Kiwi

So the other day I was cleaning my cupboard and came across this lil’ fella. Meet Kiwi. Yes, I’m aware he’s a parrot and not a kiwi, but I dunno why... the minute I saw him, the first word that popped into my head was Kiwi. So Kiwi it was.

I remember the exact day and date I got him. April 16th, 1993. The day we landed in Sharjah for the first time ever. My dad had come to pick us up at the airport in his new car, a shiny, golden-ish Ford Tempo. In the midst of wrapping my head around the fact that I was with my dad again in this strange new country, and witnessing a car with not just air-conditioning but windows that went up and down at the click of a button, I spotted this fluffy, bright red object on the dashboard.

On closer inspection, it was a small stuffed toy. My eyes lit up. My dad had got me a toy. My heart rang with joy. Aw, my dad is the best. Still, I hesitated.

“Idh enik aano?” I asked shyly, pointing at the coveted toy that was getting progressively hotter under the harsh Middle Eastern sun.

My dad, caught up in conversation and the excitement of finally having his entire big family with him in this lonely country, barely heard me at first. When he did, he sounded surprised like he’d forgotten the thing even existed. Truth was, he hadn’t actually bought it for me. It was a freebie he’d received from Kodak or Konica while getting some photos developed, he explained.

I barely registered any of that. Is it mine or not? That’s all I wanted to know, worried my sisters might claim it.

“Edutho, edutho,” he said, laughing.

I don’t know if it was the newness of everything, or all the fancy unfamiliar things around me, or the country itself, but I suddenly felt the need to be extra careful. Extra clean. I remember pulling out a tissue from the tissue box in the car (another marvel) and carefully wrapping Kiwi in it. 

I sat back into the back seat, solemnly buckling my seatbelt again (yet another contraption that blew my mind) and examined him quietly while everyone else’s chatter filled the car. It was such a happy, important day for us... the day we became a family again, the day our new life began... and yet, as a child, this was the memory that stayed etched most vividly in my mind.

Having left all my toys behind in India, Kiwi became my sole companion for a while. I know my dad wanted to buy me more toys, but looking back now, he went from living alone to suddenly supporting a family of five, paying off a new car, affording a 2BHK apartment, and school fees for three kids.. it must have been a lot! I have no idea how he managed it.

So I made do with Kiwi. My constant companion. I took him everywhere. He was small enough to fit neatly into my pocket. On that first day, I have a faint memory of taking him around the apartment, showing him every room, because well, it was his first time there too.

Over the years, my toy collection grew slowly, but Kiwi remained special. I remember deciding to celebrate his birthday one year. I gathered all my toys under a blanket fort I’d built, made a cake out of bun drizzled with condensed milk. I'd even invited my parents. I don’t remember if they came... parents in the ’90s weren’t as indulgent as parents today and probably had a shit lot of better things to do than attend a birthday party for a stuffed toy.

I talked to him. A lot. About school. About my sisters. About things that scared me. Hugged him tight against my chest when I got shouted at or when my parents argued loudly. He had the most empathetic blue eyes.. it always looked like he was listening quietly... to my small vishamangal, my anger, my joy.

If you look closely, you’ll notice a small cut on his foot. That was the result of one of those days when I gave in to an intrusive thought. I was like what would happen if I cut off his feet. I think I felt bad halfway through the deed and decided not to go through with it. So I cut all the hair off my Cupcake doll instead.

As I grew older, I didn’t play with him as much. But during some of those confusing, awkward years, he did occasionally feature in some questionable role-play scenarios. Which included make-out sessions with my Barbies, which was tough, what with him having a beak and all. But I didn’t have any male dolls, so my Barbies had to make do with animals. Okay Ew. I hear how that sounds.

I remember this one time our neighbours came over. They had two small kids, one of whom took a particular liking to Kiwi. When they were about to leave, the kid flat-out refused to let him go.

And my parents did the most ’90s-parent thing imaginable. “Oh, it’s okay. Let him keep it. It’s just a toy.”

I remember glaring at them, raging on the inside, but unable to say a word. I watched as the kid gleefully squeezed Kiwi and ran back into his apartment. Aaarg... I hated everyone. I complained to my sister, who rolled her eyes. I just couldn’t let it go.

