Sunday, December 11, 2011

The City of Brands, Buses and Blocked Noses

The other day, I was walking down a crowded street and I saw this beggar woman. Or alteast I think it was a beggar woman. Her clothes looked murky and old but then that could've been just some sorta fashion statement. She had a wrap around her that looked really tattered and worn out from the hundreds of nights she had to spend wrapped around in it during the chilling weather of this city. Or maybe its the hundreds of bucks she spend at a brand outlet to get a tattered looking wrap. I forgot to look if she was wearing shoes. That would've given me some sorta benefit to my doubt. She was just standing there leaning on a railing looking like she belonged there. I couldn't see her face so I couldn't tell if she had make-up on but her hairstyle was the one they give you in mental institutions (well atleast in movies). The horrible buzz cut that makes you hair stick up like porcupine spikes. Again, this could've been a fashion statement thing. She was eating something like it was the only meal she's had in days or the only meal she's had since she got out of office. I couldn't stand at stare at this woman too long to figure her out because I was in the middle of Brigade Road in Bangalore. The crowd just sorta takes you along with you. Or maybe I just haven't learned how to work against the crowd.

 I don't live in Bangalore. I just come here on random days. And it never ceases to intrigue me. A few years ago, before I had ever set foot on Bangalore, it was this mystical place that I had only read about. I'd heard about its shops and the people and the awesome coolness of it all. And I was just dying to get there. When finally I did land up here on a one-month stint, well, it wasn't quite what I expected. I'm not saying it was bad. Maybe I built it up too much in my head. Anyway, here are a few findings of mine about this city. Do not take it personally. Its just my opinion.

Bangalore weather hates my nose. The moment I cross over from Hosur to Bangalore, my nose gets a mind of its own and has its own little sneeze fest. Then apart from frequent sneeze attacks, it remains blocked during  the rest of my stay. I miss breathing when I'm in Bangalore.

Everyone is sooooo busy. Sure, they're all working and I'm just playing tourist but c'mon!Everyone acts like they work in the ER. Its all frantic and stress and panic attack. Geez, its not the end of the world! I have never worked in Bangalore or in a big important MNC sorta office, so I wouldn't know what the fuss is all about. Do your bosses cut your fingers off if you miss a deadline? I don't know why people put up with this sorta stressful likfe? (for the big fat paycheck, you dope! Oh...right...I've never had one of those either.. ahem.. so I wouldn't know. :-( )

Everyone is so clean! I don't if its just because of the way they all dress so well. But they look like they wash themselves every couple of hours. There is no greasiness or frizziness. And poor or rich, everyone looks like they stepped out of some sorta ad. (I'm just talking about the proper city city part not the outskirts.)

No matter how many times I've been here, I turn into a country bumpkin. I can't help gawking at girls in short dresses or people with tattoos or stifle a giggle when I see a person shopping in what looks like their underwear. I squeal when those laser activated water facet things work. I save up tissues from every restaurant to use later. I spend a few minutes staring in awe at gleaming toilets. I swoon over 100 bucks slippers and carry back as many as I can. I steal glances around at everyone else in the room and then proceed to try and appear all relaxed and laidback like them except my insides are in knots.

Everyone has a Bangalore accent. I didn't know there was one. But there is. Its just not widely popular like the other accents.

The traffic. I generally like traffic jams because it gives me time to study the surroundings and the people around me. But in Bangalore, when I end up staring at the delivery van guy for some 30 minutes and I begin bordering at creepy.

The climate again. I could never work in a place with a climate like this. Not just because of my allergies. But this is the kinda climate that makes me want to snuggle under a quilt and hibernate till its summer again.

I hate how everything is so far away. Back in college, I could find everything I needed at each places that the bus stops. Thats like 5 minutes. Here travelling the distance between two friends I want to visit could cost me an entire day in the bus or an entire fortune in an auto.

I love the buses. They are the most ultra coolest things they have here. They don't make them like that back where I live. There its a box with four wheels. And the box leaks more often that not, when it rains. In Bangalore, its like a whole new technology. With the automatic doors and everything. Whoosh. Open. Its like magic...Umm.. okay, that was the country bumkiness I was talking about.

