Facing your Demons

I wonder why they call it the writer’s block. It’s not like a part of your brain’s being clogged with last night’s pasta or anything. You’re just being plain lazy. And when your friend living 701 kilometers away asks you to write something, even the most mundane things, like that frayed piece of thread from my skirt hanging below my ankle right now, seems extraordinarily interesting. Anyway, coming to the point. The article. Amethyst’s been bugging me day in, and day out, to do something productive. Before I could think of a witty retort, as to why I am unable to produce an article so interesting, so engaging that she’ll begin respecting me more, she flies off to some Godforsaken place filled with tigers, ‘faaaaaar from civilization’, as she puts it. Meanwhile, I’m fighting the urge to stop eating all the baked goodies I’m making for this new-year’s get together. Bingeing, they call it. I can’t explain why, but no amount of sugar rush seems to help these days.

Review: The Hunger Games.

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  THE HUNGER GAMES REVIEW: 

'In the ruins of a place once known as North America lies the nation of Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlying districts.Each year, the districts are forced by the Capitol to send one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to participate in the Hunger Games, a brutal and terrifying fight to the death – televised for all of Panem to see.

Survival is second nature for sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen, who struggles to feed her mother and younger sister by secretly hunting and gathering beyond the fences of District 12. When Katniss steps in to take the place of her sister in the Hunger Games, she knows it may be her death sentence. If she is to survive, she must weigh survival against humanity and life against love.'

I gotta tell you, I did have apprehensions about the Hunger Games in the beginning. Come on! Don't tell me you didn't think it was about FOOD!( I realized what it was later on, thankfully). I first learnt about the Hunger Games from my friend. She gave me a brief description of the story and quite honestly, it didn't sound all that appealing. It was still the time when I was obsessing over Percy Jackson, Harry Potter and Naruto and I didn't want to leave the shiny, happy, sparkly worlds of Greek Mythology, Hogwarts and ninjas to a barbaric, depressing, dystopia. Hell, I didn't even know the meaning of the word until The Hunger Games. 
So, what did I do? I ignored my friend's suggestion and went back to my darling Wimpy Kid. Then my sister ordered the Hunger Games trilogy (I still suspect it was for the cover) online, ergo, I actually had to give it a try whether I liked it or not.
So, on the morning of the first day of my Dussehra break, I started reading the Hunger Games. 

I started reading...

And reading....

AND Reading......

Finally...                                                                                   

OH MY FREAKING GOD! I LOVE IT! SUZANNE COLLINS IS GENIUS! ASABHFFBEKJFBEKFB....ABUSER OF CAPSLOCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, really. I loved every, infinitesimal second of it. I finished the first book in a day and the rest of the trilogy during the remaining part of the vacation and then spent the next two consecutive nights thinking about what would happen in Catching Fire and Mockingjay. The Hunger Games is one of those rare breeds of books whose story line is so gripping that it is simply un-put-down-able. You cannot stop reading it until you finish and even after you finish, you can't stop thinking about it. 
The characters and the character development is such a pleasure to read, the plot is simply superb and the writing style (although I had a few qualms about the first person-present tense in the beginning, not being very used to it) is simple and blunt, yet has an elegance to it. I, for one, found the division of the story into three parts to be apt and perfect with a cliffhanger at the end of every book(excluding the last one of course). The Hunger Games is part suspense, part adventure, part philosophy and even part romance. It's the whole freaking package!

The plot-
The plot was so unique, so original and so...well, shocking. The continuous twists and Katniss' fight for survival made the book not boring for even a second. The descriptions were so visual, it was almost like a screenplay. I could picture everything that Suzanne described most vividly. 
...
Well, most of them anyway.  

Most of all, I loved Katniss' way of thinking. Her blunt, surly way of looking at things was far better than being stuck in Bella's sappy head in Twilight any day( Excuse me for comparing THG and Twilight. I know they're in completely different leagues). War and the fights in general weren't described as sleek or smooth or sexy but were explained vividly and properly, like how they would happen in real life. The Hunger Games was ugly, blunt, bloody, brutal, barbaric and so very real.
 It was funny how sometimes, major shocking news was delivered so obtusely (for example, the aftermath of the Games in both 'Hunger Games" and "Catching Fire".) while Suzanne Collins paid so much attention to the minute details like contrasting the food in the Capitol to those in the Seam. 

WARNING: The rest of the review contains some major spoilers if you still haven't read the book(s). If you don't want your reading experience to be spoiled, beware. You've been warned. Turn away while you still can.

