Metro Diaries #8: The newest stories, Part 1

I thought I was done with stories from, and related to, the metro train in Delhi. I'm seriously so trusting (and thus, such a misfit in this ever-increasing-stupid-mindless-selfish-society, but that's a story for another day). There are just thousands and thousands of people shuffling on and off from the Metro every day, so that it's quite obvious you would come across an incident some time. I'm sharing two (of four) of the latest metro-related updates today. The other two will follow soon.

1. The Kumbhkarana Girl

I'm a light sleeper, except on some nights when I've had a super-exhausting day in both body and mind (mostly mind), and even in those rare times I wake up feeling guilty and all-wrong. How could I have slept through without knowing when G got sick and Mum gave him medicines? What if I'm the only one with someone who got sick in the night and isn't able to speak and I'm sleeping soundly!? Or worse, what if there's an earthquake and I'm sleeping without feeling it? You get the point: I'm not happy being a heavy sleeper. Strangely, I never thought much about other people sleeping light or heavy, or caring about it, or even observing it. Until that day in the metro.

The station I get down to reach office is one at the end of a line, so that if you don't deboard, you can go back the same line. I got up from my seat about half a minute before the train was to stop, gave a cursory glance around the nearly-empty coach, and saw a girl in a corner seat, her head angled back against the train wall. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open. She was asleep. The train rocked a little as it shifted tracks, it shuddered, people shuffled to the doors, but the sleeping girl did not wake up. I decided to shake her awake if she wasn't up even when the train stopped.

The train stopped and she was still asleep. I went to her and gently placed a hand on her arm so as not to alarm her, and said, "Excuse me." I admit, I was even softer than I had expected. Not even a sharp cat would have woken up with it. I tried again, much more enthusiastically because the doors had opened. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me!" With each "excuse me" I hardened my grip and shook her more and more, and with each try, my heartbeat rose and anxiety set in. People from the platform had begun to enter. If I wasn't quick, we would be locked inside. I tried again, shaking her by the arms and the shoulders, trying not to look at her open-mouthed state of Kumbharaness. Suddenly, a wave of something deep passed through me. I felt my heart drop to the bottom of my stomach. My grip on her loosened for a moment, and I clutched the metal bar instead. Horrific thoughts washed through my (now proven, over-imaginative) mind. The moment passed just as soon as it had come, and with new vigour, I shook her again, dropping all politeness. It seemed to work.

With a gasp, her mouth shut close, her eyes opened, and her head left its headrest, all at once.

"Come on, it's the last station," I said to her. It was all I could do to not take her hand and quickly lead her out.

"What?"

"This is the last station!" I said, using more animation than words. I wasn't sure she could understand me. She made to get up, and I finally left the coach. But that's not the end of the story. The good Samaritan in me stopped me from going further, and I turned around to look. She was walking out of the doors, clutching the bars for support. Her footsteps were uneven. I went back to her.

"Are you all right?"

She only looked around with a confused expression. She did not answer my question.

"Are you all right?" I repeated. "Where did you have to get down?" By then, it was clear that she was lost.

"Huh? Where have I come?" she said. Her eyes were bloodshot. I wondered how much time it would take her to be fully awake (and also how she would even manage office that day). I told her the name of the station and asked her again where she was supposed to get off. She named a station we had left about fifteen minutes ago.

"You can get in this same train. It will go back," I said, tempted to push her inside the still-open doors.

"Really?" she said, which made me wonder where her consciousness really was.

"Yes, yes... go quickly."

She shuffled towards the doors, paused a moment, and then turned to walk towards the other end of the train. (Possibly because, even in her disturbed state of mind, she was conscious of the fact that the coach was no longer women-only). But by that time I was quite late for work, so I left her to it. She was, at least, walking straight all by herself.

2. Babysitting in the metro

By now I have pretty much realized that what I have in my mind is hardly ever to be seen in reality. I actually sometimes believe that people would behave with manners and courtesy because I am a total stranger to them, and also because I'm not even saying anything to anybody. But I keep forgetting our awesome culture of brotherhood, which, apart from making people think they have rights to eavesdrop, look into other's messages, and stare shamelessly, also gives them this strange illusion that everyone else is their close relative, someone who could be asked to do things without thinking whether or not they want to. And sometimes those requests are just ridiculous.

It was an over-stuffed train, and I was feeling lucky that I had a seat (about the only positive thing about the location of my office). It's a different matter that I was being squeezed on both sides because people believe in the two-people-per-seat concept rather than how it should be. I tried flipping the pages of my book using only my fingers, because I could not move my arms. The ladies/women/girls on both sides of me were busy with their cell phones. My bag was somewhere near my feet, and my knees were being crushed by women standing stuck to the seats. There really was not an inch of breathing space.

From a station, some more women somehow squeezed in--which was accompanied by the oohs-and-aahs-and-ouchs of those inside--and managed to come near where I was sitting (which was in the middle of two doors, not even a corner). I could not see them, but I heard a loud woman speaking to her daughter-in-law (or maybe the crowd in general), about making space and adjusting a little boy. Inch by inch people moved, right in front of me, making space for a boy of about three, pushed by his grandmother. He stood in front of me. I could not avoid looking up. The grandmother asked us to make space for the boy.

My first and foremost thought was, "where?" And then since no one was getting up, with an audible sigh I slowly closed my book, and moved to stand up, wondering how on Earth would I get space to even stand. "No, no... keep sitting," said the grandmother. "Only make him sit with you." As was obvious, there was no possibility of even a three-year-old being 'adjusted', so I had to be the inevitable volunteer. I took the kid in my lap.

It would have been all right had I been left alone after that, but one, even if a kid looks small, he will be HEAVY, especially when he is asleep. Because he was so drowsy even when standing, that he shut his eyes and went to sleep as soon as I took him. And two, the others seemed to find this cute, so they simply sat staring at us, while I tried to keep a hold on my stuff, which I ultimately had to hand over to the girl next to me. For the next quarter of an hour, I shifted however possible to adjust with the kid's lolling head (which kept dropping to one side).

I'm glad it lasted only that much time. No wonder it was unexpected and funny, and I'm wondering how and why such things keep happening with me! I have two more stories to share, which I'll write and post as soon as I can. :) I also have a really cool update, which will also wait until the next post! Keep reading!

A tiny post on a teen pop star of my time.

This is going to be a very open post, so I'd suggest you be really open-minded before reading it. 

Ready?

I spent this evening listening to songs by Hannah Montana. Wait, before you get all 'such a kid' or 'immature choice' or whatever else, hear me out. I was supposed to find some fun songs for kids, but while that didn't happen, I ended up listening to, and watching, stage performances by Hannah Montana, the teen pop star of our age (by our age, I mean the 2000s when I was a teen). Why am I choosing to write such a detail?

