Knowing me..

If you would have known me even a little bit, you wouldn’t have said that I live in a bubble. You wouldn’t have said that I consider this world as MY world. You wouldn’t have said that I think I can never be wrong. You wouldn’t have said I analyse the nitty gritties. You wouldn’t have said that I’m not the person I am because of where I am right now, and you wouldn’t expect me to change (for your better) when I moved out. IF I moved out.  You just wouldn’t have.

Because in my world, as you so pompously said, I always think I have something to learn. I always forgive, and if indeed it was my world, I wouldn’t have had my heart broken by the people I loved and I wouldn’t have waited for those who don’t care; my world should at least follow my rules, don’t you think?

And analysis? I wish I had time to sit and wonder about what you meant when you said something. What I actually do is simple, I take what you said and infer the exact literal meaning, instead of analysing. If you say I irritate the living senses out of your mind, I would infer it as just that.
What you ‘say’ is what you reap. Always. Well, at least that’s what happens in ‘my’ world.

If only you knew me instead of expecting me to change. I am not going to change as a person if I change my place in the world, geographically! That is just so juvenile! It was never supposed to be a liability, being a friend. It was supposed to be light, like whipped vanilla cream, and pretty like tulips?

Knowing me is easy, if only you had tried instead of assuming.

Would you mind being eaten alive?

I’ve been sitting at my desk for the past half hour staring at two lizards. What these two, possibly mother and child, were doing was quite simple: Staring right back. They weren’t staring at me, (obviously, cause that would be downright creepy) but at these tiny insects which swarm into my room every evening. I have a problem with dark/ dim rooms and therefore have two huge tubes glowing since. Come monsoon, and my room becomes a perfect ecosystem, complete with moths, lizards, insects and sometimes, wasps and dragon flies too.
I usually don’t put on the AC because the weather is charming and I believe that I can make a single handed contribution to reducing my home’s carbon footprint (yes, okay?)

That's them.

                            That’s them.

Anyway, Lizzie (the lizard) has finally caught hold of the moth. (wow, this is like a live feed!) and the moth is trying to flutter away. It fights gallantly and manages to fly out. I notice that Lizzie is chewing on something and conclude that it must be a part of Moth’s wing. Would Moth survive? My house is eight floors above the ground and with a half- eaten wing, Moth doesn’t really stand a great chance of surviving the fall. Fall/glide/ suicide?
Would you rather be eaten alive or free fall to your death? I would free fall. There’s a certain sense of time that is given to you, you know? While gliding down, although with a tachycardic heart beat and wind gushing around your eyes and face making it mighty difficult for you to breathe, you still get SOME time to thing of the few things and people you j’adore.
If you’re being eaten up, well, all you’ll do is fight to not get eaten, thus, wont get the time to think. The instinct to survive over-takes the instinct to accept. When you’re falling, you KNOW you’ll not survive but when you’re being swallowed up, there might just be a chance. Hmm, now in hindsight, being eaten doesn’t sound as bad, since the possibility to live is slightly higher. Boy, am I confused, or what?

News just in:
Moth flew back into my room. Talk about coming a full circle, eh? Moth flew around in circles, again, this time within my room and hit the ceiling fan and fell to it’s death. I mean, seriously?

I conclude that Moth here, had some psychiatric issue. It really needed to die. The half eaten wing surely wasn’t helping it’s ability to navigate within my brilliantly lit room. Then again, how did it reach this high up, anyway? There are always questions which will never have answers, this is one of those life altering (hey, it is!) questions. SIGH.

How dos it feel, to be a moth trapped within a chandelier? So many options but you woudln’t know where to fly.
(An excerpt from Bridge Across Forever, a book)


“I really like you, I wish you knew how much. I have a lot of ungiven love within me that was meant specifically for you and now, I don’t know what to do with it. If you knew, maybe then you would be kinder, because I am more vulnerable in front of you. And saying all this makes me all the more vulnerable and akin to being hurt. So if I don’t respond don’t feel terrible, it’s just to save myself.. maybe I shouldn’t have said this, but you don’t know how much and you had to know. But then,
if only. No?”

Has it?

