloat.)
The prospect of missing an exam is also rather lovely. (Hoo-ha!)
And Winners' Certificates are still shinier than regular participation certificates, even though they're actually the same damn thing. (Seriously.)

P.S. - I love you Frank Anthony. <3

Scenes from a Tortured Childhood

2008-07-27T19:23:00.005+05:30

Scene One:
Aim - To make little Sahana cry.
Apparatus - Some older children, Little Sahana's bad "boy-cut" hair
Procedure -
Older kids must tug at Little Sahana's hair and shout -"Sahana's got a WIIIIG! Sahana's got a WIIIIG!" until Little Sahana cries. And runs to Sahana's mother. Upon which Older Kids must taunt her for being a wimp.
Repeat for 5 years.

Scene Two:
Aim - To cruelly teach Little Sahana about fitness, and properties of Solids.
Procedure -
Take the fastest runner of the children that Little Sahana plays with, make sure Little Sahana does not know that she is being pitted against the fastest kid on the block. Now, make both runners run till a large black, solid metal door. Fast-Runner-Kid wins, (and stops just in time.) Little Sahana loses, AND learns that it is not impossible for humans to bounce off metal doors.

Scene Three:
Aim - Little Sahana learns about April Fool's Day.
Procedure -
On 1st of April, make all the mean kids hide out in different houses. Kid One calls up Little Sahana and asks her to come to their house and play. Little Sahana goes, but the maid who answers the door lies. She goes back home. Another call from another number. Same principle.
Little Sahana did not play with anyone that day. In case you were still wondering.

All are true stories.

Why So Serious?

2008-07-25T22:25:00.002+05:30

Because he's dead.

R.I.P. Heath.

Because there are some debates that you just cannot win.

2008-07-20T10:29:00.003+05:30

I have a recurring dream. I dream that one day, the world declares me as the world's best debater. I dream that I am the supreme lord and mistress of all things debate-related, and that whenever I walk into a debate, the aisles go silent as the audience is awestruck, and all the judges unanimously decide that there is really no point in holding the competition, because the best debater in the world has arrived, and so giving me the trophy and moving on with their lives is the smartest thing to do, because there is really no point challenging me.

But it's just a recurring dream.
And there are debates that you just cannot win.

Sometimes I like living with only one of my parents. It means that when I have exorbitant demands, I only have to hear one resounding "No!" instead of two. Living with only my mother around means it gives me a clean chit when I want to watch Grey's Anatomy AND Desperate Housewives back to back because I want to watch it, and so does she. It means a lot of things. It means that you can eat whatever you want on weekends and promise the other that you will begin cutting down on Monday, which you won't, but it's something you have to say to assuage your conscience. But it also means that I cannot win a verbal fight, because my mother fights like a girl with experience, as opposed to me being an inexperienced girl-fighter.
Fighting verbally with a female is much tougher than fighting with a male. If you fight with a male, you can begin to try and gouge their eyes out at any point in the argument, and therefore, very soon, you can just abandon logic and rain blows upon them. However, if you fight a female, the same rules cease to apply. At no point can you want to hit them very hard. You can clench your fist and imagine it, but you cannot do it. And the first person to deliver the emotional blow is generally the winner. And seeing as how my mother is very good at this, it is easy to understand why and how I lose spectacularly.
every.
single.
time.

More importantly, if you happen to be a debater and you are fighting with a parent, sooner or later in the argument, the parent will yell at you saying, "Don't try and use your debating skills on me!". Which will, usually, make you use bigger words to try and explain your predicament - it's not really your fault you know so many words. Which will then anger the parent because it may seem like you are implying that they are stupid. Upon which they will tell you how they educated you and now you are an ungrateful *insert colourful vernacular abuse here* and do not deserve much of what you have been given. Any retaliation beyond this point is futile. You are advised to desist and go and do some Math. That is the closest you can get to showing that you are, in fact, repentant.

And therefore, I hope I have proved to you beyond a shadow of doubt, that even good debaters can never win something against their parents.
Because the progeny is almost always never right.
Grr.

More Pictures from the Rainy Day

2008-07-15T22:14:00.011+05:30

A load of debris left on the rooftop, because no one bothered to clean up once the painting was done.

This is a very soggy bird that looked rather disgruntled with Monday's rains.

This is the starting point of the flyover that is somewhat close to our street. Quite waterlogged, quite picturesque, eh?

If you stand on the rooftop of our apartment, this is what you would see.

This is the street where I live.

These are the rail-tracks underneath the flyover. Very rural. Very other-worldly.

The football grounds through a lot of foliage. Last picture before my battery ran out.

And there you have it. These are my bearings. This is my city through raindrops.

Rainy Day

2008-07-14T13:02:00.002+05:30

Because, I love rain, and I love my crazy, colourful city.

Chalk and Cheese, Cheese and Wine.

2008-07-13T19:49:00.002+05:30

You’re vain, you’re pompous and I hate the way you parade

I hate the way you walk into the room and relegate everything else to shade

I hate how you talk, with excessive pace

I hate how your words, with your thoughts they race.

I hate how the benchmarks I set for myself are the ones you’ve set

I hate how every trophy runs to you like it’s your pet

I hate how you win, how you win all the time

I hate how my losing makes me want to rhyme.

I hate that you’re there, I hate when you’re around,

I hate all your words; I hate all your sound.

I hate your presence; it irks me to no end

I hate how this hate is a thing I can’t mend.

I hate your face; I hate your voice,

The fact that you’re in pain makes me rejoice.

I hate how you swagger; I hate how you walk

But most of all, I hate how you talk.

I hate your impudence; I hate your skill,

I hate how we’re similar but you’re better than me still.

But then, “hate” is just such a strong word.

Take Me Out to the Debates

2008-07-12T20:14:00.001+05:30

There is something wonderful about a debate that makes me all shivery, afraid, tense, anticipatory and joyful all at one go. It must the idea of verbal warfare, the idea of spoken skirmishes, the idea of vocal battle – the adrenaline in your system that makes you tense up, your mouth go dry and your limbs sluggish when the speaker just before you is finishing their speech and you know you’re next. The three-ish minutes of your speech that you will never remember once you’re done with, the three minutes on which everything depends, the three minutes where nothing makes sense, not even the words you say. In those minutes the audience becomes a sea of faces that all look the same – skin colored and unrecognizable. The cold in your fingertips, the numb toes. The flood of heat through your system when you’re done with your speech and the audience claps and snaps you out of the reverie that you were in while at the podium and instantly the world comes back into focus and you can process the faces again, remember the names and remember whether you hate them or like them, and whether they were better or worse than you.

