I think the world’s out to get me.
That includes him, her and you.
I fear the things that I do,
Things that may be taboo.
I’m a coward, a liar,
A weakling, a two-faced bitch.
I care more about myself,
I’ll let go off you in a stitch.
A lying tongue, a heart
That devises wicked plots,
I bitch, I gossip,
About you and what not.
Sometimes I think
I’m not cool
Sometime I think
This world’s mine to rule.
I feel yellow, green, blue
Even red, but I never feel white
But why don’t I still care,
Even if I know it’s not right?
I lust for power and wealth,
And have the greed for more.
Look down upon other people,
Feel like a cheap whore.
I’m afraid of the dark,
Of the unsettling melancholy,
Of cockroaches, death and failure,
And bad things that might happen to me.
I don’t think I’ll change,
Cause suddenly I see,
This is what I’ll always to be.
We’ll all be the same after all,
Him, her, you and me.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
You
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I feel like an emo, I feel so blue.
If everything’s Technicolor, I live black and white,
No light over here, but 30 days of night.
July was grey, and august was brown,
It’s been the same, since you’ve gone.
The sun’s so dull; the moon seems a mess,
A world without you, a world so colourless.
Life’s blank, like an empty cheque.
Crazy, they call me, an emotional wreck.
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I’m scared that ill soon forget the things that you used to do.
I feel like an emo, I feel so blue.
If everything’s Technicolor, I live black and white,
No light over here, but 30 days of night.
July was grey, and august was brown,
It’s been the same, since you’ve gone.
The sun’s so dull; the moon seems a mess,
A world without you, a world so colourless.
Life’s blank, like an empty cheque.
Crazy, they call me, an emotional wreck.
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I’m scared that ill soon forget the things that you used to do.
Arghitect!
There was a boy in Bombay,
An aspiring architect was he,
To all you architects I say,
He was just like you and me.
Plans he had to build theatres,
Museums, walkways and malls,
With solitude points and extrusions,
And lovely intersecting walls.
He said to himself one day,
“This is all very easy!”
T’was about cool concepts after all,
Though some of it seemed quite cheesy.
But all was not well in our hero’s life,
Cause all good things come to an end,
What Architect boy didn’t know was,
T’were pesky Profs at every bend.
“”My subject’s more important”,
Spat each one higher and higher,
And our poor architect boy,
was caught in the crossfire.
There was design, and construction,
And drawings in perspective,
And history of architecture,
Of 1000 years before you lived.
The drawings came next,
And that was no child’s play,
He groaned, he moaned,
He hunched over his board all day!
He juggled his work like a circus freak,
But the work just bundled up more,
Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?
Thought he, as simple as 2+2=4.
Poof went all his plans next,
Of structures and forms,
Crushed, he finally decided to,
Build according to typical norms.
This story might seem familiar
I’ll be surprised if it wont be,
Cause this is the story of every architect
Us, you, them and me.
An aspiring architect was he,
To all you architects I say,
He was just like you and me.
Plans he had to build theatres,
Museums, walkways and malls,
With solitude points and extrusions,
And lovely intersecting walls.
He said to himself one day,
“This is all very easy!”
T’was about cool concepts after all,
Though some of it seemed quite cheesy.
But all was not well in our hero’s life,
Cause all good things come to an end,
What Architect boy didn’t know was,
T’were pesky Profs at every bend.
“”My subject’s more important”,
Spat each one higher and higher,
And our poor architect boy,
was caught in the crossfire.
There was design, and construction,
And drawings in perspective,
And history of architecture,
Of 1000 years before you lived.
The drawings came next,
And that was no child’s play,
He groaned, he moaned,
He hunched over his board all day!
He juggled his work like a circus freak,
But the work just bundled up more,
Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?
Thought he, as simple as 2+2=4.
Poof went all his plans next,
Of structures and forms,
Crushed, he finally decided to,
Build according to typical norms.
This story might seem familiar
I’ll be surprised if it wont be,
Cause this is the story of every architect
Us, you, them and me.
Circa 06
Destiny and I sat at the table, sometime in 2006, sipping our coffees, eating our croissants.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant.
“So, what?” I asked her, on my guard. I never liked her conversations which began with that word.
“What do you want to do?” she asked me, nibbling at the crust of her croissant like a dormouse.
“I want to eat my croissant in peace.” I replied, rather rudely. I never liked to talk while I ate, anyway.
