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An attempt at catharsis.

Am sitting in the seminar hall with the rest of my batchmates, listening to my most recent favourite songs, waiting for some presentation. They aren't on time as usual, and my mind wanders to register the now-familiar ache somewhere around the base of my throat.

I'm waiting for time to fly. Waiting to make more indelible memories with someone who matters. Waiting for this boring day to end. I am 2000+ kilometres away from the near-prime focus of my of-late life and it downright SUCKS. Especially when I realise that there can be no substitutes for human touch, and talking to someone in person, regardless of how my day went.

Skype can only bridge the gap by -SO- much, and when I realise somwhere between our conversations that we are both united and separated by glass, technology, longing, ambition, student loans and many airy miles, I am hit by how much I have to conquer to deserve him without guilt.

To me, I have a sizeable task to accomplish. More than finishing a post-grad degree at an IIM, and bagging a job (that I will come to love, at least), I have to build the rock-solid foundation for my own life, no questions left unanswered in my own head. I have less than three years before my parents start 'panicking'.

Anyone can succumb to empty pining and let it distract them, losing themselves in some future or past world, I'm no different. This is my attempt at some relief from that, so that I have a reminder every time all of this gets too much to bear.

Distance and time.

It's going to be a long, loooong second term here. After all that happened in the past few months and all that happened in the past week, no number of 'o's suffice in the 'long' word, actually. Can't WAIT to meet him again.*

Sometimes, you meet someone and your life changes. You don't really want to bracket them into any existing human relationship tag because what you two share is SO strange, confusing, colourful, intense, fast, tight, comfortable, all-consuming, something that bends your perception of what is real and unreal, what is right and appropriate.

Before you know it, you are head-over-heels in some weird journey that you don't want to call love 'because it's too soon', 'because it doesn't usually happen this way', 'because it feels too right', 'because quick acquaintance, fast repentance'...


Questions to question all those statements.
By what measure? By whose standards? By which definition? By whose experience?

*Whoever is in charge of the endurance medals, please note that the time has come to dust your clothes, step up on stage and give the damn prize already before I change my mind. Someone finally cleared my Checklist and every(happy)thing else followed.

Melodrama my foot. I'm too old for that.

Growing up is pretty much the suckiest thing we do all our life. Nobody is willing to tell you what's going on because either
A. It's the awkward 'body' talk
B. It's the slightly less awkward 'mental' talk
C. It's awkward annnyway.

Thus you are left doing what the rest of your peer group does - endure whatever the hell's going on even though the rest of them are experiencing pretty much the same brand of moulting, or have already done so. I realised this over a period of time, but by then, I had already experienced most of what I fearfully and self-pityingly assumed were unique to my small world alone.

Feeling fat and wanting plastic surgery so much that my name would morph to Dissatisfaction Personified - check. First love overreaction followed by weeks and months of melodrama - check. The Rebel Days (ages 11-ongoing) check. A general feeling summed by the_whole_world_is_crap_oh_I_feel_so_alone - check. Engineering relatively sucks - check. There are no true friends in this universe - checkkkkkk.

So, of late, I am met by an awed reaction whenever I try to tell someone what I think they should do to deal with any of the above, and the related shizz. I am instantly given the halo of 'knowledgeable', 'know-it-all', 'wise', just because I am telling them in simplified english that they are not alone in experiencing any of these quasi-issues. It's hilarious most of the time, but I can't laugh and say 'Bwahahahaaa so you're saying you've NEVER EVER heard of the word infatuation? What a dhoodhpeda* !!'

*Dhoodhpeda - a term referring to an immature/childish person. Actually, a dhoodhpeda is a milk sweet, oh-so-soft.

What the frog, mom, what the frog.

Epic mom conversation again - there're so many of these lately, especially since mom is still discovering the 'joy' of messaging on an iPad with spellcheck on. 

Tonight, all of a sudden, we began to talk about me being 22 (no this conversation isn't predictable yet, stop guessing), what she was doing when she was 22, and I somehow managed to throw in the words 'it's nothing we're just friends', 'IIM', 'dating', 'vegetarian', 'IF ANYTHING HAPPENS I WILL INFORM YOU FIRRRRST' and 'cute guy' in the same sentence.

Edited response - "Ok, let us have a thorough check from all fronts because it is a very big and lifetime decision." 

What the frog is going on momma? 0_o IT'S JUST A prospective DATE, and I haven't even acknowledged the prospect properly. Lifetime decision? Did you just say you returned from London? You should have tried saying this there :P 

A perfect example of two different generations reacting to the word 'dating' in their own sweet ways. 

To me, dating carries a connotation of some level of hope, some happiness inside that I'm not bad or wrong ('not bad at alllll' is the actual sentiment, with a generous, eyebrow crinkling inner wink+thumbs up). With my hideously long (or tall, depends on whether you want to cover latitude or altitude. And whether you're a guy) Right Guy checklist, it will be a surprise for anybody who knows me if I even say yes to a mere DATE. Depending on who it is that I surprised, they might even give the guy some sort of decathlon/endurance racing prize for having gotten me to say yes.

But even then, my mom's attitude is a little sad (I'm not saying pathetic because that would be sadder), but I find it hilarious nonetheless. 