Although, this whole debating thing is made even better because of my debate-buddy and general-buddy, Aanooshka Seyn. And as one of the advisors said – we’re very different, but we’re pretty much like peas in a pod. She is sober, I am not. She is sarcastic, I am over the top. She never forgets her speeches, and sometimes I do. She claps for me and I clap for her. Together we point and laugh at the people who flub up, and then she yells at me for being uncouth. She talks of poetry and calls me a macho science geek. I talk of almost everything nonsensical under the sun, and I call her Humanities. She makes references out of people and things I hate, and cock eyebrows at all the things I say, and register them for later blackmail. When a speaker talks of the audiences’ wives, all the girls in the audience go “Whaaa?”, but I turn to her and say – “Oh crap, they found out about us?” Yes, Tiny, thank you for being my debate partner. Your secrets are safe with me, although I don’t think that assurance is mutual, I still love you.

I’ve been missing classes and hanging around the LN Birla debates the last couple of days, and among other things, the debates made me realize how much I love debating (and missing school). Much thanks to the teams who sat behind us and had a tiny talking party – I think I might have died of boredom and/or eating my arm out of sheer ennui if it wasn’t for you. Thank you Girls One and Two, for not being vapid but pretty good conversation, and even though one of you kept talking poetry at a point in time, you were still pretty normal. (Shut up, Aanooshka Seyn. ) Both of you. Thank you also those other two in the back. One of you was pretty much err.. okay as always. The other was a <> as always. Which was expected. (Again, shut up, Aanooshka Seyn) Aaaand, we qualified for the next round. So, that went off pretty great for us, that first day.

The next day, me and Aanoshka Seyn acted like a couple of over-confident, underprepared b!t(#e$ and therefore we got pwned. Even so, she missed a test, and I missed Double Math, so all in all it was quite a fruitful day. Despite that odd girl who I still think does not look like me. Despite the fact that we didn’t win. Despite the fact that I was extremely bored on stage. Despite all the unnecessary sports and games. Despite all of that and more stuff, I still count my blessings.

Still Unsuited for the Rage of War

2008-06-29T20:19:00.002+05:30

Yes, I was politically incorrect, and possibly too biased and misinformed for my own good.

I still like Mulan. But I need to watch more movies.

Subsequently, I deleted a post.

Learning and Re-learning

2008-06-25T23:06:00.000+05:30

I didn’t believe that you had actually gone away

Until I realized that you were not only another comforting presence around the house

But you were also the faint smell of musk that was always around

And you were the feel of a welcome when I came back late

You were the touch of warmth on nights with thunderous clouds,

And you were the phantom kiss that kept nightmares at bay.

That disc in the player is not mine. It’s from the time when you lent me your favourite albums

And I said I loved them all, but I might have lied about some, just to be kind.

So you discussed the words and I nodded through it all, but you saw through it all,

And it was our perfect little secret because you didn’t care that I didn’t care

Listen to those chords that echo the frenetic undercurrent of eddying thoughts in my head

Listen to the pounding beat that feels like the blood rushing far too fast in my veins

Feel the riffs wash over like a tidal wave of trembling emotion that leaves you frail and naked

Vulnerably anticipatory of the next verse – next track – the next day.

The next day where I wake up to see no crumpled sheets or hear any rhythmic breathing or taste the envelope of overpowering peace

The next morning where all cutlery must now be laid out for just one

The next afternoon where I shall have no one on speed-dial for the occasional rant

The next evening where a shot of vodka will not be for pleasure

And the next night, where I shall have to re-learn to ward off bad dreams on my own.

And the day after that, and the track after this, which you always liked better than all the others.

So I sit amidst our emotional debris with your leftover tuneage wafting from the side

I shall learn to stand and walk on my feet again,

And try to love the songs you did just so we can have something to talk about

The Next Time.

One-Sided Conversations in Two Different Heads

2008-06-17T19:38:00.005+05:30

Say something dumb. Say something funny.
Say something. At all.
This silence is over-rated.
I do not deserve it.

This silence is not borne out of avoidance, it stems from hesitation.
And I wish I could scream it out for you, but I cannot decide what to-when to-why to say what I want to say, or whether I want to say anything at all - because I'm afraid you might misconstrue
I'm afraid you might confuse; because I'm tripping on my words, I'm sliding and slipping in this quagmire of a vocabulary and I know so many words;
But I can't find any at all.
It's a classic game of lost-and-found, I cannot translate my thoughts to sound.

So you're going to just sit there, I'm going to just be here, and nothing is going to happen -
Is that it?
There's a vacuum between, there's a vacuum around and it feels like all of all that was is
Spiraling into nothingness. Just a stark, dark black hole that is now a secret hiding place
Where we now hide things that we once shared. Things we couldn't wait to tell each other, and the things that we now curl and up and hide within ourselves with all our might, because all that
We once saw as little flaws are now hideous lapses that we should have never revealed but we did, so it's time for those psychological blankets which we can hide under.

I don't know what you're thinking, I might know what you're thinking but I'm too afraid to guess because then I might be wrong. I don't want to be wrong, not in front of you, not any more, I'm going to be the know-all-Superman.

There is no point, anymore.
Silence might be golden, but it's over-rated.
Gilded exaggeration, this quietude.

You're going to leave now. You always did, I'm not surprised, because silence irks you.
I'm sorry, that's all I can extricate from my wild mind right now,
But maybe we'll talk later?

Earth versus Sky

2008-05-30T22:54:00.000+05:30

I feel like I’m watching everything from space.

It doesn’t feel real, this wind that blows my hair into unintelligible masses of dark entwined curls. It doesn’t feel real, this twilight sky that dyes my hands a different colour with every passing instant. It doesn’t feel real, that as I sit here, no one walks into interrupt this solitude that I would normally despise.