That same evening, I think when my parents were taking their afternoon nap, I marched up to their apartment and rang the bell. The kid's mother opened the door. I bluntly asked if I could have my toy back, the indignation in my voice barely concealed.

 As someone who has a lot of trouble speaking up and voicing my opinions, I genuinely have no idea how I managed that. I don’t think I’ve been that straightforward since.. I just said it with all the determination I could muster.. without a second thought..without rehearsing it a hundred times in my head.

The aunty smiled knowingly, retrieved Kiwi from the kid...who had clearly already lost interest, and handed him back to me. I think she even apologised. I muttered a thank you and ran away smiling. 

Later, I noticed an ink stain around the white patch near his eyes. I took him to the bathroom and scrubbed at it furiously, mentally cursing that kid.

After that, though he wasn’t a prominent part of my daily life, Kiwi was never given away.. even when most of my old toys were handed down to my cousins. I didn’t take him to college or anything, but when we packed up our life in Sharjah and moved back to India for good, he was carefully tucked into one of my suitcases of memories (or aakri as my dad called it)

He mostly stayed in suitcases until I had D. One day, I decided it was time to pass my childhood companion on to her. I handed him over solemnly. She immediately began gnawing on his head and yanking his tail so hard that I physically flinched. So, I gently pried him out of her chubby toddler hands and was like heyyy… maybe let’s just get you your own toys to chew on, okay?

D’s had her share of Kiwis. She had a purple Barney that said “I love you,” gifted to her by my dad. She'd dragged everywhere, even to the supermarket. She's over it now, so I've stashed him in her own aakri suitcase.

As for Kiwi, I forgot about him again until I found him in an old box recently. I didn’t think much of it when I placed him on my work desk, simply to add a pop of colour. But a few nights ago,  I was lonelier than ever, like my heart was splitting open again. After a round of ugly crying, I sat up on the bed and absent-mindedly picked him up off the table.  And held him close.

He felt a lot smaller in my hands now. Pressed against my chest, just like I used to. His little body fit neatly beneath my palms. His fur was rougher now, worn down by time, but for a brief moment I felt like that little girl again... clinging to this tiny inanimate thing that somehow made the world feel survivable.

The fur around his eyes has thinned, making him look like he’s aged too. But his blue button eyes still looked at me earnestly. Still listening. 

Maybe it’s stupid..a fully grown woman hanging onto a stuffed toy like an emotional anchor. Maybe it isn’t him, really. Maybe it’s the time he transports me back to... when everything felt so much less… heavier?

So for now, Kiwi sits on my desk among my knick-knacks.. Like reassurance.. like a small piece of childhood I still get to hold on to. 

Greedy Pop

Growing up, I was what you'd classify as one among the "awkward" girls. I wasn't in the popular group. I wasn't in the bad girls group. I wasn't in the brainy kids group. I wasn't in the athletic kids group. I was just that - awkwardly stuck between the many many cliques. Even today when people from my school adds me on Facebook, especially if they belonged to any of the above groups, I'm so completely wonderstuck that they actually recognize and remember me. When all this while I thought I'd been invisible.

I wasn't a loner or anything. I did have my group of friends. Every year a different group. Mostly just kids who sit next to me. And their friends. When those kids get shuffled and put into different classes the next year, the walls between us causes us to drift apart. My sisters were part of these really big gang of girls. And they'd tell me the kind of fun they'd have. Though I'd never craved to be a part of a big group, I'd always wondered what it'd be like. And what I'd be like if I were in a big group like that.

I got my chance during one lunch break in 4rth or 5th grade. I was on my way back from canteen. And on my way I passed by one of the biggest gangs of my class. I think it consisted of ten girls or so. All beautiful, popular and/or brainy. One of them beckons me. I walk up to her and is immediately surrounded by the whole gang. She looks at the chicken sandwich (or atleast I think it was a chicken sandwich) in my hand. 

"You want to join our group?" she asked.

Just like that. Do I want to join? I looked at her like I didn't understand what she was saying.

"You want to join or what?" 

In the distance, I can see my two friends waiting. And I'm torn. My mind was whirring.
This is my break. My big opportunity to get into the big gang of popular girls. My folks would be so proud. (Yes, they actually would've been. My dad always wanted me to hang out with the bright and brainy kids so that I get influenced or whatever). My whole life could change with this one minute.What about my friends? Oh, I can still be friends with them and still be in this group. They'd understand!  I should just say yes. Yes, yes, YES!

