Nine Yards

Like a never-ending enigma, the currently prevailing brouhaha about a mere nine yards of shiny fabric often brings the brains of our dear guys down to a state of a plate of Maggi (Read: utter and ultimate confusion).

Us girls, never wait and care to explain why we bother about "THE saree" as much as we do. Probably because we're too busy thinking about matching heels, but whatever.

Dearest counterparts, it's not just an ordinary piece of cloth. It's THE saree, THE farewell saree, a first for most of us, and special for all. Farewell, for us Indians, is our own personal Senior Prom, and nothing can hold back the horses when the girls get to shopping for it. It's not our fault. We are not THAT self-obsessed, conceited, narcissistic, but we just wanna look our best. (And of course, some wanna grab the 'Miss Evening' sash, but that's another story).

Every little girl dreams of being the Prom Queen once in her life. We all wanna glitter and glow as we sashay down the carpets, and we want to make it grand. Never mind the pain that goes into hours and hours of turning the town upside down searching for the one we want, THE perfect saree each girl has set in her mind, envisioned for the day. You must appreciate the effort that goes into endless trials of heels to go with it, and sleepless nights in case someone else bought the same piece. There's breakback Googling of designs and styles, and prolonged calls to the designer. Some keep the colour a secret, others go about singing praises of their best buy till date. Undoubtedly, "THE saree" becomes the most-discussed-analysed-debated topic among the girls for at least a month before the farewell. We bore our moms to death chatting about it on and on. We try our boyfriends' patience by not telling them the colour. Daddy gets sick of all the squealing about the pretty saree, and little sister would rather send it back to the shop and get a night of good sleep.

We? We aren't gonna stop talking about it until we wear it on D-Day and realise the other girl still got a better one.

I should shut up because I know guys still won't get why we fret that much. But admit it, you wouldn't bother attending the farewell if we didn't. :P

As for me, I took half an hour to buy my saree, and another half for heels. Now all I do is sit back and relax, thinking, "That was, by Jove, a pretty bargain." And if you ask me, I'll even show you how it looks. :P

School's Over

For all my fellow classmates, besides all the glee and exuberance over the sudden onset of winter vacations, did you realise, that school, as we knew it, has come to an end?

Have you ever pictured a life without school? No more bunking classes in the name of events and schoolwork.

No more politics and catfights over badges and posts.

No more hanging out in the computer lab and organising events we could devote our lives to.

All those unannounced substitutions and then going out into the field to play.

Quietly snickering at the absurd behaviour of the most ridiculous of our teachers, albeit with all due respect. (Science students read: Physics period :P).

English registers.. Hey bhagvaaan! :P

Ganging up against a certain person, a new victim everyday. (My personal favourite: Maria :P).

Teasing one another over something that may or may not be true (Bharat get that? :P) or unnecessary bickering with someone over the most plebeian aspects of life (Achint my childhood buddy :P).

Remember greeting each other with the very sarcastic version of our traditional namaste? (Ayush Singh _/\_ I'll never forget :P ).

YashRaj You crazy guy. Allll those pathetic jokes you make. :P And I still find them soo funny.

That amazing photo we really liked so much Pratap.

I could never thank you enough for that amazing t-shirt Umar.

Anshika thankyouuu for always being ready to play with me. Be it rain or shine. :P

Getting the so-called boyfriend-girlfriend to sit together. Dumb.

Mitali Laughing at your laughter. Because I love the way you laugh.

Making brothers who are not your brothers. Shriman bhai I really really love you broooo :) My endless support <3

Even though this blog was specifically for my classmates, I'm in love with my "favouritist" junior Chinab. I didn't know a girl could ever be interested in listening to someone else besides herself, but honestly, I could sit and listen to you talk for hours :P.

Trisha I know I annoyed you a lot because honestly, I don't really remember how to play the guitar anymore. :P But thank you for putting up with me and my never-ending demands.

For all the budding bakaits, Anubhav, Sachin, Astha, Aashna, good luck in life. :P And better make sure our farewell turns out awesome. :P

Teasing bevda Lakshya for all justifiable reasons (Sorry Sunflower. You're awesome :P)

20 people eating from the same one packet of Lays. (Biswas: I hope you remember me every time you eat Lays in life :P)

Nishi meri favourite padhaku ladki, my personal studying-strategist, over all those momos and orange we've shared.. Need I say more? :P

Rishbha that awesome model we made together.. And thank you for the help you've always given me. Without any questions. I love you Miss President :*

Poor birthday boys mercilessly kicked for simply having being born on that day. 

Our never-wavering solidarity against surprise tests and the extensive syllabus.

All that insanity in the schoolbus. (Water fights ohh lord). Rashi Rasika love you two sooooo much :*

Padmakshi Selfie Queen, we still need a proper one together :P

Revering the most talented person in the class (Pranshu --> respect :P).

