Devathi's Treasure Trove of Rubbish

How to Save a (Social) Life

2010-08-26T10:58:00.001-07:00

Is your right eye twitching? Do you often fantasize about flying squirrels and talking tortillas? Can you see dead people? Just asking.

Moving on, this note is for those who have been unceremoniously ditched and stingingly disowned by their friends for perpetually having exams. ‘You don’t have time for us anymore,’ they complain and ‘You have turned into such a nerd,’ they whine. Little do they know that in the non-existent recuperation time that we get in between fresh cycles of internals, we (specifically referring to the people who landed up doing science, medicine or engineering rather than some fun course) are burdened with an insurmountable amount of work in the form of seemingly endless lab records, assignments, seminars, and slave labour. All of this has resulted in the sad demise of any semblance that we had to a social life (having 3200 friends on Facebook and an overly active Wall doesn’t count).

I, however, like to think that every problem has a solution. In a truly altruistic manner, I sacrificed some sleep during class hours to ponder over this nagging issue. Most parents and teachers in general don’t believe in the concept of a social life. They are living relics from an era where marks were the be all and end all of a student’s life. Never mind something as petty as a social life because, of course, it can wait till after we’re through with college. And once we’re through with college, it can wait till after we find a job (good marks will obviously get us great jobs), get married, make babies, make more babies, and grow so old that even Neanderthals would stir uncomfortably in their graves. You can go right ahead and play by their rules, or you could let me help you.

How to Save Your Social Life:

1. Pay your friends by the hour to hang out with you - an offer they cannot refuse.

2. Drop out of college. No college = no exams. Education is just overrated anyway.

3. Get other people to do your work so that you may go out and party with your friends. This is where being nice and having an irresistible smile help.

4. Get adopted by extremely wealthy parents by putting yourself on the illegal market. That way you don’t really have to study/work, which leaves you with more time to spend with friends. Paris Hilton makes being a socialite seem like a real job, so why can’t you?

5. In desperate times, if you think your old social life is far out of reach, start over and create a new one. How? Hang out with your teachers and their families.

6. If all else fails, create a bunch of imaginary friends who will keep you company.

Run along now, kids. Go out and play.

P.S. The fact that you’re reading this note doesn’t say much about your social life either.

Lights, Camera, Mush!

2010-08-11T02:47:00.001-07:00

Chick flicks... y’know, those movies that appeal to prepubescent girls and adult women alike. They can make them weep, clutch their hearts, sigh, look wistfully at the screen, and elicit a series of other similar reactions. Most of them can be deciphered in the first two minutes of the movie (including the time taken for the opening credits).

The general plot: Messed up, awkward girl protagonist meets studalicious dream boy who is way beyond her league. The stud muffin has an evil girlfriend/ex-girlfriend/mother/some woman in his life that deserves to be hated by the general female audience. The said woman’s role in the movie is quite obvious – she plays the antagonist that stands in the way of the true love. Awkward girl is left heartbroken and alone. However, stud muffin ultimately sees the awkward girl’s inner beauty and falls in love with her. Together, they overcome all obstacles in their path and live happily ever after. Oh yes, and there just has to be that final kiss which will turn on the waterworks.

There can be slight variations of this plot:

1. Cynical guy who doesn’t believe in love meets The One, but doesn’t realize that she is The One until almost the end of the movie. Following this realization, guy chases after her (this scene is ideally set in an airport), miraculously stops her before she leaves and professes his undying love for her.

2. Two best friends date a multitude of other people, only to realize that what they’ve been looking for has been right in front of them the whole time.

3. Guy and girl hate each other when they first meet but they somehow end up falling in love.

Mix and match the above plots and voila, you get a few hundred more love stories.

I happened to have the misfortune of watching Sex and the City 2 today. There went three hours of my life that I will never get back. Not only did I fail to see any point in the movie, but I also killed a few million brain cells trying to do so. This isn’t the first time it’s happening to me though. There have been a handful of occasions on which I was forced to watch movies like The Ugly Truth, Ghost of Girlfriends Past, The Accidental Husband, and Twilight. On all these occasions, I sat back with a puzzled look on my face as I tried to figure out what women saw in them. I earnestly tried to list out the factors that could possibly motivate them to watch garbage like this:

1. The attractive cast

2. The generous serving of cheesy lines

3. The predictable happy endings

4. The apparently-oh-to-die-for shoes, bags, accessories, meh

5. The soundtracks

What troubles me is that it still doesn’t seem like motivation enough... *scratches chin thoughtfully*

Be Scared, Be Very Scared

2010-06-09T23:50:00.000-07:00

When you were a little kid, your parents would have taught you to look left and right before crossing the street. Did they also teach you to scream and run while doing so? No? You have some catching up to do then because I, Devathi Parashuram, now have a valid Learner’s Licence that permits me to sit behind the wheel of any car so long as it has an ‘L’ sign on the windshield.

As of today, I have successfully finished 20 classes at driving school. To say that I can drive now is a blatant exaggeration. I can’t, but I try, and that... that is a scary thought, isn’t it? Devathi trying to drive. I’m putting my ego on the line by writing this, but I figured that a warning had to be issued in public interest.

During those 20 classes, there wasn’t a single day when my instructor didn’t groan audibly when he saw me each morning. Three days down the line, he thought I just needed time to get used to shifting gears while simultaneously maintaining pressure on the clutch and accelerator. Fifteen days later, he had completely relinquished any hopes of my ever learning to drive. “Most of my students get progressively better,” he said exasperatedly, “But you just seem to be getting worse!” Oh well, can’t blame the poor guy.

In my defence though, I get easily distracted by pretty trees, dogs, early morning joggers, puddles, post boxes, bus stands, funny road signs that say HUMP, sports bikes, Sankey Tank, oddly shaped clouds, anything. So you can imagine what a mammoth task it was for me to actually focus on the road ahead and the traffic around me, not to mention potholes, speed breakers, and pedestrians. Harder still was paying attention to his instructions. ADHD and spacing out constantly haven’t ever paid off for me. “Speed limit 20 kmph,” he’d warn me. With my foot on the gas, I don’t think I ever adhered to that. That was when he would start shouting, “It’s my job to not only keep you safe but also to keep everyone outside this car safe!” “Ok,” I’d nod and continue doing everything wrong.

I’d also like to make a special mention of how my instructor never wore his seatbelt until our third class together, after which he religiously strapped himself in and looked nervously at me whenever I got into the driver’s seat. I’d like to think that I taught him the value of life, the importance of living every moment, and all that. What he would have done without me, I wonder.

I’m a creative person. Nobody can deny that. My new venture is road-kill art. I need a photographer to accompany me on drives and take pictures of my artwork though since the canvas isn’t going to be portable. Anybody game enough? Anyone?

54/23/3123

2010-06-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary..

A talking Belgian waffle told me today that it was actually from Thailand, so I packed it up in a box, shipped it off there, and ate an alien armadillo for breakfast instead. I decided to fly my paper rocket to work today but didn't get there on time because it rained. I should have taken our pet bison instead. Damn 'em beetle-bladdered clouds! At work, I was told that Alfred had been turned into an alien armadillo by his wife when she discovered that he had wet his bed again. Uh-oh! Hmm.. alien armadillo. Why does that sound so familiar?

I can't recall what happened next. I must have accidentally jumped out of the 18th floor window again and bumped my head against a crow or something. I can't even seem to remember where I put my spare leg. All in all though, I suppose it was a good day. I mean, I can't seem to stop smiling, especially since I can feel myself float above my physical body. This is so cool.

Ok bye.

Baby Showers

2010-05-03T10:16:00.000-07:00

Babies – love ‘em or hate ‘em, you just can’t ignore them; especially not when your cousins spawn ‘em little evil cretins in large numbers, making them impossible to keep track of, leave alone recognize as your nieces and nephews.

Why is it so hard for new parents to understand that nobody gives a flying f*ck about their precious little bundle of joy? Of course, the only exceptions to this would be grandparents and perhaps other new parents.

“She can say ‘yousuck’ now... She means to say ‘food’... how endearing!” [With adults going all ‘googoogaga’ and ‘wooshywooshysquishywishy’ on babies, it’s no wonder that it takes them so long to learn how to talk; and even when they do, it’s just misinterpreted]

“Oh, he has a bad nappy rash.”

Really. Who the heck cares? Not me.

