12 am and Choco Chip Ice Cream.

It is 12 am and I only got that right the third time because I kept holding down shift and typing !@.It is my brother's birthday and I should be wishing him considering the fact that I'm online and he's online but I know for a fact that he's not there because he is busy being pool-dunked.
What a fun.
It is therefore, 12 am and I have nothing to do for I'm done re-reading Harry Potter and the street dogs find it too hot and too sultry to engage in midnight races.
They are not even mildly interested in chasing the odd man riding a bicycle.
It seems Poltu is not required to work on summer nights and that cancels out tantric dances.
Also, he is not amused by them anymore. He has long since known who I am and thus, the curiosity levels, bordering on fright have taken a dip.
Poltu is the nightwatchman for anyone who might be getting strange ideas.
On nights such as this, infact worse, when I was tired of studying and/or doing a project, Poltu would provide welcome means of entertainment.
He would invariably look up to see the only lit room in the neighbourhood and so that he got a bit more than just a pale, hospital-like white ruining the muted yellow glow of streetlights for all his effort, I would go to the verandah and put up a show featuring an ecstatic silhouette, performing professional tantric ceremonies. He would stop whistling his whistle and beating his stick. Later, when he would come during the day to collect money, he would precariously peep into the house to see who lived there.
His real name is Gopal. Poltu is much better.

But even he's not working on summer nights and either way I'm done with the tantric ceremonies. Scary House is a disgrace. The man on the cot being the only exception, but I missed him on account of the fact that I was walking in front.His timings are based on an average basis and he therefore,decides to dart across only when the majority of the crowd is in his room. I missed out on quite a few things because of the average clause. But even Sambit, who is a wimp found it stupid and I guess there wasn't really anything to miss out on.Initially, when we were getting in, he was so fucking scared that he would neither walk forward nor let me move ahead. I was being tugged back everytime I tried.
Also, Googly and her friends should be paid for advertising Scary House.Watching them come screaming out of the exit, many were encouraged into buying tickets.
The man at the entrance was nice and creepy.He was enjoying being the investigator out of a Hitchcock movie, dressed in a long black coat with rolling eyes glaring out from under the bowler hat.Only he was playing the investigator who haunted old motels.
I've never heard of those but he looked like one.
The inside was pitch dark with only the corners lit in red. I walked into a wooden wall thinking that it was a door that would creak open and then a zombie would come jumping out of a closet but that didn't work out. I think if I had pushed a little harder, I would've broken through into the adjacent Haunted Hotel.
There were skeletons hanging here and there and I was expecting that things would suddenly fall from the ceiling or spiders would come crawling out but nothing happened.
And I did not kiss the hag statue.Nothing was really happening so when she went "bahahaaa" I went upto her and said pooseycat.
Right before the exit, a supposed cave man drives people out with his primitive-version-of-a-baseball-bat-stick.
I missed that too and stepped back in to see him.

Rajasee, who was most excited about Scary House was disappointed but she always manages to liven up her day with ideas such as "we should make our own Scary House" that strike her mind before the want to criticise the existing setup can even percolate.

Scary House is still very much worth visiting though. You should go the food court and sit outside and watch as people come out with strange expressions and in stranger positions.
Four surds took fifteen minutes to get in. Fifteen minutes of abandoning the devil-may-care attitude and shamelessly telling each other " I don't care what you think. I'm scared. Main nahin jaaonga."
They did come out with the stud walk. Bundled fists and shoulders inappropriately pulled back in evident discomfort.

I have also realised that cloth pins are an invention that have not undergone any change since they were first made. Everything changes with technology.
When it was hot, hand fans were used.The rich employed the poor to wave fans for them. But then the poor became rich and the rich, well they stayed rich but there was noone to fan them.The poor did not exactly have revenge in mind because now that they were rich, they too wanted someone to fan them. Only, now everyone was rich. Except that is untrue.
Still, for reasons that I'm too tired to create, a DC motor was invented and employed in the manufacture of fans.Only the fans circulated hot air. So after a lot of physical chemistry and unnecessary Nobel Prizes for laws that fail to fascinate the imagination and pride of even a four-year old on a universe-discovering spree, the idea of compressors was developed for the field of artificial wind generation. And now we have air-condtioners.It would apparently, take us some time to set in the Ice Age and therefore, we are still improving on the design of the air-conditioner.
But the design of the cloth-pin has not been modified since. We can therefore, proudly say that we have perfected the art of cloth-pin making.
Screw them aliens.

