I am the most peculiar creature of all.... I always want for what is not...:)

Let me quote a few day to day instances I have witnessed that stands testimony to my title.

1. My sister had come to Blore from hostel for two days. Her AIEEE entrance exam center was here. She was a hosteler for two years. So dirty plates in middle of room is culture, clothes all over bed is way of life, crumpled bedsheets is 'cool' and to top it all, her dead cells greeting me every time I take my comb is 'fun'. Now that I am err.. professional and organised (forgetting my four years of history at hostel) I cribbed fired and fired and fired her every single time. for every single thing. Now that she has gone home to my parents', I miss her. I love her despite all her shabbiness and yearn for her (yeah, dirt comes free, I understand). I need my sister when she is not, I am the most peculiar creature of all.

2. "Preeti, I am on leave tomorrow", when these heavenly words are uttered by my boss, my joy is boundless. The same joy that Obama has when Bush invites him for a dinner date, the same joy that Aiswarya Rai Bachchan has on actually 'acting' and getting appreciated, the same joy that Harbhajan has when Sreeshanth hugs him..get the joy thing now right? But when the day at office dawns, and people wait like a pack of hungry leopards to pounce and tear you with questions, document details, technical clarifications, site problems, motor ratings and the list goes on.. The balloon of joy gets deflated at an exponential rate. I need my boss when she is not, I am the most peculiar creature of all.

3. I Love the weather when it is bright and sunny. So Mr. sun shows me extra love , more and more each day. So I need to tell him NOT to be over giving. But no, Mr Sun never listens and shines till 50 deg C. Then suddenly it starts raining. Cats and dogs. My laundered clothes get a second free wash. I curse Mr Sun for betraying me. I am the most peculiar creature of all, I always want for sun, when he is not.

This post shall be updated till time eternal..

PINK

This is my first albeit meek and sincere attempt at short story writing. I would like everyone who reads this post to leave a true comment. Thanks in advance.

Maya was late. She panicked on seeing the time, cursing herself for watching a late night movie and over sleeping, also making a mental resolution never ever to do so again, at least on the day of meeting Prem. Maya and Prem were going strong for 6 years now. They started as good friends and slowly yet serenely, the friendship blossomed to an intimacy beyond imagination, they becoming soul mates each heart beating for the other, each pulse throbbing for the other. Maya had a fascination for the color pink. She lived in a posh colossal villa off the shores of Juhu, with a bay window overlooking the waves, which , she felt, always reached out to her to send a message, but receded away coyly, letting silence fill the space. Living room walls were tapered with alternate shades of shocking pink and pale pink, giving a sensual touch to the Da Vinci and Hussain pencil sketches. The couch had a soft touch of pink and glamour blue in an intricately woven fabric of jute handicraft. Her bedroom was meticulously designed having a bedecked wardrobe and a round single bed again matching in vagaries of pink. There she stood confused, what to wear, on such an important day for both her and Prem. She chose a casual pink silk blouse with beige loose pants, then fought with the mirror at different angles and elevations and changed to an off shoulder flowing gown in blood red and pink fabric design, finally settling down on a knee length sleeveless, floral pink and white frock, bought by Prem the previous year on her birthday when things were..
She then had a hasty coiffure and scurried to the kitchen to prepare Prem's favorite breakfast, scrambled eggs with a hint of mint leaves and olives. And a dashing glass of fresh orange juice. She didnt like either the eggs or the juice , but let her eyes feast upon the glow on his face, radiating innumerable feelings of love, adoration and trust. She prepared breakfast singing happily to herself the favorite foot tapping song PINK by Aerosmith. There. The door bell rang. She peeped trough the magic hole , took a deep breath and opened doors to her Prince everything. He can be classified as hot, 6 footer with a great Indian tan and eyes that shone with acuity and truth. He held in his hands a bunch of red and predominantly pink asters, the favorites of Maya. He gave her a warm hug, binding her in a bond ever strengthening with time ad cupped his hands on her chin and kissed her softly. She surrendered to him completely, silent tears of joy wetting her soft blushed pink face. They lay there in each others' arms in the living room, letting each other enjoy the pervading silence and cherishing the moment, wishing time to freeze. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, they interlocked their lip curves once again, washing away fear, loneliness and negativity, if any. They had a silent breakfast, Prem eating and Maya watching with abysmal joy. Later Prem hugged her sensing her fear of the outcome of the important appointment and kissed her forehead, silently walking her up to his porch. She had a surprise waiting on her seat. A pink teddy bear with a cupid in its hands. Her sockets welled up once again. It was a 10 mile drive to the hospital. Appointment with Dr. Radha Srinivas was fixed up a month back and every essential document for the operation was ready. Yes, Maya, like many other Indian women, was an innocent victim of breast cancer. Prem knew of this two years ago, and had stood by her, despite refusal from his parents. He never let trepidation cross the strong walls of his will and lived in hope that Maya will be perfectly fine after the mastectomy. He waited outside the operation theatre, fingers crossed for the red lamp to turn green and the news to fill him with joy.