Because going back to something that was important to me once upon a time (yes, it was), I was reminded of my old self. The one who had so many dreams in her eyes, the one who believed anything in the world is possible if she wished it, the one who felt greatly inspired by this teenage girl who seemed to be living her dreams, singing songs that actually made sense. By looking at an old version of a star-gone-wrong, I was reminded of how some things are eternal, like songs. Even when the person isn't the same anymore, or even when I'm not the same, it is possible to feel inspired, and feel good all the same. Even after all this time. Even after you seemed to have forgotten how it used to be.

It might not make a lot of sense to a lot of people. There are after all, many great artists in the world, and being in my twenties, I should rather be a fan of One Republic, Ed Sheeran, Imagine Dragons or someone else considered 'cool'; if I were to seem a little childlike, perhaps Taylor Swift or One Direction. However, I have never been too much into songs, even though I've heard, and love, songs by all the above-mentioned artists. The main point is that it actually means something to you. If you liked dancing to Vengaboys and Aqua as a kid, you'd like those songs even when you're older, because they remind you of something that's inherently a part of you. Hannah Montana reminds me of those evenings when a new episode would air on TV, of that first time I discovered downloading pictures from the internet and saving them as desktop backgrounds, because the artist I chose to put on display was Hannah Montana. She reminds me of my own insecurities, hopes and fears as a teen, to which she bore either the answers or dreams or dressing-up ideas. She reminds me how I decided that I'd publicly sing her songs, This is the Life and Just Like You when I realize my own dreams. 

She might not be as talented or popular as others, but she managed to inspire many others after her. She was a good entertainer, and with those fun-yet-sensible lyrics in songs, she ensured that I still am able to sing-along to most of her songs as Hannah Montana. That was also the time when she gradually turned over to becoming just Miley Cyrus, of whom I wasn't as much of a fan. Perhaps I preferred the idea of having a fun facade over your real self, where you can do whatever you wish to under a separate name, a different identity, and not have to live with the real-world consequences to your real life (not that living as HM was easy, but still). I could have started hating her when she turned weird some time ago, but all I did was ignore the new version, and stuck to the old. Being a fan, I should have perhaps followed her to wherever she went, but like I said, I'm not too much into songs and similar entertainment (singers, movies, TV shows, etc), so it didn't matter as much. What matters is how someone makes you feel. So if, even after years, some version of her still manages to inspire me, why should I be embarrassed to admit that I like that artist? After all, she perhaps predicted it in her song, and ever since I heard it, I knew it to be true:

Nobody's perfect

I gotta work it

Again and again

'Til I get it right

Nobody's perfect

You live and you learn it

And if I mess it up sometimes

Nobody's perfect

What happened to my love for TFIOS...

*TFIOS - The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

I believe myself to be one of those cranky people who're obsessed with everything absolutely original and genuine. I don't like spoofs, or fan-fiction, or technology that quickens the age-old techniques that made people patient. There's evidence in the way people behave, about how mindless use of everything that we feel makes our lives easier is only making us lazy, unkind, liars and generating such needs we never knew we had. I miss the time I did not have a smartphone, which was only a year ago, yet it seems like ages. It's only a small device, yet it brought so many changes that makes me feel like I've spent a lifetime doing nothing important. It's a difficult realization, because the convenience it gives is too much to let go, so that if you want to reduce the wasteful time, you've got to know how you can avoid it, and work on the way you've figured out.

Anyway, why do I always divert from the essence of the post I'm supposed to write? Back to TFIOS. I don't even like short-forms. I started using TFIOS for The Fault in Our Stars since it became all too common, and I hate myself for succumbing to it. I remember the first year of book blogging. It was the most enriching, lovely and transforming phase in my life when it came to books. I had found a way to express my love for books, share my thoughts, and interact with people who shared the same love. I was one of the few Indian bloggers who had pure, bookish blogs and I was proud. I learned A LOT. I read a lot. And then the phenomenon of book blogging became popular, or I reached my saturation, or there were just too many fellow Indians blogging about the kind of books I hated, that I simply stopped hopping onto other blogs unless they really intrigued me.

During that period when I used to get all excited by the new releases and read lots of YA, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green got amazing reviews. I was naturally entranced by it, although owing to my natural aversion to anything popular, it was a long time before I actually got down to reading it. Just like most of the world, I loved it. I loved it even though it was somewhat a love story (which I find difficult to read), even though it defied all rules of a 'good book' in my criteria. I loved the smartness of Hazel and Augustus's talks, I loved the places they visited and I loved the sadness in it. I was so used to (and preferring) happy endings in novels that I was surprised to find one that wasn't happy, or necessarily hopeful, yet I had loved reading it. I was sure I'd re-read the book a lot many times later on. 

My reader-blogger friends read it as well, and we discussed the book. Looking back, I now feel probably that love was only a phase. Probably. Because then we got news that it was being made into a movie, and were we excited! I was ecstatic. That was still the time when I enjoyed movies from book adaptations. With feelings of anticipation, I watched the trailer, and was immediately disappointed. Now, I don't have any issues with any actor, or people who made the movie or people who're watching and loving it. It's entirely a personal thing. I felt it was too much like a love story, and thinking that movies are commercial and would be molded to fit the audience's interest did nothing to make me feel better about the movie. My reaction at first was, 'This is not the Hazel I imagined. We made plans to watch the movie anyway, but got busy. I was somewhat relieved. I didn't want to watch it anymore. 

The original love spitter-spattered. :|
Pic src: Google images

While the movie was being made and before any visual came out, I was still in awe of the story. I saw a girl in the metro wearing converse shoes themed The Fault in Our Stars blue, with the white clouds and "Okay, Okay" written on them. She told me her friend had made those for her. I admired those shoes and the girl and her friend all the way. I gushed about Gus with a friend for months, and then it all suddenly stopped. I am not sure why, but I partly feel it's because it got too popular, and all sorts of people were seen with that book in the metro. Although I was glad that at least people are reading something good instead of those crappy novels I usually see as popular metro reads, but The Fault in Our Stars then became TFIOS. Everyone knew about it, everyone loved it. Even the wrong sort.

A group of friends(?) planned to watch the movie, knowing, (or most probably not knowing) how much I had loved the book, conveniently forgot including me in their plan to watch it. In all probabilities, I'd have refused, and it most certainly did not matter then, but maybe it did, just a little (that's why it occurred to me to write it here, didn't it?). It made me go away from TFIOS all the more, because I realized that everyone was watching it. Everyone was aware of the story I once read so carefully, tucked into the covers and marking the beautifully written phrases. It ceased to be special, or at least as special as some other stories are. I still haven't brought myself to re-read it, or watch the movie. Probably I won't for a long long time. 