Like Manoj Jacob once rightly said, he should start saying “Congratulations!” instead of “Are you keeping it?” When I see my new born nieces and nephews, I inevitably have to make a great effort not to scrunch my nose up in disgust or prod them like dissection specimens on display. What is so charming about babies, I fail to understand. Calling them God’s gift and all is just overdoing it, no?

Babies are babies. They poop, cry, sleep, cry, eat, poop, cry and bite. When they’re parents are done talking about how their babies pooped, cried, ate and slept, they ramble on about all the new things they’ve learnt – saying “woof woof” or crawling or walking or whatever on earth it is that all human babies do in progression. And when all that is done with and their kids go to school, parents are busy showing their kids off – My son is a class topper and gets straight A’s all the time – in an endless rat race to see whose kid is smarter, cuter, more athletic, and what not.

Didn’t I tell you to use condoms? Now look what you’ve done.

Open Wide

2010-04-20T08:31:00.001-07:00

Although it’s been nearly 5 years since I had my braces removed, an appointment with the dentist still fills me with a sense of dread and makes me queasy. My tryst with orthodontists began way back when my milk teeth stood firmly rooted to my gums and refused to fall. I had to get all of them extracted since my permanent teeth had started growing right behind them by then. Later, owing to the size of my mouth (apparently the smallest mouth my dentist has ever looked into), my newly grown teeth had to be crammed in and when there wasn’t sufficient space for all of them, I was forced to wear braces followed by retainers. My dad had spent more on my teeth than my entire education up until that point.

Having spent most of my childhood in and out of the dentist’s clinic, you’d think that I’d be used to it by now. However, each visit is as refreshingly unpleasant as the one before. The gruelling process starts in the waiting room, with spotless white tiles, white walls, and neat rows of seats lined up against the walls, all splashed with a blinding white light. Every inch of the walls are covered with certificates of achievement and multiple degrees obtained in universities abroad, which are in all good sense meant to assure patients that they are in safe hands. Instead, what it does is make you realize to your horror that this particular dentist has a whole lot more torture techniques up his sleeves than the average Dr. Muthuswamy down the road. As you wait frightfully for your turn, you see fellow patients crawl out, groaning, moaning, and clutching their swollen cheeks in agony. At long last the receptionist with her satanic smile ushers you in. It’s your turn.

The dentist’s chair - It’s designed along the lines of the medieval Chair of Torture. The dental equipments fitted into the movable tray look distastefully nasty and include a miniature drilling machine with a long and dangerously pointed edge. Now the dentist, with an evil glint in his eye, looks gleefully down at you, his latest victim, and prods away happily in your mouth with a sharp probe.

“Does it hurt now?” *jab*

*groan* “Ooowww.. YES”

*prods elsewhere* “Now?”

“YES!”

*prods again in the first prod-area* “Now??”

“YES YOU RETARD, IT ISN’T GOING TO HURT ANY LESS IF YOU’RE GOING TO CONTINUE PRODDING IT WITH THAT TORTURE INSTRUMENT”

It’s a small wonder then that I bit down hard on my dentist’s finger when he was too busy making conversation with my dad to realize that he was prodding my palate incredibly hard. Take that, you sadistic prick! I swore that I’d never go back to see a dentist again once I was through with my braces and retainers, and I would have kept my word too if it wasn’t for the killer toothache that victimized me two days ago. It got so bad that I just had to get it checked today. My my... all the memories that came rushing back the minute I took my place in the chair overwhelmed me - the blinding light, the smell of antiseptics and some sort of plaster combined, the rubber gloves, the horrid dental instruments, the unbearable pain, all of it. To my good fortune though, it turned out that the toothache was a result of a sinus problem I have and I was asked to consult an ENT specialist, which was probably the best thing I’ve heard any dentist say to me. Phew!

Medusa and Hemlock

2010-04-13T10:16:00.000-07:00

It’s time for a new self-centred rant. I know you guys missed them, as much as you would hate to admit it! :D So why prolong your wait? Your misery ends here... behold a new rant about... *drum rolls*... MY HAIR!!

Yes, my hair - the object of ardent admiration and envy, the epitome of all awesomeness. If in the future I bequeath my hair to you in the form of a hair transplant (don’t you dare get any ideas about progeny and shiz), I would necessarily have to include an instruction manual. You see, my hair is just that unique and that awesome. However, for all those curious people who wonder how I manage my hair, I hope this answers your questions.

FAQS:

1. How Devathi, HOW do you comb your unruly hair?

Devathi replies – Dearest love, the Britishers learnt it soon enough while they were trying desperately to rule our country, and parents caught on quickly as well when it came to managing their children – Divide and Rule. Heard of the phrase ‘United we stand, divided we fall’? The same applies to my hair. What I do is split it up into many portions, hold them down with numerous rubber bands, catch hold of one portion of hair at a time and force a comb through it.

2. What do you do to your hair after you’re done combing it?

Oh, I take a light and start an African bush fire in the hope that one of those dreamy firemen will come rescue me (although that doesn’t really apply in India). Not. I use a perpetually changing number of rubber bands and tic-toc clips to stop it from defying gravity all the time. The wind can be a bitch though.

3. What sort of combs or brushes do you use?

Devathi says – Hmm. After a lot of experimentation I discovered that brushes were ineffective and therefore settled for big-toothed combs. I use two combs at a time, one in each hand, while wrestling my hair. Glad you asked.

4. How do you wash your hair? Do you even wash it?!

Devathi: Yes, I do wash it, and quite often at that. My mama taught me personal hygiene, but you seem like you could use a few lessons. As for how I wash it, I apply the Divide and Rule method again. It’s hard to get to your scalp when you have a miniature Amazon Jungle for hair, but I found that the D&R method works better than the tear-your-hair-out-of-your-scalp-out-of-frustration method. So I divide it into portions again and wash each area of my scalp tediously. The rest is relatively easy because all that needs to be done is squeeze an entire shampoo bottle onto my head and lather away furiously.

5. On an average, how long does it take to wash your hair?

Devathi is tiring of the questions but will answer nicely anyway: About an hour, if my hair is in a good mood.

6. Do you use a hair dryer?

When they invent a hair dryer that can actually dry my hair, let me know – mail me at devathip@gmail.com. I dry my hair by head banging to music (it works) or I just let it dry on its own.

7. Do birds ever mistake your hair for a nest?

Yes, crows especially. *orders her personal mafia to kill the person who asked her this question*

8. In what ways do you style your hair?

Oh gee... It alternates between the curly look and the fluffy cotton candy look. I can’t be bothered to do anything more with it. The curly look takes minimum effort since all I need to do is wash my hair (the science behind it: all the cysteine residues form intrastrand bonds again, bonds which might have been broken earlier due to combing). I love the curly look but it comes at a price – combing it later is thrice as hard. As for the cotton candy look, that’s just a result of combing it (and hence temporarily breaking the cysteine bonds).

9. Do you ever get bored of your hair?

No. It’s fun to play with.

10. Does stuff get lost in your hair?

Yes, quite often. Once a friend found a dead spider in my hair... the cause of death appeared to have been suffocation. Among the other things I’ve found are bits of paper and rubber bands that I misplaced. Maybe I should start smuggling weed in my hair... I’d be rich.

11. Why don’t you straighten your hair?

I don’t want to look like everyone else. My hair is unique and I love it. It’s an integral part of my personality and I couldn’t care less if straight hair could make me look better or if that boy I’m crushing on likes straight-as-steel-rods hair. If you’re one of the kazillion people who’ve asked me this question, you should know that you’re on the hit list that I’m sending across to my mafia right now. Beware.

12. Is your hair natural?

Uh. Why don’t you tug on it and see for yourself, retard? Of course it’s natural! Before you ask, my mother and sister have curly hair too, except not as awesome as mine!

A few things that require special mention – I dressed up as Medusa for a Halloween Party once where I let my hair loose and had snakes in it. My hair is instrumental to most of my costumes for various theme parties, like even at the Retro Farewell Party in school where I dressed up as Boney M.

So, there are times when my hair is just absolutely unruly and unmanageable. There are times when I just wanna shave it off or grab it with both hands and scream “Die stupid hair die!”, but for what it’s worth, I LOVE it.

To my hair – I love you! *flying kiss*

One Shopping Bag, Two Shopping Bags, Three..

