18 going on 17

Berkeley!!!

2008-09-10T15:35:00.000-07:00

Ok, as you guys have doubtless realised, my blogs are gonna be Berkeley-centric for a long time to come:):):)

I wanted to talk about the random quirkiness of this campus, and how it ALWAYS makes me smile. Let's disregard all the people for a minute; I should talk a little more about my professors. Apart from their obvious passion and easy competence, they care so deeply about their students that the humungous classes become warm and personal.

Professor Majda is my favorite of the lot. My Chem 1A professor, he looks very dignified-silver haired, bespectacled, formally dressed. In class however, he can be so cute! He freaks out if students use 'big' words while answering, and feigns ignorance. He played the James Bond title soundtrack before starting chemical bonding, and uses crazy cartoons and funny jokes to illustrate perfectly boring concepts. No class is purely theoretical; he tries to make students race against bromine vapor! While demonstrating how air pressure pushes a boiled egg into a flask, he screamed, "Where's my egg?" and seemed oblivious to the laughter that ensued. His theatrical shudders and gasps while heating something are amusing in the extreme-best of all, when lecture ends, he gets so excited he bursts a hydrogen balloon and laughs at the explosion:)

Ms.Bobo, my college writing teacher, admittedly has an easier task on her hands, since its a seminar with just 21 students(literally nothing by Berkeley standards). But her concern and enthusiastic excitement are a joy to the beholder-she kept asking about my sprained ankle, and asked me to change my single-strapped bag, because she knows I live all the way across in Foothill. She sits with us and discusses everything from Google to favorite colors. With her, everything is as comfortable and open as can be! I really enjoy those classes; especially because of the brilliant articles she encourages us to read, and the mind maps and other concepts we employ, I can literally feel my mind opening up to the vast vistas beyond.

David Presti, who lectures on 'Drugs and their effects on the brain,' has been awarded several times by his students, for being the passionate, unconventional man he is. He's written his own textbook, and it's such a personal thing that you can literally hear him speaking from the pages;he's even included the desperate emails sent to him by past students who wanted to pass or raise their grades. Haha. No wonder then, that his class is renowned as one of the BEST at Berkeley. He recommends books of plant poetry for reference, talks about witches and shamans, asks us to write papers on plant rituals....again, I can feel my mind embracing such 'weird' concepts(I'm an avid reader of Paulo Coelho).

Carly Stair, my Psychology professor, never ceases to delight. When our auditorium was full of sweating, panting students (due to non functional AC), she went, "Well, welcome to our personal sauna!" Today, discussing the nature-nurture debate, I was blanking when she switched to sexuality, and shot, "Men mate widely, women mate wisely!" Every lecture is such an eye opener...

Ah, I bet you've all had enough of my raving. But it's not all rosy. I don't think half the GSIs have any clue what they're doing (FYI, Grad Student Instructor). They're in charge of our discussion and lab sections, and well.... That part isn't working out particularly well for me! But I guess you can't have it all :/

Got so much homework to do, plus midterms next week. Yeah the work is killer-4 midterms PLUS 1 final PLUS weekly assignments PLUS daily quizzes... it never lets up!

And I love Berkeley for that:):):)

Berkeley=HOME:):):)

2008-09-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

'Cal is not just a university, it's a home.' -EAP student
'In college, there are 3 things-sleep, academics, and a social life. And there's only time for two of them.' -Senior at Berkeley
'Once your mind is stretched to the dimensions of a greater idea, it never quite returns to its original size.' -Oliver Wendell

Ah, where do I begin? It's been barely three weeks, and yet there's SO MUCH I've seen, experienced, and FELT at Cal that I'm overwhelmed!

And this blog post would probably never have come about, but for the urging of my college writing professor, Ms. Stephanie Bobo, to keep a personal journal at this (most) exciting period of my life.

What she forgot to add is that it's also INCREDIBLY busy (sleep has become my favorite activity, and insomnia is now a thing of the past)... I can only eat once a day thanks to time restraints... And so on and so forth. Ah, well. I've been meaning to do this for a while.

When I first landed here, on moving in day, it would be an understatement to say that I was DESPERATELY homesick. I didn't connect with my roomies much, or socialize, or bother to meet my professors and look at my textbooks. I just picked up my Matrix phone, finished my allotted quota of 900 minutes talking, bitching, clinging and crying to my best friends back home.... I even considered switching schools, returning home, giving up on higher education.

Haha. It never ceases to amuse me what a dramaqueen I am:).

'Cause this place is home. I realised this truth the day I returned my Matrix phone to my parents, bade them goodbye, and allowed myself to soak in the essence of Berkeley. I started loving the anonymity (that had so mortified me when I first arrived), the friendly people, the 'take-it-or-leave-it' atmosphere, even my HUGE classes(with 500-odd students). I learned to laugh at Professor's Majda's cute Chem puns, watch Cal tube(our version of You tube) everyday, love the 'work hard party harder' spirit, make tea and popcorn for all everyone during our impromptu 'slumber parties' when we congregate and yak in a single room, cheer for Dave Matthews out of my dorm window(which had the best view of the concert, btw)...

I can't decide what I love most about Cal-Is it the beauty and serenity of this campus? The fact that it attracts geeks and contributes to science in newer and more innovative methods everyday? Is it because I'm a part of WiSE(Women in Science and Engineering) where we live like a sorority, have substance free FUN parties and get concerned advice and support on everything, from pepper spray to gender disparities? Yes, a big campus like this can have an ugly underbelly, but it's incredible how much Berkeley cares. You can talk to a peer counselor if you're depressed or stressed, get free tutoring if you need it, talk to major advisors about your schedule, join the million+ clubs if you wanna meet like-minded people, call a police officer to escort you to your dorm late at night(it's called Bearwalk), meet your professors with the STUPIDEST questions, meet your RAs who live with you and facilitate your activities(so they care for you, without being nosy-they're just your friends!)...the resources are endless! All they ask is that you reach out and use these resources-and endeavour to do your very best, always.

It really is that simple!

There are plenty of things I've learnt out of the classroom (though I can, as Mina put it, literally hear the wheels turning in my head,' thanks to all the interesting information I'm assimilating everyday). I've learned how marijuana smells, how to drink tap water, how to tweeze my eyebrows, how to schedule my days using a cute Cal planner (I think I need a stopwatch, really), how NOT to judge people(even if they have pink hair or a tail peeking from their bottoms), how to respond to American greetings...

"Hey, how are you?"
"I'm good, how are you?"

NEVER vary from this format!

Oh btw, to be a true Cal student, you must hate Stanford to your last breath (I love this concept, it's coz of the football rivalry, and football is big here- reminds me of the India-Pakistan neighbourhood cricket animosity back home). Red and white are Stanford colors, and wearing these during game season is like waving a red flag at a bull. I was asked very firmly to take off my innocuous red tee once and forced to walk around in my tank top.

Heard during a Physics class-
Professor-"Of course RED has the lowest frequency and BLUE the highest(haha coz blue and yellow are Berkeley colors!)"

Popular T-shirt quote
"We discovered Berkelium AND Californium.
WHERE'S Stanfordium???"

Berkeley does not ask permission or leave for anything it does. It doesn't allow anyone to be unhappy. It just sucks you along, and before you know it, you're part of a happy carnival, and you forget what life was like earlier.

The thing that made me decide upon Cal was not its glowing reputation, its opportunities for undergrad research, its excellent faculty, or its myriad offerings.

Nope, it was just the school motto, printed on top of Sather Gate (I've put up the pic, perhaps you can see the star with its illumining beams).

It says, very simply, 'Fiat Lux.'

'Let there be light.'

Make new friends...

2008-08-02T10:20:00.000-07:00

As all of us part, and embark on our separate ways... Sitting here, typing away on the eve of Friendship Day, the translation of an old French song comes to mind. I will always love you guys.

Make new friends, but keep the old,
Those are silver, these are gold.

New made friendships, like new wine,
Age will mellow and refine.

Friendships that have stood the test;
Time and space, are surely best.

Across the miles, across the sea,
Friends we will forever be!

For true friends are one of a kind,
Very special and hard to find.

Sow good friends wherever you may roam,
You'll always be welcome in their heart and home.

Cherish friendship in your breast,
New is good, but old is best,

So make new friends, but keep the old,
For one is silver, the other gold.

Confessions of a broken-hearted teenage dramaqueen

2008-07-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

Shit. This is the third time I've woken up from a light, drug-induced snooze in the past one hour. It's 2 a.m. now. Wow. Not the first time I've seen this hour, and it's definitely not the last. But it feels different, somehow. Perhaps it's the painkiller talking. I had to take two shots today, so I can be perfectly sanitised (and disease free) when I land up in Berkeley.

It would be nice if they manufactured painkillers specifically for the heart.

No, really. Mine is feeling like a wrung out sponge now. I kinda hoped my doc would stick his long, scary needle through my treacherous ticker, and fling it out onto his white disinfected floor, so I could spit on it, tread it to a mush, burn it to a cinder and then flush it down the toilet.

Anything for this terrible pain to fade.

I know the Universe will probably hate me even more than it already does, for insisting upon inflicting my private griefs on unsuspecting bloggers. With all due apologies, this is the only way I know to heal. As Ram helpfully pointed out, I'm an 'interior-interior' person (while Nithin is an 'exterior-exterior' person). I cannot cry easily, I live in a state of constant denial (hence the insomnia, and hence the dark circles, and hence the pacing around...but I digress), and nervous laughter is my preferred form of venting.

I don't want to be an interior person anymore. Cause I simply can't be brave about this.

And why am I turning on my histrionics, you ask? That's a good question. The answer sucks, though. I broke up tonight with my boyfriend of 9 months(effectively, 3 years). It was my longest 'steady' relationship. It was the first time I got dumped. And, most importantly, he was one of the few people I'd let inside The Core.

Ah, The Core. My lil stone heart has a tiny corner (walled by an indestructible fortress), open to very VERY select people. To some degree, I think we all have that. Well, the fortress to The Core is locked, and I swallowed the key long ago. To gain access to my heart, you had to dig rellllllly deep.

Stupid Nithin. Idiot boy. Sigh.

Despite my fierce resistance, he stole that key.

Everything smells, looks and feels different, even though its only been a few hours. A veritable lifetime. And going off to my doc's appointment didn't help distract me- the radio seemed to only play OUR songs(including his horrible caller tunes), people kept calling and messaging to enquire about what is really none of their business, every CCD we drove past caused my guts to shrivel and eyes to smart; even opening my tote was unsafe, because a glance at my Pooh keychain(that he gave me) or the Mocha sugar packets(which I flicked after long, sultry afternoons sitting with the hookah) made my intestines feel like spaghetti.

And listening to stupid couples dedicate songs to their special 'other-halves' made an invisible fork churn my spaghetti intestines skilfully with its tines.

I don't wanna hear it-time will heal your wounds, you will fall in love again, blah blah. I don't care. I read somewhere that the Y-chromosome is steadily shrinking. In a couple of million years, the male species will disappear! Hallelujah!

I try. I do my best. I try to forget how he held me when I was hurt, moody, or happy. I try not to remember how he smelled, brayed, gulped water, flushed, smiled and blew smoke rings. I've numbed myself to the more painful memories-how we walked to school in the rain that evening, how he looked when he slipped that ring on my finger, how we completed each other's sentences, how he gave me telephonic kissies when I needed TLC, how we both wept when we finally accepted that we had to let go. How we'd've done ANYTHING for each other.

'Relationships of all kinds are like sand held in the hand.' How many times have I heard that? The pressure of the transition to college made me cling-and subsequently the sand flowed out. Awkward pauses reigned; simple words led to fierce fights. Everything that had once endeared you to me now felt like a thorn in my side-specifically, my backside.

I knew it was coming for months now. Incredibly, I didn't have the courage to break away. The temptation of freedom was strong, but the dependence, even stronger. I realise now that every fight, every hurtful word, even the past scars, had fractured our relationship. I refused to face the glaring facts; I mean, there IS something wrong if 'I love you' is simply used as a synonym for 'Bye'.

Such a tempting, tantalising, torturous game. 'What if...?' What if I'd given US more space? What if I'd curbed my reckless tongue and fierce temper? What if I hadn't hung up on you earlier today? What if we'd tried, one last time, to work it out? But there are only so many times you can piece together broken china. After a while, the effort is simply not worth it.

Even worse is the treacherous game of 'How much longer...?'How much longer before you stop haunting my every other thought? How much longer before I get more than a couple of minutes' sleep each night? How much longer before I stop thinking of you as Fixie (the pixie), Froggie, Fakeo, or even Nostril hair??? How much longer before I smile and laugh? I remember asking you, quite puzzledly, 'But Nithin, without you, how am I supposed to breathe?' It was a sincere question. But I'm doing OK now. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. After a while, I'll be able to do it without effort. I'll be able to get out of bed every morning and sleep soundly every night.

Unbidden, come thoughts of loneliness, insomnia, you dating another girl, us drifting apart... Losing you, even now, seems transitory. But this time, there's no turning back.

You were always a terrible friend. Remember? You start asking me out again after barely 2weeks!!! But you know too much:) I can't let you go.

That's another thing. You know more about me than anyone else in the whole wide world, including even Shirin. But you understand little. Remember all the times I forgave your lapses, and smiled when my heart bled? Then again, perhaps I pushed you over the edge with my mood swings, my tantrums, my emphasis on language...

No.....I'm doing it again! The 'What if?' I've gotta stop!!! But I'm kinda accepting it now. And I have a feeling that things are only going to get better.

This is an 'interior' person's goodbye....A last effort to describe what you meant to me, how much you altered my life. Mere words can't do that. We grew up together, and such shared history, such linked emotions, cannot be circumscribed by the written word.

Remember what Dire Straits said?
'When you gonna realise, it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?'

Whatever. It will take me tremendous self control and considerable time before I stop making excuses and sad faces. But I will learn to complete my own sentences, warm my own hands in freezing theaters, and buy something in a shop if I like it (this was usually your prerogative). I will learn not to call you as soon as I wake up every morning, and do my best to start listening to music again. I will smile, and not bleed. I will remember the good times, and feel grateful that it ended on a high note instead of a sour one. Maybe one day, I will understand why this had to be.

But it's so hard. So very hard. Anyone who has never been burned will never understand. What do they call this pain? Withdrawal symptoms??? I think I have cancer really:(. A weird affliction that worsens each time. I admit I'm unlucky in love; but with you, I've been very, very lucky.

I will always love you. I know we made the right choice. I just wish, with all my heart, that it was a choice we'd never had to make.

The author apologises for the utterly pointless rambling and hysteria, but shamelessly admits that writing public articles about such events makes her feel infinitely better.

Broken

2008-06-22T05:00:00.000-07:00

My head bowed
I listen as you
Recite the happenings of your day.
Mundane, hopelessly boring events,
There is so much I need to say.

Yet I sit here, unable to meet your gaze,
Consumed by my silence,
Your chatter ceases
And we sit, together,
So near, yet so apart
The breadth of my couch, a yawning chasm,
That neither has the courage to cross.

Instead of bridges,
Why do we insist on building walls?
Why do we play these sick, sick games?
I gave you all I was
You laughed and turned away.
I clutch at your shrivelled affection
Hoping, praying, that you will stay.