It's a strange obsession, I tell you. One of my closest friends once remarked how I might be missing out on good stories this way; not reading or watching something just because it's popular, or worse, all the people I don't like are gushing about it (read Game of Thrones). I agree, but I know I'll eventually get to those stories sometime. Later on when people have forgotten about it, perhaps. Or maybe I'd make some exceptions that don't even make you feel like you're one of the many, like Harry Potter. It's not easy, especially not in my now-adopted profession, because I'd need to read as many popular things as I can get my hands on. But essentially, my nature stays the same: I want all the amazing books to be read and loved, but I don't know how, because when they do get popular, I sometimes feel uneasy, like a special part of myself has been opened and taken by random strangers. 

***

Hiya peepul! I haven't re-read this post, but if it came out as gloomy or whatever, please don't take it like that. I'm totally cool, like always. *_* I've missed posting on my blog for so long! *wails like a banshee* I've promised a friend I'd put up a tutorial for making papier mache objects, but it's still not written. Will do that next, in all probabilities! What's been up with you guys? :D        

Theandric Thursday # 9: Las Ventanas

Theandric Thursday is a used to be a fortnightly feature on my blog (now it'll just be whenever I have the time and mind!), where I'll be having fun with putting down those weird thoughts and stories that occupy my mind most of the times. The dictionary definition of 'Theandric' is 'Relating to the joint agency of the divine and human nature'.

If you're interested in participating, write your own Theandric Thursday post and drop your link in the comments section. Feel free to write reality, part-reality-part-fiction or fiction, anything above the 'normality' of our world. ;) You can use the above picture on your post and link back to this post.

***

November 9, 2015

Bilbao, Spain

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be caught dead in a 19^th century gown, however classy it looked on me, the likes of which I seemed to have on my body. Neither would I have been yielding a golden bow and arrow, which I found in my hands. As for the mesmerizing landscape that treated my eyes as I looked on, I would love to be found dead there! Wait...... what? Weirdness alert! I shook my head to shake off the ghastly image that had begun to form in my head (over-active imagination has its faults) and as I did, the scene began to fade and swirl and my head did not know where it was as it stayed in that moment of being halfway between sleepiness and wakefulness.

Floating in that territory, as I tried to get back to being awake, I was forced to stop as I heard a soft whisper right next to my ears. ‘Aarrteemissss??’ it spoke, as slithery and scary as a snake. An image floated in front of my eyes: a hazy mess of hair sitting on top of a roundish face with clear, hazel eyes, a sharp nose and a goatee.

*Singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs...* boomed Avril Lavigne from the speakers of my cell-phone as the morning alarm went off and I woke up with a start. Shutting my eyes close and concentrating, I tried to remember what it was like..... the dream.....the man with the hazel eyes. I had to give up soon after. Recalling dreams was getting much more difficult these days.

I got up, dressed myself in a Capri, sneakers and a tee declaring me as an alumnus of Hogwarts and leaving the bed unmade, went out towards the dining hall of our own little ‘palace’. I actually hated the word ‘palace’, which is what they called it. For one, it was smaller than any of those palaces I had seen on my tours to different places in India and two, I wasn’t very happy being a “royal”, however royal it sounded. It was too constricting for my liking. But anyhow, I was a princess. Kind of.

And I loved my parents very much. They sat at the table, getting breakfast served, looking as elegant as royals should be. Hugging them and exchanging Buenos dias, I gulped down my breakfast, listening to their plans for the day. I had pretty much decided to stay back at the house (no palaces for me) and work on my book, not having much of an idea of the kind of deals my parents struck anyway.

Hours later, having spent the better part of the morning typing, pausing, re-writing and plotting details, I reached a saturation point and looked up from the desk, staring ahead through the window into the pretty lawns and old willow trees adorning the back of the house. It was difficult to write as I kept getting distracted, going back and forth to the strange dream. It was when I was wondering if I should just call it quits, that I saw a blur of colour crossing one tree to the next. I stood up and stared through the window. No movement at all.

‘Carlisle!’ I called out through the intercom and a minute later, a well-groomed man in his late forties stood at the door, doing a quick curtsy, knowing pretty much how I disliked it, and waited.

‘Miss Artsy?’

Waving it off with a gesture, I said, ‘Just Artsy. I think I saw an intruder in the back lawns. Would you ask the guards to check?’

‘An intruder? But the security’s top-notch! I can bet........’

‘Carlisle? I saw someone. Hiding behind the willow trees. A man if I’m not wrong. And a very rainbow man at that.’

I thought I had Carlisle at that. He seemed about to say something but then stopped mid-word. ‘Rainbow?’ He whispered tersely.

‘Well? Is he a well-known kidnapper or something? Should we be scared? Shall I alert the security? Carlisle?’

By then I was beginning to panic. This so wasn’t Carlisle’s style. He was perfection. Always calm and in his mind, which was something I’d begun to doubt. He was muttering to himself, ’Is it time already? Oh dear, time flies! She’s just a young girl!’

I shook Carlisle by the shoulders, wishing I’d just gone off with my parents. He stared at me, mouth slightly open. ‘Miss Artsy, I’m sorry,’ he started backing away, strength returning in his voice. ‘I just have this strange...err...condition where I get flashbacks of my past.’ He seemed visibly upset and I tried consoling him. ‘Do you want some water? And it’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. Is there any medication for it?’

Carlisle’s expression was intense, one of those seemingly sad ones, who’ve tried getting away from situations but realized that some things are just futile. ‘Ahh.. no there isn’t. The past has strange ways of haunting us. It takes a lot of bravery to ignore its attempts at ruining our present. We constantly need to be at our toes and if it indeed attacks us, we should be strong enough to go back, fight and finish off the root cause once and for all.’

Needless to say, it was getting weird. The dude turned from curtsy-loving to panicky to philosophical. And we might as well be having a kidnapper already inside the house. ‘It’s okay Carlisle. I’m sure we could be brave. The first proof of which could be alerting the guards and checking around?’

‘Oh yes. Artsy, you stay here alright? Just in case. I’ll look at the disturbance and let you know the progress. Stay near the phone, okay?’

‘Yeah, alright. Be careful Carlisle,’ I said as he closed the door behind him.

Of course I couldn’t stay inside a closed room while everyone was apparently, looking for an intruder. This was my house, after all. Snatching up my sling bag and cell phone, I made my way out to the hallway, carefully peeping around corners.

I’d been wandering for about 20 minutes now, looking into rooms and getting distracted by all the beautiful artworks that adorned every corner. No wonder they called me Artsy. I loved such stuff! Although my real name on paper was Diana, hardly anyone ever called me that. I was on to the fourth floor corridor now, someplace I hadn’t stayed for long ever in my life and now that I came to think of it, I never did get a chance to snoop around there. This palace was more like a holiday home, a place to spend the summers. We lived in India for most of the year.

This floor was musty, the corridor narrower than usual and walls filled with a huge tapestry and in the centre, a single room. I remembered hiding there once as a kid while playing Hide & Seek but no more than that. The tapestry must be ancient, I thought, for it was inscribed with hieroglyphs instead of the usual painting. I tried the door of the room to find that it opened easily, a pool of clear carpet in the dust, almost as if.............. as if someone had recently been here!

