The essence.

All of my closest friends, and some old readers of Musings may remember that Love Story is one of my favouritest (Yes, I know that’s not a word. But now that I’ve said it, it is.) novels of all times. It is my feel good book – the book that I can reread multiple times and the book that never disappoints me because I always, always feel the exact same way when I reach the very last line. It is the book that idealized love in the mind of a fourteen year old me, whose first brush with love was that book. It has none of the flowery language typical of romances, it has no sickening couples who suffer when their significant other gets beaten – and yet, the love story is one of the best I have ever read. It is a situation I could identify with, it is language I could identify with.

There is only one thing in the entire novel that, after I reached a certain age, I could never fully comprehend and agree with.

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry…”

Probably the most famous line from the novel, and probably the most false.

I don’t know where Erich Segal was coming from, or what he was getting at. From what little I’ve seen of love (mine and otherwise), during and after an argument, love hasn’t been about not saying sorry at all – in fact, it’s been about who says sorry first! It’s been about deep breaths and silence. It’s been about swallowing pride and admitting you’re wrong. It’s been about realizing that sometimes saying sorry may not necessarily mean you’re wrong, but that you care more about the other person than you do about being right. It’s been about thinking of all the wonderful things your significant other is, even if those very same wonderful things are what annoyed you enough to begin the argument in the first place.

But most importantly, it’s been about never ceasing to argue. Because seriously, when you think about it, that is the essence. When you think about it, that is what makes us, US. When you think about it, that is what makes us happy.

Byebye 2011, hello 2012.

So this post is about nothing really. There is nothing my amusing mind is musing that needs to be put into words. It’s just been a really, really long time since I’ve put up a post and the giggling idiot said I absolutely MUST post today. So I’m posting. Let’s just say this is a catch-up post.

2011 is drawing to a close, and I believe this year has passed by quicker than most. It feels like only yesterday that we did Secret Santa and went dress shopping and drove up to Lonavala to bring in 2011. And here we are again, dress shopping and figuring out NYE plans and presents. The year has been possibly one of the best in a really long time. Evidently, since I hadn’t even realized it had passed me by. You know what they say about good times flying by and bad times dragging on. Something like that.

What has this year entailed?

I’ve finally figured out what it is I really want to do. And it feels right somehow. I still have to give it a shot in the form of an internship or something to know FOR SURE that this is it, but for the most part it feels like it is.

I’ve been in a real long term relationship for the first time. One year and still going strong. Wowie. Now there’s something an itchy me would never have imagined possible. Itchy, as in having “the itch”. Some people have a 7 year itch; I used to have a 3 month itch. It’s gone now. I guess it was waiting for the right person.

I’ve been reading like a crazy person. For those who don’t remember, one of my resolutions was to read 24 books in the year 2011. I am currently 3-and-a-half books short of reaching that goal, and I am not happy about it. But still, I thought I wouldn’t even get halfway there. So getting to 21-and-a-half books is quite an achievement in itself. Here are some of the books I’ve read during the course of the year, in case any of you bookworms want some recommendations (I'd love some, in case you have any. Just drop them off as comments on this post!):

I’ve been swimming regularly. 10 laps every morning. Oh, the joy and the sense of fulfillment. Every time I fall into a routine of no-exercise, I forget how good it feels when I get into one. Vicious cycle, that one. So now, I just keep in mind how good it feels to start my day with a dose of exercise and it enables me to get out of bed.

The last few weeks of December are going to be so much fun, that I can’t contain my excitement. The SSU completes 40 years of existence, two dear friends tie the knot, then there’s my absolute favourite time of the year – CHWIIISTMAS! And then there’s a short stretch of travel lined up after. All in all, a brilliant end to this year and a fantastic welcome to the next!

What do I expect from 2012?

I’d like to continue with the tchah and muah moments of the wonderful relationship with the wonderful giggling idiot. Although I could do with fewer tchahs on the whole. I’m sure he could too.

I’d like the pool at the club to reopen at the earliest so I can get back to the swimming routine. These last few weeks have not been nice. I feel rusty and bleh.

I’d like to continue reading as much as I possibly can. Diaryface, the only person I know who reads Tolstoy for fun, after attending her first week of Masters in a London University mailed me saying she’s wasted her time by not reading as much as her new classmates have. I’m a big reader, but if she felt like that, I don’t know what I’ll feel like when I go anywhere and people discuss books I’ve never read, so I’m trying to prevent that situation from ever arising by reading as much as I can while I still have time.

I’d like to start and finish the internship that will give me my “a-ha!” moment. Knowing FOR SURE that what I want to do is indeed what I want to do will be the icing on the cake.

That’s all for the catch-up post really. See you on the flipside of NYE! Or who knows, maybe the amusing mind will have something to muse about and say before that even.

Merry Christmas and a happy new year, everybody!

Pottermania.

Hello. My name is Mehvash, and I am a Potter-holic.

(I feel like I should include this foreword): SPOILER ALERT! If you haven't read/watched all of the books/movies, but intend on doing so, you probably shouldn't read any further.

Over the past decade or so, Harry Potter has been a huge part of my life. I have anxiously awaited the arrival of each book, been one of the first people at Crossword on the day of the release, stayed up into the night in a bid to finish it in one sitting. I have cried and cursed Rowling when she killed off some of the best characters, I have been furious when Pettigrew escaped, overjoyed when Sirius did. I have wanted to punch the daylights out of Malfoy on more than one occasion. I have felt Harry’s fear grip me when Voldemort rose in the graveyard, I have felt absolute disgust when Nagini emerged from the decaying body of Bathilda Bagshot and I have laughed merrily along with Fred&George. I have lived the books, with every fiber of my being, with each reading.

