Pink- October.

October is breast cancer awareness month.

If you read this, tell everyone you know.

I knew it too, I knew what BC was, and how older women were at a higher risk. I knew what symptoms it caused, and I knew that a lump was a definite sign.

I knew.

A part of me will never forgive myself for letting the person I love most in this world, ignore my advice. I could have pushed harder, fought and cried and demanded that she get it checked out. But I didn't.

I forgot. I didn't make it an issue. I breezed through my own life and occasionally asked her to get an appointment, when i found the time to check on her.



What makes it worse is that I only ever wanted her to be happy.


Please don't do what I did.

I'm sure you, just like me, are all aware of BC. That you will probably wiki it in a moment, and will know everything that there is to know. You will file it away for later use.

Don't stop there.

Tell your friends. Tell your sister. Your mum, especially. Aunts and grandmums and cousins.

And push them to do take tests and have breast-self-examinations, every month.
It could save their live, one day.


Support Pink.

one fork or two?

I was never good
at waiting for
spilled compliments and answers
lapping them up instead
stealthily, silently.
When you were not looking
prying them from you
tugging at your upturned corners;
looking for the scraps of a smile
rummaging
for some shallow love.
for all that
deep breathing and closed eyes
i was never good at waiting for
measured assurances and weighed concerns
may they explode
and blow me away
the early bird.
my wary worm is too slow
too quiet
too calm
(and i like to go with a bang.)
I shall huddle in anticipation
I will wait for the morsels that you dropped
and devour them greedily
dressed as i am in silks
i will not succumb
to your lights
to your peace
you will turn
to ask
politely as a prince
(or it is punctuality?)
if it is one lump or two
( the irony, the irony)
but the tongs are holding me hostage.
now more then ever.
will you pass
me the
sugar, please?

A pocket full of stars

Small and insignificant things have reminded me many many times these past few weeks, of just how much things have changed.

I have been, all this while, trudging to class unwillingly, shifting, unpacking, cleaning, swabbing, wiping away messy doing laundry (ah, but you knew that already. Laundry is, after all a favourite recurring theme on this blog here.)

Goodbye 202

As I write this, I am surrounded by piles and piles ( and_piles_) of stuff. Clothes and papers and shoes and plastic bags and other bags and books and books and books. And stuff and more stuff.


It seems impossible that I am the same girl who walked into college, with all her belongings stuffed into two bags. Now I need eighteen, and thats a rough estimate before I have even unpacked.


I'm going to blog, as I unpack, as I sort through longforgotten drawers and treasures in the lofts and unseen notes and pages and secretly stashed away candy.

time - 8:02 pm

sigh at all the stuff on various areas of room. Start by putting all clothes away.
change mind decide to pack all thingys which are un-slottable.


8-24 pm

Managed to fit in some thingys into all the available suitcases and bags. decided not to look through it too much, not enough time and way too many average memories.
Get drink of water. not lose too much heart at the sight of all the books.

Its, like, the end of an era

I miss those walls. Sunkissed, yelled at, painted on and scribbled on, and beaten with and splattered with and used as leverage and scribble pads and poster frames and pictures of

How can I tell you what it is like to say goodbye to a room of sunshine and spills?

202 welcomed me (us) with open arms.

We have left with so much more love from the world, so much less uncertainity and a whole lot of very very good things.

202 has seen many happy people crammed in it for b'day parties and lonely sobs at 3 am phone call times. It has allowed us to spread a mattress on the floor for a troubled someone more and equally been efficient with newspaper on the floor during dhaba food parties.

We've spilt, at various times, ink and blood and tears and ketchup and juice and paneer and soup and gin and vodka and beer and water and we've just as carefully and knowingly mopped them up and moved on with life.

For over four years, we have run to its walls, its safe spots,its stuffed cupboards and its food stashes. ( and more importantly, its phone charging points)

We have lost keys and lost locks and broken down doors and bolts.

Beds have been shifted around. So have loyalties.

Much bad watery maggi has been cooked. much food-from-home has been gratefully eaten.

We have, in these four years, lived a life, which though not without its rather painful moments and times of distress, been a sort of experience we can only characterise as home.

202 was a godly room. Love and melodrama and learning and success. Lucky as hell for us we moved in where we did then.


I miss those walls. I miss the ugly mural and the eerie yellow lamp light and the window which let in only bugs, not air.

It _is_ the end of an era.
dont you know?

The last stand.

It has been too long, this negected and starved blog has been forgotten and maybe even unloved.

Many new things have been bought. Shiny shoes. A Watch. ( one with no numbers, on which I definitely cannot tell time, but it looks cool)

Henceforth please do not ask me what the time is. But please glance at my shinily shod feet.