It is 0100 hours.
My brother has returned and gone and I haven't wished him.I will call him in the morning.
I do have to wake up at 6:30.

I am ill. And I have been watching films day long for the past few days, one after the other.
I am directing action thrillers in my sleep and it's exhausting because nobody is doing anything right in my dream and therefore, I am frantically darting across from one frame to another, trying to make it work. It is all in frames. Every single event is in a separate frame. My entire dream is thus, in frames so I also end up feeling pretty claustrophobic.
Also, these days the action in films gives me shivers.
I have never felt uncomfortable, even for the slightest bit watching action films no matter how grotesque they get.Wrist-breaking, neck twisting, axe-beheading, blood, gore, amputation for non-medical reasons-name it I'm fine with it.
There was this one really bad film I saw called The Hills Have Eyes and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
But the ones I've been watching lately, they tend to show stuff that I imagine, myself.
Like in The Dark Knight, Batman throws this fellow off the roof and he lands on his feet so his bones break.
Aaah..
Now that is stuff I imagine happening to me if I fell.

I am feeling very unwell.
I spent half an hour last night lying flat on the bathroom floor trying to throw up but I couldn't.
I have taken a bath and worn good clothes in order to make myself feel better.
And now, I want to go out somewhere.
But I have been left home alone.

It is Chintu-Pintu's birthday today.
Happy Birthday to them.

Chintu and Pintu.

My fish turned a year old nearly a month ago and I realized that there are posts on this blog about old, dysfunctional, machine world equivalent of burger-eating, coke drinking.“dude” using obese slouches but not one about my fish.I had thought that I would put up a post with pictures and a video in November but never got down to doing it because procrastination is the most dominant behavioral aspect linking all life on earth and thus, God is to be blamed for it.

Chintu and Pintu were given to me by Anurina on my 18^th birthday who very thoughtfully decided to give me fish, post the cat incident thinking that my father cannot have a problem with two creatures floating around on their own in a corner of the house and doing all their businesses in the confines of a bowl. When someone later pointed it out to her that they are going to die one day very soon and then I will be sad, she was slightly taken aback and did not say anything in the light of this new realization but was not paid further attention to because my reaction at the subject of their death stole the show. I was exceedingly happy to get them and she was exceedingly happy to give them to me and therefore, nobody should ruin our joy.

They were named by Rupsha who does not miss any opportunity to establish the same.

Everybody in my house was happy only.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I happened to talk too much about them which often annoyed people. Several like Rupsha, who has no patience and is generally curt, rude and without compassion adopted a chant that revolved around the following:

They are going to die.

I have kept them in a bowl.

I have deprived them of their home.

I have imprisoned them.

I being a vegetarian have converted them to vegetarians.

They are going to die.

I used to feel very guilty. I still do. I used to think that if there was an equivalent of Steve Irwin’s national park in Calcutta then I would’ve taken them there.

I always had to call up RJ and make her convince me that my fish are happy and that in a pond, they would be eaten by other larger fish and catch horrible diseases and live in insecticide-infested water.

Everyone with such devious mindsets ultimately put an end to death talk because they realized that it affected me and were scared that what if my fish just died the next day.

You know, I always lie or get my way around using very logical, practical arguments but emotional blackmail is a pathetic yet powerful tool and I have learnt that it is wise and wonderfully convenient to use it more. I see my sister use it everyday with such subtle precision that no one can even detect it, not even me.

I started celebrating their birthday on the 14^th of every month because I was also scared that they might not make it till next year.

BUT.

THEY DID.

And they are happy beautiful, healthy fish growing smarter by the day.I make everybody wish them on their birthday.