My heart started beating fast, signalling the very high probability that I was in danger. However, I was just greeted by silence. There was no sound and no soul seemed to exist except me. For good measure, I checked out the room completely, being as brave as to look beneath the bed and inside the wardrobe. The room was dark and I couldn’t find the light switch, so I moved towards the heavy drapes covering the windows and pulled them aside. Light flooded the room and I had to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun.

I had serious misgivings about the weather here. But then maybe the room had been closed up for far too long. I went to the left and pulled down the string for the drape to open completely and as it did, a painting hanging on the window towards the right came into sight. Looking at the huge window and the painting on it, I had a brief moment of déjà vu as I realized that I’ve been here before. Things seemed to have numbed by now, the light not as harsh and the silence deeper than it was. Back when I’d been a six year old, hiding in this room waiting for my brother to seek me out, I’d seen this window. Carlisle had sought me out, looking rather testy for his usual manner and murmured, Nunca acercarse a las ventanas! Nunca!

¿Qué? I had spoken in my high-pitched voice.

‘Shh! Miss Artsy, you no come here. Okay?’ Carlisle pointed towards the windows. ‘Those are THE windows. Las ventanas. Don’t come here before the time is right. Now go on... go play,’ and he pushed me out of the room and locked it up.

Now, 12 years later when I sensed the familiarity, it wasn’t all nostalgic, for the last time I’d been warned against the windows. It didn’t make much sense though. What would the windows do? They were probably too high up and Carlisle had imagined me falling off through them, I thought. Walking towards them, I saw that they were indeed quite precarious, as there wasn’t any balcony out there. I turned to study the painting more closely.

It had a beautiful landscape, ending in a cliff overlooking a ditch perhaps, with thick trees in the foreground surrounding a streaming river. In the background, just near the tip of the cliff, stood a young maiden, her back turned. She had long black hair, tied in a thick braid and decorated with a tiara of white flowers. Her body had on a very light blue full length gown and she seemed to have been standing there in a rigid, alert posture, like she’s been on a lookout since forever. I hadn’t noticed myself getting closer to the picture, but I couldn’t have helped it anyway. It was a mesmerizing.... and a somewhat familiar scene.

My fingertips touched the painted maiden and I jerked back in shock as the painting started swirling around in spirals, getting hazier. Just as it had started, it stopped all of a sudden and heart pounding, unable to move, I stared as the girl walked towards the forefront, towards me, the rest of the scene completely still. She walked with purpose, her dress slightly blowing in a wind I could not see. In her hands she held a golden bow and arrow and something like a helmet.

Ever heard of that expression, ‘she stood with her mouth hanging open’? That’s what I must have looked like as I saw the girl and a rush of memories, dreams and words flooded my head, incapacitating me to do anything.

Alpheus! Artemis! Orion! Bay of Biscay! War! Dive! Run! Las Ventanas!

As the young girl now stood in the painting, staring at me with a wistful expression, I found it hard to believe I’d ever see myself looking like that. She seemed full of scorn, with my face sitting on top of her weird historical dress, hands on her hips as she mouthed her first words to me. ‘You Saumensch!’

... to be continued.

***

*Las Ventanas: "The Windows" in Spanish
Nunca acercarse a las ventanas: Never come near the windows

Y’know it really feels good to have written a TT story after so long. It’s never the kind of perfect I want to get to someday, but whenever I start waiting for the ‘perfect’ piece I’d write, I’m reminded of this quote by Margaret Atwood, ‘If I waited for perfection, I would never write.' When I seem to forget it, this blogger friend reminds me and I’m back to writing. :)

I like Theandric Thursday stories because they’re fun and allow me to make the story go anywhere I like, however quirky that might be. It feels satisfying, even when I somehow tend to extend the stories into sequels these days. You’ll find the next part posted by next Thursday. Till then, I hope you enjoyed reading this!

PS- You can read Usama's Theandric Thursday post for this week here. 

Somebody deflated Scoot's tyre. Again!

It's not something you're supposed to make fun of. Okay? -_-

Yes, I knew there's going to be something that would go wrong. You think I don't feel guilty all those times? A professor's words ring in my ear each morning, whenever I do the deed, a little guiltily. This is what he said, "There's nothing called a free lunch in this world" and these are the precise words that roll over in my head, just before I brush them off, each time accompanied by a chant in the name of God. I'm not used to breaking rules, after all. However high on corruption my country might be. But still. Sometimes the easier way has its own pull and you get addicted to it, especially if it works. Most of the time, anyway.

The last time it happened, Scoot was carefully parked outside a Raymond's showroom. As soon as I put it on it's hind stand, packed the silver/grey helmet in, (I still haven't found the perfect purple helmet. Someone gift it to me please?) I made a mental note of admiration for the thing that had such a big role in shaping my personality to some extent; that of an independent, brave and appreciative girl. If I could, I would have stood there till eternity, smiling proudly at Scoot. But for one, I was "obviously" getting late for college and two, despite the fact that I have dollops of weirdness-awesomeness in me, it's not always a good idea to show-off. People are useless in terms of understanding it, because. 

See how BEAUTIFUL she is? :')

So as I walked away, those words making me squirm with guilt, I did not look back and prayed. Apologies and a plea for safety. After the usual day as I paced towards Scoot and finding it safe, breathed a sigh of relief, little did I know that the relief was somewhat short-lived. It took two rolls of the tyres to make me realize that the back tyre was flat. Either punctured somehow or someone deflated it. Since I was anyway high on guilt, I dragged Scoot with an anxious heart, driving at a snail's pace. Of course I knew that you're not supposed to drive with a flat tyre, but what was the alternative? The nearest petrol pump was ten minutes away, near my place.

*Fast-forward to today* 

I didn't leave dear Scoot anywhere near that showroom again, of course. (Happy Mr. Moron-Raymond? -_-) I found a new place. Still guilt-ridden, though. And it feels even worse because I leave Scoot in a rush, not wanting anyone to see me like that, doing the deed. I stopped turning back to look, like you usually do with loved ones. Of course she'd feel betrayed. She still didn't allow me to bear the brunt of my mistakes. Like a real friend, she kept it to herself, strained herself when I should have been paying a bit more attention. She never let me have any problem. Even today when she was hurt, it wasn't "me" who was the victim. It was Scoot.

Those words had floated in my mind, again. I brushed them off, again. Prayed, again. Had the usual day in college, again. I paced again, like every evening, cleaned the seat of dust, just to find a bum-pattern already in place. Seriously? The major disadvantage of leaving Scoot on it's back-stand is that it becomes easy for welle people to sit on it and chat or whatever. Although I'm all for social service, I'd still mind getting weird patterns on Scoot. At least wipe it off, you. -_-

The doubt began as soon as Scoot was on both it's ... tyres and felt heavier than usual. By the time I drove for a couple of seconds, it was clear: Somebody deflated Scoot's tyre. Again! And I most certainly did not appreciate it. Not even knowing it might have been my mistake because seriously, why JUST Scoot? A lot of people are to be blamed as well, but why target Scoot? She's the most innocent two-wheeler ever! Belonging to the most innocent rider! 