He waited in hope...
He waited for Maya to come back to him in pink of health and spirits...
He waited...

lage raho munnabhai :)

Some people adore Gandhi. His only clothing being simplicity. His weapon being non violence. His thirst for peace. His devoted efforts to maintain umbilical cord relationship between Hindus and Muslims. His unostentatious smile which is frozen forever in the crisp tree remnants (err.. sorry if its too much for your pea brain, the author is highly shaded by PGW and her phrase “crisp tree remnants” means paper notes. Sorry for underestimating your brain to the size of pea, in case you already cracked it). Some people adore the last part most. Yeah, his smile. On crisp notes. Get the point?
Bingo, A thief broke into my home a week ago. I was as usual in under-civilized part of the country (this time in East Rajasthan, 20 km from the border). A hacksaw and a can of chloroform did the trick. He broke open through the main door. Dad was in deep sleep(mom had gone for vacating hostel for my younger sister), perhaps romancing with mom at least in dreams. Little did he know he was being chloroformed and taken the rudraksh that he was wearing tied by a gold chain and which has been running down our family for the past eight generations, cash taken from his wallet and other odd places where mom feels is for emergency use like behind the gas cylinder in kitchen, behind the mirror in the bathroom, inside the rice drum and other such equally not-so-cashy places. Then he took my dad’s third daughter, his blackberry phone along with two AC remotes and his diabetic check kit (thinking them to be mobile phones too). So it is definitely someone who knew the stuff at home. But fate has it that we cant blame it on anyone as the gardener, house keeper and cook work in shifts, so there are nearly 20 different persons every week allotted by the company.

Am not done yet. There is more. He has taken the three year old son of my neighbour, bought him lot of chocolates and biscuits and put him in the police station himself.

Am still not done. My dad after the chloroform finally gave way for his neurons to start reacting, went to the police station to lodge a complaint, only to find the DSP’s house had been looted too.

And Mr./Ms Thief, in case you are reading my blog (yeah, this incident has made the author believe that even thieves read her super famous blog L) please keep everything. Just return the rudraksh. My dad loves it. Perhaps more than me.

And if you think this is an April First Fool post, the author swears the contents are true to the best of her telephonically heard knowledge from home and is in need of comforting words, and of course, crisp tree remnants as a source of temporary solace from the shock.

Title sochne ka dimag nahin

Nowadays Preeti wakes up with the sun, arm in arm they go for a brisk morning jog to a lake nearby. Courtesy Priya, who changed me completely. How? Well anyone would, if you talked about the total lack of stamina and fitness during any process or act (well, I was talking about absence of stamina and fitness at work, what are you thinking?) So I keep myself boosted up for the 3 km jog , slapping on sleep’s face rudely and torturing my eyelids open. More than being self boosted, one person really boosted me. A girl. Age 27-29 years. Size 38 (oops sorry, I am shamelessly brazen). Red T shirt size 34. With the text “milk shake” written in white bold letters. I am straight, but am a mixture of embarrassment ( as I too am biologically a girl) sympathy (perhaps she does not have money to buy clothes and is still wearing her tenth grade T-shirt) anger and empathy in equal proportions to the other male-jogging community. So she stops her jog and catches one of the guys looking just a little below her face :0 He stutters. She blasts. He says sorry and moves on. She looks at me and says
“cha, India has got independence but still this eve teasing continues”
I tell her back “ yeah true, India has got independence and Men cant have perfectly functional hormones”.
So, To all such attention seekers- Please understand men. They have curiosity over things which they don’t have, not now not ever. You either try your wee bit not to kindle their fire, else love the attention and accept the fact that you are being looked at and cleavages are God's gift. You got it, You flaunt it. And as freebies you get all the yang eyes poring into you.
Today is International Women's Day ( not the kinda post that women will like I know) and I wish all the women realize these two things:

Stop the “save women” rant. We are not weak to be saved. You in case are being crushed by the society, its YOU who is responsible for giving them access. Be bold. Be a man :)
Men are not aliens. They definitely (at least majority) love and respect us, for being the way we are. Yes, there are some morons in men, but so are there bitches in women.