She stared at me pointedly, clearly not amused.
“Ha.Ha.” she worded, rather sarcastically.
“I meant, what do you want to do in life?” she questioned, her voice a little brittle, like glass that was about to crack.
“Oh.That” I said, as I wiped my mouth with a tissue, brushing off the flecks of crust off my t-shirt. My croissant was over, so I could talk.
“I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll become a chef.” I told her, while a waiter hurried up to take our empty plates away. He looked at me in distaste again. I followed his gaze, and saw that there still some crumbs on my t-shirt. I brushed them off, embarrassed.
“Uh-huh.” She said, as if I had said something that was low on intellect.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked her, defensively. Being a chef was cool, and I wasn’t going to give up on it so easily.
“Umm. For starters, can you cook?” she asked, a sneer on her face.
“Uh-huh. I can make a decent Spanish omelet, a chocolate cake, corn salad…” I trailed off, as she stared at me smugly.
“…and instant noodles. I can make instant noodles!” I continued, rather weakly.
“Wow. Imagine a restaurant that sells instant noodles!” here voice dripped with sarcasm.
She did have a point.
Being a chef didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“Maybe I’ll become a sculptor!” I said, quite proud of my dash of brilliance. After all, I did in fact love to play with clay when I was younger. And anyway, how tough could that be.
She looked at me blankly.
“You can’t make a block out of clay if I asked you to” she snorted, quite deviously.
“I can too!” I interjected, quite lamely. “I made a miniature human figure out of clay when I was six!” I added. She didn’t need to know that my art teacher had thought that it was a spider.
She looked at me blankly. Again.
She did have a point.
“A food critic?” I asked, my muscles twitching.
“Our body’s not a temple, It’s an amusement park!” she replied quite dramatically.
“A pilot?” I asked my voice low and quivering.
She laughed out loud.
She did have a point.
“A National Geographic correspondent?” I asked of her, but I had already given up hope on that before she could say anything.
She shook her head.
Fifteen minutes, and a dozen career choices later, all of which were turned down, either because of my intellect, my physical health or my skill, she sat up straight in her seat, a bright glow on her face.
“It’s all planned out” she said. “You’ll do architecture, and you’ll love it!”
I stared.
She grinned at me, as if expecting to make me fall in love with her idea at once.
“Why?” I replied, monosyllabically.
“Oh come on!” she said, “You know you like it, you keep on playing those crazy simulation games everyday don’t you?” I twirled the salt cellar on the table.
She did have a point.
“And architecture will help you on your way to greatness!” she exclaimed dramatically, sounding strangely like the sorting hat.
“Try it out. You don’t want to be an engineer, right?” she asked, smiling, knowing that she had hit the target.
She did have a point.
“Uh-Huh.” I grunted. There was no way I was telling her that she had a point. No way could I see that smug look on her face. “It does sound pretty okay, but what next?” I asked, as she tittered away.
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got your whole life planned out for you.” She giggled.
“You are sounding like one of those mothers”, I warned her, stressing on my penultimate word.
“Oh.yeah, sorry about that. It won’t happen again. So architecture, huh? It’s meant to be. Big bucks. All the glamour in the world and you just have to draw for that. After all, how hard can drawing get?”
She did have a point.
Now, three years later, I hate destiny.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant.
“So, what?” I asked her, on my guard. I never liked her conversations which began with that word.
“What do you want to do?” she asked me, nibbling at the crust of her croissant like a dormouse.
“I want to eat my croissant in peace.” I replied, rather rudely. I never liked to talk while I ate, anyway.
She stared at me pointedly, clearly not amused.
“Ha.Ha.” she worded, rather sarcastically.
“I meant, what do you want to do in life?” she questioned, her voice a little brittle, like glass that was about to crack.
“Oh.That” I said, as I wiped my mouth with a tissue, brushing off the flecks of crust off my t-shirt. My croissant was over, so I could talk.
“I don’t know. Maybe, I’ll become a chef.” I told her, while a waiter hurried up to take our empty plates away. He looked at me in distaste again. I followed his gaze, and saw that there still some crumbs on my t-shirt. I brushed them off, embarrassed.
“Uh-huh.” She said, as if I had said something that was low on intellect.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I asked her, defensively. Being a chef was cool, and I wasn’t going to give up on it so easily.
“Umm. For starters, can you cook?” she asked, a sneer on her face.
