Kitschy dreams

If there is something I hate more than people who wear grey and cream together, is being absolutely jobless. Staring into space. Changing channels on the television. Refreshing my Facebook page again and again. It makes me feel like a married aunty whose sits around waiting for her husband to get back from work. And I don’t have a husband also. You see where this is going?

So a while ago, when Wastey tells me there is work opportunity for the two of us, I put on my prettiest shoes and run towards my new workplace in slow motion. Instant love connection happened. And I’ve been running to work and college and back to work ever since. While I do miss randomly hanging out after college, I could not be happier.

Working here also makes me feel a little Konkona SenSharma in Wake Up Sid. I always envisioned that kind of life for myself. Living independently and writing about things I love the most. I’m graduating in six months. May be that life is not so far away.

Speaking of Wake Up Sid and husband, I almost fell in love with Ranbir Kapoor every time he stepped out with his camera.

Then again, there are a lot of things about the movie that made me fall in love. Remember Konkona’s off-white kurta with the little camels all over it? I liked it so much I painted my very own version of that kurta. Except, I replaced the camels with ‘banjaaran’. I love being gypsy-ish like that.

I love how the entire movie had such a kitschy feel to it. Right from her bedroom to the Mumbai Beat office. My office looks a little bit like, with random colours splashed all over the place. May be that’s another reason I love coming here as much as I do.

P.S. Did I tell you, I went to Chor Bazaar to do a story? ^_^

_______________________________________________________________________________

My brother and I talk sometimes. He does most of the talking. I pretend to listen for a while and then give that ‘are you suffering from verbal diarrhea look?’

A few weeks ago, he came running into my room saying he had to rush. I gave him the most disgruntled look ever, followed by a very long lecture. Reason? He was wearing a pair checkered shorts and a striped t-shirt. Just because they had the same colours, he thought it was socially acceptable to step out like that. What is a girl supposed to do when she sees such blasphemy being committed before her own eyes? He left me with no choice.

Yesterday we were walking home and he was telling me about how he thinks he is having a ‘hukka phase’. He was looking at me for some sort of sane advice. Stuff like stop destroying your lungs or I’m going to tell mommy.

Instead I look at him with a straight face. ‘Suit Yourself’. Those were my words of advice.

‘Tell me something! Scream at me!’

‘You can do whatever you want as long as you’re not doing in a pair of checkered shorts and striped tee.’

It was my brother’s turn to look at me absolutely straight faced.

The Airport: Scene 1

Airports and I, we share a love hate relationship. Every time I touch the airport, I’m filled with a strange rush of excitement and anticipation. When you think of the surprises that lie ahead, it’s hard not to love the place for what it offers.

For a girl who has grown up on a steady diet of rom-coms, I firmly believe airports are the best place to kickstart your love story. Have a good look at my profile. Favourite movies? When Harry met Sally, A Lot like Love and Hum Tum. And that is just as much as I love airports. Not to mention, 68.4373% (Yes, I made the figure up) of these romcoms end with one of the actors confessing their undying love for the other, at the airport, minutes before departure.

What do I hate about airports? Three things. The checking, the checking and the checking. How did I forget the long lines? For a person who hates standing in a line when there are five people ahead, waiting for thirty of them to move, is a real task. On top of that parents insist on travelling with their little kids, who insist on crying for no particular reason. They make me hate the world so much. Even more when they stand behind me, grabbing my ass at regular intervals.

Don’t get me started on my own parents. Their worst fear is being trapped in a foreign country with no Indian food to sustain them. Vegetarian food to be precise. So while we’re waiting in the line, they start having in depth conversations about the different ready to make MTR packets and lolas (Sindhi pancakes) they have carried. All of this happens very loudly, by the way, while I stand there wondering why the ground won’t open to swallow me up.

This time round, I’m travelling without my folks and my excitement is contagious. The times I have travelled without them, there has always been a friend. Let me tell you about this friend of mine. Her parents compete with mine in the paranoia department. When we were fifteen and travelling without them for the first time, they insisted on informing the airport staff so they’d look after us. I’m not going to divulge the details of what followed, for my own sake.

I’m the kind of person, who continues to sit whilst the train arrives, and gets up once everybody else has alighted. Coming early to the airport, in my opinion, is one the most pointless things in the world. This time round, I’m so excited, I’ll probably insist on reaching five hours in advance.

The thought of browsing through duty free shops and bookstores in my pretty sailor striped ballerinas and black high waist skirt seems rather exhilarating. Have I told you about my new Zara bag? Let’s just say she is stylish and fabulous. I can’t wait to walk around the airport with her. And then sit by the pretty little airport cafe sipping lattes. For as long as time will permit me.

(To be continued.........)

Mislaid tracks

Empty impending silences.
Long pauses.
Blank spaces.
White paper.
Mislaid tracks.

A pen in my hand.
I write the story,
Of the path ahead.
I lose the parchment.
Where am I going?

Monicaaaa, oh my darling!

Goddess of Nonsense. She loves you. No reaaally.
Why else would she be writing this post one day before her board exams?
It seems weirdly incomplete to go write this paper without blogging before hand.
I need you guys to wish me all the love and luck, yea?
And I'll will send each one of you homemade brownies.
With a personalized heart shaped thank you letter.
And, no! None of you will die after you consume them.

Anyway, speaking of the exams, I'm surprisingly calm about them.
Jumpy calm.
The sort that makes me want to sing, 'Monicaaaaaaa, my darling' in the middle of my paper.
I swear, when I was writing my prelim paper, every time an answer I knew well would be asked, my head would automatically start playing this song.
Now, I'm just hoping my paper is *filled* with Monica moments.

When I found out what my centre is, I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
I'm going back to my junior college to the exams.
<Insert more yay-ness here>

I'm getting daydreamy again.
Nine days, and then I will be free to do all the little nonsense I've been aching to for weeks now.
*Grins at the thought of Diwali vacations*
There is *so* much that needs to be done.
I'm going to start with making lists.

You make a list of the kinds of brownies you want.
Baking lessons are sitting comfortable somewhere on the list!

The box.

Anger
Lust
Sorrow
Disgust

Castaway.
In a box
Full of your memories.

In the deep recesses
Of the attic,
They lie with the sundries.

Inexplicable.
Then why do I feel
So emotionally insane?

If I throw away
The little boxes,
Will the memories remain?

Sell your soul for favourite quotes!

You know those shady love stories where you chase somebody for sooooo long and realise when you're taking saat pheras around the fire that you are actually in love with your best friend, who's cat also treats you like a part of the family. Yes *that* friend who's been around for so long that you can't even remember what life was like without him. And then you turn around one-eighty degrees, make a dramatic exit from your own wedding, red saree flowing, strands of hair flying, gold jewellery clanking, while the band-baja wala suddenly stops playing the shehnai. All the people stand up and look at you pretending to be surprised while they're actually wondering, 'Omg does the bride's exit mean, we get absolutely no free food?'

