http://www.wired.co.uk/news/archive/2013-08/09/liquid-jewel

Pretty cool stuff

Time and time again it comes down to this. Stuffing our faces and then eating some cake.
Other problems fade away gradually. From "I think I am going to be cut off" or "I still haven't heard back from that job app" and "I'm not sure if I am over him yet" it comes down to "These slices of cake are smaller now. It's not value for money any more, we have to go elsewhere" and "These cupcakes are slightly dry in the middle but these ones aren't."

Good friendships and sugar rushes. One year of Masters has been almost survived.

Almost.

Now to survive a month more of being an intern. However the following lunch conversation gives me hope that behind the formal emails (no smileys!!) and ties are real people.

"How do you find this weather? You said you always find it cold here."
Me-"I'm really enjoying it."
"But it's so hot!"
Me-"But I am really enjoying it."
"It's a heat wave. People are dying."
Me-"I don't see why"

There is a moment of silence and in my head I tell myself "Good job. Another chapter of the what not to do at work manual".

I stare out the window at the fleet of planes and tell myself to eat in silence and just look at the planes.

Then the conversation moves on to kids who died while swimming. Were there currents, how did they die, did they not know how to swim too well?
Another one of the guys contributes a story about an acquaintance he used to sail with. He ate a lot. ALmost choked. Then he tried to swim out to meet the boat and almost drowned even though he knew how to swim.
A brief pause and then a rejoinder,"He was an awful guy really. Wouldn't have been much of a loss."

Musings post Boston Marathon Incident

My 8 year old cousin looks at my room with grave interest. It seems like she is making an evaluation. I watch her, waiting for her to pass judgement with.. I think the word I want to use here is trepidation. She is eight. She will not tactfully phrase her sentence, but tell me I live like a pig if that is what she thinks.

I spent the half the day cleaning and hiding things to make my room appropriately PG-13 in honour of this visit. 

"Hmm." She looks at me and points at the wall where I have put all my post cards that friends sent me, stubs from train tickets and boarding passes, a picture of a dinosaur. "Who is that?". There is only one picture of a person on the wall. But stalling for time, I go,"Which one?". She points and looks at me calmly. My question is too stupid to even dignify with a response. There is, after all, only one picture of a person on the wall. "It's my friend," I say. And then, because that doesn't really explain anything, I continue.

Why would I have a picture of only one friend pinned up. I do have more than one friend. Why is the picture printed not on glossy photo paper but on what looks suspiciously like newsprint. Why am I taking so long to answer.

If she is old enough to be thinking these questions, she is probably old enough for the truth. And in this world we are living in, I cannot protect her from these truths. I sigh inside.

"She was a good friend of mine. She was killed in a terrorist attack." 

My favorite asshole

Today was a sunny day in London. In London, a sunny day is an occasion to celebrate. Sitting by the riverside, we've managed to reach the bar at happy hour. Sipping on colorful drinks we are bringing each other up to date on everything that has happened in each other's lives in the fifteen hours since we last met.

I'm telling K about the midnight birthday cake and drinks for a friend at my place.
"Yeah so that happened. I almost fell asleep before it but it happened."
K-"Oh yeah. I forgot about that. How was it?"
"It was just four of my favorite people. So it was nice."
And then, because I am mad at one of them.
"No it was one asshole and three of my favorite people."
K- "But let's be real. He's your favorite asshole."
Me-"Yeeeah.........."
Some deep reflection and then,"Actually. No. My second favorite asshole. I'm my favorite asshole."

Last day of term. The victorious feeling brought on by us making it through ten weeks of bad weather, a terrible professor and way too much work. Alive. And reasonably sane. Or atleast, not significantly less so than when we started term.

We pick up wine and a pizza. We come home.
Me- "Let's take the elevator up. Part of the celebration." (normally I conscientiously use the stairs except when injured)
We get in. The door shuts.
K- "What if we get stuck in the elevator?"
Given our recent run of luck, combined with recent elevator history of our building, this is a possibility with a high probability.
Me- "We have food and drink. And we have my laptop for entertainment. We could survive here for days."
K- "What if we need to pee."
There is a moment's silence and thought.
But nothing will rain on our sunshine.
"We will drink up the wine and pee in the bottle."
Problem solved. Let the festivities begin.

"I look like shit, I feel like shit and I probably smell like shit too, given that the field was covered in it."