To my mom, 'dating' is a dangerous explosive compounded by her daughter's (you just waiiiitttt momma, your son is growing up too. He already texts like a PRO YO \m/) willingness to 'hold a grenade with the pin out'. The grenade in question is a ready chance handed out to relatives, on a platter with flowers and vermilion, to tell my parents that 'we saw your daughter with a guyyyyyy in ABC road. What is this, maami-maama, she was wearing sleeveless and all in main road that too on a bike. Do you even know the boy's nakshatram?' 

And my mom is obviously waiting for me to get home in the term break this week. I have given her nightmare material for the next few days, I daresay. I will have many more such ''moments" to report after that.... :D 

To think, I haven't even thought about my dad's reaction to any of this yet. XD XD XD 

Priorities and chilli pickle.

Ever since I've started a new exercise routine in this tiny balcony attached to my room (yes I started again. I always start), I've started noticing what I eat, how much I eat, and all this mosh, but this is greatly distressing the foodie side of me. No more cheesebursts at my pet Dominoes, says the ab-rip-crazy side of my mind. Okay FINE maybe once a year. Going by that standard, I've already eaten four years' worth of pizzas in just two months.
 This IIM life no... :-/ Tchah.

So coming to priorities after pointlessly salivating again.

My bestie Meow (mentioned in an earlier long-winding post) got married today. Me being this far away, I could only spam her facebook wall with sappy messages about how much I was missing her and how life is a strange plasma custard (every bit of this is true, though). The newlyweds are obviously busy, big fat south Indian wedding after all, and I won't be able to get to her for a while. Her happiness at getting hitched has me re-evaluating my own state of affairs (no pun. Oh REALLY) and whether this commitment-phobic_extremely_sappy love lover will ever find a happily-forever-after.

Oh I'm in love all right. Right now, with the chilli pickle my insti mess provides for lunch and dinner. It's a love that will never be reciprocated, because chilli pickle is so....chilli pickle. Moving on to humans, I've never had any luck. "Love has been like catching shadows", a thoroughly pointless exercise (gives one a neck crick and the mental seasick).

I've lost count of the number of muses I have, but love? Naaaaaaaaa. Not my brand of haiku. Except for chilli pickle. I might just end up having it with the custard (no not the plasma custard, the edible yellow one) someday.

Green, oily wonder
Thoughts you render asunder
A true tongue thunder.


My kindred spirit,
We are but galactic pawns
In Cause and Effect.

You have me, I have you
On the same side
In this battle to claim
Peace and horizons
As our charted territory.

Our dreams are summer palaces.

I have you, you have me
As we watch a new sunrise
From the vantage of arms,
Yours and mine,
Entwined destiny, supine,
Opens her eyes and our hopes
In dimensions we don't yet
Know we can dream of.

My kindred spirit,
We are but blips, puppets
Who find solace in knowing
That we are not alone. 


So hi.
Officially my first blog post after the city change.
Have been wanting to post for a while, but owing to shortage of me-time, inner chime and good outer  clime, the post remained a to-be-post.

Am in the land of the Balle Balle if I were to pander to the only cliche that quite a few south Indians know about Haryana. I had to tell my grandmom that NO, Punjab and Haryana are two different states and NO, people don't always keep dancing with a turban on their heads in the midst of bright yellow mustard fields shouting KUDIYE! MUNDE! OYE! OYE! *Thank you Bollywood, thank you SO much for reinforcing such stuff in innocent people's heads.*

I had to break a few brick-solid stereotypes here too. NO, Madrasi is NOT a caste, language or community, and WE DON'T EAT CURD RICE 24/7. There are Keralites from Kerala, Tamilians from Tamil Nadu, Kannadigas from Karnataka, and so on. Well, you CAN be a Tamilian from Karnataka or some nice mix like that, but let's look at breaking the aforementioned very basic bricks before we move on to the Stereotype Wall.

Ah. The Stereotype Wall. Presenting just one SMALL segment, for you to hit your head (and other things, really your choice) against when you want to break something that needs breaking.

So basicaLy myseLf Tanya a Madrasi with very unMadrasi name my mother wanted to name me something like the Lakshmi, Veena, Nandini, Ananya but I started the baby version of ayyoooo and she maybe understood I oLways dress like I'm going to a dance performance or a tembLe these biiig beautifuL earrings and that nice biiig bindi on my fourhead oh I Loooove mehndi it's not just my hands that have them but shooshoo ayyooooo don't ask me embarrassing koschans yennyway I cannot understand youvar Hindi at aLL let's move to diskasshan of my fayyyyvourate thayir saadham with the pikkLs oh wait you poovar North Indian north of the Vindhyachalams you don't know what thayir saadham is I pitty you like anything by the name of my lord God Tirupathi Swami who I visit all the time yanyway all our men always have ash on their fourhead so devout I say it is curd rice with the pikkLs wait I can't STAND this north india food paneer paneer aLoo aLoo gobi gobi why you eat the only rottis it's just a chapathi no we eat only rice we don't eat chapathi unless we go to north india listen why you no wear bindi any of you ayyyayyyyooooo not the vegetable bindi the dot bindi you write on your forehead ayyayyoooooooooooooooooooo