They are leading an adventurous life on account of the fact that I break their bowl every month and a half so they get to explore other larger vessels like the tub. The first time they were put in the tub, they had to stay there for a week and they were understandably, apprehensive. On returning to the bowl, Pintu saw my face and for around 3 mins scolded me. He was very angry. He swam here and there and here and there very furiously right in front of face.

I googled goldfish and found that goldfish owners around the world are melodramatic idiots who scared the shit out of me with their description of goldfish disease symptoms.

There are very few of them who talk sense. So I don’t listen to them.

One said my fish suffered from wen and that bacteria were eating into his brain and that he was going to die and I should convert his water to medicine.

Piece of shit.

Nothing had happened. They were just males and therefore, developing white spots on their frontal fins. This one nice fellow told me this and even sent me a link to a picture of a male goldfish. Efficient, responsible man.

My fish are brilliant.

They are the best.

I love my fish.

I hope that they are in reality happy and don’t hate the bowl.

They seem to be happy. Every now and then I start feeling so guilty.

I wish they could be hugged and cuddled and kissed and I was not left hugging their bowl.

That is it I guess about my fishes.

(Screw you.

Fishes should be a word.)

They move too much so I get never get them both clear in the picture and again God is to be blamed for the fact that despite my trying to take one now because it is possible you know, the camera's batteries have died and I cannot find the charger.Now I can really really search for it but it's just God's fault.

Also, videos are not uploading.

So it's just bad pictures.

And now even the second bad picture is not uploading.

The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of.

I wanted someone to tell me a story.
A happy story.
A nice story.
Like a movie at the end of which you smile.

Across the street lived the Man Who Told Stories You Could Live.
No.
He wasn't God.
He could untangle the threads of time and space and take you to a new dimension.
Where you could be the story.
Or in the story.
Whichever one you wanted it to be.
You knew it was just his imagination.
But it was real.
Almost.


We all went to him every now and then.
To live fantasy and fiction.
To live a different life.
To be someone else living someone else's life.

Seven year olds went to him,wanting to hear stories of the days when Santa Claus was real.
Jill only wanted to be Alice.

A little boy wanted to be a pirate.
So he asked him to tell the story of a pirate.
Of treaures and swords and maps and ships.
Of battles and Captain Hooks.
Every waking moment seemed like the end of the world.
And that,is not catastrophic.
It's beautiful.
The little boy was the hero.
We all want to be heroes.

Mrs.Bidge lived at the end of the street.
To state the obvious,Mr.Bidge was dead.
And to state the obvious more so,Mr.and Mrs.Bidge had no children.
And more,she had a cat.
Named Ginger.
She knitted the entire day because she had read about old women doing the same in cheap second-hand novels.
We all have.
Not that it made her think it was the thing to do but doing something else seemed unholy.
Almost like sin.
As if there were snooty old women in her head who like perfect English ladies of the eighteenth and nineteenth century would look down upon her if she did so.
It fitted the picture.
Who the knitted sweater was for, is unknown.
Even to Mrs.Bidge.

Mrs.Bidge secretly wanted to be Scarlett.
O'Hara..?
"Now that was sin,"said the woman in her head.
She was unable to hide her desire to go to the Man Who Told Stories You Could Live.
It is sad she had nobody to hide it from.
But then she had her own reality.
We all do.

She did go to him one day though.
Like we all wish we could?

So did I.
I wanted someone to tell me a story.

Jack was an atheist.
He wanted to be God.
It was fun.
He became more of an atheist after that.
He knew he could be God.

All stories do come to an end.
Like the universe.
Because the universe too is a story.
So we went back to him over and over again.
It's sad when stories come to an end though.
When you cannot feel the magic anymore.
And you wish you could return to being in the middle of the book.

He made chairs.
The Man Who Told Stories..?
His house was gloomy,the wooden planks damp.
There was a small patch of grass outside the front door.
Though the patch didn't qualify for a patch and neither did the front door.
You could smell rain when you walked in.
Always.
We lived in such a part of he world.
The skies were always dark.
As if something was about to happen and you were standing at the edge of it.

We never knocked.
The door was a bunch of unshapely planks.
You only had to push and free one of them that was tall enough to satisfy the intended height of the door.

He was working.
He always was.
Chisled wood and ribbons strewn on the floor.
Saw dust hung in the air.