Has it ever happened where you start your day off in a medium high note and waste part of it watching crappy reality shows which seem interesting because the alternative is to study and then, when you do drag your bum to the table, open your books and start the tedious process of studying, a certain someone calls or texts you and you have a fight and then the rest of your day goes like it was dropped into a pile of shit?
Wow. That was one long sentence.

Anyway, I had a crap day. I’ve been sleepy throughout and not at all hungry. Days without hunger pangs are always bad days because food makes everything happier. I have an absolute zero number of friends who are as free as I am. Yeah yeah, I have my finals in 20 days and I am supposed to be the busiest but I am…not.

I’ve locked myself in a room now, deactivated facebook (I don’t know how, but that helps, lesser people to deal with, I guess?) and I will study now. My head is splitting with this odd burning sensation and my brain refuses to comply but I will make it. I am it’s master, not the other way round, no?

Wish me luck.

The countdown never ends, will college?

The countdown that I had started on my phone on a widget is on its last 60 days or lesser and I have a feeling that this will never really end. Once college ends, once I finish this final freaking year, I will be a doctor. Yes, I’ll have a year of internship left and my Masters and my PhD, but college does indeed end.

When college for you is a major KLPD like it was for me, one has to be glad. But am I really…glad? Not really. I never liked college but I like what I had to study. I had academic orgasms but the people quotient was a big let down and I had to fake it more than once. The fest is an apology for a fest. The administration only improved in the last two years. I’ve seen things be unfair and ignored. I’ve seen things be fair yet questioned. I’ve seen court cases and arrests. I’ve seen friends turn into strangers. I’ve seen flatmates turning into foes and when I said that the people factor was a let down, I wasn’t exaggerating. I haven’t touched alcohol in more than a year while at college and whilst that is a big yay for my parents, it isn’t for me. They say, no good story starts with roti-sabji and that’s all I had to eat in burdwan.
I’ve transgressed from no salwar kameez to an almirah full of them.

I’ve grown as a person and have been in contact with people who have terrible birth deformities. I’ve touched them, made them take their pills, assisted in operations and heard of one die. It takes a toll on you, cancer. Even if it is someone you haven’t known for more than a month, it shakes you down when he dies after a seemingly successful and radical surgery. I hadn’t assisted that particular case since I am junior but I knew of it.

College has shown me terrible lows. I’ve learned to trust more and have more faith rather than be guarded and expect treatment like that of a queen. It has been humbling. From travelling everywhere in a car to battling it out in the rains in the local town service buses, from never having to think twice before changing clothes to actually cleaning the bathroom myself…

But I’ve seen highs too, like everyone else. The usual impromptu outings, laughing our asses off prior to vivas and crying with my head on the room mate’s shoulder when I screwed them up. There are innumerable moments that I have collected unknowingly.
The ear injury, watching football matches, seeing Chelsea win against Bayern, seeing India win against Pakistan, surprise visits to a friends home for food, staying up all night to concoct a revenge against my roomies jerk ex-boyfriend, going out on photo walks, stealing shoes from the rude landlord and throwing them into a gutter. Ah, we were evil.

Friends came, and friends fell out. It hurts to know that I will walk out of college with a group of friends I can count on a single hand and not more, given that we were once the biggest group in college. But then again, I found a good handful.

The interb year will be a year full of more discoveries. My interest in the subject, what I’m really good at and more unplanned visits.
But this countdown that I’ve started, won’t ever end. It’ll start again  because college for me never really began. I am yet to fail a test. I am yet to get caught doing something that I’m not supposed to. I’m yet to be looked down upon. I’m yet to be reprimanded for not adhering to the rules. College has been… loose. There were no rules. There was nothing to break. Everything was… accepted. I was at home. I had professors who have loved me, thought of me so highly that they referred me to their friends’ son for marriage (oopsie). I’ve been loved and adored and placed on on a pedestal after winning the IDA competition at the National level. The letter of appreciation is still there on the college notice board and I feel surreal each time I see it.
Why? Cause when I had walked into this college it was a little better than a shanty. To have seen it grow from merely a cement structure to a full fledged hospital where I’ve become what I will be. I had never once thought that there would be someone representing this college at a national level. I had never once expected to have been supported with as much gusto as I was. Professors allowed me to take their Thesis reports and not just those from my college but from various colleges in the city. Everyone rooted for me, and when I held that trophy in my hand, everybody suddenly knew that Burdwan Dental College exists. This is probably the first time I’ve publically named my college. I hadn’t yet because I wasn’t really proud of it. But hey, I’ve done enough. Toppers of the university are from here. 😀

