I know I live there.
Doesn't make wanting to go home any less reasonable.
I want to go home every evening.
And hug my mum and feel warm and guilty and happy for all the days wretchedness that she is so blind to. Drop my horns and fix the halo for a nanosecond.
I love it when people are biased. They are why I want to be good.
Even if that is for the tiniest fluttering and even though I know that ultimately I am not going to do anything about it. Anything at all.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Irrelevance All Over
The only thing nice about now is in realizing how difficult it is to type with one hand. Because my left is busy playing 'I Am Goin To Eat You' with Miu.
The rest is milk chocolate depression.
I hate whimpering, simpering, niminy-piminy chits.
I hate mamma’s kids who run to their mommies and twiddle with their apron strings with a pouty face when they hit the blues. Once every four minutes.
I hate emos too.
I hate their hairstyling.Like what do you do when your fringe starts to grow and looks like a misshapen 7-pointed stubby star..or closer to an amputated octopus? Not all of us have the luxury (read, grossness) of going to beauty school!!
(And I hate the fact that ‘7-pointed’ reminds me of my last semester s.g.p.a…eff it!)
I hate the overdone eyes. I hate the fact that people try to do it here in the tropics, the humid heat making it runny and smudged and you end up looking like a raccoon.
It’s okay when I do it though. My name is Meeko. (yeah... Go Wiki!)
(YAAAYYY!! Love u shishta… mwahs)
And getting back to hatred, I hate that I am being absolutely all of them right now.
I hate ranting. But then what else can I write about when the blogbug hits me???
I have not been brought up by a stepfather in the valleys of Dehra. I am no vagabond from the streets of New York. I am not dying of some unpronounceable disease. I am not a tomboyish Alabama chick in a conservative, black-hating society. I have never lived in Corfu with a baby donkey and a scops owl as pets.
*screams at mum*
I am just an impossibly average almost-twenty year old.
With a somewhat ordinary, satisfactory life. With nothing to do but wish I was this and wish you were that.
I wish I spoke French and Spanish and German and Urdu and Russian and Swahili like a native.
I wish I smelled less of concrete and more of pine needles and the Himalayan freshness. Or of the lazy, olive-colored noon siesta.
I wish I was pretty enough to not ever need a mirror. Except when I’m wearing my contacts, of course. I wish I looked liked Jasmine or Pocahontas. Anything Disney really. Hell, even their Captain Hook has élan.
I wish I wasnt allergic to seafood. I want to eat clam and squid.(Miu is affecting my thought process way too much now.)
Ugh!!
Whines. Running. End Task.
And hmmm. FYI. (Chetan Bhagat way)
And please don’t give me the oh-you-poor-literature-pariah eyebrow!! I’ll eat cabbages over the weekend if you haven’t gone voraciously through all of them. Hypocrite!
I quite like the guy. He’s intelligent. He’s cute. He’s funny. And I guess he has made a huge mistake of drawing too many references to his wife and children.
Now he’ll have a tough time convincing his new girl about how much he loves her. HA!
When he gets a divorce. If and when he gets a divorce.
Hey.. Is Bhagat an S.C or such??
The rest is milk chocolate depression.
I hate whimpering, simpering, niminy-piminy chits.
I hate mamma’s kids who run to their mommies and twiddle with their apron strings with a pouty face when they hit the blues. Once every four minutes.
I hate emos too.
I hate their hairstyling.Like what do you do when your fringe starts to grow and looks like a misshapen 7-pointed stubby star..or closer to an amputated octopus? Not all of us have the luxury (read, grossness) of going to beauty school!!
(And I hate the fact that ‘7-pointed’ reminds me of my last semester s.g.p.a…eff it!)
I hate the overdone eyes. I hate the fact that people try to do it here in the tropics, the humid heat making it runny and smudged and you end up looking like a raccoon.
It’s okay when I do it though. My name is Meeko. (yeah... Go Wiki!)
(YAAAYYY!! Love u shishta… mwahs)
And getting back to hatred, I hate that I am being absolutely all of them right now.
I hate ranting. But then what else can I write about when the blogbug hits me???