But that is not the point of this story. What happens is that right after the bride goes running out she gets into the first cab she finds and tells the cabbie to take her to the airport/ bus stop/ station where her best friend (secretly her lover) is leaving for a fake trip to Ghaziabad/ Ambala/ Tiruchirapalli to set up a papad factory. Just when the train arrives he sees her running dramatically towards him. He throws his bag and runs towards her in slow motion. In the next scene they're siting by the same fire, with the same pandit, the same psychobabble, and the same red saree (What a cheapskate the director is). The only different thing is that, there are no guests in this wedding. They already ate free food at the previous one. So they're basically not invited. 

Aye! Shady guests are trying to get crash this blog post again! Getting to the point.The favourite quotes section on Facebook has always been around, looking at me lovingly, affectionately and patiently, while I shamelessly ignored it and flirted with every other application there was. Now that I have rediscovered it's awesomeness, I'm taking this relationship to a whole new level.

I may sound uber cool as I throw phrases like 'a whole new level', but truth be told it is just another phrase for stalkerishness. Let me explain a typical conversation between me and my friend Parinita, from Improper Conduct (we have just entered into an It's complicated relationship on FB, btw).

Me: <Psychobabble at it's best>

Pari: HAHAHA!

Me: Favourite quotes? ^_^

Didn't get eeeet? Haw :O Let me explain.

Basically for every funny thing I say, I torture her to put it up in her favourite quotes section.

Currently, the success rate is 2 to 1,00,000. Yes, that funny and thaaaaat stalkerish I am.

Anywaaaaaay, so we're both walking to the station today and we're making a list of tacky things to do on my birthday (next blog post that =D ), so I suggest that we sit on the footpath and take shots. Every shot should be followed by a very tacky secret. Then I go on to explain with an example.

Me: Saaaay, when I was ten or something, I thought Suniel Shetty was hot. For a day.

Pari: Hahahahaha! Don't tell anyone my tacky secret.

Me: What? What? What?

Pari: When I was a kid, I thought Jitendra was hot! (And I laugh as I type this!)

Me: If and when I find you an item, I will ask him to dress in all white and ask you out! I will also get him to play a tacky Jitendra film song in the background!

When I told her about my very tacky secret, part of me was relieved because I finally got it out. Another part of me regretted it deeply. For once, *she* screamed 'favourite quotes!' and I wasn't sure if I wanted the world to know this about me. On the other hand, with my new found commitment to the favourite quotes section, it seemed stupid to let this opportunity go to waste. I was torn.

I decided to put my love interest first. Who cares what the world thinks when he is by my side? The quote must go up!

I was super worried she would change her mind by the time she got home. So I took control of the situation.

Enter: Reverse Psychology.

Me: You *cannot* put this up!

Pari: I *so* can!

Me: Pari, I will *die* of embarassment.

Pari: Yea, that is the point!!

Me: No, Pari, No!

Pari: Yes! Yes! Yes!

My plan worked like magic. By the time I came home, there I was, smiling back at me from her favourite quotes. That didn't make any sense, no? Well, as long as you know what I'm trying to say, you grammar whore!

Aaaaanyway, the point is, I am made of awesome and there is no denying that.

To explain this further, I'd like to cite another example.

I was talking to Pranav from For The Wine, yesterday and we were discussing our college festival and all the drama that comes with it.

Me: And N was telling me that M thinks, the fest is her pitajee ka property!

P: Haha! Yes, I've hearing the same thing over and over again.

Me: I was very offended when I heard that.

P: Ouch. Why?

Me: Chauvinism has sunk to every level! Why can't the fest be Matajee ka property?!

P: Hahahahahaha!

Me: Favourite quotes!

And awesomeness that he is, actually went and put my quote up there! Two three tear drops came rolling down my eyes.

Anywaaay, speaking of coolness, awesomeness, (insert 4-5 synonyms here), Parinita and I decided to tell you only half the truth! We conveniently changed some of our quotes to make them a little cooler than they sounded then.

Pari: Wait that didn't sound right!

Me: Oh yea!

Pari: (thinking deeply)

Me: Here's an idea.

Pari: Say say say!

Me: Let's rig our favourite quotes!

Pari: Hahaha! I'm not putting that up but!

Mental Spam

Instability
Emptiness
Dark shadows

Written, unwritten verses
Spoken, unspoken words

Spam,
It feels like mental spam,
These obsessive destructive thoughts.

Dark shadows of the past
Loom in the present

You're gone.
But when I wake up every morning,
Why does this room still smell of you?

I wish upon a star

I'm happy and daydreamy.
Happy, lost and daydreamy.
Daydreamy, lost and happy.

I have an Indian Regional Journalism paper tomorrow that involves learning a lot of dates, names and statistics.
It wouldn't have been so hard, if I had paid attention.
But sadness makes me daydreamy. Happiness makes makes me daydreamy. Sitting in class makes me daydreamy.
Rainbows, butterflies and balloons.

Also, thinking about my birthday makes me very daydreamy.
It's just around the corner and I'm a little more excited than I should be.
Turning twenty should make me sane, right?
It seems to be having the reverse effect on me.

What am I doing on my birthday?
Ummm... putting on a really tiny dress, having a little more than ten shots and dancing on the top of a table in a random bar?
Yeah, right.
My birthday had to plonk itself right in the middle of prelims and boards.
Foooooo!
Which basically means, there are no plans.

I suppose I could wake up and do every random thing that crosses my head.
Thank god for retarded friends?
Fes!
I'm going to let them figure, while dig into brownies and chocolate cake.
And a tiny word of advice, no tacky gifts from Dombivali, ok? *makes a dirty face*

I've been thinking about what I really want for my birthday.
For starters, a pair of very pretty and ridiculously expensive pair of Zara Heels should suffice.
I'm always stalking people to take pictures for my blog.
It would be so nice to have an awesome camera myself.
Not to mention, photography skills.
May be I'll get one of those fancy cameras myself.

I also want to wake up every morning like I'm on sugar rush.
Realise another one of those dreams, I see through the day.
I want to make place for new things. New people.
Ask everything that has no place here, to go find a new home.

"Do I know? Yes, I do.
I won't say it. Why won't you?"

Nonsense. Goddess of Nonsense.

One day before my prelim paper, I bury my notes, hide all of my books and swallow my biting conscience. Why? So I could entertain all seventy five of you. And another 25 odd followers who stalk my blog regularly, but refuse to follow. I decide to spend the 57.23 good minutes of my evening writing a blogpost, and I have absolutely no comments! Zero. Zilch. Shunya. Have you been hit by a bus? Better still, *run over*? Well, if you haven't, I hope you do! All seventy five of you! Grrrrr.

Anyway. There is yet another paper tomorrow and I'm giving into the temptation. Damn you blogspot! I'm going to sue you if I don't do well.

Looks like I forgot to mention Facebook? Oh.my.GOD. One notification after another. One pointless conversation after another. Aaaa! Mental spam.

On top of that, something very amusing I read on Facebook struck me during the paper. Mental giggle fest I went on. That was right before mental giggle fest #2, which happened as a result of a friend mentioning something else that happened on Facebook. All that, while I'm trying to remember answers that I didn't study. Why? Ummm because I was on Facebook.

