Bolty

                               

Today I said goodbye to my dog, Bolt who we fondly called Bolty. We had to give him away to another family. He spent just four short years with us, but what eventful four years they were.

I still remember the day he came into our lives. He was just a few months old I think, bit large for his age. He scampered about the place sniffing new smells and licking new hands. The kids went nuts over his beautiful black and white fur. I admit, I was a bit weary of touching him. 

I'd always loved the idea of having a dog, but when it happen for real, I was a bit scared. I'd stood at the doorway and extended my arms as far as it could and stroked his back with a finger. And he responded by wagging his tail. Its one of the nicest feelings, a dog wagging his tail because of you.

Slowly, I got over my fear and soon I was spending every waking hour with him. Brushing his hair, using his special powder on him. One time I even put a bit of my dad's lavender talc powder on him.I loved his big soulful beautiful eyes, the colour of honey. The way he would just stare right back at you when you spoke to him, which I did a lot. 

My nephew decided to name him Bolt because he was in that phase where he'd binge watch the cartoon Bolt sixteen billion times a day. So, Bolt it was. Except, it was only later that we realised that Bolty wasn't a "he". Bolt was actually a female dog. But I'd gotten used to call her a "boy" that I refused to acknowledge the sex change. I hope he didn't end up having gender-issues. 

Bolty grew to love us and soon began bringing us his little "presents". Many a time, we opened the front door in the morning and was greeted by the sight of a dead crow or rat at our doorstep. He managed to get pretty much all our chickens too, much to my mom's dismay. But Bolty did manage to prove his strengths soon enough. 

One of the times that I was most proud of him was when he spotted a cobra and barked madly right at its face, preventing it from coming any closer towards our house. I'd never seen him so brave and ferocious before. His nose could've almost touched the snake. After a while, he stopped and sat right there, his eyes on the snake, growling everytime it hissed back at him. I don't know how long he sat there like that, but we knew this dog knew what he was doing. 

Then one morning, there was no Bolty at our doorstep. My dad hunted all over the place for him. We could hear him howling but couldn't figure out where he was. Turns out he had jumped into the well. And had been swimming around trying to keep himself afloat for hours. It took a few hours and lot of effort, but we found a guy who could go down the well and rescue Bolty. 

A group of men lowered this guy into the well using a rope and he was trying to jostle Bolty into a huge basket. I remember watching with bated breath and calling out the frightened dog's to reassure him that he'd soon be safe. He got into the basket once but scampered so hard that he fell into the water again. After a bit of a struggle, the dog was back in the basket and the men were pulling him up. I remember wrapping my arms around him the minute his feet hit the ground. He was shivering and could hardly walk straight. After trying to dry him as much as I could, I slowly led to a spot with good sunlight and let him dry off. 

The rest of the day, we lavished him with eggs and milk and all sorts of goodies, while drying him off with my sister's hairdryer. It took many days to recover from the shock of it all, but soon he was back to running around like crazy and trying to knock me off my feet by jumping onto me. I love that he still remembered.

Pretty soon, Bolty had grown up and had a lot male friends visiting at night. My dad was not pleased, so he'd lock the gates and drive away any stray dog that dared to enter. This one dog would stand at the gate and howl away. It was utterly romantic. And I'm pretty sure that that Romeo had something to do with the litter of puppies Bolty gave birth to a few months later. 

I remember waking up one morning and hearing the news. Bolty was lying in a cozy spot with her tiny little puppies scattered all around her, some on top of each other. I had never seen such tiny puppies up close. Nine of them. Bolty looked tired as ever.

There was a look in her eyes, that seemed to say "Please get me the hell out of here." I didn't understand then, why she looked like that, but now as a mother of a child, I totally get it. One human baby suckling away all night and day is Nothing compared to Nine puppies fighting and struggling and crying all together to get their share of their mom's milk. Poor Bolty. She would take any opportunity to leave her kids alone and just laze around for a bit. 

After this my life got into a bit of a whirlwind. Between marriage and moving and pregnancy, I did not really get to spend a lot of time with Bolty. But everytime, I come back home, he'd recognize me and jump around me like crazy. 

Towards the end, the time I got to spend with him reduced even more, having a baby to care for. Bolty too produced a new batch of puppies. And this time, having gone through the experience myself, I was in total awe of him. 

So today morning, when my mom told me that his new owners arrived and took him away, I couldn't believe I didn't get to say goodbye. My dad then told me that they are still waiting for their car at the gate, I dropped everything, took hold of my baby and ran to the gate. And he was there on leash, with a stranger, looking confused and scared. 