Everyone seems rich here. I want to meet a poor person here. I'll have a lotta people coming up now saying that they're poor cos they spend all their salary before the end of the month and because they live in a studio apartment and eat out only every fortnight. I sympathize with you, I do. I'm just talking about dirt-poor. Who lives pretty much like most of the people back in my hometown.

This city changes people. It turns the relaxed into uptight and harried and turns the stick-up-their-ass types into chill-maadi types. I had many a slow-moving, song-humming, non-branded clothes friends once. But Bangalore has transformed them. A few for the better too. And I've had friends who were ready to burn people who drink and smoke at stakes. Now its all "Meh" to them. Its a crazy world, this city. I've read a lotta books about people based in this city. I know if I stay here long enough, I 'd get swirled into the big cup of surprises this city brings. I'd get street-smart and sassy. I wouldn't go home and cry about the amount of money I was "tricked" into paying. I'd look clean all the time too!

But for now, its back to slo-mo living at my good ol' home town in my non-cool clothes and de-congested lungs. I'm not saying my hometown is the best thing ever. It's got its billion flaws too.. But its just like.. you're a piece of cloth that has been floating about in a bucket of water all life long and suddenly someone takes you and puts you in a big techy washing machine and you're tossing and turning and beating against the sides. I'm still in my bucket of water. In fact I'm like the frog in the bucket of water. Whoa wait thats a whole other metaphor. I'm getting my metaphors mixed up. Maybe I should stop for now. Until next time, you guys chill maadi! :-P

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I Like, I Don't

Its time for another pointless post bout things that I like and don’t like. In points. Because I'm to lazy to type out a whole post. :-) Yenjay!

I like it when a sunny day turns cloudy and you actually see it happen. As in you notice the dark shadow cast over all the sunniness, inch by inch. It makes me feel like I sneaked a peek of one of those things Nature does before we notice. Like plants growing or sweat popping outta skin. :-)

I don't like being talked to during a movie. Please refrain from talking to me just for those 3 hours.

I like to listen to that sudden short intake of breath that singers do in between lines of a song. It makes them seem human just like the rest of us.

I don't like it when a pill does not go down your throat but sorta swirls around in your mouth and you end up with the horrible taste of a melted tablet in your mouth.

I like the smell of new things. Like a new book or a new school bag or shoes or a new eraser. Oooh and new clothes. I would purchase the thing that they use to induce that smell. Oh and also the musty smell that’s there as soon as you turn on an air conditioner. Heavenly.

I don't like it when I find ants in my eyebrows.

I like it when I get to do the "What to expect when your expecting Puberty" talk to pre-pubescent girls. I’ve done this only once and I think I scared the wits out of that kid but it was still nice to be older and world-wise

I like laughing out loud at a corny joke on tv or bawling at a sad scene when there is noone around to judge you.

I like masala movies where the hero walks in slow motion and kills all the bad guys with a flick of a finger. I get goosebumps during these scenes no matter how bad the movie is.

I like the first 15 minutes spend with a toddler right after he wakes up from a nap. They’re all dazed and lazy and oh-so-not-hyper. Its a nice relax-y time. And I love their bleary eyes.

I don't like it when people call you up and talk and talk and talk without breathing, without even giving me a tiny little 2 second break so that I can say “right, ok, so I gotta go now.” If you've ever wondered how the line had  magically gone dead when you were explaining to me how exactly your great aunts ended their real estate disputes, well, I don’t know either. :-|

I like it when married couples who probably haven’t held hands since 1985, huddle close together under an umbrella when it rains. With an arm around waist or shoulder, heads together, it somehow reminds you that that they had been young and very much in love once upon a time.

I don't like it when people send you something on chat and then go “oops, wrong box”. I used to do that a lot when I wanted to inform someone of something without actually having to say it to him/her. Or I’d just be trying to make it seem like “I’m talking to a whole lotta other people and I wasn’t sitting here staring at your name on my chat list willing you to send me a message for the past one hour.” Hate that.

I like daisies. I like Meg Ryan because in You’ve Got Mail she says that she likes daisies. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Kathleen Kelly: I love daisies. 
Joe Fox: You told me. 
Kathleen Kelly: They're so friendly. Don't you think daisies are the friendliest flower?

