Just in case you guys are expecting a post from me this week, I might as well tell you that its not going to happen. Blame it on 'Hillary-for-President'. His never-ending supply of ludicrous comments and ideas have (despite myself) trapped me into responding to him with the utmost disdain and sarcasm I can muster.
Not that I'm pissed - no way! I've never been this rude to a complete stranger and the experience is wonderfully liberating. Plus, I take comfort in the thought that Veronica believes he is actually a brillaint genius (ok, maybe that's a tautology), who is just enjoying taking our trip (as much as we're enjoying taking his). So, if you want to read about what I've been up to, check out the comments on all three of our sites, and feel free to add your own (we are running out of ammo).
Oh yeah, and I guess no one is reading my actual posts anyway, so this way, everyone is happy! On that note, I'm off to write another one of my nasty comments...
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Thursday, April 20, 2006
At Barista
Final exams are 3 short days away, and guess what I'm doing (apart from updating my blog)? That's right, catching up on gossip at the cafe 5 minutes away.
Its always like this. The three musketeers (Veronica, Jezebel, and yours truly) decide to form study groups. Jezebel and I decide to get a head-start on the studying...but five minutes later, we're suddenly hungry and dying of thirst (which takes an hour to quench), so we decide to be good-samaritans and wait until Veronica gets to our room. An hour later, Veronica storms in, ranting that we aren't studying and what are we doing waiting for her, she'd been counting on us blah blah blah (sorry V)...and we skulk out of the room, feeling mildly guilty.
We all pile into an auto-rickshaw a few minutes later (after haggling with the moronic auto-driver), and arrive at Priya Complex. We are about to head of to Barista, when Veronica demands a Kebab. "I haven't fucking eaten anything all day and I'm starving", she announces. Now, what kind of friends would we be if we ignored her hungry appeals? We march off to Zaika's (the cheapest Mughlai food joint in Priya), and sit down, determined to help our friend in need.
The waiter comes over and hands us three menus, and, staring at the cursive writing, we start feeling hungry too. Before we know it, we have huge platters of food in front of us, which we are attacking with ravenous appetites (at first) and grim determination (when we are fit to burst). After another hour and a half (the Indian sun has long set), we waddle over to Barista, ready to hit the books.
After carefully deliberating on what coffee to order, we finally settle down, lugging our serious looking books and photocopies onto the delicate wooden tables.
Before I know it, my towering latte is over, I'm sucking on ice with my straw, and I'm super hungry (as you may gather by now, I live for food). I look up to check if anyone else seems distracted. Veronica is looking at me through her camera-phone lens and the Kimchee Queen (if she has braved our company) is languidly blowing out her cigarette smoke. Only Jezebel is valiantly fighting her natural lethargy, busily reading and highlighting some dreadfully theoretical text.
"Hey, does anyone get what a sthayibhava is?", Veronica asks in exasperation. Jezebel perks up and starts to explain at length the intricacies of Indian aesthetics. "See, in vyabhicari bhavas, the feelings are just physical, whereas in a sthayibhava, feelings come from our personalities", J explains eagerly to a bunch of blank faces. "This is so stupid", pipes in Veronica. I nodd absently while thinking about whether I should go ahead and buy that chicken sandwich.
"Do I have a super fast metabolism or just tape-worm...?" I'm wondering, glancing down at my watch to check the time. It's 10:30 pm. We left the campus at 6 pm. Its turned out just as always. "When will we ever learn?" I ask myself, smiling at the hopelessness of our non-existent study-sessions.
"Hey, hold that pose!" Veronica says as I hear the camera-phone clicking my picture.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Going to America
Exactly one month from today, I am going to go to the country everyone hates to love (or loves to hate) - The United States of America. Yes, I am going to be one of those Indians.
Over the past couple of years, I have seen many close friends and family (my sister, Kitty Kate) go off to the States, ostensibly to study but really, to start a whole new life there. Before they all left (weirdly enough, they all left the same year, within a few months of each other), I recall one evening when KK (my sister) and a friend (Mr. Prissy Pants) were hanging out in our apartment, talking about what it was that we were looking forward to about the States. All of us came to one unanimous subject - the food.
