That Girl.

I drew this girl ages ago. Got the image of Sharan's tumblr. Her dress was supposed to be red. But purple is what I felt like.

P.S: I shouldn't say it. Or even think it. But I will. Whattodo? Come back. Pretty please.

P.P.S :Man, I just keep internalising this blog so much :|

Will

There is this ancient sitcom called The fresh prince of Bel-Air which used to air on Zee Cafe way back when I was in class 8. The entire funny factor of this show can be attributed to the Awesomeness that is Will Smith. I mean, ever since then , I've been in a constant state of love with the guy.

He's funny, and he came up with Jiggy with it . Respect man. I think I loved him most in MIB and Shark Tale :)

Jay: Did you ever flashy-thing me?

Kay: No.
Jay: I ain't playing with you, K. Did you ever flashy-thing me?
Kay: No.

See what I mean?

What happens in Goa

Should stay in Goa :) Should!

Muchi and me came up with another one of our convoluted theories. Goa is our very own Desi Vegas. A place where people are expected to be remarkably drunk and blonde. When half of VNIT makes a beeline for the land of the excise free stuff, you can expect some monumental piles of crap to hit the fan.

The repercussions of 6 beers for 100 bucks are, needless to say , being felt horribly in college right now. Our temple, Facebook, is overloaded with 1,00,00,000 pictures of flabby people lounging in the sand and posing with flashy rented bikes. The rumours of hook ups and the unnecessary graphic detailing employed by the callous majority can turn a person off making out for life. In true VNIT style, the amount of bitching about the chuddy-buddy-friends-f0r-life that you travelled with could prolong the Gossip Girls series for the next 40 years.

I'll be nice and refrain from posting a lame pic. I have had it with Goa, a place I used to love, right down to its weirdly nice fishy smell.

Wait, I started this off as a nice post, where the tiny roads and coconut trees waving down from church steeples had their say. I was supposed to focus on the pancakes , the moonlight on the beach, karaoke and hot guys. Stupid, repressed, pissed off feelings. Goa used to mean eavesdropping on Konkani conversations, writing on the sand and eating doce. Now, I'm probably never going there.

If you do go, make sure its a SAS type of commando op, where the hoi-polloi are blissfully unaware and can be simply eliminated if they get annoying.

Game plan for next holiday: Karnataka.

This is it man. After years of having my dad going all sappy when it comes up, I think I'll give it a shot.

Its very Roots, but what the hell. Maybe someone there has my awful nose. The Goan bit of me is sulking.

Sunday

So I'm playing this game called Plants v/s Zombies. For the uninitiated, it is exactly what it claims to be. The Zombies want to feast on your brains and your trusty plants ensure they don't. That simple.

I like the sunflower most in this game. it's a smiley thing that waves about like a mass nursery rhyme recital by 3 year olds. It is well, very gay. As in the happy sort of gay. we lose a lot of words don't we?

I think I've set some ugly precedent for avoiding work/all responsibilities. I hate me :|

Muchi, where the effing hell are you mon?

Latest love and source of many sappy sighs and minor drooling is Rahul Bose. After seeing him as Mr. Iyer, life cannot be the same again. No man will ever measure up to him :|

Apart from these miserable occurrences, I've laid my hand son the Agatha Christie 1960's omnibus. It has a snazzy cover and brilliant writing. I feel massive doses of the usual awe.

Crap. I don't feel like writing anymore.

Recovering blogger,

Aggie

Sulky Butterflies

"When you're happy, you notice butterflies"

- Vivek Vattipalli

He's right. They keep fluttering about, but you really notice them only when you're tripping on some random happy thought.

Of which there aren't too many these days.

What sticks significantly in my craw is the college administration and its narrow minded bigoted existence. It takes 30,000 kinds of varied shit for you to wake up and see that things around you are extremely unfair, mightily annoying and very stifling for general human rights. I wish I was one of those people who knew exactly what to do and how to shake a few people sadly places in positions of authority. Sadly, this is not a movie and I don't have the benefit of a background score and stunning oratorical prowess.