Wanting to just reach home safely, I rode Scoot way below the minimum speed possible, watching the world, including cyclists and jay-walkers pass by quicker than I was moving. Would you call me crazy if I say it was actually fun? And funny? Have you ever been on a two-wheeler with a deflated tyre? Not that it is recommended, because, like I imagined, the tyre might come out completely and you'd fall, or in some cases, burst. And you wouldn't know what happened and although I have a very active imagination, that was something I dared not imagine. Anyway, it's funny because the vehicle moves in a very...... "jumpy" way. I was hopping on Scoot, without actually hopping. :P Just because the tyre wobbled and I was sitting on the moving vehicle. (Again, it is not recommended. Be more alert, unlike me. And use your brain and go to the nearby tyre-walla, ten metres away, instead of the petrol pump, ten minutes away).

It was kind of weird, not zooming past everything. I saw real people, like, live. They looked so... people-like. Normal. They still exist. o.O And they're not really as mean as I believed them to be. No one really cared to stare at a girl hopping past them, even though I must have looked really funny. I mean, of course I was! I wanted to get off Scoot, clap and laugh at myself! Just that I couldn't!

Taking more than double the usual time, I managed to stop at the tyre-setter outside the petrol pump. Feeling grateful to the bhaiyya who made Scoot stand up solid, once again. Assuring me too, that she isn't punctured. :') Considering how Scoot did not let me down by breaking down herself in the middle of an extremely busy main road, despite the fact that she "desperately" needed petrol since forever (eeeps!), I have to say I'm proud of her! :') As a treat, I made the petrol-guy fill in double the usual amount of awesome petrol. :P

The only thing now is, I'm confused. Should I still take the easy way out and endanger Scoot? Again? Or should I make the extra effort and get up early and make it harder for me, instead of for her? The sin I've been committing? Not keeping Scoot in the metro parking, because the main area is under construction for more than two years now and it was a pain to park in that cramped, uncomfortable and extremely far-for-comfort parking. I had been parking it just next to the metro station. Un-allotted space. For free. 

Really, there's nothing called a free lunch in this world. *Sigh*

Metro Diaries #6: Lateness, just like how it used to be!

You remember how it used to be on the good old days of my undergrad when I reached college hardly on time? And then MBA happened and it all became a sad past. But seems like some things just come up so you cherish the past instead of feeling horrible about it. I'm late to college. *Very* late, in fact. And if I think about how it all happened, you'd say it's because of my carelessness, which is probably true, but I'd like to give it the benefit of doubt and call it a classy God-wants-you-to-be-late-due-to-some-insane-divine-logic thingy. (What? I'm still me, hence, hopeless with names :P)

So what happened was, I got up with a *lot* of difficulty, considering how tired I was coming back from the farewell yesterday. (Yess. The end is nearly there! And oh by the way, the title I got was 'Paperback Princess'. I always end up getting bookish stuff o.O or princessy stuff. Both, in this case, which is actually awesome). And also considering the fever and all that jazzy (but non-awesome) things that happen that make you want to sleep. But I was still ready on time and ready to shoot out when I realized I had to put my stuff in my usual bag. Throwing in both 6-subject notebooks (no time to check the subjects), and the lunch box (still the old one. What did the maid do with the new hot pink lunch box mom got???), I rushed out, sat on Scoot and rode off. *speed, speed, speeeed* 

Halfway through I decided to do a mental check to see if I had everything I'd need. That's when I realized I forgot the laptop at home, which we'd be needing in class today. Recalling my group partner's Whatsapp message. *shoot* Instead of turning right like I had to, I took a u-turn and *speed, speeeeed, speeeedddddd* rushed back home, parked Scoot outside and *knock knock*, waiting for the door to open. I rushed inside and packed in the laptop, not forgetting the charger this time. Throwing out one spiral notebook (who has time to check the subjects????), packing the bag again and rushing out. It's drizzling. 

It had started to rain while I was rushing back home and it was still drizzling. The maid, like always believing she's the queen of the world or whatever, advised me to take a riksha instead, in case the rain goes bad and I'm stuck in some weird place. And I like an idiot dismissed my own brain and took her advice. Taking the sole rickshaw available, who did not even have change for a 100, I dragged myself towards the metro station. It's such a pain to be in a snail-paced rickshaw, and think about my pain when it did not even rain a drop.
---___--- 

I don't know why I keep using this picture.
It is just so "me" :P

I reached my station 5 minutes after the deadline time I have for myself to be able to reach college on time. It would still have been okay had it not been for the awesome fact that I had forgotten my Metro card at home. In another bag in another place, where I had kept it for use yesterday. *Note to self: never ever forget metro cards while changing bags* I had to take a ticket! The vending machine (those new thingies they put instead of letting normal human beings do the job) was very conveniently 'out of service'. The customer care had a long line and the line was half as long for the other TVM. I walked towards it and saw no Metro official. The people were playing with the machine on their own and since the awesome machine doesn't accept any other denomination than 10 and 20 and I had neither, I had to go back to the long customer care queue and wait for my turn. Spying on people, I realized that everyone was just recharging their cards and I almost decided to go back to the other counter that seemed to be open, but then thankfully the guy before me got a ticket and I asked for one too. Got it! 

It was half hour for the class to start and I had a 40 minute metro ride, not counting the train-change time. Plus the rickshaw-to-college time. God! Whatsapping a friend, I got some solace thinking he's 4 stations ahead of me, late too. But still. What if the whole class turns up on time and I'm the only one who is like, 20-25 minutes late and the teacher doesn't allow me inside and I have to go back, embarrassed? O.o Not that I care about that, but I can't miss the class because I have already somehow missed 4 of this subject and we're allowed to only miss 3. And for the three days I did not go to college and wasn't well, I had the medical certificate which I think was in the spiral notebook I threw back and left at home. I want to die. 