Each breath feels like I’m intruding upon a stranger’s body – it feels like this is someone else’s skin, someone else’s hands upon the smooth stone, someone’s else voice that I speak with, someone else’s mind that I think this with. And as I look around, I almost feel as if I should chance upon myself, perhaps sitting on the other side of the rock, maybe leaning against it with headphones plugged in and drumming imaginarily. But that won’t happen anytime soon, because this situation is one of misplaced, mistaken identity.

Somewhere far behind, there is a cacophony of voices as children play in the street, arguing over trivial matters, solely for the sake of argument, because the fading light has suspended play, and it cannot resume till the streetlights switch themselves on; besides, arguing is a much better way to while away the interim, as opposed to the other option of returning home and coming back later. Somewhere in the same beyond, a young boy learns to ride the bicycle, and he wears a triumphant look on his face because he hasn’t fallen down yet. It will be years until her realizes that with training wheels, it is impossible to fall down. But until then, he rejoices in his own little head. He is his own Superman today.

Clearer is the voice of a fifteen-year-old, ringing with laughter and spite, as she excitedly talks on the phone and giggles meanly at the romantic plight of the person on the line. But they are best friends, and she will be the first to grin broadly when her friend’s dilemma solves itself.

And the trees talk to themselves, rustling slowly in an arboreal baritone. The wind, rain-soaked from its many travels, whips around them - whips around all of them, and whips around me, and then spirals away. And the first drop of rain falls on the parched ground, and the ground engulfs the drop in sultry summer dust. And a second drop falls on the stone, courses its way slowly down the rock face and disappears.

Third.

Fourth.

Fifth.

And it was impossible to count after that.

So it rained and I sat there on the rock like I was part of it, dripping wet. Like little shards the drops fell as if exacting revenge, cold and minuscule, and as they reached the ground they stripped me of my warmth. And as sheet after sheet of this rain fell down it left each cold layer of me exposed to further battery. The ground protested, sending up earthy puffs of scent and little mists, but the rain washed it all away.

Feet slid into the ground; the ground that was still surprisingly warm and hard in spite of the rain that tried to change it. And as the water made little pools around my feet, a queer warmth engulfed my toes, and the water rushed into little crevices it still hadn’t found. Sticky, muddy heat mixed between my fingers, swirled around and submitted to the wrath of the rain.

And just as suddenly as the assault had begun, it ended.

The earth was left looking rather shamefaced for giving in so soon, and it retaliated by throwing up the warm, humid transparent fog of its scent again, and the grass clung on to little droplets like they were prisoners of war.

The rock with a single smooth sheet of shellacked water gleamed mutely in the orange streetlight.

The children were hustled home and toweled well, and then made to do their homework.

The romantic dilemma had not yet solved itself, but the sight of the ‘romantic, even sexy! Weather had left the talkers spellbound.

The Superman rode his cycle home in the rain, feeling altogether heroic.

And I started walking back home.

I had had enough of introspection for the day.

A Sudden Change of Weather

2008-05-17T13:41:00.002+05:30

And there we stood huddled under a striped awning, too close for comfort

While our misty breath swirled over our heads in little animated patterns

A dim yellow light cast a gloomy pool of light on our dripping backs

And the soles of our shoes grew steadily moist

You gazed at the gray-black sky you said

You had never walked home in the rain and I laughed

Because I didn’t believe you

Because most of my childhood colds were a direct consequence of

Romantic lonely walks in the park with no umbrella for company

But you was serious

And I was too

So we took that first trembling step awkwardly

Flinching as the concrete mingled with the soggy mud squelched under our shoes

Looking up quivering as if afraid the lightning would strike us down

Because we had dared to step out from the protective awning embryo

With the steps of a newborn you slid and slithered and stumbled in to

The road we had often walked before but never walked before under a sky like this

And the mud that so graciously allowed itself to be trodden upon in the shining daytime

Took gasping revenge during the rain and the wind that whooshed so kindly on hot summer nights

That wind was a cruel force that turned rounded raindrops into little stinging marquees

And it rained and it poured and we trudged in the cold with

Warm rivulets of water flowing from my head down to my face dripping off my fingers to form puddles

Puddles in which we jumped in

Who cares how much these shoes cost?

And the wind even felt friendly after a while the way it whisked your umbrella it seemed like an invitation

To take a detour and so we did

Our clothes stuck to our skin and it made walking a little bit difficult

But I didn’t notice because you were just telling me

How the grass underneath our feet looked so neon green against the blue-gray-black-prussian sky

And how I told you I almost felt sorry for bedraggled crows that squawked helplessly on telegraph poles

But even detours end and we reached far too early far too late

The neighbours shook their heads

Young Love they said

It will all die down some day

The day she finds stacks of dirty magazines or traces of another woman behind the sofa or he finds out what she really looks like in the morning or how old she really is

But for now it’s all good

Just like summer rain.

Experimenting with Light and Shade.

2008-05-13T19:31:00.002+05:30

To-do lists sometimes get toxic.

During the Twilight between the Time that the Old Recedes and New Rings Itself In.

2008-05-12T18:27:00.003+05:30

(There are painters in my house. They float around like pieces of furniture in the background because I have gotten used to their presence and their constant swearing.)

The constant, searing smell of freshly-stripped walls hangs about everything in this house; with every gust of the buffeting warm wind that strays through the windows, and like a constant mist suspended from the ceiling.

With every still, sultry hour that passes with the ominous ticking of the obnoxiously loud clock, the stench of sweat mingles with the sweetish, penetrating odour of paint.

The brushes grate against the wall mercilessly, and little defeated splinters of paint fall to the floor, vanquished.

New cans of (winner) paint huddle in a corner, smugly viewing the old,fallen (loser) paint with a victorious gleam in their limpid paint-eyes.

The furniture huddles forlornly in the middle of the room; sad spectators to a joust they were indifferent to, under a fan with no blades covered with newspaper like an origami chandelier gone horribly wrong.

The battlefield wall stands stoic and silent, variously blotched with the warpaint of the morning's struggle, and oblivious to the new cracks that blossom like fat (useless)bloodless veins.

The workers leave.

The (new) paint stays.

The (old) paint flecks the floor.

They switch off the lights.

Tomorrow is another day.

Little Thank-You Post-its.