Running away to Goa in a week. This is what last sems are for. Friends, tequila and beaches. let's admit it, things are only about to suck a lot more from this point onward.

In the meantime, I will shut my cynical little brain down. If you need a little radiance in life I suggest:

1. Suchi's blog.

2. Ginger tea

3. The men who stare at goats

4. David Sedaris

5. Cadbury Flakes :)

Lessons in humbility :)

Some words should be allowed into the fray I think. Humbility. Rolls off nicely :)

Also, lessons in How Not To Be A Narcissistic Bitch And Avoid Searches of Your Own Name Thus Saving Life From Being Scarred And Traumatic 101 by Professor Agnes Mendonca (duly shaken and much scarred herself )

You never know what you'll find lurking out there. Sigh

Jiggy-wiggy with you

Life changes in fucking seconds man.

Kshama's getting married this Saturday. Its okay if you don't know who she is. I dint either till about an hour ago.

Before:

So there I was. The molecules in my thighs were integrating themselves with the couch. The Stand by Stephen King was in my hands and life was a slow Thursday night.

30 minutes later, I was out of my ratty home duds gyrating onstage to, umm, well Jiggy-Wiggy.

Nobody tells me anything in this house. Things like Kshama's (who is very Awesome. And hot) getting married and that and her sangeet and mehendi party happens today. My dad and her's have major business plans in the offing, so there were increasingly frantic calls to make our presence felt at the event.

Mom and Jenny were AWOL, so my Dad's extensive emotional blackmailing skills were exercised on me.

My ass was hauled away from the couch. Semi-decent clothes flung out on the bed and in a daze, I was enveloped by girls in shiny salwars and led to dance.

After:

A stage, 50 glittering ladies(and a Marwari woman knows glitter. Every diamondy bit of it) and a video cameras.

I was nudged onstage by Kshama. Frantic pleas for help intensified when I realised I was expected to dance alone. Alone. With big strobe lights. On a stage . And a huge room full of people looking at me.

Awkward shuffling on stage. Silence. Pained silence.

Then the asshole DJ plays Jiggy-Wiggy with you.

What's there to say; most of you have seen me dance. I eliminated the slutty bits, reduced the butt gyrations a tad and danced away.

For the full frickin duration of the song. Aunties smiled, Kshama laughed and the DJ gaped.

And these guys know how to do a wedding. The colours!! The food!! The music.

Sensory overload.

Beep.

Life drags you by the hair, spins you around and leaves you feeling massively foolish and strangely happy. And spontaneity is so underrated.

I think I need Stephen King now. His wry, searing uncut wit should get this stupid Jiggy-Wiggy thing out of my mortified head.

Solitary mosquitoes :)

Happy Birthday Much-o!!!!

Yes.

The one with all that hair is finally legally there :)

As usual, there is an exam chasing her ass on the other side of 7th, but as if that is going to stop us from spending long hours doing nothing.

My offerings this year are slinky blue eyeliner and a gianormus card. Hope these should appease Her.

Fans of The Suchi may pay their homage in the comments section :)

A momentary lapse of reason

Im sick of this blog :|

Barf.

The Other Nihillist

" I wanna free fall out into nothing

Gonna leave this world for awhile

And I'm free.

Free falling"

- Tom Petty

Free Falling

My head is currently compartmentalising :)

------------

I love winter. Its clamminess and its smells. Its warm, flab-masking jackets. Hot coffee on a cold night. I love all of this to itty-bitty pieces.

-------------

I liked Spirited Away. It was so dreamy. Like you accidentally stumbled into someone's life and then started living it. They should make movies like this and kill whoever made Ugly Truth.

-------------

Cant write anymore. My mojo's gone. I stared at the words Statement of Purpose for multiple hours and came up with great shiny gobs of nothing. Why do they make us do things that are hopelessly irrelevant?

