Yes, it's that time of the year again. Bah!
Here goes.
Examination Schedule -
Timings : 1:30 PM - 3:30 PM
Thursday, 10th of April - Communicative English - Introduction to Media Studies
Friday, 11th of April - General English
Saturday, 12th of April - Language
Tuesday, 15th of April - Optional English
Thursday, 17th of April - Psychology
Saturday, 19th of April - Communicative English - Creative Writing
- MGir
It is a palm sized chunk of well-cooked, juicy semi-crisp beef drowned in black pepper sauce and vinegar. It is surrounded by sliced semi-cooked onions, raw carrots and a yummy semi circular chunk of salted mashed potatoes. This is my favorite dish in the whole wide world. Once this dish is placed before, I forget everything. The mardi gras parade might go past me but I will not it if I am eating this delicious dish. You get it only in 'The only place'. Truely it is the only place where I find my stomach telling me "Sanjana good thinkin'!"
PS: I DID NOT copy this from the menu.
...or not. There's an inexplicable, unavoidable attraction I have had to one idea, over the years, and that is the door. And what it signifies. You know, like walls. Things that hide, protect, etc. Rather a stereotypical concept, but I've been drawn to it.
[Careful readers of previous posts will note that this attraction is probably based in biographical happenings - thus making it a form of self-centredness, but all writing begins with being that, I think.]
So there was this one piece that I wrote - called "The Door", ooh, smart title, eh? ha, ha - when I was 13. I will clench the ole jaw, and put it up here:
--
I turned sharply and saw the door half-open. I stared. I always, always took care to close the door – I wasn’t allowed to lock it – as tightly as I could. Now there it stood, cutting across the emptiness of my room.
My room.
I own it and no one can trespass.
Except, now, the door was doing exactly that.
It stood there in a sneering, challenging way, in its green pallor, daring me to try and close it. I felt panicky. How dare it.
I knew, despite seven turbulent years of science education about non-living things, that the door had opened itself of its own accord. There was no one else in the two-room house. They were out, as they were most of the time. It couldn’t have been the wind – the day was cold, bright, and dry.
I decided that the door had to close. I closed my eyes for a moment, hoping I was just imagining it, and prayed hard, hoping it would close… hoping to hear its wooden creak… nothing. I opened my eyes. The door still stood open, exactly as it had stood before.
Revealing.
If that door was open I was open to the world – and I panicked at the thought that everyone could see me. I could hear them screaming in my ears- we’ve got you now! You thought you’d hide from us, did you? Well, we’ve seen you! Seen you! Seen you! The words rang in my head.
No. They can’t see me. Can never.
I tried to convince myself.
But the voices were getting louder now.
More insistent.
Like there were people somewhere in the house, rehearsing what they would say when they saw me…
I realized I was still staring at the door, with my mouth half-open. I had to do something, something… that door had to close. I was sitting on the bare floor of my empty room. I tried to get up, but found I couldn’t move my hands.
The door was open, I was rooted to the place, there was nothing I could do about any of it.
I was more vulnerable than I’d ever been in all my life.
Paranoia gripped me.
For how long I sat there I do not remember. I only remember that at last, with all the energy I’d ever had, I crawled to the door, slammed it shut, locked it, and in my last moment of life, shouted, “Safe!”
---
Ugh, ok, then. You managed to get that over with. Bless you! :P Pardon the irritating self-deprecation, but I don't like it much at the moment.
Anyway, the other day, when I wanted to write in a bit of flash fiction for the record, I actually thought of this piece. Before I reread it, I considered putting it in exactly as it was.
And then I read it.
Haha. At this point I should mention that when I HAD written it, which is, November 2003, I was rather satisfied with the piece. Evocative, and all that. And now, I read it, for the first time in five or so years...and was mortified. Yecch.
But I still clung to the idea. So I did another piece, which I will put you through, beginning now.
--
The door was seven feet away from me. Green and pallid. It would swing open anytime now, revealing me, crouching in a corner. Fear felt me, dimly at first, then firm.
Voices. Voices in my head, chaotic, unfamiliar voices. Amma, Appa. Laughing, sneering.
Now the room is growing dimmer. Louder and louder the voices become.
And now, suddenly, I am running. Smashing into the window.
And falling, free.
--
So thats the five-year-older version of the above. Needless to say, I think it's an improvement: tell me what you think, though!
I know I'm baring a bit of my soul by exposing pieces of writing - and pieces of me - that I know are silly and immature and worth being put away, once and for all - but I have this shrewd suspicion that I might be doing that several times over over the years to come. So what the hell, might as well begin.
The real reason I put both these pieces up is because I like how putting just a bit of space (and I don't mean five years, or anything - like say a week or two) between you and something you wrote gives you so much perspective. You look at your piece with a far less clouded eye, and you see what you can change, and you're surprised at unexpected flashes of brilliance, and so on.
Tell me about your writing, do you go back to things you wrote years ago and smirk at yourself, or wallow in your wisdom? Simply, what do you react like to writing that you've done a good few years in the past?
This is a parody of the Hamlet soliloquy - that I had such fun doing. :D
I've only parodied select sections of the original:
"To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to.
...
...
FLASH FICTION
This one is for children below the age of 10
All the toys were lined up in the nursery- the teddy bear, the engine train, the car, the galloping horse and the red kite with its long string.
Kim and Michael had to go on a picnic. “you may take only one toy with you to the picnic”, said mummy. All the toys heard mummy say this, so when thye were alone in the nursery the teddy bear said, “I am so warm and cuddly, I am sure they will take me along.” “I can go clippety clop. I’m sure Kim and Michael will take me with them”, said the galloping horse.
All the other toys kept on boasting but the red kite sat silently in a corner. After a while Kim and Michael came into the nursery to look around for a toy. “Look” ,said Kim, and she pointed out to the red kite in the corner, “Lets take the kite” ,he said. “Oh! That’s a great idea”, said Michael. “ We can play all day long with it”. They picked up the kite and ran out of the nursrey. The red kite went out for a wonderful picnic while all the other toys, who had boasted, sat gloomily in the nursery the whole day.
WE SHOULD NOT BOAST. THERE MAY ALWAYS BE SOMEONE WHO IS BETTER THAN US.
Anjali
DESCRIPTION
I was one among the thousands running toward the Chatrapathi Shivaji Terminal to board the 9:15 fast local to Bandra that would help me get home in less than an hour. The entire day’s fatigue was getting to me, all I wanted to do was go back home and soak my feet in a warm tub of water…
My thoughts were broken into with the familiar rhytmic beat of the “Chammach” against the many glass bottles filled with different coloured and flavoured syrups. I sighed witht relief and smiled. Luckily I still had fifteen minutes to spare before the train arrived, I walked up to the neatly dressed man behind the cart , looked at his multi coloured hands and couldn’t help but smile yet again as I rememberred how I would run to these Gola carts as a child, and here I was again- a fully grown 35 year old woman. I took the glass with the crushed ice, generously drowned in the “kala khatta and gulabi” syrup, witht a dash of chat powder and a squeeze of lime and took a nice long drag at it till I ran all out of breath and felt the coolness of the gola take over me and relax all my nerves. I walked away feeling Content Calm and Happy !
Anjali
OK, just to say I've read all your posts and am impressed, but am not commenting on them individually as I'm terribly tied up with the the third years' writing projects.But I will,eventually. OK?
Good work.
Here we are in middle of life, nowhere to go nothing to do. No lines around us, living freely. This is everyone’s story, fortunately or unfortunately you decide. They say that everyday could be a bright day if you look at it the right way, that’s what it means to be selfish, you have to watch only one thing, its all about you-your views, your perspectives. Individualism suddenly stares you point-blank in the face. You didn’t ask for it, they call you the chosen one now. The fantasies the world makes, seems like there’s no limit to them, a fly becomes a dragon and a castle becomes a thatch-roof hut. Peaceful co-habitation is supposed to be the only option here, sounds like we’re in denial.