"Yes", I said timidly.

"What? We can't hear you. Speak loudly."

"Yes!"

"Okay, good. So she is now part of our group now, okay?"

She takes a candy bar. Hobby, I think.

"Here, take this." she said holding it out.

I'm hesitant. 

"No, its okay. I don't want. Thanks"

"Arey, just take it, yaar. We're all friends now."

I'm still a bit reluctant, but I manage to reach out and take the chocolate.

And regretted it a second later. The minute the chocolate was in my hand, all the girls who had been standing around watching the whole exchange started chanting at the top of their voices.

"GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP"

Okay, Don't ask me what a greedy "pop" is. But I was terrified. And so damn humiliated. I let go of the chocolate and ran away as fast as I could. Not stopping to look back while they continued to chant and laugh at me. I don't remember where I ran to. I remember crying. I remember vowing to get revenge and all that. But I don't think anything happen. Everybody forgot about it and so did I. I never really thought much about it after that. Just a stupid little incident.

It was only after I had grown up, I realised that I had an aversion towards gangs. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have had small groups of friends too. But I've never gone up and tried to become part of an already established gang of friends again. I'd make friends with a person, but when I realise they're part of a group, I'd slowly move away from them, rather than be forced to join in. When introduced to a group of people, I get nervous and fidgety and anxious. And like I want to run away as far as I could as fast as I can. Which is stupid, because its not like they're going to suddenly start yelling greedy pop, greedy pop or anything.  I somehow expect them to pull the rug from underneath me at any moment.
I don't know what the point of this post was. I just suddenly remembered this incident couple of days ago. I had always dreamt of one day becoming rich and famous and driving to my old school in a huge fancy Porshe in front of all those girls and screaming Greedy Pop in their faces. But then here I am unemployed and old with a life that is going nowhere. And most of those girls have got amazing careers and are married with kids and, this is the worst part, have gotten incredibly hot over the years. Ugh. I wish my life was an American teen movie.
But then life goes on. I don't think I hold a grudge against them anymore. In one way or the other, they helped me become the person I am today. And while its not the best person imaginable, its not too bad either. I may not have the dream life that I dreamt of. But I am pretty happy what I've got. I married a fantastic guy, I have a few close good friends and an amazing family. And this blog that all you awesome-sauce people read! I wouldn't trade all that in for anything. Not even a shiny Porshe. :)

So Yesterday

A couple of days ago "What I miss the most" was trending on Twitter. And I went on tweeting-rage that day. Here are a few things that I Miss the Most.

VHS Tapes - The excitement while going to the video rental store. The search for the perfect Thrusday evening movie(I grew up in the Middle East, where the weekend used to be on Friday). The squeal of happiness when you find that the one that you've been waiting for is in today. The restlessness as you pop it into the player and listen to the whir as it rewinds. Winding the tape with a pencil when the player gets stuck. Sticking the magnetic tape with cellotape when it breaks due to overuse (my Alladin tape)

Getting my hair cut in the barber shop - They do a neat job and they do not bug you with unwanted advice. They do not tell you how a clean-up could solve all your problems in life. They do not tell you obvious things about yourself ("hey, you're graying. hey, you have pimples, hey, you have crap hair") And they do that cool thing with an electric razor on the back of your head. Awesome it is.

Dungarees -  I wore dungarees to school on my 14th birthday. I looked like a complete idiot. But dungarees were undeniably cool during those days. Not to mention comfortable.

Highlighter pens - I used this pen a lot, mostly to show people who bothered to look through my books that I've read all this. Though I really wouldn't have. I like how it would brighten up the pages of my boring Chemistry or Physics book.

My bunk bed - I bagged the top bunk before my sister could. I broke the bed in a couple months and had to share bottom bunk with sister. :(

White Ink bubbles - My desk at school used to be filled with white ink bubbles. If you haven't tried making white ink bubbles, you should. There is something very soothing about it.  Not sure if it had anything to do with its smells.

Bicycles - I don't understand why people don't ride cycles too much after they've grown up. I mean you don't need a license to drive it. And its way better exercise than sitting on a scooty or a bike. And how can you ever feel sad when you're riding a cycle?

