winter is over. the grasshopper lives. and doesnt care that the ants will laugh all the way to the bank.

bloody economists.
bloody bloody economics.

and poor poor me.

oh yes..and bloody internet guy.

a week. a week. a week!!! one fucking week. and i am still here.

i miss the rain. Or walking in the rain. Used to do a lot of that in college...And none of it was particlarly filmy..No umbrella that flies away. No flapping dupatta. No hapless guy who gets dragged into the rain.

In college , we'd take a walk in the rain with the specific intention of getting wet. The ones who didnt want to get wet, carried umbrellas. We didnt. And definitely not transparent ones.

And no flapping dupattas: getting wet in college involved a really sticky kurta and jeans that would weigh a tonne when wet.And dupattas, if at all present in the scene had this distinct tendency to not flap around. It would just cling unhappily, rather miffed at the prospect of of staying wet for long. Wonder how they did it in movies.

And the guys . Boring souls them.They'd rather be in the BCR and do boring guy things.

Of course there was this rather odd couple who would hold hands and take walks in the rain. Now they loked propah-ly filmy. awwwww young love i tell you.

And none of us looked anything like wet bollywood heroines. No wet sarees, for one. No waterproof mascara. No waterproof makeup of any sort i might add..Hair plastered and sticky and odd-looking. And wet clothes which make you look fatter... except Sonal who looked pretty despite. Dh though so too!(nudge, nudge . giggle, giggle) And those skinny hot women who always look hot, no matter what. (aaargh! yes their existence is and will forever be supremely irksome)But this post is not about them. So yes we'd settle for looking quite odd, rather smug in our rain soaked happiness.

Post getting wet session, we would cluster arond the union room fan.And consume copious quantities of steaming coffee.And get some kind soul to cigarrettes for us. Coz well we were sneezing a little and sort of shivery...and some one just had to take pity on us.

And after suitable amount of time was spent doing nothing, clothes would be dry and it wold be time to get back home.

Sigh!
i miss college going rain.

There is an exhibitionistic streak in me, methinks.i like airing my daily trials, petty grievances, and imagined hurts up on blogosphere.its like an outlet. Have taken out frustrations through words and have thus healed...i can now go around the world and function like a sane person.

But sometimes, you realize that you may have revealed too much..which is generally when i go om my ohGodoGodohGodohGod what was i thinking(?) trip or the thats-not-my-blog-i-do-not-know-it-exists trip or maybe-i-should-delete-my-blog trip.(God there seems to be a lot of them!) Of course after a point of time it ceases to matter. Have aired my private humiliations on the blog and have made it public...but thats quite alright.

The reason why i write this is because i went through the latter sometime ago. hence the complete non-blogging. But i am back now. And shall endeavour to blog more often(although not too often. exams around the corner)

For now though...

THE END OF THE STORY

Its over now. Their story that is. It just finished a few days ago. There might be an epilogue later. But not now. And if you liked the story and it touched you a little bit...Go ahead you are allowed a tiny sniffle, a little blotting of the corner of your eyes, a sheepish smile at your partner who smirks on seeing you do so.

Yes, its over for them now.Let them be. She wont be collecting compliments,or having secret conversations, or building stories in her head anymore. She will walk down the same city roads and wont have to try to not think of him anymore. the solitary cigarrete is comforting now, not lonely.

She is content. As she draws the cover tighter around her and watches the evening norwester lash at the sky...she knows she wishes him peace.

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerous People will stop and watch you when you appear Even though you're capable of random violence You are best known for: your power Your dominant state: performing

What Type of Weather Are You?

Everyone please laugh, crack snide remarks, smirk ,point and laugh, smirk knowingly, do-whatever-you-do-when-you-find-people-funny and whatever-you-can-do-to-make-them-feel-worse.

after which i shall crawl into my dark dark hole, and stay there.i still feel like such an idiot.

blue again.

i feel like a complete idiot.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?

WAS I THINKING AT ALL?
yuck!

Your Hair Should Be Orange

Expressive, deep, and one of a kind.You pull off "weird" well - hardly anyone notices.

What's" Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

she had read about this syndrome in some medical thriller.the syndrome where you can feel the amputated part of your body(even though its not there).your leg is half gone,it ends in a stump below your knee...and yet you want to scratch your big toe.very badly.

Yes its quite like that.She knows he's gone,And yet she imagines herself talking to him.and wants to tell him things.Little things.snippets of detail,funny anecdotes...they're all there in her head.As if waiting to be told to one more person.

"I survived an earthquake..you know.I could actually see and feel my bed move,like some kinda crazed pendulum"

"i asked the teacher if i coulld turn down the AC today.he asked if i wanted blankets.everyone was very amused."

Everyone around her has heard these stories at least once.But its still there inside her head.Waiting to be told again.

She used to do this before.store all these stories,for him.She does it still,almost unconsciously and stops mid-way.They dont need to be stored.Or told .Not anymore.