Also notice that I have now known :

1) what it is like to have focus
2) what it is like to have determination
3) what it is like to have inspiration (all in someone else, of course. I just gape at them in awe, and then proceed to day dream)
4) what roadside chai in madras tastes like ( not so great, actually)
5) what it feels like to be paid. I dont think anyone has ever paid me before. With a cheque that too. In my own name. ( i find cheques very mysterious, and confusing. They scare me. As do demand drafts. And remittance slips. And banks, as a whole) ( i like money, though)


There have been storms and showers and horrible crazy days.
I realise that I havent written the end of sem posts, as is obligatory.


Meta-post-of-VIII-Sem.

Last sem was terrible academically, except for tax. I liked its uselessness though. I liked its quiet. And i liked its time. Vast and unending. Good sem, also bad sem.


Now that thats been taken care of, I must tell you that I have huge plans of CRESTING this semester. Through various ways. For one, I am going to do nothing. Then Im going to write lots. And get out of campus all the time. And be funner and nicer and laugh-ier.

With that promise, I now leave you. Stay in peace and come see me, in about three days.

the rest of the world.

I heard a joke today. It wasn't a joke, technically, more a witty riposte (that followed some conversation, that in other-times would have had the company in splits), along the lines of how you should never date female lawyers. Because, of course, they lose all their femininity. And are probably bitches.

Speaking of which, a friend of mine confidently assures me that he doesn't like tall women. "They're not feminine or graceful, you know?", he says. most of them are so... assertive.


Of course.

Note, I'm not complaining about any of the people above. They're good friends, nice guys, keep me company, call me at 3 am, open doors for people, are polite and nice smelling, you know? the works.

(I was however, miffed about the guy in the motorbike who zoomed in front of me today and appraisingly stated that I was a "lovely beauty" before zooming off. As if he stood a chance...)


In my cosy little room at good ol' Nalsar, gender bias is easier to fight. Of course it exists, and its also perfectly annoying, but it isn't nearly as bad as _the rest of the world._


The rest of the world judges women more harshly than it does men.
and not at their work ( atleast not that I've seen), but I think at their play. in their jokes and stories and dreams and wishes and lives.
I sometimes hate the rest of the world.

Great Idea # 7865

"Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination."
~Robert Fulghum

The - I don't have a dream - speech

All my life has been about stumbling along and finding things. I don't have a dream.
Here is my speech.


The last few days have been filled with inane symbols. last sundays. last mondays. last hours of class. last hour of banking. last hour of tax. last missed attendance.

In some days and some more, ( with a generous dollop of good luck with my drafting paper) I shall have reached the almost end of my college days.
My formal education, the times of missing attendance and losing erasers and pre-exam cramming are drawing to a close.

In a year, a year of quiet, a year of nothingness, I will be leaving.
Suddenly I feel tainted with mortality. Like someone pulled out the carpet from below my feet and prepared to push me into the world.

My world here, is slowly fading. There is the dilution of the arrogance of youth, the promise of always more time is fainter with each passing day.
my newness is forced. adventure is mellowing and one seeks out quiet corners more than ever.

I need new dreams.

The time has come to redeem those 3 am promises and angry mutterings behind the backs of (often unwise) authority. To prepare.

Yet, I am bereft. Lost and floundering in my ability to face the unknown, without terms, and ideals.

I need new dreams.




p.s. for all those who enquired, thank you, I am back. enormous quantities of soul searching awaits.

Being and Nothingness

My long absence is not without reason
Tuesday is without
a hinge and naked his soul,
his circuitry resting awkwardly on his limb
forlorn and shaky his screen
he remains somberly grim.

Note 1: S hates expensive laptop maintenance when she is living in penury.

I've had a rather lazy four day break and ambitious plans of work and gym and run and violin and projects and progress have been gleefully shattered. All I perceive is a needlessly vicious attitude towards minions of the law school. (owing to watching lots and lots of Just Shoot Me)

Law school is being more and more of a misnomer. what law? This semester is officially the worst ever in terms of academic interaction and growth. The only subject I am finding marginally interesting is taxation.

On the more personal front, I am happy and loving my life. Also my new haircut. Also belated presents. I have realised that the lack of personal conflicts and emotional avalanches doesnt provide much to write about. In this current state, in this now, theres hardly any time to observe ( false), any time to question and grow indignant(false) and anything that requires an absolute outpouring (true). People have replaced blog.


Sad.

On the other hand though, the lack of the necessity to be absolutely productive except to assuage ones guilt means that theres a lot more I could be thinking about. :) Honestly, await more posts. (But just to break it you gently, dear reader, I am off travelling for a while, mostly by myself and I am so excited and nervous and jumpy and happy.) I'll be back with pictures and trinkets and a whole lot more perspective. Also much more love for the sun. I'll post from there, for sure, so watch this space.

Yours
---S.