The Characters-

Katniss is an inspiration. Period. She is badass, independent, strong, fierce and deadly and is what every girl should aim to be. She is a survivor (literally) and *spoiler alert* Rue's death bringing her human side out was beautiful. Katniss is so amazing that she makes people fall in love with her without even trying( And NO! She isn't a Mary Sue). Okay, so the Hunger Games has a love triangle. So what? That isn't the central dilemma anyway. 

Now, about the next main character. Peeta Mellark. I absolutely loved Peeta. There's just something about him and his unconditional love and his kindness that is so endearing unlike all those other jealous, masochistic, arrogant male leads that are all the rage nowadays( 50 Shades of Shit Grey, anyone?). I really liked how Katniss and Peeta's relationship developed over the books. 

Anywaaay, most of the other main characters came out in the later books but all of the characters left a deep impression on me. I fell in love with Finnick, Cinna and Boggs. 
Like everybody else, some of the character deaths were so shocking that I had to reread to make sure it wasn't a misprint. Then I proceeded to cry like a baby and didn't touch the book for a few hours out of spite.
*Spoiler Alert* 
Finnick's death killed me. Killed me. 

On a more serious note, the Hunger Games is nothing but Suzanne Collin's take on the violence in wars mixed with reality shows in a brutal, harsh, futuristic world( aka Dystopia). The Hunger Games made me cry, made me laugh, made me marvel in its epic-ness but it also made me think about the violence, war and destruction in today's world and how we might be leading our world into an even worse future. We need change and we need it now. And the Hunger Games not only imparts this message but arouses it. 

So that's that. My review of The Hunger Games (which my sister has been badgering me to write for a week). I rate the Hunger Games 5/5 and I encourage anybody out there who has had stupid, precursory assumptions like mine, to get rid of them and pick up their copy of The Hunger Games immediately. And believe me, when you finally put it down, you won't think the same way. 

And like Effie Trinket says, 'May the odds be ever in your favor.'

Thanks for sticking with me for so long and sorry if I spoiled anything but really....

Finally, after watching The Hunger Games, there is something I desperately want to do. THIS--->

Ataraxis.

Song Credits: The Hunger Games Theme.

Travel, Not So Quintessential Existentialism, And Coffee.

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"Doing nothing is very hard to do. You never know when you're finished."

                                                                                                     -Leslie Nielsen.


Here's the proof of our retarded-ness. We were simply lying around jobless doing nothing(while we should've been studying with sobriety) when we suddenly came up with the idea of putting our madness on paper. Or in this case, in print.

Short stories, as far as they go, are self-sufficient. They don't seem deficient of anything, whatever be the genre. Be it an ominous Roald Dahl, or a warm and humorous R.K. Narayan. Here's a concoction of Amethyst's and Meera's ever so conflicting take on life, with a dash of randomness. To back up this piece we came up with, is a little story on how the story( Article?) came into existence:


A bored Amethyst pings an ever so lost Meera, who, obvously, is drowning her sullen cynicism in a pot of -yes- coffee. And just then.. when we were on the verge of a genius breakthrough-cum-pulitzer-winning-marvel, Meera's internet goes kaput. Just like that. Enough to send Meera into raging fumes.

For, after over a blooming (strictly metaphorical, and a little sarcastic, even) month of what can only be called writer's block, and a serious case of the Lazy Bum, we decided to muster up every last ounce of our will power, creativity and sanity, channeling it into what one can only call a productive piece of thought provoking, yet brainless literature, bordering in on existential nihilism.


To sum it up, this entire piece was what we had as a 'conversation' on Skype( The different coloured sentences indicating Meera's and Amethyst's views) . Ah, if only we could insert our never ending remarks as well, it would have been perfect. No fretting though. Sit back and enjoy. =D


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 Travelling can be a pain sometimes. But I still like travelling. The reason being, as sickening as it could get, there're always new things to see. And new people to meet.

One day, when I was on a train to Palette Town (oh yeah), I saw this incredible sight. There was a person near a lamp post wearing a T-Shirt that read 'I can give a headache to an aspirin' and holding out a torch. And that sight- of the man holding the torch set off a chain of thoughts in my mind; one of the reasons I absolutely cherish travelling.

 Knowing different cultures, meeting different people and looking at life from a different perspective. And then.. I thought. What would life be, if there was monotony- with no natural selection to divide society!  How boring and uninteresting it would be if we all had the same thoughts, did the same things and liked the same kind of people; hell, human kind wouldn't even have developed with no originality or creativity.