The way Barbie smells - Go to a shop. Pick up a Barbie. Smell her. She smells heavenly. Try not to get thrown out of the shop in case people think you're a pervert.

The Titanic Craze - All the boys were sporting the Jack Dawson hairstyle. The girls all had fake 10 Dhs version of the Blue Diamond. And everyone around the corner was going "I'm the king of the world" and doing the classic Titanic pose. I had a Titanic phonebook, a Titanic t-shirt, a Titanic notebook and a box of clipping of anything related to Leonardo DiCaprio. It was nice to be manically obsessed with something.

Enid Bylton books - This I miss the most. I had this huuuuuge collection of Enid Bylton books which I used to read over and over again. Fairy tales, mysteries, school stories...had them all. I remember going to book fairs and coming home with tonnes of books. And just gobbling up the words all night long. I'd finish reading all the books by morning. How I longed to grow up and write books just like she did. My dad sold all my books when I was away at college. So now I don't have even a single book to mark my childhood. Someday I hope to buy them all again. If not for my child, then for myself. Those books, they were the most magical things of my childhood days.


Photo albums - No, not the ones on Facebook or Picasa. The real actual ones. The ones that you pile around when your friends come to visit. And the ones from which some guy who has a crush on you flicks a pic or two when you're not looking. The plastic ones that the studio gives with the developed photos and the negatives. They almost always have a real corny pic on the cover. I miss the feel of an album. I miss putting pics in frames and on pin boards.

Pen-pals - I never had one. But my sister did. And it was so cool. Getting an actual letter from a person living in a weird exotic country far away (okay, so maybe her pen-pal lived in the street next to ours or something, but still) I did have quite a few online-pals. Back before Facebook and Twitter was around to spoil all the mystery one could evoke about themselves. Long, long emails. I think my first email friend was a 14 year old Australian girl called Amber. Sure, "Amber" could also have been a 44 year old Indian uncle with a hairy chest and a vest with holes in it. Still, the not-knowing was splendid enough. At one phase of my life, I had more online friends than real-life friends. Now I have more imaginary friends than real-life friends.

Ink pens - The whole process of filling ink into the pen the night before school, after you're done "keeping your timetable" (that's arranging your books according to the periods the next day. Cos a bunch of jumbled out of order books would mean absolute chaos.) I couldn't figure out how to do it for the longest time. My sister had to show me. But that feeling of accomplishment when I finally nailed it! Awesome. I also miss ink cartridges, the ones with a tiny silver ball in it. Me and whole bunch of girls in school had a collection of those tiny silver balls. I also had a broken pencil points collection. Now I collect tweets. :-/

Old phones - The one with the holes that you have to stick a finger in and twirl. I used to love twirling all the numbers starting from 0 upto 9, for no apparent reason. I love the tiny ringy sound it makes. I miss the heaviness of the receiver. *sigh*

I can hear a lot of my younger readers going, wow, you are like super ultra old aren't you? (You know who you are, don't you) Yes, yes I'm old and ancient and whatever. But hey, I'm still here aren't I? So in a sense I get the best of both worlds. And also, while you write a post 15 years from now about the good ol' days of Facebook and Ipads, my great grandkids will come and tell you that you're old. So there. :P
I could go on and on and on. Don't get me wrong. I'm not like stuck in the past or anything. I'm cool with all the new things too. But just sometimes, I wish I could sneak back into the past, just for a day or two, and wallow in the simplicity of things and come back and update my Facebook status about it. :)

Tell me, what are the things that you miss the most?

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 7^th 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 16^th 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 12^th 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

?;0-(0''!~

Don't ask.

Through My Rose-Colored Glasses

Remember a time when we used to pick on the kid in class who wore glasses? Well, I don't cos I was that kid. I never got what the big deal was anyway. I always wanted to get glasses. I even lied to the ophthalmologist, pretending I could'nt read the white-light board. That was okay, cos I was headed for short-sightedness sooner or later cos of all the reading under the blanket/table with a torchlight and sitting too close to the computer. But then I was psyched when I got my first pair when I was bout 9 or 10. Was those cheap plasticy ones that you could throw down a building and it would'nt break (yes, I've tried that). As much as I loved how grown up and important I looked with em on, I could'nt quite get used to something stuck on my face. So I kept leaving it around. And losing it. I must've lost around 4 to 5 pairs like that.

