Winter Wonderland(s)

There are several things I must to blog about, but the words, they just won't come, stubborn saale. Delhi was a blur of lights and great lunches, of Bollywood sequences, my fear of dogs reinforced, weddings and candlelight, soft nights and wild days. In Patna now, I'm not sick anymore so that's good. Calcutta in two days and I cannot be more excited, although you should ask me again on the 30th for that.
Watched Tees Maar Khan, but more importantly, Sheila ki Jawani in a Patna theater. THERE WERE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AROUND THE SCREEN and it wasn't because it was Christmas - the last time this happened was during Didi Tera Devar Deewana from Hum Aapke Hain Kaun.
Haha.

Mikey, Mikey, dinosaur. :)

See, you would think Mayukh is, in general a complete idiot.
And he is.
But he used to have pretty hair, he makes you feel good about your height, he fixes your electronic gadgets, and says things like -

Mayukh - for all things cute in this world i want you two to meet and have crazy amimal sex for an entire weekend

And yet he will not give me money to fulfill his faith in the system. Asshole, I say. Chhi, Mikey.

Coming out of the closet, aka, best metaphor ever.

Anushka - "Don't get me started on you. You are not a closet emotional. If I start with you, there's a whole wardrobe to explore."
Me - "Wardrobe? What wardrobe? I'M NARNIA. There's a whole world inside the wardrobe for you to explore. And for the record this is a fantastic metaphor."

Heh heh heh.

Also, another conversation excerpt.

Tyger - "Can I draw on your nose?"
Me - "Depends. What would you draw?"
Tyger - "A smiley. A msn smiley. So when you go to kiss your man you'd leave a smiley imprint on his cheek."

I like you already. :)

I'm almost there, and thus, I'm almost back. I'm not predicting, I'm retrospect-ing.

I'm going to be almost be in a train in almost 24 hours and I'm almost going to be in Calcutta. Ergo I am already in Calcutta, and what is to happen has already happened. In an alternate universe, there is already a Facebook Photo Album and a gazillion comments.

And you thought Schrodinger (and his kittycat)was deep.
I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait. I've already planned my outfits (surprisingly, they DO fit in a reasonable amount of luggage, although my mum isn't letting me bring the blowdryer, so I'll be sticking with the oh-my-hair-is-an-artistic-mess-on-purpose look, if you must know.) I've picked out shoes and I know what I'm doing with my small-talk. I'MREADYI'MREADYI'MREADY (Spongebob style.)
When I meet Anushka, I shall be the epitome of cool. No dribbling, no stray spittle. I'll be like, Ohyeah, hey, yeah, I haven't seen you around in a while. I will not go omigoshomigoshomigosh and smother her to death.
When I see Bhaskar for the first time, I will be calm and composed and not bear-hug and simultaneously act like Father of the Bride. I will not hop.
When I see Shalmi, I will most certainly not pretend to be a dog and I will not bite her on her un-injured arm. Instead, I will ask after her health like a human being does, and then we shall indulge in light banter after making vague promises to meet again, oh we just MUST, like, totally, next time you're in town, okay? No, you should come to - No, you should - ohblargh.
When I meet Spriha, we shall. Maintain decorum.



House was right.
Everybody lies.
I just did.
Switch the verbs. That's my itinerary.
Oh! Calcutta.

THE SAHANA SRINIVASAN ROADSHOW IS COMING SOON TO CALCUTTA! BOOK YOUR TICKETS NOW!

I went shopping with my dad today. He was an absolute waste and could not tell the difference between two completely different sizes. He also went shirt shopping and bought a white shirt.
Are dads programmed to be this... pointless?
Which brings me to the next question,
Are all the boys we know going to turn into such mushbrains?
The entire gender is a waste of time, I tell you.
CALCUTTACALCUTTACALCUTTACALCUTTA!
Packing starting, packing starting, ohyes oh yes. Plans being made. Everybody's gonna be there. Camera charger found. Eyeliner packed. Clothes determined. Cholo, let's gooooooooooo.

