A goal.

Taking a cue from Sleeping Beauty, i've gone and pricked my finger on the forbidden needle and miraculously put my life to sleep for an entire week. In other words, i've come down with a long overdue case of stomach flu, which i shall spare my non existent readers from the details of.

What i have realised is that when you take a week off from your life, you get to contemplate. Not necessarily out of free will, of course, but something about the air in February and the smell makes you want to think about what little you understand of life and search for some semblance of clarity, while in my case, rushing to the loo every hour or so. But i digress.

See, i'd rather not build my non existent reader's hopes up too much because i haven't gone very far with clarity. However, i did have a wonderful time looking out of my window and out into my favorite street from back home that i suddenly realised, i haven't seen much of in the past year. And i suddenly began to feel excited and happy, would you believe it, despite the antibiotics? I even got my old scruffy diary out and wrote a few sentimental page or two about Spring. And then doodled, but i digress again.

There is actually no point to this blogpost but i realised that since it is my blog, i'm allowed to be as pointless as i possibly can here since being pointless in real life is frowned upon.

BUT.

I do want to set myself some realistic goals for this year and stick to it. Like a project - like in the film Julie and Julia or one of those facebook photo challenge. Only, more fulfilling.
I want to write about this year. Not like i write in the diary, all sap and sensitivity. But really write, like a pro or a semi pro or at east somebody with perspective. Unbiased perspective, wit and humor. Is that very hard to do? Sure, one needs to practice, but 365 days is enough practice. And i shall do it on this very blog.
No one will suffer because no one reads this blog, and i shall be safe behind anonymity.
However, i WILL have to set some ground rules for this project. AND give it a fancy name?

Rule number 1: No self obsessed analysis or sentimentality.
Rule number 2: Only HONEST, humorous unbiased representation of the day/misc stuff.
Rule number 3: No cheating and therefore posting something EVERYDAY, two lines or two hundred.
Rule number 4: No relapsing into old habit of relationship oriented feisty-ness ONLY.

And just to keep old fashioned symmetry,

Rule number 5: Expecting absolutely NO ONE to read or appreciate what is posted here, today and henceforth.

Because i am tired sick of words sometimes.

Wish you good meet.

The first time i saw you,i was 8,i think. We met at some book fair,fleetingly. I got a whiff of your smell for the first time. I remember bits of that day. A flash of white and khaki,a green patch over the bridge,some painted railings.
I didn't know why but you came over for visits to my place,always the bearer of chocolates. I didn't tell anyone but i secretly always looked forward to your visits,for fresh supply of Cadbury Temptations,for some hours of the day when my kiddishness was glorified and my splotched frocks,not frowned upon.
I recall my first burst of temper at you. You had been saying something about being my father's daughter and i told you that you wouldn't know. You are not family. You couldn't possibly know. I remember hating you for not being angry back. For smiling at me. I hated you for never being mad at me,for never telling me mean things too.
You used to argue with me. About traditions,mothers,rules.
You used to wear nothing but panjabi. I laughed at you at age 10. I laughed at how proud you were of your Indianness. I thought you were old.
I used to see you at our new flat. You chose the furniture,the pink table that you thought i'd like. You never listened to anybody. You fought with the construction people. You made them re do the kitchen. You chose the paint. You chose the curtains. You chose our home too.
Remember that time you made me wear mum's saree and took me out on Saraswati puja? We took a picture together. We had juice. I wanted ice cream but you said no. You said fruits were best.

You framed that picture for me. You wrote behind it. "Step by step to 12",it said.

You used to ask me about him,when mom used to make you tea in the kitchen. You knew. You had guessed. You didn't judge.
I christened you 'bindi kaku'. No,you never had a sense of fashion.
You resolved my fights. The ones that went on outside,and the ones that happened in. You took me out on days when home became unbearable. You always smelled the same. A bit of dhoop,a little powder, and something else i never could put a finger on. Your hands had veins that showed. I liked to trace them with mine.
As i began to grow up,you needed me more than i did you. You brought me bhutta back from your first trip to the hospital,remember? Secretly,so she wouldn't know. And that piece of red cloth you gave me? I've kept that. I always will.
We never quite stopped fighting. I waged war against you when we discussed politics and college. You didn't want me to go here.
I hated you for judging the university. I hated you for telling me what you hoped i'd do with my life. I hated how your ambitions for me were far greater than mine were for myself.
I also loved you for it.
I loved how you gave me a corsage on the day of my farewell. And how you always treated me like a grownup. You always asked me for my opinions. You came to me for answers as i came to you.