Then I got these super huge ones black round ones, the damn thing was bigger than my face. It got me my nickname -Dilton. And I was kinda cool with that. And I was slowly getting used to the alien object perched on my nose.In fact, I was getting so used to it that I had them on all the time...even while bathing! And sometimes while sleeping. So I had to throw that one away cos of all the wear and tear it underwent. I don't remember a few pairs I had in between.

Later I had these funky blue ones. Like Elton John's. No...not quite,no. I think those were my last pair. No, I did'nt magically regain my sight after that. I moved up to contact lenses.

Now these lil suckers can be tricky at first. I sure was'nt comfortable with having to poke my eyeball with my finger. So I had to let my experienced sister do it for me for the first coupla weeks. Each eye took bout half an hour. I applaud my sister's patience. Though I do think she tried to poke my eyeball out intentionally a coupla times.

I hated the whole washing and cleaning and added responsibility that comes with contacts and the way I constantly pushed an invisible specs up the bridge of my nose, every five minutes. But I got sorta grew into it. Now I'm a total pro at contacts. Now I can put em on with my eyes closed...well...no..not really..its an expression..you get what I mean! Oh, I got a better one. Now I can put em on in the dark or even when I'm really really drunk.

So halfway through college, I was in a phase where I would'nt be caught dead wearing my glasses inside the campus. One time, I even ran outta contacts and I had to go someplace and I refused to step out wearing my glasses so I just held on to my friend so that she could lead the way and told her to inform me if anyone I know smiles at me from a distance. And my dear friend pointed out to a lotta random strangers every now and then and told me to smile. And I did. Not the decent small smile. The big huge gums and teeth and everythin beaaaming smile. I have no idea why I smiled like that. Maybe I was having a really good day or something. So yeah ha ha funny funny. Geez.

Then I got these ULTRA-COOL (well, at the point they were) square-shaped black frame glasses. And I could'nt stop wearing them! It totally gave me the mature look (15 years later and I was still depending on my glasses to make me look mature) Not the nerdy mature, the attitude-mature look. Although one of my friends did tell me I look like Johnny Bravo's mom. Hmm...

How I lost those glasses...I don't like to remember that story. I was in the bathroom, on the pot. I sneezed. It dropped off my face and fell in there. As much as I loved those glasses, I wasn't about to go in there. So I flushed. :-(

The one after that broke one of its legs so I stuck it on with cello-tape and used it for about a month.

And then my current one. Which was cool when I got em, but its sooo common that it makes me sick. But I use em 24/7. And I'm beyond caring how I look nowadays. So its all good.

Besides, everyone wears glasses nowadays! Even if they don't need it! I mean why do people get em for a power of 0.2 in one eye! Yeesh. Thats a disgrace to the near-sighted community. Few of my friends have got 4 or 5 pairs. Like accessories. To go with their clothes. I mean, is that like normal these days? Is everyone doin that? Should I go spectacle shopping now? Are they selling frames like for 10 bucks now?

I'm not into the whole laser or was it lasik (wait,was'nt that the first dog on space or something?) surgery thingy. Not that I would'nt enjoy having laser beamy things shot into my eyes. I just happen to love the fact that I can't see everything! I know thats weird. But there are so many things on earth I would rather not just see. Like dirt,muck, pollution, dirt, ickiness, gooey gross things, hairy men, war and stuff. I can just take off my glasses and slip into blessed blurriness. You can't ever do that if you have healthy eyes. Sure, I mite bump into people or walk into a glass door or go raving mad when I misplace my glasses, but for me the benefits list run longer. So cherish your glasses, I say!

I wanna Blabber...

U know wats the greatest thing bout having a blog?U can talk bout those things that u reeeeeally wanna talk bout n noones got the patience to listen to.Like those things like if ur at a party and u wait n wait n wait for ur turn to say sumthin cos everyone is all speakin at the same time and ur like "Ooh ooh something exaaactly like that happen to me when i was in Italy and..." and sumone goes "Oh god,that new Italian actress is like the ultimate bomb,is'nt she?" and then everyone would rather talk bout the stupid Italian actress..blah.. and no i havent really been to Italy.It was a metaphor!