2010-04-03T07:44:00.000-07:00

If I had to define shopping, I’d say that it was a recreational sport that most women indulged in. Why do they do what they do? Nobody knows.

Here are a few observations that I’ve made:

Women take forever to pick something out, be it clothes, cosmetics, shoes, bags, supplies, whatever. They make purgatory seem like a snap of the fingers.
They just can’t walk into a store and buy what they have to. They absolutely positively need to go to at least ten different stores that sell the same thing, make comparisons with the products of the previous stores and finally end up going back to the first store.
Bargaining – it’s obsessive compulsive disorder. They must bargain and quote unreasonably low prices. Following defeat by harassed shopkeepers, they end up paying the original price anyway and walk out beaming.
If asked to walk from one end of the street to other in heels, they will refuse to do so under the pretext of their legs hurting. But if they have to walk up and down the same street in heels multiple times while shopping, it’s perfectly alright because they have strong calf muscles. Right.
They throw tricky questions at those who accompany them on their shopping sprees. For example, while buying a pair of shoes they might ask, “Is this nice?” If you say yes, they ask why. If you say no, you still have to answer why. If you really don’t know the answer, give a non-committal reply like a grunt. Also, they tend to ask the same question twice, so at a later time if they show you the same pair of shoes that you said weren’t nice, remember what your answer was because they definitely will. It’s a test... shhh. Another example, “Do I look fat in this?” Now the logical answer to this question if the person is fat is – Yes dear, you are fat and you’re obviously going to look fat in anything you wear. But the right answer to this question is – No, not at all. It complements your curves (or tyres or whatever other geometrical structure).
They spend over an hour in a clothes store trying on different things, spend another 30 minutes eliminating stuff from the pile of clothes they tried on, figure out that they don’t like anything after all and ultimately walk out empty-handed.
They notice the minutest defects in what they intend to purchase, like for instance the most microscopic tear in the sleeve of a sweater that even an ant wouldn’t fit through.
The correlation between happiness and the number of shopping bags is very high.

Pop quiz: Why do women like to window shop?

Meltdown

2010-03-24T11:49:00.001-07:00

The good thing about being away from home is always finding something new to whine about. That way you never get tired of whining about the same old leaky tap or the neighbour's cats. As is customary, I woke up this morning and spent three whole minutes wondering what to whine about the whole day.

The weather. Yes, the weather. I shall whine about the weather today.

The weather forecast in Chennai is quite predictable as it can only be one of three options - hot, hotter and hottest. It doesn't get more depressing than that, especially at this point of time where temperatures are well over 30°C and it hasn't even hit the peak yet. Things are about to get a lot worse and if I don't ditch my two week long summer internship and run home to safety, I might really drop dead in the middle of the Lloyd's Road junction.

The temperatures are soaring everyday, true, but what makes it even more unbearable is the humidity. Being a coastal city, Chennai during summer is akin to a ginormous sauna. The humidity makes the air so heavy that it sinks to the ground and refuses to budge. It plays dead better than a well-trained Pedigree dog. The few trees that have escaped being chopped down stand motionless and dry as wind movement and natural breeze become an urban legend. The only time you can feel the sea breeze brush against your skin is when you're standing lesser than two feet away from the seashore.

There seems to be no respite from this sultriness. With the sun beating down on your head, the only way for the body to stay cool is by sweating. Sweating profusely and copiously is anything but pleasant, especially when you can feel it trickling down your back and your clothes are ridden with sweat patches. No amount of water intake seems sufficient when you're sweating two litres of water or more every hour and given the amount I've been sweating of late, it's a small wonder that I don't have a dark rain cloud floating over my head all the time. Sometimes I feel like just peeling my weather-abused skin off like a wetsuit and jumping into a new one. If you've watched that episode of Man vs. Wild where Bear Grylls is lost in the Sahara Desert, you know what he did in an attempt to conserve water and stay cool at the same time. That's right, he took off his shirt, pissed on it and slipped right back into it. Now I don't intend to go to that extreme but I'm beginning to wonder.. what if I had to?

I just found another sub-topic to whine about... yay me! Tans. If I had to go to Africa right now, I would have to risk getting humped by a horny zebra. Why? Because that's how closely I resemble a zebra right now! A whole variety of sunscreen lotions have proved futile in preventing me from getting tanned. I could have still lived with it if the tan was even, but as luck would have it, it isn't. I can positively identify atleast 25 different skin tones out of which atleast 5-6 of them would make nice shades of lipstick (not that I would know).

If I have melted to the ground by tomorrow, I shall find something else to whine about. Until then go read up on global warming.

Invisible Ink

2010-03-17T08:44:00.000-07:00

(Certain things you might want to know before reading this post: 1) It's very long 2) I have a Genetics test tomorrow and hence found it more worth my while to write this note rather than study 3) Expect a lot of abstractness)

Write, though your heart is aching
Write, even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by...

If you write
With your fear and sorrow
Write and maybe tomorrow
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just... write

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I've taken a song called called Smile by Natalie Cole and tweaked it a bit. Why? Because all of a sudden I find the need to patronize people without being pejorative. I started writing long before I can remember but for many years after that writer in me just lay dormant, in a self-induced coma, until a bunch of people (the Muffins and a handful of others) dragged it out by its hair, arms flailing madly and sucker-punched it back to life.

Over the years, I'd been often told to write. Just write. It seems so simple, doesn't it? To just sit down for an uncertain span of time and watch words crawl onto what was once nothing but a blank sheet of paper. For some people, maybe it is. For most others, it's not that simple. For a long time I thought I could write only when I felt strongly about something, when I was extremely upset or unbelievably overjoyed, or just when I hated or loved something enough to write about it. I knew nothing about style and hadn't quite found my own. I thought I needed to have a fixed topic to write about. The latter changed after I started blogging in 2006. I began to write about the most random things that seemed to somehow magically fit together to create one blog post after another.

While topics weren't an issue once I started writing, inspiration still was. Nothing could inspire me to write more than two or three posts a year, and that's when dA (deviantart.com) happened. Ajooni, Aditi, Dipti and Akanksha were hooked on to it and they forced me to go join as well. dA is a wonderful place where creativity thrives. It felt like home the minute I signed up. With that much original art, literature, photography and what not, all around me, it was impossible to resist writing and drawing and expressing myself in any other creative form I could manage. dA was in a way a path to self-discovery. I now realized that I could write very dark pieces, which strayed from the usual slapstick style I followed, and I also discovered that poetry really wasn't my thing. It was creative bliss. However, as all things go with us, we got bored of dA. Too many of our favourite artists/writers/friends/whoever were leaving and we were left with no reason to stay. While I occasionally signed in (with the bleak hope that Elbethius a.k.a. Mark Kozina has returned), I needed another creative outlet. Enter Facebook.

Facebook, Facebook... what can I say? It gave me the perfect platform for harrassing unsuspecting friends who happened to stumble upon my notes (the ability to tag people in them made it that much easier). Before I knew it, I was writing frequently again and with a lot of inspiration drawn from Nazia and others like her who frequently wrote and published notes on Facebook. I was a serial writer who derived sadistic pleasure from subjecting people to the agony of reading my endless rants. As if I needed any more egging on, Ajooni lent me a book - Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury - which sealed my fate. I was back!

Honestly, I never tire of talking about myself, but mayhaps this is a good time to move on to what I originally wanted to talk about - writing. Or rather, not writing. Do you know what happens to thoroughly bored students in a Chemistry class (by all means you're free to choose any other class)? They doodle. They stare vacantly into space. They sleep. They feign attention, which does wonders for all those with bright acting careers ahead of them. But more importantly, they ideate. More often than not they don't know that they're ideating. An idea just creeps up on them slowly from the shadows of their numbed minds. These ideas are meaningless at first... they seem like shapeless blobs of goo that the disgruntled canteen lady slaps on to your plate. However, if you look closely, if you pay them a little attention, they begin to take shape. These shapeless blobs metamorph into something beautiful yet indescribable. Let us consider, for the sake of visualization, that one of the blobs has metamorphed into an exotic rainbow coloured bird. Now this breathtaking bird is lying flat on the dusty floor of your mind, motionless. Feed and nurture it with some attention and love. Pamper it. Kiss it. Watch it slowly lift itself off the floor, shake the dust off, spread its wings and fly off into the depths of your subconscious.