Hurting yourself at football can be humbling.
Especially when while you are lying on the ground with your eyes shut, trying to not cry or pass out, you can hear the boys whisper about whether they should warn you to not roll to your right while writhing. There is dog poop on the right.
And then halfway home, when you tell your friend to leave you there to die because you are too tired to limp any more, your friend decides that you are light enough to be carried home the rest of the way and scoops you up and marches down the street. And you, while being carried down the street like a baby, being a stubborn ass of sorts, explain to passers-by that it's only because you hurt your knee.

I hope this will be funny once the pain recedes. 

In India the sentence 'we talked about the weather.' means that you are describing a boring conversation.
You run out of things to talk about, you exhaust every single possible avenue to take the conversation in, and you say, 'It's so hot these days' or something similar.
If you're witty you say 'I'm not sure if this is sweat or if this is me slowly melting.' The other person usually gives you a dirty look and walks away at this point.
Or responds with a 'Yeaaah. so hot! hmm. yeahhh' and then looks around for new people to talk to.
When describing why you can't possibly meet a boy again, how extremely ineligible he is for more of your attention, you say 'But we were so bored. We even talked about the weather." Your roommate/lab partner/whoever-you-talk-to-about-boys(or girls if you're into girls) nods gravely. She/he understands. Enough has been said to illustrate the level of boredom. "THE WEATHER?! Really? My my."

In London.
It is a different story.
The most visited window on your browser is the bbc weather forecast. 

Panicked email from mother.
"No spiky ends, no part of the scalp showing."
In response to the simple "I think I will get a haircut"
Another one a few minutes later clarifies that crew cuts are also not acceptable.

Last week, she rings me up on skype. I'm in school but I take it. 
Wave at my friends mother. See the lovely skyline mother. 
"Why are you studying? Are you going to fail?"
The logic apparently being that she has never seen me bother to study so I must be failing.

One must give up trying to be a better kid.

Being convinced to buy a phone

Listen buy a phone.

Why? I don't see the point.

What if there's an emergency?

Then I'll use my friend's phone.

What if he isn't around?

He's always around.

Moment's silence while I process what I just said and withdraw my answer. She knows that I talk and later think about what I said and I will want to change my answer so that she doesn't start on the tangent of why this friend might always be around.
I withdraw my statement.

So buy a phone.

No I still don't really see why I need a phone. 

What if you get mugged? Stranded without money.

Why would a mugger leave me with a phone and no wallet?

There is silence at the other end. 

Sometimes it is hard to have a five hour time difference with your family.

Sometimes this is because you cannot call them when they are not asleep but also not at work and therefore you cannot find out how your hospitalized grandparent is.

But sometimes it's simply because after you drag yourself out of bed after a night of partying just to skype them at a time which suits them, the first thing they say when they look at your sleepy face is "You look even stupider than usual."

When you start dreaming about buying shorts, even though you are a person who hates shopping, you know you have been away from the tropical home country for too long.
It is snowing here.
As mom would say, "It's a good thing. Your tan will fade." And then I would     grumble,"Nothing wrong with a tan mom, we're Indians." And in my head I would think that we're the color of caramel and more often that not, this would take me on a tangential line of thought. Caramel pudding. Chocolate Mousse. Blueberry Cheeeeeesecaaaake.
My mom does complain that I space out in the middle of too many conversations. 

Email from home

_ passed away. Call her.

Still haven't figured this one out. 

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."
That's how Rebecca starts.
A line I had probably never appreciated fully till today.



Last night I went to my flat in S*******e again. I was crossing the parking lot when something invisible grabbed my collar and pulled me backwards. For a second I was so scared, but then I sensed that it was you. So I laughed.
And you appeared.
And for a while everything was right with the world.

You even made me clean some things, making excuses that your ghost form did not allow you to do it. Prankster.

Typical you. Enjoying your ghostlyness with more joy and enthusiasm than most of us manage for our lives. We caught up. Like we always did(do?) after a year of our unintersecting lives have gone by. Your brows knit together, listening like everything I say or do is important. An expression I did not know I remembered so well.

It was an afternoon(night?) well spent dude. Thanks for dropping by.



It was almost a pity that I had to wake up.

The first two days of university were almost like a 'what-not-to-do-in-the-first-two-days-of-uni' manual.
I missed orientation. Because I am disoriented in space and time.
I missed the welcome party. Because I am lazy.
I did not knock on the other doors in my flat and say hi. Because I am socially awkward.
I ate only sandwiches. Refer to welcome party point.
I spent most of my conversations wondering who I was talking to instead of participating intelligently. Because my brain cannot handle being introduced to more than one dozen people per day.

