Realism.

During one of his famous dinner-time lectures, my father looked at me. A a small, sad smile touched the edges of his lips and he said - "you were talking about reality that day, I have seen reality. I know what realism is. My son died in my hands. Nothing in life perturbs me now."

I didn't know what to say to that.

Voice.

I don't know how many people do this (or whether it easier to everyone does this) but I find to associate people with one feature they have. Not qualities; simply things you were born with/developed while growing up/developed by paying up etc.

When I picture my dad, for example, I first think of his warm hazel eyes. Then I see his hooked nose in my mind, followed by his shiny almost-bald head and sweet, indulgent smile. With my mum, it always starts with her cute button nose, one that I sort of got from her.Then I see her beady eyes hidden behind her gigantic frames, her lovely wheatish complexion and her long wavy, wispy hair.

I would start describing my oldest friend with her gorgeous, straight, raven black hair. Then I'd tell you about her nose, which turns up right at the end, like the roof of a Pagoda. My sweetest friend I would describe from her smile - one that captures the beauty and the joy of each ray of purest sunshine that falls on your face. One of my favourite uncles I would start describing by his Voice.

One of my earliest memories of him involve an untimely cough that resonated through the whole house. That's how we'd get informed of his arrival, the wind would carry his deep voice till the last room where we (the kids) used to hang out and we'd run to meet him. He has always been one of my dearest uncles. This very moment, I can hear his deep voice being lowered to a childish coo as he says my name while pulling my cheeks. "Tuntuni", he calls me by the nick name my parents have given me. Not the god-awful "tuntun" everyone has reverted to.

His voice has influenced me in more ways than he'll ever know. More ways than even I know. I love voices. At a young age, I developed a fascination with voices. You know how people enjoy good food, good wine and/or good music? I enjoy good voices. I love hearing them. And no, I  don't mean singing voices. I don't really care if someone can sing or not. But I do love a good speaking voice. I love orators, sexy articulators, just about any one with a rich luscious voice.

I try to go out of my to be a good speaker. It has become one of those things that I find attractive in a man. Voices have become such an integral part of my life that I can't imagine living without my own, living without listening to others. The first boy I actually liked liked had  has a beautiful voice. They mean so much to me.

And it all started with an uncle. "Do you know him? He has a very deep voice. No? He's tall too. And a deep voice...". That's how I used to talk about him.

That's the only way I know how to talk about him.

Imagine my shock when I found out that my uncle, due to some medical condition ( I don't know the actual medical details and to be honest I don't really want to know), his voice box would have to be removed (these are my mum's actual words). That was more than a year ago. He's visiting my folks tomorrow. I'll probably talk to him. Hear his new, mechanical voice.

not His Voice.

never His Voice.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that talking to my uncle will not be the same. I know there are things I should be thankful. "It could have been Life-Threatening" mum keeps reminding me. At least he's alive.

Maybe, like my mum says, I really do hate change. Maybe I'm just not ready to face the fact that something that shaped me doesn't exist anymore.

Tomorrow should be interesting.

Songs I love: Place To Be

Written and performed by the amazing Nick Drake, the song was first featured on his final alum, Pink Moon (released in '72, when he was around 24 years old). I love the album and this song is one of  my favourites.




 When I was young, younger than before
I never saw the truth hanging from the door
And now I'm older see it face to face
And now I'm older gotta get up clean the place.

And I was green, greener than a hill
Where flowers grew and the sun shone still
Now I'm darker than the deepest sea
Just hand me down, give me a place to be.

And I was strong, strong in the sun
I thought I'd see when day is done
Now I'm weaker than the palest blue
Oh, so weak in this need for you.

I miss...

I miss waking up in my double bed.

The big comfy one that I can roll around in.

I miss looking out of the window the moment I wake up.

The smog and the grey clouds seem so beautiful now.

I miss waking up to my mom's voice.

