Attack of the Colors...

I have been walking around a mass of nerves lately, paranoid to the extreme and jumpy as a rabbit. All this due to the much feared festival of Holi.

The youngest sister came home the other day looking as if she had been kicked in the stomach and then kicked some more. Going by the look on her face I was guessing the worst natural calamity or World War III. Once she had recovered enough she disclosed that it was indeed a water missile balloon that had struck her left ear with the force of a comet. She truly feared she had gone deaf for a few minutes. On top of it whoever that cretin is who had pelted her with it had managed to get water into her phone which had predictably stopped working. She was spitting mad…so mad that she was crying tears of fury.

Can you imagine any good coming from a festival where people feel free to get high on a drink made with Cannabis in it; drag unsuspecting victims of revelry out of their homes and douse them with colours without their approval.

I do have a MO when it comes to coping with the week commencing Holi. It took a lot of people, pelting water balloons at me, before I was forced to take some steps to protect myself. Most of this involves sneaking around, trying to fade into the background, which considering my personality should not be too tough, but to my dismay is during this time. Your stride must be quick and firm but not too fast for they must not sense your fear. Make the most of your visionary abilities and keep an eye on any missiles which might be hurtling at impossible speeds your way. I believe I resemble one of those objects whose heads keep bobbing on a spring as I try to do a full 360 degress at once, eyes darting this way and that frantically. Every step feels like I’m stepping on a mine field. During the amount of time it takes to enter my home, I feel as if I have a humoungous anxiety attack coming on. All these precautionary measures are usually in vain though as you must have figured by now. What can one do against such an inevitability?

There is not much you can do in the way of retribution, however, as society as a whole and parents in particular seem quite encouraging of such behaviour. Except for yelling a few of your choicest swear words. No wait, you can wait for Holi to come round again, next year and for the whole painful cycle to be repeated. Except, the intensity of the torture would have gone up a few more degrees, as the children get bloody smarter and more devious and a large number of adults regrettably dumber.

At The Stare Of The Century....

Indulging in merry conversation with a friend of mine the other day… he let it drop that my responses are quite unnatural and scary, most of the time. This stemmed from my vehement objection of a simple compliment that had been paid to yours truly. I was forceful enough to make him retrace said statement and apologize for such heresy. Branding me an odd creature this friend revealed(in a careful voice) that one never knows what to expect when talking to me. Admitting to being scared of what my response would be to this tasty morsel of information…this friend nevertheless aspired to braver and nobler intentions and risked getting his head chewn off at the altar of friendship. A true friend he said, tells you the truth whether you like it or not. That is a whole new topic for debate I think, which I won’t touch on now.

This friend opened my eyes wide and made me see the monstrous picture that I present to others at times. There has been many a time when an innocent and harmless remark made by someone I know has put my back up and lead to one of my famous, mysterious moods. People are actually afraid to talk to me on such occasions.

There was this one time long long ago, while still in school, when a classmate dared to tattle to the teacher about some stuff(will not disclose what as it is really embarrassing) i had smuggled into class. Just keep in mind that i take no pride whatsoever in disclosing what ensued next. I stared at the poor girl with only a minimum amount of blinking involved, for the entire 45 minutes duration of that class. This was not an ordinary, everyday stare mind you, where one focuses on nothing in particular and it seems as if the person in front of you is either retarded or contemplating something deeply profound, which is annoying nonetheless. My stare was full of emotions that I could barely restrain…the phrase if looks could kill springs to mind here and which if applicable in this situation would have her groveling at my feet for mercy. I picture myself as Ayesha from Rider Haggard’s She, at such times, if only for my ability to reduce people to silent tears and a deep heartfelt regret.

This just goes on to show that I was just as intolerant in my day to day life then as I am now. I am one of the most intolerant people I know when it comes to the insignificant things in life…things that shouldn’t matter and which I should be able to overlook quite easily.

Things that go bump in the night…

Last night was probably one of the worst nights I have had in a long time now…I am one of those people whom Fortune has favoured with coma like sleep. I have been blessed with this ability to be able to fall asleep anywhere, at the drop of a hat literally. I can fall asleep( the most obvious one) in class during a lecture, on the train or bus, while waiting for my date to show up(and God save him if he is late for more than a few minutes, I can be really cruel at times), in the theatre, reading Tolstoy,  while watching re-runs on the telly, while my parents are talking to me about what I’m gonna do in the future and more often than not at work. All these examples are just to highlight my ability and prowess to sleep and sleep well under less than perfect conditions. 