Having stepped into a college in capris and keetos and rebuked by the seniors, I will walk out wearing a saree and heels.  A lot has changed in the last four years. From the length of my hair to the girth of my waist haha. Seriously, I’ve become a more grounded person. Could college have been better? Yes. Do I want to redo one bit of it? No.

I’ve had my heart stolen, broken, manhandled, mangled, trampled and then rebuilt again. I’ve had torrid fights and hot tears flowing down my cheeks. I’ve lost my bag, notes and probably a few more things that I don’t even know of yet. I’ve had joyous nights which passed in a haze, I’ve had days which refused to end and evenings which have been beautiful. I’ve had conversations and basically, a college life we all have.

So no, the people weren’t as bad, in hindsight and in conclusion. The mass of them, yes.. but the ones who helped me build the memories, irrespective of whether they’re still my friends or not, were a good bunch. 🙂

I’m not cool and I like it. I’m not hot either.

I’m awkward where I’m supposed to be cool. I don’t really know my stuff around the most happening pub, neither do I wear the hippest clothes. I don’t gulp down alcohol because it may be free, hell I have enough at home to be a drunk for a week and still be left with surplus. I don’t listen to songs which ask me to first take a selfie. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with instagram. I find twitter boring. I refuse to use hash tags and I would rather watch an art film in my native language than watch a flop Hollywood movie because it has machines in it.

But, I’m one of the first to visit a good website if it uses good words to frame the expressions. I’m the kind with a bookmark in three different books at the same time but read only one at a time. I gauge my men the way I gauge these books. I start several at a time but linger over the one I like and complete it. If I like it a lot, I don’t pick up another book for months, even if that book (chapter; good analogy?) was over. I’m the kind who’d wear high heels for five days a week or sneakers at a party and still be okay with it. I have only recently bought coloured trousers and the colour is teal. Mustard is really not my cuppa, neither is a red. I’m the kind who knows what good coffee tastes like but wouldn’t know jack between a lager and an ale. I like like the occasional nonsensical songs, but my play list has classy numbers. Well, most of them..
I click photographs because I want to. I look at them while sitting huddled under the duvet during the half-time of the world cup going on at Brasil. I don’t want the entire world to know what I ate for lunch and I have repeatedly been reminded to ‘instagram’ the image I took. And, then I oblige, sans any hash tags, of course. I don’t tweet because 140 characters couldn’t possibly be enough! I blog. I scribble. I draw.. I went 12 kilometers away to buy rosemary, thyme and sage leaves for an art work I’m planning!

I’m not cool by a lot of your definitions. I don’t smoke up. I don’t smoke. I can’t accessorise my outfits because I seem to look like a villager when I do, I guess, but people have claimed otherwise. I cut my hair short because I could not bear the heat and, that it was enough with the cliché of long hair on my head.

And you know the best part? Those things really don’t make anyone cool.
You’re cool if you’re cool. If you need beer to make yourself interesting, you have major issues. If you need beer to make me interesting, well, why are we friends again? My snap chat score doesn’t determine how popular I am. Hell, I had a display picture of Ozil and Muller on for three weeks and it got one like, and a slutty picture with my neck showing seductively gets 99? The world has serious issues.
I love my books and shoes and weird out-of-place-ness. I don’t care if I don’t look hot or even if I look ugly to you. If I think I am doing fine, I am freaking pleased and will trot out *toktoktok* in my favourite stilettos.

This is not a shove on those who do these things. I’m just tired of everyone judging themselves by these bars. So many kids feel like they just have to do all these cool things to be cool and hip and accepted and popular.
The world doesn’t really need to know where you are at this moment. Everyone’s seen that heart warming video, shared it too ironically.. bloody well time to practice it?