The slanting night shadows,
Twist and turn,
Dance and burn,
A bacchanal of sorts;
An orgy of emotions,
Fueled by passing cars
And the tears that steadily carve rivers.

I don't know how we got here,
Yesterday was so rosy;
Another lifetime.
Please just reach out,
Hold my hand,
Don't let me spend yet another endless night
Staring at the ceiling in a trance.

I want to know you're hurting too,
My pain is magnified by the fact that-
you can still live, laugh and love,
And make your promises, your empty, empty apologies,
While my every waking moment
Stretches as an endless torment, from dawn to never-ending night.

The loss of trust is a terrible thing,
The loss of innocence, even greater,
Whom do I lean on? Where do I turn?
And as I struggle to rise from the ashes,
I still want you to know that
I did my best; I gave it all;
None else would've done any better.

Ah Biology :)

2008-06-21T08:28:00.000-07:00

[Once again, a college application essay. This is one of my favourites, since I bravely attempted humour! Most of the credit for my performance in Biology should rightfully go to Pramila Ma'am. However, for the sake of easy reading, I have attributed all of my interest and achievement (in Biology) to Nirmala Ma'am. The essay topic was an approximation of:'What made you choose your particular major?']

Biology is not an easy or precise science. It is tricky, smells like formalin and involves a lot of intimidating diagrams and tongue-twisting taxonomical names. Schools teach it so students can learn how babies are REALLY made (in case their parents didn’t go the whole mile while telling them about the birds and the bees). At least, that was what I thought until I entered the ninth grade-and met Nirmala Ma’am.
Anyone who has ever had Nirmala Ma’am will tell you that she doesn’t teach Biology; she teaches children. Clad in her crisp cotton sari and standing at a diminutive five feet, she starts bombarding you with questions before she even closes the door behind her. From angiograms to angiosperms, no topic is overlooked during her intense review sessions. As you turn to pull out your notebook, her hands whirl across the blackboard, drawing brains and hearts with mind numbing precision.
The first month is a blur (neuron? nephron?), but when you finally catch up, you start wondering why you couldn’t answer her questions earlier, how many notebooks you will exhaust before the year ends, and whether your wrist will actually crack if you write faster than 3,000 words per minute. You also learn the meaning of all the trite little phrases that biology teachers often employ, like “Biology is the story of life.” You end up sitting before a computer screen for hours into the night, marveling at the seamless perfection of the DNA double helix and laughing uproariously at nerdy jokes like the one below.
Question-Why are amoebae so bad at math?
Answer-Because they divide while multiplying!
I was so moved by Nirmala Ma’am’s influence that I decided to beg and plead for 8 months for an internship at Biocon, India’s largest biopharmaceutical enterprise. A week there as their youngest ever intern was enough to make me realize that this was my calling. The biotechnologists that I assisted and interacted with could not infuse life into words and 2D diagrams, like Nirmala Ma’am could, but they taught me technical aspects I could never have learned in a classroom. I felt an adrenaline rush whenever I entered the bustling laboratory, buttoning up my spotless lab coat, breathing in the heady aroma of reagents. I progressed so quickly that I was even allowed to test enzymes by myself!
During the winter of my 11th Grade, I was selected to be a part of the prestigious CPYLS (CSIR Program for Youth Leadership in Science), a national initiative to encourage budding scientists. Once again, I saw, learned-and was conquered. I spent hours with Nirmala Ma'am after class, excitedly detailing all the state-of-the-art facilities, and describing the complicated procedures I’d witnessed. Her constant guidance and encouragement enabled me to start working on my long standing projects on prion diseases and micronutrition-projects that I’m still researching today.
Now that I’m in my fourth year under Nirmala Ma’am’s tutelage, I’ve realized what makes her so special. Unlike most teachers, she is driven by such a strong passion for her subject that it’s actually contagious! I have slogged for months just to earn an imperceptible nod during her review sessions, a word of praise during rare one-on-one conversations (when she sheds her ‘monster’ persona). Through my own efforts, I’ve discovered a curiosity and passion for this enigmatic, yet easy, subject; and thanks to Nirmala Ma’am’s, I can now predict genotypes of successive generations, classify organisms with ease, and even get a 790 on my Molecular Biology SAT with absolutely no preparation (needless to say, she wasn’t very pleased about that!). Like a Mills and Boons heroine, I eagerly examine every flower and leaf, classifying it, drawing conclusions-reticulate or parallel venation? Pinnate or compound leaves? Monocot or dicot?
If Nirmala Ma’am hadn’t entered my life with a swish of cotton, barking a volley of complicated questions, I have no doubt that I would be pursuing the Arts, particularly Creative Writing and Journalism. Without even trying, she made me chart a course very different from the one I had decided upon earlier.
A particular line comes to mind-"A teacher affects eternity;he can never tell where his influence stops."

My grandfathers

2008-06-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

[I wrote this essay for my college applications; but it is a piece from the heart, so I thought it should feature on my blog.]

“Desire is the key to life because desire is power. You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire, so your will. As your will, so your deed. As your deed, so your destiny,” goes a famous Buddhist proverb. Perhaps it was composed by my two grandfathers, whose inspirational lives could fill entire Chicken Soup books.
Siddlingaiah, who grew up to be my maternal grandfather, was born to an impoverished widow in a god-forsaken South Indian village. Working three menial jobs by the time he was thirteen, he managed to attend school and win a scholarship to study medicine in the city. Times were hard; he was forced to copy out entire medical textbooks and subsist on water when his mother couldn’t send him his monthly pittance. Braving all odds, he rose to the rank of District Health Officer and even now, a year after his death, awed villagers recount to me how my grandfather had performed an emergency surgery in the forest, on a woman whose intestines had been ripped by a bear, with only saline water, needles and thread at his disposal. At his funeral, I saw the passing of not a man but a legend; yet for 16 years, I merely saw my aging Grampa cheerfully battling the repercussions of 40 years of diabetes, even as he coaxed me to finish my vegetables. People often tut-tutted about his deteriorating physical condition, commenting that a man of medicine ought to have had the 'sense' to look after himself. But Grampa's favourite Sanskrit edict was- Paropakarartham idam shariram (The purpose of this body is to help others). Once, in a ruminative mood, he narrated to me the incredible story of his life (making light of his hardships, including the onset of diabetes at a mere 27 years)and suddenly he murmured, "If I had wanted to, I could've taken better care of myself, sleeping regularly, exercising, eating healthy. I'm not a fool. But even if I live to be 80, fit as a fiddle, what is the point? It will only be advantageous to me. I would rather die young, secure in the knowledge that I have alleviated the suffering of others." He fixed his rheumy, nearly-blind eyes on me. "Always remember child, if you live only for yourself, then it truly makes no difference if you're alive or dead." He wasn't preaching; just explaining his chosen destiny. And die young he did, after a protracted illness. His patients, family and friends miss him terribly-the booming laughter, carefree smile and genuine concern. Even though he became irritable and irascible as his illness progressed, we all loved him sufficiently to smile through his tantrums.
Thimmappa, my paternal grandfather, was the eldest child in a family of ten, and had to shoulder the burden of his father’s premature death. He conducted tuitions, attended night classes, and became the youngest ever Assistant Commissioner of the Food Department. It can’t have been fun or easy, but I’ve never heard him discuss those dark years; he educated and married off his siblings, and is a contented, intellectual man to this day. He often tells me that 'education is the great equaliser' and insists on cross reviewing every one of my report cards.
Living with the legacy of these two strong men, I’ve never had the luxury of considering failure an option, and my definition of crisis has been forever altered. Even as I grumble about my unrelenting workload, I’m grateful that my biggest worry is usually a debate or the upcoming SAT. They were born in times and places where farming and drinking to death was the norm, but they fought the circumstances-and triumphed. Their burning desire to succeed eventually shaped their destinies-and mine. I owe my strong work ethic to their discreet, non intrusive influence. Everyday, I endeavor to achieve a little more by challenging my boundaries; my proudest moment was when my uncle casually remarked, “She’s a chip off the old block-truly her grandfathers’ granddaughter.” I strive for excellence, and vow to leave my mark on this world, just like my two heroes did. My attitude, as molded by them, has been aptly summed up by Adidas-impossible is nothing.

The Intruder

2008-06-21T07:43:00.000-07:00

I pushed open the door, and stifled a gasp when I saw him standing there. He looked exactly as he had in my terrifying nightmares-menacing, unclean. I trembled as he slowly explored my room. Obviously, the ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’ sign on my door had meant nothing to him…

But mother had promised me, just the night before, that I would never have to worry about this….this….monstrosity…ever again. That he was a thing of the past. Yet here he was, with his back to me, methodically and coolly walking through my disorderly room as though he owned it. The last shards of my self control shattered, and I hugged myself in an effort to stop trembling.

Slowly, as though he could sense my gaze, he turned and looked straight at me. Then, leering, he took tottering, unsteady steps towards me, as though he had all the time in the world. I couldn’t move; paralysed and frightened, I stood in the doorway and screamed like a banshee.

Suddenly, midway through his weaving path, he stopped abruptly and collapsed. His eyes, the eyes I had never had the courage to look into, seemed to cloud over. My breath caught. Slowly, I forced air back into my lungs and clung to the door, trying to calm my racing heart. It seemed as though the new insecticide had worked after all!

I strode into my room fearlessly, taking special care to squash the cockroach that lay sprawled on its back.

Yearning...

2008-06-05T10:09:00.000-07:00

I'm working on seven blog posts right now, but the sentences are stubbornly refusing to flow!!!:( Until then, I thought I'd just post the lyrics of this beautiful song by Dido. It's titled 'Hunter', and is more relevant in my life than ever. I just hope the right people take note:)

With one light on in one room
I know you're up when I get home,
With one small step upon the stair
I know your look when I get there.
If you were a king up there on your throne
would you be wise enough to let me go,
for this queen you think you own...

Wants to be a hunter again,
wants to see the world alone again,
to take a chance on life again,
so let me go...

The unread book and painful look
the tv's on, the sound is down,
One long pause
then you begin
oh look what the cat's brought in

If you were a king up there on your throne
would you be wise enough to let me go?
for this queen you think you own...

Wants to be a hunter again
wants to see the world alone again
to take a chance on life again
so let me go
let me leave...

For the crown you've placed upon my head feels too heavy now
and I don't know what to say to you but I'll smile anyhow
and all the time I'm thinking, thinking...

I want to be a hunter again
want to see the world alone again
to take a chance on life again
so let me go.

Conscience

2008-04-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

(Above-The cramped basement where Elisabeth and 3 kids were imprisoned; Below-Josef Fritzl; Lowest-His daughter Elisabeth at age 11)

'Conscience' is defined by Wikipedia as 'a hypothesised ability or faculty that distinguishes whether our actions are right or wrong. It leads to feelings of remorse when we do things that go against our moral values, and to feelings of rectitude or integrity when our actions conform to our moral values. It is also the attitude which informs our moral judgment before performing any action.'

By this definition, we can safely conclude that most of humanity has lost the responsibility, the essential sense of morality, that a conscience ensures.

Most of us are now aware of the 'Horror House' in Austria, where 73-year-old Josef Fritzl imprisoned his daughter Elisabeth for 24 long years in a windowless basement, locked with an electronic code. In a chillingly cold case of incest, he bore seven children by her. The former electrician, the perpetrator of this tragedy that transgresses all boundaries, reportedly said that he was 'sorry' for his family, and that he just wanted to be left alone.

Which, to me, is an incredible thing. In his quiet moments, doesn't the merciless pain he inflicted upon his hapless daughter torture him? How does his conscience allow him to sleep nights? Don't his thoughts and nightmares rankle with the corpse of the baby-HIS baby-that he incinerated in an oven? How could his wife and six of Elisabeth's siblings not have known what was happening? It has come to light that Josef first sexually assaulted Elisabeth when she was 11, precipitating her desperate attempts to run away from home at the ages of 16 and 18. Ultimately, her father lured her to her new 'home', a basement with a concrete door, devoid of natural light, hope or happiness. A place where she birthed seven children by a monster, without anyone knowing or caring. Josef claimed that she had run away with a religious sect, and made three of his illegitimate children(or grandchildren?) appear on his doorstep. The other three children were forced to live in the dingy room with their mother. It is impossible to empathise with what they must've suffered, and witnessed-rapes and beatings instead of school and games. I find it laughable that no one realised what was going on-Josef's wife, his family, his neighbours. Or did they turn the other cheek? That is more probable.

On a smaller scale, my mother and I went shopping the other day. We saw an old, shrivelled lady, standing near the shop, dressed well but not extravagantly. She did not seem well to do, her hands were twitching with nervousness and she appeared lost; she wasn't a beggar. She pleaded with us to help her and narrated her tale of woe-robbed of her purse, she was in a strange city with no food and no way to meet her son who lived here. Pitying her, my mother gave her money. When I looked back again, there was no sign of the woman. Her seemingly frail vulnerability had just been a phenomenal piece of acting.

Sigh.

In the fairytales everything is so perfect. In the movies. In all stories. Daddies kiss their little girls goodnight and little old ladies bake fragrant cakes and never lie because they are God fearing souls. In real life, incest is more common than most people believe it is and nothing is what it seems.

Reality is so disappointing. Painful. Cruel. Harsh. And oh yeah, real.

The metamorphosis

2008-04-18T02:00:00.000-07:00

My eyes flew open as my breath returned in slow, rattling gasps. Vivid images chased each other incessantly in my head. Dizzy, muddled and disoriented, I reached for the glass of water on my bedside table-and promptly landed on the floor, because my legs were entwined in my blanket. Without even the will to pull myself up, I hugged my knees and started to cry.

It wasn't aways like this. My long awaited summer vacation had started well. I went swimming and cycling with Susan and saw my beloved Ryan everyday. Perfect? Well, almost.

Susan and I had been best friends since kindergarten. That first day, I'd been so intimidated by the stern teacher and unfamiliar surroundings that I'd had to go to the toilet-in class. Kids are mean; they all laughed at me. I stood there, mortified and in tears, until Susan came and whispered that she wouldn't let anyone laugh at me. She fought the bullies off. To cut a long story short, I found my soulmate that day; we spent every evening on the phone, every day chattering away in class, and even organised secret birthday parties for each other.

For 14 years, she was the mainspring of my existence; that place I went when I needed encouragement, support, help, courage, love. And companionship. The best friend any girl could ever have. Maybe not.

Another lifetime.

I grimaced as I rose from the cold marble floor. Shuffling to the bathroom, I switched on the light. I presently realised that darkness would be more soothing, so I shut the lid of my commode and sat in the blackness, trying to gather my wits.

Ah, Ryan. Simply put, the true love of my life. He had a crush on me since seventh grade, and tried to woo me(his version) or rather, bug me(my version) by dropping rubber lizards down my neck, tugging my hair and hiding my books. In the ninth grade, we started dating... and life has never been the same since. Suffice it to say that we have had our ups and downs-perhaps more than most, given our temperamental personalities-but our love has always seen us through. 'The couple of the school' is one epithet we've earned in school. Even our teachers have given up and let us hold hands in class without batting an eyelid. My eyes burn as a fresh onslaught of tears begins. I can't bear to think of him in the past tense.

To add to my woes, my academic performance had begun a downward spiral. "This is abominable!" spat my Biology teacher as she handed me my latest test, the latest record of my failures. A straight-A student all my life, I couldn't take the added pressure.