2008-05-04T22:19:00.003+05:30

So, random thank-you-post-its, because SGpt tagged on Facebook, and I publicly announce them on this limited-readership blog. (Not a good thing.)
Thank You:
For the word Cabrao, which is very useful, and means two very conveniently useful things.
For Rui, who told me what Cabrao meant. And what Cabrao also meant.
For All Dat We Dun, Luk Watchu Dun!
For the Purging Power of Music.
For Western Music which has made me sick of Matthew Bellamy.
For SGpt, who writes tremendously incoherent, seventeen-ish syllable haikus.
For Saccharine, that makes Sugar-free lives so easy and accessible.
For the little thing that allows me to hide Offline even when I'm actually Online.
For Jet Jetski Jetschkei Gidlew Gupta, the most-unkiller ibbly-gibbly-pootie-dog that I am still not afraid of.
For Forrest Gump, a pwner of a movie.
For Female-Ireland, who let us review it.
And for Ireland, who gave us Mr. Lightbody.

Amen.

Take A Minute Just to Breathe

2008-05-04T11:05:00.003+05:30

I love Wolves.
My favourite kind of wolves live in the Iberian Peninsula, which is the Spain-Portugal area along the coast.
They are called Iberian Wolves, aka Canis Lupus Signatus.
I must save them.
And if you find them pretty and conservable, GoEco has a very amazing plan. Which I would LOVE to be a part of, but the biological conspiracy that I am a part of renders me all of sixteen-year-old for almost forever. But look at this link.
http://www.goeco.org/47169/Volunteer_in_Portugal_in_Wolves_coservation_program
And if you're still not psyched, look at the gorgeousness that you will be helping to protect:

The Glow of Motherhood aka A Hard Day's Night.

2008-04-29T22:43:00.003+05:30

I feel so happily exhausted. So much so, that I want to flop down on a bean bag and grin maniacally. My baby is finally home.
The Magazine Team of the School has been working their asses off all the year, sacrificing lunch breaks, holidays and sanity to compile something "classy" at the end of the year. And roughly nine months later, we walk into the Principal's office which has been, more or less second home to us, only to receive a nice, thick, considerable bulk of paper that smells invitingly of glue.
It is our baby, and each one is the progeny of our hard work.
And so, with a proud-exhilarated-tired-ecstatic expression of absolute kindness (or the closest to it that I can muster up, anyway) I present to the world, Lotus Buds 2007-2008.

Might I just add,due to lack of consensus, this child is largely regarded to be the process of asexual reproduction, or imaginary... never mind.
XD!

The Great Facebook Game.

2008-04-29T22:21:00.002+05:30

Have a look at your wall and make a note of the first 12 people, if the same person has posted twice only put them in once and add an extra person... I'm sure you get it, so it's the first twelve unique posters (just in case you still don't get it) then answer the questions below and post-in in a note form! Do the same yourself if you have been tagged in this note here.

1.Sreeja
2. Debadrita
3. Shabba
4. Ruchika
5.Anwesha
6.Anushka
7.Trisha
8. Stuti
9. Subholina
10.Disha
11.Shayontoni
12. Maloo

Q: When's the next time you're gonna see 4?
School corridor, I'm guessing.

Q: Is number 8 pretty?
Quite.

Q: What was your first impression of number 10?
Oh man, thank GOD she exists! (Class 9)

Q: How did you meet 3?
Class Eleven A.

Q: Is 11 your best friend?
Not really.

Q: Have you seen 5 in the last month?
No! =[

Q: Do you think 2 has a crush on you?
Dear God, I HOPE not!

Q: When was the last time you saw 12?
Last month.

Q: Have you ever been to 1's house?
I surely have! I even planned to dognap her Jetschkei!

Q: When's the next time you'll see 10?
School. After she runs away from the LateDood aka Jyotin da.

Q: Have you ever been to the movies with 4?
Nuh-uh.

Q: Have you ever gotten in trouble with 2?
Nope. (Wow, I suck)

Q: What do you and number 3 talk about the most?
I don't think either of us have any idea.

Q: Do you even know 9?
Pretty well. I think. I don't know. Ask her, na.

Q: Would you give number 3 a hug?
Sure.

Q: Are you in love with number 12?
Not really, but I know a lot of people who would beg to differ.

Q: Do you know a secret about number 8?
Maybe. No idea.

Q: Describe the relationship between number 9 and number 5.
Nuffink.

Q: What is the best thing about your friendship with number 4?
Umm.. she never fought with me on Fighters' Club on Facebook except this one time when I lost, but apart from that, never.

Q: Have you ever danced with number 7?
But... but.. she's so much better than me!

Q: How long have you known number 1?
Two to three years in this lifetime.

Q: Have you ever been in a fight with number 8?
Nope.

Q: Have you ever wanted to punch number 2 in the face?
OMGno.

Q: Has number 1 ever met your mother?
Sadly, yes. Our mothers.. um.. BOND. Eesh.

Q: How did you meet number 6?
Class 4. It's been PyschologicalHell since then.

Q: Did you ever accidentally physically hurt number 5?
Possibly. Who knows?

Q: What is the best memory you have with number 3?
Reading out Macbeth in sultry undertones in last year's English class before the class

Q: Do you live close to 7?
Quite close, I'd like to believe.

Q: Out of your top 12, which one would you say is the funniest?
Sreeja, Disha, Anushka, and Trisha sometimes.

Q: Who is the most flirtatious?
Heehee, I'm not saying.

Q: Say something nice about number 11.
She sometimes forgets to put in spaces between her words when she ims me.

Q: Which one lives the farthest away?
Shay, I think.

Q: Which one do you hang out with the most?
Disha, Sreeja, Anushka.

Q: The quietest?
Ruchika?

Q: Have you travelled anywhere with number 8?
Do Magazine Meetings count?

Dancing Monochromes.

2008-04-27T19:00:00.003+05:30

Plunged in grey, the light leaned across walls lazily,
Streaking through in flashes and then crawling by,
As headlights and streetlights create a maze of luminescence
And the evening drowned itself into the night.

Woop-A-Woo!

2008-04-19T12:26:00.003+05:30

The Kolkata Knight Riders kick ass.
*evil laugh*

I shall now leave and look for something black and gold to wear for tomorrow. I'm not going for the match, but I support all ze King's Men, and therefore I shall dress (tackily) in black and gold to pledge my allegiance to Dada and his minions.

