The 'SO-first year-engineering' look

Ok fine. In 1999, I ragged a junior guy in uni and made him cry.

I was young and foolish. And on a perpetual high about being the only girl in the group of hockey-stick wielding guys I hung out and ragged juniors with.

Am not very proud of it. So don't ask me for details. Those who know, know.

When I related the incident to one of my friends, he asked me, "How on earth did you get away with ragging your juniors? Didn't the fella just refuse to do what you ask him to do? And what would you do if he did?"

I could not answer him at once. But I thought about it later. Pehaps my gang days' experience played a part. Perhaps it's the fact that I showed the authority on my face. The authority of a senior who knows her way around too well. And the fact that sitting in the canteen, you can instantly identify the freshies, they have that certain "SO-first-year-engineering" look, the way they dress, the way they talk, the way they behave, it's easier to intimidate them because they know you know your way around and you know they don't.

Just like the look you can find on the face of 'the contract programmer who flew in from India this morning' or 'the first year master's nerd', there is a typical 'SO-first-year-engineering' look. I suppose I had that look too when I first came to uni. And that look got me ragged too!

Actually, it was never called 'ragging'. They called it 'orientation'. And yes, I was oriented too. Starting with getting severely reprimanded for calling the senior guys "Bhaiya" (elder brother), to being asked to stand on the steps and play antakshari against myself for an hour while the guy who ragged me said, "Am gonna get a coke. You continue singing." And sing I did. Just because he had the "I've been around" look while I tried desperately to get rid of my 'So-first-year-engineering' one.

I was reminded of all this because of something funny that happened in uni today.

I was almost hit on by two first-years.

Could be the jeans and the T-shirt. (This morning, I blacked out again so went for my blood test. Since I did not go to work, I went to uni in casuals.)

Could be the horrifying demographics I saw -- higher number of Indian guys, barely any Indian girls.

Could be the fact that I was working on my assignment in the library where the undergrads go. (I prefer to work there instead of the postgrad one because it brings back memories of my undergrad days.)

Could be the casual shirt I had on top. To protect me from the freezing cold temperature of my classroom. (When I go to uni from office, I usually take a blazer or a shawl.)

Could be the hair. (I had washed it this morn and hadn't bothered to straighten it so it was in its wildest punk glory.)

Could it be that today I had the 'SO-first-year-engineering' look?????

As I stepped out of the library, I heard some shuffling of feet behind. Two Indian guys, both 'SO first-year-engineering'! One of them said, "Main bulata hoon, tu baat kar!" I don't blast music on the ipod so I could hear them clearly. Besides, Jaggu was crooning a very soft number. I heard some more scuffling of feet, and some pushing and shoving as I walked off. As I walked further away from them, I heard the ring of disappointment in the final statement, "Kya yaar..."

I couldn't stop laughing as I walked away.

What if they'd dared to approach me? 18-year-old kids trying to hit on who they thought was another 18-year-old?

Would have been fun.

I'd have made them cry.

Surprise!

On Saturday, I woke up feeling... well... let's just say 'not myself'. Yes, yes I know I need to get that blood test done asap. I'm not being lazy! I just don't wanna go to another doctor and have to explain the whole story again. Maybe it isn't such a bad idea to print that blog post and pass it to him instead of the 'medical history' form.

Anyway, I got up and painfully made my way to the library to do my assignment which is due this week. This library has huge glass walls and you can see what's happening inside. As I walked towards it, I noticed an incredibly cute toddler, all of three maybe, sitting on the library floor right next to the glass walls. Mommy was perhaps busy in the magazine section, finding out 'how to look thin in 5 minutes' and the bored kid was trying to keep himself busy. By pressing his little palms (which were like a quarter the size of my palms!) and his tiny nose against the glass, looking at the world outside.

The sight was so comical that in spite of not feeling well, I could not help but smile at him. I expected him to blush and scoot, as you would expect a toddler to do, but he actually smiled back, with his nose still pressed against the glass wall. I burst into laughter. He waved at me. I waved back.

And just like that, my day was made. I did not feel ill anymore.

I could not help but wonder -- we love surprises, don't we? We expect our near and dear ones to give us surprises. But without even knowing it, we're getting surpises all the time. Everywhere we look, strangers around us are surprising us with simple smiles and gestures.

- The bus driver who grins at me because I just dashed towards his bus (dressed in formals) in the most un-lady-like manner.

- The cleaning lady at work who smiles at me because I made sure I did not step on the part of the floor she was mopping.

- The lady at the bus stop who offers me a lift under her umbrella during torrential rain because I forgot mine at home.

- The tea guy who cracks really bad jokes when we go to buy tea from him just because he wants us to talk to him beyond "One tea please".

- The colleague I barely knew who gave me the pink gerbera.

- The little boys and girls who work at MOS burger and grin at me when I ask them for a spoon to eat my spicy MOS cheeseburger (don't laugh, the ultra delicious sauce spills out if you try to eat the burger the usual way!).

- The cleaning lady who empties my dustbin at work every day, and chats with me in spite of not knowing much English.

- The canteen guy in uni who probably sees thousands of faces every day and yet, recognises me after three years and asks, "You study here before, isn't it?"

- The school kid in the bus who shyly asks me for 30 cents because he does not have enough change to pay his bus fare, and profusely thanks me thirteen times before alighting.

- Strangers on my blog leaving messages with that instant connection factor, making me feel like I have known them for ages.

Look out. Strangers are giving us surprises all the time.

All in a moment's work

Some things are instantaneous. And there's always a very specific moment when they happen.

Like getting crushes.

And getting over crushes.

There's always that one moment when it happens, and that one moment when you get over it.

When I was ten, there was a guy in the same class as me, but in another section. The only time I saw him was during the morning assembly, and after school when we hung around in the school grounds waiting for the school bus. And I remember very clearly what the moment of my crush was. He was at the cricket ground, teaching a six-year-old first-grader how to hold a cricket bat. And as I stood behind a tree and watched him, just like that, in that very moment, I got a crush on him.

A couple of days later, for the first time ever, I heard him speak. And just like that, the moment I heard his voice, crash went my crush. There was just something about the way he spoke, that in a moment, I just lost my crush for him.

I proceeded to develop a crush on his best friend, who had just moved into my neighbourhood. That also happened in a moment. The moment was when he came to me and asked me, "Hi. What time does the school bus reach your bus stop? I'll be taking the bus with you from tomorrow." There was something so innocent in the way he looked at me and asked that question. That was the moment of my crush.

A few days later, he came to my house to return a comic book I'd lent him. I remember the day very clearly. I was cleaning my bicycle. It was upside down, and I was using an old toothbrush to clean the insides of the mudguard, when I saw him (through the bicycle spokes) walk up to me. In yellow shorts. And I strongly suspect they had tiny red flowers on them. And that was it. It was the end. That was the moment when my crush was over.

Fast forward to the present. Cute French exchange student who breathes life into some of my most dreary lessons just by his mere presence, interrupts the hapless professor to enquire why the campus does not have condom-vending machines.