Trivia – Meg Ryan’s daughter’s name is Daisy.

I like the way Meg Ryan walks.

I like it when babies touch your face.

I don't like it when they later try to yank open your eye sockets and pull out your eyeballs.

I like all movies that I’ve watched from beginning to end. No matter how bad it is. There is always some portion of it that I can relate to even in the bizzarest way. Or I just feel that I’ve learned something that I would’ve never known until I watched that movie. Be it a funny dialogue, or a thought or a costume or an exotic name or an idea or a psychological disorder or just basic trivia.

I don't like it when you make someone read a book or watch a movie that you absolutely love, but they don’t pay attention to it like their lives depend on it. I mean they’re texting in between the most crucial scenes or skipping the most important chapters. Sure, they probably don’t like it either when I’m yanking their head up so that they're facing the screen or breathing down their neck asking them what line they’re reading now. But still, no respect for the arts.

I like aprons.

I don't like it when you just have to “give in” when you’re winning an argument because the other person is just a “child”. It’s just not bloody fair. 

I like old keys. I love the feel of them. 

I don't like smiling when wearing white because it makes your teeth look so-very-not-white.

I like how everyone is financially equal in Facebook. No matter what pictures you’re posting – of your 3 different cars or scenes from the bus you ride to work everyday.. or from where you send your comments – your shiny new Blackberry or a shady old internet cafĂ© down the street, you’re all on Facebook. Its literally like you all hang out at the same place. Without having to constantly check how much is left in your wallet. Which is cool.  

I don't like it when someone near me coughs or sneezes. I hold my breath for as long as I can or until I feel that the viruses and bacteria has stopped floating around in the air and has settled. Or I flap the air around me towards them as subtly as I can.

I like the way people’s eyes sparkle in movie theaters.

I like it when someone touches my hair. Or my ears.

I like blood red nail polish.

I like old scars and telling the story about how it got there. I always figured that "If a scar does not last too long on your body then it probably doesn’t have a story that is worth talking about." My very own quote.

I like making up my very own quotes. 

Monday, July 4, 2011

A Furry Tail

It had been a terribly long day. At around 10pm, I got back home after helping my cousin with some work. I was tired and was looking forward to going to bed. At the gate, my dog awaited eagerly. I groaned. I mean, I love the lil fellow, but sometimes you just wanna be able to walk into your house upright and not have a 30 kilo over-excited puppy lunge at you. After a lotta puppy pushes, I managed to get into the house (not without a few scratches). Inside the house, I see a big fat cat strutting around like he owned the place. He was jumping from pole to pole over our heads and at each jump I cringed a little. I mean, there is something very icky bout cats. I can't quite figure out what it is. But just looking at a cat makes my mind throw up a little. So while this furry feline tried all sorts of acrobats, I hurried myself outta the room because the last thing I wanted was it to fall on my head. Later as I watched TV, my eyes kept drifting to the hole that the cat disappeared into. After a bit, I went to the kitchen to heat up some leftover pizza only to see it covered completely by ants. What nerve?! I mean ants would've eaten rotten wood with the same enthusiasm but they had to go and attack my precious pizza!? UGH!
After a bit more TV, I decided to head to bed. I went to my room and caught a glimpse of a shadow crawl under my bed. I frantically jumped on my bed and stood on tip toes. Upon turning on the light, I saw yet another cat casually stroll out from under my bed. I opened a window so that the cat could find its way out, only to get shocked outta my skin when my dog stuck his head in through the window and barked at a bazillion decibels. Right then, I had just had it with animals! I was sick and tired of cats and dogs and chickens and ants and everything!
I went back to my room still grumbling. The whole room had a musty cat smell. I almost gagged. After spritzing my perfume about a bit, I sat staring at the window through which Cat No.2 had entered my room. I was too scared to reach out and close it because I was sure that a whole bunch of cats were there just waiting to feast on my arms. I managed to doze off after a bit and have a flurry of weird dreams about cats walking all over my bed and turning into vampires and biting my neck. Imagine my shock when out of nowhere, I hear a tiny Meowww! My eyes shot open and I looked around hurriedly. I checked under the bed. Nothing there either. It wasn't coming from outside either. Then finally, under a chair lay a cloth that had fallen there a few days ago that I kept meaning to put back in the cupboard. Inside it lay a tiny little fur ball. It couldn't have been hardly a day old. For a minute I wasn't sure if it was a cat or a mouse. It was literally that tiny. Then, I freaked. I felt like a mom who wasn't ready to become a mom but suddenly had a lil baby fall outta her all of a sudden. It was around 3 in the morning. I had no access to the internet right then or else I would've Googled the shit outta kitty-caring techniques. So instead, I called up a friend who I figured would be awake enough to shell out some advice. After 10 minutes of the world's most useless and pointless conversation, I was on all four staring at her. I had never seen a new born cat before. I got a little wistful because I swear she looked exactly like my niece did when she was born. The same long eyes and pink nose. Check out the pictures and you tell me if you don't see a similarity.