-------------

I have a job now. This is a weird feeling. Someone heard me talk and then seemed eager to have me work with/for them. What? How? Huh?

Oh and the weird bit is that I feel coldly neutral.This changes not one tiny atom in my increasingly meandering sort of life.

-----------------

Not dealing with problems apparently does not make them go away. I'm appalled. My entire approach towards life is sadly flawed.

Its been that sort of week. You know, the kind when each day is staggeringly worse than the last. When invisible fingers are being flipped at you from the sky and your knees are about to grind themselves into nothingness after 6 hours kneeling in front of a topo glass and 4 flights in cramped seats.

I think nihilism might be the answer. None of this matters right now and the rest is all crap anyway. I think I get the Platypus of Doom on this one. Be careful what you wish for. On the off chance that you end up getting it and then wondering why the fuck was it so important in the first place.

Yeah so the week that was: a job interview, Muchi, three days without my phone, Muchi, 40,000 assignments(i swear im not kidding. Sadistic bastards), Muchi, drawing sheets, Muchi, applications,Muchi, mailing gianormus packages home,Muchi, worried mum, Muchi, cold fingers.

My free fall sort of approach to things sucks. I recommend it strongly if you to experience the mental equivalent of a vibrantly pink rock smashing your skull.

-----------------

Agnes Mendonca is in a relationship with Suchismita Mohapatra.

Comment/Like

Just Like That.

What do you do when newspapers die?

I spent 5 minutes at the paper guys tapri. Looked at all the mags, the tabloids, the Tinkles and Champaks. And then I walked away. Nothing out there is worth sniggering over anymore.

JLT's gone. They shut-down or whatever.

Anyone who's known me since class 9 will also know that I worship JLT and have always nursed a thinly veiled "secret" ambition to someday be , ahem, a JLT writer. Except that of course, they no longer print it. Sigh.

JLT was the zenith of cool when it came to papers. They were eons ahead of the other lame-o mags, and believed firmly in paper quality, awesome posters and brilliant writing. oh, and at one point of time, you could buy it for 2 bucks.

This feels like an obit now. Anyone who wants a peek into its awesomeness- the Potty thoughts section(for briliant thoughts that somehow strike you only in the potty), The Mon, Vahista Mistry, those poems like:

I must, I must.

I must increase my bust.

The bigger, the better,

The tighter the sweater,

The boys will look at us.

and a thousand other things- is free to dig into my JLT collection :)

Every article was like this. Weird, funny, irreverant, blah. The covered Bomaby, college, clothes, music, food, games, anything under the sun. And I miss it so damn much :| Idiots had to go away, just like that.

Monday morning :)

Sunday night

Coffee.

Sleeplessness.

Haruki Murakami's Wind up bird chronicle

Dark windows.

Long movies.

Messages.

Faint morning light.

Hazy corridors.

Wet grass.

Dew.

Green. Sleepy green

Chirping crickets.

Cold stone bench.

Half moon right overhead.

Pale sky blue.

Three blackbirds.

Eyes wide open.

Pink. Bits of it.

Twitters.

Slithery noise in the grass.

Warm socks.

Red, red roses.

This is the best Monday of my life.

Marry, boff, kill

I'm bored. Let'splay Marry, Boff, Kill :)

Its one of the awesomer things that 30 Rock shoved into my life. the other notable mentions being Tina Fey(goddess of snarky wit) and Alec Baldwin(that voice. ooh).

Here's how we do this:

1. Three people. Celebrities,friends,weirdos, any damn human under the sun.

2.Pick who you'd marry, boff(as in nail/have sex with/get jiggy with/do the nasty with. you get the drift) or kill.

3.Dissect the results :)

Ok, here goes, Marry, boff, kill : Hugh Jackman, Hugh Laurie, Hugh Grant.