There seems to be no room in our own “La-de-da” world, but for whom? That’s why we need change, not drastic, those are never called changes. It’s always been slow rolling for this Bus; monotony never was a desired quality. People were always living and dying through the times why does it suddenly matter. Humpty-Dumpty’s are gaining power and Simple Smith’s are falling of cliffs. If there’s no limit then where do we stop? That’s the catch, we don’t. You have to keep going no matter how slow, you will get there, Newton already proved that. We don’t seem to realize that we decide the end, unconsciously guiding ourselves to our destiny, if you reach the end good for you, if not, then too, good for you. It’s all about perspectives at the end of the corridor, we all have it. It’s just who actually gets there.
I smoked the last piece of your very expensive T
you had probably been saving it to feel happy.
I'm sorry, it was tempting and i had no will power
i wanna feel happy too before i hit the bar.
Sonika Chauhan
1 PYEC
My room to me is like a tiny island that belongs only to me. I have all rights over it, including cleaning duty. It's sometimes a mess sometimes spic and span, at the moment messy. It's a lavender room with a white ceiling with a huge, almost wall-to-wall window, which has bars across it (apparently apartment policy). The lovely view from my window is my neighbours wall, not that I'm complaining, I've got a 20 inch jungle running around my house so I can gaze at the hummingbird that chills out on the Guava tree if I need any scenery. On rainy days or sunny days the weather in my room is always cold, like a cool breeze took a pit stop and never left. This room is best enjoyed in winter, because I've heard that on winter mornings when you are tucked under that blanket you won't hear any alarms, your eyes may open but only for a second for the powers of this room's coziness are at their peak then. The warmth of the blanket and the coolness of the room combine to form the perfect remedy to be late for everything you have planned that day.
In my room I have the basics and a few extras. A table that has a stack of books and papers on it, I never actually use the table to write on so it stays that way forever. A bed that had four mattresses on it, because it was extremely low, but now has only two. One of which I have rolled up and wrapped up with a srilankan sarong (they're very vibrant) to look like a sweet wrapper and the other one is folded into a floor couch, ideal for bird watching. Along one wall is a shelf containing all the books I own that haven't been stolen or borrowed, never to be returned and along the other one is a gigantic twin cupboard with a mirror in between that has been broken for a year now, because the carpenter owes us some money and decided to abscond, but if you stoop really low you can see yourself. On another shelf above my table I have an assortment of things from the places I've been to consisting of a perfectly triangular pebble I found at a funeral to a rock I found in the rock garden in Darjeeling (my bag was pretty heavy when I returned from that trip), the recent additions being a boat-shaped seed capsule from an African tulip tree, that's not from Africa, and a pine acorn from Ooty. I never actually go anywhere thinking that I have to bring back a piece of the place but I somehow end up picking a stone here and a shell there and I'm pretty sure I'll have to live with this habit forever.
My room has a lot of other interesting things and not-so-interesting things but I enjoy my time within its walls because I know that it is a space that I can relax in away from the world's craziness and I am the sole ruler of said space.
Diary entry- mischievous Endeavour: 17.03.08
I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling with a sheepish grin on my face and my pen keeps slipping out of my hand, why I did it I still can’t comprehend! Her bed is wet, not just wet but cleverly wet. The water has been poured just around the area below where her waist would’ve been. It looks like she had to go to the loo but couldn’t make it in time. What would my room mate think when she came back to her cozy bed! The thought make me burst out laughing, I tried to subside it but I couldn’t. Worse is what my other roomies are going to think of her, the poor bed wetter, I guess. Oh gosh! I can hear her coming; my face is burning as I’m trying to control the sadistic cackle I am letting out.
Anjali
I still remember walking through the fair. The multi-colored swirl of lights and visions, never before seen, never to be forgotten. Memories do not have age tags, do they? I could have been three or even six. All I remember is looking down at the bare skin of my small hands, unrecognisably soft. Beneath them were rows and rows of gaily colored wooden couples. Their life-stories already half-formed in my head, ending happily in marriage, until my eyes strayed to the adjacent rows of wooden children, resplendent in dashing strokes of red, yellow and green. The story lengthened. The braided girl smiled invitingly in the harsh glare of the low-strung bulb. Was it really greed that reflected in her painted stare? Strong pair of hands tore me away, into the confusing mass of full-pants, in different hues of darkness. Something in my eye. Rubbing them franctically, I walked on.
A toothless grin. Streams of uncombed hair. The toy vendor's torn blouse straining with modesty. A cold shiver tingling through unexplored regions. Lost in the cancerous lips of the English teacher. Blood seeping through the cracks, masked in endless spits of beetel-leaf juice. The soul lives on. The unsigned works of art on the wall beside the pan-stall, bearing testimony. The gathering darkness urges on scores of moving feet. And from between the strain of the working muscles, came a sparkling glimpse of different-coloured hues. Slender tubes of colored liquids filled with shiny dust, filtering light. Fantasy captured in a ten rupee tube. The world was red, blue, green, purple, sparkling in the dust from dreams.................
A slight blur. I'm still in the fair. A thousand pieces of glass scattered at my feet. Red eye. The world is in shadowy colors.
It's been a couple of hours since I saw the movie Juno, but I still can't stop gushing about it.
Initially, I thought that it would be one of the regular teen flicks that we see these days - a pointless and a total time-pass film. Boy, was I ever wrong.
I'm quite glad I was wrong. The movie is about a 16 year old girl (Juno) who has sex with her best friend, gets pregnant, and decides to give the baby up for adoption. Sure, the plot is easy and quite simple, but the movie is made so well that it gets you so involved that you are literally either cheering Juno through her pregnancy or advising her out loud not to make a certain decision or, again, very loudly 'awww'ing your way through the entire film. Cliched as the story is, Jason Reitman, the director, has very artfully created a sensitive movie with just the right amount of witty dialogues. Most of the credit, however, goes to the screenplay writer, Diablo Cody, an ex-stripper who won the Oscar for Best Screenplay.
Ellen Page stars as Juno, who is smart, quirky and very off-beat. She isn't really your average teenager, thank God for that. But as interesting as the character is, I think that Ellen Page did an absolutely brilliant job in portraying her. She made the character so appealing, despite all her weirdness. Kudos to her.
While watching the movie today, I thought it was quite ironic that I was sitting next to a lady who had decided to bring her 10 month old baby along. The minute I sat next to her, I thought 'Oh, no, this one's going to be a crier, I know it, the movie's gone down the drain now'. But next thing I know, the baby's literally crawling all over me, refusing to let go. Sure, the thing was cute (I had no idea if it was a boy or girl). It didn't eventually spoil the movie for me (although it did start crying once Mommy snatched it away from me, hehe), but it did end up irritating my companions (what say, Su, Mo?). Eventually Daddy had to take Baby away and the rest were instantly relieved.
Rating: 5/5. Loved it very much.
Rating for Popcorn: 5/5. Caramel popcorn was nice and hot and gooey today. Yum.
Facebook is fun.Facebook is great. But it can also bring back some bad memories. Some very bad memories that you wish to leave behind.How?Photo albums.Everyone puts up pics of their childhood. Do they realize the mental trauma that I go through everytime I look at such pics???I don't think so.Let me give you three instances.
Recently a friend put up a pic of her taking part in a fancy dress competition. She went as a teapot. This struck up a conversation. My friends started talking about how they had gone as a post box or shakuntala or a clown or Michael Jackson. I told them that I had once gone as a bangle seller. It was a lie. The memories still grieve my heart. While everyone's parents were busy searching for police uniforms and spiderman suits, my dad was tearing out his old dhoti, preparing to send me as a beggar!!!! When my mom saw me, she fainted.I don't blame her. I did look the part.Her daughter had been transformed into a beggar with orange rind in her mouth(as bad teeth) and an old dish in her hand.Even today my mom glares at my dad everytime we look at the pic of me standing on that stage-a perfect image of poverty. I look back and think to myself- 'If only I had called out 'ammmaaaaa' a bit more louder on stage, I might have actually come first'.