Now it's purely upto you to chase after the idea-bird. Run like the wind, jump over obstacles, and put every ounce of your being into the chase. If you find it, which I'm sure you will if you've followed my instructions so far, don't lose sight of it. What you're looking at is your muse, your brainchild, your living imagination, a part of yourself alien to you. Without startling the bird, grab a pen or a pencil and any material that can be written on(tissues count). Here comes the most important part - close your eyes, exhale slowly, open your eyes again and WRITE (or type if you prefer a laptop/computer).

Did you hear about that boy, Jimmy, who refused to write? Rumour has it that he never bothered looking for the birds. When he woke up one day, he found that all the birds he had ever created with his imagination had flocked together. They had decided that they shan't be ignored any longer and decided to go to him instead. When these birds came down on him it was not pleasant. They pecked at him furiously and flapped their wings violently and did what angry idea-birds do. Finally, he was left with no choice but to drag himself to his desk and write. He wrote on endlessly for days, they say. In his maniacal condition, he couldn't bring himself to stop. The birds wouldn't have it. So he wrote and wrote, page after page, book after book, hand flying off the page at the end of every line, until one day he was driven to madness.

Even if you hadn't heard about Jimmy, I'm sure you must've heard about that girl whose birds disappeared one night while she lay fast asleep on the couch? She thought she was dreaming when her mind's eye saw them fly out through her ear. Sadly, she wasn't. The birds had had enough. They flew off to go find a place where they could flourish and the heartbroken girl was left wishing she'd just paid them the slightest attention.

Inhibitions are many and they come in layers and stacks - Exams, work, lack of leisure, fear of what others think, they are countless. All I can say is let your imagination run free. Let it do cartwheels and crazy jigs and Joey dances. Embrace it. I do realize that I'm talking with the air of an accomplished writer. I can assure you that that is anything but true. I am a nobody with something to say and I will sure as hell put it out there for hapless victims to see.

P.S. To all the people who inspired me and those who read and appreciate what I write alike, thank you! :)

Weekend Woes

2010-03-15T04:45:00.000-07:00

What you're going to read about in this note is a perfect example of why you should always listen to your moms (with many exceptions, of course). They know you better than you think you know yourself. When I first decided to sign up for the second level of French at Alliance Française the only batch available was the 7am-10am weekend one. This basically meant that I had to drag myself out of bed early every weekend, go all the way to College Road and sit through three hours of French. It didn't seem like an impossible task at the time and with a lot of misplaced determination, I signed up for it. As soon as Mom heard, she stated plainly that I wouldn't ever go to class. Turned out that 'ever' wasn't such an overstatement after all. My mother had foreseen it all. What was I thinking?!

Here's what a typical Saturday morning is like for me when I actually bother going to class:

6.00 a.m. *alarm goes off*

"Oh feck" - The morning mantra

*hit the snooze button*

*alarm goes off again*

Groan.. *snooze*

6.45 a.m. I jump out of bed and look at the time!

"Uh-oh"

To shower or not to shower? That is the question.

"No time for that but atleast brush your teeth," says that annoyingly evil voice in my head. It's laughing at me! Grrr.

*mad rush to get out of my night wear and into some remotely presentable clothes*

7.00 a.m. *jump into sneakers and make a dash for the door*

*leave the building and then realize I've forgotten my books*

*run back up two flights of stairs*

*pant heavily and fumble for the keys outside the front door*

*swear profusely and be grateful that Mom can't hear me because she lives in a different state*

7.10 a.m. *grab books after spending seven whole minutes of trying to locate them under a towering pile of clothes*

*run back down and out on to the street*

*hail an auto*

The following conversation takes place in Tamil (or how much ever broken Tamil I can muster)

"College road," I manage to say in between sharp breaths

"100 rupees"

"WHAT?!"

"It's a one way, it's very far"

"No shitting me. 50 bucks." I yell

"80"

I turn on my heels and walk away huffily

7.20 a.m. After much wasted time, I finally manage to get a fair deal

*space out*

I end up going all the way to college, which is also on College Road, before realizing that I'm supposed to have gotten off at Alliance

*pay the guy and jump out of the auto*

*walk and half-run all the way back*

7.35 a.m. I finally get to my blessed destination and bound up yet another flight of stairs to get to my class, looking just as disheveled as I did when I woke up

*barge into class like one of those Tamil actors who barge into wedding halls and yell "Stopppp!!" right before the bride and groom tie the knot*

*get curious looks from everybody and grin sheepishly after excusing myself for coming late to class yet again*

I take a seat and look around, trying to figure out what page we're on

8.29 a.m. Just one more minute till the ten minute break. I'm as desperate as a terminal cancer patient praying for a miraculous cure.

8.30 a.m. *do a little jig*

*go outside and take a ten minute nap on a bench*

8.40 a.m. Break's over and I'm back in class, still trying to figure out what we're doing and why I enrolled myself for this in the first place

8.41 a.m. This time the terminal cancer patient is looking at me and wondering what I'm suffering from. That's how miserable I appear while waiting for the clock to strike ten.

10.00 a.m. *breathe a sigh of relief*

What?! Class isn't over yet?? Ten minutes left? My watch is running fast? NO WAY!!

That cancer patient is feeling my pain now. He wishes me a swift death.

10.10 a.m. Finally! I'm as emotional as someone who runs to the airport to stop the love of his life from boarding the plane that's going to fly her off to a land far far away, and manages to get there just before the flight takes off

*skip out of class in a manner akin to Little Red Riding Hood*

*smell Freedom*

10.30 a.m. I'm back home and getting ready to sleep late into the afternoon

And that, boys and girls, is what a typical Saturday morning is like for me on those rare occasions when I actually bother going to class. Sundays are a whole different issue since Saturday Nights precede them.

I Love Taylor Swift (Not)

2010-02-15T06:44:00.000-08:00

[If you don’t get sarcasm, please stop reading right here]

Oh my God… Taylor Swift… aaaaaaaa… *swoons*

Gah.

Why in heaven’s name Fearless won Best Album of the Year at the 52^nd Grammy Awards is just beyond me. It’s almost understandable that a majority of the male race jacks off to her picture and her voice (I really DO know a guy who does that. Hint: He’s been tagged) – she is undeniably beautiful and her voice is nice and all, but to let her walk away with such a prestigious award is crossing the line. It’s blasphemy!

Let’s step back and take a close look at Taylor Swift’s target audience:

- Girls from the age of 8-13 who have just had their first crush. Awww... how cute!

- Girls from the age of 13-18 who just haven’t been able to grow up and still fantasize about unicorns and pretty pink ribbons

- Women – yes, quite a few of them dig her songs. Why? *shrugs*… I don’t know. Maybe it’s one the lesser known effects of sexual frustration

- Boys and men of all ages – it’s not so much the songs they dig as the videos and her pretty face (and maybe the rest of her anatomy as well)

All in all though, there are a greater number of people who absolutely hate her music than there are delusional fans. The high school themes which all her songs seem to revolve around are just pathetic. She quite obviously wrote and sang these songs when she was pms-ing. Why else would somebody go on endlessly about some boy in class who didn’t give them a second glance? Thu.

For those of you who’ve missed out on her ‘sensational’ album, Fearless, here are some of the highlights:

1. Fearless (title track) – This one is supposed to be about the fearlessness of falling in love. However, it’s basically about her dancing around in her best dress with some boy she likes. She would even go to the extent of dancing with him in a storm. Throw in some first kisses and lots of driving around in his car, and there you have it, the gist of the song.

2. Fifteen – A song that her 15 year old fans can totally relate to (I told ya so!), apparently. This song is about first dates, believing someone when they tell you they love you and dating.

3. Love Story – Ugh. Wannabe Romeo and Juliet. Need I say anymore? Please just go listen to it. I cannot bring myself to write about it without gagging. The video is the only saving grace here, considering that she looks stunningly beautiful in the dress she’s wearing.

4. White Horse – This is about an oh-so-painful break up. Bring on the waterworks. Ms. Swift realizes a bit too late that she isn’t a princess and that she isn’t living in a fairytale. Heartbreaking discovery, isn’t it?

5. You Belong With Me – Do you see a pattern here? Again, it’s about boys and dating. She knows his favourite songs, gets his humour, wears t-shirts and sits on the bleachers. Somehow, this is all supposed to translate into how he belongs with her.

