Faceoff

One thing in common between the recent endeavors of IPL and facebook is that they are both only a façade to hide the real slim shady. The IPL, much has been written about.
Facebook, I feel is a slithering voyeuristic snake wearing the skin of a social networking site. Go on, snigger, but it wasn’t long ago when you I or any other man worth his milk logged onto somebody else’s profile without the mere intent of a simple hello!

One of the things I don’t understand is getting a friend request from people who don’t know you at all. What’s the point then? Do I look like a 20 something interested in engaging hollowness with questions like ‘so what are you into lately?” I’ll tell you what I’m not into is wasting time ignoring requests from people whose daily chores involve being the highest user of the ‘find a friend’ engine. People, who like a blast of methane, reappear from your past, desiring to shake off the ‘once upon a time’ tag, not fully comprehending that loosing touch was a calculated effort and no way am I going to add you now, just cause you have baby pics to share and I’m a bigger person. I’m also not into accepting requests from old flames,age, volume - mass index has never been kind to anyone. I’ve also never approved of the ‘whose looking at your profile’ application. I think it’s a tremendo breach of my privacy. I should have the liberty of checking who-so-ever’s profile from the dark confinements of my room, without worrying if he/she would know. It’s a part of exercising my ‘being an alert citizen’ rite.

Life throws up devious facebook traps every now and then. Bumping into an old college friend is the most common one. The unmistakable first line ‘OMG!, you’ve changed so much” and the unfailing “are you on face book, we must stay in touch?” makes me cringe if not retreat. How worthy you really are to be in my inner circle of love will only be established once I’ve been through all your albums, your friend list and how hot you look impromptu.

Fake accounts – hate them. If you really are Akshay Kumar, then prove your salt by accepting the friend request. Of course by adding a new contact you’re also signing up for a fleet of skeletons that you’d put away along with other things in a box labeled ‘clothes that don’t fit anymore’

Recently an old friend through somebody else’s friend list (see!) got back in touch. Well we had shared some happy moments so I didn’t mind accepting. Once we got beyond “The last time I saw you two, you looked so much in love, so imagine my surprise when HE turned up on my local guardians daughter’s wall as ‘the husband’!” there were other updates. As we chatted through old times I got updated on the lives of all those whose requests I’d secretly ignored. It was nice to know Soumya now has twins, the last memory I have of her was on the upper berth of a train compartment singing the Tamil version of ‘jiya jale’ in Hindi. Meenakhsi who was then doing a Mass Comm course now owns her own fashion label. Last spotted had a luxurious organic face pack on, and was the owner of the most exotic black head removal appliance in the hostel.
Piyali now works for a department store in Bangalore, back then was an inspirational hippy.Tara was asked to leave for smuggling in cigarettes and walking around the hostel in her undies. She’s still pretty much doing the same. Kiran too, was not setting the right example by breaking locks of ‘restricted areas’ and hanging from terrace barricades. Melrose got knocked up but eventually convinced the guy to marry her. Shruti has her picture put up at the local gym I visit sometimes, for being ‘the highest weight looser of the month’!

I’m glad, in spite of our warden being convinced that none of us will be able to face life successfully outside the hostel doors, we’re all doing pretty alright.

What I do like about facebook is that it makes the world seem smaller and not so round.

How can white be a color?

What is the color of paradise?
If raindrops could be famous, what would their personalities be like?
Does the wind stay long enough to be addressed
If Mount Everest has been conquered, then what is the bigger quest?

Can the colors of the rainbow be interchanged?
If individuality was ever a term, why loose it behind a veil
What is freedom, when it comes at a price?
Why limit the spirit of clouds by giving them a shape
Is a difference of opinion then merely water and ice?

Things God created have no boundaries have no name
So have we become almighty then to try and change the game?

Bandra Linking Road

Walking is good for health, or so many believe. I too decided to test the waters but not for something as meaningless as engaging my cardiovascular system intensively or to increase the much required calorie deficit (I’m lovely, thank you very much). Not a fool to get entrapped by all this medical imprudence, I decided to walk for a much bigger cause…shopping(don’t know if they have a medical term for that!)
So together with my butt toning Reebok which are known for their significant physiological impact on muscles(it’s still in the name of fashion, mind you!) I set out to understand the fuss about a continent called the Bandra Linking Road.

I wandered from stall to stall morphing into Sindbad trying to find treasure, I observed hawkers engaging in marketing activities that could put the Blue Ocean Strategy to shame. There on the very streets, being sold were dresses from Armani(yeah rite!) ‘jeansh pant’ that he insisted ‘maidum aapko bhi fit ayega’(he said it like he had a miracle piece there!), clutches & handbags right out of a Gurinder Chadda wedding scene, Ladeej handkerchief’s and some even for your ‘Mr.’ What amused me most about these stalls was that, 90% of them sold 80% of the same products while still challenging better quality than that of their brethren. All practice the ‘fixed rate system’, with items starting at Rs.500 but with a lot of patience and perseverance can change owners for Rs.150 finally!