Our relationship spanned 10years. Your smell was in my home for 10 years.
The last time i saw you,you asked me if you'd be able to visit me in January. You were holding my hand. I remember tracing my fingers on your veins that hadn't changed much. It was habit,i now realise. We always sat like that.
I had promised you,you would. I told you i'll see you in January.

You didn't look at me when i left. You sat there with your head buried in the papers. You wouldn't look up. Mum wondered at that.
But i knew. And i hope you know,i did not mind.
Wish you good meet,you said.

Yes. Good meet.
Now,and always.

That which must not be named.

Yes,yes,i'm well aware that i do not rant about anything other than relationships,but that's only because i have a lot to say on the subject. Or the lack of it thereof. Besides,aren't 70% of life's problems relationship oriented? There,i'm doing my non-existent readers a favor.

See,i haven't had a post up here in a long time because i've been keeping busy butchering a perfectly happy(well,almost) relationship and going on a guilt trip that has lasted far too long. No more,i say.
So i'm back trying to figure out why people would want to willingly get into something that they'll want to get out of after a certain period of time anyway.
Also,what exactly are they getting into? A relationship,i mean. I have a personal belief that the term is jinxed,so i no longer call it that. It serves the dual purpose of lessening the corny quotient. So this thing that two people have (for simplicity's sake,lets not get into a debate over friendship/family etc being relationships as well yada yada and let's just take a boy and a girl because i am young and like 99% of young people who do not have to worry about grave matters of global concern,have trouble with the opposite sex and do not remotely pretend to understand anything more profound than buttered toast) - a 'relationship' - what exactly is it?
For starters,is there a rulebook that one needs to know about and follow? If a boy and a girl mutually like each other and enjoy each others company and have fantastic,off the charts amazing conversations ranging from the usefulness of corduroy pants (life saver) to the origin of defense mechanisms,is it absolutely necessary that they act a certain way or conform to certain set rules that decide who should be loved,how and how much? (Fine,so i've been reading Roy)
Is it the sense of pseudo security that comes out of declaring to the world,or to yourself,that you are 'in a relationship' that keeps a person from questioning it when things start to slip? Does it help in the process of denial or is a public proclamation of commitment simply a step closer to tangibility? Does the tag guarantee absolute loyalty from the two people concerned?

Does it then,also guarantee love?

Here's to unsuspecting 'in love' people.

It won't last. Take it from me,you are kidding yourself.

No,this is no crazy woman ranting from her weird smelling,cat infested house. It's true. Relationships have an expiry date. For most,its 6 months after which,like your pasta sauce,it starts to rot. While for other incurable romantics,it could go on up to 2 years or even more (sigh). But then it will inevitably,awfully,slap-you-in-the-face way,go kaput.

And that's the day you'll have no ice cream in the freezer.

And while it'll seem like the end of the world..what with blotchy eyes,a splitting headache,innumerable rhetorical "why me??" and sad music that plays in your head alone..it's probably not.

Face it. Stale pasta sauce had to go.

The problem with relationships is that,they are an exhaustible resource. So you hit your high,and everything around you is rainbowy and you are walking on clouds,making a complete fool of yourself without a care in the world (flashes of facebook fun is not pretty in hindsight,huh?). And even as you try to believe it will last this time - it has to,considering how absolutely perfect it is - you know you are no superman. Or the owner of invisible cartoon rockets that come out of your kick ass leather boots.
So you fall from your clouds. Hard. On your butt with no 'strong arms' to catch you,and you are back where you started: Single,slightly sick,and if you are a fool like me,friendless. 

And the worst part is,a year later,you are willing to do it again. You are willing to lick your old wounds,pack away some memories and start again - with a new 'the one',a new set of hopes..if only to feel the clouds underneath your feet one more time. Because the thrill of a first date,a first kiss,a first everything is too amazing to pass up on,despite the consequences. 

