How to Kill 3 Hours (Alone )at Bangalore Airport

1. Walk really slowly with your luggage to the check-in counter. Like in Slow-Mo.
2. While checking in, chat with the cute guy at the counter, flirt a bit, have some fun. ( fun is a subjective word, and the people in line behind you do not think of this as fun. irritating, boring, funless people, i tell you.)
3. Go through security check, and insist that even though all your luggage is cleared, each piece be opened, and each item micro-analysed.
4. Call up people you haven't spoken to in centuries (ok fine, decades will also do) and chat like you were their best friend and they were the last person on the earth to chat with.
5. Find a nice quiet corner with a plug-point nearby, plug in your laptop, and study SAP FI/CO for upcoming test on monday. (to get ALL of the above is an achievement and takes atleast an hour to accomplish!)
6. End up listening to, word by word, the conversation that the chick sitting behind you is having with her boyfriend. (named saurabh. the boyfriend, not the chick. the chick had an awwwful day becase she had nine bags - can u imagine saurabh, i had NINE bags!! and... well, it was a long conversation)
7. Read your sisters blog, and get a slap (virtual) on your face.
8.Sit like a zombie, in shock at what you just read.

Until next time...

GoodBye, My Love

I hereby give you up, for a greater cause.
sigh...



Until next time...

Limits

Why is it that people don't know where there limits end? Over the last 2 months I have been around people who really don't know when is a good time to stop. Every person has a tolerance limit, and while joking this should be kept in mind. And just because I am quiet, I take your jokes sportingly, I don't retaliate, doesn't mean i can't. I just choose not to, for it is beneath my dignity to fall to your levels. Yes, as friends we are allowed to make jokes at others expenses, but to a certain limit. Overly personal comments regarding families, or repeating the same shitty joke again and again and again does tend to get boring, if not irritating. It only reflects what your mentality is, and sick would be putting it mildly.
So, losers, grow up and get a life.
Oh, and a better sense of humour, while you are at it.

Until next time...

I Am...

Until next time...

Random Questions That I have No Answers For.

1. When will I get out of Bangalore.
2. Where in the world’s fuck is Subodh Mallya.
3. Where in the world s fuck is Nikhil Fernandes.
4. Will I be able to attend Hardik’s sister’s wedding.
5. When will I attend my own wedding.
6. Will I even have a wedding.
7. When will I be rich enough to buy a Fiat 500.
8. When will kiki stop pestering me with really absurd (so absurd, they can even classify as bizarre) ideas.
9. How will I get home from the airport at 1 in the night.
10. Is mango milk shake fattening or healthy.
11. Is mango milk shake, had for lunch with a plain veg sandwich, healthy.
12. Is mango milk shake ever healthy.
13. Why does it rain everyday in Bangalore.
14. Why am I sleepy in class – strike that, I know the answer to that.
15. How do u strike out words in Blogger, like u can in Word.
16. Why can I not sleep in class.
17. When will I stop sitting in classes, and start working.
18. Why can i not comment on Psy's Blog.
19. Why do these ppl in my class have so many doubts.
20. Why cant I think of any more questions!


Until next time…

To be hanged till Death.

Is it enough?
No.
But it is a closure.
Of sorts.

Until next time...

Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi...

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi,
Ki har khwahish pe dam nikle.
Har ek pal dar dar ke jiye,
Ki kahin kisi ki nazar na lage.

Chuuna hai aasmaan,
Panaa hai har ek makaam.
Kya poori hogi har ek khwahish,
Milengi khushiyan tamaam?

Kehta hai dil, hazaaron khwahishen hai,
Par chahne se kya hota hai.
Kaun jane vhidhi ka vidhaan,
Likha hai jo, wohi milta hai.

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi,
Ki har khwahish pe dam nikle.
Jo bhi ho, dil yahi mane
Ki har khwahish poori hogi.

Until next time...

How.

People think I crib too much, worry too much, complain too much.

How do I explain to them that I used to be a carefree, cheerful, not-a-worry-in-the-world girl who saw the world with rose-tinted glasses.