Another instance was when my I saw pictures of my friend's eleventh birthday party. Mine was a tragedy. I can still remember myself coming down the stairs wearing a short denim skirt and a cute white t-shirt. Everyone said that I looked adorable. I meekly said 'Thank you'. After fifteen minutes there were no more 'awww..you look so cute' or 'who is this cute lil kid?'. Why?? Because my grandmother had safely pinned a strand of flowers right across my head.Anyone who saw me would have seen a striking resemblence between me and a baffoon. I had the London Bridge of jasmine flowers on my head. Was I pleased?? I don't think so. My mom would have loved to rip the flowers off and make me look like a sane child again but her mother-in-law would never leave my side. I looked like a retard the whole evening. My birthday was officially a tragedy. Everytime I look at the pictures, I cry my lungs out.My sister finds it very amusing until of course we turn to the pictures of her with her dalmation glasses('Now who looks like a moron?' I would say).And thus the second traumatic event has been related.
Everyone has a picture of them with their teddy bear. I never had a teddy bear.I did not wish to make you cry but I know that my past will without fail make you shed tears..sniff...sniff.(it's ok ...I'm alright). I never had a teddy bear until last year when my friends bought me one for my birthday. While everyone had pictures of them hugging a teddy bear or kissing a teddy bear or sleeping with a teddy bear, I had three teddy bear erasers. My dad's friend gave them to me when I was three. I was thrilled. While in the car about to leave their house my dad asked me if I had thanked them for the erasers. I realized that I had not. I rolled down the window and yelled out.....(pls note I was four at this point of time...four...a very young age..my vocabulary was limited)....'THANK YOU FOR THE UNDERBEAR!!'. I am surprised my parents didn't abandon me on the way home. My parents tell me that they have never been more embarassed. I disagree with them. With me as their daughter I'm sure they''ll have many more to compete with that. The host laughed out loud and I wondered if I was supposed to say 'your welcome' instead. I am not surprised my parents never got me a teddy bear.
And thus I have revealed my scarred childhood to one and all. I am sure that all of you are reaching out for tissues right now. So now I have a humble request to all those on facebook-'Please do not put your childhood pictures on Facebook.One more picture and I shall appeal to the high court to ban fancy dress competitions, prohibit all grandmothers from making important decision regarding clothes and also stop the productions of teddy bears ALL OVER THE WORLD!!!'..phew! I'm done.
PS: All exaggerations are completely intentional.
Why would anybody want to enter my room? it clearly says keep out! Anyway. if you still wish to...you'll find a big poster on the door which says ' Trespassers will be shot, survivors will be shot again!!!". On a more pleasant note, my room is done in pink and purple..though i dont know why,my favourite colour is red.The walls are lilac and the carpet is plush and pink. Almost every inch of available wall space is taken up by posters of Cristaino Ronaldo and Shah Rukh Khan-Im fanatical about them. I have a dressing table with 3 mirrors which reflect all my lovely posters so that wherever you look, you can only see my posters!The bed takes up most of the room-its a queen size poster bed which my sister and me share. Opposite the bed, there are 2 double closets( yes, i love dressing up very much). I love my closets very much because they are so roomy and airy, i sometimes sit inside them! The curtains are done in lovely tones of baby pink and mauve. My desk faces the only part of the walls in my room which are not covered by posters, so that, joy! i can study. Adjuscent to my desk, i have a water bed which i am ideally supposed to use to relax once im done studying at my desk, but in most cases, its the other way round-im at my desk once im done lazing on the water bed. I have a balconey in my room which has a breathtaking view of the biggest garden in the city, I love spending time there. Next to my dresser, there is a huge bookshelf which contains every book I've read ever since a little girl-one of my most prized possessions. And not to forget, that which i cannot live without, my stereo system. I love my room dearly-it reflects the person I am- its my identity.
The reason i call my post RAPEM is because I'm not too sure if it's rap or a poem,anyway its a result of my desperation of converting a sonnet into a rap... It does not follow any of the sonnets, just what I feel like rapping...
Every time I listen to Mr. Speare I wanna read more
I take lifes every bend
Would'nt bother to take happiness
Even if i got to lend
This rap story is all about creativity
Mr. Speare's Sonnets sprouts sensitivity
Yo lets understand his words gravity
Live life to the fullest else you lose sight
Enjoy others happiness day after night
I don’t care if he comes riding like a knight
Join the black forces and gain your high
Life is calling from the distant Phone booth
Don’t lay down your weapons and stay low
Don’t go tripping on me during your youth
The mother fucker is armed and dangerous with a bow
When i would sing this Rap along with my band
Sing along my friends and make this moment GRAND...
Yes, I admit I was obsessed about my weight. Obsessed to the extent that I would crib and whine about it for half a day and spend the latter half eating a truckload of junk to make myself feel better(you know the"theory of feel good food".....)
It started when my roommate in school started getting worried about her weight and soon turned into a weight reducing fanatic.....she had wash board flat abs, and I wanted one too. I however missed out the crucial factor-----EXERCISE! So, I grew fatter and she grew thinner.
It was not going the way I wanted....DEFINITELY NOT!
To console myself, I ate. Not carrots. Not celery. I ate chips and chocolates, etc---everything that would soon guarantee a necessity for me to book two airline tickets..........for myself. I tried to look at the bright side... Maybe I could be the first human blimp!
I then noticed one morning that the lady a.k.a Ms. Skinny, did exercises............. starting with 150 sit up in the morning! No wonder she was happy starving.....her body tricked her into happiness with all the endorphins that she produced during every sit up she did.......and I was wheezing everytime I climbed a flight of stairs.........And so I was Miserable!!
Sure there were other ways.....though, there was one that had caught my fancy. It would be easy, eat as much as you want and gracefully excuse yourself from the table and go to the loo and throw up!! Sound simple??...................so you think. First of all, at the glacial pace that I walked, by the time I could or would reach the loo, half of my food would be on its path to digestion and Nirvana.
Secondly or rather Most impotantly, when I tried to throw up, IT WOULD`NT HAPPEN!! Even after shoving half the toothbrush down my throat, I STILL would`nt get sick......I would`nt throw up, I would`nt throw down.....I would`nt THROW AT ALL!!!! So now I hold the official title of ' The Bulimic Aspirant' of the century.
Yes, it was true, the forces of nature were conspiring against me and what should I do?? Nothing, but to resign myself to nature and decided I must follow The Two Extra Commandments that God had put down specially for me :-
(ahem.....drum roll.......)
a) Thou shalt pray to the Skinny Gods(Kate Moss and the Victoria`s Secret models) everyday
b) And also to the other "Blessed" Gods(Pamela Anderson and Anna Nicole Smith) for the rest of thy life.
In the name of the Bootylicious Beyonce
Amen.
Frizzball Is Shilpa.
Before you begin to get interested let me warn you that this post has a deceiving heading:D
Im not really going to bore everybody by talking about my sleepless nights, where I lie awake with a million thoughts in my head or else I end up in restless sleep, talking to myself or walking out of the building hoping to catch the school bus (happened before my science board exam!)
No, this post is not about my sleep-troubled other self, Vivian.
