Not To Jinx It, But...

...life is good right now. And i'm quite surprised by how content i'm feeling. Maybe it's something to do with putting up lamps all over the house and revelling in the soft light every evening that lends itself to a calm and happy state of mind. Or it's the fact that i've been spending quite some time in the kitchen revisiting my love for cooking and feeding people (while knowing that it's not a daily affair). It could also be the fact that regardless of everything i've been through in the past, I seem to have landed on my feet (in your face everyone who thought otherwise. Ha!) and haven't made the biggest mistake of at least a couple of lives. Of course, it might simply be the new medication i'm on. 

Whatever the reasons, i'm not complaining.

Major Flaw

I think the human mind has some major flaws. For one, it doesn’t let you forget. It may make it seem like you’ve gotten past something, and even wiped it clean out of your memory. But it’s just a trick. Your mind is playing with you. It forgets nothing. It lets you forget nothing. Just when you’re least expecting it, it surprises you. And not the balloons and cake and a bunch of your friends hiding in the dark kind of surprise. No. It’s the dark alleyway with a predator around the corner waiting for you silently type. It’s the kind which keeps you awake for hours at night. You associate with it a racing heart, a blind panic and a feeling that every particle of you is in emotional pain.

Sometimes I can understand why denial is such a powerful tool. And why it might be tempting to use it to the point of clinical disturbance.

But I guess, the human mind is more resilient than that. Damn it.

Of Grandmothers

The Fellow’s grandmother passed away last week.

I didn’t know her for too long, but I will always remember her as a woman of amazing strength, independence and foresight. At 80, she walked without any support, managed apple orchards all by herself and lived alone in a massive house, in the lap of the mountains, without any complaints, or indeed desire to live anywhere else (in fact, she terrorised the countryside and made sure not a leaf was out of place in her little kingdom). And this she’d been doing for nearly 30 years.

2 weeks before granny died, she had a cardiac arrest, the result of a renal complication. Since things were looking critical, we rushed home to be with her, and I think the presence of her favourite grandsons helped her much more than medication. In fact, it’s a tribute to how much she meant to her family that all her grandchildren, living all over the country, arrived to be with her when she was unwell. Just the sight of her grandchildren brought a sparkle to her eyes and a grin to her face. She couldn’t be happier than when the apple of her eyes were teasing her, tickling her and generally making all kinds of noise in the hospital room. In fact, in less than a week she was well enough to go home, where the noise just continued and she was kept in high spirits. Ten days later, she died.

It’s been a week since granny died and it all seems surreal still. At times when the brain is trying to rationalise what happened, it feels like she survived a massive cardiac arrest just to make sure she gave us all a chance to meet her one last time.

She died as she lived – on her own terms.

Silver Lining

So the Fellow is really busy with some huge show his organisation is putting up. I mean, apart from 12-14 hour work days (which begin at 6.30 in the morning), he’s also been working weekends (which does mean no parties, so yay for that at least).

But even with the thankless hours the Fellow had to work, and having to float around the house alone most of the day, it was all ok. Why? Well, at least the Fellow would come back home to me every evening and I could talk his ears off while he tried to finish his game on the PSP (all the time hmm-ing away, pretending to be listening to me).

And now it’s gotten all warped. 3 days back he left for a couple of hours’ work, and ended up staying away for 2 days. Today he returned (mainly to refresh his overnight case) for about 45 mins, and then went off again. I’m not sure whether he’ll return tonight. Or tomorrow night. Which is very uncool.

However, since I’m the optimistic kind (ok. So I also twist the truth at times), I decided it wasn’t all bad. I mean, when the Fellow called and texted in the middle of the day just to say hello, I couldn’t stop grinning (then he said he wasn’t coming home, so I sulked. But that’s not what I’m talking about here). It reminded me of the days when we were dating and were living in different cities. I didn’t realise how much I missed those long lo-ong phone calls and those constant texts to and fro, talking, arguing, dreaming. And I know I missed the anticipation and the waiting for him to call – the skipping a heartbeat when I saw his name flashing on my phone when least expected (or when expected), is a feeling that nothing can match.

And so, even though I really miss the Fellow, and am annoyed he isn’t here to hold hands with (it’s cold. And my hands are freezing.), I’m seeing the silver lining on the cloud. And I’m waiting for his next call.