Now, I know this sounds odd. After all, we all know that American food is hardly of the Cordon bleu variety. When I told Veronica about this, she wrinkled up her pert little nose and said "My country has the shittiest food in the world - everyone knows American food sucks!"
I suppose our fascination with American food comes more from Hollywood than from actual experience. I always wondered, for example, how it would feel to casually eat out of those oh-so-hip Chinese take-out boxes. Hollywood stars always handle their chopsticks with such panache.
The other thing me and my friends ached to do, was to eat one of those "floppy pizzas" (as we termed them). You know the kind - the ones that are so huge and thin that they flop over when you pick them up (think Joey in Friends). And we had to do the bucket-of-ice-cream-in-front-of-the-TV-thing. I love how these svelte, gorgeous women casually open their gigantic freezers and take out a generous bucket of ice-cream (they would never scoop it out, oh no), settle into a couch and eat it with an absent-minded, languorous air (spoon poised tantalizingly mid-air). Sheer heaven (and envy)!
The final thing-to-do on our agenda, was to buy a hot-dog from a hot-dog stand. This was the only thing I didn't do last summer (when I visited my sis). But hey - there's always this summer. Which brings me back to the start. Summer. Ice-cream. Hot-dogs. Floppy pizzas. And its all only a month away.
Exactly one month from today, I am going to go to the country everyone hates to love (or loves to hate) - The United States of America. Yes, I am going to be one of those Indians.
Over the past couple of years, I have seen many close friends and family (my sister, Kitty Kate) go off to the States, ostensibly to study but really, to start a whole new life there. Before they all left (weirdly enough, they all left the same year, within a few months of each other), I recall one evening when KK (my sister) and a friend (Mr. Prissy Pants) were hanging out in our apartment, talking about what it was that we were looking forward to about the States. All of us came to one unanimous subject - the food.
Now, I know this sounds odd. After all, we all know that American food is hardly of the Cordon bleu variety. When I told Veronica about this, she wrinkled up her pert little nose and said "My country has the shittiest food in the world - everyone knows American food sucks!"
I suppose our fascination with American food comes more from Hollywood than from actual experience. I always wondered, for example, how it would feel to casually eat out of those oh-so-hip Chinese take-out boxes. Hollywood stars always handle their chopsticks with such panache.
The other thing me and my friends ached to do, was to eat one of those "floppy pizzas" (as we termed them). You know the kind - the ones that are so huge and thin that they flop over when you pick them up (think Joey in Friends). And we had to do the bucket-of-ice-cream-in-front-of-the-TV-thing. I love how these svelte, gorgeous women casually open their gigantic freezers and take out a generous bucket of ice-cream (they would never scoop it out, oh no), settle into a couch and eat it with an absent-minded, languorous air (spoon poised tantalizingly mid-air). Sheer heaven (and envy)!
The final thing-to-do on our agenda, was to buy a hot-dog from a hot-dog stand. This was the only thing I didn't do last summer (when I visited my sis). But hey - there's always this summer. Which brings me back to the start. Summer. Ice-cream. Hot-dogs. Floppy pizzas. And its all only a month away.
The Moonlit Cow and other stories
Did you know that cows are amongst the top causes for global warming? Cows release up to 200 liters of methane per day in farts.
The facts stated above are just one of the reasons why I hate cows. Veronica, my so-called friend doesn't understand me. She parodies my intense hatred for them with statements such as this -
"I fucking hate cows. I'm scared of them. When I see a cow I scream like a little bitch and run away. " And today, after trying to buy some milk to drink with our chocolate cake, she added,
"Damn those cows! And damn Mother Dairy for not even having milk." If only people would stop making fun of me about this.
I think it all began when I was in primary school. I used to walk down with my dad and sister to the bus-stop where my school bus arrived. Inevitably, a big, fat, lumbering cow would saunter by, and my father and sister would (for some perverse reason) jeer "there goes your friend!." Ok, ok, granted that this hardly keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning between firfulls of sleep and nightmares...still, the effect these kinds of comments had on me as a 7 year old are, well, quite clearly manifest today in my abhorrence of cows.