How do I make them understand that when I was like that, I had to become like this when the world was pulled out from under my feet; when the rose-tinted glasses shattered into a million pieces.

How do I explain to them why I am what I am, how I became what I am.

How do I make them realize that this is not what I wanted to be, ever.

How do I make see that this is a defense mechanism that I have built over the years to prevent getting any more unpleasant surprises.

How do I convince them that if you anticipate the worst and then getting something that’s not so bad, you are actually protecting yourself from the hurt of getting the worst.

How do I convey that if you have been hurt so badly, that you almost shattered, and you are still putting the pieces together, then one more tiny issue also feels like all that you put together is all going to fall apart all over again.

I don’t.

I can’t.

They won’t understand.

They can’t.

Until next time…

Momentous

Momentous events have taken place since the last time I blogged. I have got another job, I have moved out of home, I have enjoyed living out of home, I have cried bcause I’m living out of home.

Today, now, I miss home.

Badly.

Until next time…

Why Women Are Ninjas

A debate has been raging on for quite some time between me and a colleague, on whether Women can be Ninjas or no. His-royal-sexist-highness insists it’s a no.
Okay. Women can’t be Ninjas, you say. Fine. I agree. You know why? Because, Women ARE born Ninjas.
All of us.
Well, atleast the Indian ones.
Men have to undertake training to become a Ninja, but we women, we are born with the skills.
A Ninja is defined as “a covert agent or mercenary specializing in unorthodox arts of war. The functions of the ninja include espionage, sabotage, infiltration, and assassination, as well as open combat in certain situations.”
Now apply this definition to a woman, your average everyday woman.
Start from when she blossoms into a young teenage girl, covertly trying to win over her crush-of-the-season by unorthodox war methods like making sure he sees her competition with another rival boy, or wearing his favorite color (which she found out after a lot of snooping, and that too discretely)etc. As a wife, she infiltrates her husband’s home, and secretly plots various schemes of sabotage against her enemies (oh, I mean in-laws) so that she is accepted as the perfect bahu. As a mother she is a pro at espionage to make sure that when her teenage son says he is going to his friends house to study overnight, that’s exactly where he goes. She takes on the role of an assassin when her house is attacked by various dangerous creatures like cockroaches and rats and the likes. And open combat? Dude. Let anyone say anything ill about her errant husband or reprobate son, or abusive father or shrewd mother-in-law. She’ll take to arms and vehemently defend that person as if he were an Angel! Another form of open combat is when she sets her mind on something, anything, and things do not proceed that way. (Any husband will vouch for this one!) Hasn’t she covered all traits of a Ninja, in a lifetime, and that too without any training?
Men, on the other hand, just eat, sleep, fart, burp and talk/think about sex. Not very ninja-ish if you ask me.
Until next time…

Hope and a Second Chance

Hope.

And a second chance.

That's all we need to give ourselves.

For if we have those two things, we pretty much have the world. Hope gives you dreams, aspirations, and a sense that you may just be able to achieve them. And a second chance, well, it gives you a second chance at that dream if you make a mistake somewhere along the way.

Imagine this: a life without hope and a second chance. A life without the option of making a mistakes – many mistakes – and saying sorry, learning from your mistakes and moving on. Even The God's make mistakes. Prime example- Shiva granting Bhasmasur his boon and then running to save his own life. He never gave up on himself (Shiv-jee, not Bhasmasur. Bhasmasur died)as a failed God. Then who are we, mere mortals, to give up on ourselves? To deny us that second chance?

It needn't be pointed out here that a mistake is an action committed, unmindful of its consequences. A deliberate action, which causes a certain expected reaction can't be classified as a mistake. A bike accident on a slippery road is a mistake; a drunk driver is not.

So we were awful once upon a time. We were mean to someone. We did something that we now realize we shouldn't have.

It's okay.

Don't murder yourself for it. (Literally; and figuratively!)

The realization that it was a mistake, that it is never to be done again, that it hurt someone and is hence bad, the repentance for that mistake are all punishments enough. The human mind is a fickle one. Specially one that has a guilty conscience. It eats away at the happiness slowly, leaving behind an empty frame of flesh and bones. Don't let that happen to you. The world is harsh enough on us, we need not help it by being harsh upon ourselves too.