I miss wishing my dad a good day with sleepy eyes.

I miss the beautiful dark wood in my room.

I miss the dusty old books on the shelves.

I miss picking them up.

I miss the old-book smell that comes from their yellowed pages.

I miss curling up next to my army of cuddlies

and reading my favourite books.

I miss the forever-busy kitchen.

Full of vegetables and interesting smells.

I miss seeing my dad as the ill-tempered Head Chef.

And mum, poor mum, always the Sous-Chef.

I miss the awkward elevator rides with people I don't know.

I miss meeting the beautiful pets that live there.

I miss my white building and black car.

I miss my neighbour - so crazy and so awesome.

I miss the daily ordeal of getting to my College.

The auto-calling, the bus-riding days.

I miss my college friends,

the young, fresh, intelligent kids, set to take over the world.

I miss my Travel-friend and my Screenplay-partner.

I miss writing with one and talking with the other.

I miss the places we would frequent.

I miss the Lays and the Gelatos and the Panipuris.

Oh how much I miss Powai!

I miss walking around Hiranandani.

I miss the beautiful buildings and the little roads.

I miss losing myself in the Powai crowd.

I miss my favourite places.

The wonderful crossword bookstore.

The lovely little L'Amour library.

The dreamy Bread Talk cheesecake.

I miss going to Galleria.

Finding knick-knacks, haggling.

I miss sitting in Aromas,

the very best part of my day is spent there.

I miss my school.

It seems so long ago.

I never thought I'd miss those I wanted to forget.

But I do, I miss them all.

I miss going to Vashi.

The dirty roads, the loudmouths, the stench.

The warmth, the comfort, the joy.

The joy of belonging to some place.

I miss going to Sanpada and Koper Khairane.

I miss walking into my friend's house like it were my own.

And it was my own.

Oh how I miss them, my soul sisters, my best friends.

I miss going out with my mum,

having lunch and talking,

I miss visiting my dad at work.

I miss hearing him lecture me.

I miss the fear and dread monsoon used to bring.

I miss praying for floods, just to get out of going to school.

I miss the torrential rain, the muddy roads, the angry crowd,

the happy children, the pakoras, the books, the coffee and the umbrellas.

I miss driving around the Queen's Necklace.

I miss Crossroads (RIP), Haji Ali, and Bandra.

I miss Worli  and Its busy roads.

I miss Colaba and its aging buildings.

I miss my favourite restaurants.

I won't be able to celebrate my birthday in Gaylord.

Or go to Tea Center for the tea.

Mahesh Lunch Home seems so far away.

And Oh Calcutta? You will never be as good as my dad.

I miss watching people at work.

I miss admiring the residents of Dharavi.

I miss seeing the dabbawallas on their daily route.

I miss the colourful people, cultures and places that define Mumbai.

I miss knowing my place in the world.

I miss being a part of something.

I miss my home.

I miss my city.

No matter where I stay or what I do,

No place would mean half as much as Mumbai does.

It is the city of Dreams and the city of Reality.

And I miss it so much.

Stuck in the mud

I'm in a very weird mood right now. Its like I can feel my life slowly slipping out of my hands and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I'm feeling equal parts of despair, loneliness, sorrow, confusion and boredom for no reason whatsoever. Maybe is just PMS, maybe everything that's happening around me has somehow managed to drill a hole through my once-impenetrable wall of obliviousness.

I used to think that living in hostel far away from home would give me a taste of the freedom and independence I was yearning for (while growing up). I thought I would finally be able to make my own decisions, see the world from my own eyes, feel things in person and not through a colourful story that belonged to someone else.

