Dear Bangalore/ Bangaluru (whichever one you prefer to be called),
I still don't get the point of making separate compartments in the buses for women and men. And I definitely do not get the point of something as cham-cham* as Egg Dosa or Chicken Dosa. I don't know the full form of PUC and MTR and your cold coffees have way too much sugar for my liking. The men are mostly ugly and apart from foreign expats, you really don't have too much Eye Candy, girls like us can stare at, glancingly. Your auto-waalas aren't friendly and they cheat me off my swindling-by-the-second pocket money. Your malls are designed to make a man/woman,wanting to urinate badly, run around and wait for the lift with patience before they can finally, well, do it.
BUT.
Despite all your flaws, all I want to say is, THANKS BRO.
A longer letter about the things I love about you will follow.
Sincerely,
The Elastic Chaddi Chronicles.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
To those days.
To all those days that have begun like this one.
When every little word hurts after thorough analysis.
I wish I had a better name to give these days, other than just the plain old mood swings.
Cannot allow comments for this post, can I?
When every little word hurts after thorough analysis.
I wish I had a better name to give these days, other than just the plain old mood swings.
Cannot allow comments for this post, can I?
Just last night, I was so happy.
And ofcourse that means that today, I am in the darkest dumps. Sometimes, I think it is my own imagination and because others refuse to clarify. But granted that I am a woman and the female brain exercises it's imagination more than neccessary.
Many, many days back, I and Unat and Em were getting ready to go out into the city for some good old eating, shopping, the usual. One of us was cribbing about our looks and considering I am the ugliest of the three, I THINK it was me. That's when Em told us about this research thing she had read sometime back :
See, a while back a few scientists started researching beauty amongst women. So this was the experiment.
A group of very average looking young women with impressive bio-datas were gathered. Almost all of them had/ had had self-image issues despite having achieved a lot. Some were CEOs and stuff. But all of them were average looking. You wouldn't walk into a bar and notice them at all.
So the same number of men were called in too, though they were just randomly chosen.
The men and women were not allowed to know/ see each other before the experiment.
Anyway, for the experiment the men and women were paired up. All the men recieved bio-datas of the women but instead of the real woman's photo, they gave each of the men a photograph of a model/ really good looking woman. (So basically all the guys thought they hit jackpot cuz she was hot and she was talented.)
The men and women were given a telephone and they had to talk to their respective pairs. The women though had no idea about their own photo being replaced by a model's photo. They were made to talk for around 4 hours.
After the 4 hours the men and the women were shown their respective partners.
75% of the men found their partners more attractive than the model whose photo was put. You know why that was? Because obviously the guy flirted with her, complimented her. With every compliment she bacame more confident and that made them seem even more attractive than the superhot model.
See what it means is that, even a very average looking woman can be so beautiful if only men tell them.
I'd like to believe that this is true. And I do. What most people don't know about women is that none of them find themselves beautiful. And I'm beginning to think that all of them, except me ofcourse, are.
I just want to sleep now.
Many, many days back, I and Unat and Em were getting ready to go out into the city for some good old eating, shopping, the usual. One of us was cribbing about our looks and considering I am the ugliest of the three, I THINK it was me. That's when Em told us about this research thing she had read sometime back :
See, a while back a few scientists started researching beauty amongst women. So this was the experiment.
A group of very average looking young women with impressive bio-datas were gathered. Almost all of them had/ had had self-image issues despite having achieved a lot. Some were CEOs and stuff. But all of them were average looking. You wouldn't walk into a bar and notice them at all.
So the same number of men were called in too, though they were just randomly chosen.
The men and women were not allowed to know/ see each other before the experiment.
Anyway, for the experiment the men and women were paired up. All the men recieved bio-datas of the women but instead of the real woman's photo, they gave each of the men a photograph of a model/ really good looking woman. (So basically all the guys thought they hit jackpot cuz she was hot and she was talented.)