But for a good two hours yesterday Facebook evaded me. That's when Gtalk stepped in. It's so much better to talk without worrying about the person on the other end dying for a minute or two ever now and then. Apparently, matchmaking is my exam stressbuster. I've been trying very hard to set one of my friends up. Who you may ask? Well, lets call him Champu Scooterwala, a.k.a log mujhe pyaar se Scoooooter bulate hai.

Me: I want to keeeeeeeeel somebody!

Scooter: Who ser?

Me: Well, for starters I could kill you.

Scooter: But, if you kill me what will happen to 'the plan'? (the plan being me setting him up with another friend)

Me: It's a dead plan! You killed it a looooong time ago. You will die a virgin! I promise you.

S: Why sir? :( (yes, he refers to me as sir. He's is very cool like that)

Me: Because you haven't asked her out yet!

S: I will. Give me exactly two weeks, sir.

Me: TWO WEEKS? Omg you need more time?

S: Uh you want to me to ask her out now?

Me: THAT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE A BAD IDEA!

S: But sir! Build up hona chahiya na!

Me: I'LL CREATE THE BUILD UP?

S: No sir! I will.

Me: WHEN?AFTER TWO YEARS?

S: No no! Today!

Me: LIAR!

S: I promise!

Me: Kalank!

S: Arrey! I said na, todaaaay.

Me: Thoooooo!

Very happening life I have.

Anyway, I'm going to go study now.

P.S. I'm going to marry the owner of Theobroma and then have an extramarital affair with owner of Cafe Moshe. Wheeeeeeee!

Post IV blues.

It's been too long, sir. Waaaaay too long. And what better time that the day before your prelims, to revisit? It's been eventful. It's been uneventful. It's been many things.

Funny, I haven't spoken about the trip at all. With my whole anti-college phase going on, I didn't think I'd be happy sitting in a train with 120 people, who I have to try very hard not to slap. Yes, I sometimes feel I'm cooler than a lot of people. Deal with it.
You know what I like the most about these college trips? They're absolutely random. You're packing your bag, calling all of your friends, making mental notes about what you're going to do. And then bam! The trip happens. And everything goes against your little plan. Sometimes it's just disastrous. But most of the time it's turns out to be surprisingly awesome.

I'm walking towards the hotel lobby from the gardens. There is a little lake on the way, with very noisy ducks inside. They were on sugar rush, I suppose (or whatever they get high on) and kept me distracted for a while. Good thing I didn't notice the empty swing that kept uniformly moving until I was almost out of the darkness. What is so strange about an empty swing moving in the darkness? Well, creepy to say the least, especially if the one next to it, isn't moving at all. Also, I should tell you this. There was no wind. Not even a bit.
I wanted to scream, but I ran instead. Adrenaline rush. All the way till I reached my room. Surely, I couldn't have imagined it. I go around telling the story. Ghost stories never fail to fascinate, no? At two a.m. in the morning, eight of us, in the middle of a 'tales of the Satan' session decide, nothing could possibly make this more fun than going ghost hunting at the hour of the Satan. What follows is a lot of screaming, nail biting, false alarms and panic attacks on the way to the scene of errr...horror.
The next day we discovered that the swing continues to move for atleast fifteen minutes after the swinger(what are they called) gets off the swing. But that night, we were so caught up in the frenzy, we lost every bit of our reasoning. And I'm so glad we did. We had one heck of an adventurous night.

Nothing beats drunks nights though. One minute you're in your room having shots and woo-ing like a mad woman and the next minute, you are... Okay, what happened next minute? Why won't somebody tell me? Actually you'd rather not. I don't want in detailed stories of how I embarrased myself. Let's just say two boys weren't enough to drag me back to my room. It took fours of them, a girl and a very awkward conversation in the lift. Oh btw, I was asleep when this happened. So I am in complete denial about all of this.
Clearly they couln't decide who was worse? A very annoying, shrill, shrieky, woman who kept wooooo-ing at random intervals, said way too many things, most of which made no sense at all, and embarrased a lot of other people by telling them who she wanted to set them up with (I am a matchmaker when I'm drunk). Also, I fell asleep on a random bench, somehwere along the way, with my hair all over my face. A lot of people mistook me for a ghost. Six and half shots of vodka. Two and a half shots of gin. Apparently, there is a lot alcohol can make you do.

And then I bonded with nice people, crashed random parties, spoke to a lot of people I had never spoken to before. I also danced around in circles like a mad woman on DJ night and scandalised every onlooker.

And I had decided none of this when I was packing.

I had my low-days and 'I want to kill somebody now' moments. I also, had my 'why did I come for this stupid trip?' moments.

But almost a month after the trip is over, the sweet aftertaste is all that remains.

Jassi Jaisi koi nahin

It's a bright yellow Sunday morning, I'm so giggly, you'll think I'm in one of those Juhi Chawla- Ravina Tandon type movies and a very hairy Sunny Deol/ Anil Kapoor has climbed up my window with love note in one hand and shady red roses in the other. 

But the truth is, Anil Kapoor or no Anil Kapoor, life must go on. Other replacements have been found. And I spend my days showering my affection upon them.

Apparently, sugar can do to me, what alcohol cannot. While most people are ready to take their clothes off after a few shots, I look at them wide eyed, feeling more sane and sober than I ever did, wondering what the hell my body is made of. On the other hand, when I'm high on sugar, the above mentioned giggly-ness happens. Jokes that are otherwise too sidey to be cracked in public are suddenly out in the open. The random urge to break into song and dance takes over. The urge to sing must be resisted as it is hazardous to the mental and physical health of those around. Dance however, can happen in public. In any case, when it is inappropriate to dance in public, I just go to the Ladies room. I actually used to do that in my previous workplace when I was brimming with giggly-ness. Pinky promise. And whatever you do, don't tell this anyone.

So back to my story. Affection is currently being showered upon five grain biscuits. They make my morning coffee so awesome, that I'm on sugar rush all day.

Coming back to tacky movie scenes, I'm having one heck of a movie marathon next weekend with Nautanki, Cow and other such losers. Be jealous ya'll! While you sit in the company of your tables and chairs watching Rajnikant and Govinda movies, I have friends who came out to me about their love for such nonsense. Now that we have formed a tacky movie club, we will never be alone in our endeavors.

I am also going for a play today. I bought these very awesome hippie pants the other day, straight fit with a  bandhini print. While my mum believes that it looks like I have wrapped my legs in a gift wrapping paper, I am convinced these are one of the coolest pants I have ever had. So cool that they have inspired me to go for the play. Today I'm going to wear my glasses, carry a jhola, sip chai, throw fancy words around and discuss the play like I'm some psuedo intellectual. Split personality I have no?

Glasses remind me, the other day I was walking down the street, and these two idiots start poking each others ribs and giggling. Then one of the says 'Jassi jaisi koi nahin'. Such a dirty look I gave him, I swear to god, he peed in his pants.