 Monotony, like self-pity- I realize- is only the next worse thing in the world. You know exactly what will happen when because you can easily read your peers' minds and in the process you don't look forward to future or living life at all. Life, much like a chick-flick, is a sugar-coated whodunit. And life somehow is related to travel it seems - an average human living up to the age of 80, it seems, would have at least travelled 108,131 miles(may or may not be true).

One thing that could make the world a happier place, is coffee.. That, however, does not in any way 'reduce' one's life expectancy- only fills the world with energized people, leaving them happier. And the other being travel - sometimes when we absolutely need to get away from our lives and reality,  travelling allows us to have a sense of escapism just like books and movies; we involve ourselves in other peoples' lives and their stories and forget our problems for a while.

Coffee, much like travel, is a getaway for many- it creates that much needed illusion of inter-dimensional travel, freeing one of their worries, albeit temporary. But then again if we really wanted to 'travel' inter-dimensionally and soar in the air, we could always do psychedelics - a euphemistic term for drugs.

Having said that, we don't really see a workaholic couple doping themselves every morning at the breakfast table, before kissing each other goodbye for the day and running off to work. So, coffee in a way, wins I suppose and like someone once said - 'Happiness is a cup of coffee and a really good book'. So go make some nice, hot coffee and head to the nearest library.

The End. 

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So, moral of the story, you ask? Go make some nice coffee, and head to the nearest library( It accounts for travel, no?). And if possible, on the way, try to meet some weird and eccentric people who can prove their originality to you( Preferably wearing a T-shirt that reads ' Come say Hi to me, you suckers!).

Song Credits: Cruel and beautiful world - By Group Love

Notes to myself

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I type up whatever’s on my mind in my phone whenever I’m bored, angry, happy, mildly/depressed or tired. Okay, I’m kidding about the ‘tired’ part; I don’t feel like getting up to even go to the bathroom, let alone type something in my phone when I’m tired. Most of the ‘notes’ were written in the comfort of my room, but there are some others which were written randomly when I was out in the public. I start typing something and fiddling with my phone just so I don’t seem jobless and awkward whenever I go out alone without any friends or family.

So, Meera has been bugging me to write an article even though I kept insisting that half my brain cells were dead and the other half lacked any sort of inspiration. She even blackmailed me saying that she would go incognito on me if I didn’t think of something…anything to write before midnight( Okay, maybe not midnight, but she did force me to start writing this). So, I kept thinking and thinking and thinking. Nothing struck my mind. I drank some apple juice and thought some more. Nothing. I even trusted Meera and took a sip of Glen Deveron Whisky and nearly spat the entire thing out. All while she was devouring the taste of her supposedly amazing home-made wine. And still, nothing. I was almost coming to the conclusion that my brain cells were really dying when Meera sends me these messages on facebook:

“You have the talent of playing with words (My minds thinks: Stop trying to flatter me. This will not work with me). Implement it ( AN: I don’t want to). Pronto ( AN: Oh, whatever!)”. And then I’m about to brush away her words when she sends me another message, “I’m logging out”. I’m like, ‘WHAAAAAAT?! That’s rude’.  And then immediately a light bulb goes off in my mind. Evil laughter echoes inside my head and I can almost imagine my wicked alter ego rolling up her sleeves and rubbing her palms. I’m going to cheat. I’ll just type up all the notes that I’ve been writing during the past few months in my phone, here.

So, here they are. Five of the unending and most recent notes from my phone.

Note Un:

Date: 26.09.2012

Time: 9:17pm

I’m so pissed right now, I could kill someone. Literally.

Meera has been bugging me to write an article. “You don’t need an inspiration to write an article. You think I’m in the mood to write one? Yet, I’m still writing something!” she says.

So, me being the dramaholic, I suggest writing an article about my favourite Korean, Japanese and Taiwanese dramas to which she grunts in an unattractive, totally unfeminine way and says ‘No’. The reason?  'She' isn’t interested in them.

What did she expect anyway?! Apparently, she wants me to write about my life in the past year. According to me, the past two years were probably the worst and the most unproductive years of my life. Meera begs to differ though. “You met me! We became such amazing friends! How could you be so cruel as to say that?! We met X,Y,Z, Alpha, Beta, Gamma…” -.- Yeah, she started mentioning the names of all the people I met the past two years.

I wish the earth could open up now. T.T

Note Deux:

Date: 09.10.12

Time: 7:27am

Oh shit! There’s a spider spinning its web here. Aaaaaah! So creepy! I want to scream! x.x

Okay, maybe not scream. But it still is ‘Eeeew’ and *insert girly high pitched scream*.