6. Tear Drops On My Guitar – This isn’t a part of the album, but I threw in a freebie. Yippee! So this song is just like any other song that she’s ever written or performed. Girl likes boy. Boy likes another girl. Poor dejected Taylor Swift has teardrops on her guitar and I have to blink back tears each time that happens because she ends up writing another asinine song that goes on to become a hit single.

With that said and done, I can’t wait for Taylor Swift’s next album. Woohoo! *jumps up and down eagerly* Maybe she’ll grow a brain by then. Maybe.

So you think you can dance?

2010-02-08T01:08:00.000-08:00

No, I don’t.

I KNOW that I can’t dance.

Sounds familiar? Yes? Then you’re one of my fellow non-dancers, the type whose dance moves are limited to bobbing your head and shaking a leg every now and then, when you think someone’s watching. Welcome, welcome to the club!

Imagine this scenario: You’re at a party. The food and the drinks are great, the crowd is pleasant, and the music is groovy. Everything is going well until you see the first person stand up and start dancing. Gradually, almost everyone around you is up on their feet, moving gracefully (or at least just moving, contrary to what you’re doing), pulling off some really neat moves, and having a great time. However, it still ain’t that bad... there are a few others who are still shoving food down their throats, gulping down their drinks, sneaking off with their *special* friends or more importantly, NOT dancing. You take comfort in the presence of these few loiterers. But after a while, you look around and can’t seem to spot them. Uh-oh... you know what’s going to follow. You shut your eyes tight, refusing to look, but you already know that you’re the only person who isn’t dancing.

Having been in this situation one too many times, I’ve grown accustomed to it. If you’re a first-timer, it’s about time for you to get on your knees and bow down low in front of me. I’m going to give you THE handbook – I-Can’t-And-Really-Don’t-Want-To-Dance-But-I’d-Love-To-Just-Disappear Handbook for Dummies. Read on.

Lesson #1: Camouflage
You aren’t going to feel out of place if nobody can see you. Try blending in with the furniture, wall hangings, curtains, anything. Be creative. You can even dress for the occasion, in a black ninja suit.

Lesson #2: Fake an illness
If you are stupid enough to wear something bright and shiny and lesson #1 fails, then fake an illness. Sit in a corner with your head in your hands or recline a little while massaging your temples. Don’t overdo the acting though for you might just draw too much attention to yourself.

Lesson #3: Bladder control
Lose it. Drink plenty of water or other fluids of your choice. Visit the loo often (say about once every ten minutes). If somebody asks, you suffer from my-sphincter-doesn’t-exist syndrome.

Lesson #4: Look for allies
a) If you’re lucky, you’ll find others like you. Round them up and build an army of non-dancers. Together you can defeat any force that compels you to dance.
b) If you can’t find other people like you, keep an eye out for pets. For example, if you see a dog (friendly one, hopefully), pet him/her. Make friends with him. He is going to be your ally for the night. Take him for a walk, feed him... you get the idea.

Lesson #5: Imitation
In the unlikely event that your army is defeated and you, their leader, are dragged onto the dance floor and thrust into the company of all those dancers, improvise. Look around and try to imitate some moves. But remember, staring is impolite. So is copying EVERYTHING the people around you are doing.

Lesson #6: Stealth
After noticing that failed attempt at dancing, people gradually lose interest in you. This is your chance, grab it. Slowly edge away from them and when you get to the door break into a run.

These six lessons should be able to keep you afloat for some time. If you want to survive the whole party, buy my book, you cheapskate. You’ll find it at your nearest bookstore.

Oh, but do wait a moment...A parting word of advice for all those who are 18 years and above: Some fluids after consumption can make you dance, and sometimes make you dance so well that you’ll shock yourself and everyone around you. ;)

Nazia, Oh Nazia!

2010-02-07T09:43:00.001-08:00

The third year of college spells doom for me. Why? Because we won't have French or English as subjects, which basically means that I’ll spend all five hours of college everyday cooped up in my own department. *content deleted for privacy reasons*. Of course, there are a handful of exceptions when it comes to the students, one of them being Nazia, my senior who is currently in her final year. (I also take the liberty of pointing out that I’M also one of those exceptional students!)

Nazia... What can I say? She’s just as loopy as I am and maybe even worse! We can sit and bitch about our department for hours on end, and we have even had to remind ourselves to refrain from doing so when we were in our HOD’s car. Her defiance of the lecturers and their lousy neanderthalic ways instils a sense of hope in me since I do the same, and it’s always nice to see a senior get away with it. The lecturers absolutely hate her guts and her attitude but cannot do anything about it because of her amazing grades.

Nazia and I are usually forced into zoology-related debates and oratorical competitions, which is a result of being some of the only people in our department who are fluent enough to be able to string sentences together in English. We also end up participating in various interdepartmental culturals held in other colleges for the same reason (and also because we jump at the opportunity of missing college). During one such seminar we were forced to attend in Anna University, we snuck out of the seminar hall when the three lecturers who accompanied us weren’t looking, took a long stroll around the campus, bought ice cream and ended up talking about the most random things until the seminar ended a few hours later. New College, Stella Maris, Loyola, and MCC... I would not have endured either of them if it hadn’t been for her!

She is just the coolest, most entertaining person around. Her caffeine addiction, randomness and sense of humour make her even more endearing. She writes incredibly well, and her notes on Facebook and her blog are testimony to this. She has come to define what are now termed as ‘Nazia moments’. She embarrasses herself more often than not and then laughs it off. She stalks people, watches a lot of random movies and knows more celebrity gossip than Ryan Seacrest. She is just awesome!

Devathi: Nazia, don’t go... I’ll dieeee without you in the department.

Nazia: Yeah, you will.

So on that bright note, I shall conclude by saying that I’m dreading a whole year of being stuck in the Department of Advanced Zoology and Biotechnology without her to lighten things up!

You Know You're a Tomboy When..

2010-02-02T10:15:00.000-08:00

• You looked or at least tried to look like a guy for most part of your childhood (and carried it on into your adulthood, perhaps)
• You played with cars, bikes and action figures, unlike all the other little girls you knew
• The concept of accessorizing and matching clothes with shoes and handbags is lost on you
• The only make-up you’ve ever used has been restricted to the occasional lip balm and kohl
• You feel awkward when dressed up femininely
• Elegance escapes you
• You haven’t the faintest idea as to how to paint your nails
• You are more comfortable hanging out with boys than with a gang of girls
• You are in the company of boys so often that you begin to think like one
• Your guy friends consider you as one of them
• You buy your tees in the men’s section
• You, unlike most women, do not think shopping is a sport
• You chug down beer with the boys and burp along with them
• Your parents are worried that you’ll run off to Brazil and get a sex change
• You walk like a guy
• You attempt to bound up a flight of stairs in a dress or a saree
• Your footwear is limited to sneakers and floaters
• You have broad manly feet due to your choice of footwear and as a result do not find any of those pretty shoes that actually fit you
• You do a clumsy balancing act on the rare occasions when you get yourself to wear high heels (that are actually broad enough for your feet)
• You take approximately ten minutes to get dressed and get out of the house while your other female friends are still deciding what to wear
• You’d rather watch an action movie than a romantic comedy starring the most metro sexual guy in the history of acting
• You just don’t get chick flicks or understand why other women cry at the end
• You prefer backpacks to those oh-so-fancy handbags
• You don’t mind getting a bit of dirt on your clothes and hands
• You grow up and begin to bear some semblance to the female race, but on the inside you are as tomboyish as ever
• You read a note like this and nod along enthusiastically

Once a tomboy, always a tomboy.

If You're Pissed Off and You Know It Publish A Post

2010-01-13T11:42:00.000-08:00

There are people who are perfect relationship-material and there are people like me – the exact opposite. I cannot, for the life of me, be caught dead in a relationship beyond a certain point of time (usually less than two months). Of course, I don’t exactly have a track record to actually be working out the statistics or be even talking about how I’m a relationship-impaired person. All I can say is that I’m way too free-spirited to be tied down to one fucktard of a guy. I’m narrowing it down to the stereotypical boyfriend-girlfriend relationships here since I seem to be relatively normal when it comes to relationships with other people (the criteria for judgement being that my family hasn’t disowned me yet).

This note probably will, and I hope it does, offend a lot of people, but it isn’t one of my primary concerns (read: I don’t give a flying f*ck what you think). If you have issues with what you probably think you’ll be reading about in the following paragraphs, you can just stop right here. With that said and done, let me proceed with my rant.