The men and women were given a telephone and they had to talk to their respective pairs. The women though had no idea about their own photo being replaced by a model's photo. They were made to talk for around 4 hours.
After the 4 hours the men and the women were shown their respective partners.
75% of the men found their partners more attractive than the model whose photo was put. You know why that was? Because obviously the guy flirted with her, complimented her. With every compliment she bacame more confident and that made them seem even more attractive than the superhot model.
See what it means is that, even a very average looking woman can be so beautiful if only men tell them.
I'd like to believe that this is true. And I do. What most people don't know about women is that none of them find themselves beautiful. And I'm beginning to think that all of them, except me ofcourse, are.
I just want to sleep now.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Strike ZERO.
Since I haven't really written anything in a really long time and because it IS infact the New Year (2 days past) and because I have a sore neck, I'm going to waste a little more of this cyberspace to mention to you, my, er, feelings.
1. OKAY I'M REALLY DYING HERE. The word 'feeling' sounds pansy now, almost non-negotiably attention seeking. Maybe I've changed a lot in the past year (College bro) but writing about my feelings seems almost distant. Maybe I've overdone it in the past, stuffed your faces with my sorrows, forced down my guilt down your throat (EW) but I want to stop that now. Not to mention that I am sick of being stalked and added-as-a-friend-on-fb by some of the followers who prefer to DEAL with my feelings (GAHHH, PANSY.)
Accomodation: 5 strikes. That's all I get for a post. More than 5, backspace every word typed till then and never think of it again.)
2. I feel like (Strike 1) I exaggerate my life. Well, my friends feel like I exaggerate it. I mean, right now I feel my life is so lazy-lumpy-boring that noone would even want to live it. But when I explain incidents to some friends, I feel like (Strike 2) they don't believe me. I don't lie about them, I just use gestures and go into describing details. What if I end up like that old guy from 'Big Fish' with the story of his life. Man, even I didn't believe it. Maybe he wasn't trying to, but he just exaggerated and that's how it sounded like a lie (?).
Anywho, my life is going to be like that. Exaggerated, but mostly true.
3. I think (Strike 2 and a half) I always jinx it with the guys. Really, I do. How does a perfectly average person ruin anything before it even begins? Anyway, girls ranting away about guys is another thing I don't want to go into because it's immature.
4. I thought I was an explorer. An unsatisfied tramp. A famished traveller. Turns out, I'm the cheeky little dingo who roams the roads to see the world and stops at just 3 blocks from where he began ONLY, and ONLY because he was scared of exploring. Okay, I'm scared (Strike 3) of exploring. What if it gets me nothing? What if it makes me realize that all the time I had looked for the wrong things and found the right thing and then came back to find it gone? Or belonging to someone else? For those who think, by exploring I mean, only in terms of travelling places, I'm sorry but you are wrong and no, I'm not giving it away so easily.
5. I can't write about serious things anymore. (^Strike 3 and a half)
6. I suck at photography and theatre, two of my greatest passions. I got the lowest GPA for these two courses and there are people who are SO good at it in my college that I have no intention of pursuing them any further. (Self pity is a quarter strike so, Strike 3 and three fourths.)
7. This new year I have realized how extremely average I am, in general. I was never brilliant in school. Never brilliant at any sport, never played an instrument, never got selected for any cultural event, never been popular, never been the good human being either. I was always second at what I was even remotely good at. I haven't won a drawing competition in god knows, 7 years? I have never been awarded nor paid for my writing, my photography, my shoes.
I'm just so average it's beginning to annoy me. I'm not saying I am good for nothing. I am, infact good at quite a few things.
"But when the world start to give back?" (Can't remember who said it, but it was in Glee.)
When do people acknowledge the average, if ever?
There goes your New Year post.