Or those things u start to say when ur sitting around with ur friends and they go like "NOOOOOOO not again no, we've heard this 50 bagazillion times!!" which is like a tooootal exaggeration, by the way.Sure, i mite have repeated some stories one or two times...or maybe a 20 times...still!

So if i put it down on a blog, then people can just read em, whenever they have the time n patience to read it...or they feel like reading it again...and again!!ok maybe only i read it again n again..but u get my point.Like what if one fine day, I am all famous and rich. N ppl'll be buying strands of my hair on Ebay. Thats when u guys'll really wanna read my blog...This'll be a celebrity blog!Ohh and i would'nt even have to write anything then...I'd either just get my personal secretary to do it for me or I'll just fill it up with pictures of urs truely!! Man, it must b nice being rich n famous...

I've alwayz wanted to be a rich n famous writer. Well the rich n famous bit is a recent addition. But yeah, if I'm gonna b a writer, mite as well be successful,yeah?

I started writing stuff, as is stories and stuff, at a pretty early age.Remember in my previous post i mention how I stapled my hand when I was 5? That was cos I had finished writing my first "book" in a whole buncha papers n wanted to staple it all together so that it looks like a book..Now, I don't remember what I had written in those papers.But i do remember the book part..And the holding the stapler the wrong way part.And the blood n gore afterwards part............

Anywayz....my earliest writing skills were tested on my letters to Dad.He used to work abroad and visited only once in a while.So we tried to keep in touch as much as we could through snail mail.I used to write pretty frequently.And i used to write bout everythin!Not so much bout school,maybe cos I skipped school quite a lot those days, cos Dad was'nt around to keep an eye on me and Mom really could'nt control me.Hmm..its a wonder I actually passed 2nd grade.

Anywayz,I used to write to him bout the dogs, the chickens, the cows, my sisters who left me outta everythin cos I was'nt "old enuff" to play with the big girls, my mom who tortured me with Gigantic glasses of "yucky" milk everyday (she still dus), and my cousin who has 10 zillion Barbies who I'm very very jealous of (I still am..I mean, she had an insane amount of Barbies!Who would'nt b jealous!). My letters used to be long and quite informative.

Well, the letters came to an end when we all moved abroad. But u know wat?Dad and I still wrote letters...later in my teenage years.When we were pretty much at war all the time.We communicated pretty much through slamming doors and notes and letters..And I still have each and every one of those letters.

After the letter stage, I continued writing stories in bits and pieces here and there.That when dad bought me my first journal. To write whateva i wanted.I still remember it. It had a large picture of Minnie Mouse wearing a pink skirt on it! It was like my prized possession. I started off by re-writing classics. My first story was bout the lion and the ant. Then I wrote my version of Cinderella. I remember my sisters laughing uproariously everything they read the word "price" cos appartently thats how I thought "prince" was spelt.

Anywayz, my dad told me I shud write more of my own stuff..as in think and create it outta ur own head..So I thought and wrote a story bout how a girl has a dream and goes to a place where there is unlimited junk food and ice cream and..yeah well junk food..well, I was a young child introduced to the world of junk food just ladat one fine day..all my dreams revolved around junk food at that point of time.

That story was'nt half bad for a start. I wrote more stories. I remember I was in the middle of a story where one of the character's names was Reynold, when one of my uncles borrowed my book to read it. He never returned it. Apparently he lost it. I'm not one for holding grudges..but yeah.. I have never forgiven him..

Later, I discovered the computer...at the age of 9, if i remember right. Back then computers for me was all bout Paint, PacMan and Prince of Persia. Ohh n NotePad...Was addicted to NotePad. Started writing up on the comp and copying them onto my very own Floppy Disk!yes yes, i was high up there then..using Floppies and all.

I remember writing this poem bout Mom n Dad but it was reeeeeally cheesy n I just wrote it in a bid for more allowance or something.

My first horror story was bout a boy eats radioactive blueberries and ends up a cannibal..It got too scary that I couldnt finish it.

I continued writing a lotta stories like dat thru out my school years.Most of em I left infinished.I started one bout a guy who goes back in time..and I was hoping to make it a movie someday.Except I never finished it.Problem is, when i start a story I never know how its going to end up. I just go with the flow. And get stuck. Thats when another idea pops up. And I forget bout this story and pursue the new one.