“Uh-huh. I can make a decent Spanish omelet, a chocolate cake, corn salad…” I trailed off, as she stared at me smugly.
“…and instant noodles. I can make instant noodles!” I continued, rather weakly.
“Wow. Imagine a restaurant that sells instant noodles!” here voice dripped with sarcasm.
She did have a point.
Being a chef didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“Maybe I’ll become a sculptor!” I said, quite proud of my dash of brilliance. After all, I did in fact love to play with clay when I was younger. And anyway, how tough could that be.
She looked at me blankly.
“You can’t make a block out of clay if I asked you to” she snorted, quite deviously.
“I can too!” I interjected, quite lamely. “I made a miniature human figure out of clay when I was six!” I added. She didn’t need to know that my art teacher had thought that it was a spider.
She looked at me blankly. Again.
She did have a point.
“A food critic?” I asked, my muscles twitching.
“Our body’s not a temple, It’s an amusement park!” she replied quite dramatically.
“A pilot?” I asked my voice low and quivering.
She laughed out loud.
She did have a point.
“A National Geographic correspondent?” I asked of her, but I had already given up hope on that before she could say anything.
She shook her head.
Fifteen minutes, and a dozen career choices later, all of which were turned down, either because of my intellect, my physical health or my skill, she sat up straight in her seat, a bright glow on her face.
“It’s all planned out” she said. “You’ll do architecture, and you’ll love it!”
I stared.
She grinned at me, as if expecting to make me fall in love with her idea at once.
“Why?” I replied, monosyllabically.
“Oh come on!” she said, “You know you like it, you keep on playing those crazy simulation games everyday don’t you?” I twirled the salt cellar on the table.
She did have a point.
“And architecture will help you on your way to greatness!” she exclaimed dramatically, sounding strangely like the sorting hat.
“Try it out. You don’t want to be an engineer, right?” she asked, smiling, knowing that she had hit the target.
She did have a point.
“Uh-Huh.” I grunted. There was no way I was telling her that she had a point. No way could I see that smug look on her face. “It does sound pretty okay, but what next?” I asked, as she tittered away.
“Oh. Don’t worry about that. I’ve got your whole life planned out for you.” She giggled.
“You are sounding like one of those mothers”, I warned her, stressing on my penultimate word.
“Oh.yeah, sorry about that. It won’t happen again. So architecture, huh? It’s meant to be. Big bucks. All the glamour in the world and you just have to draw for that. After all, how hard can drawing get?”
She did have a point.
Now, three years later, I hate destiny.
I heart New York.
I miss it. I miss it all.
I miss the MUNI, the metro, the Bart.
I miss the one dollar egg rolls, the hot dog cart.
I miss the lovely doughnuts that I swore I would hate, I miss getting up late.
I miss Hulu, I miss Pandora. I even miss Taylor Swift and all the Black Eyed Peas hype.
I miss the wine tasting, the barbeque, and acting like a pretentious snob while we sipped the reds.
I miss Las Vegas, Circus Circus, the fake Eiffel tower and the fifty dollars that we bet.
I miss meetings friends, those that I haven’t thought about.
I miss the crummy diners and the wrap place which lied about selling the world’s best wraps.
I miss Gap, banana republic, old navy; I even miss those super expensive shops that we were too embarrassed to enter.
I miss Bridgette, who couldn’t add up 21 and 24 mentally and was 23 years old.
I miss the fact that Hard Rock café is just a glorified fast food joint and not all the bling-bling that it is over here.
I miss the 25 cent coins, and the nickels and dimes. The bills, the greens.
I miss the cheesecake factory with its beepers, and Gossip-Girl named waiters.
I miss their large portions which we could never finish but were still greedy enough to order our own entrees.
I miss San Francisco, I miss New York.
I miss God of small things, kitchen confidential, and the Shashi Tharoor book whose name I don’t remember.
I miss all the last minute shopping and the fact that I was selfish.
I miss the gorgeous people. The beautiful women and the handsome men.
I miss the lights of Times Square, the sights of Central Park. I miss the Upper East side and all the Upper East Siders.
I miss watching gossip girl with ads.
I miss, Little Italy and China town, and all the grit in and around it.
I miss the Meat packing district, its artsy galleries and kitschy people.
I miss the Chelsea east youth hostel, ten bunk beds in a room. I miss it being a multi ethnic soup kitchen. A culture curry.