        To get back to last night’s misadventures, my eyes suddenly drifted wide open due to some sound or I don’t know what. The first thing I registered was the Darkness. My ever so considerate sister had turned off the lights in my room before going to sleep herself, something which is strictly forbidden. Here begins my tale of woe, as I struggled to get back to sleep. You see I have this totally childish, inexplicable fear of the dark and everything associated with it, which judging from the tone of this post, is nothing good. Within seconds my brain had gone into overdrive and started imagining the worst. I began to see lightning flashes, in very clear details, of every horror flick I had ever had the misfortune to watch in my life…and those movies were not even good. I was stuck in a real dilemma whether I should risk getting my ankles grabbed by something as I climbed out of bed to put the lights on or continue to suffer silently but not bravely. Every sound was like a horde of elephants pulling metal chains, in an Indian palace which is haunted. I seemed to have developed superhuman powers of hearing where my ears could deduce every single sound, no matter how minute, or far its point of origin. Don’t even get me started on the scary shadows that seemed to be more taunting me than dancing on the wall. Finally after what seemed like endless hours of burrowing deep under the comforter, having gotten tired of straining my ears and imagining things at which point I must have fallen asleep. When I opened my eyes next, it was thankfully daylight and I was free to leave the sanctuary of my bed. Being an adult is such a pain sometimes. My mum would not take me seriously if I told her this and would ask me to grow up and deal with my fears. No matter how much I try to apply logic and rationalize  that there is nothing scareworthy in the dark, I am predictably reduced to a sweating, trembling coward.

On Beginnings…

The title of this post seems to have an ominous beginning as it closely follows the titles of Hazlitt's essays. I have spent many sad afternoons of my starved youth, in a boring classroom, listening to my professor droning on about Hazlitt while I wished... no prayed... for aliens to descend on Earth, beam her up into their spaceship and put me out of my misery. I can promise you that not a single moment of my time would have been given to that insipid woman voluntarily, if I was not expected to keep my attendance up to be eligible to appear for my exams. I have nothing against Hazlitt...in fact I consider him to be a wonderful essayist who touched on the relevant topics of his time quite knowledgeably and described them for the benefit of his fellow human-beings. I am afraid those aforementioned afternoons have scarred me for life and I can never bear to look at another essay of Hazlitt's without being paranoid of the aftereffects. It is still a mystery to me as to why this popped into my head the moment I started thinking of a title for this post.

        This post is an attempt at explaining the reasons why I have finally dared to inflict my thought process on anyone who would care to listen to what I have to say.  My reasons are purely selfish i must admit. I am only thinking of what I can get out of this exercise. Inspite of everything that is me screaming a big NO I have decided to speak my thoughts out loud for everyone to hear. You see I am a technophobe (is there such a word?) a cyber idiot who cannot maneuver her way round anything remotely involving technology to save her life. My brain simply refuses to register any technological information and slips into a quiet but elegant comatose state. This blog(not without a LOT of help from my more adept sister) will map my progress or will forever go down in history as yet another of my famed failed attempts at self improvement. So my dear fellow blogsters be patient with me and handle with care for I bruise easily. Come and take a tour with me of the strange and sometimes twisted world that is my mind. I might not have a lot to say and might not even make sense on a lot of occasions but I do hope that I am able to make some of your moments brighter through my stumbling around in this rarified atmosphere.

        To be honest, this blog came into existence due to my sister’s constant nagging for me to DO SOMETHING…ANYTHING. Penning my two cents’ worth here, I thought, would help me accomplish a lot of my self-improvement targets. As I have nothing resembling a social life at the moment I have this  beautiful mental image of myself typing away furiously for hours, days, weeks and months and emerging at the end of it a techno wiz (if only at blogging). On top of it, I would have gone on a major purging binge, the kind that has not been seen since Barbara Cartland’s days of churning out books by the dozen. My sisters’ would finally have no reason to get on my case and my parents’ would stop wondering what I do with all the time on my hands. Hopefully, my fear of communicating with people would have subsided to a reasonable extent. Don’t get me wrong when I say I have a fear of communication. I speak very well in public if I say so myself.  Anything that involves me competing against someone turns me into a mean machine. I can stand in front of a crowd of people and speak fluently on any given topic. It is only in a social setting that I seem to turn to some grim silent version of myself once the initial pleasantries are over. That small talk bores me to the point of numbness does not help the situation at all. The kind of inane, mindless talk people will indulge in just to while away time makes me want to pull my hair out of the roots or even slam my head into the nearest available wall. I would like to open myself to people a bit more and see what kind of reception I get. I live in hopes of the day when the people who know me would describe me as fun and a wonderful talker…the life of the party(now I know I’m aiming too high). Anyways, some of you write so amazingly and irresistibly, that I have decided it would be worth my while to spend some time getting to know  you all and learn a lot about myself in the process. 