It was in 6th grade I think I decided to get serious bout writing... All cos of an English teacher. She made us write an essay bout our Favourite movie. And my favourite movie at that point was Dunston Checks In. I'm not sure wat I wrote.It was just half a page. And i just got a 7 on 10 for it. But I will never Ever forget the remark she'd written on it - Keep it up. Your style of writing is truely unique...

Thats the first time someone had said something like that bout my writing. I mean sure, my dad keeps praising it.But then he's my dad.He's supposed to say nice stuff! This was like my first praise from an outsider! Thats when I made the concious decision to take up writing seriously.

After that, I let my friends read a few of my stories. But I was still quite cautious. I never send anything out for competetions or anythin. Until 11th grade, where I sorta involuntarily had to enter a competiton. We could write on anything. N it was around the time the 9/11 took place. So i wrote this 7 page long story based on it and it was all sappy and tragic and tears. I read the whole thing again, tore it up and wrote a 2 page autobiography of a strand of hair. It did'nt win a prize but it sure made the judges laugh..and for me, that was prize enough. :-)

After i got into college, I suddenly didnt have time to write anymore..Or rather,I didn't feel like it anymore. Its like, I can't write when someone is forcing me to write. And in my course, ur supposed to write whether u feel like it or not. Come up with scripts and screenplays and copy and features and stuff just like that. I could'nt do it. The words had to come to me. I could'nt make em come. So throughout college, my writing abilities were restricted to long text messages and an occasional rap song we friends cooked up. I do write poetry sometimes. But they're all based on experience and somehow seems incredibly cheesy wen i read em later, like an over-done sentimental forward msg.

And then this blog happen. So this is my playground again. To write wat I want, how I want, when I want to.

So as I was sayin initially, if i were to say all this in a verbal conversation there is nooo way, I would've gotten so far without being inturrupted.And,yeah,well,I like not bein inturrupted.And also,this way I don't have to pretend I have'nt noticed the painfully bored expressions on ur face, or ur subtle tactics to leave the room.

So that, ladies and gentleman, that, I declare, is the beauty of blogging....

Blabber on, mates!

Rainy Memories

I was having a miserable day the other day, travelling in a rickety bus from home to college, sweating like a pig...U know the whole thing bout how horses pespire, men sweat n women glow? That, my dear ladies n gentleman, is utter crap..unless i've got horse genes in me.It like a bloody dam exploded on top of my head..it's not a pretty sight i tell u..and not just on the top of my head...on the weirdest, unmentionable places too...its all trickle trickle trickle..

So anyway..I'm sitting there, miserable over having gone to all the trouble to take 2 hour bath to be back to my stinking self in just 10 mins..and suddenly..Heaven smiles at me..The piercing sun rays sorta withdraws abruptly like a girl who remembers she has'nt waxed her legs n draws em underneath her long skirt..There is a clap of thunder and then bliss...just pure bliss.. ok i admit, I'm a rain-a-holic...can't help it...some of the bestestest memories in my life have been made when the skies were crying...

I remember bein 5 or 6 years old and me and my sisters running outside the house as soon as the rains start, pausing at the door only a second to take in the heavenly smell of fresh wet ground...My mum and dad had pulled up chairs to sit at the doorway n watch us play...My dad never really forbade us from playing in the rain..

I dunno why i remember this..I sorta remember it in black n white..like an old photo from an album..its a good photo..

Whenever our cousins get together for the hols during the rainy season..we have atleast one rain dance session..So all the kids ranging from age 20-24 to 5-6 would be dancing around for all we're worth, drenched to the core until the mothers put an end to it...

An uncle once told me if i try hard enough, i can walk between the rain drops n not get wet at all...I spend half my childhood tryin to achieve that..ok ok so maybe I still do.. :-)

I experienced a hail storm for the first time in 4rth grade..But I was petrified...I missed pretty much the whole thing as I was crouched under the sofa until it ended. Thought pieces of the sky where falling down.