I caressed his head and scratched his ear and rubbed his chin over and over as though trying to make up for the time I'd neglected him. I held onto his face and looked into his eyes and said a silent goodbye as tears started pooling in my eyes. I gave him a final pat on his back and walked away because I couldn't watch him getting into the car and being driven away. I couldn't stop my tears as I walked back into the house. My baby looked at my face curiously. And just like that, Bolty was gone.

The night feels silent now. On most nights, after his random rounds and digging, Bolty used to come and settle down right outside my bedroom window. Some days he'd make an awful racket and I'd get mad at him, but I was still relieved he was there. I had felt safe. And in spite of all the times I'd been too busy to make time for him and been a lousy friend, he still sat there... for me, protecting me. I so love that about him.

I hope his new owners treat him well. And I hope he is happy there. I wonder if he'll miss us. I miss him already.  We'll probably never have a dog again, but then I don't think he can be replaced. I hope someday that my child will get to experience all this with a dog of her own. A dog as wonderful and loyal as my Bolty. 

Thank you, Bolty, for letting me experience unconditional love. For making me feel safe and for being my friend. 

Here Comes The Bride!

So I finally went and did it. I went and got meself one of them husband things.

It’s been a while since I got married and I kept meaning to post about it but wasn’t sure how to write anymore, without hurting feelings and sentiments and opinions. But I felt a little bad not sharing it with you guys because I’ve written a lot about marriage and prospective grooms and stuff on this blog before.

My wedding day wasn't exactly the one that I had been picturing since I was a little girl. Well, thank god it wasn’t. I’m not sure if I’d still have wanted my groom to show up on a pink horse or a flying carpet or burst out of the ceiling…. Okay who am I kidding! That would have been awesome.

But seriously though, my wedding went by quite peacefully. I didn’t trip and fall on my face. I didn’t stick out my wrong hand for the ring. I didn’t start a giggling fit. Most of the day went by in a very hazy mode. You know how it feels when someone wakes you up too early to do something? And you know that once you finish it you can go back to sleep? So you don’t bother to fully wake up. And so you’re not sure if the things you’re doing you’re doing for real or if you’re dreaming. That’s what it felt like most of the time.

I kind of liked the dressing up part. Ok, I loved the dressing up part. Every time I freaked out before the wedding, my friends and sisters would be like “Think of all the shopping you get to do. Think of the wedding day as a free make-over day.” And it was just that. Like someone did a make-over on me. I didn’t look like me so it kind of felt like I was pretending to be someone else who does big grown up things like get married and stuff.

The place where I had to go dress up was crawling with brides. There were about 9 or 10 other girls over there who were getting married the same day. So the feeling that you’re the prettiest girl in the room on your wedding day wasn’t too strong at that point.

But I loved the attention. And one lady said I had nice hips. When I didn’t even think I had a visible one. Once they were done with me, I felt like I had to walk in slow-motion and had a here-comes-the-heroine background music running in my head all the time. I couldn’t move my head left or right or look up or down. But it was still awesome. I loved the ride home where passersby casually look in the car and then do a double-take. I had an urge to smile and do the royal wave at them all.

Once I was home, I hated not being able to run about freely because there were so many things I wanted to do but with the heavy saree and jewellery and fake hair and the flowers, I was literally tied down. Someone had to spoon-feed me some breakfast. After which, the photo session began. Or resumed actually. I’d had almost enough of the pre-wedding photoshoot the night before. It was fun at first, pretending to be a model and stuff. But then you think they’ll say, ok, that enough, that’s it. But they don’t. Two hours later you think, ok, this is gonna be the last click. But its not. And I knew I’d have to do the embarrassing poses. But one photographer wanted me to lie on the floor with my legs all twisted and turn in really bizarre ways. I am not sure what sort of photography he used to do before this. And the lights make you sweat. And the flash makes you blind. I have a whole new respect for models who does this day in and day out.

Before we left home, me and my sisters had a “Oh my god, look at you? Aaaaaaaaaaah!” moment as they squeezed my hands. I guess it was at that moment a tiny bit of tension arose. I pushed it aside. Naah, it’ll be okay. We’re just playing pretend wedding.

I loved how everyone approved of the way I looked that day. Noone complained that my hair was not right or I’m not wearing bangles or how my neck is too bony. They’d all come rushing towards me with a urgent expression – eyebrows knitted with anxiety and searching eyes. And once they saw me, their shoulders relaxed along with their eyebrows and a huge grin form on their face from side to side. Score from annoying aunties! Actually double score- they couldn’t complain about the way I dress or the fact that I still wasn’t married, anymore.

