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.