Walking away from the darkness that threatened to engulf me, I reached the kitchen as if by clockwork. Reached inside the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of nachos. Ever since I found out, this has been my nighttime ritual; stuff my face and watch mindless sitcoms on TV, pop a sleeping pill and try to sleep. The last two months have been pure hell. My mind involuntarily flashes back to that fateful day when I walked into Susan's room, clad in my new dress (that I had bought especially for my 3rd year anniversary with Ryan), eager for her approval. I pushed upon that familiar door, and saw them both in bed. I don't have a very clear recollection of what happened next; I'm sure I didn't swoon like a pretty blonde heroine, or shriek, but I'm eternally grateful that the blurred memory. All I recall is the feeling of unreality...and the blinding pain... Yes, cliched as it sounds, my heart shattered into a million smithereens that night, and now nachos and cookies are my best friends.

I was unable to tell anyone; I couldn't bring myself to spell it out, ever. I went to school only sporadically, and sat at home all day, enduring my mum's sarcastic comments about my expanding backside. I gained 20 pounds, and couldn't make myself care. My doctor prescribed sleeping pills; after all, I was 'emotional,' a word that he used instead of 'depressed.'

I sighed and dumped the food on the counter and walked into my room. I dug into the debris and found my journal. Slowly, I began to write. "My heart is broken, lying on the cold, cold floor..."

Shit! I hurled the pen and journal away as sobs racked my body. Why me God? I wanted to scream. I couldn't believe this was happening. How could my boyfriend be sleeping with my best friend when we had both decided to wait? How could I ruin my grades in senior year and screw my college prospects? How could I have kept up my hopeless fifth grade attempts at poetry?

I had had dreams of being a great writer someday. I had filled pages and pages with stories, poems, songs or random thoughts. But now I knew the truth-I was just a failure through and through.

As I sunk into my depression, I glimpsed a pale dawn beyond my window and realised it was my 18th birthday. No one had bothered to call, since I'd cut myself off from my old friends and refused to acknowledge even my family. I could hear someone moving around outside; perhaps my Dad was getting a drink of water.

I made my decision, and the profound happiness bouyed me to my bathroom. I carefully took out my bottle of pills. 'Anti Depressant....Blah Blah....LITHIUM' it said. I smiled in satisfaction and slipped my savior into the pocket of my bathrobe.

I could hear my father calling me. Damn him, I thought as I shuffled into the kitchen. What did he want? A travelling salesman, he was away most of the time. I hadn't even seen him for a month. Not that I especially cared. But once upon a time, he'd meant everything to me. Like most girls, I don't get along with my mother.
"Happy Birthday baby," crooned my Dad and gave me a quick, embarrassed hug. It was so unlike his usual reserve. I saw a handsome, expensive journal lying on the table. He looked at me expectantly, and when I didn't respond, he pressed it into my hands.
"I have an early assignment today, but I'll be back in the evening. Do you need anything? Money? A cake?" I silently shook my head, realising that I hadn't noticed that he was already dressed. With a smile and a wave, he went out the door.

I sat at that table for a long time, and finally opened the journal. On the first page, there was an inscription in my Dad's copperplate print.
"To Casey
Go for your dreams. I believe in you and your immense potential.
I love you very much.
Dad."

My hands started shaking. My Dad, undemonstrative and shy by nature, must have struggled to write those few simple lines. But more importantly, he believed in me and my lost dreams, even when I had stopped believing in them myself. I saw clearly that I had been wallowing in self pity and hiding from reality for too long. It was time to emerge from my cocoon. I hugged the book to my chest and wept for a long time.

A confused girl had metamorphosed into a young lady, who came of age that day.

Nothing else matters...

2008-02-21T22:16:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I know dis is weird, but this song has become my anthem as of now and echoes my feelings...Plus I think I have developed writer's block...

So close no matter how far
Couldnt be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I dont just say
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters

Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know

So close no matter how far
Couldnt be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I dont just say
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters

Never cared for what they say
Never cared for games they play
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know

So close no matter how far
Couldnt be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No nothing else matters

Broken

2008-02-19T08:23:00.000-08:00

A long, long time ago,
When the dodo used to crow,
A queen sat upon her throne,
No one saw her heart of stone.

She ruled wisely and well
But no one could tell,
Whether she really cared,
And to ask her, none dared.

Her subjects wore fine clothes and gold
But their smiles were mirthless and cold,
In their queen's stone heart they saw
That obedience and strictness was her law.

One fine day a toddler of three,
Crawled out of his crib and finding it free,
Stole and ate his mother's cookies,
Not knowing that she made a living selling goodies.

That good lady raised a hue and cry
When the queen enquired why,
She accused her jealous friend
Of stealing to meet her selfish ends.

The fight dragged on for days
The queen with her impatient ways,
Cried, "Hang the woman! Dismiss the case!"
When there entered a man in tailcoats and lace.

"Your Honor", said the stranger,
"I don't want this woman dead,"
"She did not steal the food,
The baby of the owner is no good."

The queen, now tired of such goings-on,
Cried, "Hang this woman's accursed son!"
As the woman wept and pleaded,
The queen was furious her word went unheeded.

She sentenced the woman to the same fate,
As they dragged both victims to the gallows' gate,
The woman cried vindictively,
"I hope God punishes you terribly!"

The queen laughed, and took no note,
As she went into her bedroom fort,
She looked into the mirror, and saw,
Those things emerge when you have an inner flaw.

Her skin was white and radiant,
But her hands grew bony and translucent
Holding court grew tedious and painful,
Being a queen was now a handful.

Cancer back then was unheard of,
The doctors said it was consumption, that would 'go off,'
The pain wracked her dying body
She began to escape with toddy.

In a drunken stupor, one night,
She saw her handsome prince, shining bright,
He had broken her heart decades ago,
But here he stood, smiling and aglow.

"Come to me, sweet darling!
Too long I've been waiting!
Petunia was a poor choice,
I've been living 'til now hearing your voice."

"Come with me, give me your hand,
Your beauty, your spirit; oh, how grand!
I'll love till hell's fire burns me to ash,
To leave you was utterly foolish and rash."

The queen gazed at the apparition,
And listened desperately to his rendition,
Carried on a hazy cloud of drink
She laughed, crooned, let herself sink...

She walked to the window, she stretched her hand
She saw her soldiers forming a merry band
Imposters! They had betrayed her to the enemy!
But her eyes were full of the man only she could see.

Whose death she had ordered, long ago,
But surely, they had let him go.
He loved her still! Indeed, how could he not?
She climbed the window sill in one shot.

In that minute, she felt like a bird,
Her stone heart disappeared, her broken one stirred,
She hoisted her flowing skirt, and bit her lip
She braced herself, tingling to her every fingertip...
She jumped, flying, laughing, feeling herself born anew...

The woman's curse came true.

The Forest

2008-02-17T23:29:00.000-08:00

We walk in this forest,
Two strangers
Lost, hapless, surrounded by whispering trees
Other people, looming darkly above.
Why do you walk away; my fingers grasp at shadows
I grope blindly, not believing the things I do see
Lonely, empty, and bewildered
We entwined our minds
Only for this?
For calling out without an answer? Cliques within cliques? A night that never moves into rosy dawns?
And....a walk in a forest?
Full of trees and dreams
And a reality to escape from
It was never my fault,
You remember that...
I couldn't help it if you pushed me away.
No incentive now to care, is there?
Yet I walk this familiar path with you,
Yearning to feel familiar emotions,
All I feel is a deep sense of loss.
Shared history,
reaches out with gnarled, possessive fingers and binds us together...
If only in our hearts.
That's okay
When I walk out of this forest
This labyrinth we call growing up,
Maybe I will understand
Why this had to be.
Maybe I will walk away
As pride tells me I should.
But for now
As we walk together
So close, yet so far,
I will let my mind and heart battle, as they aways have when I am with you.

In my heart...

2008-02-08T07:08:00.000-08:00

Most of the time, I feel like an alien; so unlike other girls. I hate every kind of gender based stereotype and discrimination, with the result that I wear my hair short, advocate castration for MCPs(i.e. Male Chaunvinist Pigs) and insist that Nithin sit on MY lap. I see red whenever someone tells me I 'throw' and 'fight' like a girl. The very idea of marriage makes my breakfast move up uncomfortably to my throat, and my ideal home revolves around a lavender car, three dogs(one Golden Rett-Neo, one Labrador-Romeo, and a Cocker Spaniel...whom I haven't named yet),an excellent cook and a jacuzzi tub. There is no room for a man. Perhaps there will be; I neither know nor care. I feel pissed when people tell me purple is for girls(it was the color of aristocracy!!!) and there is nothing I hate more than pink. I also tend to be undemonstrative, career-minded and a total DISASTER in the kitchen.
But in some ways, I guess I'm a 'typical' girl. I cannot live without lipbalm and hair serum; I love nose piercings and skirts; I take audaciously long baths.
And, oh yeah, I want to be a mother someday.
I'm very clear on this point. Just yesterday, I read an article on adoption in Good Housekeeping magazine(we get about 4 monthly magazines in my house, and I devour them all). It was an eye-opener; I realized the joys, legal difficulties, societal hurdles and personal problems that single parents face. For a woman, it is more exaggerated; despite being financially independent and reasonably responsible, she is bombarded with questions-Is that her illegitimate child? Is she infertile? Who will marry her now?
While discussing this with my mother(who's a pretty broadminded person), I was drawn into an argument. She has never failed to be shocked by what she considers my 'foolish' decision-long before Angelina Jolie and Sushmita Sen made it fashionable, I had decided to adopt someday. My mother is convinced that no man will ever marry me if I do so. In desperation she suggested I use the newest biotech discovery(of manufacturing sperm from my bone marrow, fusing it with my ovum in vitro, and using a surrogate mother). She then detailed why I should refrain from such a 'rash' act-I will be shunned by society, the child will be birthed by a rape victim or a prostitute....
So? So what? That's more reason why the poor mite should get a chance for happiness, life and hope, instead of rotting away in an impersonal orphanage. This brings to mind one parent recounting how her adopted daughter would 'roll her head from side to side before sleeping.' This was because she was not rocked to sleep in her orphanage.
Many horror stories exist, and orphans suffer in a country already poor and overpopulated. I wish to save atleast one of them, preferably a girl, from the clutches of cruel Fate. If a man refuses me on that point, I am better off without him. If society disowns me, I will always have my daughter to fall back on...
My daughter. I can see her so clearly. Small, happy, curly-haired....With clear, soft skin, and shining, limpid eyes. I'll change her diapers at night and figure out how to mix baby formula and sterilise milk bottles.Her pattering feet with anklets will grow nearly as big as mine someday, and we'll go shoe shopping together, grumbling about lack of choice. She'll give me a hug when I return from the office, tired out, and I'll teach her to walk erect, never depend upon a man, and follow her heart. Her laughter, her tears, her joys, her sorrows...they will enrich my life and make it worth living, even on those days when I'm so depresed I can't get out of bed. Even during our worst fights, I'll remind myself that this girl is God's gift, a chance for me to be young again. I'll do my best to give her a good life, but I will never try to shield or protect her. I will watch, quietly, proudly, as she fights her battles-and triumphs.
Unfortunately, as of now, I can't see my future daughter in my future house, even though I can see every other detail so clearly. My untidy worktable, with my latest journalistic articles; Romeo, eating nonstop; my messy wardrobe; the heavy quilt on my bed. That's because I don't have a PHYSICAL definition of my perfect child. Her features, the colour of her skin, her attributes-they don't matter to me at all. A decade from now, as I stand in an orphanage, amidst cribs of sweet cooing babies, I'll venture a finger. She'll reach out and clasp it. With her miniscule palm. With a smile. I will cry. And an unbreakable, unshakeable bond will be formed.
But still I can cherish her, unborn and unseen.
How?
Because I can see her in my heart.

My first EVER date in the Leela!!!

2008-01-30T03:15:00.000-08:00

This is probably not a good time for blogging....I'm chock full of blackcurrant smoothie, more ecstatically happy than I've been in years, and so IN LOVE that it is almost a tangible feeling!!!
Ok, let me start at the beginning (impatient people, please stop reading at this point. I'm warning you-I'm way too happy to be entirely coherent today!). Woke up at 5a.m, stared at my beeping mobile till 6a.m, when I realized I had better mug up something if I wanted to pass my Biology Board Practicals today. The exam was just about okay; the external examiner was a total bitch, and although he did not target me(like he did so many others), I couldn't answer a question he picked from thin air :(. I mean, the unfairness of this injustice still rankles. I know our Bio textbook almost inside out!!!Thu!
Yeah, after losing my ONLY chance of getting a Board 100, I was made to sprint up and down the stairs, with other people's misplaced labcoats in my care, trying desperately to find old lost certificates for in-house Literary competitions and obeying every barked order of our beloved Vicey. Whew! Don't even wanna relive that nightmare. Got a PRINCETON interview tomorrow.
PRINCETON.
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY.
THE BEST GODDAMN UNIVERSITY IN THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD.
(I'm just hoping that if I type the above a couple hundred more times, it'll finally sink in).
The Princeton application was just to please my parents....Oh no....I don't wanna think about the interview, either.
Nope, what I'm so happy about is the rest of my day, right uptil now. Even though I was touched when Poornima brought us temple prasad and Rao gave us chocolates, I still HATE THIS SCHOOL. I was so gratified to try on my Graduation gown today. 14 years I've waited for this happy happy moment!!!
After (FINALLY) gettin home, Shir and I hurriedly changed, exchanged shoes(for the first time ever!) and set off for IndiJoe's. I love that place. Even though I was surrounded by carcass-devouring, soulLess carnivores(esp Tidke, better known as G^3), I had a great time.
Because I was with Nithin!!!:)
I always thought that love was a fleeting, ephemeral feeling. Just a kick you experience for a week or so, a couple of months at most, and then you move on. I've never believed in true love, the sanctity of marriage, or long-distance relationships. I often wondered how couples could stay married for years and years, decades even, without getting bored. I mean, imagine waking up each and EVERY morning to see the same stinky-breathing face next to yours(everyday, I fight an almost irresistable urge to smother my sister with the pillow).
But now I know. I mean, I feel stupid writing this, I'm sure I haven't ever written such an AIRHEADED blog before. But I feel so great; I can't help it. Sitting in the Leela's Barista today(another first!), drinking a tall, never ending lavender smoothie, I watched his eyes dance in excitement as he raved and ranted about the simple collage(of all our photos) that I'd presented him. It was the same look when he first saw me, standing sheepishly outside IndiJoe's, with a huge purple ribboned bow around my waist and a lavender sparkling heart in my hair. I couldn't help this mushy gesture because every one of our conversations in the weeks preceding today went like this-
Me-What do you want for your birthday???Please temme!
Nithin-I'm telling you nah;all I want is you.
(awwwwwie)
So,I tried to be his 'gift'. He he.
I'm rediscovering the world and myself, and I'm becoming a far more hopeless romantic than anyone I've ever known-or laughed at. I know that for so long, my fear has kept me from doing so many things. I've always abhorred PDA; always scoffed at tears and emotions; always built my invisible walls. You broke them all. And in doing so, you gave me you-and myself:). Sitting with you today, and watching your obvious happiness, I felt I could've done that for the rest of my life. All I need is you. I thought, after 3 years, and after all the mistakes-the fights, the things we've said, the things we haven't said, the things that could've been, the things that never should've been-we'd never end up here again...Me, wearing your watch and laughing at nothing; you, wearing a certain purple ring:) and drooling over a photo frame. Damn. It seems like only yesterday that you were pelting stones at my mushroom-cut hair, and I was praying for your painful death.
:):):)We've grown up together; and what I really like is the fact that NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, we always end up talking about it; laughing, crying, making apologies, welcoming each other back with open arms. Most people get out of a relationship when something goes wrong; I get out of one when nothing goes right. Stupid? Maybe just a twisted plan to get the emotional upper hand(HA! bullshit) and appear strong...
But I'm not scared.....This time, I won't let you go...If I have to, I'll put you on 24hr surveillance(say goodbye to your dates with Babu, haha), scratch out the eyes of every female who so much as looks at you(which I really wanna do,truthfully) and cling and cry. But I will always love you:). You're my everything. It been a long time coming, but it's Fate-and I see no need to change that.
You know why?
In the words of Westlife,
"Every time I breathe I feel brand new....You opened up my heart...Showed me all your love..."
And that's all I'll ever need.
Happy birthday baby:-*

Air Buddies!!!