I'd marry Hugh Laurie (supreme hotness), boff Hugh Jackman ( henceforth known as The Body) and kill Grant (too foppish. eeks)

Or: Angelina Jolie, Scarlett, Megan Fox

Kill megan(yuck. i hate her), boff Scarlett and marry Angelina.

MBK. random fun. Pick and tell. Fast. I'm still bored.

Choose us. Choose life

O shwetu!

Thy wish is my command :)

Blog. Don’t blog. Write. Suck at writing. Give up. Come back.

And then listen to Shwetu.

So here we are. A few brain cells lighter. Where is our mojo?

This post is about a lot of things, TOEFL, spoons, condescending voices, pretty boys, weird food and Veera Manek.

The latter three of which are seriously amazing.

Eric

Fickle heart. I think I just fall in and out of love a little too rapidly.

this is Eric. From True Blood.
I cant look at him directly. All that hotness is too much for my tiny brain.

TOEFL

General gyaan for anyone who wants a 115+ in this most moronic of exams with exactly one hour of preparation. I'm assuming of course that you have a basic grasp of English here(read at least one PG Wodehouse, know the meaning of zeitgeist and wince when you hear a resident of Nagpur speak)

What you need for TOEFL is phenomenal will-power, Hippo chips and the ability to ignore annoying voices that deliver pointless instructions while assuming that you are a retard.

I had no clue about any of this when I went to the centre. Most of this is through the efforts of Gopalkrishnan, Indumati and Akshat Malu.

Section 1: this is the reading section. They'll give you 3 passages(easy ones. No culture and anthropology crap here)ask you lame questions and mostly you wont be too bored.

Unless of course, they go all psycho on you and decide that 5 passages will test your skills better.

Beware of the dreaded 8. yes, it happens.

The questions are very simple. Most answers are directly from the passage and there are some pretty interesting question formats as well.

No sweat.

Section 2: Listening.

There are three listening exercises. One is a conversation, and two lectures( I think). Take notes and listen carefully while battling sleep.

The number of listening sets vary. I got three. This was a true test of character. All survival instincts operate on full swing mode.

Section3: Speaking.

This was the one I fucked up majorly. They want you to comment/summarise/give opinions.

What you need to do is think fast and not stare into space.

This for instance is how my first exercise went

Lady(in a sloowww voice) : you have 15 seconds to prepare and 45 seconds to speak. You may start preparing now.

Me: 15 seconds? How long is that? 15? 14? Huh?

Lady: You may speak now.

Me: What? Oh? Culture is blah. Blah.

Don’t do that. Train yourself to know exactly how long 15 seconds are. And crap to rustle up in that itsy-bitsy interval.

This is the only section that need a wee bit of prep. Don’t screw it up.

Section 4: Writing.

Ha. Joke.

The chips come in handy since this is a 4 hour exam and you don’t want the growling of your stomach to overpower the annoying microphone voices.

I managed a 113 after screwing up speaking. Its easy to get much more than that.

One hour. Just do it.

Amelie

She's in my head. If I ever made a movie, this is exactly what I'd want it to look like. Its charming, weird and has undercurrents of the funniest sort of love. I like Nino, his vespa, his quirky photo collection. And Amelie, with her need to make the people around her happy, her cat, her fear of facing the man she loves , I cant get enough of her.

Watch this. This is the only movie I've seen that spoke to me of orange days. I used to think that was solely between me and the voices in my head.

Trainspotting

So i read it. Made it through the Scots and the drugs and the puke. Bits of my sanity are neatly pressed between the pages of Trainspotting. Some books take too much out of you.

Choose us. Choose life.

Haunting. Scary and weird.

Irvine Welsh is cruelly funny. And all of them, Renton, Sick Boy. Begbie. Spud, Tommy, they'll stay with you for days after.

Grey Hills

After 3 years of living 250 meters away from it and inhaling its fried chicken-onion odors, we caved in and went to the erstwhile Anna. I figured out that the average chicken means more to me than half the people I know.

Chicken makes me happy. Throw Veera into the equation and I'm slightly trippy with joy.