I thought I would talk about my emotions before I sang at Opus last night. Opus, is this place near college which has Karaoke Nights on Wednesday and Sunday. For the past few weeks they have been organizing a karaoke competition called "kroaking". Every Wednesday , 3 people are chosen from a huge list of talented, decent and drunk singers. The place is jam packed and a reservation is necessary if you want to park your behind somewhere. Standing is also fine as long as you don't mind drunk people coming and singing tracks from Jungle Book, amongst other songs with their arms around you! it sounds scary but, theyre harmless and as far as I know nothing has ever gotten out of hand there. I knew the day would come when I had to sing there, and being someone who has major stage fright problems, I am not ashamed to say that I was shitting, farting and burping the whole day. I was afraid that I would mess up, afraid that my voice would crack and also afraid of judgement. So, until the last minute before my name was called out I kept having second thoughts and just wanted to cuddle up and die in some corner. I tried to losen up by singing along with the other contestants and that did help a bit. Finally, when my name was called, I ran up to the platform barefoot, it seemed like I had gone on autopilot,I mumbled the name of the song (Bubbly by Colbie Caillat) to the DJ and in my nervousness began to sing the song even before the words had appeared on the screen, panicking I looked around and one of my friends told me to wait till the words appeared. By this time,I was hyperventilating, somehow I got through the song without making a complete fool of myself, but I had no eye contact with the audience cause my eyes were glued to the screen. My nervous reactions began to kick in and my right leg began to shake involuntarily as it always does when I'm on stage. It was only by sheer miracle that the judge thought I was good, and I mainly owe it to the amazing crowd who kept whistling and clapping throughout(even for the drunkards:D ). Stumbling off the stage I felt very relieved and was soon buried within the hugs from Meghna and Alexis that I didnt even hear what the judge said about me (bah, humbug!). After that I enjoyed myself thoroughly and it seemed like all to soon that it was time for the results of the night. I GOT IN!!! I came second and there are absolutely no words to describe the happiness I felt. Ofcourse, this is just the prelims but it was said that the Top 24 have free entry into opus for a whole year! (yeah baby). Even though i had been freaking out about this the whole day and for the past few weeks, things went off well at the end of the night.
Thats about it for this post, I'll sign off by saying that if you can't find me anywhere on a Sunday or Wednesday night, come to Opus and we'll have a blast!
I see the world through tiny slits , I have abnormally small feet and my hairdresser...no he is Not on my payroll,even after knowing my very Indian name, asked me about my life in China! Welcome to my life where everybody says I`m a Chink.
Yes, everybody except me(who were you expecting).....I mean, apart from my features and genetic makeup----I`m not a Chink and the reason number one would be....I...Just....Don`t....Feel...Like.....It!
I do have a slight accent, I pronounce 'Papaddum' as 'POPPADOM' but so does Queen Elizabeth and Elton John(not that I want to be like him....in any way) but does that make them Chinki? Apart from certain mishaps like this, I have very few Chink friends, I don`t walk, talk(refer to the lines above), eat, dress or even think like a Chink! Hell, I don`t even like Bobos(slang for Chink boys....created by me, of course) or any other Chinks...for that matter.
My friends in college freaked out(one seriously did) when I met them for the first time and they learned that my name is Neha.....poor souls expected a name like maybe....CHOPSUEY.....I don`t know. Wait till they discover my other name is Laxmi(no I don`t use it) AND my parents AND my brother....ALL HAVE INDIAN NAMES!!
I`ve often thought about this and even contemplated on about me being a retard but then again, maybe all those who judge me are retards and maybe I`m the Chosen One, the Neo of the Chinks. No, I am not and Do not want to blow my own trumpet.....I feel like shamelessly blasting it..out of frustration of course! I mean, I know that Chinks are perceived as dumb and have a bad reputation for all the wrong reasons......but why generalise?? Im afraid I cannot stand other Chinks now because they behave in the manner that allows people to think wrongly of them. I`m afraid that this might emotionally scar me!!(heheh)
So as my conclusion to this post.....refer to my note!
NOTE:-
This post is entirely true and so are the situations mentioned. So, next time you judge ANYBODY on their looks.....stop for a while and think about this almost emotionally autistic child, who has invested so much of her emotions on writing this post!!
Since I live in the p.g and with three other people in my room, its probably best that I describe my room back home a.k.a Darjeeling. My room is on the first floor which was supposed to be the loft(thats another story though)
As soon as you enter my room, there is a cupboard to the right and just next to it is a strange structure....which is an incomplete pillar with a pole running out it, which by the way I have declared as a stripper pole thought I havent done anything on it(so far!)Next to this is my stereo or music system, then my big bed. On the wall above my head board is a 'thanka' which is a piece of brocade with all the nine auspicious Buddhist signs emboidered on it.....this is my Mum`s way of making sure or rather hoping that I don`t get possesed or simply go crazy! Or so she believes!
On the wall adjacent to the bed area, are huge windows and a door that opens out to a balcony. The best thing about my room is this balcony as I get the most awesome view......I get to see....(hold your breaths) the entire 'Kanchenzonga' range(the one that also includes Mt.Everest.....just in case you could`nt figure out!....I`m not judging anybody!) and also the view of the entire
Darjeeling town.
Coming back to my room, the wall after that is covered with photographs(my first day at school, my first sneeze....etc etc) my study desk or table is also here.....it is sad as I never really study on it(or ever) one of the biggest reasons being that my p.c monitor occupies most of the space.
Next to this desk is a small area that is covered with big,floppy cushions for people to sit on(I think!) but this again is perpetually hijacked bu my dog, who refuses to sleep anywhere else(and I thought it is my room...sheesh) After this is another cupboard and then the door,the one that leads out of the room...into the corridoor i.e.
Thus, this is the description of my second favourite place in the world(after my library i.e.)
I`ve tried to make it sound uncomplicated and I hope it sounds sensible enough!!
O.k I`ll try better next time...sheesh!
Yes, I live in the attic. Hey, atleast it’s not the cupboard under the stairs! Well, it's a loft, actually and a lovely place. Inspired by the one we have at one of our cottages in Kodai, which was in turn was inspired by Heidi's loft her grandfather's cottage. That was one of my favourite books of all time, my dad's too, so I guess that explains it! As far as rooms go, it's far from conventional, no signs saying "KEEP OUT" on the door or walls covered with posters. It's just like me, though, it has a nice dreamy ambience about it, you can quite picture Wordsworth sitting on the windowsill and thinking about daffodils and gathering nuts in the woods.
It has a half ladder, half staircase leading upto it and a little landing on top, which is a lovely place to just sit down and watch your thoughts go by ! The stairs give the room itself an atmosphere that you would find only in a storybook, which is why I like it so much! My very own little stairway to heaven (which to me means fantasy land, yay!)
There's a big window with a beautiful view of the sunrise, an incredible experience for me, when I take the trouble to wake up and transfer myself from my bed to my table - top, pillow in hand, of course!
I have a writing table just under the window, which I put there more for its aesthetic value than anything else. Makes me feel satisfied when I lie on my bed and look at it. The times when I actually use it are spent feeding a particular little squirrel that sits outside my window. I realized in a few days that I knew more about my squirrel's food preferences than I did about my umm... education.
The rain makes my room the most beautiful place in the world,I think. It’s very close to the roof, so I can hear the rain and smell it too, when I lie on my bed. That is what I like best about my room, it has a very 'Alice in Wonderland' feeling about it at these times; I don't think I'd be too surprised to find a talking rabbit with a pocket watch either!
I have my CD player up there too, although I don't really use it much. My room, as far as I'm concerned, is made for a good book and a rainy day, as I already pointed out. For a while, I went about trying to decorate it and give it a fancy gothic theme or a gypsy theme or something of the kind, none of which worked. I think all the times I've spent in my room, happy, sad, exciting or dull just put a part of me in there, which no gothic motif can replace!
The tiny tile at the far corner of the room is by far the perfect place to think. A beige mosaic tile.One, of the two big windows, is above it to the right and the other faces you with a view of the quiet lane outside. Inbetween is my soft divan. The need for it to covered with pillows cannot be expressed enough, all because of my inability to rest without a minimum of four pillows around me, the best place to study.
I have to eat while i study. I don't always have to study while I eat. The grey metal table lining the bed does its job will in keeping its drawer and cupboard accessible at those ravenous times(they have snacks in them,incase you didn't figure that out).
Opposite the second window is the "deal-wood cupboard" or so it is called and next to the window is the clothes rack stuffed to suffocation with clothes. My fathers army trunk, covered by my spare mattress, has transformed itself into a sitting area and is perfect for the more-than-occasional visitor.The golden glow provided by the curtains soothes even the most rattled mind that enters.
Last. The cupboard behind the door. Anyone who wants to get away or just let out can climb in. Privacy guarenteed.