And, of course, cows hate me. Sometime last year, I was walking around campus late at night with good ol' Veronica (I swear she has something to do with this), when, out of nowhere, this huge, filthy cow charged at us (at me) from the bushes. The sight was enough to freeze anyone with fear - its horns were twisted at strange, grotesque angles, foam spilling out of its mouth, while it grunted and groaned. It was a hitherto unknown species of cow - it was the rabid cow.
I, of course, screamed. I screamed and ran away (like the brave little toaster I am). Veronica soon followed suit, although she claims she was only trying to keep up with me, as I sped away in utter fear from the rabid cow. I think they smell fear.
Another incident happened just the other night. Me, Veronica and Jezebel were sitting around the campus dhaba (a tea-shop), chatting away about some pretentious topic or the other. We noticed after some time that a cow (my arch foe) was skulking around in some bushes far away, scouting around for some garbage (the filthy beasts). I turned away from the scene, focusing instead on my two compatriots, so that my back was turned on the cow. I was animatedly telling the two a story, when I suddenly noticed a queer expression on Veronica's face. She half-motioned towards the distance, whereupon I turned and saw, to my utmost horror, that the cow was only inches from where I sat. For a few seconds I sat, paralyzed with fear, watching as the cow slowly walked towards me, its white body eerily reflecting the moonlight. As I came to my senses, I screamed "mummy!", and ran to hide behind Jezebel (yes, I am not very brave). The cow sauntered by nonchalently, while my 'friends' laughingly berated me for being so 'foolish'. But they didn't catch the glimmer in the cow's eye as it passed by our group.
Did you know that cows are amongst the top causes for global warming? Cows release up to 200 liters of methane per day in farts.
The facts stated above are just one of the reasons why I hate cows. Veronica, my so-called friend doesn't understand me. She parodies my intense hatred for them with statements such as this -
"I fucking hate cows. I'm scared of them. When I see a cow I scream like a little bitch and run away. " And today, after trying to buy some milk to drink with our chocolate cake, she added,
"Damn those cows! And damn Mother Dairy for not even having milk." If only people would stop making fun of me about this.
I think it all began when I was in primary school. I used to walk down with my dad and sister to the bus-stop where my school bus arrived. Inevitably, a big, fat, lumbering cow would saunter by, and my father and sister would (for some perverse reason) jeer "there goes your friend!." Ok, ok, granted that this hardly keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning between firfulls of sleep and nightmares...still, the effect these kinds of comments had on me as a 7 year old are, well, quite clearly manifest today in my abhorrence of cows.
And, of course, cows hate me. Sometime last year, I was walking around campus late at night with good ol' Veronica (I swear she has something to do with this), when, out of nowhere, this huge, filthy cow charged at us (at me) from the bushes. The sight was enough to freeze anyone with fear - its horns were twisted at strange, grotesque angles, foam spilling out of its mouth, while it grunted and groaned. It was a hitherto unknown species of cow - it was the rabid cow.
I, of course, screamed. I screamed and ran away (like the brave little toaster I am). Veronica soon followed suit, although she claims she was only trying to keep up with me, as I sped away in utter fear from the rabid cow. I think they smell fear.
Another incident happened just the other night. Me, Veronica and Jezebel were sitting around the campus dhaba (a tea-shop), chatting away about some pretentious topic or the other. We noticed after some time that a cow (my arch foe) was skulking around in some bushes far away, scouting around for some garbage (the filthy beasts). I turned away from the scene, focusing instead on my two compatriots, so that my back was turned on the cow. I was animatedly telling the two a story, when I suddenly noticed a queer expression on Veronica's face. She half-motioned towards the distance, whereupon I turned and saw, to my utmost horror, that the cow was only inches from where I sat. For a few seconds I sat, paralyzed with fear, watching as the cow slowly walked towards me, its white body eerily reflecting the moonlight. As I came to my senses, I screamed "mummy!", and ran to hide behind Jezebel (yes, I am not very brave). The cow sauntered by nonchalently, while my 'friends' laughingly berated me for being so 'foolish'. But they didn't catch the glimmer in the cow's eye as it passed by our group.
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