Chasing Cars and Chowringhee.

After a long while, I get to sit alone in my room because the room mates are at classes and I have half a load of labwork to finish, but I decided to make life a little better by playing some old Snow Patrol. I found an old backup data disc yesterday which had all my PDFs of Megan McCafferty, Sophie Kinsella and Meg Cabot, and I haven't been this distracted in a while, which is saying a lot these days. Undomesticated Goddess is one of the happiest books ever written, it makes me happy, but then it makes me sad to realise that to appreciate what Samantha did, I need to become a workaholic first, and I don't see that happening anytime in the near future.
My mum dropped by yesterday, it was the sweetest thing. She left behind sambar-rice and curd-rice, and a bottle of hot and sweet sauce, and I think I love her. :D
My backup disc also had a post that I'd written almost a year ago, in fact it's exactly a year since I wrote it, I think. In my opinion, it's the best thing I've ever written, but I will probably show it to no one because I'm afraid you'll think otherwise.
I miss being contemplative and quiet, the kid in the corner who used to blog a little too much. I miss writing for fun, and I would like to miss writing my lab journals because they are a waste of my time. I miss writing stories about wispy love and love gone sour. I miss writing about people with no names. I don't think I'll ever be capable of writing something oddly romantic again because I'm afraid of setting standards for myself. And I'm afraid of writing morbid things because I don't want them to come true. Although status quo isn't much to write home about either. So much for emotions setting you free and all that jazz.
I like angsty Snow Patrol better than cutesy Snow Patrol, or maybe it's just the mood I'm in. I miss my iPod. I miss Calcutta. It's one of those days again when I miss Calcutta. I know I'm going back but I'm never going back to what I left behind. All I will be returning to are empty cupboards and cobwebs. Part of me wants to go back, but if I go back, it will only serve to cement the fact that Calcutta is a phase that is most definitely over. School is over. Classes are over. The little store outside school where we ate like crazy are over. We know other people we're involved in other lives now. It will take me more than a year to deal with this. I want to go back I don't want to go back. Because people will have changed. Our lives have changed. In the long run it is for the best but it makes withdrawal symptoms harder.
I live in Chennai now. To say that sentence with conviction will take me a lifetime. I will live in any other city with more willingness than Chennai. It's not Chennai's fault, but I'm too egotistical to admit otherwise. No song reminds me of Chennai. No song will remind me of the streets I used to walk in the evenings and watch people play football. No clue to the way I could walk up to Sreeja and Harshita's houses. I can't do that anymore. We'll never be in the first row of school again. We'll never stare at balloons named Jeff Buckley II instead of listening to Chemistry.
Never say Never is a STUPID saying.
Never happens always. To deal with it is the hardest thing you'll put yourself through. I never understood cold turkey quitting in Shantaram, but I get it now. I used to be addicted to Calcutta I guess. I will probably not be able to define exactly why. Just the way I can never define why I love Snow Patrol so much.
But probably Lightbody and Landsdowne are more connected than you think.

Everybody lies.

My mother borrowed a book from my grandfather once removed, a book of short stories by O.V. Vijayan. I'm in my "comfortable with familiarity" phase, so I haven't begun reading it, besides my mother is still reading it. But there are these bookmarks in the book featuring a quote by Aldous Huxley, which when grossly misquoted comes out to something like, After silence, music is what comes closest to expressing the inexpressible.
So there is music, and there are songs that alter life as I know it when I listen to them. I recently started watching House, but I knew its theme song from before, Teardrop by Massive Attack, which once featured as number one on a list of top makeout songs. (Stop judging me. Give a kid enough free Internet and that kid will know pretty much everything Wikipedia has to offer.).
So yeah. Teardrop. Massively sexy beat. Perhaps it's my Biology fetish or just the distortion in the track, but there is something very basic about the bass/drums/synth beat/whatever. I mean, um, of course it's basic, it's the heartbeat. It's classified as trip-hop and I understand completely.
I bought clothes today. Suddenly shopping has become far less laborious than it used to be. Even though I still stand by my ideal of Chennai-ites having blind cross-dressing monkeys as personal stylists, I've discovered that clothes that aren't as disgusting are in fact, available here. Plus, I finally fit into a size label Small, which my mum discovered and almost did a jig for, because her kid just went from Size - "Maternity Clothes in France" to Size - Small. (Please do not ask about the France thing. It is a deeply scarring and tumultuous story from my past. No really.) Anyway so we bought clothes. I feel happy. Pasta for dinner. And I downloaded "Whip It" and there's a tub of ice-cream. I have a feeling tonight's going to be a gute gute nacht.