Then yesterday, I was standing at the bus stop and suddenly it decided to rain. You know it could have waited another five minutes. I would have reached home by then. But no! Since I'm usually too lazy to carry an umbrella, I pulled a newspaper out and kept it on top of my head. Firstly it prevented my hair from getting wet, secondly it made me look all smart and intellectual.

Apparently, a girl with a newspaper on her head is even more amusing than a girl with very huge glasses. All these shady people would stop in front of me for a second, stare with their eyes wide open and try not to giggle. How to live in a city with idiots like these?

Good news is, super awesome cat-eye glasses have found their way into my life. *burst into a very awesome dance routine* Apparently, my mum seems to agree with those who believe in these glasses are absolutely weird and is convinced her daughter will have to resort to shaadi.com if she continues to walk around like that. So while most people hide their lovers/ diaries/ stash of 'pron' from their mothers, I have been hiding my superawesome glasses, lest she gets a heart attack and loses hope even on shaadi.com.

That's all for today sexy people!

I'm going to go fix myself some equally sugary lunch.

Hugs and flying kisses for y'all!

Betty, I have superpowers.

Being with a bunch of insane people has it’s advantages. In my case, it opens parts of my brain that have been unused for so long that even fungi is ashamed to grow on it.

Anyway, I’m walking down the bridge with S and N, intently discussing shady movie scenes from c-grade films when I accidentally step into a puddle. It actually took me back to the time I was about six or seven. If there is a substance my brain is made of, I’m sure it’s called element random!

Anyway, so back then I used to stay over at my aunt’s place every other weekend. Majestic ground floor apartment it was, with a huge compound that led to the beach. During the monsoons, it looked much nicer than it actually was. It’s a hardly a surprise that I wanted to spend all of my time there.

So one of those rainy days, I put on a nice pink skirt and blouse and stepped out looking all happy and pretty in order to jump in and out of the puddle. Reason? Well I wanted to pretend like I was being shot for a Kodak commercial. Every now and then I would stop and repeat, ‘Kodak moments-jeevan ke haseen palon ke liye’. Yes I had a tag line and all for my advertisement. I was such a cool kid. It’s not even funny.

My aunt had a maid by the name Betty. She was as lost and day-dreamy as I am. I’d tell her the silliest things and not a word from her mouth. One evening the two of us were sitting in the compound, people we were stepping in and out of their cars. A wedding was taking place at the other end of the compound. I obviously wanted to sit there and stare at all the ladies, who were walking around with enough bling on them to put women in soap operas to shame. Betty, on the other hand, had better to things to do. I *had* to make her stay somehow, so I decided to engage her in a conversation.

Me: Betty I have superpowers.

B: Hmmm.

Me: I do Betty. A lot of us are born with them.

Then inhaled deeply and acted like I was channelling energy from the Universe, but I was really just trying to cook a story up.

Me: In my case, I can look at people and know what their names are.

Betty: Hmmm.

Me: Like that woman there, in the pink saree, her name is Laxmi. Can you see the woman in the green saree? She’s Sarita. Yes.

Betty: Hmmm

Me: The couple there, it’s a little hard. I think they know I’m trying to find out what their names are.

Betty: Hmmm

Me: Harish. Definitely. I think the lady is Chandra. No, no! Asha. Yes, she had me confused for a minute. (My attempt to sound more realistic)

While, I don’t know if Betty paid heed to a word I said, I thoroughly had fun making these stories up.

There is however one thing Betty loved more than spacing out. Kissan ketchup. True story. She was always waiting for us to get out of the house so she could get her hands on that bottle. One day when they left me alone with her, I decided to play god. I pretended like I was leaving as well. 

As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, I sneaked up on her. “Betty, I’m Jesus Christ. I know you’ve been finishing the ketchup in their house and you must know that I will punish you for your wrong doings.”

And just like that I ran out of the house, only to appear in half an hour. Well, you know if I came in right away, she would have known it’s me.

Anyway, the ketchup stealing never stopped. Either she knew it was me or she was just too dazed to pay any heed to the voices around her. But I’ve got to thank the Lady for making my life more colourful. She helped me acquire the art of cooking up nonsensical stories early in life.

Self help books and Shopping Lists.

Sexy Ladies log and garma-garam Gentlemen (Of course, I use this term very loosely),

Welcome to a very Polka -dotted Technicoloured Dreams, which as you know, will not be Technicoloured Dreams for a very long time. Let's say this ever so awesome blog needs a change. I'm done talking about the future. From this day onwards it's going to be about 'now'. You know like those pseudo-intellectuals who write self help books like 'the Power of Now' and all that. In case, you guys didn't know, I judge anybody and everybody standing ten feet around the self-help section in bookstores. As for those who write them, I think there's a special place reserved for them in 'Loserville'. Yeeeny-way, has it occured to you that irrelevant is my middle name?

Coming back to my blog name. I want something that sounds super-awesome, you know. And for the lovely person who does come up with a name for ze blog-ness, I will find you super-awesome husbaaand/ wifey for them. Weirdoooo Guy (my phace-book hus-band), if you're reading this, this does *not* apply to you. *Evil laughter*

Since irrelevant talks seems to be the order of the day, can I make a shopping list now? Pretty, pink please, with chocolate butter and cheese :D *Looks at people running away and decides to shut up*
Anyway here it goes,

• Sexy cotton kurtas. Is there a book on how to be a droolworthy journo? Well, if there was one, you know what would top the list :)
• Patialas. To go with kurtas ofcourse.
• Technicoloured dhoti pants. Because they are the love <3
• Tank tops in every colour. To go with the pants.
• Scarves/ dupattas. Because every journo must have them.
• Indian chappals. Well it would go with everything I mentioned here.
• Elephant earrings :D
• Oxidised silver jewellery *dances at the thought*

And now for my non-journo-ish Lust list :

• Brogues! I want them! I need them! I must have them! Or else I will die.
• Purple Mary janes!
• Silverish grey gladiators.
• And finally a purple one shoulder dress.
• Oh and one of those black french caps that Sonam is wearing in the Aisha promo. Actually, why not just have her entire closet, no? *grins from ear to ear*

Wow, my list is unusuaallly small, isn't it? I must be improving.  :O

Before I leave, I want to thank the lovely Me-era with the award she presented me with earlier today. It put me in super-eeeee mood and inspired me to get back to abondoned blog. And here I am, promising, no pinky promising that I'm going to back with more.

Until Abhay Deol continues to be the second ideal husband!

xoxo

Defeat in the Land of Rimbos

I went to this Sobo bakery the other day to pick up a couple of things for home. This place is classy, quaint and perfect for a date. No such luck in my case though. I went there with my dad and my brother. The place was empty except for two couples. Funny how somebody sitting up there wanted to rub it in?

I went to this Sobo bakery the other day to pick up a couple of things from home. Ah the sight and smell of the cocoa beans. That place is perfect I tell you. Date kind of perfect. No such luck in my case though.