Tomorrow It Ends

Since June I’ve been living out of a suitcase, going from one city to the other all over the country. Tomorrow my nearly 6-month long vacation comes to an end. No more late mornings (ok, maybe those are still possible). But definitely no more tension-free days for me now. Come Monday and I have to begin the whole dealing with the maid (damn, I need to look for a new one!) thing, get the new house all cleaned and set up (at present it’s worse than a dump), try and see if I can make the garden resemble something green and living, get a hundred thousand things in order again, make social calls, smile at stupid people and mentally conjure images of shooting them, so on and so forth. Aaaaggghhh!!!

It’s no wonder I’m panicking (a little). In almost half a year I haven’t had to bother about anything really, except which city I’m going to next. And even before that, it had taken me 6 months to get used to the idea of keeping house and being all responsible and all that. I had just about set some kind of a routine when the Fellow took off for that course of his. Now, when we finally go back home, I’m going to have to relearn everything and get into the practice of doing it all over again. And since it wasn’t too much fun the first time (being grown up sucks you know), I don’t think it gets any better this time round. To top it all, just then when I’m all nicely settled in again, the Fellow is bound to get posted out to another god forsaken place and we’ll be back to square one.

Hair Dye

(Day 97 of 112)

I know maybe 2 women who don’t resort to that little bottle of hair colouring which helps them conceal the all dangerous fact of their true age from the rest of the world. For the remaining population of my beauty-lies-in-the-makeup-section-of-the-mall believing sex, nothing is as vitally important in their middle age, as stocking up on that essential bit of the modern ‘solah shringar’ – the hair dye.

I know I’m still young enough to not worry about grey hair and all the attached stress, but I still can’t help being amused at the women who do worry. I mean considering the amount they worry about their greying hair, it’s no wonder the hair is turning white!

And then there is all the lack of privacy. If it was just the one person involved, nobody would know about it right? But since it’s near impossible (apparently) to self apply hair dye, it necessitates calling upon another person to get his/her hands dirty. It’s not called hiding if you can’t do it alone I say.

Why hair dye? For the obvious reason – I’m the one who had to get her hands dirty to allow for the vanity of those around me. And the funny thing is that these people whose hair I’ve been camouflaging today aren’t exactly in the first blush of youth (or even the second, third or fourth). So it’s not like anyone is going to believe that their hair is magical and is washed with water from the fountain of youth.

Isn’t it better to accept the fact that you’re getting older and that grey hair can be extremely dignified? I mean at least it will show that you’re definitely as (if not more) mature than your hair!

Of Being Horrified

(Day 89 of 112)

Recently I had one of those wtf moments that just need to be written about. Of course considering the cause of my shock, the use of wtf is highly inappropriate and not all the done thing. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

The story begins about 4 years back when I was a young, carefree and slightly geeky student, more interested in my next sandwich than anything else. And while I was concentrating on higher education (and junk food), friends were getting married right left and centre (not that I was complaining. After all I got free food and the chance to party). Anyhoo, not content with getting married, the same friends started families soon after, and before I had completed my Masters, most of them had babies (And here I was complaining about homework)!

One of those babies I happened to meet when she was about a month (or less) old. A tiny being, bundled up in layers and absolutely gorgeous she was. And as these things happen, that was the only time I met her. Recently I got in touch with my friend again and asked about how the baby was doing; conveniently forgetting that she wasn’t likely to remain the tiny infant forever. And so, I wasn’t prepared for what came next – a grown up baby. I simply couldn’t place this young, confident looking girl with the bundle that smelled like Johnson’s baby soap. All I could come up with when looking at the photo was "are you serious?” “are you really serious?Where did the time go? It was just yesterday that I was bent over cootchy-cooing a month old baby and today she’s a miniature adult who talks the ears off her mother (or so she complains).

Here I was feeling all good about being in the youth of life and all that jazz and then I was shocked into silence (rare for me). People my age are parents to children who do more than eat, sleep and poop. While I’m pining away (drama adds spice to my life so please bear with me) for the Fellow here, and spending my time doodling and napping, classmates are taking their children to school, attending parent-teacher meetings and generally being all responsible and adult-like.

Just thinking about it is sending shivers down my spine. Oh the horror.

PS: I wanted to put pictures up but my ethical soul wouldn't agree to it without getting permission from my friend. But as that would take at least a day and i absolutely had to express my horror i'm going to have to do some editing later.