I’ve never been a huge fan of the Harry Potter movie franchise. They are not always true to the books, and considering the geek I am, that is just blasphemy. But even then, because it is Harry Potter, I have watched them all. I have watched them and tsk-ed and tchah-ed at the parts where the creators took their liberty, I have marveled at the few scenes they included in the movie that aren’t in the book but should have been, I have laughed at Rupert Grint’s perpetual quizzical expression, and I have sighed about how pretty Emma Watson is. And slowly, I have learnt to disengage the books from the movie. Once I did that, the movies were as epic as they could be.

I pride myself on knowing all seven books like the back of my hand, having read and reread them multiple times. And I know there are many like me. There is an entire generation of people who have lived and breathed and swallowed the books. They have grown up with the boy, rooting for him. And transcending all differences, the Harry Potter franchise has touched everyone.

Today, my belief in the magic of the franchise was reinforced. I was watching the last installment, and seated next to me was a kid no older than maybe eleven. I didn’t know the kid, she happened to be another Potter-holic just like me. But we gasped together, we laughed together, we shuddered together and even reminded each other of minor details that the other couldn’t recall, and right at the end we hooted and clapped together. I still don’t know the kid, we didn’t ask each other for names, and when the lights came on we didn’t even really look at each other while exiting the movie hall.

Because in the real world, we were two very different people and part of two very different worlds.

But when the lights were out and the magic was unfolding, it didn’t matter that she was a whole decade younger than I am or that we had entered the movie hall with two completely separate groups. In the dark, we were the same, her and I. Just two Potter geeks, knowing that this was the last thing we had to look forward to in the Potter franchise for the time being, knowing that this was what it all came down to and knowing that we were both tied together in this wonderful, magical world.

Things I love: Part five.

Ok, so it only struck me five minutes ago that today is the first Monday of the month - meaning it's time for "Things I love". But I have exams in two days, so this one's going to be more of a photo blog than anything.

Chocolate

Well, who doesn't? Chocolate is my comfort food, if you can even call it that. Unhealthy snack, is more like it. But it sure does the trick every time! Whether I'm happy or sad, angry or contemplative - chocolate in pretty much any form is what I turn to. Unreasonably so, I guess. I just reviewed my expenses for the last two months, and have realised that most of my expenses under "FOOD" comprise of money spent on bars of chocolate. Oops. Heee. Anyway, here goes!


Triple chocolate sundae at Chocolate Room:




Waffles at Burger Barn:




Homemade chocolates on Valentine's day:




Supreme Alaska at Boat Club:




Smeared with chocolate on my 19th birthday:

Talking to myself.

Things seem like they’re taking a turn for the worse. Relax. Take a deep breath. Focus.
So you’ve had a fight. Big deal. Shake it off. And focus.
Count to ten. Hum your song. Remember to breathe. Why aren’t you focusing?
Eat your dinner. Watch some TV. Surf the internet. Come back and focus.
Wash your face. Drink some water. Close your eyes. Try the focusing thing again.
Go out on the terrace. Look at the moon. Sit under the stars. And, yes, focus.

You’ve got exams in two weeks. You need to focus. WILL YOU JUST FUCKING FOCUS?!

Things I love: Part four.

Rose Red



No one who knows me is surprised about this one. Rose Red is my tiny, easy-to-slip-in-my-bag and trusty camera. And she’s named so because… well, just look at her! What other name would suit her. Yes, my camera has a gender and a character and a personality and is the most beautiful piece of equipment I have ever owned. She was named so by Diaryface, one of the first things that we ever spoke about.

Rose was the first piece of technology to be gifted to me, and she was just perfect. A Canon iXus (the specifications picked out by the giggling idiot, whose opinion in cameras and such are most reliable), I was only silently hoping for her to be red. Supposed to be a gift from my cousin, I didn’t really feel like being demanding and insisting the camera be red. But when my cousin finally placed Rose in my hand on the 8th of December, 2009 – she was red in all her glory! And I was smitten. I knew she was a girl and I knew she had to be named – something I didn’t really do. I began naming my belongings only after I got my scooter, and there was no stopping me after that! This is the first photograph I ever took with Rose:



It's really annoying when people attempt to take arty-farty shots with her and say "I need a better camera to be able to capture that." Well, go get your own then! Because my Rose was “not bought for the love of photography, she was bought for the love of photographs.” That’s something Ravi said recently, and I thought it was so apt. I’m sure Rose has a lot of settings that can be explored and she can be put to good use for photography, but that is not why I love her so. I love her because she captures moments in life that need to be captured. And sometimes, she captures moments that don’t really need to be captured either. And I can look at these when I miss those moments or the people in those moments.

Since she’s so light and easy to carry, she rarely ever leaves my side – a fact many of my friends can vouch for. They all have varied reactions to the pretty little thing – they either hate that she’s around so much, or love it! Rose has been with me in a foreign land, with people I hadn’t met before and haven’t met since and she’s been with me in familiar land with familiar people. Either way, she’s been around for over a year.

This is the latest photograph I’ve taken with Rose:



It's almost as if by whipping her out of my bag, I expect time to not pass me by! She's just so handy and there was little or no doubt that she wouldn't feature on this segment!

When looking forward to a Sunday is more than merely justified!