But it's okay. It is a bad day, even you have to agree. I ran to take the shorter (and more crowded) route and then the not-so-tempting general coach just because it would help me walk less on that insanely long platform at my station. I was around 10 minutes late for the class, which, considering all the kattas that happened, was not at all bad. And just when I had jumped up on a rickshaw for college and had the tyre complete one revolution, I heard someone calling my name. Looking back, I saw a teacher waving at me and we stopped, waited for her to hop up on the rickshaw and then moved. It wasn't bad, except for the fact that I'm horrible at conversing with teachers. I don't know how others do it so easily. I just can't. -_-

20 minutes late to class. Eeps! Running towards the room, avoiding people too slow to move like the ninja I am, I reached class. And what do I see? Everyone casually strolling around, chatting and gossiping and homeworking and all such 'ings' that happen in a classroom. The teacher bent over the coveted attendance register, pen hovering, staring. Not quite understanding what he was doing, I went all, 'err sir? Ashna. Present!' :P And he went, 'Ashna? Oh yeah, present' :P Yay *_*

Why do weird things happen with me? I'm such a strange-things-magnet. I mean, these are the kind of things you can't even begin to explain to anyone. Suppose the class had started on time, imagine if it had been a sadu teacher instead and had asked why I was late, then? I couldn't even talk about the metro having a problem because that has now become a staple with the going-by-metro population which includes......everyone. But still. That is why I believe in God. He saves me. :P

PS- Two things. One, I need to write and write and write. My vocab is at an all time low. Two, I had typed 90% of this while going to college, in the metro, on the fone. I'm awesome or am I awesome? ;) :D

PPS- I've noticed this trend. When I write regularly, I hardly get any new followers and readers. And when I'm on an unmentioned hiatus, I seem to attract more bloggers to join the site. Why? -_- Are you guys, by any slim chance, implying that you'd encourage me to not post? -_- :P

OK "see you" for now. You should know I hate goodbyes.

The Nerdy Things I Can't Get Over..!

How do you even define "nerdy"? I'm just going by what 'people' say or react like, even though I don't even notice much what people's opinions are (who has the time to consider them?)! Still, there are many things normal common people do or like that I don't do or like.

Example, watching movies. I dunno, I would rather read. That's all. Spending hours in front of a screen just watching seems like a waste of time, unless what you're watching holds some meaning or gives you intense emotions you would like to think over, or something like that. Don't get me wrong, I do like certain movies. Just that they end up being based on books. It's almost magnetic, half of them were those I didn't even know were based on books. And I prefer English more, no offence to Bollywood. But anyway, how else do you explain that I can watch kids' movies (Charlie and the chocolate factory, Madeline, Matilda, 101 Dalmitians, etc) easily over and over again? That I would be hooked to a movie on TV and years later discover a book with the same title? (Tuck Everlasting! The scariest movie on immortality ever! I mean, it just made me scared of the idea of being immortal). I love animation films, although I wouldn't watch these all by will or deliberation, except sticking to my ritual of watching Christmas movies on Christmas. I must be very bored, or have the time for it to be able to watch a movie.

When it comes to movies based on books that I've read these past 2-3 years, I feel differently. I admit to acting like a demented hypermaniac when the Harry Potter movies released. I had to watch them and get the movie DVDs on birthdays. I had to watch them countless times whenever I had time, but they were awesome movies, you've got to see! I don't feel the same for movies-based-on-books right now. It's weird, really. I used to be so excited about watching a movie replaying the same story I read, but in the past few weeks, watching trailers made me nervous. I wasn't so sure that the movies would stay true to the books. I suspect they'd give in to commercialization, which, I don't like.

I didn't much enjoy the Catching Fire movie, then I was all, " :O Why do Rose and Lissa look like glamorous dolls in this movie poster?" for the Vampire Academy movie (which I'll nevertheless watch, but still). Then the trailer for The Fault in Our Stars came out. I was excited, I wanted it to be awesome! It was, at least for many people. I don't know how I felt except that now I feel like granting access to the movie only to those people who've read the book. Don't ask why, I don't know. I feel like the others wouldn't understand. And one word any non-reader utters against the movie Is. Going. To. Suffer. -_-

Last year's b'day achievement :P

Books. Synonymous to "life" for me, however dramatic it may seem. But really, whatever sanity I have left in me is because of them. Just. Love. Them. All. :') I love collecting books, not just for the sake of collecting, but if I'm reading something I'm liking, I have to have it. I ask for books on birthdays, and whatever occasion demands a gift. My family finds it so weird that they've taken a list of books as a complimentary gift to the "main" gift for birthdays. Who's going to tell them I care more about the complimentary? Some friends say, 'we won't gift you books, you need something more normal', but they happen to be college-people, mostly, so it's okay. The other nerdy friends just know which book would be ideal. I appreciate both, though.

The way I pass my "extremely-limited" free time would include:

1. Randomly going through books I have.

2. Browsing Goodreads or Flipkart or Amazon.in (how can I not see the Indian version of Amazon? Even if it looks cent per cent like the international site? :P)

3. Thinking of ways in which that huge carton that brought with it the new washing machine, could be folded and converted into yet another book holder.

4. Updating the list of books at home. In my special Books-only notebook. Checking how many have been lent, and thinking of ways to get them back asap. :P

5. Writing

6. Emailing the nerdy friend(s) about 'smart' things I got to know. Mostly stuff from books that made me think deeply.

7. Browsing through HBO, WB, Star Movies, World Movies, etc and stopping to watch a Narnia movie.

Other stuff I do:

- Collect quotes, mostly in a notebook dedicated to bookish-updates.

- Collect smart-ass phrases to be put on tees (although I just have one tee that says, 'Don't let the muggles get you down' gifted by two awesome friends! *_*)

- Make stuff like papier mache objects, cards and simple bookmarks.

Papier mache thingy and I

- The only game on my cell phone I ever seem to play, if at all I do, is one on the Hunger Games. :P

- The only kind of apps I use include: Angry Words, Notes, Duolingo, Kindle, Feedly, Blogger, Goodreads!

- Use four different colored pens while taking down notes in class. And the colors should include pink and purple, or else it'll be too boring!

- Add cuttings of Natasha Badhwar's column to the folder with other newspaper cuttings, including Sonal Kalra's column!

- Re-read old posts from this blog. God knows how much I learn about myself like this. :P

- Make progress with some online course I'd be pursuing (this is a recent add-on).

You get the gist. -_- Now who has the time to go shopping or gossiping when there is so much to do? Who wants to stay back in a wella college when I'd rather find peace doing all these things? Which lately includes being in denial and shock and crying over the end of the third book in the Vampire Academy series. I mean! It's going to be three days! I have no idea how to get over it! I've even started reading something else entirely, instead of moving on to the next book!

More for later! Pretty Sunday's over now. :|

Floating in the depths...

Jan 21: Pre-post scribble: *eyes narrowed down* in my usual you-dare-mess-with-me stare, I look at the laptop's screen but my mind's busy reminding me for the millionth time how futile that will be. Since when did things start happening depending on how you stare at them? Yep, you got it right: Never. -_-

***

Jan 25: I wanted to write today, since after so long the day went awesome-awesome. At least it can be called awesome judging by the quality of life I lead these days. But just when I decided I would write, I did not want to write. I got rude with a best friend, just-like-that. :| I'm sorry dude, even though you said I wasn't rude (see, if it makes you smile wider, this even rhymes :P ).

