Febrero, and the stars are beautiful.

Which is why I haven't written anything in a very long time. That, and the fact that I'm supposed to spend the better part of my day with my textbooks.

Speaking of which, holy shitsicles, in just over a month and a half, I am going to be free! Like WILLY! And I'm obviously referring to the whale here. Obviously. Ehehe.

I should be feeling all earnest and studying very very hard and things, but then me, being good ol' me, blew off all that today to go check out Khan Chacha's new place in Khan. I missed his awesome rolls, man. They're the shiznit. That Aap Ki Khatir dude is mean. And his rolls suck. And Al Bake is LAME, I don't care what anyone else says, their shawarmas are too oily, and too small, and just generally completely uncool. And did you know that shawarma is different from shwarma? The food dude told me so. Food dude food dude. Foodie doodie. Heheh. I like the way Americans say 'duty'. I especially like the way Arnold Schwarzenegger says it. "It is mah DOODIE!" :P

So I saw The Notebook the other day, and that movie is worse than PS I Love You. No, really. It is such a shit movie, wow. I mean the whole series of Nicholas Sparks movies are kind of lame and predictable, but even A Walk To Remember wasn't that bad(of course, there was a time when I was obsessed with that movie, and Landon, but nevermind that). The make out scenes were its saving grace, and that's only because I am very frustrated, and Ryan Gosling and the chickadee look damn good together.

Anyhoo Bones is on now. Speaking of which, yesterday's episode was SO awesome, especially the way Bones went apeshit on Booth Jr's ass. Epic, I says.

Oh, bollocks.

Sweet Jesus, I hate this feeling. I really do. It's one of the worst in the world, this Oh-crap-did-I-just-fuck-things-up feeling. It's very handicapping. And it doesn't help that I overreact like a motherfucker. Double whammy. Poe, you little idiot.

Curse this grade, curse it and its stupid guilt trips and stress and lackoffreedom and general lameness to HELL.

If only I had a time machine. And wings. And a cure for fucked up headaches that require CT scans.
Most importantly, tact. And balls, except not literally, you understand.

And a pony and a castle in the clouds, while I'm at it.

Bloody shit.

Happy New Year, indeed.

1900 hours.
We've been circling over New Delhi for the last hour or so. There's a queue for flights landing, we're number 10. You can't see anything other than purple darkness and the golden moon out the window, and we're at an altitude of 700 meters.



1940 hours.
The pilot’s already tried to land twice. Both times he had to turn around- visibility is less than 50 meters. It appears we’re going to get diverted, maybe to Ahmedabad.

2000 hours.

Okay, no. Jaipur it is then.

2040 hours.

We’re on a remote runway at the Jaipur aiport. The looker-after-of-stranded-people-er is on his way to our plane, the pilot says.

2130 hours.

Aforementioned looker-after has still not shown up.

2200 hours.

We’re in the bus, on the way to the airport. The Karol Bagh uncles are busy trying to look important and ergo are standing right at the entrance to the bus, when there are seats in the back. One of them offered to hold one of the passengers’ baby, seeing as she couldn’t find a seat. He’s standing in front of Jahangir and me, cooing “Smartie, smartie, nonono, don’t cwy” to the pissed off little one who’s probably wondering why the fuck some strange goon took him away from his mother.

2215.

Everyone’s standing in a long queue in front of one of the Air India desks, with one of the airport people behind the counter. We’re not entirely sure why, but we join it anyway.

2216.

So this dude’s arranging accommodation. Oh.

2230.

The line hasn’t moved an inch yet. Tempers are frayed, people are busy instigating other people, one lady got all up in it when some guy didn’t save her place in the line and so she jumped right to the front. People at back are yelling at her about how she has no ‘self respect’ or some such. Padre is surprisingly calm through the whole thing. I’m just standing and staring at everyone.

2315.

Fuck staying in Jaipur. This city is lame.

So we're sitting and waiting for the coaches that'll take us to Delhi to arrive.

Some dude is yelling at the security guard for responding insolently to his whiny questions.
"He's asking for his head to get blown off, the dumb motherfucker." Jahangir comments.
These CSIS dudes are under a lot of stress, he tells me. We should maybe go get the guy some coffee and apologise on behalf of the Dumb Motherfucker.
Noodle smiles half heartedly, when we ask her for cash and looks away, effectively telling us to shut the fuck up and stay in our seats.


0100.

Everyone else has either left for the hotel, or on the coaches. Ours hasn't arrived yet. Noodle looks disgusted with everything, and Padre is slightly aggravated with the incompetent Air India people, but on the whole isn't too peeved. I'm skidding around with the trolley, waiting for the goddam coach, while Jahangir flicks through the photos.