I miss Harvard, with all its smart people and even smarter architecture. I miss the coop, and Charlie’s Bar. I miss Aiwen Lu.
I miss the crappy flights, with all the jet-lag.
I miss the Broadway, the cirque de soleil, and their ridiculously expensive tickets.
I miss the steak, the hamburger, and all things beef.
I miss the margarita, the mojito and the terminator topped with beer. I miss that I had to show my I.D every time I wanted one of these.
I miss the standard, its psychedelic elevator and all. I miss watching sitcom reruns in the morning while I had nothing else to do.
I love the yellow taxis, with all its stereotypical clichéd south Asian drivers.
I miss the office, Jim and Pam, and Chris Brown’s Forever.
I miss the fact that I did not miss Farmville, Face book, Friends and Family, though not necessarily in that order.
I miss the theatre where I saw half of Wake up Sid and slept through the other.
I miss the annoying "wateva" radio woman,and the ten odd songs that played all day.
I miss the Japanese place and the New York people.
I miss the city, with Manhattan. I even Miss Brooklyn.
I miss the joy, I miss the thrill.
I miss the sudden rush you get when you are on vacation.
But most of all, I miss you. :(
I miss the MUNI, the metro, the Bart.
I miss the one dollar egg rolls, the hot dog cart.
I miss the lovely doughnuts that I swore I would hate, I miss getting up late.
I miss Hulu, I miss Pandora. I even miss Taylor Swift and all the Black Eyed Peas hype.
I miss the wine tasting, the barbeque, and acting like a pretentious snob while we sipped the reds.
I miss Las Vegas, Circus Circus, the fake Eiffel tower and the fifty dollars that we bet.
I miss meetings friends, those that I haven’t thought about.
I miss the crummy diners and the wrap place which lied about selling the world’s best wraps.
I miss Gap, banana republic, old navy; I even miss those super expensive shops that we were too embarrassed to enter.
I miss Bridgette, who couldn’t add up 21 and 24 mentally and was 23 years old.
I miss the fact that Hard Rock café is just a glorified fast food joint and not all the bling-bling that it is over here.
I miss the 25 cent coins, and the nickels and dimes. The bills, the greens.
I miss the cheesecake factory with its beepers, and Gossip-Girl named waiters.
I miss their large portions which we could never finish but were still greedy enough to order our own entrees.
I miss San Francisco, I miss New York.
I miss God of small things, kitchen confidential, and the Shashi Tharoor book whose name I don’t remember.
I miss all the last minute shopping and the fact that I was selfish.
I miss the gorgeous people. The beautiful women and the handsome men.
I miss the lights of Times Square, the sights of Central Park. I miss the Upper East side and all the Upper East Siders.
I miss watching gossip girl with ads.
I miss, Little Italy and China town, and all the grit in and around it.
I miss the Meat packing district, its artsy galleries and kitschy people.
I miss the Chelsea east youth hostel, ten bunk beds in a room. I miss it being a multi ethnic soup kitchen. A culture curry.
I miss Harvard, with all its smart people and even smarter architecture. I miss the coop, and Charlie’s Bar. I miss Aiwen Lu.
I miss the crappy flights, with all the jet-lag.
I miss the Broadway, the cirque de soleil, and their ridiculously expensive tickets.
I miss the steak, the hamburger, and all things beef.
I miss the margarita, the mojito and the terminator topped with beer. I miss that I had to show my I.D every time I wanted one of these.
I miss the standard, its psychedelic elevator and all. I miss watching sitcom reruns in the morning while I had nothing else to do.
I love the yellow taxis, with all its stereotypical clichéd south Asian drivers.
I miss the office, Jim and Pam, and Chris Brown’s Forever.
I miss the fact that I did not miss Farmville, Face book, Friends and Family, though not necessarily in that order.
I miss the theatre where I saw half of Wake up Sid and slept through the other.
I miss the annoying "wateva" radio woman,and the ten odd songs that played all day.
I miss the Japanese place and the New York people.
I miss the city, with Manhattan. I even Miss Brooklyn.
I miss the joy, I miss the thrill.
I miss the sudden rush you get when you are on vacation.
But most of all, I miss you. :(
Heart's a mess.
I lost my heart the other day,
I searched for it far and wide,
This usually does not happen to me,
In you, I must confide.