And the cure to the fall,you ask?

Simply the promise of something even better! :)

RomComs

Up until now,it was my belief that a Romantic Comedy is fully equipped to solve all of life's problems. Let's face it. What's not to love about pretty people,flattering lighting,a tried and tested plot and a happily ever after?
Call it an overdose or simply post breakup psychobabble,but i've recently noticed that ye olde RomCom has lost a little bit of its charm for me. Yes people,the bubble has officially burst.
For example,have you noticed how,if you watch an extremely emotional,he-is-about-to-propose scene on mute,its less likely to draw sighs of lovestruck satisfaction from you? And also,who looks that perfect waking up at 3 am to answer the door? Even as the protagonist agonizes over the chaos that is her night face,you can't help but ask yourself, is that pink lipstick on her? And mascara? And don't even get me started on the just-got-out-of-bed-messy hair look. For one,IT AIN'T MESSY SISTA',so cut the whining.

Now for the female protagonist stereotype. There are quite a few:

1.) The naive young girl who has recently got her heart broken but is in reality quite the quirky,clumsy and charming one. Don't tell her though,for we have a guy coming in before intermission to do just that.

2.) The badass. This one is totally hardcore. She hums indie songs,wears a lot of kohl,makes fun of guys just like that and gives 'love' the finger. She is independent and needs NO ONE,as we are reminded over and over again through her single gal awesomeness. Oh,and she uses sarcasm as a defense machanism cuz behind that hard exterior,lies a simple,bruised soul just waiting to be loved and protected by someone who 'understands' her.

3.) The independent,professional woman. This is the modern twist on the average nerd,people. In a bid to cash in on the craze that is gender equality, the female protagonist is dressed up in high heels,butt hugging skirts,a sleek do and black rimmed glasses. No,this isn't your librarian porno fantasy playing out. Its the 21st century,self sufficient,fast talking,control freak aka a no nonsense,no time for love,very much in control,super smart boss person. She rocks the office front but goes home to her cat in a lonely apartment. This of course,before she meets 'the one' who teaches her to 'live a little'. And she promptly changes from anal to all fun.

4.) The spoilt brat. She is mostly seen in pink,at parties and in bare minimum. She goes 'wooooo' at the drop of a hat. Make that a g-string. She has a buffed up boyfriend who could be a Ken lookalike..but wait! She still wants more! From life,silly. So oneday,she packs her Louis Vuittons and sets out. Several dumb blonde moments later,she meets a nerdy dude who totally gets her,despite her,erm,lack of a cerebellum,and he decides to intellectualise her and she realises she is worth SO much more than daddy's mansion. So she dumps the stud of a bf,dumps the sidekick and drives away to a rosy future,hand in hand with nerd boy.

And in all four cases..she lives Happily Ever After! :)

Perfection really,if only this hadn't been reality land. And while RomComs have the key to love for all girl types (as listed above),what happens to the girl who is all of the above?
Because,we aren't just one person. The truth is,there is a bit of a rebel,a bit of a nerd,a bit of substance and a whole lot of dumb blonde in all of us.

So then,who is the perfect guy for an imperfect girl?

Don't look at me.
What do i know? :|

Facebook.

There really never will be anything quite as awesome as the first "pssst! update undie color to spread breast cancer awareness and don't tell the boys" plan,so pathetic posers who've been spamming my inbox,Give Up!

Also,
damnit FF,you have me hooked.
Luff your blog 11/10.

Confessions.

I have decided to come clean and embrace all things hackneyed,old school and comforting.

#1. The love of pink.
Okay,so i was going for a darker shade, but come on! What's not to like? It's pretty and *drumroll* kind of cute. Plus,the ultimate proof of girliness. Besides,9 times out of 10,the people most against the color are posers afraid of being tagged a sissy and hence the dire need to prove that they are tough.

#2. Shopping.
It's fun. It's therapeutic. It's new clothes. And it does not mean you are the epitome of shallowness who has lost the sublime meaning of life,being caught up in the fad that promotes filling the deep dark void that is your life through mindless trips to the land of temporary escapism that is the mall. That's just some myth made up by fat people who feel shitty asking for a double XL in public. YOU shop away!