*evil laugh*

Who is this for?

2008-04-17T20:57:00.003+05:30

All the lonely people.

I'm half-asleep, and still hammering at the keyboard. No big surprise there, really.

I never realise how wonderful a place like home is, unless I've been someplace really crappy that made me want to curl up and cry. And the last two days have been hell. A train journey that was originally meant to be a nauseating two nights dragged through another nine hours, what with all Maoists and their mild explosives. And now I know, more than ever, that there is no place like home.

I have been waiting for a conversation. And it is just not working out the way I want the conversation to be. Which is truly frustrating, because this means that I won't get to hear what I want to hear, and that is just a little bit too maddening.

I'm becoming incoherent, and it's minutes before my grammar disintegrates. I shall log off now, and leave you all alone.

Listening to : Owner of a Lonely Heart, Yes.

Unjustified Craving for Danish Pastries

2008-04-06T10:51:00.005+05:30

You gotta love Audrey Hepburn.

She's Super-Stylish...

Amazingly Pretty...

And Acts like a Dream...

People who are icons like Holly Golighty,

Do not deserve to die of Appendecial Cancer. What sort of Cancer is that, anyway? We don't even NEED the Appendix!
R.I.P Audrey.

Warm, Fuzzy VelocityGirl.

2008-04-02T21:33:00.005+05:30

I visited my MySpace after a very long time today. If you're wondering whether I'm a networking addict, actually, no. It's because I use MySpace to get updates on some of my favourite artists, and to read Snow Patrol's blog.
I LOVE Gary Lightbody. The man is absolutely wonderful. He's all of 6'5", lyrical genius, vocally gifted, pleasing to the eye and ear, and every time I look at him or listen to him, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Irish Delight. And his blogs, which I've mentioned before, have delectable undertones of observational humour that also make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Lightbody apparently hosted a New Year's Countdown on BBC Radio. Too little, too late that I find out now.

Here is a photo I took the other day.

Broken Glass.

With all due thank-yous to the Parents Gpt

2008-04-01T11:46:00.004+05:30

Something I picked for light, bedtime reading. All my thank-yous to the Doctor-Parents Gpt, parents of the S.Gpt who lent me this.
So excited!

Firelight

2008-03-28T13:50:00.003+05:30

If you were wondering where I've been, here's a post to remind you of my existence. This picture I took last night when some of the kids in the apartment block were bursting firecrackers. You have to love pseudo-Diwali, and red sparklers.

Where, oh where, can my Nickelodeon be?

2008-03-24T12:21:00.007+05:30

A little more reminiscing, because I don't think I covered it all in the last post. Besides, I really really miss this stuff.
Here's the stuff I remember watching on Nickelodeon. I refuse to call it "Nick". We never called it Nick. I don't know Nick. I never did know Nick. It's NICK-ELL-OH-DEE-YUN!

Hey! Arnold. I used to watch this in Class Three, and I used to pine because Arnold was a year older. And then when I came to Class Five, I used to laugh my ass off because I was now older than Arnold. Do you remember Helga's shrine for Arnold? Of course you do.

Clarissa. Like I said, I grew up wishing I had a friend like Sam who would enter my room by climbing up to my window instead of walking in through the door like regular best friends. Ah Sam. Ah Clarissa. Ah Love.

Legends of the Hidden Temple. I always rooted for the Blue Barracudas because they had a kick-ass name, but then again, the highlight of the show was ALWAYS The Shrine of the Silver Monkey. And EVERYONE mucked up in there. It was wonderful. Although Tolmec was a little disturbing.

The Rugrats. If there was a show that ever made anyone want to regressively metamorphose in
to infants again, then it would be the Rugrats. You had to love their childish antics and the crazy imagination. You just HAD to hate Angelica, and you HAD to love Susie, and you HAD to admire Tommy. And you just HAD to melt each time Dil said "Mine!" or called Tommie "Bobo."

Don't know if everyone caught "As Told By Ginger", which came a little later. It was around the time Nickelodeon was phasing out of the Good Ol' Days, but Ginger sort of kept it afloat. It was typically teeny-bopper, but we were typically teeny-bopper too, and Ginger lived all of our klutzy and confused pre-teen/teenage lives.

I could go on forever, but I should stop, yes? But if you're looking to the past, spare a thought for the present. Nickelodeon has changed to Nick, and the shows are still pretty much the same, some of them. Nick's greatest asset till now remains the Spongebob Squarepants Show. While I do love Spongebob, he was never my favourite. I didn't even complain when they overhauled the cast of All That Show, removing Lori Beth (who always made me feel good about being tubby back then) and adding Jamie Lynn Spears to the cast. Drake and Josh is laugh-a-minute, but it's also forget-in-a-minute. To top it all off, they've translated the whole signal to Hindi. (Aah!) And you don't even have Blue's Clues anymore. (Yes, I used to watch it sometimes. I loved figuring out Blue's Clues, and I knew the end credits song perfectly.)
GIVE ME MY TV BACK, "NICK!"

The Power Was Ours, and then Pikachu Took Over.

2008-03-23T20:38:00.003+05:30

Remember Captain Planet?
He used to look SO much better on TV.

I used to LOVE old-school Cartoon Network. Little(r) people these days have absolute rubbish to watch on TV. Does anyone else remember when Toonami used to be just a one-hour slot at 5:00 and everyone used to rabidly collect Pikachu tazos or whatever?
I grew up with Cartoon Network being aired from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., and then TNT used to take over, and I used to believe it was 'big people TV'. And in any case, I used to be too sleepy to even try and protest in order to watch it.
And then TNT got shifted to 10:00 p.m. and then it just went away. Just around the time I was old enough to stay up to watch it. Bummer.
And look at "CN" now. There's no Powerpuff Girls, or Dexter's Laboratory ("OOH! WHAT DOES THIS BUTTON DO?!"), or even that annoying show called Ed, Edd and Eddie. Hell, even Dragonball Z has gone off air. And Tom and Jerry is aired as fillers. All the little(r) people watch is Digimon, Pokemon, some other Beyblade thing, and pseudo-anime crap.
Old-school Nickelodeon was so much more brilliant. There used to be the old version of 'All That', (the one with Lori Beth, not Jamie Lynn Spears), and the Kenan and Kel Show, and Hey! Arnold, and the Rugrats (before Dil was born, but even after Dil and Chuckie's half-sister Kimmie, the show was pretty fun). And then there was Legends of the Hidden Temple. Nickelodeon even had that cool "Nick-ell-oh-dee-yun!" theme tune, and they used to air Clarissa, which was so majorly cool. (Who else wishes they had a friend like Sam who would climb up to your window using a ladder instead of the door? \m/, I say.)