1. OKAY I'M REALLY DYING HERE. The word 'feeling' sounds pansy now, almost non-negotiably attention seeking. Maybe I've changed a lot in the past year (College bro) but writing about my feelings seems almost distant. Maybe I've overdone it in the past, stuffed your faces with my sorrows, forced down my guilt down your throat (EW) but I want to stop that now. Not to mention that I am sick of being stalked and added-as-a-friend-on-fb by some of the followers who prefer to DEAL with my feelings (GAHHH, PANSY.)
Accomodation: 5 strikes. That's all I get for a post. More than 5, backspace every word typed till then and never think of it again.)
2. I feel like (Strike 1) I exaggerate my life. Well, my friends feel like I exaggerate it. I mean, right now I feel my life is so lazy-lumpy-boring that noone would even want to live it. But when I explain incidents to some friends, I feel like (Strike 2) they don't believe me. I don't lie about them, I just use gestures and go into describing details. What if I end up like that old guy from 'Big Fish' with the story of his life. Man, even I didn't believe it. Maybe he wasn't trying to, but he just exaggerated and that's how it sounded like a lie (?).
Anywho, my life is going to be like that. Exaggerated, but mostly true.
3. I think (Strike 2 and a half) I always jinx it with the guys. Really, I do. How does a perfectly average person ruin anything before it even begins? Anyway, girls ranting away about guys is another thing I don't want to go into because it's immature.
4. I thought I was an explorer. An unsatisfied tramp. A famished traveller. Turns out, I'm the cheeky little dingo who roams the roads to see the world and stops at just 3 blocks from where he began ONLY, and ONLY because he was scared of exploring. Okay, I'm scared (Strike 3) of exploring. What if it gets me nothing? What if it makes me realize that all the time I had looked for the wrong things and found the right thing and then came back to find it gone? Or belonging to someone else? For those who think, by exploring I mean, only in terms of travelling places, I'm sorry but you are wrong and no, I'm not giving it away so easily.
5. I can't write about serious things anymore. (^Strike 3 and a half)
6. I suck at photography and theatre, two of my greatest passions. I got the lowest GPA for these two courses and there are people who are SO good at it in my college that I have no intention of pursuing them any further. (Self pity is a quarter strike so, Strike 3 and three fourths.)
7. This new year I have realized how extremely average I am, in general. I was never brilliant in school. Never brilliant at any sport, never played an instrument, never got selected for any cultural event, never been popular, never been the good human being either. I was always second at what I was even remotely good at. I haven't won a drawing competition in god knows, 7 years? I have never been awarded nor paid for my writing, my photography, my shoes.
I'm just so average it's beginning to annoy me. I'm not saying I am good for nothing. I am, infact good at quite a few things.
"But when the world start to give back?" (Can't remember who said it, but it was in Glee.)
When do people acknowledge the average, if ever?
There goes your New Year post.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Through the winter.
Some say he's never there, some curse.
His back is spiralled with all the arrows;
Arrows, once shot gathering rust.
Some say, he strikes twice;
And twice as hard the second time.
Despise, his closest friend and dearest foe;
Brought along Time, his concience that always stood.
For he had been lost and lying,
Since the days of the storm;
Never once unbecoming, never again the same warm.
Some called him a myth, a creature never understood.
Some distanced themselves, never again to be fooled.
He never meant any harm.
Had he listened to the wails of women and the curses of men, he would have abandoned himself.
Some called him a liar, a pathetic wishbone.
He never meant any harm.
Through the winters of dreary human self, he found himself again.
They understood him then, when they saw him for real.
It took the Time, ofcourse to notice the changes;
For Time, his concience would never let go.
When finally they saw through all the darkness, they laughed in their pain.
He was there, all the while;
Hiding in his shame.
Some called him unreal, many still curse.
But those of them who saw him, know he isn't a poet's imagination, nor is he any slave.
He may have betrayed many and is no stranger to the strange.
He's right there behind you;
And you know not until you fade.
They call him Love;
You'll see him again, someday.
His back is spiralled with all the arrows;
Arrows, once shot gathering rust.