If you haven't seen 'Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street', you are (a) dumb, (b) not inclined to watch musicals (c) crazy (d) lazy (e) idiotic (f) broke.
Well, if you aren't one of the above, then you have no reason whatsoever for not seeing the movie. We bought tickets one week in advance (well, Mona took the trouble to go and buy them, we just paid her back later) so that we had no reason at all for not catching it the weekend it released. The week went by quite quickly for me, because I knew that soon, very soon, I'd see a movie worth watching. My expectations were very, very, very high. Let's face it - it's a movie with Johnny Depp (Favourite Actor No. 3), Helena Bonham Carter (Girlfriend of Favourite Director No.1 and Bellatrix Lestrange) and Alan Rickman (Favourite Actor No.1 and Severus Snape, Favourite Character No.1). To add to this, it's a MUSICAL, directed by the above mentioned Favourite Director No.1, Tim Burton. How could I not have any expectations?
The morning of Sunday, 2nd March 2008, I woke up rather early, washed my hair, hailed an auto (after checking three times that I had my ticket) and rushed to Garuda Mall so that I could reach there early - just in case. Time of Arrival: 9:40 a.m. Time of Show: 10:20 a.m.
Being the punctual and naive fool I am, I expected everyone to arrive at least by 10 a.m, so I stood outside INOX waiting patiently, listening to some music. 10 o'clock came and went, and I started getting anxious. I longed to go inside and sit in the hall, munching on some popcorn and sipping my coke. But still, at 10:10, no one had arrived. Flustered, I sent Mona a message that I was going in to buy my popcorn and coke, and wait comfortably in the hall. I believe my message woke Mona up. Literally. They were fast asleep!
Looking quite pathetic, with two bags of Caramel popcorn and two large cokes in my lap, I sat down in the middle of a row, all alone. I watched a couple of annoying ads and ate a lot of my popcorn, when the others slowly arrived. After a couple of trailers, finally, the lights went out and all became quiet - the movie had started.
I knew that the movie was going to be brilliant the minute I heard the first few notes of the music. The opening credits and the music accompanying them reminded me of both Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice, my favourite Burton movies.
Ultimately, the movie did not disappoint. Listening to Johnny sing for the very first time on the big screen while looking oh-so-menacing was extremely satisfying. But the greatest treat of all was watching Alan Rickman, my hero, and Johnny Depp, enemies in the film, sing together in a beautiful duet.
Rating: 4/5
Fresh coloured curtains and bedsheets, soft, little, round and heart shaped pillows. Ah! It has to be my room.
The smallest one in my house but undoubtedly the cutest one also. It is very simple. A small bed, wardrobe, study table, bookshelf and huge windows, that's it. But, why I call it cute is because of the way I always keep or present my room. My little teddybears lie, sit and hang onto my bed, table and curtain rods. I always use fresh colours in my room. Everybody likes to spend sometime in my room and for me, that is the place I cannot survive without.
OK.A long walk home way by me-Indu..
I'm so sorry you guys. I keep forgetting to leave my name...
OK, I'll stop blogging so much..
Just thought I'd leave my half "sonnet to a rap" thing here...
"Sometimes when I slow down to breath,
I feel sad, I feel I must grieve.
When I think back to the way things were,
too busy remembering-things become a blur,
and what stands out most in my mind,
the losses incurred-they're one of a kind."
so..At least this one was shorter:)Hope you like it:)
"A Long walk home"-short story
As she walked away, from the painful scene Jane felt somewhere inside that she was making a big mistake. She was walking away from life. Walking away from everything she knew and held dear at one point or another. Everything from the tingling sensation in the pit of her abdomen to her heart’s crazy daredevil exploits up and down her throat told her that her best bet was to turn back around and run to the dangerous safety of the past. To return in glorious defeat to his arms, whose vice like grip held fast her mind and her heart, but most of all her soul. Whose eyes fell smotheringly quiet on her retreating back. smiling at her useless attempt to leave and start afresh. Smiling at her comfortably imminent return.
He had given her more than she could’ve hoped for. When she met him he had given her the belief that love existed outside of fairy tales. The hope that the bitter, materialistic, cynical world held corner pockets for heaven and true happiness. He helped her dream of things she hadn’t known existed; feel feelings she’d thought had ceased to exist in real life. Now she just hoped she could walk away. She only dreamt of making a life for herself outside of his enveloping grasp. And all the belief in the world couldn’t make her feel more ready to leave.
She’d turn the corner this time. She wouldn’t look back. Not even once- not to say goodbye, not to say sorry. Or to ask for a little supportive nod of a head. She’d be strong. When she was clear of him and his undercurrent emotional tide, she’d cry. Sweet tears of relief. Of sadness. Of peace. Then she’d rouse herself, and welcome back the world she’d shunned. Welcome back the world she’d thought had shunned her. This time, as she turned the corner, she only saw his smooth face and charming, light smile in her mind’s eye. There she saw his dark hair glistening from the same rain that had soaked through her clothes and wet her soul. Whet her appetite for the crazy freedom that she drank in thirstily with the rainwater flowing down her cheek. Her burned image of him leaving, she smiled the same sweet smile when they first met. When he first told her of their life to be spent together.
Her knew found freedom in hand, Jane began the long walk home.
OK....
I wrote this story a while back(actually, I think it was during the first month of of our first semester, so let's just say it was a little longer than "awhile back".I felt I had to explain it a bit because the plot's not clearly stated enough(I'm wokring on that), and it seems to place more importance on the words and emotions. So. It's about this very ordinary girl who doesn't really look forward to everyday life. She's not depressed or suicidal or anything- she just starts to believe that the kind of life she reads about in those 'they all lived happily ever after'novels isn't for her. She's taken it for granted that she'll probably never really fall in love and that nothing exciting will evet happen to her, and she's accepted this notion that the world is a bitter, harsh place to be in-end of story.
Then she meets this guy, and he starts making her beleive in these dreams and basically start believeing that it's catully possible for people to be happy-as in actually, genuinely happy.
Except when things start to go wrong in the relationship(it can be for any reason, say- he's slightly emotionally overbearing and a bit of a bully in that sense), and she wants to leave, she can't seem to find the strength to do so. She's tried multiple times, but like he expects, she always just comes back-sometimes not even making it that far.
This is the last time- this time it actually works, so in a bitter-sweet sense she's free. I can't stress this enough-, I really tried to move away from the good guy, bad guy idea in the story. Her so called "significant other" isn't a bad person. he's a pain at times, but it's not him she's fighting. At risk of sounding melodramatic and cliched, she's fighting that thing inside her that's telling her she's not worth anything on her own. That she needs to be part of the relationship to be someone and that she can't do it(i.e. she can't leave). SO when she finally leaves, it's a bitter-sweet ending becuase she's left him, but she's also proved to herself that she could get out of a bad relationship and still be a whole human being-and be worth a whole human being. Hope you liked it.
OK...
It's a little poem that I've been procrastinating putting up. I'm not sure if the first part feels a little forced, but I liked it overall.
The capitals at the start at each line were intentional-although to be quite honest I can't remember why(other than it feeling right)...there was something else, but I can't quite remember..
And it's not "questions" because even though there are multiple questions I thought they were supposed to all represent one big question to God.
Anyway...here goes:
My question to God
Is it True?
Do we always need a little rain,
To make a great big rainbow?
Must it always be darkest,
Before we face a dawn?
Do some have to cry,
For others to laugh?
And when we ask you these questions,
Must we turn inside to look,
For the answers?
When we sit down to pray,
To an unknown force,
Must we pray for ourselves?
For you?
Can we pray for an unknowing, unseeing humanity,
To find its way home?
Maybe he said it best,
When he said,
“They know not what they do”.
We didn’t. We still don’t.
And when we do pray,
Will you join us?
On bent knees,
With clasped hands,
Doing the best we can,
In a funny, bitter way?
In a funny, bitter world?
Will you join us in praying
For humanity?
Will you show us how
To love and live?
Without punishing our mistakes?
