The Thong and other Things.

So i am not exactly good with 'girl-things'. Okay. That didn't come out right.

I don't think there's any better way to say it but here's the deal- I freak out buying sanitary napkins and lingerie. I can't do it. I don't know why. Condom buying has always been so much easier than I-pill buying. I dread the days when friends decides to send me to buy napkins and I-pills by hiding under the garb of it being an emergency. Anyway, after living, what i would like to believe is, a quarter of my entire life, if there's one thing i know for sure it is that the maximum all the embarrassment one faces in life is courtesy ones friends and family. 

BLAST FROM THE PAST.

I remember the first time i ever bought the Dracula pack (read: sanitary napkin) was when i was in the eleventh grade. Funny story (as always)...friend1 decides to lose her 'flower' (F.R.I.E.N.D.S reference; read: virginity) to friend2 in friend2's house, which ,by the nasty humour of the universe, happens to be in MY neighbourhood. Here I am, oblivious to what my own friends are about to do to me, bunking my Accountancy tuition and making merry. And then  my cell phone flashes *friend2 calling*.

Me: friiiieeeennndddddddd2 :) :) what's up?

Him: Ya. Hi. err.. so we sort of did it today. And she's bleeding a lot now. errr.. i don't know what to do... you need to come over and give her one of the napkin things!!!

Me: YOU HAD SEX??? awwwwwwww. but i'm not home. i can't get it.

Him: BUY ONE!!

Me: what? you mad? i can't!

Him: DOOOOOOD !!! she NEEDS it!

Me: fuck you friend2! bleh. i'll see what i can do... asshole pervert bastard!

Him: ya ya. Come quick.

So much for friends making life easier for one another. So i go over to the chemist and use the softest pitch known to mankind and tell him to give me one. He, like a dog, senses my fear and almost as if to take my case presents me with this volley of options. How i want to tell him to shove so many things up so many places in his own body. Anyway. I finally make the damn decision, get it in a black bag and take it over to his place. Turns out, the 'bleeding' is the indicative blood drops of..errr.. 'the flower being taken'. 

Yes. I almost slapped her too. More so, when she told me 'maybe you can take it back! I don't use this brand'.

Moral of the story : People who know nothing about sex, must not have it!!!

Never bought another one since. Evidently so.

TODAY.

I had to buy a thong for a Best Friend. Before my sexual orientation is questioned, it is in a Practical Joke sort of way and not 'come be my kink fest' way. Though I am bisexual... No. I am not :( :( But i want to be. The coolest people i know are Bisexual. I just find girl-on-girl creepy. Ah. Now that's another story.

Back to the thong.

Given my phobia of buying lingerie ( I think it has a lot to do with the first time my mother noticed my 'developments' and took me bra shopping and I was supposed to wear it and then show it to her and she told me if it's the right fit and other technicalities. This drill repeated the next few times I needed one too. Yes, Any child can be scarred by this!), buying a thong was really not my idea of a great afternoon shopping spree, post lunch. Yet, the losers you call your best friends must make you do things you loathe, consciously and otherwise. So after lots of pretending-to-buy-something-else faces, I gathered enough courage to pick out this leopard printed slut of a thong for her. It is the mother of slutty undergarment. Just touching it gave me little shivers. I then asked the next obvious question 'What? It's supposed to be one size for all?'. To this, you would expect a normal verbal reply, wouldn't you? I did too. Only, she thought a demo will get her a hug from me, maybe. How else would you explain her choice of stretching that tiny piece of cloth to it's maximum glory only to show me that it can fit anything from a 28-32inch waist. Disturbing? I think so. I decided to make the purchase. No. It had nothing to do with the sales woman's unethical tactics.

Now she better like it, my friend. And it better fit.. Not that I'll ever see *throws up a little, at the thought*.

OTHER THINGS.

My mom's husband and I don't really talk. At least, we haven't for as long as I can remember. Our relationship? A little twisted; a little strained. It's not that big a deal, really because you don't miss the things you never had, right?

Anyway, today His Highness decided to tell me how he doesn't know what is up with me and how he should and he tries to be a better father than he is and a lot of related things that didn't seem to make too much sense to me. Conclusion being, we are going to, as a rule, indulge in lots of pseudo intellectual activities on the lines of appreciating the Arts- the only likely common ground for the both of us, right now. 