Some say, he strikes twice;
And twice as hard the second time.
Despise, his closest friend and dearest foe;
Brought along Time, his concience that always stood.
For he had been lost and lying,
Since the days of the storm;
Never once unbecoming, never again the same warm.
Some called him a myth, a creature never understood.
Some distanced themselves, never again to be fooled.
He never meant any harm.
Had he listened to the wails of women and the curses of men, he would have abandoned himself.
Some called him a liar, a pathetic wishbone.
He never meant any harm.
Through the winters of dreary human self, he found himself again.
They understood him then, when they saw him for real.
It took the Time, ofcourse to notice the changes;
For Time, his concience would never let go.
When finally they saw through all the darkness, they laughed in their pain.
He was there, all the while;
Hiding in his shame.
Some called him unreal, many still curse.
But those of them who saw him, know he isn't a poet's imagination, nor is he any slave.
He may have betrayed many and is no stranger to the strange.
He's right there behind you;
And you know not until you fade.
They call him Love;
You'll see him again, someday.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Kodesia.
I figured out how I can prove my theory of parallel universes. If I can derive the equation to a point where it gives me a constant (pie), which is true for everything in the world, then I will be proved right.
:)
And I wont be so broke then.
A longer and a more descriptive post shall come up soon.
:)
And I wont be so broke then.
A longer and a more descriptive post shall come up soon.
If there is one, he is pretty darn politically correct.
I distinctly remember that day. It was a few months after my boards were done with and I had done NOTHING of what I had planned to do during the holidays. Ofcourse it took me more than three years after that point of time to realise that plans were never and never will be my thing.
So again, where where we?
Oh yeah, THAT day.
So I was quite, quite tired of not achieving anything big in a while and you know, school had started again. The routine had begun again.
Now I really maintain that till that day, I'd never really asked for anything.
Not from my parents (Except maybe the 3rd Harry Potter book for my 13th birthday, which I got eventually.)
Not from friends (Except for one emo phase where I asked for some unwanted attention.)
And definately not from God.
Infact, each time my Mom made me pray, I daydreamed about something or the other. I wasn't an atheist, no.
Just indifferent to God's existence.
But that day was different. For the first time, lying on my bed with all the lights switched off and the sound of TV blasting from the living room, I prayed.
No, scratch that.
I didn't pray.
I, er, spoke?
I just gently cried and asked for a few things. I think I even mentioned the F-word once but yeah, corrected it right after.
Amongst these few things were : a lot of happiness, even if it were unreal, a black dress that fit me, despite my height and yes, a taste of love.
The next few months were the happiest months of my entire life and I thought I had found a nice, decent guy who I just assumed would love me.
I was wrong about both.
Just before my 12th boards, the entire thing fell apart. I realised how foolish I was, to base my affection on something so, intangible. Or rather, a facebook romance.
I drowned myself in those mindless formulae, pages of logariths, integrating numbers, constants and everything that had an answer.
I worked my ass off to take my mind off the fact that he hadn't replied to my text message.
I kept checking every two hours and nothing showed up.
I drowned myself into blogging and even deleted this blog once.
It was then that I spoke again. Apart from the fact that I was sleepless most nights with the fat physics textbook on my right and my mobile on my left, I was okay with it.
Nothing mattered.
But I asked for some strength. I asked for everything to get over soon. I asked for change.
And yeah, I got that. I didn't cry at all when they told me for sure it wasn't just my imagination. I didn't break down. And then halfway through the 12th boards, Bee came along.
He brought along some charm, some happiness, some randomness, some confidence, some opinions and a lot of text messages.
He might be a twisted person when you come to think about it, but he got change.
I don't think my Mom ever understood this, but he wasn't just another friend I was addicted to texting.
He made me happy.
And I kept telling him not to tell me he loved me because he didn't and I didn't want it to come crashing down again. He did, despite all that and even today, I can say this, Bee, you aren't too much of a person but to me you meant an amazing lot at the time.
