Post-ponement

[I don't really know what I'd call this. It isn't poetry, its still not prose.
Thought stream, prolly. =/]

I walk through grey meanders,
Stepping carefully to avoid
the dark criss crosses:
Wars of leaves and wires.

Then on to lanes
Of sound and play
They don't run about like we did, though.
PSP huddles. I trudge on
through roads and lost times
Quagmires, shaken off.

A look up, and the sapphire holds me
In a careless twine around its littlest giant finger
I care not for the chain
In its grasp, I am free

A blare and a hasty look down
A mumbled apology to the driver
An uncertain shake
And then,
The mindless laughter

Boxed houses lined up
Off key Idol singing runs out through one
And a yell for someone to shut the back door
Before another someone runs away
And the smell of hot packet soup
Simmering lightly;
Warm yellow lights.
Like any of the other
Lined up beside
And yet..

Open your heart..

I'm home.

Kem cho, majama?

Check 1..
Check 2..
Check 3..
Working. Whew.

So. Where have I been?

The parents have decided its high time to get their parental priorities right, and set curfews, computer usage limits, omg-you-sleep-at-one-or-do-you-even-sleep lectures. The coup de resistance goes way above these though. Its the 12th, beta. You need to study. Bas, nothing doing. Come November, and the Net's going, and we'll keep your phone with us too. Come on, its a measly five months, and its for your good obviously. Ab nahi padhoge toh kab, haan?

I was counting on my sister to throw a few tantrums here and there, because if the net goes, it goes for everyone, and she does like swiping my cell, then locking herself up in the bathroom and going through my inbox. Well, protest she did. Net stays. For her.

However, thanks to whatever little convincing powers I have [I'm trying to be modest, see?], there has been leetle leeway for me too. Been allowed Net and cell phone usage on Sundays, which means, for the most part, you can expect posts every Sunday. Think I might end up being more regular while grounded in a twisted, paradoxical way. O_o
[Yay! I know a word with x other than Xmas!]

Anyhow, my momma has been trying her hardest to make me a demure, soft spoken SSBN.* Which is why she's vigorously been rigorously training me in cooking basics. Her reasoning behind it is that I should at least know how to make basic survival food. My reasoning says as long as I know how to operate a telephone and have the number of the nearest Subway/Domino's, I'll survive. Luxuriously. But then, steely motherly ha-ha-now-get-to-work looks have a tendency to whip you into action. And so we begin.

Day 1
Aloo Capsicum

Honestly, how is something I dislike enough to not eat it going to help me survive? I mean, if I'm not eating it..
Enter afore mentioned steely look.
Ah, yes.

Take a kadhai ["Um, which one is the kadhai?"] Two teaspoons of ghee. Add sliced onions when it gets hot. Saute until they're pink. ["But they're just getting yellow."] Add chopped capsicum and ugh-ish looking tomatoes. Salt and red chilli powder. Diced boiled potatoes. Turmeric. Cover it with a lid, wait for two songs to finish on your iPod, and voila! You're done. Garnish with a tomato flower [6 petals, NOT 8], green chillies, and finely sliced adrak, and you're positively cordon bleu.

Ah yes. I, kitchen failure non-parallel, made that.

*takes a bow*

Think twas edible. Mum's still fine. Me? I ordered in pizza for dinner.


*shaant, sushil bharatiya naari

How B. Sir Was Hugged, Shocked, and Got a Life.

By Suku Iyer


It is one of those sunny days, when half the class is sleeping and only people like M seem to be tolerating [actually, attentively listening] to Sir's soporific voice. "Oh, my dear, my attention." Suddenly, in a flurry of perfume, this chirpy female with a fake grin enters our class. "Hi!!! Siiir!" "Hullo Shefali." [All of a sudden everyone in the class is paying rapt attention and this murmur circultaes,"Isn't that Shefali T.? God she's so fat!"]
Not noticing this, she screams,"Hii everyone", and our class is suddenly and uncharacteristically solemn. Then, out of the blue, she goes and hugs Sir. Now Sir, not being used to such affection is caught unawares and his eyes almost jump out of their sockets. [She's supposedly a model, hence, the gogglingness!] This is too much for us, so we start staring big time at Sir and his model. Sir, seeing us, and thinking his reputation to be at stake, very shrewdly takes her outside. We hear a "So how are you, Shefali?" in his special husky voice. Everyone in class is almost falling out of their seats trying to listen to them. [This is a girls school, so gossip is like water, hence quintessential] She [Shefali] is unnerved by our very 'decent' reactions, and carries on in her super audible voice..
"Oh Sir, I completely forgot! This is my husband!" "Oh, hullo." [Shit man, Sir's face was so shrivelled up, you actually felt bad for that beast] Our class, ever so soigne, screams,"Chhee! He's so ugly; uncle! Urgh!" Just when we seem to get over the shock, she jumps inside the class, with a Wonder Womanish air around her. "Hiii everyone!" This time around, we all reply religiously. "HIII!" "So how's Sir teaching you guys? He's brilliant, isn't he?" [Yeah, right, he may be the god of Accounts, but I still don't give a shit. But then, she doesn't care for mine or anyone's opinion and continues.] "Does he still give you the Boston-Bombay example? When we were students, he always gave us that one!" [A whisper follows. "Yaar, why is she bullshitting so much?"]
Sir seems to realise that Shefali dearest is with the class, and comes inside shiftily. [He doesn't trust us at all, you know.] "Oh no Shefali, that was for your batch only." "Okay, okay then bye Sir!" [Hum dobaara milenge na Shefali?] "Bye everyone!" ["Please dobaara aana Shefali...."]

And so she leaves, leaving us with enough gossip and hot news to share with our fellow chugalkhors.