I searched for it here, I searched for it there,
I searched for it everywhere,
In all the places I thought a lost heart would go,
A blood bank, a gift shop, even St. Valentine’s Cathedral.
I was about to give up all hopes then,
All dull and dejected,
That’s when I saw it right beside you,
Beating, and blushing a deep red.
I tried to call it back to me,
But all my tries were up in vain,
Tried to use its own against it,
Nothing worked, neither artery, nor vein.
I couldn’t see what it saw,
Heartless that I was,
What else would I be now?
I had suffered a great heart’s loss.
As a last resort, I told it
“You wouldn’t survive without blood”
It stared at me rather pointedly,
And said, for you, it would even eat mud.
It wouldn’t listen to me,
I thought it would listen to you,
One look of your gorgeous face,
It struck, heck, for you, I would eat mud too!
I searched for it far and wide,
This usually does not happen to me,
In you, I must confide.
I searched for it here, I searched for it there,
I searched for it everywhere,
In all the places I thought a lost heart would go,
A blood bank, a gift shop, even St. Valentine’s Cathedral.
I was about to give up all hopes then,
All dull and dejected,
That’s when I saw it right beside you,
Beating, and blushing a deep red.
I tried to call it back to me,
But all my tries were up in vain,
Tried to use its own against it,
Nothing worked, neither artery, nor vein.
I couldn’t see what it saw,
Heartless that I was,
What else would I be now?
I had suffered a great heart’s loss.
As a last resort, I told it
“You wouldn’t survive without blood”
It stared at me rather pointedly,
And said, for you, it would even eat mud.
It wouldn’t listen to me,
I thought it would listen to you,
One look of your gorgeous face,
It struck, heck, for you, I would eat mud too!
Monday, August 3, 2009
iLike
Music and I never got along. You could blame it on the fact that I am tone deaf or the fact that I can’t seem to remember more than two lines on any song that I might like/ crave or want to hear.
There have been days when I thought that Pink Floyd was a person and thought that Eminem was cool. Back when Desi pop existed and the only bands I had heard of were Metallica and Linkin Park (probably because they were etched out on our class room desks).
But slowly, I grew older, and the music around me did too. I experimented. I tried. I tested.
The Hindi songs had been hidden, and the soundtracks deleted.
And so now, I seek redemption. So here’s a list of 50 songs that I like. Two words. Go listen.
Sour Cherry – The Kills
Breakfast in NYC – Oppenheimer
Boys don’t cry – The Cure
Don’t look away – Joshua Radin
Shut up and drive – Rihanna
Always Love – Nada Surf
Hot and Cold – Katy Perry
Stripper - Soho Dolls
Girl you really got me now – Van Halen
We used to be friends – The Dandy Warhols
This Modern Love – Bloc Party
Torn – Natalie Imbruglia
Apologize – Timbaland
Just call me angel of the morning – The Pretenders
Section 9 - The polyphonic Spree
Jealous Girls – The Gossip
Do You Wanna – The Kooks
Where’d you go – Fort Minor
Hallelujah – John Cale
Believe – The Bravery
Vertigo- U2
Sand in my shoes - Dido
Kiss me – Six Pence None the Richer
Nice Dreams – Radiohead
Let’s go to the mall – Robin Sparkles
I kissed a girl – Katy Perry
These Photographs – Joshua Radin
Something to believe in – Aqualung
Little Boxes – Death Cab For Cutie
Popular Mechanics for Lovers – Beulah
The Reason – Hoobastank
Walking on the sun – Smash Mouth
Trouble Sleeping – The Perishers
Young Folks – Peter, Bjorn and John
Beautiful Beat – Nada Surf
Thank you – Dido
Crime Wave – Crystal Castles
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps – Doris Day
Caught in the Rain – Preston School of Industry
Gorgeous Behavior – Marching Band
Opposites attract – Paula Abdul
I Miss you – Blink 182
Soul meets Body – Death Cab for Cutie
Boom Boom Pow – Back Eyed Peas
Everytime – Lincoln Hawk
The way we get by – Spoon
I’d rather be with you – Joshua Radin
Right Round – Flo Rida
How Good It Can Be – The 88
If You Leave - Nada Surf
There have been days when I thought that Pink Floyd was a person and thought that Eminem was cool. Back when Desi pop existed and the only bands I had heard of were Metallica and Linkin Park (probably because they were etched out on our class room desks).
But slowly, I grew older, and the music around me did too. I experimented. I tried. I tested.