0124.

We're finally on a bus. Jesus Christ. These college going types are sitting behind me, talking about Bodh Gaya, and how they missed their connecting flight to New York, and laughing at dumbass college jokes. The food arranged for us is shit, and they haven't given us spoons.

I eat some of it anyway.


0230.

Jaipur is FREAKY man. It's like a ghost town. The lights are all on, the autos are standing where they're meant to, but there are no PEOPLE. The hell?


0330.

We're on the highway, FINALLY.


0430.

I'm still not asleep. Goddammit.



0625.
I spies Delhi Airport through the slight mist. Hallelujah.



0715.

"WHY'RE WE STILL FEEDING THE CAT MILK?! I'VE ALREADY TOLD YOU, HE'S LACTOSE FRICKIN' INTOLERANT!"




I love home, I do.

Hchello, Hchello!

We're in the last few days of school now.

Everybody who I didn't used to gel with at ALL last year are now the people who I hang with all the time. Vewy funny, zat. But hey, I'm not complaining. I laugh so much more these days. It's the only reason I go to school, I swear.
Well the only other reason, besides the glaringly obvious one *coughSTUPIDCUPIDcough*



Anyway.


And while school is becoming the best part of my day, my blog is getting more and more weepy and whiny sounding and I've had WAY too many nervous breakdowns in the last few weeks. It's abnormal and totally uncool. What happened to being the girl who studied when she felt like it and didn't otherwise without pulling wiggy shit on everybody?!
Okay, not everybody, but the people who matter anyway! GAH! THIS STRESSYNESS I WILL NOT STAND FOR, DAMMIT!



I should totally be definite-integrating right now.




Oh, bollocks.




Ooh, ooh. And I got HATE mail. From the quietest girl in the class too. A minute after I got done stressing out about integration and how much it sucks. I didn't know whether to laugh or to rip my hair out and throw the phone across the room hoping that she'd feel it on the other end of the line.
It's always the quiet ones who're insane.
Stupid psychotic motherfuckers with delusions of paranoia.
So apparently, I'm gonna get my ass whooped on Wednesday. Like, for sure. Considering how she didn't have the balls to bring this shit up until the last three days of school, I really doubt she'll be able to do anything more than set her retardedly tall boyfriend on me while she gives me smouldering looks over her shoulder. Said retardedly tall boyfriend won't be able to do shit anyway. I am fun-sized(ie, vertically challenged) and dangerous.

True story.




And the whole dream thing didn't work out. Too much other random shit kept happening, and I forgot I was in a dream, and then I thought I really was in school topless.
Then my pants disappeared halfway through.
And Fitz didn't know me, at all.
It was insane.
And freakay.
And wohmigaad, when I woke up, I swear I nearly cried with relief. Phwoosh.
Trippy dreams are not always fun.
Now I find out.
Bleddy.


Christmas is so going to suck this year.
I don't have anything nice to say, quite clearly.


Except, I had this eulogy brewing in my head, but now I'm tired out and sick of having nice things only in my head and all I want is a hug and a teddy bear to hold on to while I snuggle into the blankets on my bed and just
keep
the silence.

Bleah.

Class XII is so full of shit. It sucks the fun out of studying, the system does. Then you're left wondering 'what the fuck do the marks mean anyway, man' and then piss yourself off, and piss off everyone around you.

Uncool situation, this whole thing.

I try lucid dreaming again tonight. Except y'know, the thing is, I've always liked the fact that my dreams are insane and completely random. It gives me something to think about while I'm getting dressed for school. And concentrating while you're dreaming is so bloody hard. It's so much easier to just lie back on the grassy hill in your head and watch the thoughtclouds that float across your mind's bright blue sky.
Last night was a bad night to try it anyway, there were too many people around and I got interrupted four times in the course of 6 hours, less than even.
I asked Fitz to give me a story line, something to concentrate on while drifting into Lala Land. The problem with raw story lines is that trying to fill in the details is like colouring in a blank drawing. I want to do it really well and evenly but in between I just lose interest and start doing my own thing on the borders. Pfft.

I'm sorry to whoever may be reading this right now. I'm not even trying to make it remotely interesting to anyone. I just need to write something because my head's full of sad-making things and thinking about them is just not nice. I don't want to wallow.

You, Me, and Happy.

You're pissed off, I'm pissed off. Mostly for the same reasons.


So let's stay away from each other and stay inside our personal broody bubbles. Or maybe we both just forget how pissed off we are and laugh over the stupid moments of today.


It's the little things that get to me, I think. Things like hand holding in Italy, bleah.