I have not been brought up by a stepfather in the valleys of Dehra. I am no vagabond from the streets of New York. I am not dying of some unpronounceable disease. I am not a tomboyish Alabama chick in a conservative, black-hating society. I have never lived in Corfu with a baby donkey and a scops owl as pets.
*screams at mum*
I am just an impossibly average almost-twenty year old.
With a somewhat ordinary, satisfactory life. With nothing to do but wish I was this and wish you were that.
I wish I spoke French and Spanish and German and Urdu and Russian and Swahili like a native.
I wish I smelled less of concrete and more of pine needles and the Himalayan freshness. Or of the lazy, olive-colored noon siesta.
I wish I was pretty enough to not ever need a mirror. Except when I’m wearing my contacts, of course. I wish I looked liked Jasmine or Pocahontas. Anything Disney really. Hell, even their Captain Hook has élan.
I wish I wasnt allergic to seafood. I want to eat clam and squid.(Miu is affecting my thought process way too much now.)
Ugh!!
Whines. Running. End Task.
And hmmm. FYI. (Chetan Bhagat way)
And please don’t give me the oh-you-poor-literature-pariah eyebrow!! I’ll eat cabbages over the weekend if you haven’t gone voraciously through all of them. Hypocrite!
I quite like the guy. He’s intelligent. He’s cute. He’s funny. And I guess he has made a huge mistake of drawing too many references to his wife and children.
Now he’ll have a tough time convincing his new girl about how much he loves her. HA!
When he gets a divorce. If and when he gets a divorce.
Hey.. Is Bhagat an S.C or such??
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
This Is Why I Now Hate My Blog Title
I just realized. I have less than a fortnight to go. How could I have forgotten????
It seems that I'm the only one in town who is not going completely berserk about Eclipse.(If you don't know what that is, I love you. If you do, my sympathies.)
No wait. I am. Now that I know that it is going to release.
Thank God for taking me out of town on the 23rd and not returning me before the 30th. I SO don't want to see the drool-fest in all the multiplexes!!
I will never know what people see in Robert Pattinson! Even more so when he chooses to sparkle and suck in general (and not just blood)!
This guy should be put into rehab...no, a jail...no actually,a theater where they are screening twilight.. :x
I mean..just how...HOW? can this bat call himself
a. the lion who fell for the sheep
b. a guy
c. I'm the world's most dangerous predator
what a chauv!! (*Slap Him Bella*)
anyway..on a massively desperate attempt to be positive (pun intended)..there is always Taylor Lautner!!
Choco fudge!!
Though I'm always afraid he'll run and disappear if cullen has the minimum sense to throw a stick and say 'fetch'.. :|
When is it going to be noon? And we can all wake up from this bad dream :(
Friday, June 11, 2010
10.75 Things That I Need To Come To Terms With.
The phone call I’ve been waiting for all day is not getting to me till I step into the shower.
Nothing is going to change with TMC being elected. They are all the same. Bleh!(But the worst part of it will be trying to pretend that I’m not excited about the riots and fire everywhere that people are predicting. Photogenic stuff. OMG!!)
No matter how many times I refresh my Fb page. There will be no new notifications this time of the night. Nobody is as jobless as me.
I'm never listening to her again! Sudeshna’s choice in men SUCKS. Ranbir Kapoor?? An egg looks more intelligent than him. Correction. *Than that*.
I can not expect to save enough to by a DSLR for nuts!! Unless the mommy swap thing comes to vogue and somebody actually wants mine!!
Mum is on one of her religious fasting things (selectively for all things sour). Better finish the chanachur today! And yes! I'm on diet!! HAHA!!
Nails look better unpainted.
Nobody reads my blog anyway. So I can safely state here that I fucked the VC last night behind the Canteen.
Kidding!!
Cats sleep anywhere. Annoyingly enough. And have this terrible habit of acting oh-so-hurt-and-cute if u dare to move them. Ugh!
I miss Swan Poetry from the house of Orient Longman. Or was it Madhuban Reader??? Or maybe just the host of awesome teachers from prep school. I want them to tell me to place my purple lunch-box on the desk, first. Go wash my hands, second. Spread out my napkin, third. Eat, fourth. SILENTLY, fifth. Damn I miss 'Tiffin Time'. And my water bottle that went so well with my uniform.