I got a little fidgety in the dressing room in the wedding hall. The groom hadn’t arrived yet. And I always had this huge huge nightmare where my groom doesn’t show up on my wedding day. I know, it’s probably because I watch too many silly movies. And also I look so nice, it would’ve been a shame if he didn’t come and see that.

Anyhow he did turn up soon and it was time to do the walk down the aisle. Two rows of girls with oil-lamps and would walk before me and I’d follow them at the end of the row. Okay, apparently during the walk, one of the girls accidentally set another girl’s hair on fire. And I didn’t even see it! When they told me later, I wanted to kick myself for not having seen. I always miss the fun stuff. I was in that haze thing I told you about earlier.

I’ve often wondered what the brides think about while walking down the aisle. The future that lay ahead? The enormity of the act they were about to perform? Their loved one waiting at the end of the aisle? All that was running through my head was “Please don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, who put these stupid F**%$^g wires on the floor? Oh my god, don’t fall, don’t trip!” I had originally wanted to walk smiling at everyone and waving if possible. But I didn’t feel like smiling at anyone. Until I looked up at one point. And I saw the guy on stage who actually wants to marry me, happily unaware of how crazy his life is going to get. And I broke into a smile. It was a private personal moment. Except it wasn’t. Later when the wedding album came, that secret smile was plastered across a double spread. Oh well.

Once I was on stage, I wanted to talk to him and go all “Dude, how freaky is this!” And laugh about it. I barely even managed to look at him without feeling all awkward. I think he told me I look nice. Ha-ha, score for him.

Later the pujari guy made us hold hands and say a lot of chants. Which made me want to laugh a little. Because some of the words sounded so funny, I was pretty sure he was just making them up as he said it. Then he made my dad take my hand and put it in the groom’s hand. Which made me kinda sad. Because of the symbolism. And my dad said stuff which I think means “I give you my daughter..” which made me sad.

Then the major things happen. I was in a haze during most of this too. Except when he tied the knot. And the music started. It usually gives me goosebumps, this point of a wedding. Well, at mine… I broke into tears. I don’t know if anybody noticed. I didn’t like cry out loud or anything. I just had tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t crying because I was unhappy. I was crying because at that moment, that was when realization hit. That I’m not playing a game and pretending to be a grown-up. I actually doing this very huge thing. It’s actually happening. And I felt dead scared. He noticed. And he whispered “Please don’t cry.” Which helped.

By the time it was time for the sindoor, I forgot to feel scared or cry. Because  I’ve seen the sindoor scene sooo many times in movies. And that moment felt so filmy, I wanted it to happen in slow motion. I looked at him with my filmiest eyes. I was also trying not to giggle. That momentary feeling of maturity I’d felt had passed.

The part where we had to hold hands and walk round and round was pretty fun too. I tried to send him a secret message by squeezing his hand according to the alphabets. But he was concentrating too hard on walking.

The rest of the wedding went by in a whir. My mom got to get me to drink milk after many many years. And this time I couldn’t roll up on the floor and kick and scream and throw a tantrum about it. I smiled at and took photographs with so many people, most of them who went “You remember me? Yes? Then say who I am” Aarrrrrg, so annoying, especially because of course I don’t remember them!

When it was time to leave, I cried. So did the rest of my family. But that was expected. It’s kind of a norm in our family. Even if we don’t cry the rest of the 365 days of the year, we can and we will cry at one of our own’s weddings. And this was the last wedding in our family. Which made it all the more sad (Probably not so sad for my dad who’s paid for all three of his girls’ weddings)

And that’s the story of my wedding day. It was exciting and it was exhausting. All those months’ preparation had finally come to an end. But I’m also a little sad that its over. I can’t go shopping crazy and nobody would think it was normal or okay anymore. I can’t have people at the parlour ask “Bride?” to me and then proceed to treat me better than the other non-bride people. I can’t wonder about what my wedding day would be like, like I have been since I was a little girl. I can’t look all nice and get up on stage and be centre of attraction again. Unless I decide to do a dance or sing on stage or something later in life. Which I know I won’t. I can’t randomly boss people around because I’m the bride (Don’t do this for too long, or they might ask you to go to hell.)

But hey, I’m a wife now. And that’s a whole other ball game. I know it won’t be easy. But as long as I have a few filmy moments here and there, I should be fine. My “life as wife” posts will follow shortly. So watch this space. :-) 

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!