While prying and eavesdropping are generally on the top of my priority list, I was too busy picking out brownies to observe who was sitting around me. Five minutes later, a friend of mine pats me on the back. How could I have not noticed her all that while? Did I tell you I love their brownies enough to get a tattoo on me that says that?

cute guy sitting on the corner table did actually manage to get my attention for a second or two. I hadn’t bothered to observe who he was with. Ends up he up was there with that friend of mine, let’s call her Snitch (rhyming with another word we’re all familiar with). At this point I thought, He who lives upstairs is but a cruel man.

You know what I hate the most about morning lectures? The fact that I am forced to run out of the house without so much as taking a bath (things you’re not supposed to tell anyone). On the days I don’t wash my hair, it sort of resembles a beehive. And if I were to leave it open, you’d fear bees would come buzzing out and attack you any minute. So I had tied it up in what I’d call a sorry excuse for a bun and paraded around in my oversized glasses. On top of that I was wearing my mum’s kurta that basically hung loosely over me. That too over a peasant skirt. Yea, I do that sometimes. Partly because I live to make nonsensical combinations like that, but mostly because pulling on skinny jeans in the morning is way too much of an effort. So when she stood in front of me looking all nice and pretty with her makeup and perfectly set hair, I could actually hear his cruel laughter ringing in my ears.

Now let’s go into flashback mode.

Snitch and Kay used to be very good friends. Back then she was just an oversized sidekick with no dressing sense. Kay of course, was quite the opposite. She was the girl with the cool clothes, a gang of friends who adored her and indefinable thing going on with this boy we shall refer to as Loser (makes the L sign). All of this made Snitch a jealous little cow. Dear Hindu gods, do not wage a war against me.

So seeing Snitch there with her arm candy, lead to a serious case of dumpey-ness. For god’s sake, I was wishing my life was like the girl, who spent all her time trying to be like me. It took my quarter life crisis to a whole new level.

hich brings me to the question, what is so attractive about Rimbos (raven haired bimbos) anyway? Their lack of intelligence, personality or both? Oh wait! Their well endowed twin assets more than make up for it, don’t they?

In the Land of Rimbos, I accept defeat. I’m going to pull my sweatpants on, dig into a bowl of ice-cream, chic-flick style and watch movies back to back. On days like these men like of Rajat Kapoor, Abhay Deol and Rahul Bose give hope. Atleast, there are a few desi items who refuse to pick silicone over substance.

Quarter life crisis and sexy-sexy (non-existent) boyfriends!

My pumpkin pies!

I think Quarter life crisis has struck me bad! While it's obviously one of the worst things to happen, a teeny tiny part of me, loves how filmy it makes my life sound. Well, Chic-flickish to be precise. So grab a bowl of popcorn and listen to me rant rather dramatically about why the feeling of dumpey-ness has been shamelessly following me around.

Well, I used to think I was the 'girl with the plan'. I'm suddenly not so sure anymore. If I don't spend the rest of my life writing, my soul will die and disintegrate. But if I spend my entire life only writing and nothing else, then my self worth with die and disentegrate. I will wake up every morning, feeling like a useless, worthless, potato of a person who has done nothing. Achieved nothing! So I have a long list of other things that I simply have to do. But the list is so long that I don't know how I'm going to do all of it. If I pay more attention to one, I'll feel like I'm neglecting the other. If I try to do the thing I'm neglecting, there will be some fifty other things biting me slowly at the back of my head leading to a serious cause of mental explosion. And if I try to do justice to all of them, my entire being will die and disintegrate. All that and more before I'm old enough to suffer from mid-life crisis!

Omg! This system! So much pressure! I don't even know what PG program I am going to do next year. Or which Universities I should be looking at. Should I even be doing a PG program next year or should I jump to join the first company that offers me an amazing job? Should I work and then study? Study and then work? Or should I work, study and handle being a bag-wali side by side?

What about money? Will I make enough to live the life of a splurgina? Will I find happiness in whatever I do? Will I be healthy at the same time? Or will I find a desk job that swells me to the size of a char bacho wali ma? Will I find a hot-as-hell boyfriend? Will I move in with him or get married right away? Will I find a sexy-sexy husband or will I have to depend on my folks to hook me up with a rich balding guy who'll throw a lavish wedding in return for pressing his feet for the rest of my life and running towards him with a glass of water everytime he screams Lajo-Lajo(or whatever shady name he'll come up with) ?

So as of now, I basically feel like the dumpey protagonist, who is sitting on an arm chair wearing pink sweatpants, stuffing herself with her 48th bowl of chocolate ice-cream and listening to some very melancholy music, worrying herself sick about how and when and where and if and but , everything will fall into place.

But but but, since it is a chick-flick, everything has to get sorted out no? So let's say the gorgeous actress will wake up to find a swanky pink car in her garage, an appointment letter from Vogue sitting by her bedside and drop dead gorgeous boy, who has climbed in through the window to confess his undying love for her. The two of them will break into song and dance. The heavens will bring forth rain in the hot Summer. Everybody will live happily ever after!


And that my dear friends is the end of my story.
So long!
More wishful thinking later :D

Of Nostalgia and the rains

On most days, I feel like I'm pretty strong.
But on days like these, I marvel at how I manage to fool myself.

All I want to do right now, is curl into a big arm chair with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, so I can have you sit next to me and talk about all the things I love, while watch that rain go pitter-patter from my window sill.

Funny thing this nostalgia.
It makes the most disconnected souls crave for familiarity and for love.

How to feel less dumpy 101

Dear ______(Insert favourite dessert here),
   Since, it's a Sunday afternoon and I don't particularly have any brunches or wine and cheese parties to attend. Detoxification and all that. Or the fact that I *never* get invited to one of those. I am going to sit here and share some very important gyaan with you. A dear friend of mine mailed me about about how she felt down in the dumps. Now, I am almost always trying to make my life sounds as awesome as I can possibly can. But I must admit, this dump-ey feeling hasn't spared me either. So before I reply to her mail, I dedicate this post to everybody who has absolutely worthless. Presenting how to feel less dump-ey 101.

Rule no #1. Chocolate is the God of foods. Depression always leads to emotional eating. Which leads to a not so attractive belly. Which further leads finding, a not attractive at all boy-frand! So find that piece of heaven. Preferable a dark chocolate one. You know, lesser calories and all of that. And promise yourself that one bar is *all* it takes.

Rule no #2. Yeh Rishtaaa kya kehlaaaa-taa hai! Heard that before? Vaguely? Indian soaps are the bestest no? Plop into the sofa, give your grandmommy company and prepare to be thoroughly entertained. When the the lead actress, acts( I use the term very loosely) oh-so-dramatic and voices her opinion on how she worries about women who don't wear sindhoors and mangal sutras, your problem will seem trivial!

Rule no #3. Open your eyes to technicoloured dreams. And this how I subtly do the PR for my blog. Ok fine, that was a shady one! Getting back to anti-dumpey-ness. Colours are therapeutic. They are mood uplifters. They are make the world as beautiful as it is. So that pair of cream shorts and grey sweatshirt goes where it belongs. The wastebin! Find the prettiest, most colourful dress. Match it with a super dhinchak pair of ballerinas. Watch that grin becoming bigger and bigger. I'm not sure guys should try this though. Govinda look alikes are not my type. Or anybody's type for that matter.