Don’t get me wrong like any hot blooded girl I too get orgasmic at the sound of ‘sale’, but my claustrophobia does not allow me to stay in one place long enough to find a bargain, clothes piled up like electronics in a Chinese dump yard fright me, the sweltering heat was not making anything better, I staggered along, feeling the weight of the war. Mothers shopped for shinning bangles and hair clips amidst other glitterati. Husbands gave opinions on clothes they deemed unfit for an evening out with the family, kids ran around covered in remains of popcorn, ice-cream topped with sweat. Ronald McDonalds appeared as if being attacked by the aliens!

To shake off the trail of fried kebabs and Punjabi cholle in the air, I walked into a few stores that promised air-conditioning, 20% sale even on ‘fresh stock’ and ‘everything must go’! The sad part is even the latest offerings were two seasons old. As I walked on, tempted to buy a massage for Rs. 20, I got groped by a sick pervert. Imagining a sci-fi film, I grabbed the head massager, and with lightening speed thrust the metallic tentacles into his groin, turning it clockwise and anticlockwise, in no preferred order, while releasing simultaneous short periods of screeches at a ten. As everyone applauded the verdict, he fell to the floor in indescribable pain.
I started the sentence with ‘imagining’ didn’t I? The bastard obviously got away to prepare himself for the incurable skin eczema I wished upon him.

Disgusted by the very limited unfolding of an unlimited experience, I decided to buy something before hailing my pumpkin ride.
Staring at a frozen scene from the Paranormal Activity a friend noted: piracy helps fund terrorism. Vexed by the thought of being responsible for a bomb being made somewhere, another friend offered a totally different point of view, ‘…and dubbies..’ the smile was also passed on as a skipping DVD played on in the background.

IPL does not equal to love

What is with men and the four letter word?! No, not the one they would ideally like the universe to oscillate on, but the other one, which always gets their axis up in tangles.
L-O-V-E and not in the ‘IPL’ or ‘Man U v/s Chelsea’ way but the kind that involves smelling the flowers, feeling the dew drops, creating rainbows kind of way.

Why is it that every time I ask my husband to say something romantic, in that one minute of involuntary deafening silence, I can most definitely here him wishing for capitol punishment instead! Comm’on guys how hard can it be, it’s not like we expect poetry out of you, if even..
Roses are red…
Violets are blue…
I love you….
and that’s even when you smell like poo..

Se, how hard?! I think it’s just made into a bigger challenge than it actually is.

and just for the record:

Definition of a gift: If you've only just noticed the dress I’m standing at the counter to pay for already, it does not classify as a gift from you!
btw a single ticket to a far of destination, also does not classify as a birthday gift

Definition of quality time together does not equate to holding me down during long hours spent watching IPL, just so that I don’t switch the TV off and hide the remote!

Definition of an exercise does not equate to trips made to the refrigerator for beers

Definition of a Martyr: it’s ok if you tell me I’m looking fat don’t have to run and hide under the lowest piece of furniture, I’ll drag your ass out and light it on fire anyway. But atleast you’ll die an honest man!

The thing is..

They say don't judge a book by its cover.. But I always do, cause I think it's like chemistry u know..the attraction makes you want to hold it, look at it closer, turn it over, get with the feel, you know what I'm sayin? But we're not gonna talk about chemistry here. This aint even bout books, hell I don't care what you wanna turn over man! What this is about is judging!

People aren't always what they seem to be. Almost never are. But for those of you who can tell a person ‘just like that’, go read a book or something. Me for e.g. people often misjudge me for an extrovert, which I'm not. Yeah, get me in a room with a few people I know and I'll do a little jig at my expense. But get me in a room with a few more people, strange ones, and I won't be the one initiating any conversation. I'll never be the one to come up and say hi. I'll probably attend that cute boy's kids baptism but even yrs later will not be able to tell him I ever had a crush on him. Pay me a compliment and I'll give you 10 reasons on why and how I look fat!

It’s taken me yrs of practice to earn the title of a petulant bitch. Ask my husband, for years now, I've used hair strands from various parts of his body, while performing Voodoo. But if anyone else, so much as hurts a strand on my people, I wouldn't think twice before throwing you in the cauldron for the part which says ‘..sacrifice the blood of a goat’. But I can never stand up for myself??! I just become a rug and lie there like a vegetable while people dig their heals deeper. Just once I'd like to say “u did me wrong asshole! And may your nether regions be infested with lice!”
I anger but gust-th at the wrong furnace mostly!

Just cause I flirt does not mean “I want you. I need you. Oh baby. Oh baby." Or maybe, just this one odd time. Just cause you made me blush, does not make this THAT odd time. Sometimes I wanna run away from all things, I think, are problems, but, that doesn't mean I inspire to be Forest Gump. You don't matter scumbag, but I want you to know, that thing u said about me the other day..not true!! Why would you say something like that?!
I'm deeply emotional and if there's something I have in abundance it’s fat and tears. Too bad Jesus didn't talk about sharing either!

Yes, so I expect a lot but I'm also willing to swim the English Channel with you. “You personally not upto it? Ok, that's fine then.” You know you can count on me even on a rainy day, but if you don't wanna get wet for me then that will hurt and it may cause tears, in abundance (we've discussed this one before!) I look like a big girl but, have a heart that bleeds. Easily. So don't be judging!