2008-01-25T19:12:00.000-08:00

Ok,quite unlike my usual griping and senti whining I know, but could NOT resist! I LUHVED this movie! It is cuteness personified and a must-watch for everyone!!! It's sweet, funny, endearing and totally entertaining!
The movie is basically about the high flying basketball, soccer and rugby champ Golden Retriever Air Buddy, whose athletic prowess is, I admit, pretty impressive. He falls in love with Molly, another totally gorgeous Golden Retriever, and they have a litter of five ADORABLE puppies! There's Rosebud, who is vain and coquettish (but devilishly smart and staunchly loyal), B-Dawg (the 'bling' basketballer), Mudbud(not hard to guess his fave activity), Buddha (who practises yoga and chants 'OM' to attract positive energy) and Budderball (who can ONLY eat!). When their parents are dognapped, these cute pups set off on a trail that culminates in an engrossing climax. As in every Disney movie, they are helped by kind pigs, wolves and even goats! All the dogs look ADORABLE (naturally, as they're Golden Retts-I admit some are even better looking than Neo!) and the dubbing and scenes are done really nicely.
While most people will roll their eyes and laugh at me, it is truly a movie worth watching-it kindles every kind of emotion-from empathy and interest to laughter and surprise:)

Friends

2008-01-23T20:42:00.000-08:00

"Friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime."
-Author Unknown.
Now that I've actually stopped to mull over it, my friends have shaped my personality (and me) over nearly 18 years. Some have come and gone, many have left indelible footprints on my heart, so many more have helped me heal....They have laughed, cried, sung and danced with me; fought my battles, laughed with me when I was laughng too hard to complete joke punchlines, and shared my lunches. I guess they all deserve atleast one blog acknowledging their incredible contributions to my world. I have cut off many from my life, due to trivial reasons; many that could've been salvaged, and looking back is painful. For the sake of discretion, I shan't mention many names, except the ones of those who won't mind(or know!).
Jeev(real name Sanjeev)....you've taught me more about human nature, relationships and trust than everyone else put together and raised to the power of infinity :). Apart from being my first love and the reason for my insomnia (I still blame u! all those late nite phone calls!!!;p), your troubled life(wat wid separated parents) and unpredictable nature removed my gullible-child blindfold pretty quickly. I'm always glad when we have an occasional, late night online chat; I'm surprised at how little I feel for you, since you were once the crux of my lil universe. I also catch flashes o you in me; sarcastic comments, a disconcertin habit of laughin at others outright. You helped uncover me; for that I will be forever grateful;from a meek, bullied girl you molded a confident (sometimes overly so) and no-nonsense 'biatch'.
Two other friends entered my life around the same time, and went on to become my best ever gal pals. I don't really wanna mention names. But that sisterhood, that feelin of rock solid support and love...I have never found it elsewhere. It helped me tide thru da worst time of my life. Thank you for holding me while I sobbed uncontrollably on learning that Shriram was dead; thank you for fighting on me side during all the stupid clique fights; thank you for listening during my extremely violent outbursts. Thank you for propping me up and teaching me to be strong,even when I pushed you away. Thank you for loving me. Often, I look at a photo or a letter, and I remember those times; I hope you do too. I'm sorry for bein such a thoughtless screwball and cutting you loose. I'm a fool.
And, ah, this one would be the hardest-since it is the most recent. They say that love is jus something that grows from frndship. That makes sense wid us, but I know the exact moment when I fell in love with you-or rather, with your smile. That smile was happy and honest and a thousand other paradoxical things all at once. I couldn't resist gazing at it in utter delight, and I always did my best to provoke it. When you smiled, the world seemed a bit better. There was no one I wanted to impress more, yet everytime I was around you, I would end up making myself look like a total doofus. And you would smile. And I would melt...
So after many conversations(mostly texting, about every conceiveable ting under the sun, from pooh to nitemares to Sridhar) and one where you unjustly laughed at my singing abilities(or lack of them!), and regaling my GYLC friends with unending stories about you, we started dating. I felt 13 again. My feet never touched the ground, my friends ran away when they saw me approaching(I bored them so bad!), I laughed like a crazy person. Slowly, I changed. You made me BELIEVE again; there was no voice in my head that said, "Yeah, right," whenever you said something mushy or sweet. I took off my nose stud, realizing I didn't need that 'tag' any longer, and after you fatally shamed me, I stopped one of my most self-destructive behaviors(you know wat I'm talking about). The night I had to say goodbye the hardest one of my life. I know you think you meant very little to me; I know you think I was stringing you along and just giving you my 'lines'. Nothing could be further from the truth. You've affected my life in more ways than you will ever realize or fully comprehend. I dont care about losing my ex-boyfrnd, but losing a frnd-that sucks. It hurts when you don't message or bother to acknowledge my existence; but I guess I only have myself to blame :(
And after all this, I realize it will be goodbye to so many more friends in a week or so....No no no no no NO! I don't wanna leave! I don't wanna buy a slam book! I don't wanna uproot my friends, so many of whom have grown familiar and dear over 4 years.
SNIFFLE :'(
I'm such a sentimental wuss.

Nothing to fear.....

2008-01-20T19:28:00.000-08:00

"We have nothing to fear but fear itself."
-Franklin Delaney Roosevelt.
If you're an Indian student studying(or planning to do so) in the US, you should also fear guns-as well as the idiots brandishing them thoughtlessly.
Why so negative???Well, just this morning I read that Abhijit Mahato, an Indian student at Duke's Pratt College of Engineering, had been murdered in cold blood at his North Carolina apartment. Why does it hit so hard???Coz I've applied to da same damn university!!!!!!!!
Gawd, this is scary. My mum is already freakin out(though I'm repeatedly assuring her that no one would wanna shoot me); my sister is eagerly praying that I'm the next Indian victim; my Dad is snoring away his unexpected holiday.
Oh well.
The stats are chilling; there have been 7 Indian victims of shoot outs in a span of a mere 2 years. Most centre around racism and hate crimes... And budding lies are brutally cut short.
Not that India is safe anymore; school children are smuggling guns in their socks and killing bullies.
Where do we go????????Why can't stricter laws be enacted and enforced against these metallic monsters?????????I hate to admit this, but I'm scared! The reality of this situation has gone from being a hazy possibility to a personal, haunting, hard hitting fact...
Sheesh....And FDR, I guess you would know best!!!;)

Freedom...

2008-01-19T19:21:00.000-08:00

As a general rule, I HATE 7 letter words.
DISLIKE.
CANCERS.
DIVORCE.
SUICIDE.
SURGERY.
But there's just one 7 letter word I really like, and that's FREEDOM.
Freedom. Such a strong-sounding, beautiful, elusive word. It means different things to different people. To me (and most o my friends) it means graduating from NPS in a couple of weeks time. To my doggie, it means an evening walk without a leash. To my sister, it means the choice to drive the Santro as and when she pleases, and emblazon its surface with gaudy car graphics.
But to most people suppressed by the Communist regime, it means the right to make choices about their lives; the right to say what they please, to think without fear, to read what they want.....
Years ago, I read a poignant book by Jung Chang titled 'Wild Swans'. Those of you who have had Gulmohar texts in middle school will remember a lesson called 'Bound Feet'-it was an extract from the same book. One famous author had commented, 'There has never been a book like this.' I would have to agree. The trials and tribulations suffered by the author's family-her grandmother who was harrassed for being a concubine; her parents, who, despite dedicating their lives to arduously furthering the Communist regime, were tortured under false pretext of being traitors(they were publicly paraded with 'dunce' caps, forced to kneel on broken glass, and threatened with death). The author's father, a principled man who refused to back down on his moral values, was finally done to death. I don't have a gift like Jung Chang; I cannot make you witness the pass of history, or turn teary eyed with a mere word or description...my advice to you is-read the book!!!It took her tremendous courage to write it(it is banned in China) and cost her family a lot, but it is a story that deserves to be heard. Because this ruthless dictator, Mao Tse-Sung, could compete with Hitler; however, while the latter subjected his victims to mere physical torture, the former inflicted mental, emotional and physical suppression to the point of robbing all Chinese of the ability to THINK!!!
A few nights ago, my father and I were watching a documentary of North Korean refugees. Their stories(of having to crawl through the electric fence surrounding their country, their subsequent harrassment in neighboring China) actually made me cry. It seems so impossible that, somewhere in the world, meek human beings are being stripped of their dignity, pride, and essential freedom to suit the whims and fancies of sadistic bigots. The documentary featured a ceremony in which about 200 coal mine workers had undergone eye operations to restore their sight. The operations had been sponsored by the government(obviously, as Communism aims at eliminating 'capital'; the state owns all resources and payment is only in the from of essential commodities and food coupons).
It was sickening, to say the least, to watch so many people come up, bow to the portraits of their insidious dictator and pledge lifelong loyalty, kiss the ground, act hysterical and perform a bizarre ritual of shouting 'we honor you' thrice.
As the news anchor obsered, "There is no real difference between true belief and true fear." You cannot blame such people. The penalty for EVERYTHING is death. Evn worse-when someone MANAGES to escape, all his relatives and friends are packed off to 'death camps' where the guards are instructed to treat the inmates as 'animals'. Even hunting for rats to eat means instant death.
This is mental torture at its worst, its ugliest, and its most fatal. These people, after generations of subjugation and torture...have yielded. They have no hope, no trust, no way of fighting back. And so, cloaked in the garb of Communism, dictatorship continues to reign.
Yeah. And I thought I had problems with 14 years of NPS.

Romeo....and Juliet

2008-01-10T02:39:00.000-08:00

"Juliet when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above Ill love you till I die
Theres a place for us you know the movie song
When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong Juliet ?"

I have a vivid memory of BRAYING this verse, over and over again, to two besotted lovers not so long ago. I think it was last Diwali or the one before that, I'm not sure. But it's unimportant. Because this story is not about me. It's about them. Those two lovers for whom time, and other people, have lost all importance; they're now in a place where the only thing that matters is having each other.
Vidya. Smart, vivacious, 21-year-old MBBS student. Filthy rich, but brought up by ayahs, nannies and an older brother whom she called 'Surya,' and adored with all her heart and soul. "He's the sunshine of my life," she often told me when she visited our ancestral home in Tumkur with my cousin sister (her classmate and best friend); and "You guys are so lucky to have such a big family. I wish I was a part of it!" To which we all laughingly responded that she indeed was. Over a short span of 2-3 years, my memories of family vacations and get togethers have become synonymous with those of Vidya; her generous laugh, unassuming nature and incredible ability to put people at ease. She was adopted into my large, bustling, boisterous family from the start. She bought my sister HUMUNGOUS Cadbury gift packs(which da pig finished in a day!), discussed sari draping with my aunt, and walked Belli (the world's fussiest doggie) with my grandmother in the rain.
Enter Kunal. I met him only once, that fateful Diwali. I still remember little, insignificant details so starkly. The way they held hands under the table. The way he made her go a brilliant red by just smiling tenderly, so that, in her designer pink lehenga, she looked a freshly bloomed orchid. The way he looked at her....(At this point, I'm out of words. All I can say is that as he gazed at her, I was actually seized by a sick jealousy, wondering if any guy would EVER look at me that way).
We were all bursting crackers that night. Kunal said, "Hand me a rocket, Nanni(my nickname)." "Be careful, you're so busy drooling you'll set yourself on fire instead!" That was my uncle. How we all laughed! That is one of my most treasured memory of family togetherness. Everyone knew; and approved. Even though my grandmother grumbled, "That boy must find a motel. This isn't a brothel! They can't sleep together under my roof," I could tell she was pleased for the two young lovers.
They were so in love that they radiated it; a bond, a security, an unspoken understanding so strong that it reduced everyone else to sopping puddles of mush. Their easy banter (she once chased him all over the garden with a femur they were supposed to be observing!), their comfort zone, their disregard of social (he was a Punjabi, while she was a Kannadiga) and economic (her father was a mulitmillionaire; I'm not too sure about his) status.....all served to make them a perfect couple. I still remember how Kunal, the ultimate bespectacled 'geeky cute' guy, was seriously explaining the difference between genomics and genetics to me once, and as I watched, he looked over my shoulder and his face lit up with an effusive happiness. It was incredible. 3 years of a PERFECT relationship; their plans included a lifetime together.
Looking back now, I WISH I could go to Tumkur and find Vidya there, poring over a fat medical tome, and pull her leg, screeching "You two are so sweet, you give me diabetes!"...Wish Kunal would come visit, smiling that special smile he reserved for her, his angel...
Becuase Kunal was killed in an accident. His motorcycle was hit by a car. Vidya was rendered hysterical, and so her brother brought her home. Two days later, she committed suicide by hanging.
Cold, hard facts.So simple to type. But two young lives, were lost....to be united forever, as indeed they deserve to be.
I'm filled with an inexplicable rage now; rage at her uncaring parents (preoccupied as usual; she was alone when she took her life); rage at the driver who hit Kunal (it was a hit-and-run case); rage at the sadistic God who HAD to ruin this PERFECT RELATIONSHIP!!!
But most of all, I feel overwhelming pity. For my cousin sister, who will never be the same. I guess her definition of crisis has been forever altered. For Surya, whom I've never met, but who seems like an old friend, thanks to all Vidya told me about him. He brought up a wonderful, caring, sensitive sister...
Oh well.
She said, she'd love him till she died (being the cynic that I am, I just laughed).
Well, in the end, that's what she did.

Ennui....

2008-01-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

I finished my Biology preboard today....and being the 2nd of January, I was so full of ennui that I barely studied.
After sleeping for, like, 6ours, I just woke up and looked at the question paper again. I have this weird habit of mulling over my papers while sleeping, and I just knew, instinctively, all the mistakes I've made.
And I'm really regretting my laziness... Bio is more than just my fave subject, its my ego exercise.... I haven't NOT topped in lyk 4 years(well, midterm dis year, some female beat me in theory, but I beat her in da overall).
Will Smith once said, "If God never meant for you to have it, that's one thing. But if you chose not to have it, that's your mistake alone."
I so get that now... :(. I should've studied.
Ah well, there is always the board....