The best workaholic Vice President I've ever met, and also my favourite non-vegans (Ankur and Sana) :P

Bitching about the very person sitting next to you.

Secrets and gifts that could not be exchanged over the phone.

Know what Goli..? I'll miss my "bestest" friend, the "bestest" guy on earth the most. More, most, mostest. And also, I'm sorry.

Free car rides anytime of the day. (Or night.. Thanks Ojesh :P)

Anushka thank you for making the Tamanche Pe Disco song so special for me :P

Staring lovestruck all day at your crushes.

All those WWE sessions over Bhalla's tiffin. (Read again science people :P).

There's someone all of us forget: Kartikeya who, even though, different, never lets us get bored. The dear boy I've known since the 1st grade, its about time someone acknowledged how special you are. :) :P

Every interhouse event. And the efforts which went into it.

Farewell 2014. *sigh* So many incomparable memories.

Our Word of the Year: "BAKAIT"

The point is, while we are at home thinking about our future and the possibly messed-up present, the past slips out of our hand, and before we know it, we are left with memories which we render priceless, but let them fade. So many mistakes made, so many regrets to live with.

I'll miss school. I miss my school already. I couldn't even name all of the remaining thousand people who were the reason I got out of bed everyday to come to school. So many people I've missed out on mentioning. So many memories I cannot even recollect more. The stupid dingy corridors. I've had many embarassing moments in there. The always crowded canteen only a braveheart can enter. But my school was half my life. All my life until now, in fact. I loved, I lived, I lost but above all that, I learnt. We grew up in here, discovered ourselves, and are pretty much on our own now, away from one another. Let not these memories fade, for they made us who we are. All of the above, isn't gonna return for us now (unless of course you're planning on flunking). School's over now. School days are over now. We're about to pass out.

I'm sorry. I'm sad. But mostly, its good riddance.

P.S. If I've missed out on someone, I'm sorry.. And it doesn't make you any less special for me. :)

Dear Boys

Dear Boys

This is to provide a brief insight into the mind of a girl, in the confines of which you often go astray, clueless creatures that you are. Strangely enough, you claim that girls can never be understood when you haven't even fully explored your ownselves.

Girls take a long time to get ready. But obvious. You would empathise were you the proud owner of a million shoes, not to speak of the zillion outfits we have to choose from. The simple dilemma of selecting a scent to complete our attire has our minds all boggled up, and to add to that, your whining. You have no right to complain, having no proper clothes to call your own. If YOUR closet consists of a blue shirt, a pair of muddy football studs and twenty million video games, WE aren't to be blamed.

We are about as interested in FIFA as a hardcore non-vegetarian would be in a lettuce salad. Do we blame you for not having read P.S. I Love You? Don't even make me start on last night's episode of Desperate Housewives.

Dear guys. We don't like waiting, even if we are 2 hours late ourselves. We only pretend to like your car and your sermons about its carburettor, because you are really really cute. Our silence isn't always anger. We need peace after 12 hrs of incessant chatter. And we only talk nonsense nonstop because we like the way you look at us and just listen. You think we don't notice, but we can tell when you're looking. Here's a tip for your annoyed girlfriend: No girl will not melt when sincerely appreciated. And no we don't care what you think, we are ALWAYS fat to our own eyes.

We are not jealous, but simply protecting whats ours. Every girl is insecure deep inside her heart, and if you can find me a girl who isn't, I promise I'll take my blog down forever. And never advise anyone either.

All of us want to be loved, and every girl loves it when a guy is crazy about her. We find it really adorable when guys get jealous, and secretly love infuriating you. Maybe not to you, but anniversaries and birthdays and Valentine's Day matter to us. And not just because of the gifts. But the sentiments behind them.

Even though it bothers you, sometimes we would rather be alone. It's really crowded inside a girl's head, and you need a highly upgraded app to sort it out. Even if we value branded shoes more than your silly gadgets, we still adore the way you are always hooked to your Playstations.

A chocolate can always smooth out the rough patches. A kiss always heals the biggest wounds. A hug can make even the most egoistic girl realise her follies. The best part is us belonging to you. And owning you the same.

We love laughing at your pathetic jokes, and sometimes we do that even if its not funny at all. Because its really sweet the way you smile. We don't need guys only to make boyfriends as our perennial sources of income. We need you guys to make us laugh and feel special when no one else can.

We love guys who understand. And listen. :)

Lovingly yours,

Apoorvi

P.S. For all the guys in my life. From friends to enemies to brothers :P

Deadline

Seated round the rounder tables

Singing songs narrating fables

Sharing secrets, laughing, crying

Teasing talking walking flying.

While in their hearts, despair grew

As imminent separation slowly brew.