The Hindi songs had been hidden, and the soundtracks deleted.
And so now, I seek redemption. So here’s a list of 50 songs that I like. Two words. Go listen.
Sour Cherry – The Kills
Breakfast in NYC – Oppenheimer
Boys don’t cry – The Cure
Don’t look away – Joshua Radin
Shut up and drive – Rihanna
Always Love – Nada Surf
Hot and Cold – Katy Perry
Stripper - Soho Dolls
Girl you really got me now – Van Halen
We used to be friends – The Dandy Warhols
This Modern Love – Bloc Party
Torn – Natalie Imbruglia
Apologize – Timbaland
Just call me angel of the morning – The Pretenders
Section 9 - The polyphonic Spree
Jealous Girls – The Gossip
Do You Wanna – The Kooks
Where’d you go – Fort Minor
Hallelujah – John Cale
Believe – The Bravery
Vertigo- U2
Sand in my shoes - Dido
Kiss me – Six Pence None the Richer
Nice Dreams – Radiohead
Let’s go to the mall – Robin Sparkles
I kissed a girl – Katy Perry
These Photographs – Joshua Radin
Something to believe in – Aqualung
Little Boxes – Death Cab For Cutie
Popular Mechanics for Lovers – Beulah
The Reason – Hoobastank
Walking on the sun – Smash Mouth
Trouble Sleeping – The Perishers
Young Folks – Peter, Bjorn and John
Beautiful Beat – Nada Surf
Thank you – Dido
Crime Wave – Crystal Castles
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps – Doris Day
Caught in the Rain – Preston School of Industry
Gorgeous Behavior – Marching Band
Opposites attract – Paula Abdul
I Miss you – Blink 182
Soul meets Body – Death Cab for Cutie
Boom Boom Pow – Back Eyed Peas
Everytime – Lincoln Hawk
The way we get by – Spoon
I’d rather be with you – Joshua Radin
Right Round – Flo Rida
How Good It Can Be – The 88
If You Leave - Nada Surf
Friday, July 31, 2009
Circa 08
Destiny was back.
And so was I.
The sky was a crisp orange, the clouds hung low and lethargic. It was one of those days you would have preferred enjoying from the confines of your room, but still weren’t.
Neither was I.
I was waiting at the same café, with a similar croissant.
She walked in like a breeze, her wavy hair askew. She looked different now; it had been four years after all.
She smiled apologetically, but I knew she didn’t mean it. She never did.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant. I had a strong urgent feeling of Déjà vu.
I stared at her pointedly.
“All’s well?” she asked, acting innocent. Typical, I thought.
“No!” I replied, monosyllabically, a bit louder than I should have had, making the couple on the table next to ours jump up a bit.
“Uh-huh, so what’s wrong?” she asked, nibbling at the end of her chocolate tart.
I stared at her pointedly.
“Architecture” I said, as she nibbled at her tart again, “Remember that? Big bucks, all the glamour in the world and easy drawings?” I drawled sarcastically, putting in the drawl, so that she would understand that I was not happy.
She didn’t.
“Uh-huh” she said again, twirling her paper umbrella in her sweet lime, “ So let me get it straight, you don’t like it now, do you?”, she continued.
I would have had liked nothing better than to take the umbrella out of her drink and thrust it up her nose.
“News flash!” I said coldly, trying to keep the contempt and hysteria in my voice to a bare minimum. “Three years. No money. No glamour and I am not even going to tell you how tough the drawings can get!” I continued, noticing the slightest amount of derision in my voice. “And it’s third year!” I added in an exasperated tone, half-annoyed, half-surprised as to why she wasn’t getting my point.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to look away.
Her cell phone started ringing. “Question, tell me what you think about this…” crooned the phone. Destiny’s child’s Independent Woman. Clichéd.
She cut the call, as her forehead creased up with wrinkles. “Not important” she told me, dismissively.
I stared at her pointedly.
“So, where were we?” she asked.
I was sure she was out to get me.
“Oh yeah, I remember”, she said, calmly, taking a small bite out of her tart. She twitched her nose,” It’s too sweet for me, anyway, I think you should stop making a big deal about this, This year’s going to be fine!”
“Yeah?” I asked forcefully, “and how would you know?” I continued, not quite able to mask my irritation.
She stared at me pointedly.
“Uh-huh” I said, apologetically. She was destiny after all.