I have had an exceptionally good weekend, the kind that definitely deserves a mention. More than just a mention, even! It deserves a blow-by-blow account of the hows and the whens and the wheres and the whys.

The goodness of the weekend started out with a random Saturday afternoon conversation about music with my sister-in-law. In the course of that conversation, which barely lasted an hour, I was already introduced to THREE new artists that I cannot wait to hear more of. When that conversation was over, it was time for me to put on a smile and my best “Hello, how are you today?” performance to do my job.

Now through my job, especially over the weekends, I meet a variety of people from all walks of life. I’ve met National award winning artists that are more humble than you would expect, I’ve met page 3 socialites to whom I have nothing to say except a courteous hello, and I’ve even met a wonderfully free spirited couple with whom I talked at length about morality and what it entails. But nothing, NOTHING could prepare me for Saturday evening.

I am not a fan of that genre of music that people call psy. Or trance. Or whatever they call it. I have no knowledge about it. Zilch. Nada. I don’t even know if psy and trance is the same thing. It honestly all sounds the same to me. But, I have friends who absolutely adore that genre – worship it even. Abu, being possibly the biggest fan I know. Abu celebrated his 21st birthday two weeks ago, and during discussions with the others about what to get him, we had vaguely mentioned “Wouldn’t it be cool if we could get Ma Faiza to autograph something for him?” and that was the end of that idea. M did try and take it one step ahead by writing to her, but that didn’t work out and THAT was definitely the end of that idea.

But then, fate and destiny are funny things. They work in mysterious ways and do mysterious things. You know what Paulo Coelho said? “When you want something, the whole Universe conspires to help you realise your desire.” Whether it was our desire of gifting a Ma Faiza something or Abu’s desire of owning a Ma Faiza something, no one knows. But either way, Saturday evening (and the rest of the weekend) the Universe conspired to help us realize our desire.

She walked in to my office, as part of the guest list for the exhibition we were holding in there, nonchalantly. And I would never have approached her, if it hadn’t been for Abu. I had nothing in common with her, nothing to say to her about her music, nothing to say about anything that made her famous, because quite honestly, I only know who she is because of my friends. But seeing her walking in through the doors, so soon after we had discussed the coolness of the possibility of getting her to autograph something, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I KNEW I HAD TO GET SOMETHING OF HERS FOR ABU. I had NOTHING on me, except tissue paper and my office notepad – I had nothing that even remotely suggested music, for her to sign on. But it didn’t matter. Either way, I knew I wasn’t letting her walk out of there without her autograph. It meant too much to Abu, even though he wouldn’t ever find out about her presence there if I didn’t tell him.

But that would be cruel, and I would never do that. So I called M and the giggling idiot and told them about her being there. M immediately told the pink boy to come over to my office with a blank CD and a permanent marker.

In the meantime: I spoke to her, told her all about exactly how big a fan of hers Abu is and asked her if she would PLEASE sign something for him. And she was superbly gracious about it. Not only was she superbly gracious about it, she went a step ahead! She told me to tell the pink boy to relax and gave me her personal contact details and said she would go home that evening and burn him her music, autograph the CD and I could come and pick it up the next day. GOD BLESS HER! I thought I was going to collapse out of sheer joy. It wasn’t because I was in the presence of a celebrity, it wasn’t because I was conscious of myself – it was because I could imagine Abu’s face when we’d hand it over to him.

That wasn’t the end of destiny’s role in the whole thing. As I was talking to her, she revealed that she was in the city for only a day and come Monday morning she was off for a month long work trip to somewhere in Europe. It was destiny that we met at just the right time, on Saturday – when she had enough time before leaving to burn the CD and do all that she did. So I merrily left her presence, with a promise of a phone call by noon the next day. And the hope that I could bring Abu with me to pick up the CD, so he could meet her himself!

Sunday morning: I waited, and I waited. She hadn’t called by 12:30pm! But around quarter to one, my phone rang with her calling to say the CD was ready and I could pick them up whenever I wanted, but that she wouldn’t be able to meet him because she had a whole bunch of things to do before she left the next day. That dampened our spirits a little bit, but it was still alright! M, the giggling idiot and I decided to go pick up the CD after lunch, because it didn’t matter what time we went, since we weren’t meeting her after all.

Again, not the end of destiny’s role. So sneaky, I must say. We went to a restaurant we’ve been meaning to try out for a while, but they had a one hour waiting for a table. So we figured we’d con Abu into coming with us to pick up the CD. God bless Blue Lagoon for that one hour waiting! If it hadn’t had that waiting, we’d never have gone to Ma Faiza’s house to pick up the CD at the time that we did. And we’d never have caught her, on her way out.

Destiny man, it’s all destiny. He met her, he spoke to her, and he accepted the autographed CDs (she made him TWO!) with trembling hands – all with the most incredulous look on his face. I don’t think it struck him that he’d actually met her until we’d left her place. And she was just really sweet! I really cannot describe her in any other way. Everything about her and the way she spoke and what she did for Abu was sweet. I may not be a fan of her music, but of her I am definitely a fan.

And as someone who orchestrated this meeting, I feel absolutely ecstatic! Just seeing the look on Abu’s face during and after the meeting, made my day. My heart did some sort of warm melting thing, just to have him smiling like that. It was awesome! And it didn’t cost us a single thing, but it was worth SO much! All in less than a day.

YAY. All weekends should be as awesome and serendipitous as this one! Or maybe not. That would probably take away the charm of having a one-off awesome and serendipitous weekend!

Things I love: Part three.