I wanted to touch her but just couldn't make myself do it. I put one finger on top of her head though. She stirred and I had a mini-heart attack. She started shivering a little. So I folded up a kurtha and laid it gently on top of her. I don't know why I figured its a she. Maybe because when she started crying, she wasn't meowing, she was literally crying. Like human babies do. A little whiny cry. I pulled at the cloth she was lying on to make sure there was just one. I always thought cats gave birth to like a dozen at once. I pushed the cloth down under my bed so that it would be warmer there. Then I grabbed my camera and took a coupla quick pictures. I wrote a note to my dad so that my dad doesn't accidently step on her or something the next morning. Wrote 'There's a kitten under my bed. What to do with it? Please don't kill it.'
Turned off the light and went to bed with names for the kitten whirling around in my head. Few minutes later, I hear someone clawing at my window. I shoot outta bed, grabbed a pillow, head for my parents' bedroom and slept there. Next morning, I woke up to see her dragging herself around under the bed, crying for dear life. She couldn't even walk. And she kept falling over too. I had a quite a lotta aww moments in that 10 minutes. She did that eerie human cry again. I found the tiniest bowl I could and poured in some milk. I pushed the bowl under her nose. She toppled over and fell face-first into the bowl of milk. Oh crap, I've drowned it. But she lifted her head again, looked a bit confused, licked her mouth and then pretended to gag. And dragged herself away from the bowl. Well, excuse me for not being a gourmet milk chef. She kept crying so I stuck some old cloth into a box and sorta rolled the lil fur-ball into the box with a book.(I still wasn't too keen on touching it) She jumped outta there once.Swooping her up again, I placed her back into the box and while holding the box at an arm distance, carried it to the staircases. I placed it at the foot of the stairs. I look at up to see the mom-cat looking down at us. I point to the baby and quietly leave. I hide behind a door and peep to see the big reunion. I was hoping it'd b complete Karan Joharish style. I wait and wait and the stupid mom cat still wouldn't budge. I badly had to pee as well. (I still hadn't brushed my teeth or anything. Straight outta the bed and into this melodrama). Finally I got tired of waiting and moved the box a few steps up, hoping that the little fella won't attempt to plunge into an early death now. By the time, I was back after 15 minutes, both mom and daughter was gone. They're probably in my room upstairs cos when I went there later that day, it smelt of that same old musty cat smell. 
This is by far the most exciting thing that happen to me this year. Don't judge me, ok. Exciting-er things have happen to me. I'm keeping a low profile this year. Anyway, this incident made me feel like I'm living out an Enid Blyton story. Sure, it wasn't a goblin or pixie or talking doll or anything that I found under the bed. But there I was, grumbling about all the animals in the world and *Pling* this adorable little creature happens. There isn't an exciting or surprising ending to this story. Just that the lil kitten got to have a super awesome human-mom for a day. Who tried to drown her in milk. Umm...shhh! ;-)

Monday, June 20, 2011

Nothing Happen Today. Good Night.