So this day can be celebrated as HAPPY HUMANS’ DAY :) Let us accept the fact that we definitely complement each other. In all walks of life.

welcome to the ad-mad show :)

I came across these interesting concepts in a few advertisements. But this made me think where these ads are actually telecast. I find most of the ads silly (like the kinds of fair ever fair and handsome etc) childish and creativity not in the least vicinity of the commercial.

Marriages are truly made in heaven. This picture is shot beautifully. The blend of concrete, humans and flora is realistic.

wish things were as simple as this Xerox machine…





come what may, our ladies wont change

I loved this one. Creativity in its true form

This was the lone solace during hostel days.. endless cups of tea and one packet of maggi.ahh.. I just remembered a few nostalgic lines from WESTLIFE, Queen of my heart , " I ll always look back as I walk away these memories will last an eternity.."

A picture is more powerful than a thousand words..

Give it a thought.Imagine two people seeing this beautiful world with your sexy eyes ... hmmmmm.

Here comes one ad with a pint of Indian masala.. Zara hatke in class from the rest.

Or there is an easier way. Bum kissing your boss 24 * 7. This is a sure slow poison, though may not be instant relief.

A reality review

So we landed up outside poornima theatre near lalbagh last Saturday. I felt like watching a Tamil movie. The last one I have seen in a theatre was dasaavathaaram , some 2.5 years back (yeah, no doubts am born a Tamilian, but still confused as to which "state" of India my loyalty should lie as many states have equally sheltered me). My friends told me Tamil Padam was screening there. But lo.. to our disappointment it was some new Vishal movie ( err.. I hardly know the actor so did wanna spoil my whole weekend grumbling about the lost money and time over a not-so-familiar faced movie I just realise I have not mentioned about the actress, but trust me, in Tamil movies it no longer matters). So we were hoping against hope hopen to get tickets for MY NAME IS KHAN and we got the breakthrough :) yeah we were a group of six lucky bums :). SRK has actually acted in the movie, and not his usual choco boy self. I still cant believe it is the product of a Karan Johar creation after KANK and other family so called sentiment stuff. It just goes way way over my head. Kajol is stunning and you keep mumbling a secret prayer to god that he should imbibe at least 10% of kajolness in you when you are forty. Story line- Powerful. The actual trauma and pain felt by Muslims post 9/11 cannot be better depicted. SRK's asperger syndrome wants you to have some of it, to make a world a better place to live in (well, think over it, it makes sense). Kajol's role in the second half got irritating and tit-for-tat attitude kind. But SRK was paradoxical to her. Costumes- Simple yet elegant. I loved SRK's reebok shoes :) On the whole, if you are in a not so crazy and party mood and want a change in you (I mean it, this movie has made me 'think global, act local') go for it :) So my judgement, its not a movie, but A REALITY.

Meet my valentine:)

Yeah.. okay valentine's day is round the corner and the title promises all lovey dovey stuff inside. After all,love is LOVE, lets all talk about love.. Abinaya's this post made my eyes well.. Thanks for liking me so much. I really am spell bound at the small incidences you remember that we shared and more honored that some of them have left a deep impact on your personality. Cheers gurl, love you:):) Now let me write about a person who means the world to me, today and forever. And I would like this chain to pass on. Write about one person who really means a lot to you. Dedicate it to the spirit of Valentine :) spirit of love :)

Yeah, I love, respect, adore,admire and sometimes even get mad at this person. Well, I met him a year ago. Tall Dark Handsome . Rather you can say he was THE DREAM GUY. We were sitting together in the Human Process lab (click here for further details of HPL). Where I was the chatter box (bragging butt grin:)) and others were obedient listeners. One post lunch session I was unusually quite, then this guy spoke up to me first time," Hey preeti, why so silent,? so so unlikely of you. Come on speak something." I started speaking to him then. About day-to-day happenings. About people. about sex. About my passion for buying err.. chalo SENSOR :):) about emotions. about parents. about Obama. about road side paani puri. About US. What I felt towards him.

He has always been there for me. Be it going to KFC or leaving me to the bus stop to go home or visiting an orphanage or anything. I want a book and I get it, I want one salwar, I get two. I need love, and he reciprocates with so much that my heart aches for excess love.Unadulterated love. Love as for a friend , well wisher and a brother. Perhaps god has not given me a real one as I have HIM. Bhai, I cannot thank you enough. HUGS :):)well, I just remembered I have already bragged about my bro earlier here.

And yeah, HAPPY VALENTINES' DAY TO YOU ALL :):) Well, Preeti is never ON time, she is well in advance :)