Pedicures

I’m the biggest sucker for a good pedicure; it’s something that you can bribe and tempt me with anytime, anywhere. I love soaking my feet in a big bucket of hot soapy and salty water, and then looking at them gradually become pretty after a long while of scrubbing and filing and polishing and moisturizing and painting. Having someone else give a pedicure is probably a lot more satisfying, but at-home pedicures are a favourite Sunday ritual of mine.

While I’ve never been able to pinpoint my best physical feature, for years I have believed that my worst physical attribute is my feet. They’re not delicate and smooth, the way you would expect a female pair of feet to be. Instead they’re broad and rough, and the right foot has an unsightly scar from the only scooter accident I’ve ever had, at the age of 16.

I think I truly adore pedicures because the days immediately after getting one are the rare times that my feet look pretty, a phenomenon that sadly does not last very long. But those few days immediately after? They see a very happy feet-ed me, complete with toerings – my second most favourite accessory, but the least worn because of the aforementioned dislike towards feet.

I love experimenting with the colour of the nail paint I apply on my toenails, but over time I have come to the conclusion that nothing is happier than happy red toes with shiny new silver toerings!

Things I love: Part two.

So apparently, this little segment is going to appear on Musings on a monthly basis. Not too bad, I think. The first Monday of every month sounds like a decent enough target.



Smelling good

This may sound to some of you as a bit strange. Everyone likes smelling good, nobody likes being told that they stink. I’ve always had a penchant for nice smelling people, men and women alike. I personally have never been one to smell badly, but I’ve never had anyone associate me with any particular fragrance either. I’ve always used whatever was available, if it was available, and I’ve never really cared what I’m using as long as it smells good.

But recently, ever since my 21st birthday, I’ve embarked on the journey to find my signature fragrance. At the moment, I am alternating between three fragrances, all of which I love. Now an absolute necessity, it seems really weird that I used to be able to leave the house without splashing on anything. It just feels wrong and incomplete now, because it’s one of the biggest feel-good factors of my day. Smelling good equals a happy me. Because I couldn’t pick which one is my favourite, I’m writing about all three.



Cacharel’s Amor Amor is a floral and woody perfume which is positively divine. It was a gift, after I complimented somebody on how divine her perfume is, and she promptly bought it for me on my birthday. Putting it on makes me feel pretty, even though I’m not much of a floral person. I prefer my fruity fragrances any day. Roses and lilies aren’t necessarily my first choice. But this one doesn’t give me a headache, because it’s extremely subtle, the kind that you can only get a whiff of when I walk by.



Bath and Bodyworks’ Midnight Pomegranate follows second in my short list of preferred perfumes. Admittedly, pomegranate really isn’t a fruit I would have expected to be made into a perfume, but hey! I just got into the whole perfume craze, who am I to know any thing? It smells almost edible and lingers on for a really long while, so it’s slowly creeping up to the number one spot. Plus, it’s a much bigger bottle than Amor Amor, which means I can use it more often and extravagantly than I do that, and not feel too guilty.



Carolina Herrera’s 212 Sexy was, again, a 21st birthday gift from a dear friend. It was part of a care package that I carry with me everywhere so that I can be “meeting-ready” at any given time. It’s a little pouch that holds kajal, face wipes, lip balm, etc. and a little perfume capsule. I still haven’t managed to really figure out what it smells of, it always smells differently to my inexperienced nose. Some days it’s tangy, and some days it’s floral. This is the tiniest of the lot, not to mention I have to use my finger to dab it on. So it functions as my emergency perfume, the one that I use only if I really, really have to. It doesn’t leave my pouch, which is why it’s no wonder that I’m still using it four months on.

*All the photographs (barring the last one, which is taken by me) have been taken off the internet.

A New Year resolution, out there.

2011 is supposed to be my healthy year. In addition to "Reading 24 new books" and some other resolutions, I intend on improving my lifestyle and living healthily. The people who know me know that I eat fattening junk without thinking twice, and know that I cannot be bothered with exercise.

I blame my mother’s genes – she gave me her metabolism. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really not complaining! This inherited attribute is actually one of the very few that I am thankful for. Otherwise, I’ve got all the wrong genes from my parents – I have my father’s nose, my mother’s height, my mother’s skin colour, and so on. Not that all these things are dreadful in any way, it’s just that my mother has a better nose and my father is taller and fair with rosy cheeks, and so on. But at least my mother gave me her metabolism, preventing me from becoming the way I would have eventually if I didn’t have this one advantage. I love it! I never have to worry about what I’m eating and how many calories I’m taking in, and I don’t exercise or hit the gym or anything of that sort. But if I didn’t have that metabolism, I wouldn’t burn as fast as I eat, and I’d be forced to watch what I eat and think about exercise, and not have to write this piece. Which is why I blame my mother’s genes. For all other intents and purposes, yay my mother’s metabolism!

Then one day, in conversation over dinner at Boat Club, a friend who shares this quality of mine pointed out that we may never put on weight, but we could very possibly die of early heart attacks. It may surprise a lot of you that this possibility had never occurred to me. And if it hadn’t been for that friend, I’d have continued living in my bubble and eating utter junk all the time. But then that got me thinking, and I have genuinely started believing that one day, when I’m not much older, my heart is going to start pumping saturated fat instead of blood and I’m going to have my first heart attack at the age of 30 or something.

If you’re laughing, then don’t!