Will you be for us,
What we cannot be for ourselves?
And once in awhile,
Can you send us a sign?
In a flying blimp,
Or a setting sun?
In a rising tide,
Or a sighing note?
To let us know,
You’re still there?
Are you still there?
Were you ever?
So...let me know what you think OK?
Thanks :)
p.s.does anyone know how to make the Hindi script go away?? Last time I just switched the option off, but this time I can't seem to find the option... It turned my title to Hindi...before I deleted part of it...(not that I wasn't immensely happy to see that script...before I realized I wasn't really doing it:P)
<3
Indu
NOTE: I cannot be held responsible for symptoms of sleep induced by this post.
Before you kill me I must tell you that I have nothing against music. I too am a music lover. Music is my life. But then why the title you may ask? Well, it's a long story.
It all began on a bright summer day when I was playing in the garden(DON'T STOP READING!!!). A car drew up outside my grandmom's house and out stepped a girl who changed my life. Had I known then the consequences of her visit I wouldn't have let her join me in throwing GI joes into the well.But I did. As usual the whole family and the guests were at the peak of their conversation when the girl's parents mentioned that she learns music. They made her sing. Ah! What a beautiful voice it was! Applause followed the song. They had succeeded in showing us that their daughter was talented. Now it was my parent's turn.Were my parents supposed to tell them that I was potty trained? I don't think so.Were they supposed to say that I enjoyed hanging GI Joes from the ceiling fan? I really don't think so.
After the guests left, my family conspired against me. They decided to send me for music lessons. The tragic tale begins.
Anyone who knows me well, will also know that for me to sit still for more than 2mins is as good as saying that Hitler can belly dance. I also spoke quite softly(back then).Sometimes I could hardly hear myself. And this was the person whom they decided to send for Carnatic music lessons.
The classes began. So did the torture. I still have that blue diary in which the teacher wrote the songs for five years. Five very slow years.Five VERY, VERY ,VERY slow years.
My music teacher was a nice lady.She believed I could sing(till the end). Let me rephrase that first statement. My music teacher was a deaf lady. The class consisted of about seven of us. Most of the girls were pretty loud therefore making it easier for me. Lip synchronization became my newly acquired skill. I became a professional. As they lost their breath trying to sing the high notes, I screwed up my face in agony to make it look I like too was going through a lot of strain in order to hit that high note.
I had classes two days a week. My dad would drop me and pick me up for every class. On the way there I would by-heart the lyrics(I think they are called) at full speed. Sometimes I think that I could have become a rapstar for I had learned to speak that fast. I would mug up all the 'sa's and the 'ga's and the 'pa's. By the time I reached there all I could remember would be the 'ni's and the'da's. After realizing the futility of her efforts, the teacher finally decided to make me in -charge of the harmonium.My music teacher obviously over-estimated my enormous strength. A cow could have taken flight and crashed into the utiltity building but I could not have played that harmonium. After playing for five mins I would demand for an oxygen mask and strangely this demand was always met with a glare.When I played the keys I would forget to pull and when I pulled I would forget to play.To conclude, I sucked.
Finally after five years our family decided to go to Dubai for a vacation. After that I never returned to the music class. I guess the teacher must have presumed that I died eating a poisonous shavarma or got run over by a camel.Any which way I did not go for music classes after that. My life was normal again. I was a normal child once again.
My grandma did try to put me in for other classes to prove that her grandaughter was indeed talented(she continues to believe that...sigh!!..when will she ever learn???). But I sat her down and explained to her the fatal consequences that I could meet with if I joined karate classes. Dance classes were ruled out for I could hardly move a hand without giving someone a black eye .And thus my life was free from all those painful classes that the present day kids are forced to go to. Of course I still have that blue diary. I fondly call it 'The blue book from hell'
Well, let me just dive straight into the topic. The second you open the door; you get a view of pretty much the entire room. The first thing you’d notice is that everything in my room is either cream or brown. To the right is my bed whose previous owners were my Grandparents. An interesting fact – my bed was bought at an auction for a mere thirty rupees over thirty years back… Now that’s what you call ANCIENT!!! Next to the bed is a bookshelf that also acts as a bedside table. On it you’d find a few books, my cartoon duck bedside lamp, my phone charger, my earrings, watch etc… There are three huge double windows that face the road and almost cover up an entire side of the wall. There are two cupboards with a mirror in between for my clothes. On one corner of the room is my built – in study table. On top of the table are bookshelves that touch the ceiling. In spite of the many bookshelves in my room there are books lying everywhere! I also have a bed on wheels. It can be opened and moved around according to my fancy. I have an attached bathroom and balcony. There is a small tape recorder in my bathroom and I use it to listen to the radio in the mornings or when I’m taking a shower. My favourite part of the balcony is the pillar in the middle with a stony surface that makes me feel like I'm a part of the Stone Age! My parents don’t allow me to stick anything on the walls but I'm allowed to stick stuff on the cupboard doors. As of now, the doors are pretty plain except for post- it’s reminding me of all the things I have to do. People are allowed into my room as long as they don’t snoop around or comment on how messy the room is. Around the room are a few photo frames of my family and closest friends. There are also a lot of knick-knacks that I have collected or have been gifted over the years. I can’t say that I’m completely satisfied with my room. I haven’t personalized it at all and if I could change a few things I would readily. But I still wouldn't complain because my room is MY space…. The place I go to at the end of the day.
My room ah! it feels so good to describe my room it is a place that I love.Be it messy or clean it is the ''Aboard of Shravya'' which makes it special.My room is in the first floor.Before entering to my room is a small space which holds a wooden book shelf where all the books(story books my favourite)are placed it looks cute.It is placed on to the left of the door.as soon as you open the door what you find is a big, soft,inviting bed if it is not messy ,if it is messy it will be because of my cloths you can all ways show it into the wardrobe and carry on.just behind the door in a place where no one can spot me is my study table it has three steps on the first one are all my PU books on the second are my note books and on the third are all other books the new addition to the table is the photo stand and the CFS photos.and to the right is my bathroom next to it is the wardrobe it is gray in colour.to the extreme left corner is a door that leads you to my favourite place the balcony which has some plants , a clay horse and a weaver bird nest it is so good they add a natural touch to it.it is the best place to relax .This is the layout of my I do not know how much you understood I tell you it is the best place to be in.
My room is just mine. Finally. Until about six months ago, I'd been sharing my room with my younger brother who absolutely insisted on living with me in my room only to make my life a living hell, or maybe it was only because he was petrified at nights and my room has an attached bathroom, he really wouldn't have to traverse an excruciating distance from his room all the way till the bathroom.
My room has got to be the coziest corner in the house, undoubtedly the filthiest too, citing my mum's infamous ''It's a goddamn pig sty!!''. Everyone grudgingly admits to it being their favorite. Somehow it's just the warmest, most compact and lived-in. Geez i really cant stop with the praises can i?
You'd find a poster (rather something of a bulletin board) on my door enlisting instructions that have to be followed in order to enter my room. Not that anyone cares. Everyone just barges in anyway.. Bahh. My room consists of a single, very girly double bed in a corner. Adjacent to it are two in-built closets joined together, one side of which is occupied by a formidable pile of my clothes and some of my old answer sheets wedged somewhere between them. I think i can safely say that I'd bundled up each and every one of those clothes once upon a time and flung them inside the cupboard. The closets are alternately checkered with purple and white.
I have this compulsive need for my shoe rack to be filled right till the end, and not because i care for neatness, just that i don't like seeing empty spaces. I have a television too, under a rack of many, many books. Planting myself in front the idiot box is obviously my most favorite pass time. The bedsheet, curtains and walls are more or less coordinated with a muted shade of purple (which explains the 'pur'plexity). The dressing table, with it's entire vanity case supports a full length mirror in front of which i conveniently prance around. I have to be able to do that at least once a day, because it's kind of an outlet for me and it leaves feeling invigorated by the end of it. It's difficult to do that most of the time since no one at home quite approves of closed doors. My room has been the bearer of my paranoia, whims and fancies....ADITI
If there's any germs you want to kick
Always use HARPIC
If there's any germs you want to kick
Always use HARPIC
If there's any germs you want to kick
And you don't know what to pick
Always use HARPIC HARPIC HARPIC.