            I was going through a bunch on my old stuff some time back. I've got these cardboard boxes full of "junk" as my mom and dad likes to call it. But I like to call it my "Treasure Chest Of Memorabilia" (ok, no, I don't. I just call it my stuff. This sounded fancier. And I wasn't even sure what memorabilia meant.. or how its spelt .Google to the rescue as always.)
Anyway so this treasure chest which might just look like an ordinary suitcase from the outside, is filled with years of valuable and one-in-a-million memories. Bits of scrap paper passed around in class, movie tickets, wrapping paper with tag on, letters and cards, flowers that has been dried between pages of books, locks of hair (no, im not a psycho), stones from a memorable place and other things that mite cause you to rethink my sanity level. Among all these, I found a couple of diaries. Now who hasn't written a diary once atleast once in a lifetime. They're so wonderful and personal, especially when you start writing so young. To me as a kid, it a whole new playground. I didn't have to use my best handwriting. I didn't have to stay between the lines. I could use pens with ink that are not blue or black. I could doodle right in the middle of the book if I wanted. And I could stop writing whenever I wanted. My first diary was introduced to me by an aunt, who wanted to encourage us kids to write. It was this lil black leather book with a flap so that you can button it shut. I wrote unfailingly for weeks. Some of my entries, as I read it now.. are hilarious : 

September 7th Wednesday 1994

Today in the I had a very BIG headace. At home alsaso my dad brought the termomiter. I was having 100.

Um.. ok so not hilarious,maybe. Just plain dumb. For a 9 year old anyway. I'm guessing the headache affected my sentence formation.. And my spellings.. thank god you can't see my handwriting. :-/

January 23 Sunday 1994

Today in school I did not have 4 peread. I am so happy today because I don't have tuion.

July 12 Tuesday 1994

Today I went to ice scat. I could not scat. But I enjoyed it. I am sleepy. Good night. Bye.

I said good night, bye, sometimes Good evening and occasionally, love ya, to my diary. I know…  :-/

After a while the posts got shorter and shorter : 

June 18 Saturday 1994
Dear Diary, Nothing happen today. Good night.

June 19 Sunday 1994
Dear Diary, Nothing happen today also. Good night.

About a month of this and then I got even lazier and started to resort to using ,, ,, in every day's column. As in "same-as-above". Apparently nothing happen to me for the rest of the year.
But then again when a new year dawns, I'd again start off on the crisp pages (which smells yummy by the way) of a fresh new diary. 
Once in my teens, I realized diaries are kinda kiddish and that I should move on to the grown-up version of diaries - the journal.

 I'm not sure what the difference is, but I was a major Babysitter's Club fan then, and the kids in that book always wrote in journals, which simultaneously (crap, I cannot spell simultaneously.. without spell check that is.) was considered to be a cool thing to do.
See the journal on the floor? See it? So cool!
 I figure the only difference is that diaries are meant to be written at night before bed and journals you can whip em up whenever you want and bitch bout life in it. Which was pretty much all I did in my journal. Complain bout my parents. Complain bout how I look. Complain about my best friends. Complain bout how much I had to study and how utterly useless algebra is. With an occasional random post about a new crush or two. :-)

May 16th 1999 (excerpts)

.. except for one who is drop-dead gorgeous. Well, he's not that cute but then he is really cute. But I think he's some sort of fuddy-duddy (I'm not making this up. I did use the words "fuddy-duddy". I mean how cool was I!)
……….When a girl next to me said the words "fall in love" to someone she was talking to, I looked up at the same time he was looking at me. I know its silly and doesn't mean anything my heart was pounding so bad that time. I think I'm a silly jerk. He doesn't have a nice accent and he hardly ever laughs. Geek. But he looks nice when he smiles……
…..I really really wanna talk to him but I don't have the guts. What am I gonna say anyway? I heard he's a boring conversationalist…….

Ahhhh to be 13 again! 
Note : To know how that story ended.. clickety click here!

I stuck to that journal throughout my teenage years. It wasn't much to look at. It was a notebook with a picture of a bunch of animals on the cover. And it says P.M.S deluxe. Lol! I just noticed that now. I bought it from the store in front of my house for 7 bucks. Eventually I punched a hole through all the pages so that I could slip a lock through it. For ensured privacy. Expect I lost the key one day and had to rip it open anyway. The last post I've written in it is where I'm stressing bout passing 12th grade and college and life in India.

Do I seem 18 now? ( I asked the 192 paged book) I think the way I write is different (not my handwriting). Or maybe I'm just trying too hard…

What's that even supposed to mean?

