There is so much I would want to say, but I there is a stronger part of me that will just sigh and keep it all tucked away inside my heart, because it is mine to keep there. That is an amazing feeling in itself!
All you need to know is that I am one happy girl 
“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.” – Douglas Adams
So am I happy where I am ?
I think I always will be. It irritates me to no end when I hear about people who got into one college, paid for the seat and even attended a few classes and then decide “I don’t like it” and then leave. Are you even thinking about the numerous people who were in line for the same seat, and the chance you denied them?
College has taken me away from so many things. People, places, routines. Sometimes my phone rings, and I know it’s another “hiii how are you? how’s college? hows the boyfriend? ok so we’re all meeting at x at 9pm so be there ok? byeee” call and I think to myself – do I really want to meet these people? I remember all the times I begged and cried for permission to go to one of these “social” events where everybody dressed far older than their actual age, and then everybody was starving but nobody said a word because it was soo cool to eat at like 11 30 pm after getting “drunk” on a Breezer. And then, after to going to a few of these, I would pretend like I had a great time when actually I was still starving( because of course, I had to leave before dinner was served since I had a curfew) , and my feet hurt like crazy.
I know it’s changed by now. Dinner probably isn’t served at all, and the alcohol has gotten stronger. And don’t get me wrong – I love to listen to all the after party stories of how x got so drunk she puked all over y, and how z caught her boyfriend a making out with b, and dear god what WAS d wearing!? I have the post-party Facebook pictures for that
There might come a time when I enjoy the party scene, who knows. But right now, it’s kind of a regressive situation! Right now, my idea of a good time involves GOOD FOOD, people actually eating the good food, and actually genuinely having a conversation with a friend that doesn’t involve the furious scrutinizing of what the other person is wearing while trying to plaster an obviously fake smile on your face while you say – “ooh my god I’ve missed you soooooooooooooo much!”
Fear.
Panic. Terror. Mistrust. I find myself scrutinizing every human being around me, running away from every bag/ suit case/ parcel. I hate this cold feeling that is sliming its way through my body. I’m too scared to move, too scared to stay still.
B O M B – B L A S T – B O O M
Six, Seven, Eight. Twelve. It can’t happen here. It can’t happen to us.
“We condemn the blast”. Is that the best you can do? Protect us, damn you. Stop throwing money around and DO YOUR JOB. Condemn, condemn , condemn. Such a weak, weak, weak word. It reeks of helplessness.
And you. You. Yes, I’m drawing a line. I’m forced to. Div | ide. That’s what you want isn’t it? To be the other? Does it give you a sense of pride? To hurt. Again weak. Hurt. Pain. Suffer. Grief. This is all I can do. All I can say. You’re a monster, inhuman. You think you’re making yourself heard? You’re not. The sound is deafening. Nobody is listening. We’re far too consumed with something else. With the urge to protect, to seek warmth. To believe. You can’t shake my faith in people. I won’t let you.
Anger. Uncontrollable, immutable rage. My city, my people, my home, my country.
Our country. Do you hear me? OUR country.
I feel like a card board cut-out. Two dimensional.
Of who, I don’t know. Myself maybe. I’m tired, so tired every moment. And before you say “It’s because you don’t eat breakfast” no, not that kind of tired. I find myself running from class to class, lecture to lecture, womenwomenwomenwomenwomenwomen all around. My legs just carry me around without me knowing where I am going, just that I have to be someplace. Like I’m on auto-pilot.
Exactly a month ago, I started college. And I just realized that I was probably holding my breath this whole time wondering if someone was going to stop me and say ‘ok time to get back to real life now’ . And then whoosh I would find myself back at school, back in the corridors, back with my school friends and back with the familiar faces all around me.
Do I still want that? Familiar has a new meaning now. Familiar is now brown and cream. Familiar now is the college song, the canteen, the sloping driveways, the notice boards, the three flights of stairs I have to walk to psychology class. Familiar is the wooden benches, the comfort of the studio. Familiar now is ma’am.
I looked at a picture today, and I miss it all. I miss knowing I’d find a seat on the bus. I miss knowing that the bus would arrive on time. I miss knowing that I didn’t have keep track of which stop, that I could sit wherever I pleased. I miss knowing attendance would be taken only twice a day, and not six times. I miss being able to walk into the library any time I wanted to, and borrow anything I liked.