I had a strangely creepy dream last night. No…nightmare would be the correct term. It was so weird! And scary. I was in this abandoned warehouse which never ceased to stop spinning(And it didn’t look like I was in India). Why was it even spinning?! And somehow, the warehouse had ‘my’ bookshelf inside it. I wonder who took the time to transfer it there. -___-‘’

And then, I see Kurt Cobain. He comes and tells me, “You are a product of a brainwashed society”. And then, I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t; because I couldn’t control my own stupid dream.  And also, because I act like a downright loser in all my dreams. T.T

He says, “Why’re you at my house?” without looking at me. And in my mind, I’m like…YOUR HOUSE?! And then I look around ‘his’ house which has an uncanny resemblance to the interiors of my previous house (except the lighting’s really dark). B| *Suspicious*

While I’m at it, he invites me to have a cup of coffee with him and starts playing his guitar. And I still wonder how the song ‘Smells like teen spirit’ started playing in the background. Now that I think about it, it reminds me of the whole Narnia setup where Mr.Tumnus leads Lucy to the cave which he calls his home. He even offers her something to drink (Milk, was it?). What more, he even plays his flute! Oh Zeus! My dream’s a cheap rip off of Chronicles of Narnia. T.T

I apologize wholeheartedly, Mr. C. S Lewis.

Anyway, so I listen to him playing the song. And then suddenly there’s an earthquake. Yes! AN EARTHQUAKE! All I see next is a huge crowd and debris and Kurt Cobain in all his Zombie glory.

…

Wait, what? Zombie?! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES. The next thing I know, he’s chasing me. I hear his voice screaming, “You killed me”. Though I have no idea how I killed him, I feel guilty.

 So, I run. And panicking, I tripped on a stone. And then Kurt Cobain came up behind me and went, “Mwuahahahaha!” with an evil glint in his eye and ate me up. The End.

…

Okay, that didn’t happen. How cliché do you expect me to get? -__-

I didn’t trip over a stone. I kept running and running in circles. Kurt Cobain disappeared and the entire landscape changed.

The next thing I know, I’m in my LST class giving a mock test. ~.~

I blame the book ‘Five Flavors of Dumb’ by Antony John for the appearance of the amazing Kurt Cobain in my so called nightmare. And as far as the ‘Mock Test’ goes…I blame my fate.

Note Trois:

Date: 03. 10. 2012

Time: 7:36pm

Operation: Kill their elephant posterior sized Ego.

Yosh! *determined expression*For this to be successful, I need to go into my super-ninja stealth mode. I need to maintain my poker face. I need to control my tongue. I shouldn’t get riled up easily. And most of all, I need to put up an Oscar winning performance.

I should make sure that they can see that they aren’t getting to me. That’s the best way to deflate their…EGO. I feel so sleepy. *shakes head*

10 Minutes Later:

The ‘Silent Treatment’ isn’t working with them! What the Hades! *Eye Twitch* I guess, I’ll have to try the ‘Polite Treatment’ then. *Anime tears* *Sigh* I knew this would happen!

15 Minutes Later:

I GIVE UP! 

Note Quatre:

Date: 6. 10. 2012

Time: 10.56pm

I’m not in a very good mood. I can almost feel the steam coming out of my ears. Why does everything become my fault?! Huh? Huh?! HUH!? Guess why mother dear was scolding me this morning for. Oh, guess it, you! Did you guess something like ‘Oh, she probably talked back to her mother in a bitchy attitude’ or  ‘I’m sure she was skipping classes and getting bad grades’ or even, ‘Did she not go home last night?!’.

Sorry to disappoint you, but NO! She scolded me because…oh, you’ll love it…because I didn’t wake up with the help of an alarm clock and instead with the help of my own personal, human alarm aka My Granny. Unbelievable!

In my mind I’m all like-

But of course, I say nothing. This is how the whole episode went:

Me: *Sitting on the couch sipping my ambrosial apple juice*

Mum: *Starts shouting at me for no apparent reason* Why can’t you ever wake up with the help of an alarm?!

Me: …

Mum:*In her murderous rage* How many times have I told you to put an alarm?! Why are you so obstinate?! Don’t you know that I’m always looking out for you?

Me: …

Mum: *To my Granny* Don’t wake up her up again. She’ll just miss her classes. Big deal! *Turns to me* You’re incorrigible.

Me: …

Mom: *Starts shouting at my sister* And YOU! Are you trying to follow in your sister’s footsteps? Are you trying to imitate her? Do you think it’s something to be proud of? Are you-

Me: *Slips away surreptitiously*

FML.

But, I think I handled the whole situation well. Don’t you?