(I hope u remember the tune it goes like If you are happy and u know it clap your hands)
(am I sounding like Iam promoting harpic?)
My room is one of the most nondescript ones I've ever known, so I think it needs quite a bit of character. :P I've only lived in it about a year or two (which is quite small a duration, I assure you...!) , and since I haven't undergone any Major Emotional Upheavals (or so I like to think), I don't have any specific ties with the room, but what the hell.
[Aside: to exemplify what I mean, the room before this was my first-ever room-with-a-door, and I had my own music system there and so on, so it was Really Special. And the one before that, was the first ever time I had a room of my own (it wasn't a room really, just a little passage carved out) and as you've probably guessed, it didn't have a door. So in contrast, the present one is quite normal.]
Anyway, getting down to the descriptive bit. The big brown study table is the first thing one sees as one enters, and above this is a bookshelf. These two put together pretty much chronicle all my obsessions, and their passing as well - on the top is a series of scarily thick books with scarier names like "IIT Chemistry", "Objective Physics for Competitive Entrance Examinations" and so on - imagine! - remnants of my sister's school days. And then two shelves of my books, and my ever-messy desk. The side shelves of the study table are one of the biggest, mysterious exploring places, ever. A patient observer will, on close exploration, find various treasures such as old coffee mugs, bits of discarded dark chocolate, single earrings, old notes passed in class, etc.
On one of the edges hangs a silver medal I won in 2006 (sorry I couldn't resist boasting, haha :P) , a series of post-its containing to-do lists and - what most visitors find amusing - a ten-point program for Good and Healthy Living that my father has put up. This includes such gems as "No junk food STRICTLY", "Sleep latest by 11 PM", "Eat lots of fruits and vegetables", and such.
Right next to the table is the bed. Nothing much about it, really. Except that, ooh, this is the first bed I've had all to myself. Bed as in "BED". By that I mean earlier I used to sleep on the diwan. Which, apparently, doesn't count as a bed because it doesn't have that grand lil headpiece (whatever its called!) at its head. Again, under the mattress or the pillow and all that, you will find various odds and ends - double-ended pencils, bobby pins, old magazines , old newspapers, and perhaps several other things. Clearly, I seem to have this penchant for slipping away things distractedly in the oddest of places and then forgetting all about them.
I have a nice spacious closet, always in a mess, that I keep my clothes in...nothing much, again, to say about this. The closet undergoes several biennial (ok, ok...annual, let's say) cycles of organization. Time was when I would come home to find my mother just randomly cleaning my room herself, and the prospect so horrified me that I'd actually be motivated to do it myself.
At the other extreme of the room is my "music corner". This consists of a nice desk where I dump all my sheet music, my Hindustani music notebooks, and other assorted music-related stuff...I even preserve tickets to all the concerts I go to, and all. (Sentimental fop, I know). Next to that is my keyboard...strongly suggestive of past glory, but not imposing and sparkling, just a plain ole keyboard now. Above that hangs a picture of a three-year-old me that my mother very strategically put up, for all my friends to snigger at me, apparently...and it shall be said that its purpose has been served.
So that's that, then. My room. Nondescript and boring, by most counts, but home. :)
Welcome to the messiest place on this planet-my room!As you enter,on the left is a study table,which I have conveniently converted into another place where I can dump some more junk....so all my present books lie on a chair,along with layers of dust!There are two shelves with loads and loads of books which I dont have the heart to give away....My cupboard stands half empty because most of the clothes lie on the floor!Beside it is my computer...where I spend most of all day!
There is an attached bathroom with blue tiles,which happens to be my favourite colour!My bed lies in one corner is where I sleep and study(yes study!).The windows next to the bed are filled with posters and calenders of the last few years,which I haven't taken off as yet!!
Finally my room's a place where I can unwind and really be myself!
Undoubtedly the never used!
My room is painted green with green curtains to match the green walls ,Oh wait! the curtains aren't there anymore,we have fixed blinds in the place of curtains last week(somehow I am trying to get used to the new change).The first thing that you see when you enter my room is "yourself", surprised! Yes,its the big oval mirror if you haven't guessed it already.he he
My room is never the same(as it depends on the days),ie.,you can say its like a rotation,as in on Monday,the so-called my room is the cleanest.The books in my rack are orderly arranged, my clothes folded and are in place in the wardrobe,and what else? it is speck less.Gradually,as the days pass by,,it is a complete mess,and by the end of the week it starts to resemble a rat hole,with all my clothes scattered and my books all over the place.In fact, on Sundays after my room is tidy, I take an 'oath' saying that I will not dare mess it, but it is a mystery,unknowingly my room is a confused place again (I am quite sure there's a messer bug hidden somewhere.....)
But from the past few weeks my room has remained a messy place,that is because my mother is fed up of tidying it, as my room is meant to be dirty!(she thinks).
The walls are clean and untouched,with no posters stuck on them.but if you are a keen observer you can find small horizontal pencil marks on the right wall.These are the lines that marked my height,for 8 years now.
Honestly, I never use my room(not even to sleep).It is only to keep my stuff in there,I prefer or rather love to sleep in the living room, it's a nice place.The sound of the wind chimes hung outside in the balcony are very pleasant to hear to as they put me to sleep very quickly.At times,when I am sleeping,I can feel the moonlight(they are on my face,my hands) as enter directly into the living room through the windows.I love it then.It's amazing!
Ok. So my room-in it's current state-isn't very reflective of me (except for the general mess), but I intend on changing that as soon as possible.
Right now(stress on the now) the walls are what I would call a darker version of cucumber green.
When you walk in, you find a single bed on the right, that usually has an old fashioned bedspread(usually with prints of elephants or a paisley pattern...or both). Sometimes this isn't all that obvious because of the mess on the bed(be it clothes that I tried on and temporarily rejected or files that I've removed from my bag). On the bed you'll also find a dark green sleeping bag(that I don't use anymore but like to keep out anyway), two pillows(one white and one blue-green with cartoon drawings of mice on it) and a wooden board wedged in between the green(icky)wall and the bed (I've never quite figured out what it is).
On the right is the set of in-built cupboards with a sticker of a hamburger(I'm told my uncle stuck it there when this was his room). Further on, on the left side is the set of drawers where I keep my clothes and personal items. At the moment it's neat with everything stacked up in little shoe size boxes and tins(although I'm not too sure how long that'll last). Just opposite that is the in-built space for the gods' pictures. My grandma keeps pictures of Krishna and the like there as well as pictures of her parents and my Grandpa's mother and my grandpa.
Next to that, in the next corner, is my favourite part of the room- my desk. The desk itself is dark brown and has a bit of graffiti(a barely noticeable etched drawing of a pitcher of ...boredom). Next to it that says," Mmm, supreme boredom served in a glass". Evidently I was very bored. On the desk is my special table lamp( I say special because it has the effect of candlelight, and because it can be turned around in multiple directions...some of which I'm sure I haven't even discovered yet..and because it has graffiti drawn on the inside, of a girl with long blue hair, an eye and I can't remember what else), and usually has books and a few files. Next to it is a little shelf where I keep old I.B papers and scrap paper(that I can't seem to be able to part with just yet). Next to that is a really tall stool that my grandma uses to keep her clothes for the day(picture white,small print , flower saris and a knee support)and that I sometimes sit on.Next to that is the door to the bathroom(which also connects my room to my parents' room). On the wall next to my table is a picture a friend gave me, a teddy bear hanging from a knob and on top of that are "stain" glass painting I did of Ganesha and a red-haired lady, years ago. The reason it's my favourite part of the room is because it's the closest I have to something that reflects who I am. It's where I study(the bed's too dangerous for "all-nighters"- too comfortable : P), so it's where I sometimes stick up sticky notes as reminders. It's where I sit down to write in my journal and any other creative writing piece I might be working on.