Prophetic Words and Pampering

(Day 63 of 112)

In an almost self-fulfilling prophecy like manner, I’ve come down with a bug today. So there is the usual body ache, runny nose, watery eyes, sore throat etc. On telling the Fellow this, he reacted like most Indians are doing right now – caught the pig flu have you? Take care, get tested blah blah blah. Thankfully the in-laws are sensible beings and have not been driven into a media generated panic about the swine-flu. Otherwise I could well have been on my way to the nearest hospital with a mask around my face, probably followed by the local media wanting to know the state of my mind and how I’m feeling.

Instead, I slept most of the day (while the father-in-law worried about how I was doing), was made a hot cup of tea by the mother-in-law when she came back from work, was not allowed to help around the kitchen so sat and chatted the whole evening, was given special medicines to help me feel better and on the whole was pampered thoroughly (Note to self: Write about the cool and caring in-laws.)

Needless to say I’m feeling better already. Now if only the Fellow were here…I could totally do with a good shoulder and neck massage right now!

A Step Foward

(Day 41 of 112)

My life over the last couple of years has been the clichéd roller-coaster ride, with mostly downs rather than ups. Growing up was never so difficult and neither was being a parent. It was a time when nothing seemed to go right and everything was designed to make things difficult. I guess that was a phase that had to be endured.

Over the last 6-7 months life had improved drastically. And yet there was one factor that kept disturbing me. It was something that had to be dealt with patience and understanding and lots of time. This something changed today.

Today a step forward has been taken. I think. It scares and confuses me because I was unprepared for it. And as uncomfortable as my earlier state was, it was something I had gotten used to. And so while this step forward makes me unbelievably happy it makes me even more confused and apprehensive. It’s like I don’t trust myself anymore.

I guess this is what learning to walk is all about. It happens only when the time is right. And you have to take one step at a time. Slowly, carefully, moving forward.

It Had To Happen...

(Written: 22nd June 09, Day 11 of 112)

Coming back to Bombay after almost 6 months away has been a riot of emotions and feelings. On the one hand there was an almost child-like excitement and nervousness about going back home, wondering how much would have changed and whether anything had remained the same. On the other hand there was the feeling that I’m leaving something behind, something that is more real to me now.

That something is the new life I’ve created for myself. The people I know, the experiences I’ve had, the places I go to, the roads I drive on. This life is what I share with the Fellow and of which my parents, sister, friends and neighbours have no part of. They may hear of it from me. But it’s probably as real to them as a movie.

For me though, it’s a life I have to go back to. Something I’m in fact looking forward to. As much as I may complain about the banality of the people and the never ending round of parties, I’m now a part of it all (maybe not as banal though) as much they’re all a part of my life. These are the people amongst whom I’ve found some nice friends, these are the friends who are testimony to my first attempts at setting up house and being married, these are the people the Fellow works with and these are the people him and I gossip about and laugh at (silently) at all those parties.

So as much as I missed Bombay when I was away (apparent in my cravings for pav-bhaji, bhel and vada-pav as well as reminiscences of fighting my way into Alpha and the local trains), now that I’m here, I feel the pull of all the little rootlets I now have someplace else.

And as much as I fought it, it had to happen.

Things We're Killing Off Slowly - I

Writing. Quite literally writing with a pen/pencil on paper/any other writing material is dying a slow and steady death.

Why this?

The Fellow asked me to help him out with something and the first thing I did was to pick up a book and pen to do it. Thirty seconds later I was reaching out for my laptop and Ms Word.

Now I know that most people don’t really write write once they’re out of college and the whole exam giving-writing for three hours circus we’re made to go through is behind us like a horrible nightmare. But the fact that I found/realised I could type faster (much much much faster) than I could write shocked me a little bit. I mean I could once take down what the teacher was going on and on about in class almost verbatim (without using shorthand) and now I couldn’t write 2 pages (actually 2 lines) without my hand resisting the unfamiliar action!

I know technology changes the way you live and do things blah blah blah. But I can’t come to terms with the fact that writing will soon become a lost art (if it’s not already) and in a couple of decades museums will carry samples of handwriting in temperature controlled glass cases for school children to press their noses against and look at in open mouthed wonder!

Of course someone living in the 18^th-19^th centuries probably thinks we’re philistines today, what with our ball pens and gel pens and flimsy paper instead of gorgeous ink pens and quills and heavy beautiful paper which were an expensive commodity at one time. If I could I would love to write that way – copperplate writing and everything.

Instead, here I am clattering on my keyboard at full speed with my fingers quite literally losing the muscle strength to hold a pen for extended periods of time anymore. 