You know what I want? I want time. No, actually, I want to step out of the stream of Time, and pull you into my vortex and keep you there with me. Because then there are no constraints, no trains to catch at a particular moment, no traffic jams to beat, no people to get back home to, no responsibilities to attend to, no phone bills to pay.


But for now, I'm just going to let Iktara surround me.





Thank you, by the way.

Coconut. Chee.

Fitz was telling me about how I'm so westernized the other day. I got all offended and said "DUDE, I'm not THAT westernized! I know Hindi!" (Which is crap, because my hindi is just so, so, SO bad, I shouldn't ever admit to knowing any. There are no words to describe HOW bad. And there isn't even any justification for my crap Hindi, Jahangir spent the first ten years of his life in Bombay so he has THAT excuse, Neo spent her formative years in Hong Kong- I, on the other hand, have been in Delhi, the heart of North India ever since I was frickin' FIVE. I'm suchaloser. I thought I was going to fail my Hindi Board exam, even. But then I got 85%, so yaa boo sucks to all of you.)
So then he said "Alright, besides that, you don't even watch Bollywood cinema do you?"

And then I tried to list all the Hindi movies I've seen in my lifetime.






I came to a grand total of 6 and a half.




I suck.




So I've decided, enough is enough; I cannot go on living like this, feeling like a kid who was born into the wrong nationality.
So once I'm free enough, and in a position where I don't feel guilty about doing anything except bettering my academic performance, I will plonk myself down in front of the computer armed with everyone's recommendations, good food, and an arm to cuddle up to/clutch at all the appropriate scenes.

Jai Hind, brethren :D

I've been such a touch-me-not today, man, it's annoying even ME. But then I always annoy myself, so that isn't saying very much, really. I overreacted at the stupidest things and the most innocuous of comments, Jesu Christi, I'd even understand if everyone were to ignore me for the next couple days and not buy me food from the canteen for the week.

Today's been a very lazy day otherwise. Spent a lot of time in bed, all cuddled up in my blankie with the lights off and the phone on silent. Purr, I'm a happy mommy kitteh :D The little one's been really whiny though, Mother made prawns today and all he got was tails. Jahangir very nicely laid his down in front of Blub, who gave him this 'what the fuck is THIS shite' look, the picky little schmuckeroo.

The exams are coming closer, and closer, and closer...
And it's all just way uncool, 'cause my hair can't deal with all this stress and neither can my head and I just want to hide under aforementioned blankie and wait for the storm to pass and April to get here already. All these questions and expectations and Idontknows and Letussees will disappear like *poof*, then. I don't want these idiotic questions. I want to know that everything will be fine and it'll all work out and everyone will be happy and satisfied.

I have illegal drugs on me, and I don't know what do with it.

Your body is a wonderland. Forgive me for my 5yearold-in-a-candystore looks, those I cannot control.

My English teacher is a lying little kutti. Stream of Consciousness, my pimpled behind.

We've Got A Groovey Thing Goin'

I like the way certain songs always remind me of some people. Like how Chasing Cars reminds me of Swami, and the 6 months I spent at Mnemonique's. Everytime I hear it I remember the white, white walls of her house, and the shitty old computer, and the confusion that surrounded 2006. And that one time I cried while listening to Swami play the guitar over the phone. It was 8 in the night when that happened, I think. I remember it was dark out, anyway.

And Could Be Anything Else always reminds me of Pot. My head always does the left-to-right, right-to-left bop when I listen to The Eames Era. I can still feel the stupid crazy grin on my face as we bopped in time to the music playing on the earphones on the way back home from Spanish class. And how we laughed like we were on crack when we realized people were giving us funny looks from their cars. On a sidenote, that song still doesn't make sense to me.

Then there's The Rain Song. Yowza. That one reminds me of Rach and us sitting in her room in the nighttime, with a solitary candle that was stationed between us for light. And the black box that she used to keep her cigarettes in, all locked up and safe. Before she put the song on she said 'Don't talk. Just listen.' and so I did. She had her eyes shut and she lay back on the floor, and she took long drags from her cancerstick every so often. Her hands were shaking when the song ended.

