Dear Reader, this post has no social relevance whatsoever.
It’s just a ramble so you might not enjoy it. And to those freaks who object to the use of the term ‘fat’ in the entry, I wish to clarify that it is in no way derogatory. Fat is a perfectly normal adjective like tall, thin, old, young…- and I find it very endearing. So there.

Like most babies I was born chubby with a big round head, round arms and round legs. Later my childhood years saw me growing into a scrawny adolescent. I developed a small, lean frame and a rather mismatched loud voice. Weight jokes were an intrinsic part of my friends’ interactions with me at that time. They were usually well intentioned jokes, but I did feel hurt. So between ages 12-15 I began overeating. I loaded on the butter, chocolate and milk- whatever seemed rich, irrational and fattening. That plan had little effect, other than making me sick and thinner still.

Time changes things though. It turns out that my Jughead-like constitution is a farce. I can put on weight and unfortunately it’s starting to show. Let me reiterate at this point, a few things:

- I am a girl.

- I am a teenager.

- I am stupid.

It was war yesterday, with me trying to pull on a pair of jeans. A war that I lost and it woke me up. Those jeans fit perfectly only about a month ago. I think the bulge can be beautiful. Fat people are gorgeous and I love and respect them. But I cannot let myself gain those inches, simply because I don’t feel healthy or athletic. It’s not natural for me. I have gone from wanting to be plump to wanting to be fit now. I don’t want to be called skinny, Barbie (!), anorexic or bulimic but hey, I wouldn’t mind petite or nimble. That would suit me just fine.

Perhaps someday, I will read this and laugh at myself. There are so many more important things that need my attention. For now however, allow me to be vain.

Today I make a resolution. Crunches, sit-ups, push-ups, anything it takes to stay in shape.

EDIT: I felt an update was in the waiting here. I have moved over the i-want-to-be-a-size-0 (ugh) phase now. Back to a happy 28 inch waist. Yoga, lots of water and hours of random dancing helped. I am not skinny, nor overweight. I am healthy. Woohaa.

I figured I haven’t written anything shallow and superficial off late. Consequently I’m writing about my Johnny Depp fixation.

Well, he’s going to marry someone soon, whose name I forget. So first I want to wish Mr. and Mrs. Depp a happy married life! (What? Green…my face is turning gre..? Jealous? Me? No way…Oh c’mon)

I watched Sweeney Todd recently, drooling buckets the whole time. What is one supposed to do when his perfect face fills the screen and that seductive voice surrounds you? I am yet to watch a lot of his other work, and plan to do some marathon movie watching to that effect soon. They always dress him in bizarre costumes and take liberties with his make up, but he comes through carrying off every ridiculous piece of clothing, still looking like the absolute stunner that he is. Enough said about the good looks. I could go on but why continue stating the obvious? As far as cinematic appeal is concerned, there’s few as good as him. A member of the endangered ‘less is more’ school of acting, the man thrills you with each role he plays. Let’s face it, the Pirates movies would be no good without him. There’s something about him that reminds me I’m a woman, a thinking woman. Because he’s definitely the thinking woman’s man. Ah…yeah.

This post was pointless and hopelessly girly. I just want to end by saying- ‘Oooooo like Johnny Depp like todally like uh big time Rocks!’ Ha…

http://www.go-nxg.com/?p=456

Peace.

It has been three years since my grandpa passed away. The world lost one of its better men on 26/4/05. And a little girl lost her favourite thatha.

Thatha was and still remains my Hollywood Hero. Handsome. Poised. Witty. You probably thought there is no such thing as the ideal man. But he did exist. Until that day. He survived three heart attacks and fought the fourth one for 2 days before giving in. Somehow while he was in the hospital battling to live, I was convinced he would easily win that time too. I was convinced he would come out smiling and crack a joke or two about the doctor. But I was wrong. I took thatha for granted.

I hadn’t been allowed to visit him at the hospital. A lot was left unsaid and I didn’t get to bid goodbye. I want to say those things now.

Dear thatha,

Did you know you are my fav grandpa? Appa’s Dad passed away way before I was born…but even if he had lived to see me, I’m sure you would still be my favourite.

I miss you a great deal. And sometimes I cry. I know you wouldn’t want me to, but I cry in spite of myself.

It’s right what they say about how we value people less when they are around, and realize how important they are when it’s too late. I used to get angry when you laughed at the way I spoke Tamil or made fun of my clothes. ‘Pants are for boys.’ I wish you would say that to me again. I’m mature enough now to accept and enjoy the affectionate teasing. Now, more than ever I would have been able to laugh at the many anecdotes and incidents you used to relate. At that time, I didn’t understand them and wished you would play carrom with us instead. You were too intelligent for me, a mindless freaky kid back then.