A hero bites the dust...

2007-12-27T09:43:00.000-08:00

Benazir Bhutto.
Born on 21 June 1953.
Assassinated on 27 December 2007.
This woman is my hero. A testimony to everything I admire in people; strong, capable, opinionated, determined. With her death, Pakistan's strongest hope for democracy has been extinguished. A part of the country-namely, everything free and bright and beautiful-has died with this dynamic, passionate woman. And now, every citizen is, once again, condemned to be a puppet in the hands of an insidious, ruthless dictator in an ominous brown uniform-who claims he's not a 'dictator' (whom is he trying to kid?)
A couple of months ago, I read an interview of Benazir's in a Good Housekeeping magazine. Her words, vision and goals impressed me tremendously. As the first elected female leader of any Muslim state, she did not let the horror of her wrongly accused father's (Zulfikar Ali Bhutto) death deter her from her chosen path. Even the mysterious 'deaths' of her two beloved brothers, and the tremendous health problems of her husband (due to his long and torturous imprisonment) only motivated her further. Twice, she was elected as Prime Minister; and twice, she was removed from office on grounds of alleged corruption (just because she was female). Ignoring daily death threats from extremist Muslim groups, she emerged from her self imposed exile as a beacon of hope for liberal, freedom loving Pakistanis.
Now, she's dead. The flame, the torch she bore for so long, has been snuffed out. And these are the reactions of my dear peers.
"What? Who was that? Damn, could you spell her name? It was a female, right?"
"Man, her hair rocks! Who is she?"
"Who even cares? Just hurry up and tell me whcih dress you're wearing for new year's!"
Yeah. It's so comforting to know that Bhutto's life has not been in vain.
SHEESH.

Why...

2007-12-03T13:02:00.000-08:00

I sit here and look out
At the yellow straggling grass
Once upon a time,
It was green and came up to my knees.
Once,
We were young
Happy, childish, immature
So much has changed.
Do you remember the laughter?
It is a heavy thing,
This sadness of drifting apart.

I can't put my finger
On the moment you stopped
being my best friend.
I still remember US
The sisterhood
The unbreakable, unshakeable trust
The battles you fought for me
The tears you cried for me
How did that change?
Why did you go?
Perhaps it doesn't matter to you,
Not anymore...

Life has taught me little yet
The bigger lessons will come later.
But one thing I know,
friendship is a great gift,
I let you slip through my life,
And not a day goes by, that I don't regret it....

Growing up.....

2007-11-23T06:26:00.000-08:00

When I was in about the seventh grade, I would often awaken at night with searing pains in my shoulders and legs. "Growing pains," my grandmother would murmur as she rubbed my aching limbs with warm castor oil, an opinion that was echoed by my doctor whenever I complained. That year, I moved from the middle of the class assembly line right to the back, and my newfound 'tallness' both bewildered and gladdened me.I used to slouch around,unsure what to do with my new inches, until I turned to basketball and decided I looked better when I walked tall. But I digress....
Now, as I stand at the threshold of a new life, ready to take on the unknown, with just one REAL day of school left, I'm scared. And hurting; just growing pains, but now its my heart that hurts. I've been waiting to be 'grown up' all my life, to leave home, live independently, take charge. All my catfights with my mother, ever since I entered my teens(and trust me, there have been a LOT of them) have always included this one exchange:
Me-I can't wait to get the hell outta this place! When I'm 18....
Mom-Who's stopping you now? Good Lord, I can't wait....
And now, instead of years, there are mere months remaining...Instead of euphoria, all I feel is insecurity. Who will hold me when I'm in the clutches of one of my vivid nightmares? Who will wake me up and feed me dinner when I'm bone tired? And also, without my sister, who will nag me and make sure I study when I have to? How will it be to walk into an educational institution and have to prove myself before I'm as well-loved there as I am here?
No answers, no way to know. I don't wanna leave my friends, my family, my doggie. They are the only life I know. But I will, someday...and that day is drawing ever closer.
I'm growing up now, I know. I'm looking past the gossip and bitchslapping to sieve out my true friends, the ones I know I'll keep...I avoid tantrums(so do my parents), I walk my dog as long as I can. Sometimes, before falling asleep, I think about how weird it will be to leave it all; my sis snoring beside me, the glowing butterflies on the ceiling, my warm quilt and teddy bear that I've had, like, forever. That's when my heart starts to hurt. But maybe this time, I'll grow so much that I'll be really glad about this change, too. Maybe it's a good thing after all.

listlessness...

2007-11-10T06:28:00.000-08:00

ok,so wat am i doin wid a post titled 'listlessness' wen my life is as busy as it kn get?college apps, exams next month and two SATs(to think I finished 2 jus last saturday!).....a fest which got over 2 days ago...BMUN cumin up.....whew!
bt now,daunted by so much pressure,iv jus thrown up my hands(which iv NEVER done before).in order to prevent myself from totally losing my mind, im jus refusing to give a fuck.i dunno how long this phase will last, before i revert bak to ma 'dramaqueeny perfectionist' mood,bt frankly,i hope its not too long. I miss being productive and in control. i miss feelin energetic and excited. dis whole 'whatever will be, will be' attitude is scaring even me.my parents are trying to be supportive, takin me for evening walks, even laughin at ma stupid jokes
original:"if ur not part o da solution, ur part o da problem"
PJ version:"if ur not part o da solution,ur part o da precipitate"
im sry,bt tht really cracks me up.
as does 'dnt drink and derive'.
i know,im lost in da land o hopeless dweebism, mechanically gna tuitions and doin all da blah, bt i miss the enthusiasm and drive tht brought out my best.i dont know where its gone....and why its left a crippling listlessness in its place.if sum1 knows where its gone,could u pls temme?;p

Random poems

2007-08-27T10:09:00.001-07:00

EVOLUTION
Out of the dust a shadow,
Then, a spark;
Out of the cloud a silence,
Then, a lark;
Out of the heart a rapture,
Then, a pain;
Out of the cold, dead ashes,
Life again.

LIFE
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving,
Whatever gods may be;
That no man lives forever,
That dead men rise up never,
That even the longest river,
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

NOT FOREVER…
Not forever does the bulbul sing,
In balmy shades of bowers,
Not forever lasts the spring,
Nor ever blossom flowers.
Not forever reigneth joy,
Sets the sun on days of bliss,
Friendships not forever last,
They know not life, who know not this.

To Dad

2007-08-27T09:51:00.000-07:00

Dad (if I may call you that),

I know I will probably never find the courage to send this letter to you, but someday, I hope you will know its contents.

I’m the daughter you threw out of the house on that fateful day, 3 July 1986, and swore to kill if you ever saw again. The one whom you called a disgrace and a liar, among other not so nice things. Your youngest child, the apple of your eye, for just 17 short years.

Where did it all go wrong? I still vividly remember you lying down on the floor to be the ‘mountain’ I crawled over, laughing when I fell on my fat little face . Piggyback rides, secretively scrubbing out popsicle stains from my shirts so that Mother wouldn’t know , playing backyard cricket (you and me on a team, losing spectacularly to Khalid and Ali)-we’ve done it all.

But then when we shifted to Britain, I noticed that your attitude towards me started to change. I must have been around ten. You joined some sort of religious prayer community, and took only Khalid and Ali with you, cutting into our time together. You insisted on strict purdah, warned my own brothers to restrict communication with me, and literally placed me under house arrest. I was unable to fathom what was happening. My new girls school and the changed atmosphere at home, in a new and foreign land, disoriented me completely. I dedicated myself to academics, topping the class, hoping against hope that you would praise me when you nonchalantly signed my report cards. But you never did. Seven long years passed.

My only solace during this time was the drama school you allowed me to attend, escorted by Ali. Miss. Buntham, our director, recognized my potential at once, and cast me as Juliet in the annual play when I was 17, opposite Ronald. I didn’t reveal this exciting secret to anyone at home, hoping to surprise you all with my performance. I placed the invitation card on your table, and, without daring to raise my eyes from my feet, murmured that I hoped you would attend (you had never attended any of my earlier plays). You grunted a yes and walked off. I was exhilarated; finally, I would be doing something to make you proud! I put my heart and soul into the project, carefully rehearsing lines, expressions and accents.

The play was a resounding success, but you never turned up. None of you did. I was spotted by a movie producer who said he would let me audition for a role. Heart hammering, I regretfully refused, knowing that to you movies were taboo. I came home to find utter chaos. Someone had told you that I had kissed Ronald on stage, which was utter rubbish, but you believed it nonetheless. Shouting senselessly, you beat me, pulled out my hair, and worst of all, tore my precious drama certificate. You incited Khalid and Ali to go to Ronald’s house and abuse him, threatening him with dire consequences if he continued to take ‘liberties’ with me. For days you locked me in my room, in an agony of fear and pain, until you finally dispossessed me and threw me on the streets, saying that Allah would never forgive you if you harboured me any longer. You even told me that if I stayed, I would be a victim of an ‘honor killing’, to salvage your lost dignity. All my pleas and explanations went unheeded. Did you never remember me even once, not even during Mother’s funeral?

I somehow found my way back to India and today, I work with the United Nations to help empower women and children all over the globe. I have saved so many precious lives from abuse, slavery and suicide due to sheer desperation. I head the ‘Asian and Pacific Congregation for Rights of Women and Child’ (APCRWC). The Time magazine even called me the ‘modern crusader for equality and compassion’. Did you know that?

There is so much you don’t know.

To forgive is to heal, Daddy, and there is so much to forgive.

I forgive you……..Will you call me Bitiya again? Will you accept me back with that lopsided smile and a popsicle?

And do you know something else? These days, those who knew you tell me I’m just like you. The same eyes, same stubborn streak, same political viewpoints. Just like you.

[Note-This letter is purely a work of fiction, based loosely on true life incidents]

I carry your heart with me....

2007-08-27T09:44:00.000-07:00

One of the few poems that have made me cry....This poem must be familiar to those of you who've watched 'In Her Shoes'....

I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(Anywhere I go you go,my dear;
And whatever is done
By only me is your doing,my darling)

I fear no fate
(For you are my fate,my sweet)
I want no world
(For beautiful you are my world,my true)
And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
And the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
Higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart
(I carry it in my heart)

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

2007-07-13T23:42:00.000-07:00

Jus a week and I'm off to GYLC(Global Young Leaders Conf)...I'm so xcited!!!Been shoppin nonstop, havent prepared fer da global summit or crisis simulation or anythn bt it promises to b an experience o a lyf time!!!!!!!!!!!!two weeks o heaven away frm school wat more could i ask for???
rite now im readin da world is flat......one o da recommended books fer da conf....wow....i realize ther is much i dunno!i guess dis will help broaden ma horizons and knowledge...hav already met so many ppl my age arnd da globe....knt wait to meet them, either!
looks lyk ma first trip to da US o A is gonna b real eventful!
Washington DC and NY, here i cum!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dirt off my shoulder...

2007-06-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

There's this LP-Jay Z remix i hum a lot. It goes, 'U gotta get tht dirt off ur shoulder'...I know exactly wat they're talkin abt, do u?Coz thts wat I've always done....trusted u wid all tht I had, watched u stamp da bleedin pieces o ma heart, walked away wid dignity, dustin off ma shoulder, leavin u to revel in da glorious sympathy o da rumor mongers, hu neva understood hu was hurting more....

Why? Why knt i break ur shacklehold on my life, my emotions, my actions??? I know da questions; so catty, so disgusted-'Wats wrong wid her? How stupid is she?' I am really stupid, I know.....How could i never realize that love is nt supposed to hurt?That u aren't supposed to feel lonely, or insecure, or inadequate?That sometimes in order to find urself,u hav to lose da one u LURVE?

From ninth grade till now(phew thts more than 3 years) uv been in ma lyf, and thots, in one capacity or another. I rem how u would make merciless fun o ma short mushroom-cut hair, chuckin stones and yellin, '100 pts if u hit da mushroom!' inducing all da juniors to give it(me!) a shot as well. I HATED u. I rem da 9th grade insults....
'Brace face'.Ur dialogue.
'Pizza face'.Mine.
'Metal mouth'.U again.
'Bugs bunny'. Me.
And so on and so forth....I would feel so infuriated bt cum home and laff abt it to ma frnds.....And then i attended ur bday party, u used to call me up, and slowly bt surely,we bcame frnds. I found u tellin things abt NPSR, and myself, that I'd forgotten or neva confided to any1 else. We neva discussed ur string of gfs;u neva mentiond them and i was least botherd...

10th grade began...and two months into all the 'pressure', lectures abt boards(yeah ,rite) and assignments, u asked me out! I'd been warned bt it still shockd me. I remembered all da times we'd laughd over da fone abt da mere thot o bein a COUPLE, how we still insulted each oda, how u and Nakul would sit and guess wich shampoo I'd used,jus frm da smell.I said no.U promised u would wait, and we went bak to being frnds.One fine day,u askd Anne out and I neva knew...da next day at skool, I got all da sympathy and counsellin,bt i din really need t.It wa a surprise,bt I couldn get y it hurt so much.I brushd it off tinkin it was coz u hadn't told me, though we were best frnds...Then u both, da COUPLE, walkd in2 art class together,all smiling...I looked up and all o a sudden i wanted to scratch Anne's face till da blodd ran frm her white skin.I was trembling, my fingers unable to ply da pencil and sketch for da entire period.I realised then tht i cared, tht i was hurting and bewilderd,tht wen ud askd me out, ud ceased to b jus my frnd.Ud bcum a GUY.surprising,I'd neva noticed t before.....How tall u were, that u playd bball, how ur brown eyes sparkled sumtimes wid laughter and mischief.

So a long violent confused phone call later, u broke up wid Anne after lyk one single day, and we began dating after a wile.Three heady months. The couple o da skool, perfection personified. We spent evry day sittin next to each oda, coaxing each other to eat chocolate after skool, chattin on da phone at nite...

But da Gods dnt lyk, or allow, too much happiness. We got bustd by all our nosy teachers and finally ma parents got to kno. I'll neva forget ur face wen u got beltd by my mum tht day. We clung on, bt a month l8r,I calld it off.I cldnt fite it anymore. I was exhausted....to da bone.

Still,u din give up. Gave me a Val Day present, kept asking me out, beseeching....Why did I keep refusing dou I wantd to agree so badly?Maybe it was jus my sixth sense.....

In 11th and still felt lyk nuthin had changed. We were still paird together, u still kept swearin tht ud waited longer fer me than any other girl, tht u would wait till i died. How even Romeo could not luvd his Juliet da way u did, lyk da stars above....

Until I found out da truth. U'd been dating a common frnd(who, paradoxically,i befrnded thru u!) for so long....U'd never waitd, u'd neva cared, all tht ud said was jus false....Sick waves of anger and betrayal washed over me. How dared u?I wrote dis famous hi5 journal entry, and got complimentd by females i din even kno fer my guts.Bt then u told me how u used to sit wid ur GUYS and laugh at me, da desperate dumfuk. Runnin after a guy she wasnt even dating, and then blamin him? Jus leechin on? WATS WRONG WID HER, MAN?

After tht, my heart jus shattered. into a million smithereens. After the anger faded, da pain kicked in. Rite into my heart.Where it sat , made a cosy lil burrow, and gnawed weneva I heard abt how u were chasing and dating dis other girl, how u obviously dint care, how our frndship had meant nuthin to u. I was jus anoda girl to string along wid lies, and boast abt as ur conquest. Damn.