College life isn't what I was hoping for. If anything, I feel trapped and burdened all the time. I'm like a Man On A Mission - even when I'm enjoying myself, I'm doing it because its a part of The Plan. I don't even know what The Plan is, and yet I spend every waking hour following it. Everything I do, I do for someone else- my parents, my teachers, my family in general, my friends who are proud of me, people who are jealous of me, my future boss etc.etc. My actions are just reactions! When on earth am I gonna learn to do things for myself? Every time I get close to making a decision, someone makes it for me. Am I a participant or just an audience in the failed-gameshow pilot I call life?  Right now I'm stuck facing the consequences of two decisions taken by others on my behalf. Extra courses, summer programs - no one gives a damn about whether I want to actually do it or no. They just assume I'm gonna do it.

I am tired of all these assumptions. I'm sick of living my life like a lamb. You follow the thousands before you, you stick to the rules they force upon you, and in the end you turn into an old man's half-cooked dinner - I don't wanna be one of those! I want to be the pig that became a sheep dog or the the rabbit with a pocket watch....

Ah screw it - its not like anyone gives a damn. I'll just end up doing what people expect me to do, being the perfect Possibility Girl, feeling like a complete failure for the rest of my life and die an unknown woman.

A Beautiful Revolution

This is why I hate news channels

I just found out that Rafa lost to David Ferrer in Aus. Open QF


No Rafa Slam. :(


Lets hope next year he gets all the pweety trophies to keep.

Love you Rafa, always :)

My mom needs to rethink her definition of "perfect".

So my parents are at my cousins wedding. I'm still here, def. not studying and positively thankful that coll doesn't give us free time during December.

Why? Because I really don't wanna be where my mom is right now.

Okay fine, I admit it - I don't really know my cousin (I have only met her twice). I might be able to recognize her in a photo, but  if she waves at me from across the street, it'll probably take me a while to remember who she is. So I guess I shouldn't despise her. But I do. You see, the one thing I do remember about the chick in question is that she falls into the category I like to call Bloated Ego Tiny Brained Non Artist (BETBNA - pronounced "bet-bna") Okay, before we proceed, lets go over the definition of a BETBNA.

Betbna's are people who although artistic, aren't true artists. They are narcissists who think that they know more than you ever will. They assume that they are the supreme authority when it comes to the finer things in life for you, you regular, uninteresting soul do not understand the brilliance of true artistry. To them, you are no better than a gorilla in pants. Don't get me wrong, I love artists. I am fortunate enough to know some really talented ones. But. They are not the ones I am talking about. Come on, you've probably met one too - can you think of a person who kept trying to "one-up" you each time you met him/her? They are hypocrites and like using words/talking about things they don't understand. And if you tell them that you are studying to be an engineer, they'll probably look down at you. Oh and BTW, some people don't feel the need to actually be creative to be a BETBNA. They are just shallow no-talent douchebags trying be everything they are not. I call them Super-BETBNA's.

Okay, back to the the topic. The cousin who got married today is a BETBNA. And according to my mom, her dear husband is wonderful. The way my mommy dearest has praised my Bro-In-Law, you'd think he's Captain Planet, Danny Ocean, Mark Zuckerberg and Gomez Addams all rolled in one.

I actually talked to the guy.

And no, he does not seem to be some Captain Planet/Danny Ocean/Mark Zuckerberg/Gomez Addams hybrid.

First of all, I think my mom needs to be reminded that I hate talking to people that:
a. I don't like.
b. I don't know.
But I'm sure she's gonna forget it anyway. Like today, when she called me up and pretty much tricked me into talking to my BETBNA cousin. Now I ask you, what do you say to  a person who sounds bored when she says "hi" to you on the phone? Moreover, what do you say to a guy you don't know and don't wanna know, who just happens to be on the other side of the line. You can't say "Nice meeting you" because you haven't actually met the person.

 I said "nice talking to you",to which he replied, in what seems to be his characteristic 'I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing-here' voice: "nice talking to you too...I guess..."

I GUESS? I-fucking-guess? Oh weetle boy, you don't guess, you know. And you know why you know? 'Tis coz Taurme don't speak to random losers like you. The fact that I bothered to sound nice should be enough to make your whole freaking life worthwhile.