And just like that, my crush evaporates.

All in a moment.

Is this what differentiates a crush from a non-crush perhaps?

Who's reading your blog?

Incident 1
I was cleaning my room when I heard a soft voice croon on the radio, "I'm a professional blogger." It instantly caught my attention.

I couldn't help but wonder -- What the hell is a 'professional blogger'????
Someone who gets paid to put her thoughts online for others to read?
Or someone who gets paid to put "her" thoughts online for others to read?

Incident 2
A few days ago, someone I've known for about a year emailed me her blog url with the words, "Since I've been reading your blog, it's only fair that you should know mine." I was impressed. To give someone your blog url is a huge step. The moment you do it, you have sealed your fate as far as your relationship with that person is concerned. People may not realise it, but being a blog reader entails a lot of responsibilty. And I was glad she believed me to be capable of that.

These two incidents set me thinking again about the age old questions -- why do we blog? Who's reading our blog? And where do we stop? Here are my thoughts.

1. Why do we blog?

A blog (short for 'weblog') is an online journal.
A journal is private.
A weblog is public.
It doesn't seem to make sense.
But it does.

My blog has my thoughts. It is not a magazine. It is not a newspaper. It is my blog. And my blog is public because I chose it to be so. It is my decision because it is my blog. And because it is my blog, no one, I repeat, no one has the right to dictate what I blog about.

I blog to figure things out.
I blog to figure myself out.
I blog to figure life out.

2. Who's reading our blog?

When we set up our own little blog, we're all excited. We blog away to glory. On every single topic under the sun. Then we visit other blogs. We see comments, discussions. We yearn for them. We give our blog url to a friend or two. If they like it, they pass on the url, or blogroll us. In the beginning, it's all fun as everyone jumps in and talks about stuff that everyone has thoughts on. After a while, as your thoughts mature, you begin to realise that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to give person X your blog url. Person X has meanwhile, passed on the blog url to many more people. Many of which you wish you could kick off you blog.

Do you ever really know who is reading your blog? Your husband, your in-laws, your girlfriend, your boyfriend, your boyfriend's mother, your ex, your middle-aged uncle in Gomtinagar, your sarcastic boss, that sniggering colleague you can't stand, the guy you fired last week, that junior you ragged in college five years ago, the guy whose heart you broke last month, your room-mate, your pizza delivery guy, your building watchman? And the list goes on. Last month, a guy who frequents my living room almost every weekend disclosed to me that he was a certain commentator Z on my blog!

So yes, it's safe to assume that everyone -- everyone you know, and everyone you don't know --- is reading your blog. But the best part is -- it's possible to reach that stage where it doesn't matter. The whole world can be reading it for all you care, but you don't hold yourself back.

3. Where do we stop?

Now since we're working on the assumption that everyone is reading our blog, where do we stop? Where do we check ourselves and say, "Stop, don't post that! Someone may be reading it!"

Do we have to stop in the first place?

A friend once asked me, "How do you do it? How are you so open on your blog?" It set me thinking. My blog is me. And I want to be open. Without having to mentally scan through the number of people who are about to read that eyebrow-raising-scandalous-horrifying post that I'm writing.

My take is -- if someone has a problem with you being open, well, it is indeed their problem. If we have to sense and monitor our thoughts before we post them, then that's the end of thoughtless thoughts, isn't it? If you're opening up your thoughts online, the least a reader can do is respect it, and not judge you. If your boyfriend wants to break up with you over a blog post, it is his loss, not yours. 'Cos that's you and he obviously can't handle that 'you'.

(Having said that, here's why I do not pass on my blog to my family. They don't know the blog rules. They will not hesitate before asking, "Why did you write that?" or "So what exactly happened after that?" or "Who was yesterday's blog about?" And when family asks such questions, it's hard not to answer.)

A friend once said, "The ideal blogging scenario is when everyone of the writers and readers are anonymous." No complications. But it's not possible to achieve that. The real world is not like that. So let's just blog away, bloggers. Without a care as to whether something you wrote is ringing a bell in someone's head, or raising a few eyebrows.

I write from my heart. Because that's the way I want to write. When I started blogging, I was writing things like, "Ok this happened." and "That happened." And then one fine day, I started blogging differently. Incidents became a platform for deeper thoughts. Honesty came to the forefront.

And the day I started writing with honesty, I felt a change within myself. I found myself getting closer to myself. I liked the new me. I may have angered a few people in the whole "I'm-just-being-honest" process, but I discovered something amazing -- the more honest I was, the more honesty I discovered in other bloggers and blog readers. And that kind of brought us all together, even though we don't know one another. To love, respect and admire things about each other. To identify with each other without judging each other. To me, that's what blogging should be all about.

The winds are changing direction. Our thoughts on our blogs in the virtual world are slowly gelling with the words we say and the actions we carry out in the real world. The real us and the virtual us are overlapping to the point when there's no difference any more. Our blogs are slowly turning into the real us. No layers. And that's when life becomes exceedingly simple.

Bloggers, blog honesty is contagious.

Beware, you may already have caught it.

But if you dare to trust me, I will tell you that it rocks.

Punked!

"Hic... Sorry... Hic... Sorry... Hic... Sorry... Hic..."

Today my hairdresser Alan (the only guy who has unlimited touching access to my hair) was suffering from chronic hiccups.

So now I look like a 14-year-old rockstar punk.

Don't kill me before I die

Yesterday, I kinda blacked out during my class.

Annual blackout day. Damn, it's time for another haemoglobin test.

It's bad when you have anaemia. Worse when it's the genetic kind. Worst when you have thalassemia on top. Genetic diseases are like annoying relatives. For most of the year, they don't bother you, but you keep bumping into them at family weddings and you have to politely say, "Hello, how are you?" knowing fully well that there's no way you can shrug them off for good.

I am plagued by memories of my last haemoblogin test, which followed last year's blackout.

Firstly, the lab guy could not find my vein!

"I can't find your vein." He said to me, looking puzzled.

"Errr... " What was I supposed to do??

"Let me try the other arm." He took my other arm.

After trying the needle in several directions, he looked distraught.

"I can't find your vein."

"Well, I'm sure it IS there, isn't it?"

He wasn't amused. Finally, ten minutes later, he found it. Drew some blood out in one of those tiny evil bottles.

"Oh no."

"What now?"

"Air bubbles. I need to draw again."

"Jesus Christ!" I thought to myself.

Repeated the whole painful process again. I felt like telling him, "My anaemia is because of you people, man! I can't donate blood to the Red Cross, but every year, I donate loads to such clinics! What a waste."

The following week, I went to pick up my report.

The lab guy refused to give it to me!

"The doctor will give it to you himself, he needs to talk to you first."

"About?"

"He will tell you himself." He looked at me nervously. Even I wasn't nervous and he was?!

I went into the doc's room.

"Oh hiiii!" He gave me a nervous plastic smile. Why was everyone so nervous, man??

"Hello doctor, you wanted to talk to me?"