The pretty, little girl, and the smarter one

The shy, big guy and the taller one

The rowdy jerk, and his quieter buddy

The boyish girl with her shoes really muddy

The guy who always had his nose in a book

The boy who'd never really cared for looks

The best striker of their school team

The girl who kept them ripped to the seams

The two love-doves who never left hands

The three hot girls who played in the band

This group of friends (which stays unnamed)

Sharing laughter, food and games.

Poking fun, selfies snapped

Made some jokes, and codes were cracked.

Teachers mocked, singers praised.

Talking how well Messi had played.

Teasing the guy who never bathed

Mocking the striker that he shouldn't have played

Pulling the book from under the guy's nose

Trying to get the lovers to not sit so close

On the face, the mirth that sits

In the heart, it lives in pits.

Happy as happy they could be,

They knew there would come a time to leave.

They shared the past and memories through

Doubted if they had any future too.

All good things must come to an end.

The road of life is beset with bends.

And though it seems to be full of fun,

Life has a limit under the sun.

People come and people go.

Some change us forever so.

A chance to be happy, we should never miss,

Nobody knows when the last goodbye is...

Questioning God..?

I enter the temple premises with a steady gait, walking head upright, nose in the air, like I have a purpose coming here. Like I'll come in with a confectionery bribe worth 21 bucks, and a garland worth I-don't-really-care-how-much, and God will look down at me and go, "That's the spirit sweetheart. Come on! Tell me! Whaddaya want?"

Yeah.

Right.

Reluctantly, I walk ahead, pushed forward by Maa, Naani, Daddy and my exuberant little sister of 11.

It's a temple in Kanpur. Yeah, so it's pretty.. Kanpur-ish.

One real weird looking bull snorts at me. Like I'm a Spanish matador. Why, WHY did I have to wear my red shorts??? Hey dude! Don't do that man! I'm not here for dibs on your milk. I don't even LIKE milk. It stinks. Well.. Unless its chocolate.

Wait. Bulls don't give you milk. Idiot.

VERY carefully, I wade my way away from the brutal creature praying to my host that he'll save me from its horns.

I reach the humongous gates, paving my way through the endless sweet shops and other vendors selling tidbits which usually appeal to my maid's little daughter, and sweets covered with so many flies I can't decide its the flies on the food, or the food on the flies. Naani presses me forward and I bend to touch the entrance.

Seriously. Our god lives in marble floors. "Hey cool dude! Down there?"

There's the priest, behind the counter, because that's where he sells the blessings from. No really! You go upto him, hand over the bribe basket to him, and if he likes your face, he might just return the box with an extra laddoo in it.

He smiles at me, and for some reason, I'm reminded that I have to buy a new tube of toothpaste.

Maa folds her hands and stands there, eyes closed, murmuring something. I can bet its "Please get Aashi into a good college. And please make her get over her addiction to her phone."

Daddy follows suit, and from his demeanor I can only decipher that he begs God "Please make Aashi stop begging me to take her driving. And make her cut down on the phone bill."

There are people lying flat down on the floor. I've seen classier yoga postures. Seriously! Murmuring and chanting the hymns, the temple resonates with their sound. And I don't like it.

"Are we done Daddy?"

"Just a minute. Ring the bells first."

Waking up dear old God, eh?

We go around the building two times. There's this disabled guy who sits in the corridors. He's been there for as long as I've lived. Or perhaps even longer. Earlier when I was just a kid, and so was he, he'd sit in that blue shirt of his and stretch out his hands to beg for alms. Maa would always give him a laddoo out of our prasad. Now, that I'm older, and so is he, he sits in a kurta and a saffron coloured shawl and hands out little books of holy songs in exchange for a little money.

There are monkeys. And there are monkeys. Scattered all over the place, as if no one ever heard of population control. Some of them keep snatching the sweets from the poor devouts, some of the younger lot keep jumping around spreading the waste on the floor. C'est la viés, món ami.

I watch people pouring milk on the deity, literally pushing one another to get to their turn. The milk flows down in front of my eyes into a channel that ends into a drain. Oooh! Faith much?

I DO believe in God. Trust me, I do! Almost every night when I'm sad, or in my darkest of despair, I lie down and stare at the fan and talk to Him.

"Was it my fault? Or maybe I shouldn't have done that! Should I do this or not? Am I doing the right thing? Am I making a mistake?"

But I never understood why He needs to be buttered for answers. Why an idol needs to be bathed in gallons of milk that ends up in the drain, inevitably going waste. Why, if people are so God-fearing and religious, do they need to spend shitloads on prasad and milk and other edibles for a deity instead of giving it to the poor and the needy? Why, if they have so much faith, do they need to visit a commercialised temple to prove it, and not pray within the confines of their own houses?