There are no guesses. It isn't just nice talking to me, its is fucking tele-nirvana.


I seriously have no clue what my mum saw in this marshmallow of a man. Huh. The perfect man would be that guy who can leave me speechless in a telephone conversation.



So I guess I'm on the path that leads to the life of spinsterhood.


Good thing I like cats.

My Escalating Fear Of Escalators....

i don't know where it started, hell, I don'te even know when it started, but it gets worse every day. Its illogical, stupid and odd since I used to manage my way to the top 'til the year before last.

Now I just freak out. Which makes everything super-hard for me since I live in a city that has escalators everywhere.

Earlier I only used to fear going down. Now I fear moving straight ahead...

Oh why oh why oh why? This is so lame on soooo many levels. Going out today. I have to make sure I use escalators at least once

Stairway from hell.

Squids, whales, doppelgangers and stupidity

Yesterday I saw THE SQUID AND THE WHALE, a lovely little movie written and directed by Noah Baumbach and produced by Wes Anderson. (yep, I just had to watch it). It stars the amazing Jeff Bridges, always wonderful Laura Linney and Anna Paquin ( who, for a change, wasn't crying for Biyl).

Its def. worth watching, just the kind of movie I enjoy. (That being said, I wouldn't recommend watching it with your family, unless your family is okay with 12year olds drinking whiskey and jerking off)
The children were portrayed by Owen Kline (Kevin Kline's son) and Jesse Eisenberg and believe me, they were good.

Also, Jesse looks a hell lot like Nick Drake.

Like in this picture:

Bryter Layter, anyone?

Facebook is getting really tiresome these days. The only people who update their profiles are the ones I don't give a rat's @$$ about. Also, in order to look smart, people google quotes, post them as their status (without the name of the actual speaker) and get all hoity toity about being so "intelligent" and "witty". After all, they are the ones who come up with such witty things *sigh*

It really pisses me off when people take credit for someone else's creativity.

Dude I know you. Your brain is smaller than that of an ostrich born without a head. I know exactly what you're capable of.

Also, 20 other people have already posted it as their "original" status.

Do me a favour and get a life. Please.

JJ

Just finished watching Criminal Minds (yes I'm addicted) s06e02, "JJ".

Crying like a baby...I saw this coming, I knew CBS had resorted to douchebaggery, cutting off A.J.Cook's character and reducing Paget Brewster's on-screen time...and the eppy still got to me!

One of the best features of the show is that each character is likable in someway. I don't like Rossi, but I like the way he consoles the grieving families. So yeah, JJ was never my favourite, but I still loved her. She really was the mom of the BAU.

I know I should be thankful that they didn't chop off any of my faves - Garcia, Reid, Morgan - even Hotch, for that matter- but why did they have to cut costs on one of their most popular shows? Kill Amy Ferrah Fowler (TBBT). See if I care.


I WANT JJ BACK! BooooHoooo *sniff* *sniff*

Things that are just plain wrong

When you're trying to lose weight and hence end up in something called a Gym and work your rear end off out (FIGURATIVELY things like this never happen in real life :( ) you're usually tired. Almost so tired that a tiny part of you keeps hoping that you slip and break a couple of bones just so that you don't have to go through that again.
And you're hungry too.

Okay, you're always hungry.

Anyway, somehow, in manner of Freedom Fighter in 1947, despite your oh-so-many injuries (just because you can't see it doesn't mean its not there. The cast of Twilight and Paris Hilton are known exceptions to this rule) you crawl all the way to the lobby of your stupid building.

Guess who's in the elevator with you?

If you guessed "fart man" or "nosey guy" or the "forever talker" or similar, you're wrong.

Its worse.

Much, much worse.

Its the Pizza Delivery Guy.

And he has more than one large, smells-like-heaven pizza.

And yes, your next door neighbours ordered it.