"Errr... yes, you want to sit down?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks!"

"Are you sure? I think you should sit down."

I sat down.

"Ok, so what's the bad news?" I smiled. (I was having fun!)

"Yeah... so we tested your blood... and..."

Long pause.

Dammit. I was getting hungry.

"Doc, is this about my thalassemia?"

His jaw dropped. It literally dropped.

"You know about it??"

"Yeah, I do."

"Ohhh...." He looked so disappointed at the apparent lack of any need for the long lecture he must have prepared on "how to break the news to the poor girl".

"So you know what it is?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You know the implications? Your red blood cells die faster than other people's." He looked kinda horrified.

"Yeah yeah!" I thought to myself. Why was he making such a big deal outta it? It wasn't even a glamorous illness, the kind used in movies like Mili, where the central character is like everyone's jaan, and then she has this rare and terminal blood disease, and then she dies in the end. And everyone walks out of the theatre in tears.

"You must be careful, you know?" The doc jolted me back to reality from my filmi world.

"Careful about?"

"Because your red blood cells die very quickly, your energy level is very low, you know?" He said with a very serious face.

"Hahahahaha! Ooopss... " I was grinning like an idiot. Low energy level indeed!

He gave me a strange, worried look.

"So? What have you been doing about it so far?"

"Well, nothing much. It's genetic, so I can't control it. When I get my annual blackout, I get tested that it's still under control. The docs give me some folic acid, and that's it. Till the next time."

"But there's something else. Do you know that you can't take iron tablets for your anaemia because they will interfere with your thalassemia?"

"Yeah."

"So it's kind of complex."

"Yeah, it is."

The doc was lost. I was bored.

Dude, I'm doing fine. Don't kill me before I die.

Who says short skirts and ghazals can't go together?

I was in the train on the way back from uni, cribbing to an Indian classmate (married and has a kid) about how I had to miss the Jagjit Singh concert because of the class. She turned to me and gave me a surprised look.

"You listen to ghazals??"

"I adore them!"

"As in, you're into them or you just casually listen to them?"

"Yeah, I'm into them. Bigtime."

"As in, you understand them, the lyrics and all?"

"Yeah, I try to. I look the words up if I don't know the urdu words. Why?"

"Nothing! Well... looking at you... you know... one can't tell you're into ghazals... besides, you're like what... 25??"

"Ummm.. yeah. So?" I was a bit apprehensive as to what she was getting at. Was it weird for me to listen to ghazals?

"Nothing. It's... it's great actually."

"Yes. It is! Thank you!" I smiled at her.

"It is great!" I thought to myself. "There is nothing weird about it."

Now why did I need a whole other person to remind myself of that?

It's ghazaltime! And here's my current playlist:

Kabhi yun bhi aa meri aankhon mein ki meri nazar ko khabar na ho
Tujhe dekhne ki dua karoon toh dua mein meri asar na ho

Karoon na yaad magar kis tarah bhulaaun usey
Ghazal bahana karoon aur gungunaaun usey

Dil dhadakne ka sabab yaad aaya
Woh teri yaad thi, ab yaad aaya

Dhoop mein niklo ghataaon mein nahakar dekho
Zindagi kya hai kitabon ko hatakar dekho

Kabhi khamosh baithoge, kabhi kuchh gungunaoge
Main utna yaad aaunga, mujhe jitna bhulaaoge

Tum yeh kaise juda ho gaye
Har taraf har jagah ho gaye

Shaam se aankh mein nami si hai
Aaj phir aapki kami si hai

Fired!

I got fired on Saturday.

By myself.

I realised I could not do it any more. It was getting increasingly difficult for me to juggle my crazy schedules, my job, my studies and generally having a life. I'd started to realise that lately I'd not been able to concentrate on my tutoring. And if I don't do a good job, I fire myself.

And that's what I did. And now I am really sad.

Not only is it a severe blow to my 'concerts and shoes' budget, it's a personal loss. Because I adore the little girl.

Dear professional siao, I will miss you and the most insightful and delightful science lessons we've had over the last one year. I will miss your atrocious English and the many jokes we have shared and the hideous laughter. And your ankle-licking dog. And the indecent proposals I got.

You're gonna get a new science tutor soon. And unlike me, he/she will probably not ask you to state the difference between 'breathing' and 'respiration' in every single lesson. You must be so glad about that.

But you know what? It's probably wrong of me to feel this way, but I secretly hope that you don't like him/her as much you like me.

And I sure do hope you never tell your new tutor how many uncles Lily has.

That's our own little secret, okay?

My andekha anjana

This could prove to a huge mistake but today I'm gonna disclose my oldest and deepest secret. I just feel like I have to let it out.

As I was packing to move into my new house, I came across my DDLJ dvd. And as I stared at the cover, I sensed myself falling in love with the movie all over again. I was transported back to the time when the whole concept of the 'andekha anjana' (the unseen, unknown) as depicted in movies like DDLJ and DTPH, used to be so romantic, so dreamy.

My friends and I were crazy about all the movies of that genre. To the point of madness. And here comes the really crazy part -- I even had my own andekha anjana!

Yes, in my mind and heart, I had formed an image of my dream guy. The guy who when funny was so utterly funny, and when serious was so utterly serious that you could never really understand him fully. The guy who could give me goosebumps with just one look. The guy who was arrogant and yet, vulnerable. The guy who could read right through my thoughts. The guy who loved me the most in the whole world. The guy who woke up every morning and thanked his stars for having me in his life. The guy whose friends woke up every morning and cursed themselves that he met me first. (don’t laugh now! I really believed all this!)

His entire personality was crystal clear in my mind and heart. I knew exactly how he was, how his thought process was, how he felt about things, how he reacted to things. Yes, he was so real, it was freaky.

And if this is not crazy enough, I even had a name for him. After shortlisting down to three names, I finally decided to call him 'Sameer'. 'Cos to me, that was (and probably still is) the best sounding guy name on earth.

Because I had created him, I knew everything about him. Except of course, how he looked like. That never seemed important anyway. I believed in his existence so strongly that he just had to exist. For my sake.

I could feel it. Sameer was always around, watching over me. Waiting to show himself.

Friends and cousins laughed at me, but I lived my entire teenage living that (silly?) dream that one day he would turn up at my doorstep and say, “Recognise me?”

And somehow, I would.

As time passed, and I crossed paths with more and more people, I realised that there was no one around who could be even close to what Sameer was to me. Perhaps in my immature mind, I had formed too strong a personality for him. To the point that I was never able to equate him to any of the ‘real’ guys I knew. So I learnt to laugh at myself and my crazy ideas. And finally I dismissed Sameer as someone who could not exist in real life.

I got over him.

(Is it strange to get over a guy you were never even together with?)

My life took its own turns. My ideas and thoughts about matters of the heart also changed. Some, quite drastically. But I am still not sure if I have completely shaken off my old thoughts. Once in a while, I do revisit that thought, I do think about him. But I have learnt not to get too much into it. The pure and absolute charm of the idea that I delighted in, one that was my own precious little secret with myself, has probably melted away to reveal the realities of life.