But I’m not holding my breath anymore. Faces are blurry. Schedules are fuzzy. Voices are faint.
I’m in the grey space. The ‘adjusting period’. There’s an explanation to everything.
I’m currently reading a book called “Everyone Worth Knowing” by Lauren Weisberger, the author of “The Devil Wears Prada“. I’m taking an unusually long amount of time to read it, because of time constraint. I really don’t know where all my time goes, now! It’s my worst nightmare : I settle down in bed, snuggle under the covers and open a perfectly interesting book to read ( romance + fashion + drama + whatever) and the next thing I know, my eyelids are shutting. And this from the girl who can proudly admit that she read each of the fatter Harry Potter books in a day!
Anyway the point of the whole post is the Birkin bag. I first came across it ( or mention of it) in “Everyone Worth Knowing” where one fashion-obsessed creature explains its exclusivity to the lead character, Bette Robinson. Now, while reading one of Nora Ephron‘s essays, I came across the Birkin again:
“—never mind that top-of-the-line thing called a Birkin bag that costs ten thousand dollars, not that it’s relevant because you can’t even get on the waiting list for one. On the waiting list! For a purse! For a ten-thousand-dollar purse that will end up full of old Tic Tacs!”
- an excerpt from Nora Ephron‘s essay “I Hate My Purse”
So the geek in me decided to wiki-search the damn thing to see what all the fuss was about. I apologize if I am indeed the last person to know about this thing, but may I present to you:
The Birkin bag
The above picture is of a red Hermès Birkin. I picked this one because I liked it out of all the other picures I saw. Anyway, a Birkin is an extremely exclusive fashion accessory, that sells at a minimum price of $7500 and according to Wikipedia, can go all the way up to 5 or 6 digit price depending of the material it’s made from. “Allegedly, the waiting list for a Birkin is over two years. In practice, however, many stores have a “call list” and an “order list”, both usually consisting of clients who have in one way or another become “regulars” or have formed a relationship with a particular Sales Associate.” (from here)
Famous clientele include : Victoria Beckham, Kate Moss, Carla Bruni, Demi Moore
Wow. Talk about materialism!
Give in, go on. Don’t be scared – it’s not going anywhere. Run, as far as you can. And stop. The feeling, it’s still there right?
See. I told you.
Not convinced yet? Ok try this.Hold your breath. No, really hold your breath. Until you think your lungs are going to burst out of your rib cage. Until you think, no actually feel, your face going blue. Now breathe. Did it go anywhere? It didn’t!
Face it. It’s here to stay.
(You can wipe that silly grin off your face now)
Years ago, when I was about 6 or 7, my dad had a dream that I had grown up, and was shaking him awake demanding the keys to the car ( which we had just bought that year). What made the experience surreal was that at that precise moment, I was in fact actually shaking him awake, asking for the keys! I remember the expression on his face, a sort of confused look which later he explained as being one of those how-the-hell-did-time-go-by-so-quickly looks. Then the live me informed him that I simply wanted the tape that was in the tape deck of the car, and therefore, required the keys!
As of today, I am officially licensed to drive a 4-wheeler LMV anywhere in India. So all I have to say (again) is: Daddy, give me the car keys!
Yesterday, someone told me that someone told them to always watch a movie twice. The first time to just enjoy it, and the second time for analytical purposes.
I watched Citizen Kane (for the first time) this evening. I had no idea what it was about, and I didn’t even look it up on IMDB or Wikipedia. All I knew was that it has been much talked about over the years, and very highly rated by most movie critics. I’m still deciding if I liked it or not!
Warning: Spoiler(s) ahead so if you haven’t watched it and you want to, don’t go any further!
All I can say right now that the film depicts people as people are. The character I really loved was Kane’s second wife in the film, Susan Alexander Kane. I especially loved this particular line of hers :
“I didn’t want to sing. It was his idea – everything was his idea – except my leaving him.”
The depiction of how totally alone and crazy Kane gets after his second wife leaves him is amazing in that one particular scene where he destroys all her remaining possessions in her room with his bare hands. This is almost symbolic of his own destruction and downfall, which he caused himself.
Maybe I’ll watch it a second time!
Sitting in my dad’s cubicle, in the chair behind his desk. I feel like those little children who, when they visit their dad’s office, yearn to grow up quickly and become “adults”. I should add that I just visited school to pick up my marks card and my transfer certificate, and am now officially a college girl.
You really can’t please everyone, can you?