***

Jan 26: I can't even write more than a small paragraph at a stretch? Seriously, what is wrong with me? To top it all, I feel really pissed off. First, I'm feeling restless, not having written anything but feeling that itch inside to write. If I didn't feel like it, it would have been okay. But I feel like I'd calm down only if I write, ergo, I feel restless (yo bestie, now toh smile :D ). Second, I also feel angry at just living in a place where mental freedom is so hard to find. I mean!!! Why is there so much of stress around? Around useless things? I was fine about other people stressing over things, but now it's affecting me! It's almost as if it's become tangible and jumping out from people and latching onto me, and I do not want stress. I hate it. See? I'm even stressing over the fact I don't like stress. How stressful is that?

Pic credit: Dad

Third, it's taking all amounts of self-control and optimism to survive college. God bless those ikke dukke kids who have a sense of humor and in whose presence I actually feel like laughing. *Take deep breaths* Just two more months. Then, finally, freedom! Although I have to say, college did teach me a lot apart from studies. I'm sure if I survived this, I can survive a lot. 8| 

Fourth, I feel helpless about a lot of things, including the fact that people don't understand people. It's kind of frustrating to see judgments passed through, about anyone, for anything. Why do we even care to comment on people? We never know where they're coming from. And this makes me mad because I used to be indifferent to this attitude, but now, I just find it hugely frustrating. Total piss-off material.

Fifth, we're studying different kinds of personalities in class. Turns out the terms we generally use for disorders are personality types, and each of us possesses some or the other traits and characteristics from them, most probably a mix of some types. Example, I could have some traits of a paranoid, and a schizoid and a narcissist. While it's interesting to study these types, as it definitely makes you more empathetic to people (if of course, you see it that way, instead of just mocking people in class based on characteristics described, like some people in my class do), it's also slightly going to stay in the back of your mind, continuously running like an open-in-the-background-app (err... what metaphors :P).

And it's hard to discuss it with family and friends, just because they might not understand or interpret it the way you do. But it has made me even more open to differences and I am simply wishing for everyone to start feeling like that, so there'll be more understanding and less of judging. 

Sixth, I feel absolutely no inclination to do any assignment. Considering how this is the last sem, you'd think they'd make it easier. But not only are the subjects too boring, the assignments feel like such a ridiculous task thrust upon us and seriously, most of them actually make no sense. The previous trimesters sometimes even seemed remotely interesting, although I hardly liked the assignments unless they offered good learning potential, which the new ones absolutely do not. I've got assignments to submit tomorrow, but I feel irritable just thinking about those. Why couldn't I have done something interesting? 

Seventh, I feel weird too, mostly because I'm feeling more selfish than I've ever been in my life. Not in terms of materialism, but just not feeling enough empathy for those who're sad. It's like I'm so drained myself that I'm barely staying afloat, so logically, that makes sense. How can I worry about the world when I'm feeling irritable and restless myself? Although it's not that much, but things that are disturbing bring in a feeling of restlessness rather than sadness. Not every time, of course. For family and friends, you don't even feel like it's a burden or separate from you. But when it's about the rest of them, right now, I don't want to listen to them.

Eighth, I really wish Mr. Freud wrote his book in an easier-to-read language! I really want to understand and interpret dreams, not that I don't have any idea. And I don't really want to read Mr. Freud's interpretations either, but still. At this moment, any form of understanding is a welcome prospect. My dreams have turned more vivid and more close to real life, so unlike earlier. It's like all those things I don't like, come together to life in an illustrated form. Weird, weird, weird!

Ninth, what I really wanted to write this blogpost on, when I titled it 'floating in the depths' was about how I've always found myself so into things, especially feelings. Till about a year ago when I still had the time (and inclination) for it, I used to look up stuff related to sun signs and feel happy about the awesome things that matched. One of the things I read was about how we tend to think about the deeper mysteries of life more closely than other people. No wonder, since thinking keeps me occupied most of the time. But I have an aversion to thinking about sad stuff. I don't read sad stories (exceptions aside), I don't like sad music, and I feel like hugging sad people. Why is there sadness in the first place? But going through it myself, I also know that time takes care of it when nothing else can. You just need to have patience. O:)

But anyway, I do like things with deep meanings. Hidden meanings. Reading between the lines. Clues that link back to something said previously. I love kids' books and stories so much, simply because when they're about to end, they come up with beautiful interpretations of the whole story and a deeper meaning is brought out. Like a few days ago I watched Madagascar on TV (Escape to Africa) and I couldn't help feeling awed at the underlying theme: they think a lion is not a lion if it can't fight. Alakay (Alex) is a dancing lion who lived in New York and finally found himself back to his parents in the jungle. When his dad Zuba dismisses him because he could not fight, it brought a sense of frustration we know so well. Tight societal norms. And in the end it's Alex's dancing (apart from the lion-ic spirit, of course) that saves them from maniac New Yorkers stranded in the jungle. Same is the case with Heidi, the TV cartoon I absolutely watched full of emotion even as a kid! I read the book recently and saw how it talks so politely about people, even those who're mean with such a sense of fairness that it makes you think about the way you think about people!

Finally, I really want to know. Is there a God up above who takes into account the manners and goodness people have? I've been so full of confidence about good people having the best of all that I turned a blind eye to little things that were unfair to me, even though I do try to be good. I don't really want to lose faith in Him, but it seems like being good has little use. It's like no one expects you to be good and they assume you're just putting up an act. How shattering is that? The chant seem to get it all, and you're a plain loser. It makes me angry, but well, I do believe it matters more to your own conscience. Just that outwardly sometimes you wish you weren't so misunderstood. 

That's all for now! I'm reading okay these days, so that's a nice plus. I'm into the third book of the Vampire Academy series and it's a nice feeling to read about smart-ass vamps and dhampirs. Thank God for books. They make all the difference between getting crazy and sanity!

Some Awesomeness!

Y'know you're a goner, a pure victim of injustice if you're in a college where they take your Sunday and exchange it with a fully packed day and you still go to every single class because one, attendance issues and two, you're saving the holidays for later. You have any idea how such 14 days can be? 14 straight days of classes from 8.30 to 5.30, with every single class requiring you to take some tests or assignments or presentations or cases? Total stupidity. So when a teacher takes mercy and postpones his assignment's due date and you get one day when you don't have any submission the next day, you're so confused that you don't know what to do! You feel sleepy but you feel that'd be wasting time :P You sit down to send sane replies to pending emails, you feel emotionally awesome because an email would be from someplace you don't know, sent by a person you don't know, saying how they can connect to what you write and what they feel about it. That is when you feel like you're actually achieving your goals in small increments, because that is what you really wanted. :D

Anyway, that is also the time when you know you desperately want to blog but you're in no state to think and write. You would then consult your writer-friend and he'd give you a really awesomely weird prompt. This is what I got as a prompt:

"Write ten things about yourself that make you so proud that you want to hug yourself!"