I wanted him to tell me a story.
A happy story.
A nice story.
Like the movie at the end of which you smile.
I wanted him to tell me a story i could live.

He did.

He sang me a song.







It's addictive.

So That I Do Not Forget.

I thought I should post.
It's been really long.
It's just that I'm too lazy.
I was going through everybody's blogs the other day.
and it made me so happy.
I told Rupsha for the millionth time that I'll kill her if she ever deleted her blog.
It has too many things on it.
I'm glad blogger exists.
Infact I posted the last few things because i was scared ill forget them.
and i don't want to forget them.
And there are many things that I haven't put up and I know that they won't strike me in years.
And that's when I get very sad.
8's running now you know.
And I had thought 8 was a long way off.
I remember sitting in KFC on Vikrams's birthday,telling Trisha to calm down about ICSE results and thinking that its been a year since that happened to me.
One whole year.
That's 365 days.The time between two decembers.
No that doesn't explain it.
Between two of my birthdays.My birthday always takes a long time to come.
Birthdays are actually stupid you know.I feel so funny that day.Its really silly.But this isn't about birthdays and its a bad example in any case.
I don't know.
I just want the weekends to come.Or even a thursday.Because thursday is a good day.There's nothing in the evening on thursdays. Even sunday evenings are bad.That way the whole run through monday,tuesday and wednesday pretty much sucks.
I have too many things to do these days.

That was the best summer vaction I had ever had.
And now I won't have summer vactions anymore.
Then there was the rain week.
And I badly wanted to go to school because I thought that this is going to be one of the last few times that it's going to rain during school. Most probably never again will there be a time when school's almost empty.

Once in class seven, me and Rajasee got out of sanskrit class and it was DARK.
really dark.
And we got very happy.
I'm in 12 now.
That was five years ago.
I joined school in class 5.

I was a dork.
No. i just looked like a dork.
Especially in 7.
Once I scratched my leg against a big screw jutting out of the desk and there was a nice,big white scar.Rajasee and Jahnavi were staring at it because it was just WHITE and it wasn't bleeding.It did after sometime though.I think we were writing the roleplay then but i was fighting with somebody at the back.
I remember a lot of things.The other day, I was lying flat on the roof and the moon was looking very nice.The moon always looks very nice from the roof.
But that day there was big circle around it. They showed in Practical Magic that a halo around the moon is a a bad omen.
But this wasn't a halo.It was a big circle.And it was white,not coloured.
I thought I should take a picture.I even got up to get the camera.But the picture didn't turn out to be like what it was.I tried to change things but it didn't work.
This is when I get pissed off and so never bother to try the next time.
Yesterday the sky was black and there were low reddish-brown clouds gliding across.
They were moving very fast.Like they show in discovery channel.
I have always thought that someone must've kept a camera there for a long time and then just fast forwarded the clip.Maybe that's how they show eggs cracking and buds flowering.

But I was talking about things I remember and when I started writing about the moon, I meant the day I saw the big,reddish moon from the kitchen window.
Oh and there was also the big moon last 31st.
I stood in the middle of the road,pointed up and shouted,"Look! Beeeeegg moon."
I was told to shut up and come stand on the footpath.
That day was fun.
That way a lot of days have been a lot of fun.
I'm glad I know the people I know.
I really am.

I cant start off on people stories.
I am just paranoid.
Trying to wrap up everything in a blog post.
I should go do my physics project.

The story of the furry creatures.

This is the story of Jose the Senior,Jose the Junior,Mr. Elephant,Woozie,Panda the koala and Dog the mouse.
They all live with "us".
Mr.Elephant and Dog used to hang from Anurina's bag.
It was the fake one with DIESEL written on it that she bought for either 400 or 450 bucks and after which she felt extremely proud of her bargaining skills.
(NOTE: all trash.)
Jose the junior and Jose the senior are kangaroos.(their names are courtesy Riku who had suggested the same for my new fridge but later I found it to be more suitable for the kangaroos and so that.)
They came from sydney all the way here with Panda the koala and Woozie.
Jose the junior is attached to jose the senior.
Panda the koala is a koala.
He was named today.
We first ended up calling him koala the panda.
But he is panda the koala.
And Woozie?
Woozie is just such a cute littol thingg!
He was named yesterday.
And his name sounds the best when you say it with a mouthful of food.
WOOOZIEEEE..
They all live in my house.
Dog the mouse is an ADORABLE little mouse with big feet.
really big feet.
And I know he loves his name.