Rule no#4. Sales, freebies and discounts. The thrill of paying less for the same amount of stuff. Priceless! Go to the nearest mall, ask the salesperson, 'discount kis par milega' and voila! Happiness has been found.

Rule no#5. Google is God. My awesome friend Shreya from 'Such a Cow' has a thing for this Australian cricketers. I wont tell you his name because I'm frankly too cool to remember. But she googles his name every now and then to check out hot pictures, the world wide web has to offer. And when she is tired of leching at his images, she starts googling random phirangs. That girl, I tell you! Anyway, since sweat-soaked sportsmen are not my type, I urge to search images of Rajat Kapoor instead. *hearts skips a beat* Ain't I dramatic?

Rule no#6. It's time to be booty-ful. While Google is the God of pictures, Youtube is the God of videos. When I feel dumpey, I type two magical words- belly and dance. What follows is an hour long session of mirror entertainment. The sort that would earn me coins and coins in dollars and pounds. So I suggest you you google your favourite dance form and move to the awesome beats. If you are just not as gifted as I am, ganpati-visarjan dance videos are plenty. There is hope for everybody in this world.

Rule no#7. K-ay is awesome. Well everybody on blogspot seems to be talking about how awesome they are. I do not want to be left out in this race. I'd like to leave you with perhaps the most important rule. Keep visiting my blog every now and then. The gyaan you will find here will help you counteract all your grumpiness and dumpiness!


Until, cheesy lines continue to be the source of my inspiration!

xoxo

Like strands of silver hair

I was an awkward kid, hiding behind these oversized Harry Potter glasses, when it was cool to wear tiny rimless frames. When I hit puberty, I finally convinced my parents to let me wear contact lenses on a regular basis.

Every school has labels. I don’t particularly remember being the cool kid, until I bid farewell to that hideous obstructive piece of eyewear that sat on the top of my nose. The day I embraced contacts, I saw this sudden transformation in my personality. I felt as if I was finally comfortable with who I was. Or so I thought.

My glasses then started playing hide and seek with the outside world. On the rare occasions, that I wore my glasses outside of the four walls of my house, I was restless and uncomfortable. It was like going back to being the little girl I so despised.

And then a little while ago another transformation came about. I found my soul-glasses just when I had given up. A gorgeous pair of black and blue wayfarers. I felt unusually drawn towards them to the extent that my contacts started to take a back seat in my life. Nowadays, when I am forced to embrace them again, I find myself ill at ease. I suppose I grew out of glasses just to grow fond of them again.

And why is any of this relevant? Because, I see this as an ultimate acceptance of who I am. Like an old woman who sports her silver strands as sign of the wisdom she has collected over the ages, I am going to sport these insanely quirky glasses, like they are an integral part of me.

Victory

While some people have their fairy tale endings, others wait endlessly for their perfect someone to come along. And then there are those of us who hold onto the wrong person because we convince ourselves that they are the epitome of perfection.


It’s been a year since I let you step in. It’s been a year since I let you step out. It’s amazing how I found the strength to do the one thing I never thought I would.

But my greatest strength lies in the fact that when I picture perfection, I don’t see you in the frame anymore. Nor do I hold onto the illusion that someday who will step back into my life to help me find that perfection I yearn for.

May be I have finally grown up. I suppose you have too. I always thought our paths would intersect someday. But time has made us grow further apart. May be we were never meant to be on the same road.

And for the sake of my fans, I am back! I am back.

My cinnamon laced almond muffins,

Missed me much?
Well, if you refuse to say yes, I refuse to entertain you henceforth.
If you must know, k-ay has been rather busy.
Just when the summer was about to end, the two of us fell in love.

I made so many bags, that bachas have started calling me bag-wali aunty.
Ok not really.
But they will ok?
Someday!

Then I put these very awesome salwar pants up on the blog.
I'm telling you justice exists in this world.
Some very sexy people placed an order also.
May their lives be full of happiness and awesome, awesome friends like me.

So basically Purple Peeptoes has been taking over my life.
That is why I see you less and less.

Other than that, college started.
Now I feel all awesome and Journo.
I put my nose up in the air and look down at everybody.
They're all juniors.
Chota bachas!
TYs like us can act cool and own the place.
Well, you only get a year to act like that so might as well take full advantage no?

Plus, it's so much cooler to look down at people when you're wearing oversized glasses, no?
The geeks are back nigga.
And this time, they're going to take over the world!

Also, this journo thing makes me want to tell all my saxy saxy clothes to go on a mini vacation, while I don some very awesome kurtas and jholas.
That way I can parade around with my bags and do free publicity also.
Such a business woman I am!
At this rate don't be surprised if you see me running around the local train compartment screaming 'deee-jay-ner jhola. Paaanch so rupaiya'.
What a saxy bagwali I will make no?

On that note I shall leave.
But before that, kindly visit I'm too Sexy for my Shirt !

Shameless blog publicist I bees.
In my defense, it consists of my khoon paseena.

Until Rajat Kapoor make my heart beat <3
xoxo

My Nomadic Love

Ever heard a piece of music that took you to another place. Another time.
Ever looked into the eyes of a stranger who seemed more familiar than all the people you have ever known?
Ever had a eerie dream that seemed more real than most dreams have?
Ever wondered why we don't leave our past where it belongs?
Doesn't it fascinate you how it finds it's way into our lives through the conscious, the subconcious and every other medium it can find?

Ever asked yourself who you really are?
Where do you really belong?

I have.
I don't belong here.
I don't belong anywhere.
And yet I belong in every place the sun rises and the stars shine.

I want to grab a bag, pack it with the things I love the most and fly off to another land, with a stranger who harbours the same dreams as I do.
I want to be gypsy.
A nomadic gypsy.
For it is who I have been in another life.
Who I wish to be in this life.

I'll dance and sing along the way, and weave beautiful lines about my journey.
I'll meditate by the shore during the day, and talk to the angels and fairies at night.
May be I'll cast my own Wiccan circle.
I'll look at my coffee cup in the morning and have all the answers I seek.

I'll surround myself with myriad colours until a strange sort of peace descends upon me.
I'll learn about herbs, about plants and the fine art of healing the soul.
I'll train under a master, until I know all the secrets of the Universe.
May be I'll belly dance until my soles hurt and my heart starts to dance to a brand new rhythm.

Grab my hand.
I'll grab yours too.
I don't know if you're my soulmate.
Or just another stranger to me.
But this journey is way too beautiful for me to live it alone.
While I can't say that I belong to you, I promise to journey with you.
Till the very end.

The Summer and I, we have made our peace.

I kicked.
I punched.
I grumbled, wailed, threw a fit and then poked the Summer where it hurts the most.

However, now that we have made our peace, I'm collecting all the destructive forces, brewing inside of me, for the day I go meet my boss.
Work until graduation apparently.
Which means she wants me to work another year.
FOR FREE.
And I will do what any other self-respecting woman in my place would.
Refuse to work in a place where I am not valued enough to be bloody paid for conveyance.
Let's see if you find a cooler intern, niggah!
Because from what I can see, you're going down!