Of Friends and Distances

I always knew growing up was highly overrated. There is probably a stack of papers touching the sky, containing the fine print, which no one bothers to read or warn you about when you’re in a rush to grow up and join the adult’s only club. And then when you’re initiated and the doors are locked, they finally tell you how bad it is and wish you luck in ominous voices. You would imagine having gone through it the adults would at least prepare their young or give them a skill set matching the horrors of growing up!

Why this sudden rant about growing up? Because right now, I hate being grown up and being responsible and having to move away from home because of the grown up task of getting married and because I’m missing my friends.

I’m missing randomly being able to meet the girls for a sandwich at our favourite roadside sandwich guy, hanging around malls making fun of the window displays and all the weird people, driving around playing terrible songs at loud volumes and sharing dirty jokes and laughing ourselves crazy over them. I’m missing the complicated borrowing and lending procedures we girls do when it comes to clothes, jewellery and books, the long telephone conversations we absolutely needed to have, the way we looked forward to having a girls evening out regardless of husbands, fiancés, boyfriends and crushes.

I’m missing the craziness my friends bring to my life. The support and presence I know is always there for me.

And even though I know I’m just a phone call away, I’m missing being there for my friends.

 

 

No Bruises Yet

It’s been a month and a few days. The Fellow and I are still alive with all our limbs intact. The gloves have come off quite a few times but there are no bruises and broken bones (yet).

Each day brings a new surprise (usually some really ugly t-shirt from his wardrobe) and another addition to the ‘things of the Fellow to get rid off in a nice and diplomatic manner so that he believes it was his idea to start with’ and/or the emergence of another wire/gaming device/computer thingy from another over stuffed trunk/bag/cupboard to join the million and one other wires laid out in beautiful intertwined swirls and spirals all over the floor. And then there is usually the nice redeeming thing of the day the Fellow does which makes up for having to live with a boy, which ranges from folding the clothes and putting them away (without being told even once) to enduring vegetarian dinners with my family day after day with a smile on his face.

On another front, instead of breaking his gaming habit I’ve seemed to develop a rather unfortunate one myself. The Fellow can now be found grumbling about how he has to fight me for the PSP, an eventuality he never even considered when planning to enter the marital state.  

Like I said, the gloves have come off. 

Resolutions and Reflections

So yet another year passes by. Another complete orbit around the sun done. Another opportunity to make top ten lists for everything from saas-bahu shows to terror attacks. Another reason to party. And of course the best chance to resume blogging after a break.

Much has happened to people I know and to me this last year. Luckily most of it doesn’t interest even me so I’m going to spare (the few) readers the trouble of gaining painful insight into my terribly screwed up world.

But just as failed resolutions are to new years, so are summing ups and deep reflections.

My 2008 can be summed up (I’ll probably reflect on it later like when on my death-bed) as the year of taking vacations, taking decisions, and taking on the entire family. Oh and also the year of marriage, change and growing up (the former willingly, and the latter reluctantly).  

On the entertainment front 2008 was the year of bad movies, even worse reality TV (read: Splitsvilla) and Himesh Reshammiya. And wait, wasn’t Harman Baweja a 2008 offering? Hmm. Well, for every Harman we had an Imran Khan and a ‘kabhi kabhi aditi’ so the karmic balance is not shaken up too much.

Politically 2008 will always be remembered as the year of Obama and the Mumbai attacks, with Obama probably making more headlines than terrorists and bombs.

Economically 2008 was terrible. Global recession didn’t make for a very happy diwali, Christmas and even perhaps the new year.

For Gyan Space 2008 was the stuff of many posts and an increase in the number of readers from 2 to at least 4 (or 5) :P  

So basically the last year was as unique and as much the same as the years tend to be. There was the full quota of political, financial, personal and global drama. There was the requisite period of calm and happiness and the fixed amount of tears and grief. There was the usual darkness and then light, evil and good, wolves and red riding hoods.

And to end on a spectacularly (and even more ) corny note (and plagiarise from my granny), all shall be fine in 2009! 

Ticking a Different Box

Got married.

Am already tired of smiling for the camera.

Keep myself occupied with trying to remember new names and faces (in the right combination preferrably).

Find myself admiring the mehndi on my hands whenever i have nothing to do (or when the fellow isnt within sight! :P)

Have to exercise great control over my exceedingly boisterous behaviour so as not to scandalise the new family (there is enough time for that later na).

Am missing my jeans and over sized tee shirts. Sigh.

Keep thinking this is all so surreal and i really cant be married. Im dont feel grown up and responsible.

Try to sneak in a few minutes during which to sit quietly with the fellow and try and feel married (various accessories etc not withstanding).