I remember how you would clinically go about doing something as trivial as making a cup of tea. You made it seem like an art. I think I get my perfectionist attitude from you. You told me I read well when I read out newspaper articles for you. That’s a compliment I will treasure all my life, because it came from a man who was a strict aficionado of British English and also a man I greatly admire.

I have so much to learn from you. I could do with a few life lessons right now. How to smile through problems, how to live a perfectly fulfilling life, how to lighten up and many more…it would have been awesome to have you teach me all that. In many ways, you do teach me, through my memories of you. Even when you aren’t here, I have learnt a lot from you.

It has been very long since I’ve hugged you, gone for walks with you or played with your ‘jet white’ hair. It’s hard to accept that I can’t ever do those things again…but I will always draw from the power of the wonderful gift that was your life and my moments with you. I love you thatha.

Goodbye,

Ranji

I didn’t know if I wanted to post this. Then I decided it felt right. But Why do people we love so much have to die? It’s just not fair.

The Supreme Court came out with its verdict a couple of weeks ago. The reservations will stay. Needless to say, I was disappointed. I read an entry about this issue on another blog and wondered why I had kept quiet for so long. My blog could do with a bit of socially charged writing.

I speak now not just for the millions of students who stand affected but more importantly I speak for selfish reasons. I speak for myself.

I too am a victim of reservations. Here is my story.

With a score of 82.50% in HSC Humanities, I could have got in wherever I wanted. At least that’s what they told me. They, in the midst of ooh’s, aah’s and wide eyed admiration, told me I could pursue a degree wherever I wished with that shiny, gilt- edged mark sheet.

“Of course!” said I and nodded in agreement, a smile spreading from ear to ear. I was proud of myself. I could finally be a Xavierite now!

Life had other plans though. In my glory I had forgotten that there were a dozen more obstacles in my way. An unbelievably good score and a creatively motivated mind were not enough to get me in. Students from outside the state board had glossier report cards, so they made it in easily. Others had a caste certificate that said sc, st, obc, nt or some such fancy backward category name. Still others got in through the remaining zillion reservation categories that I could never qualify for.

At the end of the day I had to face the truth. I was a bright, intelligent and meritorious student from a forward caste. I was if I may say the forbidden B-word: A brahmin.

“Could I possibly convert, Mom?” I had asked in a moment of senseless deliberation. “Because that would get me in…” Mom looked like she would have loved to slap me.

I got over that moment however and am now studying in a college that wasn’t my first choice. Ruia isn’t the best college there is. But you know what? I am having a damn good time here. I topped my class. And somehow it’s always nicer to be the big fish in a small college than the small fish in a big college. Plus mine is not a small college at all. I’m the big fish in a moderately big college! Wow, I must be good.

In conclusion, things might have worked out OK for me though the picture isn’t as rosy for everyone. What about my friends who are desperately trying to become doctors, engineers and management professionals? What will become of them in the light of the new Supreme Court decision? That time is not too far away when they will be wiped off the map of India . The American dream will steadily consume them. In spite of their love for their country. In spite of their wishes to study here. In spite of their desire to give back to their motherland. Because in America they give you an education without asking what caste you belong to.

You can tell some people are kind just by looking at them. That’s how it is with Vishnu, my favourite chaiwala. I was no fan of tea until vishnu’s chai happened to me. I’m not sure if it’s the drink or Vishnu that makes you feel good. What I’m sure of is that there’s magic in this man.

I cannot leave college without meeting Vishnu. My day is made when I see him smile his confident, tranquil smile. He doesn’t have to say much. He doesn’t say much. His chai is my medicine when I have a bad day. I remember telling him one morning about how my Management presentation was awful. He raised his eyebrows and said –‘pass to hogi na?’ And somehow that made me forget that I had just given a presentation that was nothing short of academic mortification. I crave for vishnu’s tea when I’m upset, happy, bored, angry and even otherwise. Who needs a reason?

You probably wouldn’t connect to this post because you haven’t met Vishnu. I suggest you do. Because I cannot write things that will make you fall in love with him. I’m too young a writer for that and he is too good a man. But like every one of us, he has a story. Vishnu’s story is one of struggle, distress and hope. For a year he wasn’t allowed to run his business. Financial problems sneak up on him all the time. Never once though, did he let that smile falter. He has always fought back and won. His triumph is that tea kettle…and the little rock he sits on to sell his chai.