And Faggot will ALWAYS be Medha. Jesus. I still remember that first time she told me about it. "DUDE, there's this kickass new song that I have, me and Deb keep listening to it man, it's so fucking funny, the chorus goes like 'Faggotfaggotfaggotfaggot!' yesterday, me and Deb were listening to it and screaming only that bit out- mostly because we don't know the rest of the lyrics, but YEAH!" And then she told me about that damn song some TEN times. That's not including the number of times I heard her telling someone else about it when I was around. Moronus. Medha listens to some freakay shite, she does. Gotta admit though, that faggotfaggotfaggot bit is some fun :P

And oooh. Sewn, Sewn, Sewn. Reminds me of The Boy. The feeling of his forehead pressed against mine as we swayed to the music. How he showed off his kickass speakers saying 'SEE dude, you should have speakers like these too, not the shitty tiny ones you currently have attached to your computer!' Bum. The sound of his even breathing as he slept in my arms. The way he gently ran his knuckles down my cheek every so often. Pretty song, Sewn.

On a random note, Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies is so weird. I mean, the scenarios they come up with, man. The lyricist clearly had a very jobless, very very active imagination. Putput introduced me to this song, said it was real nice and all that. There was this one time I was coming home from Mnemonique's, and the radio was on, and I heard the RJ say "this next one goes out to Kita, from P, it's this lovely track called Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies" and I was all 'who-sa what-ah?! Putput dedicated a track to Pot on the RADIO?!' cause he's the only one who calls her Kita. Turned out to be as untrue as blue being the new pink, but anyway. That was one helluva coincidence, methinks.

It is now 12.24 in the AM. I used to be able to stay up till 0300 without batting an eyelash, man. Now I get sleepy at 2100 and can't wake up till 0700hrs.

Pooh, anyway. I'm gonna stop this post here. I'm tyred. And The Mamas & The Papas are telling y'all to Dream A Little Dream of Me.
Run along, now.
Buenas noches, mis amigos.

Dude, come ON.

Y'all could ATLEAST leave a COUPLE of comments, y'know. This lack of attention and encouragement is very demotivating and sadmaking. Hmph.

And suddenly, it hit me.

Walking around in my oversized shirt, watching you cook lunch while you were still in the boxers and t-shirt that you slept in.











Cliches are awesome.

You're Toxic, I'm slippin' Under!

Yes, I know what you're going to say, I should go kill myself, loser britney loving fangirl yadayadayada but fuck you people, Toxic is CATCHY OKAY?! Y'all are just elitists. Pfft.
Plus, I've been listening to different versions of it- so now I have an indie version, a clubby version, and a metal version on loop. I still like the original best though. Yael Naim's version is really hard to sing. Bloody soprano.


Any, any.
I'm trying to figure out how exactly I'm supposed to update y'all on all that's been happening lately. It's all been so insane and fast paced. I swear, I've NEVER had this much fun falling for a boy. All the other boys I've liked never understood the importance of romance, ya know? But then, nobody else has the- how did he put it- felicity of expression that he does. Felicity is such a nice word. I like the staccato feel it has.
He invariably ends up using words I really like.
But then, maybe I'm just biased. Teeheehee.


You know, for a change, I think I quite like the fictionpress-yness of everything right now. It's all so...nice and happy-making. For me, anyway.

You Make My Head Soft.

"I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."

Everything I've written in the last four days has been overtly personal and incredibly angsty and sappy. I'd put it up, but Papi'd slap his forehead harder than I do and give himself a concussion, and I wouldn't want that.

Lifehouse = Vagina.

True story.



I have a psych exam tomorrow, which I haven't even studied for and I doubt I will. This complete apathy is just a little bit unnerving. WHO is this idontgiveafuckish during EXAM TIME?! No wait, don't answer that. What I meant was, I am not one of those people thankyouverymuch. I like to do well, or atleast reasonably well, on my stupid tests. Even if they're so totally full of shit, and I hate history. I really do. Mostly because our teacher is a stingy bitch when it comes to marks. She totally ruined history for me. Boohuckey.



Anyway, this weekend is beginning to look like it's gonna be fabulous. Fitzgerald came over today and MADE my day, he did. Fuck psych, yay for insane laughing bouts and freaking out innocent kittehs! Teeheehee!
Ooh, and tomorrow, is Dandiya night! WOO! It's just ironic though, I'm gonna be there with four guys and not ONE of them is my date. Bleddy. Such unluckiness in lurve I did not ask for, Jah. Either way, I'm glad they're all coming. It's been a while since I've seen Papi and Willy and Joompa. I miss you all, I dew.



A lot of people are going out of town now. So SAD it eej, I tell youse truly. No Pot, no Fitz, and Papi and Willy have school. These effing Christian schools man, don't know how to be nice to peeps of other religions. Ass'ols. Any, any. I always has Medicine to keep me company. And Joompa, when he's available.



Thisissuchayrandomretardedboringpost.
Meh, Phuket.I had funner and more important things to write in the recent past. 777777777778uuuuuuuuu86666666666666
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Well. Blub says hello, y'all.