Source: Google

Weird, right? :P I actually had to consult this friend who gave no more than one point, saying 'You're supposed to do this yourself.' Consulting with mom led to simple but cool answers (and I feel awesome my mom thinks so ;) ) And as much as I believe and think we're supposed to stay humble and not mumble (it's okay dudes. We are allowed to write words just to make them annoyingly rhyming :P ), I also feel like doing some self-motivation thingy and list some things about myself I feel are awesome! ;) I mean, it's cool, you guys. Please don't run off to the International Commission for Searching and Awarding Insanely Awesome People to nominate my name. I'm above all such materialistic stuff. ;)

# 10: I love to read. Many people love to read, I know, but I love it. I love more the fact that I have been reading ever since I could. In a place where there is hardly any culture of bedtime reading, I'm lucky that even as a kid I had the brains to read books my age :P (Yeah, it's obviously because of my parents who encouraged me, but still). I read children's stories and classics when I should have, Enid Blyton and Nancy Drews, and yep, I was 12 when I started reading the Harry Potter books, so that is awesome! And people who read are nevertheless awesome just by virtue of being readers, so that's an added plus!

# 9: I have amazing blogs. And I find them amazing because I completely adore them. This blog contains my evolution as a person, witnessed through the stories I've typed here. This is where I have always come when I needed to bring something off my heart, where I felt awesome while writing. This here, my second baby, is where I can freely (and super-enthusiastically) talk about my favorite topic: books. And it led me to many more book lovers, including an amazing girl from another country who is now a pen-friend. :D These blogs are not popular, nor do I wish for them to be. Popularity brings with it too much noise and distractions and yes, spam, and I'm better off without having to deal with those. ;)

There's one fact I love about these two blogs, that I don't actually do a rigorous promotion for them, because of which they tend to have people who are genuinely interested. This holds more true for the book blog, because I'd rather have a few reader, book-lover, genuine review-seekers to be on my blog than many random people just because I know them from somewhere. Genuineness adds such a feel-good factor! :)

# 8: I'm one of those 'old-school' characters. I've never really understood the term properly, but despite being the kid of the 21st century, brought up in co-ed educational backgrounds, among super-fast technological developments and super-fast people, I'm the kind of person who'd have been happier living in 'the good old times'. I rarely identify with the modernities, I refuse to believe in changing roles and behavior of people where everyone is convinced that being fast and chant is the way to success. I'd prefer to go slow and steady in any kind of relationship. I'm aware of everything new and modern, but I'd rather not live that way.

# 7: I love writing. It's one activity that never makes me feel jumpy or anxious when I have to do it. I feel nervous about a lot of things, including group activities in class, presentations, and wherever else I'm supposed to answer. But that's not the case with writing. It's something I've always been comfortable with. I don't write great, I don't have a good vocabulary, but I'd just always prefer writing in simple words (because okay, no great vocab -_-) for everything I need to convey. Well, maybe not everything, but most of the stuff. I was that weirdly awesome kid in school who loved English classes and looked forward to them; the one who loved doing grammar exercises, who never had trouble writing answers, who wrote short essays that got read in class. :D #nerd mode on. 

# 6: I don't get bored. Seriously, that makes me a boring person for others but I don't get bored myself. :P There's always some thing roaming around in my head, for my brain never sleeps, and if there's nothing (or no one :P ) interesting enough to observe, there'd be whole sentences forming in my head, as if it's writing a book on its own. It's crazy, but I love it. Considering how I anyway don't get much time to write, at least my brain has taken it upon itself to practice. ;) And yeah, lack of boredom tends to make you patient because you're not restless when nothing interesting is happening around you. 

# 5: I have interesting interests. Y'know, they're interesting to me. The thing I've noticed about people who're patient, and weird and fun, is that they have interests outside or not strictly based on their main area of academics. There has always been something I've had when I got bored of studies. Books, art and craft, some online course, blogging, learning and practicing photography, reviewing books, collecting clothes' tags, etc. One more reason I can't get bored! 

# 4: I'm 16% tomboyish. Mostly girls might not like to call themselves tomboyish and count it as an 'awesome' thing about them, but duh. I feel awesome when guys in class play cricket and I can ask for an over to bat, when we have a fun play-thing and I am the rare girl who actually can bat and ball and catch (seriously. Some don't even know how to hold a bat. o.O ). I loved my childhood days when I played with G all sorts of games; cricket (how I loved it), basketball (making a swiveling motion and saying 'Basket!' was awesome), cycling (I still would run off on a bicycle if useless dogs don't run after me), skating, taking the remote controlled Renault awesome car to the park and operating it with ultimate cool-girl attitude, etc etc. I can seriously go on and on. :D 

# 3: I'm kind of above the trivial things. I don't mean to dismiss those who do talk about such stuff, but for me it's cool and I feel awesome that I can't be bothered about little things like who's hot on TV, or what's "in" in fashion, or how someone acted because someone told them how someone else said something about them. o.O This took a while to think to form the sentence, I can't imagine how people get the energy to gossip about it. I'd rather discuss the book I'm reading with someone who seems to understand. But when people themselves tend to be critical about everything, I don't feel like they'd understand the point and so I'm left with just a few who allow me that liberty. And I love it! :D

# 2: I'm the slimmer, older, pink-loving, cheesy version of an amazing girl with an amazing blog who happens to be one of the closest friends and my soul-sister. :) 

A note to those who don't believe in making friends online: I used to think like you too, and then I discovered blogging. And if you are at the right blog, you'd get to meet and talk to the most amazing people. Evidence is here. ;) I have awesome people in my life. Those who love me even when I seem to behave like the craziest person ever, who actually laugh at my jokes (and they are actually good if you have that awesome level of understanding 8| ) and these people include my family and best friends. Thank you guys. ^_^ 

# 1: I have faith in my dreams. Even though from where I am right now, I can't see the destination, I do know I'd get there. And I'd make most of the journey, because the means is important to me, not just the end. I make achievable goals and aspirations too. For everything I love. I always wanted to see more people reading, not just because "I" like it, but because it is an amazing thing. Sometimes unfortunately it might not work, if you ask and force someone to read a book, but I got to know how one can indirectly influence people and facilitate their discovery of books they love. Whenever someone says that they started reading more, or have read books based on my reviews, I have felt that feeling of success and happiness that I really can't describe. :)

***

I started writing this post almost a month ago. This prompt was given a month ago. After the introduction, I had points 10 to 1, numbers written. I did not know what to write, I couldn't figure out the awesome things about myself. Even today, I had to take help because I was sitting blank. I asked the two best people, I asked my mom (who invented a term called 'negative awesome things' because she wanted to point out the bad ones too -_- Thanks, mum.) and then when I finally started writing, it came to me. I have a lot more points in my head now!! And I can't really say a lot on it because the fact that I felt so good after so long, is something no one can understand fully. I just need to say Thank you to all who facilitated this. Keep looking out for more awesomeness! It's sure to come! ;)