Where was I? Ah yes. Relationships. Dating. Couples. I want to take all of them asinine teenage couples who think they’re soooooo in love, make them lie down side by side on sticky fly paper, roll them up in it and flush them down the filthiest pot that can be found in a public toilet. The world would be a better place without them. This is why:

1. There would be no hype over Valentine’s Day – what you’re going to wear, where you’re going to go, what you’re going to do, where you’re going to snog, what to gift him/her. May Saint Valentine go give himself a handjob. God bless him.
2. It would spare your friends the tremendous effort of rolling their eyes after each time they hear about how you and your boy/girl had this massive, nerve-wrecking argument over why he/she called only thrice the previous day.
3. There would be lesser eyesores. If you ever thought graffiti and men peeing out in the open was an visually distasteful, you haven’t seen couples and their PDAs (public displays of affection), have you?
4. It’s economical. No more spending all your allowance on some douchebag who probably has his tongue down some hot chick’s throat at the very moment you purchase a Ferrari sweatshirt for him.
5. It does wonders for your appearance. No more late night/early morning conversations over the phone, resulting in dark circles and other symptoms of sleep deprivation. Did you know that sleep deprivation causes one to age faster? Bet you didn’t. Dump him/her already. No more creases on your forehead from constantly bickering either.
6. You might have noticed the following pattern in conversations:
a. Single person – Single person = A whole variety of conversational topics
b. Single person – Committed person = Fewer conversational topics, while talking about their supposed-love-of-their-life is given priority over how you met with a freak accident and lost a limb the previous night.
c. Committed person – Committed person = The conversations in this case are SO mundane that they barely even qualify as conversations, so much so as inane rambling.
7. A lot of memory cells will be saved and can later be used to store information that is genuinely important, unlike monthly anniversaries.
8. You don’t have to endure countless pseudo-break ups following every trivial fight, followed by the days of torment after and the final kiss-and-make-up scene. *wipes tear away*... Oh so precious!
9. Lesser demand for ‘rubber’, which means lesser rubber cultivations and lesser deforestation to support rubber cultivations. Be eco-friendly and stay single. (Not implying that single people don’t get laid.. I’m not going into the statistics here, but I presume that couples have greater need for rubber)
10. Freedom. This is by far the most motivating factor. You have the freedom to NOT notify a certain someone about your whereabouts every minute; the freedom to speak without having to insert a ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘babycakes’ and whatever other strange terms of endearment in every sentence; the freedom to hang out with your friends without making it seem like you are compromising quality time with your little cherub *barfs*; the freedom to talk to members of the opposite sex (or the same sex if you’re bi/homosexual) without arousing suspicion; and the freedom to be accountable only to yourself (unless you have freakishly controlling parents/family.

Like Sunil once said (when he was still single and not necessarily unhappy), when you’re single you can really mingle. I now raise a toast to those with enough balls to stand alone and brave the odds of looking totally un-dateable. . !

Chilled Out!!

2010-01-07T10:32:00.000-08:00

[Note for those who don’t already know: I now live with my sister and her husband, Vinod, in Chennai]

When all is quiet in the dead of the night and creatures of the dark lurk stealthily in the shadows, you hear a low rumbling noise. It grows louder and then fades away, only to repeat the same pattern over and over again. What could it be? You step out from the shelter of the bedroom and walk into the kitchen, and find yourself closer to the source of the strange noise. You break into a cold sweat, your fingernails digging deep into your palms, your trembling legs ready to turn and sprint at the slightest indication... and then, you find yourself standing in front of a solid white object. The rumbling noise seems to reverberate through it, as it stands slightly taller than you and much wider than you. Congratulations, you just bumped into our refrigerator! :)

My profuse apologies, I should have warned you about our refrigerator before you decided to spend the night at our place! By now you would have figured that it’s like Frankenstein’s creation, threatening to come to life any minute. What you haven’t figured out yet though is that our refrigerator is my laboratory, much like Frankenstein’s (maybe even cooler). When my sister and Vinod first bought him (yes, the refrigerator), they didn’t realize how he would change our lives, especially mine.

Maybe a little background information might help to better explain our predicament. We eat out a lot and order home delivery quite a bit as well, which directly results in us packing a lot of leftover food. We also go grocery shopping very often. While this may not sound particularly shocking, it is meant to be. Can you imagine parcel after parcel of leftover food being tossed into the fridge, along with the most recently acquired groceries, while at the same time nothing ever leaves the fridge? Yep, think of the whole Black Hole concept (I’m talking about Physics, so don’t let your probably-perverse mind wander), apply it to our fridge, and voila... there you have it – the principle on which our refrigerator works! You also gain a thorough understanding of how matter cannot be destroyed; it can only be changed from one form to another, or in this case, from food to something-not-even-remotely-edible.

It’s just a frickin’ refrigerator after all, so why am I fussing over it, you ask? What can I say? This isn’t just any other refrigerator! Have your career choices ever been influenced by your refrigerator? I doubt it, but well... mine have. How, you ask? Microbiology, archaeology, physics... name it and my refrigerator has trained me in it! I have seen strains of bacteria, fungi and mould growing on the old rotting food in there that would be the envy of any microbiologist, who would be ever so eager to get his/her hands on a few samples from our very own fridge! I could start minting money if only I decided to culture these microorganisms and fungi, and commercially sell them. Along the same lines, Centres for Disease Control are going to be begging me to join their ranks, what with my indispensible experience with innumerable cases of food poisoning and other gastric diseases! Archaeology – have you ever carbon dated your food because it’s so archaic that you fail to remember which era you bought it in? I have. Physics – I have great expertise in this field, as I have already mentioned, so yes I might just decide to become a physicist. Watch out for that giant pendulum (random, please ignore)!

Lastly, our blessed refrigerator has done wonders for my health. Not only has it fortified my immune system after continual consumption of stale food, but it also gives me just the right amount of exercise needed every day. Don’t believe me? You should try shoving things into a refrigerator that’s ready to vomit out its contents each time the door is opened even by a crack. It also improves your reflexes because you have to be ready to catch things before they hit the kitchen floor (messy floor = angry sister on a rampage).

And this, this was a tribute to the most awesome refrigerator anybody could ever ask for. I’ll remember to thank Him when I win my Nobel Prize! :)

P.S. I might get sued by my sister for writing about HER fridge (as she likes to call him) without her permission, so if you don’t see any of my random status messages on your news feeds, you know that I’ve been thrown into juvenile prison. (Judicial proceeding baffle me, but I suppose that’s how it works no?)

Survival Cooking

2009-11-05T06:30:00.000-08:00

Of late, I’ve been experimenting around in the kitchen. No, I’m not suicidal, although it would seem that way if you observed the manner in which I ‘cook’ or if you are one of those misfortunate enough to have been subjected to my culinary skills. So here are some handy tips and don’t-try-at-home’s for anyone who intends to follow in my stead (What? I can’t flatter myself?!).

Today, we will be dealing with the steps involved in making Fried Rice. You will be updated on other recipes, tips and the likes, once I learn how to (or how not to) cook something else. Even with Mum giving me careful instructions over the phone (along with desperate pleas from her side, asking me why I couldn’t just order some food), I managed to make a mess of it. Not surprising, really. But let me assure you that you are in safe hands. I know what I’m doing (I didn’t initially, but after all the mishaps, I do now).

Let’s get started..

Step 1: Put rice in rice cooker [Tip: Remember to switch it on]

Step 2: While waiting for the rice to cook (assuming that you turned the rice cooker on), get started with the stuff that you mix with the rice... What’s it called again? Hmm... so it looks my dream of being a chef on television has been defaecated on by rats.

Step 3: So where were we again? Rats? I don’t eat rats. Do you?
[Tip: Stay focused, cowboy/cowgirl.. you’re in a hazardous area, .i.e. the kitchen.. Even a tiny lapse in attention could get you killed, or burn the house down in any case]

Step 4: Oh yes, the stuff that is to be mixed with the rice! Finely slice onions, carrots, beans and capsicum. If you’re going to be adding salami and/or egg, remember to precook it before you consider doing anything fancy with it, genius.
[Tip: Again, pay attention.. you don’t want to slice your fingers off. Don’t worry if the vegetables aren’t sliced to perfection.. it ain’t about the presentation. All that matters is that the end product is edible, which is the whole point of cooking anyway]

Step 5: Preheat a saucepan, add oil and wait for it to heat. Add ginger-garlic paste and stir for a few seconds.
[Tip: Stand back while adding the ginger-garlic paste.. the oil splatters.. and you end up getting ugly blisters wherever the oil burns your skin! Also, when someone says stir for a few seconds, they usually mean it. You don’t want to end up with a black mass having the same consistency as charcoal.]