A few days back I asked for love again.
Except this time, I was more blatant.
I said, I don't want everything perfect. I just want warmth. Some affection. Even if it was lopsided.
And I think I've got exactly that.
(He has big arms too.)
But I've never had feelings for him and right now, I have no idea about what I should do. I got what I wanted.
Anyway, moral of the story is : There is a God. And more often than not, he gives you what you want. He is just extremely( at the verge of being annoying) politically correct.
Also, he is most definately, a Grammar Nazi.
So the next time you speak to , er, it, do choose your words correctly. Like I always say about most things that I say; Been there, done that.
P.S: I really am sorry for the previous hate post. I usually hate reading rant posts, not considering them true writing and I outdid my hypocrisy by being there and doing JUST that. Sorry yaar.
So again, where where we?
Oh yeah, THAT day.
So I was quite, quite tired of not achieving anything big in a while and you know, school had started again. The routine had begun again.
Now I really maintain that till that day, I'd never really asked for anything.
Not from my parents (Except maybe the 3rd Harry Potter book for my 13th birthday, which I got eventually.)
Not from friends (Except for one emo phase where I asked for some unwanted attention.)
And definately not from God.
Infact, each time my Mom made me pray, I daydreamed about something or the other. I wasn't an atheist, no.
Just indifferent to God's existence.
But that day was different. For the first time, lying on my bed with all the lights switched off and the sound of TV blasting from the living room, I prayed.
No, scratch that.
I didn't pray.
I, er, spoke?
I just gently cried and asked for a few things. I think I even mentioned the F-word once but yeah, corrected it right after.
Amongst these few things were : a lot of happiness, even if it were unreal, a black dress that fit me, despite my height and yes, a taste of love.
The next few months were the happiest months of my entire life and I thought I had found a nice, decent guy who I just assumed would love me.
I was wrong about both.
Just before my 12th boards, the entire thing fell apart. I realised how foolish I was, to base my affection on something so, intangible. Or rather, a facebook romance.
I drowned myself in those mindless formulae, pages of logariths, integrating numbers, constants and everything that had an answer.
I worked my ass off to take my mind off the fact that he hadn't replied to my text message.
I kept checking every two hours and nothing showed up.
I drowned myself into blogging and even deleted this blog once.
It was then that I spoke again. Apart from the fact that I was sleepless most nights with the fat physics textbook on my right and my mobile on my left, I was okay with it.
Nothing mattered.
But I asked for some strength. I asked for everything to get over soon. I asked for change.
And yeah, I got that. I didn't cry at all when they told me for sure it wasn't just my imagination. I didn't break down. And then halfway through the 12th boards, Bee came along.
He brought along some charm, some happiness, some randomness, some confidence, some opinions and a lot of text messages.
He might be a twisted person when you come to think about it, but he got change.
I don't think my Mom ever understood this, but he wasn't just another friend I was addicted to texting.
He made me happy.
And I kept telling him not to tell me he loved me because he didn't and I didn't want it to come crashing down again. He did, despite all that and even today, I can say this, Bee, you aren't too much of a person but to me you meant an amazing lot at the time.
A few days back I asked for love again.
Except this time, I was more blatant.
I said, I don't want everything perfect. I just want warmth. Some affection. Even if it was lopsided.
And I think I've got exactly that.
(He has big arms too.)
But I've never had feelings for him and right now, I have no idea about what I should do. I got what I wanted.
Anyway, moral of the story is : There is a God. And more often than not, he gives you what you want. He is just extremely( at the verge of being annoying) politically correct.
Also, he is most definately, a Grammar Nazi.
So the next time you speak to , er, it, do choose your words correctly. Like I always say about most things that I say; Been there, done that.
P.S: I really am sorry for the previous hate post. I usually hate reading rant posts, not considering them true writing and I outdid my hypocrisy by being there and doing JUST that. Sorry yaar.
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