I used to think that I would meet my andekha anjana and we would live happily ever after. But I realise that's probably not a good thing to happen. Perhaps when the andekha and anjana is not andekha and anjana anymore, the charm of the whole thing just evaporates away, leaving behind harsh realities. That fear is very real. And obviously one can't spend a lifetime with just the idea of an andekha anjana. When practicality takes over, and logic rules, dreamy thoughts seldom last.

So maybe it is best to shrug off this idea for good.

But on the other hand, I am too much of a dreamer to be able to do that. Maybe my andekha anjana is still out there, watching over me.

And if he is, I'd want him to always stay andekha and anjana.

I have formed my world, my life, without him.

I hope he does not turn up at my doorstep one fine day and confuse me with a “Recognise me?”

Hi Virdi, I'm Sayesha. Big fan.

Today I wanna write about Virdi. Yes, our very own friendly neighbourhood Virdi.

I don't know him. Have never met him. And yet, the way we banter on my blog, one would think we were friends from preschool! There is this air of familiarity around him that makes everyone who passes by my blog feel that they know him so well that they're entitled to take a shot at him. And everyone does!

On 12th May 2005, Virdi came to my blog from Weird Hair Anil's. (And no, I dunno Weird Hair Anil either!) Virdi saw a picture of my hand on my blog, plucked it out and posted it on his blog. And he spotted another picture and posted it yet again here! And that's how the legend of the hand-stalker came about. Everyone wanted to know "the crazy guy who is crazy about Sayesha's hand". Including me (of course I was damn curious! What did you think?). And that's how I came across his blog.

As I read his posts, I realised that his mind thought faster that his fingers typed the words, often leaving his readers baffled. So I left a comment on his blog, "Post karne se pehle proofread kar le yaar!". He could have said "£$@% you, it's my blog!" (or rather "duck you!" in typical Virdi ishtyle), But he actually started proofreading! Wow!

We became regular visitors on each other's blog. Formal turned to friendly turned to abusive. He spared no one -- his friends, my friends, strangers, anonymouses, no one. He has called me a fool, a donkey, a lesbian, an idiot, 'abey', 'saaley' and what not. That too, on MY blog.

And yet, he was the first one to give me a 'jadu ki jhappi' over blogsphere when I was depressed.

Today, he is such an important part of my blog that often people go, "Forget what Sayesha wrote on her blog. Forget what Virdi wrote on his blog. Let's check out what Virdi commented on Sayesha's blog!" I get revisits from people who want to see what new issue Virdi, WH Anil, Sahil and I are squabbling over next.

His obsession to be 12 all over again... the way he comes back in spite of the heavy duty sabo that he goes through on my blog when everyone jumps into the bandwagon... the utter nonsense he spouts at times... the way he asks really personal questions (and gets away with it!)... his expertise at abusing relatives of mean anonymous commentors... the way he slaps, punches and kicks himself on my behalf after making an indecent comment... the way he completely changes the focus of a 1000-word blog post with one simple one-liner... the way he pisses me off and then quickly apologises...

I swear man, he's pissed me off real bad many times, but how on earth can one stay angry with such a guy? I can't. And though I know in the future, he will be pissing me off again, but I know we'll be back soon, squabbling away like before.

Here are some classic Virdisms we should all relive. (Long list alert!)

I can't get over how much sense there is in some of his nonsense.

// u can delete the galis wala comment... sorry again..

//hey, that frog could have been some prince. Did you try kissing it?? Uff... U missed the chance to marry the Prince of Bhatinda.

//hey sayesha... i am totally fida over your hand.. no i am serious... yeh haaath mujhe de de sayesha... now u can find this photo on my blog too.. i cant stop myself. and by the way what do you mean by ANGILIMAAL VIRDI??? teri toh... dekh loonga tere ko... u dont know my gussa... jab virdi ko gussa aata hai toh fir jwala mukhi fatta hai.. (taken directly from chacha chaudhary comics) your hand is now on my blog..

//and main us Sinnerman ke baache ko bhi dekh loonga.. but first "hi sinnerman, thanks for the hand ka photo.. "

//abe i am pakka male... anil shut the duck up... stop giggling... u ass.. shut up.. and yes sayesha just shut ur gob... sahil u idiot i am male... kar diya mera popat?? happy?? big fat fool..

//i am not J about her hand Sahil... i am J about her khushiyan.. she is having fun with kids and goes to Cambodia for masti marofy trip and me sado in some stupid office.. thats why J.. me to full fida over Sayesha's hand.. and if possible i could marry her hand.. not full sayesha.. she might say sardar (a.k.a sar-dard) get lost.. ;-) anyways i like her hand lots doesnt mean i hate her.. just that someone might kill me...

//hey sayesha
may be your dad would say... JAO BETA LE JAO ISKA HAATH... Tum se ziada iske haath ko koi nahi chahta hai.. jao beta le jao.. (like in DDLJ Bauji says to Kajol : Ja beta ja is se ziada tujhe koi pyar nahi kar sakta) and then i will do the Gabbar Singh trick.. ek jhatke mein i will..... he he he he... wicked me.. and rama was Hindu or Buddhist i dont know but he was not Buddhu as Viv (not richards) said.. he was god?? hey come on he is just a character of a novel... if he is god then Harry Potter is the... whatever.. and i am a Dutchman... well its belief.. we shoudl not start a differct topic here.. sayesha i am in love with your hand... main aab kya karoon?? :-?

//hey sayesha... u said "you rock my word" small story. there was some election rally in Madras and one mf my friends, saw a poster of Jayalalita lying on the ground and brought it to his hostel room and pasted it on his door. Written under it was "SHE ROCKS MY WORLD" hehehe... now thats funny...
nothing about ur blog... just yaad a gaya tha that incident..

//Everyone has a problem if u are not married. No one ever asked. "Beta why are you getting married??"

//what you can do is, put some "Spicy Masala" and some "Mirchi Powder" on your ankels. And let the dog lick your ankels once. I believe that would be the last time the doggie would come near you. ;-) I am so smart.. trumpet..

//i want to be 12 years again... i want to i want to i want to !!! school was fun... i even slapped "anil-weird hair" once and he fell on my feet saying mujhe maaf kar do... he ha ha he ha ha.. mogambo ka bhateeja gogo khush hua...

//what is happening here??? mere peeth peeche???

//That was an editor speaking !!! That was an editor speaking !!! That was an editor speaking !!!
V..
PS : did the proof-reading. :-)

//nahi you are not doing publicity... and some people like your hands so much what to do madam?? next post should be only hands and then i will explain all the minute details about my love, errrr, i mean your hands... how awesome they are...

//Sayesha, one big "Jadoo Ki Jhappi" to you... and yes sometimes, how ever strong men show they are, we really want a big hug from our dear ones...

// sayesha you could have taken this "flower photo" with the hand also being shown. why did you do this to me?? why why why?? one more hand photo please. iis marte hua insaan mein thodi si jaan phoonk do madam, allah tumhara bhala karega!!! wanted a photo with flower in your hand.

