Just for the heck of it

Time for a new post. Ummm...so what should I say? job hunting, GDPI lists checking , prelims, pencil chewing (synonymous with exams), notes gathering (a positive sign : shows that studies have gathered a momentum when u know that u have none of the notes required to study)....doing so much and still doing nothing. Thats the beauty of college life I guess. A month more and then there will be the big, bad(?) real world where being lukkha is a crime unlike collge life where not being lukkha is a crime.
Already on a nostalgia trip. New resolutions are happening too.
Resolution No. 1 : write more sensible posts
Resolution No. 2: Work on spellings
Resolution No. 3 : Try to study hard
Resolution No. 4 : Try to follow these resolutions before updating the list ( tough luck.......looks like this list is not getting updated for quite some time then)

A Public apology

its been a high time since i blogged. n everytime i wanted decided to post something new, i wud read the last post n feel so low that i just wudnt be able to post :P. waise i thot i wud start with a cheery post but this is more of a confession and an apology rather than some smart alec take on ne random situation. yeah so now a public apology for being sooo soo so very selfish. for havin a myopic view of situations, for being ........(plz add ur own adjectives kyun ki isse ura mein apne baare mein nahi bol sakti n if u want to add ne nice words then i can always suggest a few ;) )
but i guess this is again gettin into the smart alec mood. so now cut straight to the apology.
i know i was being insenstivie when i took my frnds for granted, i knew i was being unreasonable when i thot that my frnds wud understand that my harsh were were just that that 'words'.....devoid of ne rationale, ne sense...just nething that one associates with langauge (that it is upposed to communicate n inform n not miscommunicate..but i guess i m always weak on that front) neways cumin bk to the apology thingy ( i never thot sayin sorry wud be sooo soo very difficult *uggghhhh*)
yea now the direct apology. well deeps i m sorry. the worse part is wen u forgive so unconditionally knowing that the scars will always remain n the hurt will always remain, yet u dont want to lash out, u dontr want to say something that will hurt me. rather u cannot say something that will hurt me. coz thats not u. wen azariah had once asked me how can we both be frnds i had told her that all my frnds are just the opposite if what i m . firmly grounded n mature. my immaturity never really bothered me coz i always haad frnds who were more that willing to understand, to show graciously that ther were mature enuf to let go.
but for the first time i m ashamed,.... ashamed of the fact that i didnt know where to draw the line between immaturity n insensitivity.
there are times when i want to tell my frnds that they mean the world to me but i think that there is no need to say that , u will understand. yet when i hv to convey how angry i m , i dont pause, i dont think that "yea, u r a frnd n u will understand that i m angry, i m hurt , frustrated n blah blah blah." i hv to convey that n believe me there are times when i widh i wud hv kept shut instead.
ajun pan barach kahi sangayche ahe. jitkya evela sorry mhaneen titka kamich ahe. but i thot that this is the best way to say sorry. my actions hv humiliated me, so i guess a public apology wont hurt( but well it does hurt. to say sorry is difficult, but sayin that on ur own bloody blo where u r the might alec is even worse)
SO DEEPTI I M REALLY VERY SORRY . I DONT EXPECT A BIG HEARTED MAAFI ( well actually i do) but i do expect that u will understand that there is a difference between intentionally hurtin sumone n unintentionally doin so. this time it was unintentional. so i guess thats it.

PS: this is full on stream of consciousness wrirtin so plz dont point out the spellin mistakes or the grammatical ones

Feeling the blues

I wanna run away…from friends, parents, college, classes, aptitude tests, DCATs and just everything. There are times when tension grips u n u don’t know where to turn to…everybody around is willing to help u but u suddenly seem to lose ur voice. U want to scream, help me help me and all that u can manage in a whimper, devoid of any meaning or sound. Just a silent prayer that people who care for u will hear u…they won’t require audible sounds….they wont require explanations…..nothing…nothing at all. But u feel overburdened…overburdened by their expectations or the lack of it, their tolerance, their impatience, their concern, their faith in you…just by anything and everything. U wallow in self pity for sometime. Stifled by the surroundings…finally the a small voice from within u muster enough courage to squeak , “ I am tensed abut my post grad. What should I do? God help me!” and the damage control plan goes into overdrive. Suddenly everyone around is doing ttheir best to find about about future career prospects, assuring you that maybe all is not lost. Friends rally behind u, kid bro understands those temper tantrums, Mom discusses media with her kitty friends, Dad with his colleagues. Everyone is trying to help. A top B-school may not just accept u but u r already accepted into something much more larger, much more stable, much more warm and secure. B-schools can wait, right now its thank u time. And I m off to thanking all those people who made me realize that world doesn’t end if u don’t plan ahead. Ur planning just opens a whole new world ahead for u :)

Cinderella Stories

“Etched in black and white
Carved in stone
A full stop denotes the end
A DEFINITE END”
“I hate definite ends! They leave nothing to your imagination.” The prominent fashion designer continued,
The end of a story, the end of an era…..The beginning of a new tomorrow. A tomorrow that never dawns….the glowing embers of the sun never scorch you….the cinders from the fire provide the warmth…the crackling fire wants you…you fell wanted…the cinders assure that you wont be consumed…the grayish cinders….where nothing is etched in black and white…the cinders don’t compartmentalize…Maybe that’s why I love the Cinderella story………”

Till now I never experienced something like this…a psychiatrist doesn’t really expect poetry from his patients sitting on his couch. So, when this happened to me I was flabbergasted. So what do you do when your patient suddenly mouths poetry like a long lost cousin of Ghalib? You provide the former with a pen and paper and hope that you won’t have to consult a shrink in near future. That’s precisely what I did…………………………………………………