I'm not saying that we should be arrogant and do whatever we feel like, and then say – oops, sorry! What I'm saying is that when you realize that you have committed a mistake, forgive yourself. For if you don't forgive yourself, how will the world? Understand and face the consequence of the mistake, for every mistake has a consequence. Learn from it, vow never to do it again, but also give yourself a second chance. Hope. Dare. Dream. Again. A new start, a fresh beginning. It's never too late until your dead. And you are not. So live. Again. Breathe. Deeply. Forgive yourself, and move on.

The more excess baggage we carry, the more burdensome life becomes for us. Life already has a 100 burdens thrown on us, don't add to that. Liberate yourself of all that you possibly can, and grab that chance, that second chance, at happiness.

As I said to AJ, As with Mutual Funds, so with life: Past performance is no guarantee for future performance…

Until next time…

Aal Izz Well… All Over Again.

The first time I read this, I was in school and it was put up on the notice board. I still remember getting goose bumps after reading it that day. Thereafter I have read it on and off, but every time I read it, it hits me. It makes me want to ruffle up my feathers, draw my chest out, and sound the war cry.

Bring it on.

I'm not going to quit.

I'm putting it up here for a friend who is going through a tough time, one who loves poetry.

Don't Quit.

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When funds are low, and debts are high,
And you want to smile, but have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when thins seems worse, that you must not quit.

I read it every day now, and it helps me.

If nothing, it helps me feel better.

Hope it does something for you too.

Until next time…

Once Again

All I need is a hug.

A big, warm, long, bear hug.

One that says, don't worry: all is well.

One that gives me a sense of security in this uncertain world.

One, that makes me feel. If only for those 2 minutes, that there is no problem that can't be solved.

Give me some sunshine…
Give me some rain…
Give me another chance,
I want to grow up once again…

That apart, 3 Idiots: a must watch.

Not only for all engineering students, but for all human beings.

Until next time…

Happy Birthday

So much to say, but the words don't flow;
A whole journey to complete, but nowhere to go;
Look at this irony called life, Little joys in exchange for so much strife;
Shattered dreams like broken glass, no flowers; just an empty vase;
When will the clouds part, when will the sun shine;
When will that elusive happiness be mine.

Happy Birthday to me.

Until next time…

Wish List

My birthday is coming up, yes, again, and for all those who want to give me something, for once I'll make your life simple. You need not rack your brains like every other year to think of what to give me.

Here's my wish list.

1. 5 new, good SRK releases this year
   
2. Annihilation of all cheaters in the world, specially like the ones who con gullible young women like me
   
3. My own train on the Western Railway that doesn't leave till I board it
   
4. Books that have Titles like "How to lose 20 kgs in 2 months, & Stay That Way" or "How to get your dream job & retain it" or even better, "how to travel everyday to andheri from South bombay in 1 piece & reach office on time"
   
5. The brand new pair of spectacles that I lost within 3 days of getting them (pink; pretty; bold)
   
6. More breakfasts at Leopold's with same / similar company
   
7. A portfolio that's in the Green
   
8. Age Reversal Medicines for my parents
   

Well, doesn't that make life simple for you? Just take your pick and make me happy!

Until next time…

On Demand

Damn.

I can't write on demand.

Been wanting to write since when, but nothing happens inside of me that I can translate into words.

I hate this dependence.

How the hell will I ever write a complete book!

Until next time…

Shit Happens

So I'm having a really bad day. I'm all tired and exhausted after work, and am ready to collapse after I trudge along for 25 minutes to the station with two, mind you – two, very heavy bags. I reach platform 5 for my regular 7.04 Churchgate Fast. I wait for about 2 minutes and when it's 7.03 and the lady sitting on the roof decides that now is a good time to announce that "platform krmank paanch pe aani waali local churchgate ke liye tej local hai. Ye local aaj platform paanch ke badle platform teen pe ayegi. Yatriyon ko hone wali asuvidha ke liye khed hai."

Right.