I’ve been reading this Wattpad novel titled ‘Faking It’…it’s alright. I mean, though it has perfect Grammar and all this eloquent English with size-able words, I feel like there’s something missing. I still don’t get the feeling that the writer of the said novel is a non amateur. The language somehow seems forced and fake. But the story-line caught my eye, so I think I’ll just continue reading it. Not only that, the main leads are interesting; different from the typical Mary Sue-ish female lead and a masochist, ‘I’m-too-arrogant-for-my-own-good’ male lead stories that I’ve been coming across on Wattpad and elsewhere lately.

I’m not going to be elaborating the story further(It's still on-going). Read it for yourself if you want to. If not, then…I don’t care?

Caution: It contains 'unpristine' language, Homosexuality( Homophobes might find it a tad bit repulsive but they’ll get over it), Drama( Not much, but there still is some. A story just can’t proceed without a tint of our beloved and probably over-rated ‘American’ High School drama, can it? *wink wink*) and of course, Betrayals ( With Queen B*tches, Nerds, Emos and Jocks).

Note Cinq:

Date: 28.01.2012

Time: 1.47am

“You’re a good liar, so at-least do the right thing”. This quote by Japanese fictionist Osamu Dazai had me pondering for a little more than 8 seconds which is unusual considering how I don’t give much attention to quotes like ‘these’. Quotes like ‘these’ as in quotes which don’t relate to me directly. And by that I don’t mean that I have never lied; because, I have. A little too many times.

But that’s beside the point. I came across this quote while watching the Japanese movie ‘How to become myself’. And quite honestly, this movie really touched me. Inspired me to an extent, even. There were so many circumstances and incidents in the movie that are dangerously close to reality. This isn’t a fantasy tale with happy endings and prince charmings and perhaps that’s why it was more effective. It portrayed life unaltered.

If someone asked me to rate the movie out of a 10, I’d probably give it a 7. And if they asked the re-watch value, it would most definitely be a 3 but that’s because this is one of those ‘One-time-watch’ movies. The story, though undoubtedly realistic, is predictable. And also, no one would want to watch a movie about the harsh realities of life over and over again.

This movie didn’t make my heart race and go all ‘fan-girl’ mode nor did it make me cry. It was plain, realistic and had a very slow pace it as well. However, it gave me a heart-warming feeling and left me satisfied with the lead character’s self realization towards the end of the movie. I just had to smile contently when she said, “I’m going to live my life in my own way from now on”.

Song Credits: Hello- By Yui

Queen Of Blabber* Gets Hitched!!

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                     Queen Of Blabber* Gets Hitched!!

      

   "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife"                                                                                                                     -Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice.

It’s 4:30am on a Wednesday morning, and I’m sitting on a marble bench in the Bangalore Railway station, awaiting my 5 o’ clock train to Mysore- that’s where I moved to in June.. There’s not much action happening today, strangely enough. There’re two dogs fighting over a piece of stale bread, and the sky looks.. well, pink with clouds.  I go to LST in Bangalore. It’s like a prep-school for Law School entrances. Not many know about this, for almost all of India thinks there’re only two professions one can write entrance exams for. Need I even mention which two? 

So my weekly schedule is like this: Leave to Bangalore on Fridays/Saturdays (depending on my class schedules), attend my LSTs, and travel back home on Monday mornings. The rest of the week? I learn music, pottery, baking, and well. I write. That’s one of the plus points of taking a gap year. Not sticking to a rigid routine, detesting mundane schooldays with revision tests and face Monday morning blues. 

Normally, people take a sabbatical from degree courses, or even work. But it’s not an uncommon trend these days for students to drop a year and use this time to decide what they want to do with their life- doctor, engineer, designer, singer, zoo-keeper.. you get the gist, right? (I’m not saying that’s what I’m doing, but.)

Anyway, back to what I was saying. Here I am, listening to Lata Mangeshkar on my walkman (I prefer that to the i-Pod), when this 20 something guy in blue chequered shorts walks by and asks if the seat beside me is taken. I shake my head sideways, and go back to listening to music.  And then the announcer (The South Western Railways make sure their speakers are tuned to blare into your ears, no matter how loud your mp3 player is and believe me, mine was LOUD.)  says: ‘Chennai to Bangalore  train Madras Express is expected to arrive on Platform one, in forty five minutes. We apologise for the delay.’ Or something to that effect. Yeah. That is exactly what a person- who hasn’t slept in almost three days, has been in three states in the past 24 hours, and has been treated like Harry Potter when she returned to her native place after 13 years (I’ll get to that later) – would want to hear. Cheers to life.