“I have always loved Cinderella stories……there is a magic in it (and I am not just talking about the fairy godmother here) that stories like Hansel and Gretel lack. As a kid, I always admired Cinderella and Rapunzel for their courage and destiny. But it was always Cinderella who remained a personal favourite. I believe in Cinderella stories….I believe in happy endings…I believe that true love stories are meant to last forever……I believe that there is a prince charming waiting for me [I have a fair inkling of who he is but that’s still a top secret ;) ] My friends have always laughed at me when I told them that a knight in shining armour would whisk me off to a castle one day. “We thought it was a prince and not a knight,” they sniggered, ridiculing me for my ambitionless life; thinking of me as a lowly creature whose only ambition in life was to have two, cute, little of kids of the man that I loved, and take care of them as well as their father, my dream man, and his house….I always loved Barbie dolls, especially the one that had Kelly and the kitchen set. “Housewife ambitions,” my mother screamed, trembling at the mere thought. She didn’t dare tell my father that their only child didn’t dream of being a Doctor or an Engineer but a lowly housewife…. “He would be heart broken,” she sighed….As if he had a heart! As if she cared! All they cared was about their respective hearts which I thought were by now shattered into millions of tiny fragments and were now incapable of neither being broken further nor mended……..

But I divert from my original line of thought that says, I LIKE CINDERELLA STORIES…….I really like them…..the romance…….the devotion……the love between Cinderella and her prince seems so real…so heartbreaking……so touching…..so exhilarating
Whenever my parents fought, I cried myself to sleep, thinking of the Pooh lying next to me as my Prince…promising him that, I would never fight with him like this……making him promise me that, he would never hurt me like this. I always thought that he would come one day and ask for my hand. I was even prepared to run away with him if my father refused to marry me off. I was prepared to mount his bike, the modern version of the bike and run away; but he never came …….”

“He never came…… Doctor, he never came! All my friends found someone or the other…….. But he never came…….but I still wait for him Doc. Is it really wrong to have just one ambition in life- to find true love? If I don’t want a career why cant people around me understand that Dr.?” Amidst the sobs the saga continued, “I make a great living as a fashion designer doctor and I still believe in Cinderella stories, Dr …...I believe in happy endings ……….I believe in marriages, Doc…..I still believe in him Doc…….I still believe in my prince charming……I still believe that he will come back to me one day…….and I am prepared to mount his bike and run away with him towards our future.” I muttered under my breath, “but wouldn’t that be difficult?” Unfortunately he heard it and answered, “Running on the bike wouldn’t be so difficult Doc, I will be wearing trousers! And Doc, I will carry with me a book of fairytales, I believe in Cinderella stories you see……………….” I saw the man in front of me sobbing his heart out and wondered about the Cinderella after the clock struck midnight…………

The Velveteen Rabbit
By Margery Williams

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the
others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and
showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had
been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had
seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and
swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he
knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything
else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those
playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse
understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side
by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the
room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-
out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing
that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time,
not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When
you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit
by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It
takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who
break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved
off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are
Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

So that was a short story that was told by my Photography Prof , a swell and slightly eccentric man, who matches his T-shirts with the frame of his specs , has a wiry beard, the bearing of a saint and the smile of a devil and comes to college in shorts!!!!!!!!Whew! I m developing withdrawal symptoms, I have not written a post for a whole month. Plus a writers block! I am doing a summer job and that is so much of a work. The only thing I can think about is headlines and word counts! So it was finally a great relief that I could complete my second story and also think of something to post on this blog. Talk about literary constipation and then suddenly verbal diarrhea as I found myself sitting in front of my beloved computer and typing away to glory.

Losing touch with sanity

The dreaded E word- examinations! and that spells doom with a capital d. i can see everyone around me getting panicy, hysterical, rude, helpful, frustrated; a bundle of contradictions of their usual selves. Friends who generally stick to the propah british english with all is nuances have suddenly discovered its colorful american conterpart and are enhancing their vocabulary , every sentence is dotted with colorful words ,rather, colorful words are interrupted by the constraints of a sentence.
Losing touch of time and space. Didnt see the world beyond my flat for a week. a friend was kind enough to point this out and then, I couldnt study for two days, as i was busy wallowing in self pity, thinking about how the world must have changed in the week i didnt see it :(
After wasting more than a grand on notes [hyperbole] and the necessary tonnes of paper needed to show my parents and all those who care to observe , that i have so much to study, i finally wasted a week giving gaalis to professors, the course, life and in general anything and everything. sharpend a lot of pencils, chewed them up while revising. Now, there exists more wood in my body than the revised stuff that exists in the brain.
so me off to chewing some more pencils. till i regain my sanity back, ciao!

A cloud after a silver lining

Was in a happy state of mind for a few days. Reasons- submissions finished, deadlines dead , a few compliments about the changed look [ not necessarily in the that order] and above all, an internship with the newspaper,Afternoon. And just when I thought that things were finally looking up after a dismal new year [ had to face a couple of tsunamis on the personal front] Bang! i come to know journalists are not well paid!The bubble burst soo soon :( !!This great piece of news from a friend who has done extensive research on the salaries and payment of journalists.

Tried talking to fellow sufferers who plan to take up journalism. They are unperturbed. So, I deduce that they have either resigned themselves to fate or, have old money or, think of call centres as a gateway to heaven. I have neither old money, nor the gateway pass! So, I have hit upon an idea. Planning to open a chain of xerox shops near all major colleges in Bombay that will offer the students a discount rate. The xerox guy alongwith the sandwichwala can be major revenue generators [ if they ever decide to pay their taxes!]. So a xeroxwala cum sandwichwala is my future * a shudder: of either relief or repulsion ; i do not know*