Now Mr.Elephant.
Mr.Elephant has been in the past two days,a subject of much controversy.
Anurina says that he is afraid of the dark.
NOT TRUE.
She just says it.
He is So not afraid of the dark.
He likes being comfy.
Everybody likes being comfy.
She gave everyone the impression that he is an annoying,fussy,stubborn and selfish spoilt brat.
But he is SO not that.
He is a nice boy.
Like I'm a nice girl?
He's a nice boy.
I stole him yesterday while he was hanging from her bag and put him in mine.
She was chasing rupsha down the road because she was running away with dog.
Anurina never realised that mr.elephant was gone.
Nobody ever told her.
poor child.
Today she came and said she's lost him.
We cursed her.
We cursed her like anything.
We said that she threw him down on the road where he must've been trampled by cars,trucks,rickshaws and people.
Then the annoying beggar kids must've come and pulled his ears,his trunk and torn apart his beautiful white polka-dotted blue shirt thing.
Actually this nobody had said.
It came to my mind right now so I'm it putting up.
What the hell. Could've happened no.
Anurina made a bad face.
Then in the last period Rupsha and Anurina fought.
They fought really hard.
Rupsha cursed her and cursed her and cursed her.
ohh oh.
I forgot to mention.
Rupsha,Rajasee and Priyasha knew I had Mr.Elephant.
But it was fun cursing her.
So she cursed her and cursed her and cursed her.
But still.
Anurina not nice.
She said she'll buy new Mr.elephant and even thought of taking woozie away as a replacement for him.
Bad girl anurina bad girl.
They hit each other very badly.
Scratching and the likes.
Then under pressure of manhandling,Rupsha the girl betrayed me and revealed the well-kept secret of the theft.
More appropriately,the rescue.
Then,I was ironing my house flag.
The bad girl came and slapped me really hard on the back.
Thaashhh.
I said WHAT.
She said she wants Mr.Elephant back or I will have to suffer the consequences.
But I don't want to give Mr.Elephant back.He is very happy here.He loves talking to Jose, the junior.They are at the same height above the ground.
I don't think he wants to go back.
Panda,both the Joses and him, have a lot of fun.
Though Panda doesn't talk to much,he loves the others.
He sits on the left hand side speaker while the joses and mr.elephant sit on the subwoofer.
I know they have beautiful conversations.
And they will soon be rejoined by woozie.
Woozie is right now in summer camp at Rupsha's place and has made great friends with jannu the dog and the others.
But then I feel sad for Dog.He is all alone.
That too with Anurina.
I heard she pulled his nose once.
And she has a thing with noses.She ends up damaging them for a lifetime whenever she encounters them during one of her violent fits.
I'm scared for Dog.
God bless Dog.
God Dog.
I posted.

The Tagging Thing-II

So i got tagged again.
ok.It is actually fun.

ahem.

10 SIMPLE PLEASURES.

very good.

1.waking up early in the morning and realising that there's still a lot of time left for me to sleep.
2.singing the millipede song.
3.teaching other people the millipede song.
4.learning new things on the guitar,playing them well and getting complimented.
5.looking at just-finished or old school projects and feeling very proud.
6.listening to things while making coffee on being left home-alone.
7.rain.
8.rain with book and coffee with music in between.
9.receiving nice comments on blogger.
10.receiving calls from people living in my city when they go out of town.

another one.ok?yeah ok. im a nice happy girl.

11.finding new things(anything-pen,pencil, silly hotel shampoo,aircraft chocolates...i mean anything)in luggage when people return home.
12.the other day i was throwing the duster at the blackboard really hard,over and over again.
that gave me IMMENSE pleasure.

again.
i got nobody to tag.
and i dont feel like searching for unknown people and telling them listen i have tagged you.
so forget it.