For me, it's not so much about getting to know my sperm donor better. It's not about it at all, actually. I am, however, looking forward to embodying the whole culture of cool kurta clad, English speaking Indian women who carry a spiral bound notebook in their hands that wear metal bangles and roam around displaying ever so much enthusiasm in heir Kajal lined eyes about the culture and heritage of India and the world. This, with so much excitement about the one million and one great plays and movies i am going to watch; so what if it's with what my mum chose to marry. It will be fun. And the cherry on the cake of this entire 'bonding exercise' is that it will be followed by compulsive culinary experiences. Bliss.

Date #1. This Sunday, it is. Movie. 'Divine Intervention'. Looking forward to it. :)
Hence, summing up 'The Thong and other Things'.

P.S- I have fallen in love with 'Fool in the Rain'- Led Zeppelin all over again

<3

Confessional.

Confessions.
There are over fifty thousand and one things that one might have to say about fifty thousand and one things and people. But does one dare all the time? No. Does one care all the time? Maybe.
There are these weird feelings in the heart...stomach, actually that sort of strangely try and breathe down your conscience. I, for one, am always escaping from taking responsibility for my actions, emotions and words. Ah. All the words. Most, anyway.

It sucks that very little can be done about the things i do, consciously and otherwise, that later annoy the fuck out of me for being so completely out of place. For being so completely not thought through.
No. I am no deceiver or fraud. I don't commit murders and lie about them. In fact, I hardly ever lie. Really. What, however, i truly seek, is the power and ability of Acceptance. This isn't so much about accepting other people with their abundance of flaws and perfections; this is more about having enough courage to take the call of acceptance of self and feel. Feel things that i don't want.. Feel the power of  the words that i choose to ignore.. Feel the beauty of things i am too stuck up to acknowledge.. Feel the feelings i am too scared to feel.. Feel the wallop and implications of the mistakes i make but disregard..

Not too long ago, i was as 'dreamer' as dreamer gets. I was a believer. I still am, i think. But earlier it wasn't so much hope as it was faith. I know that many people treat 'hope' and 'faith' as synonyms to each other. I don't. There isn't any extra terrestrial explanation for it but i have always been slightly more  inclined towards Faith than i have been towards Hope. I think because while Hope is more about trusting predestination, Faith is believing. There is nothing more noble than keeping faith.. rather, the ability to keep faith. Faith in things, in people; the ones you love and those you don't.
I might be losing that now. I find myself not wanting so many things that i wanted, only a while back. I don't dream anymore. I hardly remember them, if at all i do. My self ingrained dream catcher, too,  seems futile now. I hardly dance and sing for no reason. I have quit dressing up for myself.
People might say am growing up. I just feel i am growing old.

None of this comes even close to the 'confessions' i have in my mind. The major confession being that i am too weak to confess. Truth scares me. Intimidates me. Though not a liar, I haven't shied away from not saying anything at all, more often than not.


Till happier and more content times....

Sex and the Witty.

So the entire oath of writing more often is still almost on.
And am proud of it, evidently so.

random memory # 763.

It was April end last year, that i met a boy. He was my friend T's brother. Incidentally, i had been crushing on T for sometime now. But as the twisted tale of fate would have it, it was T's brother i ended up with that summer. So after the usual drill of lying to the world to meet up alone, talking on the phone right through the middle of the night, laughing at each other's jokes like you've never heard anything funnier...yada yada.. we started 'going out'. I have always found the term funny somehow, but now that's another story.

So a 'physical relationship' we did not really have. He just kept sucking my face till the end of time and i just sat there waiting for the 'suck face festival' to get over. Post each of our meetings, it would take me some hours of conversations with my friends forever to figure out that why was the relationship was all tongue and no ...errr.. THAT. Amongst my people, there were those you told me to feel lucky that it wasn't just about the sex. But, here i was, spending sleepless nights wondering why it wasn't about it at all?
So, Summer of '09, it was.


Cut to New Years Eve a few years ago.

It was very very cold.
We were very very drunk.
We looked very very hot.
We were very much in love. Really. We were.

It was that time when we couldn't keep our hands off each other. When the whole idea of PDA didn't seem too weird. When we felt butterflies in our stomaches just airbrushing our elbows against each other. When we were in love.
So it was that new years eve when we decided to go all the way. It was hard to, first, cause well, it was the first time. Eventually, between all the giggles, tears, hugs and kisses, we did it. And we did it rather well, if i may say so myself.. :P Back then, it was not sex. It was love. Love, as we knew it.
We did it a lot after that. Working parents can do wonders to your relationships. But again, it wasn't sex. Not once. It was love, each time it was. Sometimes my eye would shed a tear or two while my lips smiled.. and pain had nothing to do with it.
I miss you. Sometimes. NO, actually, i dont think i do. But what we had will always be special.



Cut to a few days back.