So I start running again, with two, mind you- two, very heavy bags to get to platform three, along with half of the city's population jostling to get there before me. A sidestep here – if you've ever travelled by the local trains of Bombay you would have noticed that the regular travelers stand at pre-decided places, everyday, and jump onto the train as it pulls in and before it completely halts. That's the reason they were jostling to get there as the train in question was already pulling into the platform. Anyways. Back to my story. I didn't bother jostling. Well, I couldn't. I just ran as if my backside was on fire and got to the platform just as the train halted.

One tiny detail that the lady sitting on the roof forgot to mention was that the Ladies First Class does not come at the same place on Platform Three as it does on Platform Five. I realized this belatedly as the train halted. I had two options: I could either get into the Non-Ladies First Class (I don't know what else to call it – General First Class? Gent's Firs Class? Whatever) or I could trudge back to Platform Five and wait 10 minutes for another train and get into the Ladies First Class.

No points for guessing what I did – any pea-brain could make that decision.

So I got into the General/Non-Ladies/Gent's/Whatever First Class and was lucky enough to get a seat (non-window, which I would have got for sure in the Ladies First Class and which was the main reason I wanted to travel in that compartment. I mean it's not as if men bite or something – Well, not all). Exhausted I wished that the fast train which thought it was a slow train but was actually moving at the speed of a bullock-cart would soon get the epiphany that it was actually a fast train and move at speeds suitable to that of a fast train. Somehow the train's wavelength and my wavelength didn't really match, and it crawled across Bombay.

And then I saw a friend.

An old, very good, long lost, I'm too busy with my work to meet you friend.

Catching up with friends is always refreshing, and what made it even more refreshing for me was that one, I wanted to catch up with this particular person since a very long time, and two, the updates that he gave me about his life.

He made me forget my horrible day, made me smile for a long time after we parted, and even carried one of my heavy bags! (Like a true friend, I must say)

Shit happens. And sometimes good shit happens. And well, as rightly said, it ought to be good if it's after 25 years of constipation!

So touch wood. And may the shit keep happening. : )

Until next time…

Will

There is no will.

To do anything.

No will to talk.

No will to smile.

No will to blink.

No will to even to get up and eat something.

I blink and breathe because it's an automated process, I have to do nothing, it happens on its own.

I just sit and stare in space.

Blink.

Breathe.

And wonder.

What the hell am I doing in office on a Saturday!

Until next time…

Clipped

The wings have been clipped, the freedom has been curbed.

The bird has been caged, not a sound anyone heard.

All that remains as evidence of something that-once-was,

Is a free-falling feather, slowly flittering across.

It falls on the ground, gets soaked in the wet mud.

The epitome of the biggest breakage, and not even a thud.

A freedom lost, a spirit broken, a heart that's down in despair.

The world goes on, and so does life, for no one seems to care.

Until next time…

P.S. I Love You

So I finally saw it.

I remember seeing the book at a bookstore years ago.

I remember wanting to read it, but never picking it up ever and actually reading it.

I remember seeing the promos of the movie when it released a few years later.

I remember wanting to watch it, but never buying tickets and actually watching it.

Because I have a death-phobia thingi.

What happens when someone dies? When that someone was your entire life. How do you move on? As Holly said, how do you breathe?

What do you when u lose the only thing that mattered in your life? The one that changed life as you knew it. The one who was irreplaceable.

The entire idea of someone dying on me freaks me out.

How, I mean how can life just go on?

News flash: it does.

Whether you like it or not, whether you want it to or not.

Someone told me that death is actually the destination that we're to get to after the journey called life. It is not the end, it is a beginning. Of another journey.

That's all fine when you're the person who died. But what if you're the one who's someone died. The one who got left behind? The one who still looks out for someone when she smells a certain food? The one those whose eyes moisten when she hears a certain song? The one who just can't breathe without a certain someone? The one who is left behind.

Alone.

There are a lot of people who lose someone in the blink of an eye. There are a lot of people who lost someone while you were reading this. Someone somewhere loses someone every second. There are a lot of people who are alone.

This is for all of them.

"The thing to remember is: If we're all alone, then we're together in that too." - Patricia in P.S. I Love You.

Until next time…