Also try to get some time with my laptop to get my fix of the internet.

Oh and i also get to tick the 'married' box on forms.

A Sense of Anticlimax

I like birthdays. And then i don't like birthdays.

I like the special feeling. The cake (s). The gifts. The attention. The cool excuse to do anything (eating the last piece of cake, hogging the tv, sleeping late, having a bath for an hour...it's my birthday na!)

I don't like that it all has to end after that day.

PS: it's my birthday for another 4 1/2 hours and i'm already sensing the anticlimax. Sigh.

Quarterly Review

Warning: Long Post

Seeing as I complete a quarter century of existence today, it seemed to be the right time for a review of all things accomplished (or not). And I know it isn’t the fashion to announce one’s real age in public, but an exception can be made for a jubilee year (and the fact that this will now be my age for several years to come). But I digress.

Looking back at the 25 years I’ve been walking the Earth makes me feel extremely accomplished. I mean I’ve learnt so much and done so many things already. Ok so it may pale in comparison to say Abhinav Bindra (who has about the same number of years on his plate) or Rafa Nadal (with lesser years) but that doesn’t take away the fact that in my mundane and routine life I too have managed to have my own small victories and moments of learning (read: downfalls).

So my 25 yrs can be divided at various points in the timeline. There is the school, college and beyond that. Or there is the pre-teenage, teenage and post-teenage. There could also be before speech and after speech. Whatever the categories, one common feature runs through all of them- peace and war! It’s surprising how growing up is often directly proportionate to the increase in the number of conflicts. I can’t figure out whether it is higher understanding or mere stubbornness.

25 yrs is a long time (too long married couples will tell you). It’s difficult to compile a list of things done and things learnt. I mean, how does one decide which learnings or activities are more important? I suppose it has to be age specific. So at age 3 going potty on my own would be worthy of celebration (more for my parents than for me actually) while at 15 yrs it was managing to remember rotten math theorems and at 21 yrs, getting a job. I’m sure being able to identify the colour blue/circle as a shape/the number 5 was as big an achievement for me as being able to identify India on the world map and probably as important as identifying right from wrong.

Of my 25 yrs the first five are a blur, the next ten maybe a shadow and the remaining ten disturbingly clear. The first five were probably the time of most concentrated learning where I went from being a lump that ate, slept and pooped to a miniature adult who threw tantrums not to go to school. The next ten were a drag spent between school and home listening to the teacher and my mother. I’m sure I learnt a lot in those years there by way of academics but the playground and girl’s bathroom had more to teach. It was there that I learnt that I’d rather be the only girl playing volleyball than stand in the shade cribbing about how tanned I will be playing in the sun or that I’d rather read a book than gossip about clothes.
The final ten years (so far) have been interesting to say the least. Again a lot time was spent in classroom and labs. Nights were spent finishing journals and assignments. Weekends were spent cursing all forms of education. Learning graph was steep, social graph was in the negative.

From making ‘My family’ drawings to making sleek PowerPoint presentations a lot has been achieved in these 25 years.
There was direct learning (not sleeping 3 days in a row does you no good and neither do 8 slices of pizza) and there was vicarious learning (if you have to have a boyfriend, make sure he knows how to do your assignments).
There were some things better learnt than others (how to doodle at the back of the classroom while seeming to pay attention to what the teacher was droning on about than learning multiplication tables). Some things were learnt more easily (the best way to bunk classes) and others with some difficulty (making a perfectly round roti). Some things were learnt in passing (younger sisters are not punching bags) and some were learnt out of necessity (younger sisters have to be bribed to keep their mouths shut). Some things were learnt and quickly forgotten (geometry and trigonometry) and some things were learnt and remembered (expanding 50 word answers to 200 words). Some things I taught myself (how to use Adobe Photoshop) and others were taught to me (how to wear makeup without looking like a royal fright).

So though 25 yrs may not seem a wise age to someone who is 50 (or even more) look how far I’ve come from being something that’s all Id to someone who has a clearly defined superego and ego.

Here’s to 25yrs yrs of family, friends and teachers, experiences and emotions, ideas and beliefs, skills and attitudes, likes and dislikes, successes and failures.

Here’s to 25 yrs of life. Cheers.

Right Now…

I want my stress levels to go into the negative.

I want to run away and hide.

I want to go on a vacation.

I want to go into denial.

I want to sleep for the next couple of months (at least).

I want to be left alone to my sulks and my mood swings.