Met a guy..a man. Working,  polished,  can talk well, smokes, dances... and a few other qualities. I think he's the closest i can think of being 'my type'.. that is by assumption that i have a type. Anyway, so we met. Clicked. Hung out a lot. And a few days back, we did it. Just like that. Smoked after. Ya. It's unreal how little or no importance is ever attached to smoking after sex. It is equally good, if not better. Getting back, so here we were, two naked individuals who like each other enough to let each other inside themselves..okay. That, only in a lot more beautiful way. So i wore what was put off me and headed back home. Like it was nothing. What pricked me was that the idea of casual sex had stopped pricking me. Before him, i have felt bad and sometimes cried too about the 'casualness'.
When did my tear-inducing love making turn into sex+smoke, i would never know. sigh!

According to Greek philosopher, Plato, love can be classified as under 'Eros' and 'agape'.
Eros is the love animals are capable of. Strictly of the physical kind. There isn't an interplay or interference of any emotion, other than lust, maybe. But, sex isn't casual. It holds importance. Otherwise, it isn't really sex. it is just animal instinct.
Agape is the love of the highest kind. That is because it is the love which connects people intellectually and spiritually. Wherein, wits of two individuals match.

What is sad is not that there is classification of love; but that, i don't seem to figure in either. Clearly, what i am having isn't sex and my wits happen to match with a lot of people, thank you very much.

So, as twisted as this is, life, as we know it, has come down to Sex and the Witty... or the lack of it.

Delhi University is a little more stupid than it's cracked up to be.

long a title?
bah. i don't care.

so it's been a little over a year since the last time i had to face any important result. academically. after the insane XII class board exam result (which too, by the way, are waaayyy overrated) and a few entrances later, i landed myself into the damn University. THE Delhi University. The one, every self respecting XII-board-exam-giver in Delhi, and outside of it,day dreams of. Anyway, i got me a decent college with the course of my choice. life was good. speaking of which, the whole politics that goes on about the hot colleges and the ones that don't figure in them is just sad, if you ask me. primarily, because i know people from 'north campus' who dread going to college everyday and then there's yours truly, who loves her humble south campus college and everything about it! point being, DU might not necessarily be the be all and end all of it all (personal shout out to people of other universities; IP for one. @jaya :P)

so a year of college has come to an end; a year of bunking classes, short attendance, lots of food, cups of iced teas, smokes at mithas, hookahs that suck (and some that don't), toxications of other kinds, ac at ccd..et al... and so much love :).
but blame it on my schooling maybe, but it's almost my natural instinct to expect the damn result by now after i have taken the University exams some thirty thousand years ago (read: in April,2010). and though i embarked upon my journey of being an English literature student with ever so much enthusiasm, it sort of faded away by the year end. hence, i think it won't be wrong to say that the standard of my papers, well, wasn't up to the mark, to say the least. mentally am prepared for the worst, really.

prepared, however, with just one problem. the evident presence of my birth givers. the hypocrites that they are, parents don't blink once when it's all about comparing their own kids to Gupta ji ke bachche who figure in the top rankings in class like that's the only thing to do in life but not once will they agree to see how the parents of those who have failed are doing, like they're an urban myth or something. and god knows that they exist.
yes. that's how bad it is at the moment.
failure sucks! more so when you've lived (safely) oblivious to it for a little over eighteen years of your life.
and the physical presence of my mom's husband right now isn't helping one bit anyway.
but then kids fail all the time, don't they? and they survive past it. there are bound to be other options. am totally considering other options...running away, being one.

yes. the crib fest can continue forever.
hence, B.A (HOUNOURS) ENGLISH, DELHI UNIVERSITY, announce the damn results, already??

till then.. maybe i can go shop for the things i'll take with me while am on the run. retail therapy does do wonders, doesn't it?

p.s. i just heard, DU chooses to not announce results on a Sunday. ah. pricey bitch, anyone?
kill me, already!

anyway, S H O P P I N G !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But my breath fogged up the glass And so i drew a new face and laughed..

It was a regular Sunday evening and i was sitting around the house doing nothing when it started to pour. Ah. The rains. There's something about them that makes me feel things that i have been almost completely oblivious to, consciously and otherwise. From emotions of love to hatred to agony to lust to greed to arrogance..the rains get me all these and so much more.