This is where my New Year resolution came to play. To live healthy, and eat sensibly. Again, people who know me know that I cannot resist eating chocolates or any other food that tastes as good as it is unhealthy, and that small quantities do not in any way satisfy my enormous appetite. So it all boils down to making the right choices, I realized that’s the only way I can do it. I choose to wake up early and exercise rather than hitting snooze on that wretched alarm clock, to have a good breakfast so I don’t feel hungry at odd hours even though I’m not really a breakfast person, to eat fruit instead of chips if I feel hungry around teatime, to sleep on time so I can wake up feeling well-rested, and so on.

I feel so much better now, never even realizing that I wasn’t feeling up to the mark. This shift in lifestyle has worked well for me this past one month, and I intend on continuing it. There’s no doubt about that. But this joke always comes to mind when I think about New Year resolutions:

Q. What is a New Year resolution?
A. It’s a to-do list for the first week of January.

Mine has lasted more than just the first week of January; it’s lasted me the whole month. I hope that it lasts me the entire year, so that I can renew it again next year. And that’s the only reason I’m blogging about it – now it’s all outside of me, out on paper. Well, metaphorically anyway. It isn’t just a thing on my mental to-do list, a thing that I can ignore if I want. I now have witnesses, and more than that I have something to come back to if ever I intend on letting go of routine. 2011 is supposed to be my healthy year.

And it will be. You bet your ass it will! Although, I still eat quite a bit of junk.

Things I love: Part one.

“Things I love” is a concept that is inspired from a green inked blog I stumbled upon recently. Originally called “Things I love Thursday”, the basic concept is to write about the things that made you happy over the week. It helps you appreciate the good in your life, the things that make it better than most; and to make you forget, however momentarily, the things that have been pulling you down. As soon as I read hers, I knew it was going to be my first post in 2011.

My version of it however, is not going to be weekly, considering how erratic I am as a blogger. Instead, I’m going to write about the things that make me happy over ALL the weeks. I think I’m going to write monthly or fortnightly, that seems like an achievable target. So yes, say hello to “Things I love” on Musings.



Erich Segal’s Love Story



The first time I read this book I was 15 years old, which I think is the ideal age for anyone to read this book. The age when interest in the opposite sex is only beginning to awaken, when the fascinating hope of a forever has been freshly set in motion, when the search for “the One” has been embarked upon, when loves are new, and when the seed of belief in true selfless love can be planted.

I first read it in a hotel room in Amritsar, while my parents enjoyed an afternoon nap, and finished it in just an hour. I picked it up from a quaint little bookstore in the market named “The Booklover’s Retreat”, when Dad promised he’d buy me a book, whichever one I wanted. I can’t remember why I picked this one up, I wish I could. I think it had to do with the aforementioned fascination with a forever. But I’m glad I did. It went on to becoming my favourite book, the one I read whenever I felt a little down and a little out of it all, the one I read after every failed relationship, the one I recommended to all my friends – male, female alike.

Love Story (spoiler alert!) is a book I fell in love with instantly. I fell in love with Jenny, I fell in love with Ollie, and I fell in love with Jenny&Ollie. I fell in love with the simplicity of its story, I fell in love with the fact that Jenny and Ollie called each other bitch and bastard rather than honey and dear, and that they started a life together against the will of his parents. I guess I related to that at some level. I even fell in love with the philosophy of “Love means never having to say sorry…” and believed in it for a long while. Now of course, as I grow older (not necessarily wiser) I realize that Segal may have used a little creative and artistic liberty that a younger me did not recognize.

The novel may not be considered the best piece in English literature, but it is home. It is what I think of when the going gets tough, it is what I read on days when things just aren’t sitting straight. It is the one thing that is constant; I feel when I read it now what I did on that November afternoon – a strange whoosh in my tummy, along with a sense of calm in the depths of my heart, mingled with just a few teardrops.

They’ve revamped the cover of the novel recently, and made it prettier with hearts. I personally like it much better than the photograph accompanying the post. But this is the cover of the book I read as a 15 year old. It is not the same book however; that one made a torn, dog-eared way to the box of books for donation my mother keeps. So did two copies after that. I blame it on the unusually high number of really bad days that create a need to reread the book. But I keep going back and buying myself a fresh copy to keep. There is no way I’m letting it out of my life that easily.

For Jakey

I think about chocolate chip pancakes and French toast, about Borat imitations, about guitars, about the Sweetheart Tree, about song recordings at Everard’s studio, about my 19th birthday. I think about band practice and vada paos, about struggling to hit that note, about sneakily smoking en route, about skits at camp, about sign language, about songs I was introduced to, about the many breakfasts. I think about all the movies that were downloaded on demand, about Coffee Jar, about the bike ride to the mandir one morning, about all the teasing, about all the love. I think about core group fights, about silly good morning messages, about driving to Nea's house to collect a red Scooty Pep, about all the little moments and memories that I can't recall now but will over time.

And I smile. Just like I always will. I love you, Jakey. And I will remember you.

Because we're human.

Life is complicated. A mere “I love you” is never enough, there is no sheer simplicity. There’s people and rules, there’s dos and don’ts. And when it is simple, we try and make it as complicated as we possibly can. Because at some level, we find it difficult to cope with the simple life. We need some sort of adversity to focus on, some sort of problem that we can work towards solving. And if there is no adversity and no problem to work towards, we create them for ourselves. Because we’re trained and conditioned to believe that a life without complications is an illusion. And that if it is devoid of complications, it is not the life we’re meant to have. Because nothing comes that easy. At least that’s what they say.

So we focus on the why. And the how. And the what next.