There is also a lot of constructive energy bubbling inside.
What's better than to dedicate this energy to learning all the creepy stuff that I love so much.
I'm learning a new pack of Tarot cards.
The Osho Zen pack and it is making me very, very happy.

Generally, I give readings over the phone, but yesterday a friend of mine, stuck in the middle of some serious relationship crisis came over for a reading.
I cannot tell you how I got totally carried away, went into this fortune teller mode, lectured her unto eternity about the state of her life and where she ought to take it from there.
It was very satisfying, you know.
Blabbering away as if I really had all the gyaan in the world.

And then I took some very important decisions.
Whilst, digging my closet for an old shrug, I fumbled upon this very pretty black and golden scarf I was gifted a long time ago.
It's got ancient egyptian symbols on it and a very pretty looking sun right in the centre.
If all else fails, I'm going to put that scarf around me, find myself a pair creepy looking cat-eye glasses and a hundred bangles and beads in every colour, until I look like one of those gypsy fortune tellers from a Hollywood movie.
Then I will buy an old wooden stool, find a lonely corner on the beautiful streets of Bombay, set up a stall called K-ay's Corner and become the pioneer of tarot readings on the street.
Only for those who are willing to pay me but.

So money problems will be solved.
Creepy urges will be satisfied.
The Summer and I, will be best friends again!
Happy ending :D



P.S. I'd be more than happy to give readings to all my faithful blog readers :D
If you're too broke to pay me by cash or cheque, you can sed me bars of Bournville in every flavour!
Peace!

Finding The Mystical Mermaid

'It's called Maya', she whispered.
I had known it all along.
I just chose not to believe it.

Ever held onto to something unreal, only because it made you happy?
I did.
But in that moment I let it rain.
I wanted to banish the misty clouds that blurred my vision, only to be able to think.
Think clearly once again.

There were no tears.
There wasn't a smile either.
I felt like the stoaic I never was.

I packed everything and I left.
What I seeked the most I could not find here.
I ran until I reached my haven in the middle of the ocean.
The waves raged on.
The bridge was flooded.
But the noise inside my head was louder than the noise around.
And I knew I had to make it there for my mind to find it's peace again.

I sat there.
Legs crossed, hand by my side, breathing deeply.
The noise started to fade until there was comlete silence.
I was finally at peace with myself.
The Zen mode she talked about had been achieved.

When I spoke to her for the first time, I was 16 and still trying to find my Faith.
But today as I meditated in peace, every word she told me finally made perfect sense.
'Spirituality can exist without Religion,
But Religion cannot exist without Spirituality.'

*pokes Summer 2010 where it hurts the most*

Dear Summer 2010,

At first I couldn't wait for you to get here.
College drama was overwhelming.
I was in dire need of a sabbatical.
To cut myself from the all the people who meant nothing at all to me, but affected me anyway.
I wanted to drown myself in work so much so that the World I left behind was a distant memory.

Right now, I'm thinking about how I can't wait to get back to the normalcy of life.
May be that will be my sabbatical from this sabbatical gone wrong.
I need to wake up late.
Take an hour to get ready.
Shower 54 different colours on me.
Go sit on the second last bench against the wall.
Daydream with my eyes wide open.
Laugh like an ass at nothing at all.
Grumble about stale KC food.
Have showdowns over the lamest projects.
Bitch endless with A-a-sha.
Go shopping five times a week.
Make Firangi Paani plans that never materialise.
Aaaah!

And did I mention I need another sabbatical to cleanse my muddled up head of the boy drama thats happening.
Girl meets boy.
Boy disappears.
Girl meets boy.
Then he disappears.
Girl meets boys.
And then he dissapears AGAIN.
Girl meets boy.
She should knife poke him all over until he bleeds, scoop his eyes out, step on his hairy humungous feet and then pull all his hair out of his scalp.
But all she does is think about is how she wants to meet him again, lest he disappears.
I must stop living on a staple diet of movies like Love Aaj Kal and A Lot like Love.
NOW!


Until sample sales continue to make happy!

K-ay <3

Summer 2010

I think it's going to be a good Summer.
Random, inspirational, adventerous and very creative.

I started working full time at the office.
With college, I could only manage to come in after lunch.
I like the sort of discipline it brought with it.
Waking up early, sleeping before 12 am, eating on time and all that.
I wasn't sure what I was doing writing about celebs I hardly care about, but I enjoyed every bit of it.
I felt like I was living someone else's life.
One of those starstruck journalists who actually care if Ranbir and Katrina are going out or what Akshay Kumar is doing on his birthday.
Everytime I wrote a story, I thoroughly enjoyed spicing it up and sensationalising it, while laughing in my head at all those dimwits who actually wake up every morning to enthusiastically read what I have written.
I know this is not what I want to spend the rest of my life doing, so I'm going to make the most of it while it lasts.

There is just one miniscule problem.
I have too many things sitting on the top of my priority list.
And giving so much to a company that refuses to pay seems like such a let down.
So I tell her that this isn't working out for me and I'm going to work from home instead.
Which basically means I get to write for them, attend important events and  still find the time to do all the other stuff I've always wanted to.

Works for me!
I can finally hunt down those photographers who promised they'd let me be their stylist.
I plan to stand outside their doors singing until they get tired of terrible voice, agree to employ me AND pay me.
I've also become a bag-wali off late.
No I don't stand at the station and sell bags.
A store in bandra does it for me.
Now I want to get back to it and get the second lot made.
More belly dancing will happen.
Lucky women will get to learn to groove like me.

I'm also feeling very DIY.
I've moved into my new house and I want my new room to be *beautiful*.
So beautiful that magazines will want to feature it!
Okay. I'm pushing it now.
But I'm thinking of getting a wooden chair that I'll paint myself.
I want to get wall paintings, collages, photographs done.
I want the wall to look insane!
And I'm thinking of making some wall hangings as well.
Crazy suggestions are always welcome :)
Also if you're looking to employ someone AND pay them, you *must* leave a comment asap!

Shopping List - May'10

Every month deserves a new shopping list, no?
I'm already half way through May and I haven't managed to shop much.
The parents are worried.
This behavioral pattern has never been observed before.
So without further ado, I'm going do what I do best.
Make shopping lists for myself!

• Cat-eye glasses.
• Ethnic rings.
• Cane bag (which I want to paint myself)
• Colourful scarves.
• Hairbands.
• New pair of jeans.
• White kurta.
• Long black vest.
• Deep purple nail paint.
• Green patiala.
• And some very pretty ballerinas!

The adventures of my day!

It's been an adventurous day cupcakes!
Action packed would be more appropriate.
I make the guards chase me at work today.
I'm too cool to carry my ID card around.
So I walk in like I own the place and pretend like my ears have lost the ability to hear when they call out to me.
And when they do that right after I have made eye-contact with them, I give them my very famous 'nari morcha aandolan' looks.
It makes the coolest of men pee in their pants.
And today there were three of them.
Four if you count the fat on number #3 's body.
That's how many men it takes to scare this girl.