Even as a kid, nothing fascinated me more than the rains. I would run out of the house at the slightest of pours to be a part of, what i liked to call, a celebration of sorts. Nothing else came even remotely close to being as freeing. It was at that moment when i felt like i belonged somewhere. When i felt like i owned someplace. When i feared no one, not even those ugly dogs who would bully the fuck out of me on other days. It's been THAT empowering!
Growing up, rains graduated from being about dancing in my animated underpants and became about walking in the rain, hand in hand with that boy who had enough of me to break my heart. It's in the rains that i have discovered levels of intimacy and closeness that no amounts of physical contact can induce. It's sexual. The kind that leaves you craving more. The kind that connects at more levels than one.
Every smoke ring i manage, while the waters pour in the background with ever so much conceit, seems to be saying something. Its influence and power is unbelievable.

Or is it just me? Could be. I genuinely believe that it's the only thing that almost brings about the little spiritual side that i have. It's harsh yet so calming. It washes one and all with every pour.
It's quiet after it rains. It becomes like it's my own place; Own yet shared. It's a beautiful feeling. More than i can ever put to words.No bustling of the humdrum life; purity, sanctity, chastity and vigour.
Blissful. Peaceful.

Charlie Chaplin once famously said, ""I Love to walk in rain because no body can see me crying then". Irony, much? So much for being one of the funniest men in the history of entertainment. Am no unfortunate person, on the wrong side of fifty, whose life didn't work out. And no. There's hardly any reason for me to be thinking this way. However, sadly enough, I do find a nice ring to it...

<3 Rains <3

See That My Grave Is Kept Clean

Death.
It's pissing off.
It really is.
You put in a lifetime of effort living a damn life, and you don't even get to get out of it alive. I know. That's what the cycle of life is all about. But is it really a sorted concept? Shouldn't each individual on the planet get to live an equally charmed or rather satisfactory life?

Personally, i genuinely believe that one dies only when one is completely and purely gratified by one's life. It's an end of an era. So only when one has finished each and every act of love, hatred and all that comes in between, does one die. That is the cycle of life for me. You are put on the planet to carry forward an assigned job and your part ends when you've fulfilled each cranny of that role to the best of your abilities. Yes. Extremely Shakespeare.
These last few days, however, my belief stands a little shaken.
I cannot face deaths anymore. I have had my share of the agonizing pain that death brings along to all the people remotely associated with the dearly departed. Some people don't deserve death.
Not yet, anyway.
Death is too strong a word. I find it a little funny when they say that someone's gone to a better place and how they're finally in peace. Who knows that for sure, you know? Shouldn't one be destined to make the most of it while they're still here?
Okay.I don't know how any of this makes any sense to anyone. But it does. To me.
My point being, after Ryan's demise (RIP, you), i just never acknowledged the idea of someone else's possible death. Someone's death that might affect me. Someone's death i might shed almost as many tears for as i did for Ryan.
Maybe i am overreacting. I hope i am overreacting.
She must live. She will. She has reasons to live, she has roles to play.
Maybe meeting me is one of the things that figures in the universe's plan of 'things she must do before she quits being an earthling'.
One can only hope.

Yes. It's pissing off. This feeling of helplessness. This feeling of death and how she might be growing near... for yourself. and for the people you know.and for the people you like. and for the people you love...

Sometimes title-less things are so much cooler.

So, starting today, i am going to be blogging every most days.
Blog post frequency is going to reach a new high super duper soon.
Promise to self.:)

Anyway,
i was just randomly wondering how giving a name/title to any form of your work is hard. really really hard. it has to be short, it must hint at all the things that particular piece is about; and don't even get me started on the pressures of having a catchy title cause let's face it we're judging books by the cover all the time. Speaking of titles, the newest addition to my list of over 1500books that i am going to read before i die is 'A Book Without A Title'- George Jean Nathan. no, it never made any history or even much money for that matter. but there's something about the title that tells me it deserves another chance by someone. maybe by me.
as surprising as it may be, i am not much of a reader. i don't like reading. and i truly regret it. my desire to own these books, some common and some not, is almost as if to own them for the sake of that one day when i start to enjoy what i want to enjoy; reading. it's twisted, yes.

coming back to 'A Book Without A Title', the critics tore it apart.'Not as profound as the author would like it to be.', said one. my point being, how can you critique any piece of art work professionally? doesn't it boil down to one's personal preferences, background, sex etc? it's just unfair, if you ask me. i don't see who's given them that right of sabotaging the vision of an artist, a dream catcher he may be.sigh.

i watched the movie 'udaan' today. i don't know how any other word but brilliance can come even close to defining it. in two hours they captured what was almost parts of my own life. a must watch. for anything human.

here's to good indian cinema, the freedom to go title-less (and name-less in the process) every once in a while and most importantly to the fact that i might die of hunger right about now...

food...
foo...
fo..
f.


sigh sigh sigh.