Never thought I'd be old enough to reminisce.
Err... Happiness..? For times when nostalgia was just a word??
This is what comes of wearing blue all day. :(
Should totally get back to my sunshine yellow, Digital Om T! Now!
And laziness. :|
Nothing is going to change with TMC being elected. They are all the same. Bleh!(But the worst part of it will be trying to pretend that I’m not excited about the riots and fire everywhere that people are predicting. Photogenic stuff. OMG!!)
No matter how many times I refresh my Fb page. There will be no new notifications this time of the night. Nobody is as jobless as me.
I'm never listening to her again! Sudeshna’s choice in men SUCKS. Ranbir Kapoor?? An egg looks more intelligent than him. Correction. *Than that*.
I can not expect to save enough to by a DSLR for nuts!! Unless the mommy swap thing comes to vogue and somebody actually wants mine!!
Mum is on one of her religious fasting things (selectively for all things sour). Better finish the chanachur today! And yes! I'm on diet!! HAHA!!
Nails look better unpainted.
Nobody reads my blog anyway. So I can safely state here that I fucked the VC last night behind the Canteen.
Kidding!!
Cats sleep anywhere. Annoyingly enough. And have this terrible habit of acting oh-so-hurt-and-cute if u dare to move them. Ugh!
I miss Swan Poetry from the house of Orient Longman. Or was it Madhuban Reader??? Or maybe just the host of awesome teachers from prep school. I want them to tell me to place my purple lunch-box on the desk, first. Go wash my hands, second. Spread out my napkin, third. Eat, fourth. SILENTLY, fifth. Damn I miss 'Tiffin Time'. And my water bottle that went so well with my uniform.
Never thought I'd be old enough to reminisce.
Err... Happiness..? For times when nostalgia was just a word??
This is what comes of wearing blue all day. :(
Should totally get back to my sunshine yellow, Digital Om T! Now!
And laziness. :|
Urban Weed
I have been ……
Doing the ‘NEXT BLOG’ thing for hours.
There is a Canadian lesbian. Her neighbors don’t say hi to her ever since they found out her orientation.
A lady with 3 infants. How to keep you head above the laundry.
An aspiring fashionista. With only 12 followers but extraordinary taste in shades. Much bling.
Eighty years old. The blog being basically about his obsessive gardening disorder. And his wife’s untimely death. A decade back.
Pages and pages of craft maniacs and sketch enthusiasts. They no longer inspire me. I just want to howl with frustration.
A blog being dedicated entirely to penny black cards. She can’t seem to make enough for her husband who has been away for 2 weeks. Some rehab.
Numerous food blogs. (By chicks who still manage to stay slim. *going green*)
I have been….
Wallowing in self pity.
I have been….
Reading Lolita for what seems like ever. With one eye on my phone.
I have been…
Lazing all day. Did not even bother to update my Facebook status about which team I support. Not Brazil. Not again!!!
Talking to S (again) about a weight loss program and how we are both going to look drop dead gorgeous in 2 weeks time. Munching on cookies as we talked.
The diet involves eating (?) 3 litres of mineral water on the first day divided into 6 portions. A piece of raw fish on the second day. So on…
I have been…
Wishing Miu would jump on my lap and tickle me with her whiskers till I feel better.
The fact that all she does is eat, sleep, clean herself is NOT helping somehow.
And I am INSANELY jealous of her tail.
I have been…
So typically worthless. And knowing it changes NOTHING.
*……..BANG HEAD HERE…….*
Doing the ‘NEXT BLOG’ thing for hours.
There is a Canadian lesbian. Her neighbors don’t say hi to her ever since they found out her orientation.
A lady with 3 infants. How to keep you head above the laundry.
An aspiring fashionista. With only 12 followers but extraordinary taste in shades. Much bling.
Eighty years old. The blog being basically about his obsessive gardening disorder. And his wife’s untimely death. A decade back.
Pages and pages of craft maniacs and sketch enthusiasts. They no longer inspire me. I just want to howl with frustration.
A blog being dedicated entirely to penny black cards. She can’t seem to make enough for her husband who has been away for 2 weeks. Some rehab.
Numerous food blogs. (By chicks who still manage to stay slim. *going green*)
I have been….