                                                       ******

Two days ago....

After tossing and turning in bed for what seemed like an eternity- I can’t get myself to fall asleep in that super soft, springy mattress- I finally decide to get up, when my six year old cousin Oviya crawls into  bed beside me and blares ‘Waka waka heeey heeeyyy!!!’ into my ears. Hello, migraine! *Note to self. Make more coffee today* Clearly, the kid doesn’t inherit her mother’s taste in music. My LST had this Symposium on Law as a career, the attendance to which was mandatory. And I tell you, it was worth every sniffle I endured for having stepped out in the biting Bangalore morning cold. The event lasts until two thirty, after which I grab a quick bite with my friends, and scoot to the nearest bus stop. I get home in the next hour, and drag out my maid- to teach me to ride the bicycle (Yeah- I wasn’t an out doorsey kid. Sue me.), and return after an hour, brandishing the nice, deep gash I managed to give myself, having fallen off the Ladybird.

Soon, I find myself in the hospital, getting a dressing on my left palm (I find it hard to believe one’s palm can bleed SO much in so less time). As I walk back home, my phone rings. The phone call, which practically beckoned my doom. My maternal grandma’s brother-in-law had died. I knew what to do. Call a truckload of relatives and make the announcement.

The next thing I know, I’m sitting on a train, at five in the morning the following day, with a heavily dressed palm,  looking like Spud the scarecrow, having swallowed an analgesic- to keep the pain at bay (the doctor forgot to mention it had the side effects of a horse tranquilizer), with my entire family in tow.

 Ambur. That’s the name of my native village. This is the first time I’m going there in 13 years, and there’s a reason I’ve kept away for so long. I just don’t belong there! At the risk of sounding like a thankless person. Three hours later, I find myself hugging the inconsolable Radha Ma, wife of the deceased man. 

Soon, people walk up to me, asking me if I was Meera, Mala’s daughter. As I nod in confusion, I spotted the one man I dreaded seeing the most. My 24 year old country bumpkin of a 47^th cousin (no offence, Raja), is walking towards me. I try hiding. Too late. He’s already holding my hand. “There’s my wife! How much I missed you! Where did you go off all these years? What happened to your hand, kannamma?!”  Wife? What wife?  “I am so glad you are finally here! Promise you won’t leave me again!!” Wait. What?

                                                         ******

 “So you’ve just arrived from Chennai?” Blue Chequered Shorts asks me. “No, I’m heading to Mysore, the train’s supposedly late” “Yeah.. It isn’t usually this late. I guess there was some kind of  time adjustment issue.” Oh really? I thought it was recovering from a severe hangover from the previous night’s cocktail party in the diesel shed.

 I can’t help being a little grouchy. Given what I had to endure in the last twenty four hours. “What’re you doing, travelling all by yourself this early in the day?” he asks. I tell him why, and he says “Oh! That is so cool! I like travelling myself.. So what, you’ll climb on to a berth and sleep once you get into the train?” Yay. A talker. Just what I need.  I hope he doesn’t whip out a hanky with chloroform and tranquilize me. I nod with a watery smile.

“I’m Mohan.” He says, extending his hand. Sigh. “Meera” I say. We shake hands.  And that, is how, the most interesting, and unforgettable  one hour long conversation in the history of train stations started. Contrary to what I thought, not all strangers who come  and sit beside you at 4:30 in the morning at a deserted railway platform are serial killers. (Later I find out, some of them are perverts, and sick in the head.)  Truthfully, I had a pretty good time. We talk about why snails are considered a delicacy in some countries, the city’s night life, and even premarital coitus(!). He at some point even asked me if I had a boy friend. And strangely, I didn’t find it offensive.  I’m considering giving my nickname( Miss Prudy Pants)  a break. So I ignore the unusual course the conversation takes and just talk. About dating, work, college, travel, life, and how ‘the closest food gets to being vegetarian in Malaysia is beef’.  He then says:  ‘Do you fantasize about stuff?’  Oh yeah.

Why didn’t I see that coming? Of course. He’s a (pardon my language) sleazeball.  I should’ve seen it when he asked me about my relationship status.  I walk away. As fast as possible, and as far as possible. I can hear him in the back ground- ‘Wait! At least give me your number!’ Dirt bag.