Another black n white photo moment is when in the 6th or 7th grade and me n my sister were trying to go to sleep in our room.We had this balcony with a huuge glass door.It starts raining and the thunder claps were loud and damn scary..I remember hugging my sister tight, telling her that the world is gonna end and we're all gonna die.Mom n Dad suddenly enters the room and gets into our bed(not sure why, maybe they were scared too)..suddenly it did'nt feel like the world was gonna end...suddenly the fierce lightning looked mesmirizing.We fell asleep together, watching the dancing lights..

10th grade- lunch break.We go out to the playground n see the kindergarten kids obediently standing underneath the foyer watching the rain.We're like "what the..." and barge outside and jump into every possible puddle.The lil kids laugh at first and then slowly one by one, they follow our lead.Their moms would probably have killed us if they had known we were responsibly for any cold/cough/fever their lil tyke manages to catch, but we were'nt about let them waste their childhood standing underneath the foyer.

I remember that my 12th board exams began on a rainy day...My classmates n I were on a bus going to the exam centre...One girl looks out of the window and says -" Hmm it's raining..Did u know that if you look up at the sky when its raining and say a prayer,whatever u pray for will happen?"

All of us where in the midst of tension and revision, so we just scoffed at her theory..But as soon as we stepped out of the bus, I saw pretty much all the girls, faces directed skyward, eyes shut firmly in concentration, hands clasped together, praying for all they're worth...including me.. :-)

I remember sitting on the rooftop of my grandma's house on a rainy day, crying over a fight with a friend and at the same time, pretending to read a book.

I remember seeing, for the first time (i'm not an avid watcher of Animal Planet) two dogs...um...gettin it on... on a rainy day. And calling them shameless creatures.. "I mean seriously, get a room!"

1st year of college...The rain is falling rite in through the huge window.. the veranda in our hostel room is flooded...As in the floors were getting wet but we treat it like a national disaster..."My books are gettin soaked! Save my books!" " Forget her books, get the food outta there!!" We spend all afternoon saving our precious possessions.

2nd year in college...Its nite time..Its raining pretty bad.My roommates and I fill our coffee mugs with ice cold sickly sweet ice tea and sneak into the forbidden terrace.Sitting in the pouring rain, we chat and drink our tea as if we're totally oblivious to the storm around us.One of us start dancing and pretty soon we're all dancing.One of us suddenly lies down flat on the floor.We follow.If u have'nt tried this, I'm tellin u pleaaaase do..Its like one of the most amazing feelings ever...can't even start to explain it..

I remember making a pact with a friend.We promised to think of each other whenever it rains.We'd give each other missed calls whenever it rained.Which was kinda silly cos sometimes it rained like 6 billion times a day....The friend is long gone..so is the friendship..the pact is also forgotten..but..

I met a special someone on a rainy day.

I realise that the special someone is not so special after all on another rainy day.

One day,I decide to move on. And its raining again.

I remember doing our journalism internship during the rainy month...running to various locations to collect stories all in the rain..walking through the highway, vehicles roaring past us, all the time the rain just kept beating down on us..Made it seem all the more filmy!

This is probably my favoritest memory of rain - the eve of my eldest sister's wedding. Its raining bad.Me n my middle sister watch the rain for a while then look at each other, grin and run outside.The place is covered with relatives and guests. Dejected, we go back into the house.

"The terrace!!" and then we run upstairs.The bride-to-be is sitting on her bed looking at her mehendi. She watches as we run into the terrace. I pop a cd in the cd player and pretty soon we're dancing our ass off. My eldest sister is watchin us with longing eyes.We're like "Don't u dare! Its ur wedding tomo..you can't afford to get sick!But we can...nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah!"

She holds back for one more sec and then "To hell with it!I'm coming too!" And joins us. So that was it. The three of us..dancing about like idiots..knowing that tomorrow things'll change..responsibilties will come up..we'll turn into wifes and mothers.I dunno if my sisters remember this incident as well as i do.For me, it was this bitter-sweet experience..

Ok i know this post is not like the rest.And it mite even seem boring to some of yall..I wrote this one for me..I don't wanna wake up one day and not remember all this.If i do, I can always read this and go "ohh yeaaaah...i remember now..."

There are many many more incidents like this..some that i cannot put up here..without askin the other people involved in the episode..

So thats my story bout the rain.I've danced in the rain,laughed in the rain, cried in the rain, sang my heart out in the rain, made a billion memories in the rain..