But relentless fate neva gave up. We were pitched together fer compering fer Annual day, for walkin da ramp at Vivum. Slowly, we moved on to late nite calls, discussin all tht we'd missd out on...It felt lyk nuthin had changed!U told me how u'd gone to pieces,even badgering da yoga teacher to get ur lyf on track. U were single....And my defenses were melted. I got ur Val present tht year,too.But still, it was April wen I finallly let u bak in my life, as a boyfrnd. Acc to ur estimates, ud asked me out and gotten rejectd sum 60 times.After da many arguments wid ur frnds, hu kept insistin u cared only abt me, and mine,hu were horrified wen they learnt of it, i followd my heart. I din care. The world could go to hell. I was complete only wen I lookd in2 ur eyes, and wen u disregarded my remonstrations abt PDA, tugged me by the hand and kissed me going,'Baby I luv u. Ur da only girl I've ever luvd..'. I felt a tiny bubble o happiness growin inside me, expandin outwards until t threatened to burst and make da grass greener, da sky bluer, the sun warmer. So da rest o da world could kno wat i felt lyk....

Dreams fall apart sumtimes. We wake up and evryting is different.

I realized slowly y second chances neva work. First o all there was da hype, bt nuthin beyond t. Glitter widout da gold. It was moving too fast, and ultimately da insecurities destroyd us.I worried tht u were chkin out da slim girl who was walkin past, swinging her hips. I wonderd how many girls had worn ur watch before I did. I whined in a baby voice tht u dint luv me, and felt bad wen u forgot our anniversaries(earlier,id been da one hu had neva cared).I din understnd if da clingy dependent wid da high voice was really me!Wen we walkd past Scary House and Vivek warnd u neva to take me(coz I would collapse, shrieking,into a mass o blubberin cowardice)i wonderd if u were tinkin o Nikita, whom u'd taken there.....Evry lil word, evry lil lie came bak to haunt me. Were u jus giving me ur lines? And u too....I always got paird wid other guys, and I guess my renewed frndship wid Abinav, who'd always had a soft spot fer me(dou, i maintain, not THT way) pushd ur tolerance. I put u down as always,even in public,bt i tried to keep it clean,nd i hope t was... i rem da nite I awoke. Wen u made fun o sumtin tht wasnt at all funny, rite in front o ma frnds. I was scared to look up, to c da triumph on their faces. But i saw only pity and desperate attempts to change da topic. But u were on full flow, nt to b stoppd. I'll neva forget how I felt. Lyk a worm.I walkd da floor fer 3 hrs tht nite, tinking,wondering...How and why did u do tht? Expose my vulnerability and leave me naked, crying, bcoz i trusted u? How could u destroy me? Why did u play so dirty???

Then I rememberd da endless convos.....How u calld me fat (mostly indirectly), how i felt so inadequate wen i was wid u, those stupid monologues abt how many pitchers o beers u drank and cigs u smoked.Y would I care?I realized how I'd lost myself, sacrificed my frnds, interests, and therefore da best part o me, all to please u.Love was supposed to make me happy,nt sad, needy, whiny. In da end, da reason y i dusted myself and walkd away wasnt u.It was me. I had to find myself, glue together da pieces o ma heart and learn to be da girl i once was. I still miss u and i kno u still hav hopes.bt stop callin me, stop pretending to care. If I'm nt good fer u, find sum1 else. I miss my best frnd more than my ex, and I wish he'll cum bak,bt i kno tht by da 2nd convo,ull b askin me out. So i guess theres no space fer u in my lyf anymore, coz i wnt fall down tht rabbit hole again.....
P.S-Da morning after I typed dis, I heard tht u'd made out wid sum oda female at a concert,wile v vr still 'dating'. And know what I said? "Well, I wouldn't put it past him". And I mean it.It really dnt matter, and if u did DO tht then all i kn say is GOOD RIDDANCE!

goodbyeeeeeeeeee

2007-06-13T09:59:00.000-07:00

I walk away
Then I look back at u
U try to say
Things that u knt undo.

It feels so hard
To do what I know is right
I wish we could work this out
And then, you’ll hold me tight.

But I lost myself in ur arms
In ur eyes
And now who am I?
Slave to ur pretensions and lies…

I thot we were meant to be
I guess we never were
I refuse to play ur games
Suffer silently, widout demur.

U promised me evryting
Then y didn’t u help me heal?
Instead u tore da scabs
And then said it was no big deal.

I wont trust myself wid u
You’ve stepped over me too many times
I wont forgive or bother
Find sum1 hu belives ur lines.

I loved you
But I hated myself
I need to find ME again
I need to let u go….
I thought you cared
Perhaps u still do
But I know I don’t.
And this time
I swear I wont look back…

Musings...

2007-05-11T09:07:00.000-07:00

The following post is one that took me WEEKS to type...I would constantly hit the 'Backspace' key, feeling I hadn't done justice to what I was trying to say.

This post was inspired by Anne's similar one, titled 'Each time it gets easier'...

This past year, my junior year,(11th grade) I was all charged up before it began. I vowed to get top grades(that was sumthing I'd always taken for granted), participate in all activities....basically get a glowing portfolio so that no college would be able to take me lightly. I enrolled in SAT and ACE classes, and was so psyched up for what I promised myself would be the best year of my life!SWEET SIXTEEN!!!
2 months later, none of that zest remained. I was sleeping 3 hours a day, trying desperately to balance my ACE homework, Bio record, and SAT homework. I was eating two meals a day in the car. I began to lose hair and had no idea what I was doing or where I was headed....I quit ACE and wrote my SAT without studying for it at all.
I watched my straight As spiral into halfhearted Bs, got demoted from Vice Captain of the school basketball team to a substitute, and only received a Literary Badge. I wish I could say I took all these things in my stride and learned my lessons, but I didn't. I stopped playing bball because it was embarrassing-as I had been the top choice for capt, there were many questions as to why I wasn't even a team player now. I blamed politics(to an extent, that was da cause). Easy lay-ups became passes and the bball hoops that once made my heart soar now made it constrict, fearfully, into a small knot that hurt....So I learnt not to play,to sit in a shady corner and act like I didn't care.Giving up on sumthing that I'd once loved so much-that hurt incredibly...
My academics were another matter.I did do well all through the year, and as the finals approached,I took a relaxed stance. The result was that I just gave up on Chemistry and Physics in the end.In my life, I've done many night outs just to ensure I would give in that perfect paper, but now I felt skipping a few lessons wouldn't hurt...So yeah,as one can imagine, my final exam report(the one tht counts for my college applications) wasn't at all good...When I saw all those Bs I felt sure it had been a computer error..and I wish it was.
But undoubtedly,the biggest thing that I learned was about relationships. I can't pretend to have had gr8 relationship karma in the past, but this experience hurt me like no other. He was my best friend of two years and when we finally startd going out,it was the heady stuff school legends are made of. We were always together, even after we broke up.Touted as the golden couple and all that.But then I got to know that he was dating sum1 else,even after making me all those promises."There is only one girl for me", "I'll wait for u forever".....My world shattered and my gfs could only nag about how they'd always been right about him.I still got paired with him for everything, from ramp walking to compering, and though I eventually forgave him, I can never forget the lesson he taught me, inadvertantly-that sometimes, you can only rely on yourself, because you're the only one who knows where and how much it hurts.And living is simply all abbout moving on.
I lost my two grandfathers-one to prolonged diabetes and its complications, the other to heart failure. In their deaths, I realised the worth,grit and extraordinary courage of these two men, who had devoted their lives to service and risen, from villagers to respected doctors. I was inspired.....until the drudgery of being ME came back to haunt me.The power of my lost dreams-being a winning capt, a top student, a peerless orater-seems so weak and pathetic. I've lost touch with friends I'd vowed to keep, pushed some away when I needed them most, sunk so deeply into passive acceptance that I've forgotten what it was to want, and get, only the best. Maybe today I'll go play a game of bball, call up an old frnd I miss, hit my SAT books at long last.I dnt want to lose what I was-the fire eating, fiercely determined achiever.I'm afraid I might already have.......But just for today, I believe I CAN!

a poem...

2007-05-04T21:23:00.000-07:00

When life's scrwd up, I sit and think,
"God, what's wrong with me?"
"Child, u want a fairytale,
But wat u have u cannot see."

Obediently, I stare into the mirror,
But start cursing my face and hair.
"The more u hang onto hate,
U tend to miss wats already there."

"God, I don't want an easy lyf,
I kno no1 else has 1!
Wish I could spend just one day,
satisfied wid all I've done..."

"What's wrong wid lyf now?"
Asked the soothing, calm voice.
"I'm tired of spinning out o control,
Tired o maintaining image and poise".

"Someday I'll vent abt how I feel,
release da pain and emptiness inside,
I'll cry lyk a baby, I'll dance for joy,
But now, my emotions must always hide."

As I ponder over this wondrous dream,
The gentle voice makes me smile,
"Seems to me all u need's self-love,
It's been hiding in ur heart all dis while!"

Slowly, I look at da mirror, and smile,
I'm amazed by da beauty of this sight.,
As I look up to continue my conversation,
God has disappeared into the night.

"The world could use more love, God,
esp us teenagers; ur right!
From tomorrow, I vow to bcum a bit better,
And make a difference, however slight."

OK, guys, it pretty much sucks, i kno...pls lemme ko ur opinion and title suggestions if uv bothered to read dis far(!)

A few things that make life worth living...

2007-04-30T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well since Ash has made quite an admirable list of things he hates, I thought I shld start a list of the small, simple things that make life sweeter.By these, I don't mean getting a new iPod or into a gr8 univ,though these things make us happy too. Feel free to conribute,I'll add all suggestions that I agree wid!
* Watching a sunrise/sunset.
* Loving and being loved in return(and by that,I'm not talkin exclusively of romantic love).
* Listening to the soft breathing of a sleeping baby, and glimpsing a sudden sleep-smile.
* Getting a spontaneous hug when ur feeling down.
* Finding money in the folds of your sofa.
* Taking your braces off(after painful years!) and smiling at a mirror.
* The smell of rain drenched earth.
* Lying in the sun.
* Reading a gr8 book in bed, with a plate of hot chips, while the rain beats down in torrents.
* Overhearing sum1 praising you.
* Tuning into a radio station just as they start playing ur fave song.
* Walking barefoot in dewy grass.
* Playing wid a puppy.
* Talking to an old frnd.
* Smiling.
* Jumping into a cold pool on a warm day.
* Looking at ur baby photos.
* Wishing upon an eyelash/shooting star.
* Telling ur parents wat they mean to u.
* Getting top marks in a test u never studied for.
* Winning a board game wid ur family.
* Winning a game when no1 gave u a chance of doing so.
* Coming home, tird and hungry, to find that ur mum cooked ur fave foods.
* Sitting in a warm tub (preferably with bubble bath!) after a long day.
* First day of summer hols!
* Frnd licking an icecream and gloating, and suddenly it slips and falls to the ground(vine,ur evil! bt i lyk t!)
* .....u gotta temme da next!

inspiration....

2007-04-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know that lately I've been introspecting quite a bit on my blog...and I hope those who read this will forgive me for taking it one step ahead...
As I sat on my terrace this evening (a rare luxury for me, caught in the mad rush of tuition hopping and the unceasing care of two dogs),a thought struck me. It's so strange-life. Why some people are born and do mothing but suffer all their lives. While others, seemingly less deserving, enjoy riches, looks, good health, whatever the case may be. I don't intend to start discoursing about karma or Lady Luck-that is not my forte. However, this line of thinking led me to believe that I'm so very blessed, and that most of the time I tend to take these blesings for granted...

It's easy to rail at God and ever elusive Fate.Easy to preface all your sentences with,'If only....' and sigh, going,'If only I were taller, prettier, or more muscular. If only my parents were richer, cooler, or still together. If only I could score that A+, if only I could get into an IIT...IF ONLY BLAH BLAH!'

I mean,every time I think of people who are blind, I can't imagine what it would be like not to watch an occasional sunset( the sight drives me nearly crazy with joy) or look into darling Neo's brown, limpid eyes when I refuse to take him for a walkie...When I think of people who are mute, I look at my public speaking certificates and Literary badge and wonde what life would be like without them.When I think of people who are deaf, I can't imagine what it would be like to not listen to my sister's nagging(!)...well I knt pretend that wouldn't be an improvement!...When I think of disabled people, I fel grateful that I can cycle down steep slopes with the wind in my hair...And when I think of people dying of terminal illnesses, I'm so SO glad I can live as though I'll live forever...with no fear of the morrow...

So I think today I'll write in my paper journal, call up my old friends, and take my dogs for a walk...And tomorrow, I'll go hang out with my usual gang at the movies,but I'll take care to listen closer and look a little more deeply into people's eyes than usual.After all, I have just one life to lead, and I know it's only worth it if I can change sum1 else's.And about this whole inspiration thing, if life isn't sumthing to celebrate, I don't know what is.
Megs

If I could make one wish.....

2007-04-10T21:57:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know, this title seems so airheaded, the kind of delusional fantasy that a 5-year old would indulge in, while wiping away the drip of his icecream cone on a warm summer afternoon. But frankly, I've never quite been able to make up my mind!I always think I'll maybe wish for a hundred wishes, and so on and so forth....(yes, yes, I'm really pretty greedy!).
But yesterday, I suddenly realized what I really want...It's something as simple as my sis just evaporating NOW! I mean, I really don't get her deal!Her only aim in life is to ruin mine, although I generally never retaliate and stick steadfastly to my philosophy(a combo of ahimsa and 'live and let die', the latter inspired by gnr). I let her make her own mistakes, solve her trig sums and lend her my make up. In return, she bullies me(mentally, physically, emotionally), dictates every sphere of my life, forges her name on my certificates, keeps a tab on all my calls, smses, even my internet time!
But in the midst of all this, I realize that next year when I leave for univ, I'm gonna miss her. It's a fact that we've been inseparable for 15 damn years, ever since she was born! At first, I was overjoyed with my cute, adorable baby sister(I insisted on kissing her goodnight and protecting her from insects!)...I used to mother her around, teaching her till she got to the 5th grade. That year, she got heavier and stronger than me, and this, coupled with a sudden love of WWE and my presence as her only 'opponent', spurred her to start bullying me. My friends are ceaselessly amazed at how meekly I obey her, how she has wrapped my parents around her little finger, and how apparently,I never try to reclaim my position of the conqueror(coz now im da conquered!)....
But love her or hate her, I kn never ignore the fact that my sister has played such an imp role in my life!my parents gave up long ago, and now bloodcurdling threats, nasty swear words and extremely physical catfites only elicit resigned sighs.I HAVE fought bak,and she has various scratches on her face and neck(thanks to my long nails)...
But there are many things I kno I'll miss....the long conversations we have at night, wen the lights are all switched off...the way she has defended me against da ppl I hate...the food she cooks wen my mum is out travelling...So, I see that perhaps she's not all bad.In a perverse, roundabout way, I know she loves me, and I love her too.She's not my adorable baby sister any longer, but she's a part of me that I just can't ignore!
I think any1 who has read this far will be consoderably amazed at my stupidity and confusion(those who kno ma sis will be barfing!)....i apologise...i dont kno wat made me ramble on like this!!!!!!!!!
So, Mr.Genie, I think I'll settle for those 100 wishes...