Because we can’t just accept the lack of problems, and we can’t just focus on the now. We say we don’t care, but we do. And we say they don’t exist, but they do. And even when they don’t, we make sure they do. We thrive and exist on the misery and mindfuckingness that accompanies repeated thinking. I know, I know. Thinking and analyzing are natural human tendencies. And if we don’t think and analyze over and over, we’re not human.

I know that. I get that. But sometimes, I just wish I was a dog.

Everyone's gone to the movies, maybe I should too?

Last year, almost to the day, a project was begun. It was proposed after a fun day of two back-to-back movies at Inox, one set of air hockey at SGS and long conversations about books and films amongst Landmark shelves – EDUCATE MEHVASH IN MOVIES. It's not like I was uneducated at the start of the project, but I wasn't the most well-versed person either. So the project was looked at as a necessity, an essential act that if not seen through would prove to be shameful. Like most good projects, this one also started with a bang. Lists were prepared in the noisy foodcourt – must watch/have watched/have not watched and I lived the project for a long while after it began – weekend movie marathons till my eyes hurt, making time no matter how busy I was, saving up to buy DVDs, watching a movie every night of my Christmas getaway.

And then the resolve fizzled away. After watching many movies – some of which I liked (Little Miss Sunshine, Johnny English), some of which I didn’t (Beowulf, American Gigolo), some which I understood and liked (Mulan, Ghost Town), and some which I didn’t understand OR like (Atonement). I even watched movies I didn’t really want to, but featured on the must watch list. I don’t know why or how the resolve fizzled away, but I wish it hadn’t. Or maybe I DO know why and how, but I still wish it hadn’t. I’ve lost out on way too much free “should-and-can-watch-a-movie” time, and for me to revive the project now would be a death sentence. I should have (like most things in life) utilized the spare time I had, to facilitate the mission and become a better-versed-in-movies person. Now I’m screwed, like I’ve never been before.

However, I’ve decided that I’m not going to give it up completely. The project HAS to be revived, it’s too damn awesome to let go off completely. I’ve lost the lists (well, metaphorically, cuz there were never actual hard copied lists to LOSE) that were so well thought of and prepared. But I’m creating my own lists now and, slowly but steadily, the project is going to continue. I have many projects to do, which the cause of all the screwedness, but then I figure movies are a fun project to have and do. So why not have ONE fun project in the midst of all this screwedness, right?

What it's all about.

This post is about many things. But it is about nothing in particular.

It is about music and songs that I want to hate, but cannot because their brilliance cannot be denied. It is about a musical genius, about how that music or any music speaks directly to me. It is about a fantastically performed show, and about awkward handshakes at the end of the fantastically performed show. It is about all that is different this year than it was last year. It is about the disbelief that comes along with the difference. It is about wanting to dance effortlessly; it is about a boy who buys Alice in Wonderland. It is about running into one family, while standing with the other. It is about a strong dislike of nicknames from lost people, about the loss of something and someone precious. It is about acting like a child – not in a child-like way, but in a childish way. It is about feeling strangely good about it too. It is about travel, and the prospect of further travel. It is about Sunday evening and Pictionary, when laughter comes faster than correct guesswork. It is about competitiveness that comes second only to Monica’s. It is about cursing stupid conjunctivitis, which keeps away the giggling idiot. It is about the question that lingers in my head and a pink boy’s – to go or not to go? A question that is not made easy by familiarity. It is about submissions and deadlines, about research and projects. It is about reading Mappings, and feeling yay and jealous at the same time. It is about happy couples – new and old, and wondering when. It’s about the hokey-pokey, and wondering what it’s all about.

I’d like to rephrase my first line.

This post is about many things. But it is about something in particular. It is about life the last few days, and the next few days.

Happy birday to me.

September 11, 2009 – September 11, 2010

On the 1st of January this year, someone asked me to map out 2009 and write it somewhere, lest I forget it. But the first half of the year had nothing worth remembering so I didn’t. The last year of my LIFE, however, has lots of things worth recollecting. So I take that person’s advice now, and map out my 20th year. It’s been an interesting year for me, from the age of 20 to the age of 21. It’s had a lot of ups and downs, goods and bads. But most importantly, it’s been a year of firsts. There are so many things that I did for the first time, so many things that happened to me for the first time.

The first time I didn’t feel bogged down by the annual play, because I just had to act, sing and dance. The first time I met and spoke to a relative I hadn’t met or spoken to since I was a child. The first time I ate sushi. The first time I heartlessly cut off all ties with a person I had cared about nonstop since I was 16 years old. The first time I ever showed someone what I wrote, at the insistence of a new entrant in my life. The first time I had a member of the male species, who was not related to me by blood, over for dinner. The first time I downloaded a song myself, as opposed to asking someone else to download for me. The first time I was in a relationship with someone I didn’t know that well, but with whom I didn’t act like a commitment phobic, emotionally dysfunctional blubbering idiot and with whom being and talking was so easy. The first time I had my heart broken, for reasons I still don’t understand but no longer care about.

The first time I met Rose and Gordon. The first time I traveled overseas. The first time I saw snow, made snowmen/snowangels and had a snowball fight. The first time I was away from my home and my city for such a long period of time. The first time landscape photography really interested me. The first time I opened up to someone I hadn’t even met, telling her things I never told anyone else. The first time the internet became a necessity in my life.

The first time I started taking my car out on a semi-regular basis, at the taunting of a shady character. The first time I missed camp at Kune. The first time I drove a little more than 20kms at a stretch on a highway. The first time I went to Bombay on my own and actually experienced the city, rather than conference halls and hotel rooms. The first time I started working, a job that I never even imagined fit for me. The first time I took a step towards financial independence. The first time I stepped out of my house for the night, and had no questions directed my way. The first time I conquered the illogical fear of technology.