Now everything is translated to Hindi, and even if it's not, Drake and Josh is about the only normal thing that 'Nick' airs anymore.
I miss being a kid. And I miss old-school cartoons. And even though I used to laugh my ass off at that dweeb Ma-ti who had "Heart!" as a power on Captain Planet, I would give anything to catch a real re-run and have one day of the cartoons as I knew it.

2008-03-21T19:25:00.002+05:30

Just a post to keep my conscience satisfied that I have blog-posted. I can't drum up the strength, courage or inspiration to do some artwork, or even some writing, which makes me feel very awful because I have all these ideas but I can't seem to get them just the way I want them on paper, which is frustrating, not to mention highly frustrating. :P
Umm, anyway, yeah, I'm online after a whole day of Internet Abstinence. Which making me pretty sprightly. Is sprightly the right word? But it's a nice word, I wonder why we don't use it that often.
So, now, here is a nice video by Pearl Jam.

Trauma

2008-03-17T21:20:00.003+05:30

I swear, if I have to look at ANY other version of the dummy copy, I will kill myself.
No, seriously.

What?
I mean it.

Today, has been, pretty odd.
I went to the gym and have pulled every voluntary muscle that I possess.
I saw two dogs humping on the street. (Yes, again.)
I corrected the omnipresent typos in the dummy copy.
I ate out and still stayed vegetarian.
I slurped a swirlie after a very long time.
I discovered that (oh, joy!) Class XII Physics is easier than Class XI.
I had a very Southie Dinner.
I am blogging dumbass posts again.

It's time I got down to actually composing something, I miss it, but I lack the inspi-ray-shun.
On the bright side, my Hello Tune is now 'I Want To Break Free' by Queen.

And this post sucks.

Don't Forget to Breathe

2008-03-16T23:00:00.002+05:30

The laptop is dying, slowly dying.
S...l...o...w...l...y.
D...y...i...n...g.

I am an idiot to have left my power cord at Mohor's house this afternoon.
I am a greater idiot to be wasting battery writing dumbass posts.

What the hell am I still doing here?

Screw.

Bio Practicals.

2008-03-12T18:39:00.002+05:30

Artwork that I made after I finished my Bio practicals, because the council feels I need 2 and a half hours to cut a bit of a root.
Anyway.
I like to believe that the drawing was inspired by Pearl Jam's song 'Release' from the album Ten. An excerpt from it anyway.

Oh, (dear dad), can you see me now?
I am myself, like you somehow.
I'll wait up in the dark for you to speak to me,
I'll open up...Release me...

Do I hate Math?

2008-03-09T20:25:00.000+05:30

Yes.

Forty Six and Two : Tool

2008-03-08T22:11:00.000+05:30

Forty Six and Two by Tool, from the album Aenima.

My shadow's
Shedding skin and
I've been picking
Scabs again
I'm down
Digging through
My old muscles
Looking for a clue

I've been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could've been
I've been wallowing in my own confused
And insecure delusions
For a piece to cross me over
Or a word to guide me in
I wanna feel the changes coming down
I wanna know what I've been hiding in

My shadow
Change is coming through my shadow
My shadow's shedding skin
I've been picking
My scabs again

I've been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could've been
I've been wallowing in my own chaotic
And insecure delusions

I wanna feel the change consume me,
Feel the outside turning in
I wanna feel the metamorphosis and
Cleansing I've endured within

My shadow
Change is coming
Now is my time
Listen to my muscle memory
Contemplate what I've been clinging to
Forty six and two ahead of me

I choose to live and to
Grow, take and give and to
Move, learn and love and to
Cry, kill and die and to
Be paranoid and to
Lie, hate and fear and to
Do what it takes to move through

I choose to live and to
Lie, kill and give and to
Die, learn and love and to
Do what it takes to step through

See my shadow changing,
Stretching up and over me
Soften this old armor
Hoping I can clear the way
By stepping through my shadow,
Coming out the other side
Step into the shadow
Forty six and two are just ahead of me
This song is about growing, changing, and moving towards the next level of human evolution and consciousness. It's deeply rooted in Jungian theory.

Basically, it's believed that there are three levels of human evolution and each has it's form of consciousness. There's the 1st level with 44 chromosomes. These are primitive people's like the aborigines in Australia who do not perceive anything outside of themselves. They only see one large consciousness with no distinguishment between organisms. Then there's the second level with 46 chromosomes. That is us. We are a chaotic disharmonic conciousness that is basically used as a stepping stone between the first and third levels. The third level is 48 chromosones. (Or 46 & 2, with 2 being the sex chromosones x & y). This is the higher level of consciousness. Our destination. But this is where the Jungian theory comes in. It is believed that you can not reach this third level of evolution without first delving into yourself and basically cleansing your consciousness for the next jump. That's where the Shadow comes in. The shadow is basically everything about that is unseen that you are uncomfortable with or hate. This is also known as the Anima (hence the name of the CD).

Aaah! Ransom Note!

2008-03-05T16:31:00.000+05:30

Since my mother has been a little busy of late, we've taken to talking to each other through notes on the refrigerator stuck with magnets. Now, I have an obsession with my hair-dryer, and this happens to be a MAJOR bone of contention between us both.
This one weekend Sahana's Mother decided to take matters into her own hands by hiding my most wonderful hair-dryer, and pretending she didn't know anything about it. Two days later, I found it where she hides the rest of the stuff she takes away from me and says she knows nothing about. (Note to self: Never buy any more Mars Bars.)
Anyway, being the polite note-talking soul that I am, I sent her the following missive, stuck on the fridge under the Luck of the Irish Magnet.