                                                         *****

“What. Do. You. Meeeeean. He’s my husband?”  I ask my grandfather, who tries very hard not to burst into another fit of laughter. I have to remind him we’re at a funeral. He solemnly replies ‘It means, you’re married to him, Putta.’ I look around, only to realize everybody else in the immediate family is trying to contain their laughter as well. What is so funny, I ask him. I’m hoping against hope that this isn’t the part where they tell me now that I’m eighteen, my true identity- that of the heiress to the family business (leather goods?) can be only fulfilled if I marry the great grandson of my great grandpa’s business partner. You know, like in those 80s movies.

As it turns out, I got the great grandpa part right. Apparently, some 80 years ago, our great grand fathers had pledged my generation to be united in holy matrimony( yuck!) And since my granddad and grandma moved out of the village as soon as they got married, no one from my family knew about the nuptials. MY (eww) nuptials.  I apparently had a premeditated, arranged, suicide inducing marriage. I wasn’t even there at my own marriage! To some guy I haven’t even spoken to (I’ve only heard that he’s a smothering love struck puppy. And that he was when he was five, he got hitched to some girl he hasn’t seen ever since.  Only NOW do I know that that girl is ME!!).

 There’s this line Katy Scarlett O’Hara says in Gone With The Wind- 'I can't think about that right now. I'll think about it tomorrow.' That is exactly what I said to myself and the next thing I know, I am stuffing my face. I then excuse myself from the lunch table, and run up the mountain and into the forest, Yeah. The forest. My mind is completely blank, and all I could hear was my ‘husband’, running after me, saying ‘wait, love. I’ll come with you’. I give him a death glare and he freezes in his footsteps. I continue running, I don’t look back. I run past the garden, all the way across  the highway, and into the woods.  The afternoon sun is long gone by now, and the sky is completely covered in clouds. I stop to catch my breath after a staggering twenty five minutes (for me, that is a LOT.)  and that, is when I smell the air.

 It smelled like mud. You know, when you water your plants, the dust settles and there’s this heavenly aroma that enters your nostrils?  If this were a mediocre novel, the author would describe the sky as ‘ominous looking, the air heavy and so crisp that it could be cut with a butter knife’.  Even in that horrid situation of mine, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. At myself, actually. At how awesome and arrogant I was with my ways. How always, I crack the most ridiculous- and funniest of jokes when there’s no one around. Does this make me sound like a narcissist? I don’t mind. After all, I do love myself.  

 As I sit there, giggling like a psychotic fool, I don’t care anymore. I realize there’s nothing to think about. Scarlett, I’m sorry, but I’m not thinking.  It’s  just a stupid Panchayat marriage. It’s not like it’s legal or something. Or at least that’s what I was told when lunch was happening. Raju, was looking at me as though his eye balls were about to fall out of their sockets, and every time I prepared to spit out a mouthful at his face, I told myself. ‘Meera, this is a funeral. Keep calm.  Keep calm’ and that, was how I finished my plate of putrid goo (khichdi). I am awakened from my filmy picture of my not so filmy (more like pandemonium filled)  life, because it starts raining. The heavens sure do have the most perfect timing. No sarcasm. I love the rain. And when I decide, to finally come to my senses, I look at my watch, and that, is what makes me run downhill like a lunatic, laughing, thankful that nobody’s around to put me in a straitjacket.  After all, tomorrow’s another day, eh? Married or not married, that’s another question altogether. 

Song Credits: Hey Jude- The Beatles

Introducing Guest

Um, hi.

(I suppose there are worse ways to start off with an entry. None come to mind.)

Anyway, ignore the lousy beginning. It’s time to really get started.

I am Guest, younger sister of the fitness freak (I think the phrase has been used ample number of times for you to know who I’m talking about). I have been…er, whats the word? Invited to take part in this blog that she and her friend started. My name will be ‘Guest’ until I come up with a better name, but I have to say Guest is the best option for now.

So, a brief introduction: I’m 14, studying in the ninth grade (which supposedly is the, and I quote, “Along with tenth, the most important years of your life! Study hard and you wont be chucked into the ‘Extra Edge’ batch where you’ll have to stay back after school to get remedial tuitions with a bunch of blockheads”) and desperately hoping every day that I accidentally get caught in a space-time alternate dimensional rift and crash into the Narutoverse as an awesome ninja (I’ve even decided the powers I wanna have. Just for information’s sake, its anti-chakra, something which rejects all other kinds of ninja chakra….oh, never mind

-_-) Either that or I get hit by radio-active waves and turn into a superhero who helps the world defend itself from the aliens.