For motivation, reassurance, peace of mind and piping hot tea that kicks your creative cells into action mode visit Vishnu at the parking lot near Ruia Naka. Cheers!

I search for a theme,
and strong words to match,
i need a rhyme scheme,
my head i scratch
i want to write a poem

how do poets manage
to create those lovely pieces,
with verses that are in tandem
and a tone that pleases?
i want to write a poem

i have often tried,
but success i’ve never had,
the lines never signified,
what was running in my mind
now, i want to write a poem

there is no room for error,
things must fall into place,
should i write of the war on terror
or life’s constant rat race?
i want to write a poem

poetry is complicated,
an art that is hardly easy
perhaps it isn’t my cup of tea,
i really do prefer coffee
how i wish i could write a poem

I am no poet. This is my first stab at writing poetry. The subject of the poem is me and it is inspired by my own story. Let me know what you think. Also, I have been posting quite a bit recently. So do go through the other entries and comment there too. Peace!

18 years of my life I thought I couldn’t dance. All I did at family get-togethers where my cousins displayed their fantastic new moves was- look a little embarrassed or join in, clumsily copying them. I always seemed out of place on the dance floor. Like Osama would at a UN conference. Last year however, something happened that made me realize dancing isn’t such a bad thing. In fact, I even find pleasure in it.

Instead of being convinced that I had two left feet, if I had actually tried I could have been a lot better. But it’s alright really. Dancing is a new ability that I’ve discovered. And what a find it has been!

I used to sit through parties praying for them to get over, and trying to look like I was a part of the wall. Now I can hardly wait for the next opportunity to get grooving. Oh I haven’t told you how the breakthrough happened. It was our college fest, Utsav 08 and every group of volunteers had to prepare a dance act for the inter team event. So we slogged for over a month and put together this unreal performance. We didn’t win and nor was our act completely flawless. But it still was magical. (GO PROTOCOL!) The crowd loved us and we loved us. I loved me as usual. I loved us too. Too much love. After all those gruelling practice sessions, I am addicted to dancing.

Friends from school came up to me and said ‘I didn’t know you danced so well! Why didn’t you ever perform in school?’ You would expect me to be modest and shrug off the compliments. Instead I just beamed with pride and took in all the glory. You could compare it to that feeling you have when you draw a picture for the first time. To you, it’s a masterpiece. My first time dancing on stage made me feel like the Picasso of dance.

I wasn’t born to dance. Though I do think that everyone who is born must dance. Simply for the joy of it. Don’t care if you’re good or bad at it, just shake a leg. Even if it’s just twitching and jerking, it brings happiness. A sure remedy for those bouts of loneliness or the blues. Just let the music play. And dance, baby, dance. 1-2 cha-cha-cha!

My senior Prabbbaa, and currently my blog’s only reader, has tagged me. This tagging is her way of ragging me. Which is weird because usually I rag her. Ha Ha. Ok enough nonsense.

Since I am tagged, I am now required to make a list of ‘5 things I would do if I were a guy’. For starts if I were a guy I wouldn’t bother to write this. Why? Well, men never care enough to think, rack their brains and work. That’s why. But since I’m only imagining being one, I write!

Note: This post is based on severe generalizations. Men could feel offended. I know there are some genuinely nice men out there too. If you’re one of them, do send me your phone number, address and other details along with your photograph.

Things I would do as a man: (a huge loser man mind you)

1. Like most men, I would sit with my legs stretched as far apart as they can be. By doing this I would have achieved quite a few things. a) People around me would become uncomfortable. b) They would move away thereby leaving maximum space for me. c) I would enjoy the looks of disgust on their faces. Ooh What Fun!

2. I would demand food, water, etc to be brought to me. You see men were never made to do menial jobs. It’s always women who move around the house. I am meant only to rest my butt.

3. I would be as unhygienic as possible. That’s right- scratching, burping, and farting without the slightest trace of embarrassment. Later I would also discuss the finer points of these repulsive art forms with my male friends.

4. I would sit in front of the television all day long watching reruns of football/cricket matches. If any female member of the household cares to join me I would pay no attention to her insights and would scorn/laugh at her. What do women know about sport anyway?

5. I would live a wasted life, cursing others, getting high till I’m unconscious and giving useless gyaan to everyone.

All men with inflated egos and deflated brains please, grow up. Look at the above list which reflects your life and be ashamed of yourselves! Go, work, think, realize and help change it. Now. Run.