//anil and my praise?? hmmmph kabhi nahi...
Pan Pasand, gazab ka swad gale ki mithas...
anil and my praise?? no never kabhi nahi...
(this looks so gay gay types... yuks.. i wrote it now bored to delete it!!)

//sahil you idiot... dont say anything to sayesha's hands... who cares about sayesha... yes i love sayesha's hands... made the point keli-ear???
sayesha how are your hands??? dont type too much they might get spoilt... download a voice to text software... please do it for my love... (kya bakwas kar raha hoon)

//coming soon... coming soon... bolti rehti hai, when are you going to put the hands photos? saturday you said, right?? and still no hands ka foto. :-(

//girls are so dumb.. hehehehe...
she asked you not to take out your hand?? was she surdarni?? ho sakta hai she was... anyways girls are so dumb!!!
hehehehe.. trying to act like MCP..

//yes yes the guy and the girl pray together in a room with their bodies very close to each other and then lightening and rain and then baby. You need to pray da. and someone might shout "oh god!! oh god!!". then baby.. shit i am a pervert!! i need a kick..

//Everyone. She also stole money from her dad's and mom's wallets. She told me this thru secret mail.
Oh no humne tumhe kya samjha aur tum kya nikleee. nahiiiiiii.

//sayesha u could have taken this photo by holding the FAT CHICK in your hand. who cares about the fat chick, all i care about is the hand. when is the sexy hand photo coming?? this century?? atleast one glimse could have come with the fat chick... :-(
stupidest post i should say.. no i am serious.. this post was stupid.. ok its a fat chick... so what?? can i eat it?? can i roast it and have party??
V..
PS: everyone loved the fat chick post and i thought lets be different.. so i said the post sucks.. ;-)

//when do you blog?? in your dreams?? ok u can... you live in singapore... its a developed country.... u never know what can happen in dreams there ;)

//sayesha>> abe oye dont get senti. teri grand amma ko kuch nahi hoga. and dont worry she is fiter than you. and will liuve for 236 years. but stop putting senti posts. ok the fat chick post was good. happy?? wont say anything to your posts. Promise.
mere ko bhi meri boodhi amma ki yaad aagayi. now i am senti, all becuase of you. woh tara ban chuki hai, last year. boo hoo hoo... mataajiiiiii...

//i did this once in rediff chat room.. Put my name "hot-girl-in-the-room" and logged in.. you wont believe i got some 40 msgs in some 5 seconds..

//oye sahil>> thanks for reminding me... sayesha>> where is the hand post?? oye sahil>> i am not J.. i just love her hand and its beatiful.. sayesha>> yes it was mean of you not posting the hands blog...

//sayesha>> firstly, STOP PUTTING SENTI POSTS. u fool I am away from India and you have to do is put all the senti posts now :( and pehle u used to put "u cooking me eating posts" now what happened to those?? ek sher pesh karta hoon.. ijaazat hai?? ijaazat gayi bhaaad mein... sher hazir hai..
giriya nikaale hai teree bazm se mujh ko
haay ! ki roone pe iKHtiyaar naheeN hai
[ giriya = weeping, iKHtiyaar = control ]
I cant stop weeping if u keep on posting such senti posts.. mera nahi Ghalib ka Sher hai..

//sahil.. u r dead man.. gabar singh aa raha hon main..

//ok ok now dont cry.. yeh lo beta jalebi.. happy?? :)

//be aaj ki bharatiya+singaporeian naari.. dont cry baby.. if u are feeling sad.. then here somes the JAADOO KI JHAPPI.. :) smile yaar..

//Sayesha>> main toh bahut aacha insaan hoon and bahut greedy bhi... well if u find me so nice then please cook for me someday... main tere ko aashirwad doonga... beta khush raho, aabaad raho, singapore mein raho, ya hydrabad mein raho...

//Sayesha darling>> cheer up or u want a slap from me?? 2 days no post?? are you ok?? or u are in love?? or u are sick?? or u broke ur nail?? now post a post soon...

//Guy and the female kind.. i dont think sayesha is telling the truth.. I hope the next post is not >>> "CHECK OUT HOW I MADE FOOL OF 30 GUYS- Please read the comments of the earlier Blog" I dont know whats cooking in her head. Baba Bulle Shah couldnt understand girls... Toh hum toh cheez hi kya hain ji??
sayesha dekh tu jo bhi bol itni jaldi hum tere jal mein fasne wale nahi hai..

//ok will get a hot sa- sexy sa- stud looking sa- London ka Afro banda?? ok?? then u both can do.. huka ka buka huka huka... shark pit hu ha.. shark pit hua ha.. (i like animation movies)

//sayesha... bulla ki jaana main kaun... no one mentioned this song?? saalon maine 2 posts waste kar diya on this song and no one mentions this song..

//ok u have muscles... arnold sayesha-rzenegger... people see step six, full nerves and all seen..

// i made some 40 spelling mistakes.. so deleted the earlier blog..

//not blog.. i mean the comment..

//hahahaha... yeh sala anomymous ki maa ki toh.... who the duck is this guy???

//sorry pretty hand.. she makes you work too hard na?? such a loooooooooong post??

//sayesha... aisa mat kar yaar.. aapne haanth se itna hardwork mat kara... comment ke aandar mein ek blog?? kya ho raha hai madam?? u ok?? and i will talk to only your hand.. i dont care about you!!! thrrrbbrttttt :-P

//sale aankh dikhati hai?? darati hai dhamkati hai?? well pehle haanth, fir arms, then muscles and now eyes?? oye chakkr kya hai?? i think she is flirting with me... guys you all can see... ;-)
cong-u-ratu-le-son on being the cover girl when can we see the centre spread?? sala kya ganda dimag hai mera.. i deserve a kick...
Sayesha>> dhisum..
virdi>> thanks..

//sorry sayesha... thoda ziada bol diya... sorry... anyways was thinking as anil says shall i start collecting body parts??? hmmm thanks anil... will give it a shot... will start from sayesha's hands... he ha ha he ha ha... aa raha hoon main...

// sayesha>> tum mera sar tod dogi?? :-( bus yehi dosti reh gayi hai?? :-(

//what?? me and coconut tree?? yes please do that and i will throw coconut on everyones head... he ha ha he ha ha... mogambo khush hua...
and where is the beach?? what place is it?? well i was planning of going to Lahore with one friend of mine... Lahore is really cool... according to one old aunt of mine... :-)

//sayesha this is in reply to the earlier blog... u donkey what do u think i am a kid?? i will climb trees?? hmmph!!! dekh loonga tere ko... dekh loonga... tu mere ko janti nahi hai aabhi, mera uupar tak connection hai.. parliament mein aawaz uthegi... sarkar gira doonga... tu mere ko janti nahi hai.. main koi baacha nahi hoon..

// and dont u dare say anything about sayesha's hands or else... ur time is over mate!!!