These firsts may not sound earth shattering or life altering to any of you. But to me, they do. I still can’t determine whether it was a good year or a bad one, because the pros balance out the cons. I do know one thing though – if the next year goes like the last one did, I wouldn’t mind so much. There were some really good times that I wouldn’t take back for the world. But I sure hope the pros outnumber the cons next year. HAPPY BIRDAY TO ME.

PS. Not having an internet connection at home, and having a birday on a day that the office is closed makes it difficult to update the blog on time. Happy belated birday to me. The start of 21 has been more than awesome, but that's a blog for another day.

Too much, too little or a little too much?

I can handle it, can’t I? Of course I can, says a part of me. The other part, more dominant, is doubtful. I’m the kind of person who can do whatever is thrown towards her. But at the same time, I’m the kind of person who tends to forget that sometimes. I’m the kind of person who, if she makes up her mind to do something, does it well. But at the same time I’m also the kind of person whose time management skills suck. This is a time in my life when I’ve taken on a lot of things. None on which are unnecessary. Fortunate, you might say. At least I’m not wasting my time. Yes? But then, stop to think. Is it really so fortunate? My plate is overflowing with the delights of my favourite language, the wonders of being financially independent with the help of a job that I actually enjoy, the prospects of a better future with a higher qualification degree, the love and company of friends. How do I choose, if I have to?

“Stop changing. Stop being someone you’re not.” – Just a little something, someone said to me a few nights ago. While I didn’t have a response then, I have one now. And what I have to say is this: Why the hell? I like the person I’ve become. I’ve changed, but I’m essentially still me. The girl I see in the mirror is composed, focused, a little stoic and most importantly, doesn’t hurt easily. She’s still as random as random can be, she still loves with all her heart – that thankfully hasn’t changed. But she’s a lot more careful about who she’s random with, and who/what she loves with all her heart. For now, it’s the language that’s made her weak in the knees since the 8th grade. It’s the job that she didn’t ever see herself doing, but enjoys quite a bit. It’s basking in a sliver of hopefully fast-growing independence. It’s the professor she thought was never going to teach her again. It’s the hippie girl who feels more his than hers, but is still more hers than his. It’s the chai, and sometimes the god-awful coffee from the machine. It’s a warm and fuzzy feeling, which stems from looking at photographs of a bird. It's scrounging for time so she can keep diaryfaceness alive. It’s blogging at 5am on a weekday, when she could have slept till 7am. It’s all of that, and a lot more. I just hope it’s not too much.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

“As each strand falls I watch it drift to the ground. My head feels lighter. The hairdresser hands me my ponytail. I refuse to take my hair in my hands. Every inch of that hair was from a moment that has now gone. Thoughts, wishes, hopes, desires, dreams that are no longer. I want a new start. A new head of hair. Snip, snip, snip.” – Joyce Conway in Cecilia Ahern’s “Thanks for the Memories”


People keep asking me what made me get my new look. This is all I have to say to them – I wanted change, I needed change, so I got change. That’s it. I wish I had a more eloquent piece to write about it, but Cecilia Ahern was eloquent enough for me. Even though Joyce Conway was a woman with bigger problems than mine, a woman who had just lost her unborn baby in a traumatic mishap, as compared to my seemingly trivial troubles, and was probably more justified in feeling the way she did, what she felt and thought is exactly what I felt and thought when I decided to do what I did. The book had nothing to do with it, it’s just the way I am, and it’s just what I do. To make an emotional change, I make a physical change. It’s a road I’ve taken before, when I pierced my nose four years ago. It’s not new territory. So yes, Lou and Diaryface may have spent many chai sessions convincing me to chop off all my hair for their own reasons, and I may have spent many hours telling them my reservations about going so drastically short. But the ultimate decision of getting change was taken after the realization that I wanted change, I needed change. That’s it.

Of everything on her mind. And yet, nothing at all.

I used to know her, she was a friend. I looked at her and saw her, more clearly than most. Now I look and see nothing. She seems to have disappeared, but she’s only just invisible to the naked eye. I have to take a closer look to realize she’s right there, not quite where I left her, but close enough. She wanders lonely as a cloud (sorry Wordsworth, but she does) and doesn’t have much to say. She’s lost something, something she can’t put her finger on. Is it her soul or is it merely her confidence? There must be someone to blame, but she doesn’t have the heart to. As much as she’s changed, that’s one thing that hasn’t. Whatever’s missing is to do with her and no one else. But it would be nice to put the blame on someone else. It would lighten her burden. The burden that’s been around for a while, the cause of which is blurry. She’s happy, yes. But not completely. She’d give anything to figure out why, but the answer is elusive. Is it one or the other, or a combination of both?

Her laughter rings out loud, a sound that offers me much relief. But is that laughter hollow? Again, I have to listen closely. There’s things she’s not telling me, but that’s only because she doesn’t quite know herself. She feels drops of rain fall down upon her. Little drops, big drops, drops that drench her to the bone. And she feels nothing. She’s never been fond of the rain, and getting caught in it has always evoked a sense of annoyance in her. But now, nothing. She lets the raindrops wash over her; she lifts her face up to the sky. She’s almost glad for the rain, and that’s what makes me realize something’s different.

