Miksang and the fine art of Photography

I have no hope, do I?
1.40 a.m . and here I am blogging.
What was I doing through the rest of the day?
Never mind.

I'm doing a photography course in college which I very excited about.
Creative people need newer outlets, right?
So I draw the curtians, pull the blanket and switch off the light.
My mind wanders.
The song from Coke's ad plays in my head. Aaj ki raat, koi aane ko hai.
The song somehow makes sense to me. Don't ask me to explain.
An image of the scarlet pleated pants I saw at Zara flash before my eyes. I should have just bought them, no?
They were fucking gorgeous.
I hear my brother singing somehwere in the background. I didn't know bathroom singers come alive at this time. Some of us are trying to sleep people!
Then I start to think of the jeggings I bought. I can't wait for it to be tomorrow. Only and only so I can wear them and walk around and take pictures.
And suddenly, I am wide awake.
Damn you, Miksang. You're the real cause of my insomnia.

Our assignment involves taking pictures with the unconscious mind.
On most days, my conscious mind is only half awake.
Having said that, I feel like Miksang was created for people like me.

The assignment is due tomorrow and I know I should have taken pictures a long time ago, but it's been a busy, busy week.
So I'm going to step out early in the morning and walk around places in this city I love the most.
The very thought of it makes me love the world a little more.

Until then, you treat your eyes to previously taken pictures that now qualify as Miksang.

Can you guess which one is my favourite?

The butterfly haze

It’s 1.17 a.m. Looks like sleep has deluded me.I’m sleepy, but I’m awake.Like my mind refuses to go to sleep.

I must stop having dark chocolate. It sends sleep flying out of my window. It is times like these that I do the randomest of things.

There are a few beer bottles left over from new years. I’ve been pouring it on my hair ever since. Just before I take bath. It does wonders for my hair, I tell you.

It seemed like such a waste, though. To let my hair drink all of it. I decided I’m going to drink it instead.

I love my alcohol, but when it comes to beer, the mere taste of it makes me want to hurl. I've always wanted to know what the big deal about this golden-brown liquid is, anyway. I closed my eyes and gulped a few sips down.

Alcohol bottles sitting at the back of my closet usually spell trouble. And I’m not the usual sharabi ladki who sneaks bottles in and drinks them at inappropriate hours. It’s a little hard to get rid of these bottles, though. New years left me with a bunch of good memories. Funny, I haven't spoken about it at all.

I like playing hostess. I just get a little worried about calling a bunch of people who have never seen each other, even on Facebook. What’s a host got to do if the guests won’t talk? I wish I was an awkward moment breaker. But in most cases I end up being the creator. I can be socially retarded like that.

As it ends up I’m just one among a lot of other socially awkward beings. I’m not saying all of my friends are like that, I’m just saying I have a few of my kind around. What happens when you put them in one room? You have a party you’re going to remember for a while.

While I’d like to believe I did make a good host, I have random memories of jumping around the house in a pair of grey stockings and yellow bunny rabbit ears. Having friends like these also means you’re allowed to wear whatever the hell you want.

In the bargain, I shamelessly forgot to order food. Or make some for that matter. We survived on Saloni’s pizzas and Avanti’s nutella sandwich.

Sugar rush is an awesome thing I tell you. Especially, if it hits you when you’re already high on alcohol. I was dancing to Sheila ki Jawani at 12 am. Item dancing. The spastic version. The sort when alcohol hits you and your limbs decide to go on a break.

There were conversations. Some emotional, some meaningful and some nonsensical and some downright hilarious. Apparently, there was singing as well. Right before I randomly fell asleep. Will you judge me if I tell you I sang ‘saat samundar par’?

Awesomeness that we are, Shreya and I party crashed as well. In the dead of the night. But we left as soon as we realised a) they were too old for us b) the aunties had too much cellulite on their thighs c) The music they were playing made it seem as if they were welcoming 2006. We slipped out quietly. Coke glasses in our hands. Her's ‘neat’. Mine ‘spiked’.

After all the little adventures, I finally properly fell asleep at 5 am, only to wake up to a happy-yappy me.

It’s going to be a good year. Don't you think so? *grins*

Frayed Dreams

Another set of dreams,
I seamlessly spin.
With smoke, dust and smoke,
They fade into a night so grim.

I seek the light.
I chase the day.
I begin to wonder,
If I'm running or running away?

As the dust and smoke,
Start to fade away,
I live in wonder and amazement,
Are all hopes meant to fray?

A little birdie named Item

Much too much awesomeness. Much 'two' much.
The new year is here with its shine and sparkle, and let's just say, I'm very excited.
It's graduation taaaaayme.
Two months, baby.

Am I happy?
<refer to the above>
Do I have no other feelings?
<refer to the line below>

I have too much love in my heart for this city.
Well, it has given me a lot.
Yes, it's cheesy mode for now.
But the bird must fly out of her nests to explore other nests and meet other birds and eat other worms.
It is time.

So, I'm going to go on a University googling spree.
I've already spoken to a few people, who have provided me with very sane advice on which Unis to apply to.
May be I will go abroad, may be I won't.
I suddenly have the urge to stay in India for a bit.
Before I find saxy husband and fly off to a land far, far away.

Too much daydreaminess for now.
You know, I'm going to miss college.
I never thought I'd say that.
Stupid KC made me fall in love.

Anyhow, I'm very excited for Grad-day, eventhough it is far-far away.
Sexy black robes and even sexier dresses underneath.
It will be uber-awesome.
I'm telling you.

Happy 2011, y'all!

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? ^_^

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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.........)