//tu soti woti nahi hai kya?? hey whom did u meet?? tell tell... ;-) ahem ahem whats cooking?? sayesha, kuch kuch hota hai tum nahi samjhoge virdi.. dont say this..
virdi beta tere ko bahut jaldi sayesha se pitai milne wali hai.. sayesha, my best friend is from the internet!!!

//well it doesnt matter.. i think internet is like a new religion.. its like, if i dont pray in front of Bhagwanji i dont feel nice... if i dont check my mail and browse the internet i feel something is incomplete today!!
and its a platform to meet nice guys... ooops, sorry i mean nice girls!!! that includes you also, because of your hands, nothing else... ok u write well... nothing else...
V..
PS: i am dead man, priya is going to kill me..

// oh main ek baat toh poochna bhool hi gaya.. seriously?? kuch kuch hota hai??
hai oye kuriyee.. congrats.. wah wah wah.. munna bhai ne bola ki life mein settle ho jane ko mangta hai, aapun bhi yehi bola aur sayesha ne bhi yehi bola wah wah wah.. congrats..
tu toh life mein settle ho gayi.. suno suno suno saab log.. she is in loove... hehehehe...
V..
PS: pitega sala

//hahahaha.. the anonymous guy is here again... hahahaha... uski maa ki toh main... he has started putting comments on my blog also..

//and sayesha i am not 12... you are 10... hmmmmph!!!

//abe kaun hai woh mystery person??? agar maa ka doodh piya hai toh woh saamne aaye.. oye mystery person saamne aa ja.. aaja yaar, why giving us sleepless nights?? :-( sayesha you are in love?? whats the problem?? agar hai toh bol na... or you dont know?? ok ok.. no more questions.. sorry sayesha this comments page has become like my blog... hehehehe.. over and out.. alpha to charlie..

//hehehehe.. kids are cool but not electrons which never rest.. hey kids "The Miss" now has a crush on someone and is not willing to tell anyone.. ;-)
V..
PS: mera time kharab jaa raha hai.. mere ko bahut jaldi hi padne wali hai.. hehehe..

//anil, shut the duck up... tum nahi samjhoge anil, kuch kuch hota hai... ok tell me isn't that hand pretty?? ok sinnerman is going good luck to him and all that but isnt that hand pretty?? just see the nails, they r just of the right size and shape and the................ i can go on and on and on.. its a pretty hand.. :-)


When I read his blog or his comments on my blog, it reaffirms all the things I believe in -- that there are people like him still around, that the innocence of the human soul is not passé, that simplicity of thoughts is still in, and that speaking your heart out is never wrong. And that there are so many people in our lives who give us reasons to smile every day. And sometimes, they are the reasons themselves.

I may never meet Virdi in my life. He may find greener blogs and move on, and never drop by mine again. But I will always feel fortunate to have known whatever bit I knew of him, and to have had the chance to interact with him.

This post is in celebration of people like Virdi.

I can't speak for others. But I am a fan.

ps: Permission had been sought from the subject over email before this post was written.

Farewell to Sinnerman

This morning, one of my favourite people in the world, Ro (otherwise known as Sinnerman) left the shores of Singapore for good to pursue his dreams.

He is one of those rare souls with whom I have a very special connection. One that's undiluted by the other connections each of us has with other people.

He was supposed to fly off on Saturday morning, but due to some screw-up in SQ's website, the only flight he could get on was on Friday morning. When he told me this, I was stunned. Actually I felt angry. Very angry with him. For no fault of his, but I was.

My crazy schedules gave me no time to spend any time with him during the week. I had plans of a proper farewell party on Friday night, and a proper send-off at the airport on Saturday morning. But everything was moved forward by a day, and I could not do anything other than just attend a rushed farewell party thrown by his other friends on Thursday night. And since I had class and house-signing that night, I reached the party really late. The thought of seeing him only for an hour or so in a big crowd was frustrating.

That's all I get? He just goes away like that? What utter nonsense!

I was getting angrier by the minute. If you're a friend of Sayesha's, you can't just go away like that. I won't let you. That's how I am. Take it or leave it.

And so, as everyone said their goodbyes to him after the party, I had made up my mind. I was not gonna give up without a fight.

So this morning when I woke up, I sent my Managing Editor an sms, telling him I would be taking half-day off. I'd just taken half-day off yesterday, and I knew I was treading dangerous ground just a week before my appraisal, by asking for leave on the very morning of a very important meeting. But I didn't care.

Some things matter so much that others don't anymore.

And so, this morning, two close friends met each other one last time at the airport, and relived the precious moments of the past. As we walked towards the immigration gates, I had his passport in my hand. And just like that, I had a sudden desire to confiscate it. Yeah, I knew I was being stupid. He had to go. I had to let him go. And so I saw him off without a tear, and then went to work with a happy heart, listening to a song both of us are crazy about, and knowing that people who matter will always stay in my heart, no matter where they go.

Farewell, Sinnerman. Friend. Philosopher. Photographer.

And here are three of my favourite photos he'd taken of me.




















Sayesha in a roadside bookshop on the streets of Phnom Penh, Cambodia
















Sayesha at the Red Onion, Port Dickson, Malaysia





















Sayesha on the beach at Redang island, Malaysia

Goosebumps

I was thinking about goosebumps today.

And not just because the air-conditioning in my classroom is set to an extremely low temperature.

When was the last time you got goosebumps at room temperature?

One of my most vivid memories was when I watched the 'aur paas' scene in 'Dil Toh Pagal Hai'. I believe with all my heart that there isn't (and will never be) a sexier scene than that in the entire history of Bollywood. And even now, every single time I watch that scene, I get 'em goosebumps. Bigtime.

How does Shah Rukh do it?? In the scene, you can see the absolute control he has over Madhuri's feelings and actions. (He says 'aur paas' and she can't help but go 'aur paas'!). And at the same time you see in him, the same vulnerability as her. Now that is total goosebump material! Oh man, I'm craving to watch it again now!

And I can't believe I lent my DTPH DVD to my marketing manager this morning. Damn!

I realise this post may earn my blog heavy shelling with anti-Shah Rukh comments.

So here's a message for all you Shah Rukh hating guys: Yes, agreed he hams. But he can turn my knees to jelly with just one 'aur paas'.

You can't.

The little scary ones

When my Managing Editor first broke the news to me yesterday that I had to do a presentation for 160 school kids on how my magazine works, I freaked out. 160 freakin' primary school children! No joke that, I tell you.

And suddenly, I was plummeted back into the days when I was doing relief teaching at a tuition centre.

I remember this one particular class I had to take. The lady who called me said, "It's a one-hour class, but you know how it is. The effective teaching time would be about half an hour." I wondered why. And now I wonder why I wondered why.

The class had about 15 kids. Handling 15 kids is not a problem. Handling 15 hyperactive 7-year-olds is! The younger they are, the more difficult it is to control them and get them to listen. They don't quite have a mind of their own, and yet they do. (Did I make sense there?)

The class was from 12:30 - 1:30 pm. Here's how it went.