Once in college, I didn't do much journal or diary writing because college hostels are one place where girls just get a kick outta reading other people's diaries. In fact, when I was a kid, I used to jump at every chance to read my sister's diary. Except it didn't have anything earth-shattering in it. On the first page of her diary, she'd write – Do Not Open and do this drawing of the danger sign which actually just looked like a peanut on top of an X. On page two, she'd personally address me and say something like "You know its bad manners to read other people's diaries so PUT IT DOWN", which is sooo the wrongest thing to say to a jobless kid with a level of curiosity that could've killed a whole street of cats. But seriously, her diaries were boring. So in college, when eventually I did start writing, it was more or less for an audience. I'd write it so that others would like it if they read it. It would be humorous and charming with tit-bits of interesting trivia once in a while.

So today I hit a mosquito with my bare hands and then I swear I heard a crackling sound. I felt bad about it for a bit, but alas! (yes, alas) the deed had been done. I had crushed the poor thing's endoskeleton..Which as I know is just like human skeletons but on the outside. Yaawn, Off to bed, then. Tomorrow is gonna be another jam-packed day! (uh, yeah right!)

Sometimes I'd force my roommate to write about me in their diary then read it out loud to me. I think she tore out those pages about me after I went to sleep. :-/
Once I discovered blogging, I haven't really felt the need to write a diary. Most of my innermost thoughts and feelings, I usually blog about it. Or its my Facebook status. Ten years ago, I'd have tore someone's eyes out if they so much as hovered near my diary and read about my days where Nothing Happen today again. Now I'm just putting it all up on the web.. for public display.. of billions and thousands of people (ok, so not that many, I don't get that many hits on my blog :-( )
I started a diary last year though. But I stick to one-liners now. 

Day 1 - I got my driver's license today! Yay!
Day 2 - I almost run over someone today. Bummer!
Day 3 - I got my first pay-check. Yay!
Day 4 - I got fired today. Bummer!

After a while, I think I'll probably just shorten it to emoticons.  

Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4

Don't ask.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Guess Where I Found Zen?

"Everyone needs to find their Zen. What do I mean by that? Zen means peace, meditation, calmness. We are conditioned to stressing and forboding and worrying, it's human nature. It's difficult for us as humans, to focus on the moment and find peace or even want it, but we do however, need peace in our lives."
Everyone has their own ways to zen.
Ross to Phoebe :
No, no don't!
 Stop cleansing my aura!
No, just leave my aura alone, okay
Of cleansing their auras. I love how Phoebe from F*R*I*E*N*D*S does it by.. well.. literally plucking out the yuckies from your aura. But for the saner lot, it's mostly yoga or music or a walk or whatever. I’ve always wondered what my aura-cleansing technique is. Well not just an aura cleanser.. but also a stress-busting, depression-dissolving, life-mending technique.

I used to sing to ease my worries. No, not just randomly sing.. I would take the pains to listen to a song and write down the lyrics.. even though I could just get it off the Internet. I like to write it down myself cos a) this usually happens in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and I’m too lazy to turn on the computer again and b) when you write down the lyrics, you can write them down exactly how you hear it if you don’t understand what the actual words are. I don't know how thats better. But it is.
Like the song Survivor by Destiny’s Child. I swear, it goes “I’m a survivor, I’m not go-giver, I’m a bus driver, Imma work harder!”, which sounds all wrong and probably is wrong but it cracks me up so I never really tried to find out the real lyrics.

Anyway, singing usually used to work for me until my nose kept getting blocked all the time and I literally lose my breath after half the song and also its no fun when you have to sing it like “Ibha surbhiber, Ibha bhus drivher”.. It doesn’t really make you feel like a survivor.. or a bus driver for that matter.