Change....

2007-03-24T09:08:00.000-07:00

Change...a small 6-letter word that can mean so many different things to different people. For some it is the unusual spice that adds variety and excitement to humdrum life; for others,it is something to be resisted and dreaded at every step.But as an old saying goes, 'If you do not chnge,life will shange you,but not on your terms...'

When I first read the story,' Who Moved My Cheese?' I was amazed at the profound wisdom portrayed in such a simple parable. It revolves around four characters, Hem, Haw,Sniff and Scurry. The latter are two mice and he former,two midget humans. They all subsist on cheese they find in a maze, and when the cheese in a particular station runs out, Sniff and Scurry immediately run off to look for more. Hem and Haw, like most of us,just hem and haw about the unfairness and pros and cons of the situation, without taking any concrete steps. Finally,their desperation gives them the courage to let go and start living in the present...and this decision leads to the discovery of new cheese!So everyone's happy.

Well, the cheese is merely a metaphor for anything we yearn to get in life. It might be a successful career.Admission in an Ivy League university.A committed partner. Or small things,like da courage to tell someone how much he/she means to us.The determination to fit into that fave pair of old jeans.

Whatever it is,it is pretty obvious that to achieve that goal, we must remember that things don't change;we do.That jeans is not gonna stretch and neither will the IITs welcome you with open arms unless you change your attitude and habits.And if we make the right changes, I truly believe we can change our destiny...

This article was so not intended to turn out this way!I sound SO preachy...and so staid!!!!!Lemme revert to what I actually wanted to convey!

As teenagers(yeah,we're going through the most turbulent, hormone-dominated phase blah blah BLAH) we're like clay....being moulded and yielding fresh imprints from every new experience and feeling. It seems that every day, every minute, every SECOND even,we're changing so quickly that its hard to keep track!Speaking for myslef,in the past year alone, I've morphed into a TOTALLY different person....That youngster seems so pitiably CLUELESS as i read through my journal now...So airheaded(!) even...It's pretty much easy to see why adults are so cynical...As we grow, we learn...Sometimes more than we bargained for in the first place!!!

This is an excerpt Chicken Soup for the Soul...'When the many tears are dried and the broken hearts are mended, you learn. When you are over the old boyfrnds(or girlfrnds) and the petty fights,you learn.You learn tht life doesnt end just because you think it will, and that sometimes growing up means letting go....'

Bee yoo ti ful words!...I felt truly inspired...See,al of us are changing,and whether for better or worse,what matters is that at the end of the day,we're still answerable to our conscience.What kind of adults we will turn out to be,simply depends upon the degree to which we're honest with ourselves.If change means becoming comfortable in my own skin(by growing out of the awkward bespectacled, bracey geek to the self assured 'lady') I would embrace it;if it meant smoking, boozing and doing drugs to be an 'accepted' teenager, I would certainly NOT!Of course, this varies for everyone...and I don't mean to pass judgement.Change is something that can't be defined in mere words...compare yourself and those around you with what we all were just 2 years ago,and you will understand the enormity of 'CHANGE'...How it can make or break us...Most of the time,we feel we haven't changed because inside,the essential core of a person always remains the same...

Megs

Culling-an answer or an escape???

2007-03-03T09:10:00.000-08:00

Most of us tend to forget the memories of our younger years, esp the experiences we had as guileless toddlers. I'm no exception to this rule, but the few memories I have are widely dominated by Caesar.
Caesar was a lovable stray, whose parents might've been any breed from mongrel to alsation...He was a strikingly big fellow, though(or perhaps that was just relative to my tiny size bak then!)...he was black with brown eyes and his glossy coat also contained myriad patches of all other colors...And his cute face bore the scars of all those street-domination fights wid da other dogs...Bt still,in my eyes, he was the world's best dog....My life size,responsive toy..I would secretly feed him my much detested milk or watch my mother give him the leftovers o ma meals...He was family to every house on tht street...When he finally died of injuries sustained due to a fight wid da other dogs,I was pretty much devastated and kn still vividly recall my neighbour Auntie's tears...
Now, 11 long years later, as I sit and read abt street strays mercilessly mauling hapless kids....first tht girl and more recently, tht 5 yr old child...My blood chills...I read on abt how Kumaraswamy and the other ministers have sworn to cull all street dogs...This situation is grave and I'm sure that this myopic plan will just make it worse! I understand tht da govt is under crushing pressure to take action, bt a little introspection wld b far better than an all out massacre.Why has man's best frnd turned against him this way? I mean, we are talking abt dogs, and considering the fact tht two of them are peacefully sleeping in my garage rite now, I cannot understand or imagine why those strays wld turn so hostile..Thts the prob at hand...and thts wat the ppl in higher positions shld try to solve...I tink perhaps hunger has driven these usually gentle creatures to da aggression and cruelty of wolves or lions...
I'm sure tht many out ther(esp those hu saw da gruesome pix of tht young boy with his throat ripped apart) will disagree wid me, and suggest strong action. Well, I agree tht the errant dogs b punished, but I also feel tht the others shld be taken to care facilities or jus provided wid food sumhow..I mean,its da same situation wher u jus brand the Muslims as terrorists, and punish many for da deeds of a few...Perhaps I'm biased towards dogs, but then, I've never been much of a political or practical person...The one kiddie memory I jus can't get out of my head is leaning againt Caesar's soft fur as I whispered my childish secrets to him, breathing in his comforting, milky smell, risking my mother's wrath jus to get one wet 'kiss' frm da first dog tht I've ever luved...
Megs

hallelujah!

2007-03-02T06:04:00.000-08:00

Wrote today's biology exam in a half-inebriated state(have cumulatively slept for five hours over the past 2 days) but nothing, not even this bone deep exhaustion can dim the euphoria of the termaination of 11th std-at long last!
YES! YES! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
Well, I guess the above just serves to underline what a dramaqueen I am...But objectively, I think I can state that this has been one of the hardest years of my life....A time where I've acutely felt the 'growing pains' my grandmother always talked about...
And what have I learnt? I've learnt never to let anyone or anything detract me from my priorities(SAT, ACE etc can make or break u!)...That one frnd who cares is better than a hundred who dnt...That at sum point, u gotta believe in urself, bcoz if u dnt, no1 else will.... and that at the end of the day, u gotta remember tht ur slowly but surely determining ur future, but learn not to get pressurised by that fact....
So now 12th std awaits, looming ominously in the background, full of crushing pressure, responsibilities and ever more coursework. But now that I've SUMHOW survived the transition from a spoonfed 10th grade to an uncompromising 11th grade, I dont think I'll feel the change so much...I hope not,at any rate!

progress???sure!

2007-02-24T10:12:00.000-08:00

One fine morning, as I absently glanced through the newspaper, I saw Ratan Tata grinning exuberantly as he clinched the deal with an international steel giant, thereby putting his company on the world map. Jostling with his picture for print space was a tiny, ignominous news article about a child labourer who had been rescued in Mumbai. Intrigued, but case hardened, I flipped to the article....This is how it read...
'Zeenat(name changed), a 9 year old girl from Patiala, lost her mother when she was just 5 and since then, has suffered endless torment at the hands of her alcoholic father, abusive employers and an indifferent society. She was sent to work in Mumbai for an affluent family who paid her father Rs.100 a month. For that she was forced to rise before dawn and work till 11pm every day, sleep in the damp bathroom, eat meagre meals and endure the never ending beatings. This, when she should've been in a school or playground, worrying about fairytales and three digit subtractions. The final day came when her mistress beat her so hard with a steel rod that the back of her scalp split open. In this state, Zeenat was left to die on the streets of Mumbai's red light area, before a kind hearted Samaritan rescued her. He was shocked to see passers by just step over the bleeding child, as if she were a piece of filth...'
This story, which has many parallels in our country(atleast 12 million parallels!) nevertheless brought home the fact that despite all our claims to progress and modernization(HUGE mergers, Oscar level movies, booming GDP et al), India treats its children worse than any other country does. So many children here do not know what love, happiness and ambition really mean. They are starved, abused, neglected, dying. And this is the scenario which is supposed to elevate us to the status of a superpower?
For any rational country, it is easy to see that its future rests solely upon the health and well being of its children. In India, numerous child labour bans and efforts by NGOs simply cannot change the grotesque facts; each one of us knows atleast one zeenat and we choose to look away. What sort of progress is this? I find this situation sadly ironic, and it is pitiable that the ones who ave to suffer the outcome happen to be the hapless youngsters who have no power, no weapons to fight against the all encompassing darkness of their lives... megs

What one girl thinks...

2007-02-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

Life is oxymoronic.
No, seriously. Dis is wat I realized while flipping through my cousin sister’s considerable stack of gossip magazines. One of them read like this,

“Boys like shy, delicate girls, even though they hang out with more boisterous ones. They see timidity as an essentially feminine quality. Also, they like females with average looks and achievements, because no guy ever likes to feel inferior….So just smile shyly, play hard to get, use subtle makeup blah blah blah.”

The nest one said, “Contrary to popular belief, a guy never fancies a shy miss, really. All guys lyk the females who are more likely to agree to date them, dance with them etc. So if you’re sitting and dimpling in the corner, your Prince mite just be choosing his date from the gang of popular, outgoing girls. Guys really dig ambition, guts and brains in a girl.”

Yeah, ok. So I was so not confused, rite? I mean, I knt really blame the magazines, cmon. Life itself throws everyday examples at me……As a pressurized, impulsive adolescent with a penchant for writing, I find it easy to see these oxomoronic situations everyday. If a girl is insecure, shes looked down upon and generally pitied. But if shes confident and sure of herself, she’s labeled a bitch with an attitude problem, among other not so nice things. If she shuns makeup, she’s plain; if she wears it, she’s a slut. If she slouches, shes a hunchback, if she walks erect, she’s a wannabe ramp model. If she reads a lot, she’s a nerd; if she doesn’t, shes an airhead. If she dates a guy, she’s usually desperate and needy; if she doesn’t she’s a Miss.Goody Two Shoes.

And the list goes on……

I mean, as girls in today’s world, we have a LOT to handle. The catfights, petty jealousies and backbiting are horrifyingly magnified by the crushing pressure to succeed academically, excel in sports and extracurriculars, get ‘in’ with the best gang, live up to some crazy definition of thin and handle life with great poise. All this while looking absolutely great, with perfect grooming, flawless complexion et al. Handle the peer pressure, stay good bt be cool, top the class, be skinny(kate moss is way too fat, btw) bt sumhow retain ur hair, get into a great college, date a hunk, bitch about everyone else bt still be diplomatic, buy the best brands, hang wid da coolest ppl bt be nice to all…….or even better…….design a poster to save the whales from being slaughtered for their blubber (all the while smearing on a lipstick containing the latter)……

With all this, I’ve come to a conclusion. Life IS oxymoronic! As my friend mentioned, it just has a way of complicating itself! No matter how hard you try or wat u do, ull still be wrong or pathetic. U’ll still be judged(uncharitably) unless ur in the role of the victim or the helpless, spineless coward or whatever(lyk Rhett Butler said, ppl jus find it easier to feel sry for ppl, than happy for them). Why bother?Just do ur own thing, chart ur own course, and if the world has a problem, hey its THEIR prob, not urs

Megs

Against the reservation...

2007-02-11T23:07:00.001-08:00

What is the most widely debated topic in our country today? Its not Rakhi Sawant’s clothes……and its not Abdul Kalam’s hairstyle!It is definitely the government’s decision to implement 27% reservation in the Ivy League institutions of the Indian educational system. Frankly the way I see it, there is absolutely no cause for debate. Is it not apparent that this move will hopelessly suffocate the “equality” it is supposed to ensure?
I firmly oppose the move to reserve seats.
Right, at the outset, I must confess that I’m not a very political sort of person. I’m not going to curse Arjun Singh or bore you with long tedious lists of the events leading to this whimsical Act being passed. What I will say is this-this move is affecting the pride and glory of our internationally acclaimed IIT’s and IIM’s. It is an act of infiltration of politics right down to the grassroots level! The meritorious students will have less than 50% of seats to apply for, because apparently the members of the OBC’s can also contest in the general category. Which, incidentally, is that category which includes us ‘privileged classes’.
But if anything, this whole quota fiasco has revealed how totalitarian our ‘democracy’ really is! Beating up helpless students just because they are demanding their rights? I mean, we are a free country right? That means we can starve or sit wherever we want to, wave little placards and burn effigies, without the threat of policemen trying to drown us or burn us….but apparently, that is not our prerogative….and these hapless victims are the brightest future citizens of our motherland….being caned without mercy, all because they demanded the equality of opportunity promised to us by our forefathers in the constitution. The future looks promising, after all-a steep rise in suicides because getting into IIT is the main aim of so many young students, doctors and engineers who will probably talk in their mother tongues, increased forgery of fake documents, droves of students who will pursue their education and careers abroad. And really,who can blame them? This law will allow the rich to bribe those in power and allow for concessions because they are ‘underprivileged,’ thereby becoming just one more source of corruption….and they say they are going to expand the number of seats in all colleges…that will just dilute the quality of the students and the reputation that our system has earned will be undermined terribly.I think a more sane approach would be to include this move in primary schools, as free and high quality education, to ensure that all children get the same oppourtunities, which is really what the constitution makers had in mind all along.. Suddenly putting an OBC student into an IIT, on basis of his birth, it would be like expecting a small boy who can just about swim,to compete in the Olympics.Most importantly, all students and doctors and the country in general, have lashed back. The people have spoken, the verdict is out. If the law makers we have trusted wish to truly uphold the noble ideals of our constitution, they should first give the people the voice they deserve. Who inspires you, Mr Arjun Singh-Ambedkar or Hitler???

Meghna Srinivas

Blossoming Beauty

2007-02-11T23:01:00.000-08:00

Dis was my first ever poem....therefore very special to me....i wrote it in the 6th....

The dewdrops shimmered
As I gazed mesmerized
Her intricate features glimmered,
So fragile and midget-sized.

The mists began to lift,
And the sun shone pale yellow.
I knew she was Nature's gift
as she smiled with lips so mellow.

I savoured the sight,
As she spread herself with grace.
And watched in delight,
As the leaves welcomed her with an embrace.

She looked like a pretty red discus,
With a delicate, towering pistil.
She was now a lovely hibiscus,
Swaying near my window sill.

Megs

Dancing in the dark

2007-02-11T22:59:00.000-08:00

Sweat poured down my temples as I pirouetted gracefully, mustering all my concentration as I spun round and round like a top, dressed in white like a jasmine opening its petals to the rising sun. Again and again I continued to spin, as the packed auditorium resounded with thunderous applause. ’Just one step more!’ I urged myself, fiercely stretching out my arms in the final sequence of my favourite dance,’The Dying Swan.’
Finally I came to a stop, and bowed as low as I could, elated to see the roses thrown at me by the raving audience. I could still feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins, and after bowing and waving for several more minutes I went backstage and wiped off my lipstick. Suddenly, the door burst open and a burly, heavyset man said, “Anna, we must leave now. I’ll have to escort you. Don’t know what these reporters will do to get you now”.

I smiled, reveling in all the adulation.”Very well, Arnie”.