And I was even polite, and said I'd do quite a bit for it. As you can see.
And this is the ransom note I get back, under the Glow in the Dark Magnet that always creeps me out.

A 60% in Math?!?!

I better get to researching indigenous methods of making my hair pretty, then.
I am also going to cancel out the note-system. Afraid-of-Confrontation, its making me.

Random Blogthings.

2008-03-05T16:23:00.000+05:30

Just making me blog pretty, that's all.

You Are Artemis!

Brave, and a natural born leader.

You're willing to fight for what you believe in...

And willing to make tough decisions.

Don't forget - the people around you have ideas too!

What Goddess Are You?

YYZ / How to Be Dead

2008-02-28T16:34:00.000+05:30

Rules:1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!
[I did this twice, once with my whole playlist, again with only my Snow Patrol playlist.)

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Be Yourself - Audioslave. (That's right, peace out Man.)
When You're Right, You're Right - SP

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Passive - A Perfect Circle. (I beg to differ, but this game is intriguing me now.)
Downhill from Here - SP (Where?)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Toothpaste Kisses - The Maccabees (Aww...)
Some Surprise - Gary Lightbody and Lisa Hannigan ("Your lips come as some surprise!" - Awwie!)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Miss Murder: AFI (Likey, me Likey.)
Chased by I don't know What - SP ( I love this.)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Black Math - The White Stripes ( ^_^)
The Finish Line - SP (Aaah! Igor, the playlist LIVES!)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Misty Mountain Hop - Led Zeppelin. (Um, okay?)
Post Punk Progression - SP (Very Nice.)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Hot Girls - INXs. (Haha, just Haha!)
Velocity Girl - SP (I thought it was just me. Whoa.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Get the Hell Out of Here - Steve Vai. (Maybe in milder terms, jeez!)
Firelight - SP (HOW?!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Romeo and Juliet - Dire Straits. (Ehh, wha?)
Days Withouht Paracetamol - SP ( =D)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Parabola - Tool. (Damn, wrong kind of math!)
Making Enemies - SP (Namely, Math.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Creep - Radiohead. (LMFAO! Well, yeah, kind of.)
Headlights on Dark Roads - SP (Sure.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand (Shut UP! NO WAY!)
You're All I Have - SP (You wish, sucker.)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Ramble On - Led Zeppelin. (*slow clapping*)
If I'd Found the Right Words to Say - SP (I love my SP playlist.)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
She - Green Day. (She who? She what? TELL ME!!)
Chasing Cars - SP (Depends, how much is the pay? =P )

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Come on Home - Franz Ferdinand. (Take me Out, and Come on Home. Sheer genius.)
Never Gonna Fall in Love Again - SP (Mmm, maybe. *shrugs* )

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Freak On A Leash - Korn (Minus the leash, I'm hoping. >.<)
Wow - SP (Haha, yes, I know.)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
You Are My Joy - Reindeer Section featuring Gary Lightbody. (So cute)
One Night is Not Enough - SP (That's no problem, I'm married now. ;) )

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
This Is My Now - Jordin Sparks (More like This Is No Longer My Now.)
Riot, Please - SP (Ell Emm Eff Aye Oh!)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Magick - The Klaxons (*hides wand* No, its wrong, just not... right...)
Making Enemies - SP (It just HAPPENS, I don't PLAN it!)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Satan's Bed - Pearl Jam. O.O
Chocolate - SP (I'm an addict, yes. I love this game. So much.)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
I Don't Love You - MCR. (But I do! A little.. )
Signal Fire - SP (More like it.)

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
YYZ - Rush. (Whee! *crazy running around in circles*)
How to be Dead (American Pie Soundtrack) - SP (Okay.)

Aah! It's Gary!

2008-02-26T22:29:00.000+05:30

I love Gary Lightbody.
Not only is he muchos delicious-o, he sings like a husky angel, writes lyrics like a love-struck muse, and blogs like a madcap. I love him.

Excerpts -

Once you’re actually in the states though it’s fine for the most part aside from the television (more time given to adverts than programmes) and the food (portions so big you feel full-up before you begin. Has anyone ever finished a meal in America? I know people bag it up to ‘have later’ but who really eats it when they get home? Maybe I’m wrong, being from a culture that hasn’t really embraced the doggy bag I can’t be sure it isn’t a noble tradition and as such you are sworn by an unwritten code to eat all of what you bring home. If not though there’s a lot of wasted food in this country. So much waste in fact that every day you could feed a lot of countries that haven’t any food at all).

The Germans love their beer. They are so proud of it they serve it in glasses big enough for you to swim in and that require burly ladies with arms as thick as lampposts to carry.

I had my cake and ate it. I mean literally. Yesterday I got some cake and then I ate it. So you can have your cake and eat it. Another popular misconception exposed as the farce it is. Phew.

Gary Lightbody is my cake. I shall call him Irish Delight.
And I must have him.

Forensic Math

2008-02-26T21:09:00.000+05:30

Is it just me or is Danny Noriega = Mark Indelicato + Ryan Ross?

Tell Me That You'll Open Your Eyes.

2008-02-26T20:49:00.000+05:30

Its been a while since I wrote here, and although I keep forgetting, there is a definite sense of satisfaction that I get when I go clickety-clack on the keyboard with the faint hum of Snow Patrol music from the speakers behind.
Today seems to be very tranquil somehow, like the end of something big that's left a void. Now what caused that is still a mystery. There is a new light that's been installed in my room, and it glows so bright that it actually hurts my eyes.
And so, when I shut my eyes, I go into a whole different world.

There is a faint red beam that dissolves into nothingness, which is probably some visual retention of the light. Gary Lightbody sings behind, and the Eyes Open album croons. (If you don't know already, Eyes Open is my most favourite album, ever.) There are little electronic beeps intermittently as people IM me, and I hear the distant sounds of Marisa Cooper's latest dilemma on the OC. On the street, two people talk gaily of nothingness; they've missed this pointless banter. A dog howls out under the streetlight, and the two-year-old child who lives in the apartment below mine howls too, only for chocolate. The fan drones monotonously, like a very low bass chord for the proceedings.
Its been a while since I felt at such peace with myself - the weekend has been torturous, and not just in the scholastic sense. I've returned to the Snow Patrol playlist after a long while; and its a marked change from the prog-rock I've been hooked to for some time now. Its nice to hear music that emphasises on vocals than guitar riffs, and I'm a little happy to not be listening to frenetic drum solos. (I'm sorry Neil Peart and Mr. Bozzio, I will be back.)
I have to go to school again tomorrow, to give a Chemistry paper, and honestly, even my obvious anti-omniscience does not bother me anymore. Maybe, I'll speak in class tomorrow.