So they stood seena-taanke, by the gate, waiting to attack me.
'ID dikhao', one of them said.
I didn't bat an eyelash.
I kept walking straight.
Then two people at the reception asked me for my ID.
I blatantly ignored them and kept walking as fast as me feet would take me.
Then the two watchmen standing near the lift suddenly realise what is going on and start walking towards me.
I look left, I look right.
One of the five lifts open.
From the corner of my eyes I see all the watchmen running towards me so I make a dash for the lift that opens, laughing wildly as the lift door shuts on their bloody faces.

So I reach the fifth floor feeling very proud of myself.
You'd think the oldies would let this little kid live in peace, buthe makes it a point to call up the fifth floor watchman instead.
Then my life all of a sudden seemed very movie-ish.
The watchmen whispered on the phone, while surreptitiously looking at me.
I tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge!
So much for escaping the law.

But am I the sort of woman who would resign to the likes of unhealthy, oversized men?
Men in general, actually.
No! no!
That is not what I have been brought into this world to do.
I patiently waited for a moment.
'Tumhara naam kya hai', he asked me.
'Ravneet', I replied. And no that isn't my name.
I was just trying to bluff him.
He didn't look convinced.
I didn't know what else to do.

But even Destiny was in favour of the strong woman who stood up for herself.
The door all the way across opened.
One of the employees was stepping out.
I ran. Ran with all my might, all the way till I reached my desk.
Only then did I breath a sigh of relief.
And this my friends, were the adventures of my day!

I remembered to forget the end.

The words unwritten

The words unsaid

The incomplete conversations

They come back in my head

And I find myself yearning

For the familiarity of that smoky smell

Craving for the touch

That can take me to heaven and to hell

And then the treacherous lies

Comes back to me

I see the end of the road

Through a hazy smokescreen

I fumble to collect the pieces

As they fall apart in front of me

May be I can’t remember the end

Because it wasn’t meant to be

Embarrassing incidents from my interesting life

My Jelly beans!
It's been a long time, hasn't it?
This time I'm back with the promise of nonsensical updates every other day, starting today.
I've been embarrassing myself a *lot* these days.
Then again, when do I not?
But no matter how much I embarrass myself, I don't really get embarrassed.
Get what I mean?
Oh well! I'm just going to get to my story.

So the day ends and I'm very, very impatient to get back home.
I come running out of the door and make a dash for the elevator.
This random person standing by the elevator, tries to control his laughter as I almost slip while doing so.
I refuse to smile at such smart asses and walk straight into the lift.
Suddenly, it feels as if the elevator is taking *way* too long to get to the ground floor.
It starts to get a little awkward, so I decided I should pull my cell phone out in order to look busy.
I dig my hands into my pocket in order to pull my phone out and kaboom!
I drop it on the way and my phone lies on the elevator floor in three pieces.

On the way to work the other day I decided to start being a little sensitive to things like skin tanning and skin cancer.
I'm too lazy to use sun block most of the time.
I wasn't even carrying one the day I decided to protect myself from the sun.
But I did have my my white rimmed, very retro looking sunglasses and my red polka dotted scarf.
So I put my sunglasses on and attempted to neatly wrap the scarf around myself such that my entire face is covered.
I failed miserably.
So I just put the scarf around my head and pulled it down to cover my face the way women covered their faces with their pallus in the olden times.
The funny thing was I wasn't wearing a saree.
I wasn't even wearing a kurta.
And I shamelessly walked around the streets with a red polka dotted face, providing a lot of amusement to the onlookers.
Well, didn't I tell you?
I hardly ever get embarrassed. =D

I eat a lot of junk, you know.
And I'm seriously trying to cut down on that.
I bought bananas on the way to work, so I could have them instead of inhaling my 468th cup of coffee.
And also because it makes me feel rather smug about having included a fruit in my daily diet.
So in the evening, whilst the tummy starts to growl, I pull the banana out of the bag and start peeling it.
It was a safe time to indulge in fruits that make dirty people think dirty thoughts, mostly because no one was around.
Half way through, the boy who sits opposite me and visits his desk for not more than five minutes during the day decides this is the perfect time to get back to work.
Then the boy who sits all the way on the other side decides he has some very important information to share so he comes and hits who who sits across and they both stand up and start excitedly talking about god-knows-what while my half eaten banana sits in my hand.
They both peer over at what's in my hand.
Then there is silence.
Story of my life.

Despair

s

Remember the time I told you guys I had a photography project and needed some ideas.

Well, here's what I clicked.

Not too professional or anything.

But i hope I conveyed despair well.

let me know what you think.

xo

Love Happened.

Out of all the things that have me kicked out of my mind, stalking stylish people for my blog is the ultimate.
Uploading their pictures and acting like some self-proclaimed expert comes number two on the list.
Need I mention getting models all decked up with what I have picked, while they go prissy and pouty in front of the camera?
And then there's a kick, that surpasses all of the above.
What can I tell you Niggas?
Love is happening!
Saxy boyfrand hasn't come along yet, but for now another sort of love will suffice.

A Journalist from Tehelka called me up the other day and said she is doing a feature of fashion Bloggers in the country and wanted to feature my blog as well.
Relentless flow of tears happened.
Yes I'm melodramatic like that.

So she called me up for an interview and to be honest I felt quite celebrity-ish.
I didn't know how long it would be until I get another shot at this, so I took the opportunity to rant as much as I can and pretend like all the gyaan in the world was sitting that brain of mine.

To top it all, there was a fancy photoshoot and all.
And I was the model for a change.
Of course, I went totally over the top, pulled on a pair of yellow net stockings, wore a floral hippie skirt, yellow tank top, pink ruffled waistcoat, golden ballerinas, loads of pink accessories and viola!
The shoot was so much fun I tell you!
We went to Dhobi Ghat.
I'm going to skip the part where we got visually molested, almost slipped a hundred times and left the place with drops of soapy water stains all over our dresses.

This was followed by a shoot on Mahalaxmi bridge.
We clicked some pictures on the road, standing on the divider, crossing the road, standing against the railing and all that.
Again celebrity-ish-ness happened.
Hope the pictures come out well.
I'll post a link here!
And for those of you who haven't visited the Blog yet, you must click here!
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Now speaking of love, I must confess that my love-hate relationship with gladiators has finally come to an end!
It's love, love and just love now.
I bought this awesome pair of black ankle length gladiators the other day, with bronze studs all over them.
I haven't taken them off ever since.
Not even in my sleep.

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That's all for now, my chocolate coated Muffins.
I've changed my name from lavender to K-ay because it's closer to my name and Lavender is just something I randomly picked for the lack of something better.
When people call me Lavender, it feels a bit strange.
It reminds me of one of those characters from a 17th century novel, dressed in a white gown with exaggerated puff sleeves and sitting in a carriage waiting for prince charming to come along.
Real name is not a good option, because if ze relatives will go on a name googling spree and come across this Blog either, life will be over before it even starts!
So K-ay its is as of now!
Have a colourful week!
See you around more often!
xo