12:30 pm
I enter the class. The kids stand up, "Good morning... "
Suddenly they froze as they realised that they were greeting a complete stranger.
"Who are you?" one of them asked.
"I am your replacement teacher for today."
"What happened to Miss Chan?"
"Errr... Miss Chan is getting married. She won't be teaching you anymore."
"But why?"
"Errr... I don't know..."
"Okay."

12:35 pm
I surveyed the classroom. It was not very big. I had a desk and chair to myself, and there was a huge table, around which the kids sat.

"Okay everyone, settle down. I'll take attendance now." I said.
The kids ran around the table for a while.

12:45 pm
The kids finally settled into their chairs. While taking attendance, I called out, "Chester!"
"Present..." came the reply. From under the table!
I peeped under the table, and there was young Chester, grinning away.
"Come out, Chester."
"Why, miss?"
"Because... all your friends are outside."
"Can't I sit here?"
"No, you can't. Come out now."
"Why not, miss?"
I made my way under the table and put on my "stern teacher face". (Yes, I have one.)
"Well, you can't. Come out. NOW!"
Chester meekly crawled out. The others started giggling.

12:55 pm
"Phew!" I went back to my desk. I sat down and looked up. Suddenly the class looked weirdly empty.
"Where are the others?" I asked.
They started giggling again.
One of them pointed under the table.
So I had to go and look under the table again. There they were, six imps, hitting each other with stretched rubber bands.
I pulled them all out.

1:00 pm
They were all in their chairs. Finally.
One boy shot his hand up, "Miss, I need to go to the toilet."
"Ok. Be quick."
"Me too!" Another hand.
"And me!" One more.
"One at a time, okay? One at a time." I said between gritted teeth.

1:05 pm
I started teaching.

1:25 pm
"Blah... blah... blah... and blah. Any questions?"
A hand shot up.
"Yes?"
"May I go to the toilet now, Miss? He is back."
"Okay, you may. So, any questions?"
"I have one!" This fidgety little boy raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"Miss, are you married?"
"Wha... ask me questions about the topic I am teaching, okay?"
"Yes, but are you married?"
"No, I am not."
"Miss, do you have a boyfriend?"
I am sure even if I had said I was married, he would have asked me the second question anyway!
"Okay, ask me questions only about what is written on the whiteboard, okay?"
"Okay, Miss, why does the whiteboard have the wrong date? Today is the 15th, not 14th. Hehehehehe!" Everyone starts giggling. I try not to pull my hair out.

1:30 pm
Class is over. I almost get run over by the herd of galloping kids.

Sayesha slumps into her chair and vows never to teach a class of 7-year-olds again.

A familiar stranger

Today, I met a 'familiar stranger' for dinner and coffee.

Someone I had never seen, spoken to or met. Someone I only knew from my blog.

And suddenly, I was reminded of something I read on a farewell gift a friend gave me just before I left India.

"When you meet a stranger, make friends. Remember, your friends were strangers when you first met them."

Why?

Why is it that when we really miss someone, it's not too bad when we're alone, but when we're surrounded by a big crowd of people, we feel lost and lonely, and miss that person like crazy?

Could you buy me a dream?

A few weeks ago, my friend's little sister came to Singapore. My friend and I decided to buy her the latest Harry Potter book. Apparently she had been dreaming of it day and night. She'd been overheard saying, "I wish I had a rich friend who'd buy it so I could borrow it!" When we gave her the book, just watching the glow of sheer joy on her face filled my heart with instant joy.

I couldn't help but wonder -- sometimes it's so easy to fulfil someone's dream. So easy to make someone happy. Even though the dream that you helped out with was a small one. All you need to do it is buy it. What amazing power and control... To have that ability to simply buy someone's dream for them.

But then dreams get bigger and bigger till they cannot be 'bought' anymore.

Sometimes, I wish that someone could just buy me a couple of my dreams.

Ok, maybe just one.

You know what I dream of? I dream of a world where I am surrounded by everything that is important to me. A vast and beautiful beach, where all the special people in my life live together and happily grow old together. And for some reason, although everyone is single, they are bound to one another by the most amazing connection.

When I close my eyes, I can literally 'see' my dream. There we are, living in tiny little resorts that line the pristine beach, doing nothing for a living, and still having money to spend. Hanging out every evening. If I strain my ears, I can actually hear the jokes, the songs, the leg-pulling that goes on, as the gorgeous sunsets translate the evenings to starlit nights, as we all sit with our toes buried in the cool, fine sand. Never once getting sick of the place.

And everyone I love is there. Friends who're here with me, friends who are from the distant past, friends who have moved on. Friends I made on this blog, who simply make my day every single day! (Yeah, you too, Virdi! You can come along too, we'll just have to put you up atop one of the coconut trees along the beach.)

What a beautiful dream...

One small step at a time maybe?

Anyone for Koh Samui this year?

I've got my eye on you!

Sayesha's a cover girl! Yeay!

Now by cover girl, I don't mean that all of me is on a cover. Only a part. My pupil, to be precise. And by pupil, I don't mean my tuition kid. I mean my eye. My precious kids' magazine (it's my jaan, by the way, one of the reasons why my life is worth living and my job is worth keeping) needed the photo of a good-looking (ahem!) eye for the cover of the latest issue, and after shooting many eyes, the photographer finally chose mine.

Here it is -- my claim to fame.
(Blurred out the rest 'cos I wasn't sure if I could just put my mag cover on my blog like that.)

And oh, did I mention 'Yeay'? :D

The new perfect

When I watch a TV show or a movie, I look for two things:

It should either:

1. make me laugh
or
2. make me think

I need to 'take something home' after watching it. If there's no thoughts for me to take home, I won't watch. Also, the key words are very important. Take 'Desperate housewives' for example. Neither of the key words 'desperate' or 'housewives' evokes any interest in me. Which is why, in spite of my friends going ga-ga over the show, I refuse to watch it.

Ditto used to hold true for SATC. When I first heard about it, I was like, "What?? I won't be caught dead watching it!" (Ok that didn't make sense, but you get the point.) It sounded like a really dumb chick flick. But I happened to watch a coupla episodes for lack of anything else, and slowly I realised that it did have a lot of stuff to 'take home'.

On many levels, yes, it is a soap about desperate women seeking equally desperate men on the streets of New York. But if you look beyond the S, the ATC part has a lot of intelligence and thoughts put behind it. Look beyond the surface and it will make a lot of sense. And though I know lots of guys who dismiss it (just like how I used to) as a frivolous girly show, I know many who watch the show for the characters and the way they deal with the complexities of life.

I'm sure that every girl, who's ever watched the show, has at one point in time, asked herself, "Which character am I?" I've seen girls admitting that they're a Miranda Hobbes, a Charlotte York (never a Samantha Jones though, for obvious reasons) but never a Carrie Bradshaw. And I find it quite strange, because if at all anyone in the show, I am a Carrie. And I am not just talking about the obsession with shoes. I am talking about the Carrie with the flaws. Plenty of 'em, in fact. The Carrie who does not seem to think twice before messing her own life up. The Carrie who so spectacularly portrays the song by Pink -- 'I'm a hazard to myself!'