Step 6: Add the veggies, stir for a few seconds, cover the saucepan with a lid and leave it to simmer for 3-5 minutes.
[Tip: Sitting and harvesting crops on FarmVille while something’s cooking on the stove doesn’t do wonders to one’s sense of timing.]

Step 7: I’m not really sure when the salami and/or egg, if any, comes into the picture. I suppose that it’s here. Meh.. be a little adventurous. So go ahead and add it to the hopefully-not-burnt stuff in the saucepan.

Step 8: Get the rice out of the rice cooker after it’s done. Let it cool for some time, lest it should become a gooey mass when mixed with the stuff in the saucepan. Ok, I’m tired of typing ‘the stuff in the saucepan’ over and over again.. Since I don’t know what it’s called, let’s just call it Chemical X (which reminds me that it’s been a while since I watched the PowerPuff Girls).ordered

Step 9: If you haven’t fallen asleep while waiting for the rice to cool or grown tired and from the closest food-joint that delivers, go ahead and bravely mix Chemical X and the rice.

Step 10: Isn’t there something I’m forgetting? Oh that’s right – salt, pepper and soya sauce. Two pinches of salt, two pinches of pepper and a wee bit of soya sauce should do the trick. If it doesn’t, just add more till it tastes right, or in this case, till it tastes good enough to be ingested. Mix thoroughly.

Step 11: Now this is the most crucial part. Feed Fried Rice to an unsuspecting victim
[Tip: Make it seem like you went through all the trouble of cooking it just for them and smile sweetly.. No, don’t smile like a deranged serial killer, that’s just plain creepy]

Step 12: Wait for 10-15 minutes. If victim is still alive and happy, and showing no particular signs of gastric discomfort, proceed to eat your creation.

Step 13: Pat yourself on the back and remember to thank Devathi Parashuram.

So until we meet again next time, bon appetite! Watch out for my show on Discovery Channel. It’s called Survival Cooking.. I’m giving Bear Grylls and his show, Man vs. Wild, a run for their money.

Un-rusting!

2008-04-11T23:47:00.000-07:00

In keeping with the atmosphere and general humour of my blog, I present to my loyal readers, a new post (Yeah yeah.. go ahead and say it..say it..! Say, "FINALLY!"). I render this one is special to me because it speaks of those who have made me laugh on numerous occasions (which I will mention shortly), those who light my face up with smiles ever so often and those who continue to teach me not to take myself or life too seriously, ensuring that I dismiss it all with a hearty laugh.

I have tried as best as I possibly could, to re-enact and describe vividly the scenes and incidents that led to funny and witty repartees. However, I have failed miserably to capture the essence of what exactly got myself, and everyone present at the time, laughing. I am not entirely at fault though, because most of what follows is based on ‘spot jokes’, or in other words, jokes which may not seem as funny to someone who was not present at the time of their.. er.. cracking!

I’m a bit rusty with blogging, but here goes!

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Now, this little part of my post is dedicated entirely to one of my friends, Vinod, who can make even a funeral march seems hilarious. One can be most definitely sure of Vinod’s presence if gut-bursting laughter is heard in the vicinity. I have to admit that I hardly remember even close to one-twelfth of his spontaneous jokes for I never bothered to write them down (which was a result of laughing too hard while simultaneously rolling on the ground and clutching my stomach). I did, however, manage to locate some stray one-liners and jokes that were situated in deep-seated areas of my very limited memory. Read on, but beware of involuntarily cracking a rib or two!

On being not-so-in-shape, or rather, being out-of-shape:

You think it’s easy being fat?! Do you realize tough it is to maintain my figure? I need to eat enough of food and get the right amount of rest among other things.

When asked if he wanted to go to a discotheque:

It’s full of old men groping around in the dark. If you want to get felt up, go ahead, but do not count me in.

On getting a full-body massage done:

If I wanted to me felt up by strange men, trust me, I’d go stand in a bus stop.

In reference to the poster (on the right), that we came across in a certain Cafe Coffee Day branch:

That guy looks like he’s getting his arse f***ed!! [use your imagination ;)]

When asked what he would do once he was married:

I’m going to write a book titled ‘How to Be a Husband and Get Away With It’.

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Just a few random things!

There was this one time when my sister, her friends and I were walking down a road, and we happened to walk past a woman who was wearing a bra as an excuse for a saree blouse. That was when a flabbergasted Ken exclaimed, “Where’s the rest of it?!”

A certain movie was on tv, once, where one scene revolved around a woman kissing a certain gentleman. The same woman was then seen kissing another gentleman in the scene that followed. I do not recall who, but there was a friend/family member who remarked, “That’s like sharing a lollipop!”

A snippet of a conversation that took place on a catamaran, sailing on the Mediterranean Sea:

Anonymous (I do not want to reveal his identity): But.. but.. we weren’t asked to bring our swimsuits along with us!

Captain: Well.. it’s taken for granted when you are on a boat.

On failing to understand self-infliction:

Esha: Why do some people just gash their hands repeatedly..? Why don’t they just cut off their entire arm and get it over with?

Esha (again): I want rabbit juice. I mean, carrot juice! (A slip of the tongue..?! Hehe)

Even though I know my beloved Esha is going to kill me, I’m going to mention that she once thought the Bishop who paid a visit to our school was the Pope..! Hahaha.

My dad is undoubtedly the funniest person I have EVER known! As of now, I remember just ONE hilarious incident that occurred[=(]. My sister was in the tenth grade at the time, and was extremely nervous before her first board exam, not to mention that she also had chicken pox during her exams. My father was driving her to school and he tried to console her by saying, “Its ok. Even if you fail this time, you can always write the exams next year.” She burst into tears.

Hmm.. so there are a LOT of people (Muffin People included!) bring joy and laughter into my life and the lives of those around them, but I don't remember exactly what they did or said that was so jaw-droppingly hilarious. I wish I did though.. I really wish I did.

I shall end with a very philosophical thought. Do you know what heaven really feels like? Let’s say you need to use the loo real bad and you are an hour’s drive away from the closest lavatory (and let’s also assume that you do not heed to nature’s call in the wilderness). Heaven is when you get to that lavatory, perhaps a lot later than the one hour that the drive was supposed to take, and finally set your butt on that blessed toilet seat and just let go! Heaven!! Hehe.

Tagged!

2008-03-21T00:25:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I was tagged by Aditi

I'm not going to tag anyone else.. simply because I do not want to.

Here goes:

Five things you wish you could say to people (no names to be taken):

1. All of you put together are the best thing that ever happened to me.
2. I wish I was as invisible as you make me feel.
3. Ugh! Just stop with the lies already.. You know I don’t buy a word of it anyway.
4. Don’t leave me =(
5. *blush*.. I can’t say!

Eight things about me:

1. My power of self-control ranges somewhere between 0 and 1 on a scale of 1-10.
2. I often have imaginary conversations with myself.
3. I will not leave home if my hair is not perfectly set. If I’m having a bad hair day, I will not step out of my house if I can help it.
4. Headbanging is the fastest way to dry my hair after a wash.
5. My high levels of tolerance towards certain individuals really shock me.
7. I feel stupid on a dance floor, just standing around and grinning stupid, shaking a leg every once in a while.
8. I ask questions incessantly. I’m afraid it will land me in great trouble one day, if it hasn’t already.

One way to win my heart (there’s just one):

How to win Devathi’s heart in less than 2 seconds: One bright smile will do, she might just fall flat for you.
Haha. Ok.. On a more serious note, just be yourself and I’ll love you for it!

Five things that cross my mind a lot (ok not necessarily in this order!):

1. What’s for breakfast/lunch/dinner?
2. *blushes again*.. Umm..
3. Oh no, I‘m already inside the examination hall.. I need to pee again! =p
4. Parting from my pretties, my precious Muffin Folk =(
5. Snickers

One thing I wish I never did:

Bite my dentist’s finger. But wait.. He deserved it..! Hmm.. So I don’t regret anything after all!