Wallowing in self pity.
I have been….
Reading Lolita for what seems like ever. With one eye on my phone.
I have been…
Lazing all day. Did not even bother to update my Facebook status about which team I support. Not Brazil. Not again!!!
Talking to S (again) about a weight loss program and how we are both going to look drop dead gorgeous in 2 weeks time. Munching on cookies as we talked.
The diet involves eating (?) 3 litres of mineral water on the first day divided into 6 portions. A piece of raw fish on the second day. So on…
I have been…
Wishing Miu would jump on my lap and tickle me with her whiskers till I feel better.
The fact that all she does is eat, sleep, clean herself is NOT helping somehow.
And I am INSANELY jealous of her tail.
I have been…
So typically worthless. And knowing it changes NOTHING.
*……..BANG HEAD HERE…….*
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Litres of Sap
Roof top. Cloudy sky.
An occasional airplane flying overhead. Christmas lights come early.
Three men and a little lady. And a lot of intelligent conversation.
We cover everything from g.b.s to hash cakes.
And caffeine. Glug. Glug.
And all the while, I have this feeling inside of me. This is what a sparrow feels like I guess. Before it jumps off into flight from the cornice.
The phone in my pocket is uncanny with its stillness.
7.38:- One message received.
TD-Beauty. Tells me how you get 150 rupees off on the purchase of two Lakme lipsticks if you exchange your used lipstick.
I wonder what conditions apply to this gross deal.
8.11:- Another message received.
Aneek . A joke about some guy and how the last thing he wants to do before being executed is update his Fb status message.
I miss the punch line.
8.42:- One more message.
Sabby. Oye B@*$*!
Pretty direct. Appreciation.
I am positively sinking as I pocket my phone. The lights are far away. The bye-pass din is dim.
10.49:- Message again.
Sounak. Too much love will kill you/ Just as sure as none at all/ It’ll drain the power that’s in you/ Make you plead and scream and crawl/ And pain will make yo*some text missing*
This is where you smirk and say. BSNL! Ha!!
I am inclined to agree with sounak. It is sheer terror at times.
Like an additional limb. And you are being frightfully aware of the fact that it is joined to you not by muscles and tendons.
Something much more fragile. And exquisite. Gossamer.
But try as I might nothing can change the fact that you are the bulk of my inbox. My outbox. My draft folder. Saved items.
In both my cellphone. And gmail account.
External and internal memory.
That they make me smile to myself like a fool.
That you invade my 3’o clock nap, even when it is 42 degrees and we have Mars bars together.
That half of the things I say/want to say these days begin with ‘X says…’
That I have to tell you every tiny details of every irrelevant incidence.
That whispering ‘I love you’ at 4.00 in the night seems the most obvious thing to do.
That I am not I these days but vary somewhere between you and us.
That mostly, more than being happy, I want to be your happiness.
And this i NEED you to understand. Cos only you can understand.
23.15:- THE message.
You say HI.*smiley face*
And peace will reign again I figure.
X crossed fingers X
....both hands... :P
An occasional airplane flying overhead. Christmas lights come early.
Three men and a little lady. And a lot of intelligent conversation.
We cover everything from g.b.s to hash cakes.
And caffeine. Glug. Glug.
And all the while, I have this feeling inside of me. This is what a sparrow feels like I guess. Before it jumps off into flight from the cornice.
The phone in my pocket is uncanny with its stillness.
7.38:- One message received.
TD-Beauty. Tells me how you get 150 rupees off on the purchase of two Lakme lipsticks if you exchange your used lipstick.
I wonder what conditions apply to this gross deal.
8.11:- Another message received.
Aneek . A joke about some guy and how the last thing he wants to do before being executed is update his Fb status message.
I miss the punch line.
8.42:- One more message.
Sabby. Oye B@*$*!
Pretty direct. Appreciation.
I am positively sinking as I pocket my phone. The lights are far away. The bye-pass din is dim.
10.49:- Message again.
Sounak. Too much love will kill you/ Just as sure as none at all/ It’ll drain the power that’s in you/ Make you plead and scream and crawl/ And pain will make yo*some text missing*
This is where you smirk and say. BSNL! Ha!!