Waiting for the Sun

So, where I used to live lived this little kid who is no longer little, but when he used to be little, he used to be one of the darndest ones ever. When he watched Koi Mil Gaya, he was so inspired by that solar panel on that cow-like alien Jadoo's head that he asked his mum very seriously - "Will I be supercharged too, if I stand in the sun?" And his mum, who naturlich thought he was joking, said yes, he would most certainly be supercharged if he stood in the sun. 

For about a week later, at 6:00 am, which was when the sun rose in Calcutta, you could see a little seven year old boy in his Dragonball-Z underwear, skinny legs and protruding ribcage, standing tall squinting at the sky, ramrod straight on the windowsill, waiting for the sun.

Will your system be alright when you dream of home tonight?

I'm listening to the Killers, and Hot Fuss reminds of the times SGpt. burnt those mixed CDs and did permanent marker art on them, my first year of indie and alternative music and this was nearly five years ago. Everything seems to be associated with a memory these days, maybe that's the definition of growing old. Of having done so many things that other things remind you of things you left behind. 

There was a night in Sood's car, she was dropping off me and SGpt. and we sang Andy You're a Star and Believe Me Natalie, and it was dark outside. The windows were rolled up and we were in some tiny little street with names that merge and there was scattered lights from the shops outside. 

There was the Geography exam outside Summit where we sang "There's a Reason the Tables are Numbered", we wanted to be scene kids so bad Sood and I had our hair in pigtails and we shared one set of colour pencils.

Looking back makes going forward seem less interesting sometimes.

Listening to The Killers Discography - I Can't Stay, Day and Age.

Why Don't We Do It In The Road?

I watched TV after so long.
You know, there's that ad for Orra Platinum that's just incredibly sexy. The guy with the crazy hair and that lusty look and that girl who's wearing his shirt.
Muchos sexy.

Anushka Sen, STOP what you're thinking right now, it's not like that, I liked it aagey theke. Kindly refrain from acting annoyingly all-knowing in the comment box.

The highway from Vellore to Chennai is so beautiful, one day I want to walk down it. Except that it's 130 kilometres and I'll probably be a potato chip by the time I get there.

Girl with crimson nails has Jesus 'round her neck

I've overdosed on chick flicks, chili cheese spread, Bingo Tomato Triangles, transatlantic phone calls and innuendo.
The post office lady at IndiaPost, v. Vellore is inquisitive to the bone mind you. Miiiind ittt.
Not to mention batshit-crazy. HOW, you tell me, is registered post faster than Speedpost? Speedpost is supposed to be Speedier, hence the name.
Right?


If you hear Anushka laugh about the colour yellow ever, then it's probably my fault. It's not my fault blondes are weird.

No, I'm not drunk, fuck you.

I miss having my own room because sometimes I want to sing My Chemical Romance at the top of my voice and pretend to be all heartbroken and angsty. "AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS IN MY ARMS SHE DIEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS SHE DIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS". Rather therapeutic.

One line that always gets stuck in my head is that Beatles song - "I want you, I want you so bad, it's driving me mad, it's driving me mad".
Sexy hai, kaafi sexy hai.