So after that, I couldn’t figure out what to do to get rid of all those bad/sad feelings.Until I tried gardening.
It was awesome. Everytime you bring that shovel down on the hard ground, you feel like your cracking through the brains of all your murky problems in life. And when I come across a worm- forgive me all animal right-ist and worm lovers – but I squish it. And I feel better. So there I was, digging and squishing, digging and digging more than I needed to dig. With more aggression that I’ve ever felt in my life. Once I was done, I was proud of myself and resolved that this was going to be my solution to dark days forever. I'd found my zen in the mud and dirt. Everything was great until the next morning when I woke up and found that my arms had temporarily stopped function. Well okay, that’s an over-exaggeration. They did function. Except every time they tried to function, it felt like everyone of those tiny worms I squished the day before had cloned themselves to infinity and had magically made their way inside my body to bite into each inch of the little muscle that I had somewhere between all those bones. Apparently worms have got someone looking out for them too.

I had to figure out another way to unwind before I drove myself insane. I thought of yoga which seemed like the obvious way to go. But I didn’t wanna cause further damage than I had already caused. Everytime I tried yoga in the past, I’d require atleast two days of bed rest atleast until I figure out that I’m bending or twisting in the wrong direction.
That is when I came across this awesome cooking blog. I’m not gonna give you the link b'cos I found it and its mine. And you can’t have it...... It’s mine.
I’m very possessive about my blog finds. I “found” the 1000awesomethings blog and a month later, there was an article about it in the Reader’s Digest. Sure, the blog had atleast a bazillion visitors already… but I found it. :-/

So anyway, the cooking blog.. the secret cooking blog was amazing. I started to make something everyday. And wonder of wonders, everything was.. well.. sorta edible. Well ok, it wasn’t repulsive either! I mean, I was actually good at it and got better everyday. Every afternoon, I’d browse the blog and figure out what I want to make, jot down the recipe and get crackin’. It was awesome, apart from an occasional hard-as-coconut-shells biscuits, everything else was scrummilicious. I was in bliss. It went on great until one day I had my heart set on making Banana bread. I don’t even like bananas, but it just seemed like a cool thing to make! And it was simple as hell too! I went to the store and got extra butter and eggs and everything and was all excited to make it. So in the afternoon, I go to the kitchen to make my much-awaited Banana bread. I lay out all my ingredients until I notice one tiny little thing was missing. We were out of bananas.
I swear, it was like my world was falling apart! I just had to had to make it that day itself! I mean, how can we not have bananas!? We always have bananas! My house literally grew on banana trees! I have never been that terribly upset. I was literally in tears. It was like I just missed out on winning the Nobel Prize. After spending hours, mourning on my bed, I considered trying to make something else. But figured, what’s the point? When you’re looking for lemonade, life just hands you one rotten lemon after another(we were out of lemons too :-( )

I listened to sad songs, sat around in the dark and cried my eyes out. After a while, I wasn’t sure if it was about the bananas (or the lemon) anymore. With the little light coming in through the window and tears flowing down my cheeks, somehow it crossed my mind that this would make a great photograph. All artsy and stuff. Still sniffing and sobbing, but without hesitation, I picked up my phone and clicked a picture of myself... only to find that I looked positively ghastly. It made me cry even more and curse stupid actors in movies who look positively angelic while they cry. Bloody nonsense. Oh, why.. why is everything in my life going so wrong! Where the hell is my goddamn zen! Self pity, self pity and more self-pity. Ugh.
Anyhow, crying always makes me want to pee. I don’t know what the connection is. You’re losing liquid…and somehow that makes you want to lose more liquid. Anyway, I stepped into the bathroom. The bathroom was really dirty from all the mud from the garden and just murk in general. I gestured to the empty room and said to myself “This…this is my life….A big disgusting mess...” Silence.

Without a moment’s thought, I grabbed a sponge and some floor cleaner. Down on all fours, I started scrubbing. After I was done, I looked down and still wasn’t satisfied. So I grabbed hold of every single bathroom-cleaning equipment lying around including an old toothbrush of mine and did it again. This time I gave it my all, which means between the tiles and near the clogged drain. By the time I was on the last tile, I was surprised when I realised that I was actually grinning. I’ve cleaned up the “big disgusting mess”. Ok fine so maybe my life hadn't magically cleaned itself up too. But I realized that if I could clean up this great big mess, well, then no mess is too big for me!
No mess is too big for me.  That's my current aura-cleaning methodology now. I'm on my way to Zen. And to think.. of all the places, I looked.. I found mine in the bathroom. :-)