Things are looking up though.
Every appointment that I mis-schedule and miss, I cancel formally.
I have made it to one party. Even though I was late because I fell asleep before it.
I eat cooked food. Mostly cooked by my roommates. But also sometimes by me. And I have found out who I live with.
I attend classes. Not necessarily my classes. I still don't know which ones those are. But I attend some classes.
And I live near here so life can't possible be too bad

I'm reading in the bus today. Wondering if the sweaty smell is the guy next to me or..... I was on the way home to take a bath. A whole day of overseeing repairs could make you sweaty. Fan repairs. Haha.
My phone beeps. I perform a complicated manouvre involving head, bag, book and phone in pocket in limited space. The text is simple.
Yes or no?
I blink. Then feeling very positive inspite of everything i text back a 'yes'. And for good measure add a 'What was the question?'. Thankfully my old roommate is used to my conversational nonsense and explains the question to me.
'Did you get the parcel?'
Oh. The one I have been begging for for only the last ten weeks.
Sheepish reply-"I haven't been home in 24 hours. Don't know if I have received any mail."

Reminds me of another time. I receive a text from my brother. 'Pick a number between one to twelve.'
So I get excited. Do vague probability sums in my head and text a number to him. Then I wait for a long ten minutes and send another 'Now what?'.
The curt reply. "It wasn't a magic trick. I was choosing a sample question paper to solve."
Such cruel disappointment.

blue is the color. and the mood?

First ChelseaFC match of the season. Sunday. 6pm in India. At around 5.30 my aunt feels the need to go to the mall one last time before she returns to her small town.
We run to the mall, pick up a t-shirt and run back. Some sort of record timing, even with a break to grab some street food. I can still make second half.
The moment I sit on the sofa my mom comes in with a demand that I go buy dinner.
"I want forty-five minutes. Leave me alone."
For whatever reason my mom and my aunt plonk down beside me.
Sometimes their chatter breaks through my invisible barrier of sound.
"This guy is wearing a monkey cap!"
"Oh, yeah! Why?"
"Just like a Bengali"
"Why? Is he cold?"
"It's not a monkey cap. He had a concussion once."
"Ohh. If he had a heart attack why does he wear a monkey cap?"
"He had a concussion."
"These English medics are so great. That black guy who had a heart attack on the field, he was clinically dead for a few minutes."
For a minute I'm wondering how she confused Cech with a black man. Then the commentary is back on.
"He should wear a helmet. Why aren't his ears covered? Did you know he could die if his ears are hit hard enough?"
"I think he'd die of the heat if he covered his ears. He is playing football."
.
.
.
.
"Where is the Chelsea goalkeeper? How come we haven't seen him yet?"

Mars

The curiosity rover landed on Mars on the 5th. Therefore the new header. MARSscape. Whoo!

There are days when I would kill for fifteen minutes of uninterrupted time. Literally.
I would probably settle for five without getting my hands bloody. But in a family with one deaf mom who can't hear her phone ring and one super-busy-semi-celebrity-scientist-dad who refuses to buy a cellphone and gets atleast one call every half an hour, it is very hard being the jobless one cum telephone operator.

Attempts to lie on the sofa and watch the olympics were thwarted by my brother threatening to spit on me if I took up too much space.

All I want to do is hear one spanish conversation beyond the starting Hola!

a muddled rainy goodbye inside my head

It hit me on a rainy afternoon.
It hit me like a swift punch in the guts.
Like a cold clammy hand seizing you from behind.

I stuck my head out of the auto and let the rain soak me. Distracting me for a moment as the delightfully cold droplets slipped into my eyes, behind the contact lenses and the world went blurry for a second.
I blinked furiously as I attempted to focus on the familiar roads.

I had grown up here. Cycling like a madman, stealing guavas from irate neighbours. Walking down the road calmly, so covered in mud that the crowds in the street parted to let me pass, after an afternoon of football in the rain. The disregard that only familiarity can bring.

It hit me when he asked me which one of my guitars I would take with me. I stared at him for a moment.

Then comprehension dawned. Like the first ray of light breaking through the heavy shroud of cumulo-nimbus on a monsoon morning.

It was time, to pack up what little I call my own, apart from these streets and this city. It was time to leave.

 

That's it. I have been trying to write a seriously touching, tear-inducing, total literary piece of a post.
And all I can think of is my brother throwing a capo at me after I try to sing a song, realise it's not in my natural key and thus alternate between screechily high and ghoulishly low. I am a one-woman orchestra of dischord.
I then hit my brother's friend, ask him to hit my brother and run away before anyone hits me.
I then finish dinner feeling hungrier than when I started thanks to Masterchef Australia.
So this is all you get to read. *lopsided insane grin*