O.O

Anywaaay, I’m also going to be the resident anime expert of this blog. I’ve watched most of the mainstream anime so at-least I know something of what I’m doing. I hope. I’m really trying to be one of those super anime ‘otakus’ who have knowledge of every single anime in the world and seriously know their stuff. Compared to them, I’m still a noob but right now I’m tackling rom-com/badass mangas. Those are my favorites. *_*

I’m also a shipper! Shipping is rooting for a couple to, you know, finally get together in the manga, or the anime, or even a sitcom. It’s one of my favorite pastimes! For example, in the manga Beelzebub, I ship Tatsugarde, the pairing of Oga Tatsumi and Hildagarde. My absolute favorite ship, though, is Ichiruki (Ichigo and Rukia, from Bleach), the best pairing ever. And from Big Bang Theory, I’m in a dilemma whether to ship Shamy (Sheldon and Amy) or Shenny (Sheldon and Penny). From Castle, I ship Caskett(Castle and Beckett). But these are just examples.

I also like art. It’s real fun to pick which colour goes with the other. My favorites are the contrasting ones, like black and white, which compliment each other beautifully. I also draw anime but mostly it is seeing and drawing. But one day, I WILL create a complete fluffy romantic Ichiruki doujinshi (a kind of …fan-comic?).

But enough about that. (I think the constant anime references might be getting tiresome so, I will try to speak in normal English from now on)

Forgive my tendency to get carried away. However you will be seeing a lot of it. You know, if I write again. If  I ever get the time to write again. If I suddenly don’t bail out in the middle.

That’s a lot of ifs.

So yes, that’s me. I hope I write another article soon, although that’s not highly plausible considering that, in the end, I’m only a Guest. I bet a Guest doesn’t get to write a lot in something which they aren’t completely a part of…-_-

I might have to stop now since sleep’s getting to me. Thanks for sticking by for so long and reading this lengthy semi-rant of mine. And with that I bid you, my imaginary reader, farewell.

Ataraxis.

(Don’t know the meaning? Go google it. ^_^)

Introducing Amethyst

With the song 'Miles' by Christina Perri playing in the background, I finally began working on this blog after an extreme case of writers' block, interviews to prepare for, Aerobics classes to attend (And whatever Meera says, I am NOT a fitness freak. Don't make trying to lose a couple of pounds look like some heinous crime) and of course, preparing for my Law Entrance exam.

Anyhow, with this begins a series of posts  which deal with everyday life topics from how much weight that I gained or lost in a day to the tsunamis that might or might not occur. Something tells me that we'll be seeing a lot of articles on 'Pots', 'Purple' and 'Flowers'. (Courtesy: Meera) -_-'
     
Considering how Meera talked about  pretty much everything that our future posts would consist of, I have no choice but to actually introduce myself. I might sound a little stand-offish and a tiny bit random,  but I'll try my hardest not to. Who am I? Dear lord, WHO AM I?! I'm just a measly seventeen year old girl with the ambition of making it big in my life. Okay, that's a lie. All I ask for is to be happy. Problem? 
Just like every other other intelligent life form with two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth and a functional brain, I have my angry moments, my cringe-worthy moments, my happy moments and my...not-so-happy moments.

I'm an extremely ambitious person who is time conscious, a loving sister and an obedient daughter. I'm a benign person with altruistic thoughts. I'm a social animal. And most of all, I love everyone equally. 
...
Scratch that! Can't you see LIE written all over it?! I'm none of those things. Actually, I don't see how ANYONE can be all those things at a time. I'm partially ambitious with absolutely no sense of time. I love pulling my sister's hair out for the sake of my amusement and I absolutely do NOT love everyone equally! Technically speaking, that's quite impossible. I mean you have so many loathsome people like the terrorists, the urinators( You know, the people who pee on the roads? This word is probably native to India), the honkers( the people who keep honking mindlessly on the roads as though it's their god-given right to torture our poor, unsuspecting ears with excessive and if I might add, needless honking) and not to forget our charming 'Netas'. You'll have to be an absolute dunce to not notice the heavy, underlying sarcasm.

Now, coming to altruistic thoughts...*goes to make herself a sandwich* What! I was hungry! 
Mm, that was good. Back to the topic...I wouldn't call myself a genuinely altruistic person at all. I might be altruistic in thought, but in action? Not so much. Other than giving a couple of bucks to random beggars occasionally, there isn't much to my levels of generosity.
       
Looking back on what I've written, it make absolutely no sense to me. I can almost imagine my English teacher trying to jump off a cliff( Or even Tank Bund as she so famously used to say). There was neither a proper introduction nor the so called body. And if my predictions are correct, there won't be a proper ending either.
 ...
Yeah, that WAS the end! See what I meant about the proper ending part?  

The (in)famous Tank Bund