“Yeah, chill it”, she said dreamily, as if the last two minutes had never happened, “it’s going to be all right in the end. You’ll finish your work, have a great holiday, and not to forget, fourth year’s going to be a breeze!” she continued, smiling the dazzling smile of hers.
“Easy peasy”, she said, acting as if it summed it all up to that. “Trust me, I know!” with the air of someone who seemed to know a lot more than I did.
I stared at her pointedly.
Now, one year later, destiny doesn’t seem all that bad. :P
And so was I.
The sky was a crisp orange, the clouds hung low and lethargic. It was one of those days you would have preferred enjoying from the confines of your room, but still weren’t.
Neither was I.
I was waiting at the same café, with a similar croissant.
She walked in like a breeze, her wavy hair askew. She looked different now; it had been four years after all.
She smiled apologetically, but I knew she didn’t mean it. She never did.
She looked at me. I looked at her. There was nothing else to do.
“So.”, she started, after a particularly long pause in which I chomped off half of my croissant. I had a strong urgent feeling of Déjà vu.
I stared at her pointedly.
“All’s well?” she asked, acting innocent. Typical, I thought.
“No!” I replied, monosyllabically, a bit louder than I should have had, making the couple on the table next to ours jump up a bit.
“Uh-huh, so what’s wrong?” she asked, nibbling at the end of her chocolate tart.
I stared at her pointedly.
“Architecture” I said, as she nibbled at her tart again, “Remember that? Big bucks, all the glamour in the world and easy drawings?” I drawled sarcastically, putting in the drawl, so that she would understand that I was not happy.
She didn’t.
“Uh-huh” she said again, twirling her paper umbrella in her sweet lime, “ So let me get it straight, you don’t like it now, do you?”, she continued.
I would have had liked nothing better than to take the umbrella out of her drink and thrust it up her nose.
“News flash!” I said coldly, trying to keep the contempt and hysteria in my voice to a bare minimum. “Three years. No money. No glamour and I am not even going to tell you how tough the drawings can get!” I continued, noticing the slightest amount of derision in my voice. “And it’s third year!” I added in an exasperated tone, half-annoyed, half-surprised as to why she wasn’t getting my point.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to look away.
Her cell phone started ringing. “Question, tell me what you think about this…” crooned the phone. Destiny’s child’s Independent Woman. Clichéd.
She cut the call, as her forehead creased up with wrinkles. “Not important” she told me, dismissively.
I stared at her pointedly.
“So, where were we?” she asked.
I was sure she was out to get me.
“Oh yeah, I remember”, she said, calmly, taking a small bite out of her tart. She twitched her nose,” It’s too sweet for me, anyway, I think you should stop making a big deal about this, This year’s going to be fine!”
“Yeah?” I asked forcefully, “and how would you know?” I continued, not quite able to mask my irritation.
She stared at me pointedly.
“Uh-huh” I said, apologetically. She was destiny after all.
“Yeah, chill it”, she said dreamily, as if the last two minutes had never happened, “it’s going to be all right in the end. You’ll finish your work, have a great holiday, and not to forget, fourth year’s going to be a breeze!” she continued, smiling the dazzling smile of hers.
“Easy peasy”, she said, acting as if it summed it all up to that. “Trust me, I know!” with the air of someone who seemed to know a lot more than I did.
I stared at her pointedly.
Now, one year later, destiny doesn’t seem all that bad. :P
Friday, March 27, 2009
Are we there yet?
The thing about a relationship is that I have never been in one.
Being single in the city can be a lot of fun, the condition of sour grapes being left otherwise. Imagine the amount of alone time that you can get, and all the reading, writing and other things-that-I-can-alone-only you can achieve. But you sure do tend to miss out on a lot. A lot meaning free entries into pubs and clubs here.
Blame the hundred odd TV shows that I watch or the relationships that I have seen friends go through, I feel I too can write about them. So what exactly is a relationship about? Is it about a hundred violins, a dozen roses and two people and three little words. After all, Relationships don't work the way they do on television and in the movies. Will they? Won't they? And then they finally do, and they're happy forever.
For a short time, though.
So at which point do you decide to move on then? When do you finally decide to search for new signs? Is it as easy as trying to fill up a requisite checklist, because surely there isn’t any such thing as a mail-order relationship, is there? (there is, but that is another story.) Or is it as simple as wearing an “I am with stupid” t-shirt?.