It never ceases to amaze me how a little corner of a room- that has a weird kind of window on one side and the corner of a wallon the other- can mean so much to me, yet it does. I guess it's because apart from the cupboard it's the few places I feel are like my own(that and I get to see as little as possible of that weird green colour on the walls. I don't know why I dis-like it so much. I guess after eighteen years of seeing it the same colour, it gets to be too much). I'll let you know when I re-paint it a nice neutral honey-cream :) Than I can really put up posters ...*wicked smile*
My room is painted blue and it has cream coloured curtains covering its two windowws. When you walk into my room you can see a wardrobe to your left and two beds placed at a distance from each other to your right. a small round glass top table is placed between the two beds.When you face the beds, the one on your right belongs to my cousin with whom i have been sharing my room for the last two months or so. The bed you see on your right is my bed. even if you do not knoe your right from your left you can easily tell my bed from my cousin's because mine usually has my clothes lying on it.
My room used to be very messy and my mom was sick and tired of telling me to clean it up. i used to have my clothes lying all around my room. For quite some time now, even before my cousin sister moved in, I have had two beds in my room and Iused to utilise one of them exclusively to dump my clothes and the other one to sleep on. Whenever any guests came home I would dump all the clothes into the wardrobe. But ever since my cousin has moved into my room I have taken care not to leave my clothes lying around so as to not inconvenience her. This has, without a doubt, made my mom immensely happy but i miss the familiar, endearing sight of the mess created by me.
I am an early riser and study mostly in the mornings when everyone else in the house is asleep. I prefer sittting in the hall or at the dining table and studying. i do not generally use the study table that has been moved to my brother's room because of want of space in mine.
I do not control, or wish to control the entry of any of my family member's entry into my room. But I avoid taking my friends into my room as far as I can. I have not pasted any posters of my idols or favorite stars on the walls of my rooms mainly because I am not someone who wears my heart on my sleeve and also because I did not wish plot the graph of my evolution from a tween to teen to a young woman {in the future} on the walls of my room.
Here you go.. and also it's so nice to see everyone posting on the blog(though out of complusion). Be easy on me =)
When alone with my mind
The past haunts me
Brings back the happy
And brings back the pain
I sigh and cry at the time lost
But what was lost
Was not only time.
The past haunts me
Like an old friend
And opens the wounds
That were long since healed.
Though the past is past,
It is never forgotten.
Why did you leave?
Why did you go?
This is one answer I will never know.
What we had was real, wasn't it?
Or was is just bullshit?
What is gone is gone,
And still I wish
That you were here
In my arms, wiping away my tears.
It isnt great, and I think I strayed a bit from the sonnet as well.. but it is my first rap so bear with me. I even tuned it! :D -Shilpa
All alone in my thoughts
I find them bittersweet
things past, things I love
things I dont wanna leave
I sit and sigh as the days go by
cause I dont wanna lie
and I dont wanna cheat
My friends, they surround me
tell me all their tales
cry on my shoulder
as if its on for sale
but when its my turn, hell its time to bail
thats where I think
our friendship failed
Passion, seemed such a mystery
until that fine day
when you screwed with me
I moaned and I wept until I could no more
I guess I realised
you were just another whore
And yet I cry about the good ol days
somehow the sorrow never seems to end
why do I love you?
why do I miss you?
tell me for the last time
my dear old friend.
My room happens to be the biggest bedroom of the house so I’ve always found it a little strange that the youngest (um, that would be me, by the way) ended up with it. Never question a good thing though eh? The first thing you notice when you enter is that I have two beds… the twins, Gerry and Mia. Nah, I’m kidding. I haven’t actually named them. Yet. I sleep on the one that’s next to the wall. (I sometimes roll you see). It’s my favourite spot. People always ask why I have two beds when I don’t share my room with anyone. The answer is… I really don’t know why. I’ve had two beds since as far as I can remember. It came in handy when I had roommates for about a year and a half in the 9th grade. They were teachers from
Ok enough about Gerry and Mia. The rest of the furniture in my room is pretty uninteresting. I have a massive bookshelf that covers almost an entire wall. Most of the books there are ancient ones belonging to my parents and one uncle. They go back over 40 years. I think. I also have a tiny dresser in another corner, two cupboards (also came in handy with the roommates) and a desk that has far too many shelves crammed with far too much junk. (I canNOT de-clutter. Well, I can… but I won’t :P). Two windows lend quite a bit of light to the place. Oh, I also have a clothes rack that holds about a third of my wardrobe.
My walls are cream (like the rest of my exciting house!) and bare ‘cept for the occasional calendar and family picture. A couple of years ago I had my own little ‘wall of fame’ – a collage covering almost an entire wall with pictures of my favourite bands/artists/actor(ess)s. Then my house was painted again so it all came down. I’d asked my parents for some bright curtains to give my room some colour. They bought me cream curtains (!!!). I can’t blame them I suppose. It IS a colour. And they explained to me that it matched my walls. Couldn’t argue with that logic really. I have an attached bathroom. It’s brilliant. I never have to stumble far in the middle of the night when I get “the urge”. Mine is also the only room with access to what we pass off as our backyard too. Which is pretty awesome.
I’m not the neatest person (much to my mum’s chagrin). Quite the slob really. But she’s pretty good with the threats so I do make an effort to be neat. Usually. Sometimes. Um, ok…once in a way. The larger surfaces – namely the twins and my desk – are the ones that end up covered with a lot of the above mentioned junk. I guess my room just goes with me: a little messy, a little quirky. A little boring on the outside, but with a story to tell. :)
My room is not all that grand or fancy, its just simple and sweet (like me...hee..hee). Like my parents, i too dislike posters on the wall, as it spoils the look of the room and gives a bad impression to outsiders (honestly speaking..... i share my room with my relatives, who come home once in a blue moon and my sisters who drop in along with their husbands anytime..... sooooo i gotta open my heart and let them take the room, while i sleep in the hall) and that is the reason why no Daniel or Orlando bloom posters ever decorated my wall (sad story:( ). Okay coming back to my room, its placed in the right hand corner of the house, so its really cozy and cooool….. and no rules or regulations apply to it, so everyone’s invited. the wooden door of my room is in a darker shade of brown (my favourite ); as you enter my room, you will notice a lot of green and brown been used, as they are soothing to the 4 eyed me and it makes the room look simple and sweet ;)
The walls are painted in the lightest of greens, pale but beautiful. On the right hand side of the door is a bare wall consisting of a tubelight and the extreme end of it, is a door opening to an attached bathroom. From the entrance you will notice a rather empty looking wall, but its covered with two circular lamp shades on wooden holders, below it a wooden frame and beside this a big square window consisting of 4 smaller windows. the wooden frame has an engraving in Arabic which reads "Allah is great"; next to the frame is the big square window, (which earlier viewed the beautiful field and the neighbouring houses, stands now facing the wall of a flat constructed pretty close to my house..) its big enough to let my body out (but i never tried doing it cause its armed with grills). the window is covered by a light lemon green curtain (dad's choice but i love it). right in front of the window is my study table consisting of a small but convenient wooden table and chair, I sit and study here but most of the time read novels. Since the table is at the corner of the room, it gets cozy and you tend to forget the day’s work. beside the table is my double bed,(no guesses for the colour of my bedsheet....yup its light green but 2 shades darker than the colour of the walls....... ; ) ).
Next to the bed is a small stool and in front of my bed is the dumping ground, where two chairs are placed and piled with all my clothes (wonder why I have a cupboard). Opposite to the dumping ground oops… I mean the two chairs, are the in-built wooden cupboards with a mirror in between. Parallel to my bed on its left is another big window, which faces the east, and I can see the morning sun fill into my room its warm and bright light…. when the curtains are drawn the room is filled with the beautiful lemony colour, making it more homey and comfortable. I love my room the way it is, not more nor less of this and that… its just perfect, simple and beautiful.
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Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeew!!!!!!!!!!!!!