I realised I sound sober; taser-ed and tranquilised, even, in this post.
Things do strange things to People.

American Idol, Yee-haw!

2008-02-24T11:56:00.000+05:30

I love American Idol. I love it to bits. Its my weekly dose of Prozac, and this year is kind of a bummer, but still, I love watching the show because that's what I do from January through May/June every year.
Top 24 this year frankly has been the crumbliest patch-up I can think of because, honestly, either the contestants are god-awful or god-amazing. And most of the times, its the former case. And the Top 12 girls this year seem even more vacuous than usual, similar to the extent that I've mistaken them for other girls throughout the first episodes. It's a guy year, this.
The guys this year INTRIGUE me. In a I-have-nothing-to-do-so-I'll-analyze-Idol kind of way. I'm not going to dissect performances because I haven't watched a whole episode properly.. yet. :)
Okay, so my comments and advice to the guys this year:

David Cook - If you're on the road to premature alopecia, never, I repeat NEVER flat-iron your hair. Will get out earlier than Daughtry unless he does a Fuel-rerun.

David Hernandez - Is gay. So he's going to make the top 10 based on audience-parameters-blah.

David Archuleta - Is not cute, and annoys me. I want to bash his teeth out of his 12-year-old face. I think he'll stay till top 4 atleast, though.

Danny Noriega - Typical teeny-bopper, pseudo-emo-rocker-wannabe. Slightly girly, but bitch-head-bobbing Simon; now, that is what Idol is going to keep him for. He can sing, so he'll make top 7 or 8.

Jason Castro - May just be a surprise package yet.

Jason Yeager - Has a shifty face, and doesn't stand a chance.

Chikezie Eze - Tried to pull a Danny on Simon, failed, wore a tangerine suit. I say he's going home next week.

Michael Lee Johns - Will stay. Sexy accent, too.

Robbie Carrico - *indifferent face.* If he does enter the top 12, he'll be an early exit.

Colton Berry - Looked like Ellen DeGeneres. Got voted out.

Garrett Haley - Had a very gentle-rocker-look. Also got voted out.

Going home next week - Jason Yeager, Chikezie Eze.

VelocityGirl Out!

MSN Poetry Music.

2008-02-20T16:14:00.000+05:30

^^Inspiration for the song^^
Picture provided by the Dead Duck Eater.
This song is called - Another Head in the Wall, aka Fracture his Skull, by Velocity Girl feat. Dead Duck Eater.

Velocity Girl :
Ooh, all he wanted to do was fracture his skull, because
It was a little better than going to hell.
Dead Duck Eater:
But he ended up doing it to the other girl,
She's dead now so no one can tell.
Velocity Girl:
Fracture my skull, as life was dull,
And I thought (Whoaaaaa, I thought)
A little injury, would make a better me.
But no one came to the rescue,
So as I died, I happened to rue.
Post Script : If you want to die even more painfully, nudge Dead Duck Eater several times on MSN.
Dead Duck Eater:
I want to see that song on your blog, by the way. xD

Its Britney, Betch.

2008-02-16T12:01:00.000+05:30

I don't like Britney Spears normally, but I'm really surprised by the lyrics of her new single "Piece of Me" - they're not some soppy ohmygod-i'm-in-trauma-help-me-help-me, its spunky and fun, and its a nice punch full of attitude for people who were writing her off. I'm not really concerned about whether she does make a comeback or whether she's a sellout or whatever, but the lyrics floored me because they're very I'm-fighting-back.
Yay for Britney, betch!

(Ok, so the song still really sucks because of the synthesizer beats and pinga-pong electronic sounds and the rehearsed little-dress-dance-sequences, but right now I'm very impressed by whoever wrote the words to the song.)

I'm Miss American Dream since I was 17
Don't matter if I step on the scene
Or sneak away to the Philippines
They still got pictures of my derrière in the magazine
I'm Miss Bad Media Karma
Another day, another drama
Guess I can't see no harm
In working and being a mama
And with a kid on my arm
I'm still an exception

I'm Mrs. Lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous
I'm Mrs. Oh my God that Britney's Shameless
I'm Mrs. Extra! Extra!-this-just-in
I'm Mrs. She's-too-big-now-she's-too-thin

Tryin' and pissin' me off
Well get in line with the paparazzi
Who's flippin' me off
Hopin' I'll resort to startin' havoc
And end up settlin' in court
Now are you sure you want a piece of me?
I'm Mrs. 'Most likely to get on TV for strippin' on the streets'
When getting the groceries, no, for real..
Are you kidding me?
Causing panic in the industry

Leave Me Breathless Every Time.

2008-02-15T14:33:00.000+05:30

Chad Wackerman vs. Terry Bozzio.

Gene Krupa vs. Buddy Rich.

YYZ - Rush. Neil Peart.
-.-- -.-- --..

I iz a Jammer of Pearl.

2008-02-15T13:30:00.000+05:30

I can no longer contend with managing two blogs for the two very different people I am, therefore, I am now combining Glamourous Indie Rock and Roll here, because I cannot keep switching.
Why this sudden epiphany, you ask? BECAUSE, .. well, this blog is too goddamn 'aantel' for its own good. And when I read all the posts, I wonder what I was on when I wrote them. Because there is too much love-sick ranting on the page. Who is it for, do you ask? Here's the deal - even I don't know. So there.

LDR

2008-01-24T22:31:00.000+05:30

[Not part of my Muse Story, I hate to break the flow, but I had to write this, just had to.]

I don't know where I am.
The only thing that keeps me from feeling lost is you.
And I've looked around, and tried so hard -
Still the streets have a name I cannot pronounce.
But its strange how its here,
How in this new town,
In a different country,
So far away,
I feel right at home
Because you do.

[I know it sucks. But I had to type it. *sniff* ]