And finally, when you do manage to find someone, at which point in the relationship, do you ask the single-most important question, “Are we there yet?”.
Being single in the city can be a lot of fun, the condition of sour grapes being left otherwise. Imagine the amount of alone time that you can get, and all the reading, writing and other things-that-I-can-alone-only you can achieve. But you sure do tend to miss out on a lot. A lot meaning free entries into pubs and clubs here.
Blame the hundred odd TV shows that I watch or the relationships that I have seen friends go through, I feel I too can write about them. So what exactly is a relationship about? Is it about a hundred violins, a dozen roses and two people and three little words. After all, Relationships don't work the way they do on television and in the movies. Will they? Won't they? And then they finally do, and they're happy forever.
For a short time, though.
So at which point do you decide to move on then? When do you finally decide to search for new signs? Is it as easy as trying to fill up a requisite checklist, because surely there isn’t any such thing as a mail-order relationship, is there? (there is, but that is another story.) Or is it as simple as wearing an “I am with stupid” t-shirt?.
And finally, when you do manage to find someone, at which point in the relationship, do you ask the single-most important question, “Are we there yet?”.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Gossip, Girl and me.
The thing about having more female friends than male friends is that you end up knowing a lot more about chick-lit and clothes than you should.Yeah; You’ve seen enough chick flicks to give you fodder to make one yourself and know exactly what a girl means when she says that she’s having a bad hair day. You also end up knowing who Carrie Bradshaw is and also know where in Bandra, you would find the cheapest imitation clothes. Bargaining comes easy to you too. Not to mention the ability to wait outside a restaurant for a little over an hour when a party of about ten girls comes late, nonchalantly
That, and the fact that I have a fashion designer, a hair stylist and a fashion journalist as female cousins in the family, and also the fact that my sister is an, in need of a better word, avid “Gossip girl” and “Sex and the city” fan. Plus the fact that she has whiled most of her Bombay life in Bandra, where I have not very bravely been her shopping companion. But that is another story.Not to mention, another cousin too.
Well, this one’s for all of you.
There’s S, There’s T. Engineering whizzes. Co-Harry Potter freaks. Train companions. Friends in Junior college who made those two years worth it
There’s B, self-proclaimed Drama queen, an agony aunt in need of an agony aunt herself.
There’s A.S, part-time blogger, part time Mtv VJ mimic. That’s when she’s not groaning about my blog and meat, that is
There’s M, mall-accomplice and gossip girl.
There’s I., who sees the right in being leftist, a Che-loving feminist by heart.
There’s Ri and there’s Re, sugar, spice and tempers that rise.
N, somebody who I love scoring “brownie” points. Pun intended.
There’s S.B, regional buddy, hyperventilator.
K, coolness and craziness personified
A.T, materialistic pig, just like me. A Delhi aunty.
There’s M.A, a winner at being a whiner ;)
There’s S.G and S.B, confidante and crazy butterfly.
And who are they?
Well, that is a secret I can’t tell. You know you love me. (At least, I do)
XOXO
me :)
That, and the fact that I have a fashion designer, a hair stylist and a fashion journalist as female cousins in the family, and also the fact that my sister is an, in need of a better word, avid “Gossip girl” and “Sex and the city” fan. Plus the fact that she has whiled most of her Bombay life in Bandra, where I have not very bravely been her shopping companion. But that is another story.Not to mention, another cousin too.
Well, this one’s for all of you.
There’s S, There’s T. Engineering whizzes. Co-Harry Potter freaks. Train companions. Friends in Junior college who made those two years worth it
There’s B, self-proclaimed Drama queen, an agony aunt in need of an agony aunt herself.
There’s A.S, part-time blogger, part time Mtv VJ mimic. That’s when she’s not groaning about my blog and meat, that is
There’s M, mall-accomplice and gossip girl.
There’s I., who sees the right in being leftist, a Che-loving feminist by heart.
There’s Ri and there’s Re, sugar, spice and tempers that rise.
N, somebody who I love scoring “brownie” points. Pun intended.
There’s S.B, regional buddy, hyperventilator.
K, coolness and craziness personified
A.T, materialistic pig, just like me. A Delhi aunty.
There’s M.A, a winner at being a whiner ;)
There’s S.G and S.B, confidante and crazy butterfly.
And who are they?
Well, that is a secret I can’t tell. You know you love me. (At least, I do)
XOXO
me :)
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