A lot can change in a year. Truer words were never spoken. An old love went sour, but a new friendship created. A new friendship went sour, but two newer ones blossomed out of it. A lot can really change in a year. The last time she spoke to the lover of a Russian queen, was the last time she spoke to a special someone who had seen her through a lot. The last time she spoke to the ghost of the lover, was the first and last time she reached that level of anger and emotion. She thinks of him sometimes, not entirely sure anymore. Is he dead, alive or still in limbo? It pains her deeply now, the paralysis she felt earlier is fading away. But the pain is not so deep that she wants to do something about it.

Love is a strange thing. It makes you hate sometimes. Is that what you call a paradox? Hmmm. I think it is. You’d think I’d know, what with it being my field of study and whatnot. But, that’s not a tangent I choose to go on now. Love, yes. A strange, strange thing. She loved him with all that she had. But then she also hated him. He’s always been that person in her life. The one. Oh no, not “THE ONE”. Just “the one”. You know, the one? The one who knew her at a time when she didn’t entirely know herself. The one who grew as she grew. The one who was just there, hovering around. The one who hurt her more than once, and the one who she, in turn, hurt more than once. The one who patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) heard her silly tantrums, however rare they were. The one that always made her smile and laugh. The one who, even now, probably knows more about her than most. The one who will never be the one, but will still always be the one. She hated him then, and she hates him still.

The rain is still all about her, pelting relentlessly. It shows no sign of slowing down, just like the thoughts in her head. She begins to feel annoyance creep up into her. That’s a first, after a very long time. She’s annoyed that it’s going to ruin her shoes. They’re not silk, no. And she’s not being kissed by the Rue Voltaire. They’re good sensible work shoes, and the Rue Voltaire is nowhere in sight. So having her shoes ruined couldn’t possibly be as perfect as what Corrine sings about. Annoyance is justified then, isn’t it? But is her annoyance only directed towards the rain, or does it go deeper than that? Hmmm. Go figure. Because I sure as hell can’t.

Looking at shiny, fighting over Pictionary and buying expensive things... while making magic.

Ok, so anyone who knows me knows that M&Abu make me want to throw up, in the nicest possible way. I love them, individually and together, but it is this very love that makes me want to throw up. They represent that one couple-friend every person has in their life. The couple that is so in love that, even though they may have been with other people before, you cannot imagine one without the other. The couple that is so mushy, you exclaim impatiently, "GET MARRIED ALREADY!". The couple that has lasted for so long, that even you (a third party) know that the next step is only going to be forward. You look at them individually, and they don’t REALLY seem like the other’s type – she being so focused and career-oriented, he being so relaxed and unbothered. But when they come together, they’re the friggin definition of “meant-to-be” and you can’t help but sigh*.

M&Abu began four years ago, today. I wasn’t there the day they came to be, but I know all the details. It’s impossible I don’t, but considering the circumstances under which it happened, I wish I was there to see the looks on both their faces. That would have been epic. I only got to know of their existence a few hours later, when Abu called me to make sure Lou and the Penguin weren’t messing around with him. I don’t know if M knows this. But anyway, my first reaction was not of happiness, but of complete surprise. She says her world blurred the moment she saw him, but I had no clue. Of course, I never have a clue. But I’m sure the Penguin didn’t have a clue either, or she would have told me! Oh well, who cares now.

They happened, and they happened BIG. They’re so weirdly perfect for each other, that it seems unreal. He understands her competitiveness; she gets his lameness. He goes out of his way to make her happy; she lets him hold her hand when he’s distracted and distracting. She can be a mean bitch when she’s in pain, but he’s just always there. He can be really trying when he’s in one of his “moods”, but she overlooks it all. They spend the day together, sometimes eating at expensive restaurants, and then have stupid conversations of sweet nothings on the phone or online. After four years, they still look at each other the way they did, the day we first met Abu without his dogtag.

It’s been a long while since then, and a lot has changed. When I say a lot, I mean A LOT. I’ve known M for a long, long time and she has done things in these four years, that none of us EVER imagined possible. And, I’m not saying Abu’s responsible for it all, but he does have a HUGE part to play in it. With that, none of us can disagree. Whether it’s motivating her, calmly guiding her, gifting her coupons on their last anniversary – he’s been there, egging her on. And she’s finally begun testing her wings. I’m telling you, Sunburn will happen. Not necessarily this year, but it will!

It’s not just her who’s changed, don’t get me wrong. He’s not some God-like figure, who happened to come along for an undeserving, helpless girl. Oh no. But, I can only talk about the changes I’ve seen in her. I can’t say much about him, because I didn’t know him before he became part of M&Abu. I do know this though – they are the centers of each other’s universe. And if he knows what’s happening around him, academically, it’s because of her. No doubt about that. I’d like to see him attempt to pass his exams without her by his side. Tsk and a shake of the head.

The reason I am so particularly happy about the concept of M&Abu today, is because they have finally crossed the four year mark. It’s no longer “Boy & Girl *cough*three years*cough* Forever” and a sigh of relief can be heaved. It’s stupid, I know, and when I first heard that logic, I laughed. But recently that has been eating me up. The realization that all the so called “forever” couples I’ve ever known, have actually gone bust after three years. It doesn’t mean they’re out of danger of going bust, no. But knowing them, and knowing all the other parties of this relationship (you know, all of us have been third wheels at some point or the other), the possibilities of that happening are quite slim. I mean, really. If they can get past hurting fingertips, they can get past anything.

Here’s to the last four years, and the countless ones to come!

* Wait. Did I say sigh? I meant groan and gag. Friggin nonsense, friggin friggin. <3