#3. Love songs.
Who doesn't have a song? You know you like them. So you wouldn't be caught dead listening to Celine Dion (oh,SO 90's) in public anymore. But know this much: If you have an overdose of sap in your i-pod,you are not alone.

#4. Barbies.
Name ONE little girl who didn't go all starry eyed at the sight of pink perfection every time she passed a toy store and wrote religiously to Santa,asking for one every Christmas,and i will plead guilty.

#5. Letters.
Not the ones typed out in ms-word. The real deals - Handwritten,stamped and posted. It's old school and personal. And way more effective than generalized emoticons. Like finding treasure in your mailbox!


It isn't easy admitting you are sappy,predictable and cliched. Because everyone wants to be this season's gladiator heels. But once you do,it's like slipping into an old pair of down at heel slippers: Oddly comfortable.

Shopping,anyone?

Relationships are like clothes.

So you're walking down the street,happily humming some song from that independent girl band,going all "I'm perfectly fine on my own..blah blah..i need NO man" when suddenly you see it.
That perfect dress. In that shade of gorgeous purple. And you KNOW it's for you. You KNOW no other chick can do justice to a dress like that! I mean,have you seen the embellishments? That sparkly aura that draws you (and only you) to it?
And before you know it,you've walked past the swinging doors,past the firm resolution that you need your bank a/c to recuperate after your last fated meet with that (oh! so awesome) perfect fit pants and voila! You're in!

And that beautiful piece of intricately cut fabric is a perfect fit!
And that satin against your skin! Sublime!
And everybody in the store tells you,you two look fabulous together. Yes! Perfection itself.
And you get that shiny,happy feeling at the pit of your stomach that this is it! You need nothing else,absolutely nothing else to make you happy.
And yes,the dress is yours.
And suddenly,the world is a better place.

Your first night out together,you turn heads. You know that patent leather boots that skinny chick is wearing is beckoning,but you don't care.
You love your dress!

But a month later,summer's over.
And the dress is no longer enough.
And that sparkly aura,you suddenly realize,has lost it's sparkle.
And it's bursting at the seams.
And it's slowly retracting to the back of your closet.
And you're cold.
And there's autumn-winter collection to look forward to.



And before you know it..that beautiful cashmere coat you've glanced at,is yours for the taking.
And you know it's not right. You know your bills are way over due.
But you can't help it.

For that coat will get you through winter.
And yes,you are no longer cold.

Cake.Yum.

My name is Post it and I'm a RomComaholic.
I admit.
I'm a sucker for happy endings.
For all things that give me butterflies,make me reach for my tissues,binge on low fat ice cream and in general add to the "One day,i'll meet the One too" feeling.

And yes,i believe in soulmates.

I firmly believe that all events in a person's life- right from "damnit! The toast always falls buttered side down" to the n-the heartbreak courtsey Mr. Right Now- all lead up to that one, absolutely magical, drumroll moment when,y'know, you meet your Harry.
Or Sally if you please.

But here's a thought-

What if I'm wrong?

What if this feel good factor that the entertainment industry taps in on to make cheesy movies and corny novels out of to cater to the masses is nothing but a smokescreen?
A scam to exploit our absolute happily-ever-after infested gullibility and help us kid ourselves till we're 40, single and suicidal.
And then visit the shrink.

What if all the sunshiny talks of true love is just that?
Talk.

Besides,what happens when i do find the One?
Hell! How do i know who he is?
Does an alarm go off in my head?
Will a sappy love song start playing out of nowhere as i bump into my knight in shining armour at the departmental store?
Is there really a "dum di DUM" moment that'll clue me in on my "right guy,right here" situation?

And then again,what guarantee do i have that i haven't let go of my soulmate already?
What if i did meet him,tagged him as yet another passing phase, and moved on?
Or worse.

What if my soulmate is a Siamese cat?
Or,Brad Pitt?

Plus,aren't cynics always telling us to suck it up cuz love is overrated?
How, it's the same feeling as biting into one's favorite cheesecake cuz the brain releases the exact same chemicals or some such similar BS?

There you go.
Problem solved.

Who needs a man anyway?
I can bake.