As I finally escaped from the eager, impatient reporters waiting outside to interview me, my able chauffeur Arnold literally pushed me through the noisy throng and into the waiting limousine. I sat quietly in the back, wincing as I took off my ‘lucky’ ballet shoes and examined my newest toe blister. As the light from the flashbulbs streamed in through the window,I saw the scars of 15 years of ballet on my tiny, rather disfigured feet. Hurriedly, I looked up and opened the little window of the partition.

“How was the performance, Arnie?”

“Ah Annie, it was the most enchanting thing I’ve ever seen! You are such a lovely dancer!”

“Thank you”, I basked in his praise. He was more than just my chauffeur; he was the only friend I’d ever had. Few people realize how lonely the life of a ballerina actually is; since the age of 6, my life had revolved only around ballet, ballet and more ballet. No outings with friends-that would have cut into my practice time. No eating icecreams-I couldn’t afford the extra pounds. Every single aspect of my life had been rigorously censored by my mother, whose only motivation in life had been to see her daughter succeed where she herself had failed…

When she was young, my mother had cherished a burning ambition to be a ballerina someday. But due to financial constraints, her dreams had been brutally thwarted. When I was born, she christened me Anna, after Anna Pavlova, after the famous ballerina who had choreographed The Dying Swan. Indeed, comparisions were inevitable, and just as my mother had predicted, I was being hailed as being even better than my namesake!

At first, I was happy to learn ballet. But after spending many tedious hours crouching, spinning and walking on tippy-toes with heavy books on my head, I instinctively rebelled. My tiny feet would start bleeding after using ‘pointe’ shoes, those satiny ballet shoes that look so pretty but are agonizing to wear. My mother never let me wear any soft padding inside, as that would have restricted my ability to ‘feel the floor’ while dancing. My father, a mild mannered, rather henpecked man, silently supported me but was helpless against his wife’s all-consuming passion to see her daughter dominate the world of ballerinas. He only wanted me to be happy and at some point, my mother managed to convince both of us that my destiny lay in ballet.

We were rather poor, and life was harsh. I remember seeing my expensive make up lying with my father’s ragged clothes one day, and it was then that I realized the absolute necessity of success. I must have been about 11 years old at that time. I was fired with determination; one day I would earn enough to support my parents who quietly mended their old clothes and wore them proudly, just so their daughter could buy a shimmering tulle ballet dress and strappy white shoes and lipstick…

At about 16, I had a chance to participate in ‘The Nutcracker’ which was taking place in our modest town. On the day, I was literally quivering with excitement. I would be on stage! As we powdered our dainty noses backstage, I noticed the other ballerinas furtively glancing at each other, secretly comparing their legs and faces…..None of us spoke, probably due to our rusty social skills. It was then that I realized what an insecure world it was, and what pressure we had to succeed. That night, I found no pleasure from the opening night roses, as I mechanically bowed in unison with the rest of the smiling ballerinas. And I started practicing harder and harder….

“Annie?”

I jerked out of my reverie. Glancing up, I realized that Arnie had been asking me something. With an effort, I said, ”Hmmm?”

“Did you know that the Queen was watching you tonight?”

I was elated. He was watching me in the rearview mirror, waiting for my reply. I opened my mouth and glimpsed a sudden glare of light ahead…

My scream of warning died before it reached my lips….a terrible jolt….screams of pain that sounded near at times, and then distant…warm liquid gushed into my eyes….a million splinters were pulling my skin apart, all at once….

I opened my eyes, struggling against the warmth and pain….hell fire must feel something like this, I thought grimly……”Arnie?Arnie?”My voice was a painful croak.

I couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything, no matter how hard I tried…I could hear people, strangers, all saying something….someone was calling my name, she sounded very near but I couldn’t see her….And then the blackness became more solid as I fell back and my eyelids closed…

I awoke later, and tried desperately to sit up…I was gently pushed back with soft admonitions not to tire myself…..I was vaguely aware of stabbing pains in my wrists due to IV tubes……

“Unhh”, I moaned, after an interminable time that could have been a few hours, or a lifetime… “Lie down dear. You’re going to be all right”, said a kindly voice.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“I’m a nurse working at the Embarcadero Hospital,” she said softly.

I digested this awhile in silence. I felt numb; anezthetised. But I knew I would be fine soon. My mother had always taught me that I could shape my destiny and my belief in her had been so great, how could she be wrong?

“How is Arnie?”

“Arnie?”

“My chauffeur.

“He didn’t make it, dear”.

Now pain exploded in the pit of my stomach, moving upwards and hurting my throat till my chest heaved with sobs. I didn’t hold back and let the blessed tears come. As I reached up, painfully, to wipe away my tears, I realized that my hands came away rather sticky.

“Huh?”I murmured, confused…

“I’m so sorry Anna….I think you’re going to have an eye problem from now on…Called dry eye syndrome….But don’t you worry, we’re going to get in the best doctors for you. And you will be able to see, though not clearly…”

Reassured by her soothing voice and having no idea of how much my life was about to change, I drifted off into a hazy, drug-induced sleep filled with nightmares of Arnie and broken limos….

The kind nurse had lied to me. My eyes were technically working perfectly, but because my corneas had been permanently scarred, my eyes did not produce enough tears to lubricate themselves. As a result, I never knew how much vision I would have when I awoke each day. It was a horrifyingly new world of despair, boredom and crippling hopelessness.

I had many visitors. They were sympathetic; they held my hands and shed gentle tears as I spoke about the night when everything had changed. But as time passed, the stream became a mere trickle, and soon vanished. In about half a year, I had faded entirely from the public scene and newspapers no longer carried front page articles about ‘Anna Pavlova the Second’. All that I had believed in and worked for was now reduced to nothing….

“How can that be, Ma?”I murmured softly, as I awoke from yet another series of nightmares involving me crying on stage…Arnie helpfully offering me roses but then bleeding and choking before my eyes…..My dear parents had died in a landslide years ago…They had never seen their daughter at the prime of her fame, but atleast they had never seen her blind and lonely.And I still spoke to my mother whenever I needed any advice…

There was no answer. I realized that it was very late at night, and suddenly felt terribly thirsty. ”Mary?” I called my maid. No answer. Quietly, I got out of bed, and was feeling my way along the wall, when I tripped over something and fell. I cried as a sharp pain shot up my left leg, forsaken, forgotten and alone…So alone….Was this my destiny now?

I felt the hopelessness rushing back as I kept calling for someone to help…then I realized that no one would come…Reaching down, I fingered what I had tripped over. It was a soft, ribboned pointe shoe…My heart swelled with indescribable emotion….

I got up, and without even feeling the pain in my leg, I ran swiftly to the music system, knocking clumsily against things as I went along. Once there, I groped for the ‘Ballads’ button. As the sweet, well-remembered music filled the air, I knew I wasn’t alone any longer, that I would never be…I smiled into the darkness and raised my hands to begin the ballet…

“One more step!” I tell myself as I smile at the audience I cannot see clearly. But I can discern the bright glare of flashbulbs, and the soft red roses strewn at my feet. ”Anna, Anna”, the crowd chants, as I spin faster and faster, trapped in the ecstasy of that moment… In blindness, I feel I have a greater empathy with the ‘dying swan’ than earlier, and my every movement is fired with deep emotion…and this night was the culmination of my life’s efforts…I was performing at the Sydney Opera House! At last!

As I stepped forward for one last bow, amidst the cheering of a standing ovation, I could feel a thorn from the roses pricking my foot. I smiled as I realized that in life, you had to take the thorns with the roses. And I knew that I had found myself again, and even though I was dancing in the dark, I could glimpse the light at the end of the tunnel…

Megs

spunky?

2007-02-11T22:51:00.000-08:00

shir nd i havent written dis....bt its one of our fave poems!kicks ass!

I shave my legs,
I sit down to pee.
And I can justify any shopping spree.
Don't go to a barber, but a beauty salon.
I can get a massage without getting a hard-on.
I can balance the checkbook,
I can pump my own gas.
Can talk to my friends about the size of my a$$.
My beauty's a masterpiece and yes, it takes long.
At least I can admit to others when I'm wrong.
I don't drive in circles, at any cost.
And I don't have a problem admitting I'm lost.
I never forget an important date.
You just gotta deal with it, I'm usually late.
I don't watch movies with lots of gore.
Don't need instant replay to remember the score.
I won't lose my hair, I won't get jock itch.
And just cause I'm assertive, don't call me a bitch!
Don't say to your friends, Oh yeah, I can get her.
In your dreams, my dear, cause I can do better!
Flowers are okay, But jewelry's best.
Look at me you idiot... Not at my chest !!!
I don't have a problem, With expressing my feelings.
I know when you're lying, You look at the ceiling.
DON'T call me a GIRL , a BABE or a CHICK .
I am a WOMAN. Get it? you DICK!?!

Abt megs

2007-02-11T22:22:00.000-08:00

So abt Megs I dont really know where to begin so ill start with 9th standard.I really wanted yo get close to her (that bitch wudnt evn look at me).So ya as usual we met and realised a little later that we shared the same flair for bitchin(hehe) and had gone thru similar things previously in our lives.In NJS I believed that there was nothing in me and I dint find it worth living.But Megs opened my eyes to this world where I believed I wud be accepted for simply who I am and not by acting like a major slut.She has helped get over my insecurities and has taught me what frndship is all about.Megs is one of the most loyal the most outright person Ive met.Shes always speakin her mind and I luve her 4 that.I luve her whole attitude of going 4 something no matter what it takes.After knowing each other for 3 yrs we have become inseparable and I can easily say that even now we share the same bond

da gr8est compliment ive ever received....

2007-02-11T22:10:00.000-08:00

The day dawned bright and sunny. Finally! I was 12 years old! I had struggled to stay awake past midnight, and now, as I pulled off my quilt and stood in the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows, I felt an exhilaration coursing through my veins.

Happily, I went to school, distributed sweets to everyone and smiled non-stop. I was as gay and lively as any sixth-grader on her birthday. Once home, I dressed up meticulously and waited, albeit impatiently, for my friends, presents and chocolate cake(yum) to arrive. I could barely sit still, and after the usual formalities, I dove excitedly on the promising heap of brightly wrapped presents. After all, I'd been waiting a year for this! Novels, clothes, accessories....I mumbled the appropriate thanks to my beaming relatives and sat there, in the mdst of a mess of gaudy paper and squealing girlfriends when I first spotted it-a green-yellow, thin book with 'Slam Book' emblazoned upon it. "Who gave me this?" I yelled over the general commotion. "I did."

I turned to smile at Shriram, my dear family friend...nay, the brother god forgot to give me.... My anchor of support and gossip, with the dreamy green eyes and bright smile. With my characteristic shyness, I'd always kept a bit of a distance from him, but I knew if I needed help, guidance, or just someone who'd listen to me, he'd be there. We'd shared many lazy Sunday afternoons together, munching through my mum's excellent biryani, discussing dog breeds and other inconsequential things..... Never about the scars on the back of his palm(thanks to innumerable blood transfusions) or his frequent absences at school due to his hospital visits.

However, I digress. As I gazed blankly at the umimpressive Slam Book, Shriram quickly said, "I'll fill it", and he picked it up. Looking back, I remember how little I cared; I was chock-full of cake and euphoria, and had little thought to spare for Shriram.

Later, surrounded by a tottering pile of satisfactory gifts, I saw him walking towards me. Silently, he handed me the book and left with a simple, "I'll call you." My friends and I put our heads together to read what he had written.

The last line was one I'll never forget.

It went,"About you, I'd say..."

And he had written, "you're cute. Be careful guys will come after you!"

My heart soared as my friends tittered. Iwas incredibly flattered but disbelieving....

Now, many years later, I'm pretty much a confident adoloscent; so much so that I'm accused of having an 'attitude' problem. I get complimented and brush them off without really caring. I wear a nose stud, fuss about my hair and live for glitter lipgloss.

But sometimes, when I least expect it, I recall Shriram's ever-so-cute compliment, and my spirits soar. His words warm me because I know he meant them. He saw past the fat, awkward, bespectacled girl with dorky braces and cropped hair. He cautioned me against the vagaries of hormones and made my world(at that time, I was picked on and bullied) a little brighter.

All in those 2 simple sentences.

As I watched his terrible congenital illness consume him, I never once told him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. Why? Perhaps I hoped that he already knew...And my non existene self esteem would never allow me to say those few little words. Maybe I thought he would live a lot longer.....that we would grow old together, discussing our colleges, later spouses.....children....and of course, our dogs.

In life, as in death, Shriram taught me a lot. I've learnt that love never dies, and that a person can live a lifetime off a single compliment. It's true. I've done it.

I love you, Shri.

Megs

life

2007-02-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

Life

Life is boring as said
Looks as if it is fed
With mostly pains and sometimes pleasures
It could be like little feathers
Who fly wherever they like to be

It is usually each of us
Who make a very big fuss
On thinking the way life is
And assuming the pleasures are his

We might not know his life personal
And just know him as a normal person
Thinking,thinking the thought comes
Its best for me to die at once

But hardly we all know that we face the same problem
Where each of us wants to die
And never want to see his and only my
God is not partial is a fact
He gives the same pleasures, and the same pains
Its just the way we take it in
It could be pleasures it could be pain
With which the light is lit within

shirin

Bleeding inside

2007-02-11T21:53:00.000-08:00

blood everywhere
mingling with the tears
burning my eyes, overwhelming heat
an inferno of the Devil.
despair so strong it swells my heart
and taints the pure surface
of the water as i try
to hurl the terror and pain from my heart...
bitter bile stings my throat
an acrid hell
death so near it beckons
no sadness only fear
fear of living
fear of dying
fragile emotions shattering,like glass
the strewn roses,plucking with sharp thorns of past memories
a rush of cruel words,senseless images,passionate emotions,
and blood everywhere...
haunting me,my worst nightmare,
like a stubborn child,never letting me go.
hacking away at pulsating life,
as the red tears seep through in relief....
set free...skeletons in the closet, many and varied,
suddenly seek independence,
to ruin the tangible castle of dreams
to scar my perfect mask
stomach turns as screaming reaches a crescendo
scab reveals a permanent scar
bitter taste of bile
of rejection
of loneliness
coppery taste of blood
blood everywhere
curling into a ball,
sinking into emotional quicksand
wanting to camouflage or fly away
be free
but in the harsh glaring spotlight.
screaming as the shackles
bite the frail wrists
screaming coz lifewas never meant to be this
struggling,swimming against warm blood,
fighting to break the surface,
to break free
fly away
breathe 2 the bottom of my lungs
to change a world that isnt
and never will be...
p.s-sry i know it damn morbid
Megs

intro....

2007-02-11T21:40:00.000-08:00

Well what do we say bout ourselves?one 16 yr old and another on-the-brink-of-17 yr old who are the best of frnds, and have been inspired by the idea of a blog to let loose the gamut of emotions produced by the mad, harried rush of stepping into our lives 'most imp academic year'....which promises to make or break us....
well,usually i knt stop talking....but right now i'm at a loss for words...we both jus sincerely hope our musings and thoughts on all facets of our lives will induce you to atleast leave some comments behind....let us know wat u think!
until the next post....this is me megs signing out on behalf of shir too.......two gals for whom life is just a tough,and sometimes enjoyable, journey........not always a cocksucking, mfucking bitch(!)