I want an endless supply of Gold Medal Ribbon ice cream.

I want my heart to calm down and not pump up a tornado inside me.

I want a peep into the future.

Right Now…

I’m guessing anyone reading this knows I’m in the middle of a personal crisis.

Well. Look at it this way. At least right now I’m not contemplating sleeping pills, rat poison or the height of my ceiling fan. Silver lining?

Still Laughing

They started off as the girls next to me on the last bench of our college classroom (choosing to sit right at the back shows common interest and clear priorities don’t you think). We progressed to being lab partners and bonded over chemicals and microscopes, and journals and late submissions.

These were the girls I travelled to and from college with and when you’re a group of 16yr olds in the local train with at least 30 mins at hand, you tend to talk a lot (and very fast), and laugh a lot, and generally get to know weird stuff about each other (like how you run and how you look panting and gasping for breath and how well you balance yourself and whether you can draw a botany diagram in a moving train!).

Over the years we grew from being uncertain and unstable to confident and sure. Some of us had common interests in matters of career, and others had different. It didn’t stop us from being friends. We just sat in the last row of two classrooms instead of one, and we had more people to gossip about at Sunday lunches that went on for hours and hours and hours! J

We helped each other cope with college and the punishing course work. We explained and understood concepts that, frankly, we still don’t know what to do with. We spent hours sprawled in the common room making full use of being seniors. We spent even more hours hanging about the photocopy shop opposite the college building (what would we do without them…every student’s best friend).

We bunked classes to go to Fashion Street and picked up cheap clothes which we were very proud of. We sneaked out of class and went for movies that would allow us to be back for afternoon practicals. We sat on the steps of theatres and laughed till we cried when our 18 yr old friend was not given tickets to an A rated movie. We’ve even gone for a movie in sarees (after travelling in the train in sarees, a movie was cakewalk).

We made travelling to college fun and something to look forward to. From wordlessly making fun of the aunty next to us wearing the most bizarre clothes (our eyes can really got some exercise then) to cracking up recalling some stupid joke that wasn’t really all that funny, to spending lots of time rummaging through gaudy rings and earrings being sold in the train, we giggled and laughed our way every morning and afternoon.

We struggled through textile practicals (it was torturous enough to get special mention here). It used to be difficult not to explode into unladylike laughter watching the painful and agonized looks of my friends at the next table. We sat through 3 hours every week praying the teacher didn’t come to our table and pretended we knew what we were doing and drew a lot of lines and cut a lot of cloth. We looked at each other and the watch a lot (maybe if we’d look at the teacher and our work as much we would have understood more…hmmm….).

From the cooking lab (where we whined and complained about the washing up we had to do and having to eat our own cooking) to the local train (where we actually played dumb charades and enacted ‘Dhoti Lota aur Chowpatty’) there are memories everywhere. From the corner table at McDonalds to the top floor at Khasiyat there is laughter everywhere.

We have seen each other through college, relationships and marriage. We have been there when we were rolling off the couch onto the floor laughing. We’ve held hands when crying. We have pointed out mistakes and errors when there were any.

We have remained friends across continents, across jobs and husbands and new lives.

Even now, I truly laugh without a worry and care when I read mails sent by my friends. They make me feel like a teenager again. I can forget the worries and burdens that I’m carrying for a few minutes everyday when I’m with my friends.

They say change is the only constant. I’m just glad the laughter is still unchanged.

We have been friends for 9 yrs now and are still laughing.

Here’s to all you mad girls. Love you.

Preoperational Stage

With all the bumper stickers and tee-shirts proclaiming that everyone is unique and different and special (and not in the special needs sense of the word), it is so easy to imagine (bordering on delusions maybe) that the universe revolves around me and my emotions and life crap.

But the thing about imagination is that unless you're delusional you're probably aware that it isn't real. Bummer. It's kind of disheartening to realise that while I try and shed through my eyes, all the water content in my body, elsewhere, someone is trying to decide everyday mundane things like what to cook for dinner. How can one think of what to cook and what to wear and what to tell the padosi's kaamwali to lure her away when my life is going beserk?!

I know it's very Piaget's preoperational stage to think that i'm the center of the big bad universe. But im guessing the reduced water content in my body leads to unreasonable and egocentric thoughts in my cerebral cortex owing to shrinkage of some grey cells.

Oh well, at 25 i know enough (hopefuly) and have heard enough times (more than enough actually) to end this with the cliche that when you laugh the world laughs with you (thankfully not at you) and when you cry you cry alone. Sniff.