I am inclined to agree with sounak. It is sheer terror at times.
Like an additional limb. And you are being frightfully aware of the fact that it is joined to you not by muscles and tendons.
Something much more fragile. And exquisite. Gossamer.
But try as I might nothing can change the fact that you are the bulk of my inbox. My outbox. My draft folder. Saved items.
In both my cellphone. And gmail account.
External and internal memory.
That they make me smile to myself like a fool.
That you invade my 3’o clock nap, even when it is 42 degrees and we have Mars bars together.
That half of the things I say/want to say these days begin with ‘X says…’
That I have to tell you every tiny details of every irrelevant incidence.
That whispering ‘I love you’ at 4.00 in the night seems the most obvious thing to do.
That I am not I these days but vary somewhere between you and us.
That mostly, more than being happy, I want to be your happiness.
And this i NEED you to understand. Cos only you can understand.
23.15:- THE message.
You say HI.*smiley face*
And peace will reign again I figure.
X crossed fingers X
....both hands... :P
Saturday, June 5, 2010
jlt post #1
how sick does a blog sound?
blog? blog! blog.
a frog jumping into a murky pond.
a bubble in the thick lava after the volcano erupted.
the suctiony sound when the plug in the sink is being pulled out.
food for thought. serve hot with a cuppa.
(anyone prefers a mugga when it comes to coffee?? i do!)
blog? blog! blog.
a frog jumping into a murky pond.
a bubble in the thick lava after the volcano erupted.
the suctiony sound when the plug in the sink is being pulled out.
food for thought. serve hot with a cuppa.
(anyone prefers a mugga when it comes to coffee?? i do!)
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I am Cross. X
An alcohol virgin. Got her vodka with an apple twist. On a day when her parents weren’t home.
Don’t hate me later for this. And take my example when you tell your kids about how blatantly irresponsible ‘friends’ can be. Please. Please please.
Now she can’t dilute it with grape juice also.
Vodka on the rocks. Burn your breath. Like the Night Fury.
But do YOU know how to train your dragon?
And what a sick combination. Fermenting potatoes and green apples. Eeeeeech!!!
Barrels and barrels of it in a cold underground cellar. With the spiders scuttling towards the darkest corners when the door creaks open and the heavy boots are semi visible in the triangle of orange light.
Gorbatschow.
From some place near Verkhoyansk perhaps??
Where the baker calls himself Yevgeny Pavlovitch.
The ground above is a cobbled street under a crunchy layer of snow and slippery ice. Bits of hay and streaks of mud left from the last carriage that passed.
Memories of impatient horses that have stomped their feet in the chill.
Yes. I obsess about them. (Though Kremlin did always seem a tad bit overdone)
There is this Korean guy who often comes to J.U. Ming. To convert us…!!
No energy left for the lol here.
He gave me fluorescent green mobile charm in the shape of a Roman cross.
It stares at me in the darkness from under my pillow. Makes me fidget. And I barely have it in me to strip my phone off it before I crash.
Don’t hate me later for this. And take my example when you tell your kids about how blatantly irresponsible ‘friends’ can be. Please. Please please.
Now she can’t dilute it with grape juice also.
Vodka on the rocks. Burn your breath. Like the Night Fury.
But do YOU know how to train your dragon?
And what a sick combination. Fermenting potatoes and green apples. Eeeeeech!!!
Barrels and barrels of it in a cold underground cellar. With the spiders scuttling towards the darkest corners when the door creaks open and the heavy boots are semi visible in the triangle of orange light.
Gorbatschow.
From some place near Verkhoyansk perhaps??
Where the baker calls himself Yevgeny Pavlovitch.
The ground above is a cobbled street under a crunchy layer of snow and slippery ice. Bits of hay and streaks of mud left from the last carriage that passed.
Memories of impatient horses that have stomped their feet in the chill.
Yes. I obsess about them. (Though Kremlin did always seem a tad bit overdone)
There is this Korean guy who often comes to J.U. Ming. To convert us…!!
No energy left for the lol here.
He gave me fluorescent green mobile charm in the shape of a Roman cross.
It stares at me in the darkness from under my pillow. Makes me fidget. And I barely have it in me to strip my phone off it before I crash.
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