They went away with them.As he packed his suitcase,and said goodbye,all those words,crawled into his bags when she wasnt looking,and left with him.

Now she has nothing to say.nothing to write about.

Earlier it would be bursting at its seams.
Her head that is.
With things to be said.things already said.things that wont ever be said.
Words to be written.words that havent been written.words that wouldnt be.

They're all gone now.It's as if someone switched off the tape-deck mid song.

MY MAN

1)must read

2)should agree that i'm the best thing that happened to him.

3)should be reasonably attractive.

4)must be capable of conversation,and must listen to and tolerate incessant chattering!

5)should understand that i'm capable of murder when PMSing

6)must understand that i cry while watching movies .or reading books and must not laugh when i do so!

7)must make me laugh.Even when i'm ina bad mood

8)must be affectionate.should not be embarrased by PDA

i was tagged by Teleute,
I TAG JITZOMANIA,AAR BEE,BABELFISH,DOEL,ZAPONDER,SINUSOIDALLY,FISHY,JADEDand PANU

my jaws ache a lot these days.you see i have been smiling a lot.
life's pretty amusing,didnt you know?

BEAUTY

Beauty makes my heart go tight.
It's the old Grecian Urn.
Got to break it,
To keep it
Out of
Everyone's sight.

C.P.Surendran

i feel violent right now.but havent broken anything,or skewered people alive,havent set fire to the house...basically havent done anything violent.i believe,i have the patience of a saint.yes thank you.bless you for agreeing with me.

i could say that all men are jerks(but i wont).one in particular is a complete bastard and yet i have been (as i've said before) completely non violent.i am a saint.or a very very very very very very nice person.

or a total doormat.
think what you will.

i shall sing ...tra la la la la and pretend that the world is a merry place.
look at me smile right now.doesnt it just brighten up the world?

not only am i (allegedly)insecure, i am also (again allegedly) insecure about being insecure...this bit of psycho-analysis comes from someone who's knowns me for three months. have had this adjective attributed to me far too many times this week.
clarification:people,i am not insecure.

yes , i occassionally wonder if my friends secretly hate me and am terrified at the prospect of dying alone,and i wish i were pretty and would love to be articulate..but puhleez for gods sake I AM NOT INSECURE.or lacking in confidence.nor do i suffer from low self esteem.
and if i am acting a little psychotic this week,blame it on the sun.leos are supposed to be emotional this week.(or was it last?)or ,the fact that three of my closest friends are far far far away.correction one of them just came back...which means,persons who form the very core of my suport system are missing...
so i'm a little (yes,just a little) dependent.
how does that make me insecure?

warning:do not,i repeat,do not ,if you care to go on living that is ,call me insecure!

it melts.
and forms a gooey mess
on the floor.
step on it,if you will
or gently pass it by.

the mirror has grown a new face.and it refuses to go away.she stares at it,willing it to go away.it just stares back.

it has a voice too these days.says things like,"your hair looks flat today.what did you,do comb it too hard?"
or,"when will your pimples stop?"
or,"hehehe,your nose is ridiculously big."
or,"don't smile too much.your teeth shows.did you know you have uneven teeth?"

and all she says is,"is it?do i ?"

the previous mirror was nicer.paid more compliments.
and when critical,it would limit itself to calling her fat...say"uh uh.fat day.wear black".

the only thing this mirror likes about her is her eyes.

"my eyes?"she protests."besides being myopic,they are slightly cross-eyed.and one is smaller than the other.and one eyebrow is higher than the other.how can you possibly like them?
AND the kaajal never stays put.it always smudges."

"they 're nice ",it says.

"nice?just nice?"

"well half a loaf...."
thats another thing.this one is way too proverb-quoting.rather irritating.

she has to get a more flattering mirror.
one thats not proverbial.

disclaimer no. 1:she is not me

disclaimer no.2:
eating alone,
my alphabet soup,
speaks to me.

these words are not mine.
by brenda s. duster

if she had half a brain she would hate this city.if it werent for these city-streets she wouldnt be thinking about him.or obsesssing about him.nor would she confess,far too much, to this new found confidante.
yup its all her fault.stupid city.

she has other memories too,you know.pleasant ones.of early morning solitary walks to coaching class.she'd be walking down the pavement, hands in her pocket,a little lonely perhaps ,but happy...and she'd hear someone call her name from far away.she'd turn around,smiling, happier to find someone to walk with.
lots of other memories in fact;of bonding over junk jewellery. or pretty shoes that you have to have,but can't afford.of heart to hearts, at wintry dusk,over tea that costs Rs 1.25p

but she doesnt think of those anymore.now everything ledas her back to him.all the roads and by-lanes keep going back to just this one place.

him,who she'd rather forget.or not talk about.nor obsess about.

yup its all her fault.stupid city.