Art.

They say sex is a form of art.
That it gives expression to the soul.

Beautiful words really,if only i didn't have a totally disturbing image of a paint by numbers book i had as a kid.
Which got me thinking..

If sex is an art, who's to say what's genius and what's trash?

Then there's the tricky matter of understanding abstract art.
And cartoons.

And what about the people who were never born artists to begin with?
Do they take the help of paint-by-numbers or do they go with their gut?
Are they laughed at or are they ahead of their times?

Do we pull a Renoir? Or maybe a Dali?
Or do we go ahead and find a different genre altogether?

What happens when we mess up? Do we use more paint or do we start over?

How do we know the line between beautiful and boring?
Between original and pretentious?

And exactly what is the yardstick against which we've been pitted?
Who is keeping track?


Which makes me wonder-
Who are we kidding?

We're as clueless as the guy who has smudged his picture of a farmhouse as did a maestro with his self portrait.


So then,what IS art?
For want of a better word,
Undefined.

Comfortably imperfect

Playing Minesweeper on the computer and bonding with mum over mounds of chocolate may sound as pathetic as spending V-day with a cat, but I loved every moment.

Okay, so there wasn’t that euphoric, tingly all over, waiting for magic to happen feeling like the other times.
And maybe I’d anticipated something more.
The old “happy happy birthday” from K maybe, to make the whole of last month seem like nothing more than one of those sinking déjà vu moments.
And maybe I’d like the joy of waking up to presents wrapped in shiny paper, back.

But for now, an ‘experimental’ cake, mashed gulab jamuns and the world’s best Mum for company does the trick.

Note to self: Maybe the tingles aren’t important.
Maybe the people who give them to you,are! :]

Dear Ms. Ass-kissing Anal,

There is something called a brain
Which ain't something you have;
Get off of my face
You stinking piece of ass.

Wobbling around in XXL tees
Ingratiating smile doing the rounds,
Too bad they can't see you when
You steal credit,you pathetic hound.

No life beyond these green gates
Nothing to look forward to..
Maybe i see your point when you say you love ***
Baby, i pity you.

Spineless Jello,
Worthless dipshit
You humongous waste of a measly 5 ft.
Pea sized brain,Double digit IQ
Didja know you havta pay em to bang you?

Yeah,i should probably stop
Don't wanna scandalize your fragile morality
Your pure lil sacred heart
Your halo,your amaazing 'personality'.

Take a bow bitch,cuz you're done.
I'm in the house,puss.
For your sake- RUN!

Let his will be done.

A message in the Yearly Calendar handed out to students at a reputed Convent school:

"For in much wisdom is much grief,
And increase in knowledge is increase of sorrow"

Next to a photoshopped picture of our darling lord Jesus.



We rest our case.

Crappy New Year!

New Years suck.
It is nothing but an excuse. For all those card making companies to rake in money in the name of "holiday cheer" and for mushy-head over heels-in love couples to show to the not-so-head over heels-in love people how 'head over heels' they really are.

I mean,seriously! December is like this month with no place for single women. Along with your mittens,what comes out is your knack for PDA. Holding hands in Book fairs, snuggling in Park benches,gazing into each others eyes as the string lights shine on.

Do i really need to wake up on New Years,open my newspapers and see a huge front page layout of a madly-in-love-so-we-get-to-slobber-over-each-other picture of a couple?
No!
What i really need is a good strong cup of coffee to get over the saccharine sweetness around. And maybe a cat. And to forget about the extra pounds I've gained from last night's binge eating. But let's not get into that. :|

Anyway,this year,a couple of equally miserable friends of mine and i decided to boycott all things New Yearsy. And boy! did we have some fun. :D

We went on a hogging session. And ended with some good old bitching. Turns out,I'm not the only psycho old maid with a hatred for all things that come in pairs. If you're a single gal,you'd know how well that works. And if you're not - then you're missing out! :P

Anyway,i won't let my bitter denial of the utilities of the festive season bring you down (by 'you',i mean all my non existent readers). May you revel in the glory of confetti and cards. May you spend many such New Years with your 'the one'. May all the sweetness give you Diabetes.


Here's to another Crappy New Year!