Rain Rain...

Rain....

There is something about rain that makes me feel different than usual, more lighter in spirit and happier in my skin. It is an experience in itself for me and there are various emotions that I associate with it. Rain for me is soothing, joyous, turbulent and forceful, playful on occasions and very rarely annoying too. 


My earliest memory of rain is my being entranced by a light but consistent pitter patter outside, which I observed from my bedroom window. I remember watching how the big fat raindrops made huge muddy pools and made the collected water dance every time a new drop fell. I'm sure I must have sat for hours at that window and felt a quiet satisfaction, which is hard to come by these days. 


Then, there are those times when showing an utter disregard to my mum's threats and pleading, I would stand for a considerable time on the terrace of our house during a heavy downpour. I would dash outside like mad and drag as many people as I could along with me namely, my sisters and cousins. I am not ashamed to admit that this was one of those occasions when i could let myself go and gasp Dance... without feeling self-conscious.          
              There is a certain technique to this exercise though. You have to be able to judge the duration of the rainfall from its intensity and the density of clouds in the sky. What pray would be the purpose of your defying the higher powers and going out to enjoy this only to see it stop abruptly, leaving you to face the music, minus the satisfaction of having enjoyed it.

I totally adore the things associated with this natural phenomenon too. Decking out in my rain gear as I term it is a lot of fun. A colourful raincoat and boots with a lovely umbrella or brolly to go with it. Unlike some people I know, I don't think it a pain to carry these things. Enjoying a steaming mug of coffee, snuggled in bed with an interesting book is one of life's luxuries for me. 


 Those of you, who have spent any amount of time living in a house with a tin roof, would be able to relate with what I'm about to say next. The sound of heavy rain falling on a tin roof is very unique and soothing, despite indications to the contrary. I have spent many a night and afternoon listening to this sound in a trance like state. The only thing I wish wouldn't happen when it rains is when the roads get all muddy and some passing car splashes water on me, catching me totally unawares. It is a shock rude enough to wake up even a catatonic soul like me.

Rainfall, for the place where I come from is a common everyday happening. People go about their daily business without making too much of it. I, however have never been able to take this for granted and think it ordinary. It makes me feel and see everything around me as totally new....the dust washed away, trees and plants green and revitalized, everything is bright and sparkling. Once the rain stops and the clouds dissapear even the Sun seems to shine brighter and the very air seems cleaner and clearer making every breath enjoyable.

Big Words...

Alright I give up! I cannot help but use words that have an old world feel to them and sound pedantic and serious somehow. My sisters have hopefully given up any hopes of my speaking in a language that is comprehensible to them and everyone else around me. I don't think it's right to hold me alone, responsible for this though. I'm sure this trait stems from my wish to be left alone from all those annoying grown ups who would insist on pestering me with their seemingly innocent questions. I would get immense satisfaction by carrying on a lengthy conversation, peppered with words and expressions which they could never have expected from someone who just about reached their knees. I would even go as far as labeling this a unique defense mechanism which I had built up to keep the annoying people at bay.


Speaking in a manner where every sentence seems to mean something more than what is simply being said does have its uses. After a certain point people do get tired of trying to decipher the hidden meaning of what you just said. The only bright spot in my otherwise boring childhood... Reading may have also played a part in this. You cannot help but get acquainted with new and uncommon words and expressions if you are the kind who devours book after book, like i did and still do. I have been told to stop sounding like a granny and to step into the present century, sometimes not very nicely I must say. All of it is in vain though and I have no intentions of making things easier, at least for people I don't like very much. One cannot deny though, there is a certain charm in expressing things the way they did in the days of Yore.