One of my friends muttered, "She's an idiot. Idiot!" when he (yes, 'he') saw the episode where Carrie tells Aidan she can't marry him. But somehow, to me it made sense. I could actually see myself doing what she did. *Shudder* but it's true. Ok fine, Aidan was perfect. Any girl would be an idiot to turn down a guy like that. That too, without a good reason. But then, maybe he was too perfect. Maybe she did not deserve such a perfect guy. Maybe she deserved someone who was as flawed as her, as ordinary as her. And just like that, she turned him down. No one really understood why. Maybe she herself didn't. But her decision just went on to show that in spite of her fabulous lifestyle and success and confidence and style, she was still that poor little confused girl who screwed up her own heart with amazing regularity. Don't we all do that at times? Aren't we all hazards to ourselves?

As I graduated from being a teenager to an adult, I found all my candy-eyed views of movie characters changing. Perfect became boring. Unreal. Flawed became real. Human. Carrie's flaws are so human. She is so obviously not perfect, and that's what makes her character so believable. And that is why I identify with her. I have uncountable flaws, and I am so not perfect. And yet, here I am, utterly proud of my imperfect self, thriving in the sea of my own mediocrity. I remember I took it as a big compliment when Bonatellis called me a simple girl next door on his blog. I feel that the ordinary, who make mistakes with their lives, live life much more than the perfect who live it up flawlessly.

And here's another one. This one's closer to home. The reason why I felt that Karishma Kapoor (in spite of herself) walked away with the laurels in DTPH was because of her character sketch. Nisha had flaws, and she was open about them. Instead of displaying the perfect behaviour of a typical silent sacrifice by the perfect best friend, she did what a human being would do. She ran. She hid. She resurfaced. And then she went ahead and told Rahul exactly what she felt. Which made that character so much closer to the heart that the perfect Puja.

I just watched the lake side scene for the millionth time, and I still can't get over the absolute perfection of the script.

Nisha says:

"Main achhi ladki nahin hoon, Rahul. Main bahut buri hoon. Tum nahin jaante. Ab dekho na, ek ladka hai, jise main bahut pyaar karti hoon, aur hamesha se karti aayi hoon, aur aaj mujhe pata chala ki woh mujhse nahin, kisi aur se pyaar karta hai, toh mujhe achha nahin lag raha hai. Dard ho raha hai. Gussa aa raha hai. Jalan ho rahi hai. Mujhe aise nahin lagna chahiye Rahul, main bahut buri hoon."

("I'm a bad person, Rahul. You don't know. You see, there is this guy I love, one I have always loved. And today, when I found out that he loves not me but someone else, I don't like it. I feel hurt. I feel angry. I feel jealous. I should not be feeling like this. I am a bad person.")

"Rahul, woh kya hai na, woh ladka sirf mera pyaar hi nahin, mera sabse achha dost bhi hai, aur aaj pehli baar maine uski aankhon mein muhabbat dekhi hai. Jo pyaar main itne saalon mein nahin laa payi, aaj woh ladki le aayi hai. Toh shaayad woh ek doosre ke liye bane hain. Shaayad main uski kabhi thi hi nahin. Shaayad yehi uska sacha pyaar hai."

("Rahul, the thing is -- this guy is not just my love, but also my best friend. And today, for the first time, I saw love in his eyes. The love that I could not bring about in years, is now there because of that girl. So maybe they are indeed made for each other. Maybe I was never his. Maybe this is his true love.")

"Toh dekho na, mujhe apne dost ke liye khush hona chahiye, uski khushi mein meri khushi honi chahiye, par main khush nahin hoon, Rahul, main khush nahin hoon. Main bahut buri hoon."

("So you see, I should be happy for my friend. I should find joy in his joy. But I am not happy, Rahul, I am not happy. I am a bad person.")

(DTPH lovers, if you're yearning already, watch the scene -- DTPH DVD, chapter 30, 02:28:48)

We've all been a Nisha at some time or the other, isn't it? Imperfect. And fabulous. What is the point in being perfect if you're not yourself?

Life is simple. Everyone gets one. You do what you can with yours. There are no rules. People may judge you on how you live it, but at the end of the day, what matters is how you judge yourself.

Move aside, perfect people. Ordinary is the new perfect.

Tanhayee

Stuff in my life has been bothering me now and then for the last few weeks. I decided that I needed some alone time today to clear my head and figure things out. Decided to jog to the beach.

I made my way to a rocky structure facing the sea. It's not easy to find a place on the rock, which, on weekends and public holidays (such as today), is always swarming with lovesick couples and screeching families. However, somehow I managed to find a place for myself far away from everyone else.

The evening was far from perfect. There were no stars. The sea was dirty and polluted. All you could see were the ships, and the oil spills they had caused. And yet, there I was, in the middle of it all, trying to get my peace of mind.

As the evening gave way to the night, my thoughts about my life, my emotions, and the people in my life, became stronger, the breeze did too. The only company my loneliness had. The breeze was the kind that dries your tears before they can leave your eyes. And even if some do escape, it is too dark for them to be visible, and you're too far away from people for anyone to ask you, "What's the matter? Are you crying? Why?" Because if they did, I would have no answer.

A little while later, a girl about the same age as me, came and sat a distance from me. She looked at me and nervously looked away. Then she looked again and smiled. I smiled too. Because even though she was a total stranger, somehow I knew why she was there. She wasn't there to jump. She wasn't there to mourn. She wasn't there to brood over a fight with a loved one. Just like me, she was there for her alone time. And just like that, without speaking a word, we connected. I sat there with her without saying a word for about two hours. Silent. Reflective. At peace with myself and the rest of the world.

It's amazing how one can get such utter peace staring at polluted water hitting moss-infested fake rocks on a starless night, with a baby crab running across one's ankle.

Perhaps this proves that all the peace we need is within ourselves.

To get to that peace, we only need ourselves.

And occasionally, some people around us to love us and to understand why we need our alone time.

Washing Fat Chick 101

I have decided to keep Fat Chick. Not only because Frodo needs company, but because I couldn't get myself to give her away. She was a gift. From me to myself. And so I decided that she's gonna stay.

And that she needed a bath!

Here's the ten-step tutorial on 'how to bathe a fat chick'.

Warning: Some images are very graphic in nature and may not be suitable for weak-hearted viewers.

Step 1: Put her in the washing machine (she's too fat to fit into a tub/bucket) with some detergent and water.



















Step 2: Run the water.



















Step 3: Grab her beak and swirl her around in the soapy water.


















Step 4: Let her soak.


















Step 5: No, I am not strangling her!


















Step 6: She looks clean. Lift her outta the machine, and drain the soapy water.


















Step 7: Rinse her in clean water.


















Step 8: Hang her from the window sill and let the water drain into pink tub.























Step 9: Hang her to dry in the sun.























Step 10: And Fat Chick's ready to party!