As we get ready to leave, I say, "I'm never coming back here Maa! There's just no logic!"

She glares at me.

"What? I didn't find no God here!"

"There IS God, in case you were wondering, young lady! You just need to believe in him. He's everywhere."

"Agreed. Then, why do we need to come HERE for it?"

*silence*

"Stop it. Don't question God."

I shut up my trap and walk silently behind them.

Never questioned God, Maa! Just his fanatics.

The Spider In My Bathroom

I'm talking to the spider in my bathroom. Mr. Spider, it turns out, is an avid listener of mine. Has been since I took over the bathroom, his former territory. I just didn't notice his acknowledgment. Now that I have someone to listen me out, it feels relieving to share my pain with someone.

Not something.

Someone.

"It really hurts ya know.."

Silence.

"Why doesn't anybody understand my feelings?"

Silence. Crawls forward. Closer to me.

"I know it was my fault.. But is it ALWAYS my fault?"

Crawls a bit away.

"See! It isn't! Even you agree! Right?"

Crawls in closer. Dangerously close.

"Hey! Hey! Now keep your distance mister! My broken heart doesn't give you the right to come so close."

Stays in place.

I shed a few tears. Curl up and pull my knees closer to my chest, lean my head back against the wall. Let the tears flow.

Then I turn to look at Mr. Spider. He's staring back at me, and I feel a connection. Both sad, forsaken, lonely beings, trying to find their place in the world. The cold, cruel world.

And the moment I put out my hand to stand up and leave, I see him crawl away.

Leaving me behind. Alone. Once again.

Forever

She rang the door bell twice. No one answered. Staring at her chappals in despair, she rang the bell for the third time, and as she turned around to walk away, the door was answered.

"Yes?" An old man with a trembling voice stood there. He wore a shocking white kurta and pajama.

But of course he's wearing white. And he's just the cook.

"Baba! May I come in?" She asked softly.

"Umm.. Beta.. You know.."

"Yes. Yes I know baba! I need to be a part too."

"You're here for the funeral?"

"Yes. I'm here for.. The funeral.. Yes.. Yeah probably for that."

And for one last goodbye.

Tears filled his eyes as he opened the door wide to let her in. She ignored him, as her lips trembled. Taking off her chappals, she entered the house, smoothing out her own starched salwar-kurta.

The scene hit her hard.

A lady lay on the bed, yelling and screaming, sobbing at a loud volume. Several other ladies weeped along with her and tried to comfort her. The men were huddled in the verandah, except for one, probably the father, who stood in the garden, his arms wrapped around him.

She dared not look towards the hall, where the body was kept for the final rites. Her heart caught in her throat.

"Namaste Auntyji!"

The women stared at her, but the lady kept on crying, oblivious to her surroundings.

She spoke further, folding her hands together, "I am.. Was.. His friend.. I'm here to.. Umm.. Pay respects to.. Umm.."

One woman narrowed her eyes at her, and spoke through a choky whisper. "What do you want beta?"

"I.. Umm.. I'm here.. I was.. I was his friend."

He was my friend. He was my love. He was my life. He's the reason why I'm still here.

But he's no more.

How can I explain it to you????

The women ignored her. The man in the garden beckoned her to him.

"Namaste uncle ji!"

"Namaste beta! May I help you?"

The warmth exuding from his voice reminded her of his son's. The way he would whisper 'good night' into the phone, or yell at her to stop drinking, or teach her some new theory in maths, the voice she had spent 8 years listening to, the voice she had hoped to listen to for her remaining lifetime.

"I was his friend."

The man uttered a name.

"Yes, the very same," she answered, slightly comforted by his familiarity towards her.

"I'm sorry beta!" The tears finally escaped his eyes as he put a hand on her shoulder, and left.

She walked upto the door of his bedroom. So many times, she'd walked up to that room like she belonged there. Now she didn't feel the same way.

Entering, she felt a sudden hollowness, like the walls were closing in on her. She closed the door behind her, sat down on his bed, and broke down.

She spent a few hours in there. Everyone was mourning. No one disturbed her. She went through his closet, fingering his clothes, taking in the smell of the very familiar cologne. She went through his baggages, toying around with every item, shedding innumerable tears at every nostalgic reminiscence. Something had ended. The feeling of emptiness clawed through her heart as she sniffed at his handkerchief.

She opened the drawer of his table, and rummaged through the clutter of infinitely dysfunctional pens and stationery. She liked the sound of objects clinking against each other, and was shuffling a little bit more when she found a small crumpled piece of paper. She immediately recognised his microscopic crawly handwriting.

Something about you, sweetheart, reminds me that we have forever.

So I'll love you.

Forever.

She folded the note back as a tear fell on 'forever' and blotted the ink.