Three turn offs:

1. Sidey-ness (Haha.. For lack of a better word!)
2. Lackadaisical attitudes
3. Decaying teeth

Four things I want to do before I die:

1. Own a big porcelain cookie jar labelled ‘COOKIES’ in big big black letters (it must be filled with chocolate-chip cookies, of course)
2. Ride my future Ducati on a long stretch of road in the rain (the rain on my face, the engine revving beneath me.. *sigh*)
3. Swim beside a whale shark (the largest fish found in the ocean, usual over 40 ft.. Yes, a fish, not a mammal)
4. Bungee jump again, except without a cord this time (It still qualifies - I’d be alive till I hit the ground! WHAM!)

One confession:

I stole my sister’s share of cookies and ate them in the bathroom without her knowledge.

Life's Lil' Lessons!

2007-04-23T04:40:00.000-07:00

One thing this blog entry is NOT - a spiritual odyssey. The sole reason for this would be that the following are lessons that I have learnt in MY lifetime… and I am unashamed to boldly say that I don’t have even a smattering of spirituality in me. That said and done, I shall proceed with my latest entry – Life's Lil' Lessons! Basically these are a few lessons that I learnt through my own experiences and experiences of those around me, most of them are humourous. These are lessons you would NEVER come across in a book like “A Monk Who Sold His Ferrari” (Ok that was just an allusion).

Kindly note: I did not learn these very practical lessons in the same order as below. I have randomly entered them and numbered them for my own convenience.

Lesson #1:

Always check if your pants are zipped before you walk out of the house.

How I learnt this valuable lesson you ask? Well its simple enough… I forgot to zip up my pants one fateful evening when I walked to Food World across my house. I was just walking around blithely enough, picking up groceries for mum and mentally ticking them off the list I held in my hand. It was the second time I was walking past the grocery section since I still hadn’t found most things on that blessed list and it was then that my neighbour’s middle-aged maid spotted me and instead of a casual smile or sign of recognition, she ended up pointing at my groin and yelling “JIP (zip) MA, JIPPU (zip-pu)” from the other end of the grocery section. Ah well… a lesson well learnt by me and everyone else present within earshot! Thank you lady.

Lesson #2:

When you’re in a chemistry lab, it’s advisable to avoid sniffing the contents of your test tube, especially when one of them is concentrated sulphuric acid.

Hmmm… this was one of the things I learnt the “Devathi way” (which is basically much speedier than the wrong way). The 11^th Science class was having practicals up in the chem lab and I was standing at my usual position (first row, back facing the teacher). We were doing a salt analysis experiment and I happened to come across the Ethyl Acetate Test in my procedure sheet (I still hadn’t committed it to my memory though we were required to). I wasn’t able to detect any other of the ions, so I thought I might as well give this a try. I begin to read and do simultaneously…

Ethyl Acetate Test: To a pinch of the mixture add a few drops of ethyl alcohol and concentrated sulphuric acid (I finally manage to find ethyl alcohol on the side shelf and do as required) Heat and pour the contents into a beaker containing sodium carbonate solution (I think I poured it the other way round, I’m still unsure). NOTE THE SMELL (See… I wasn't being ludicrous… the procedure clearly says you should NOTE THE SMELL!)

So I bring the test tube close to my face and take a whiff, not knowing what kind of odour I’m supposed to be anticipating. I can’t smell anything (nose block), so I bring it a wee bit closer. Ah.. I faintly smell something.. and hissssss…. The acid spurts out of the test tube and decides to corrode my clueless face. Aargh… I run to the washbasin and try washing it off. Oh no.. it won’t stop burning through my skin… Aargh.. get this off me now!! The lab assistant finally applies some Burnol on the patches of charred skin to soothe it.. the burning sensation faded, but unfortunately I couldn’t rid myself of the damned scars that easily.

Lesson #3:

When your dentist is a complete dick, the best way to pay him back is by biting his finger when it’s in your mouth…by biting down hard.

Come on, it’s ok to be a little vindictive sometimes, especially when your dentist is least bothered about looking where he jabs his sharp-ended instruments (usually the upper palate and the gums) and focuses more on arguing with your dad about politics.

Lesson #4:

When you are having a cataclysmic fight with an older sibling, don’t stab the hell out of them with a sharply pointed pencil… I think it hurts. Lol.

Yeah I do think it hurts… I was too young to understand why my sister was infuriated further after I stabbed her with a pencil. Now I presume that it must’ve hurt.

Lesson #5:

Tricycles canNOT scale walls, despite what they show in cartoons.

Ouch.. this one hurt.. a lot. Again, it was learnt the ‘Devathi way’, after I got my skull cracked trying to vertically scale a wall in my house on my cousin brother’s tricycle. Geez… I’m guessing it was too much Cartoon Network for me back then. *sigh*

Lesson #6:

When your older sister is walking into a men’s restroom unknowingly, it is rather entertaining to watch and laugh, but remember to do so at a distance lest you should be physically injured by her.

I need not say more.

Lesson #7:

When you are of the age four and have still not learnt to swim, you shouldn’t abandon the florid floating tube your parents put you in and try to act a whole lot bigger than your age. You will inevitably drown.

Yeah… that was my first drowning experience and my mum had to jump into the pool to drag me out.

Lesson #8:

If you have drowned at the age of four and still haven’t learnt how to swim, you should not be on a water slide leading to the deep end of a pool.

I guess lesson #7 wasn’t of much value to me and I learned nothing from it. The result was that I was drowning for the second time in my life and this time a waiter had to throw the tray he was holding and jump into the pool, fully-clothed, in order to save me.

Phew.. drowning is one unique experience.. you see the crystal blue water surging around you (if the pool is clean!) as you make futile attempts and desperate gesticulations to try to get to the surface to breathe. The sight is pretty in way though.. the tiny air bubbles escaping from your mouth as you gasp and a mouthful of chlorinated water is forcing itself down your throat and lungs and the sudden sharp clarity with which you see the tiles at the bottom.

Lesson #9:

If you have had two drowning experiences already, it’s about time you went for a few swimming lessons because swimming isn’t as easy as it seems on Baywatch.

Ummm… I was still a juvenile idiot and was inspired to give swimming another shot after watching a few Baywatch episodes and imitating the lifeguards swimming on my bed. Well, everything’s not as easy as it seems.. and this time, it was another kid in the pool who saved my life.

Lesson #10:

If you happen to be inexorably deranged like myself and decide to set a handful of snow spray on fire, know this first – snow spray is inflammable.

This I discovered during my cousin’s birthday. I happened to get my hands on a snow spray can and sprayed a lot of it onto my palm. My cousin and his friend were playing with one of the candles on the cake, so I came up with a bright idea… why not try to set the snow spray on my palm on fire?! My hand was ablaze in a few milliseconds and I desperately tried to douse it out my shaking it off. Unbelievably, the blazing snow spray just slid off my hand and continued burning on the ground.

Lesson #11:

The laws of physics are universally applicable.

I remember reading once that in an elastic collision, if a massive body and a proportionally smaller body collide, the smaller body will recoil with the velocity of the massive body and the latter will continue to move in the same direction with an unchanged velocity (or something along those lines, physics isn’t really my thing). Well what do you know? It’s true!! Jayalakshmi (the massive body) took my precious black Adidas sipper bottle and ran away to go assault someone with its contents by throwing it on them. I (the comparatively teeny-weeny body), fearing the fate of my bottle ran after her and ended up directly in her path. I did not know what hit me then. All I knew was that I was reeling backwards and losing my balance, I ended up on the dusty floor (with broken ribs!) while Jayalakshmi continued running as though she’d merely gotten a fly out of her way.

Lesson #12:

If you’re in a wave pool with your girlfriends and you notice that you are completely surrounded by guys, it’s about time you realized that you are on the wrong side.

During our school excursion to Mumbai in the 11^th, Water Kingdom happened to be on the itinerary and a few friends and I got into the wrong side of the wave pool, completely oblivious to it until the lifeguard announced it over a microphone. Hmmm… was rather embarrassing!

Lesson #13:

When you accidentally lean over a guy sitting next to you on a train, you don’t turn to him and say “Oh shit.. I’m so sorry, I thought you were a suitcase!”

Hahahahahaha… My Lil’ Manipid did that during our excursion! Haha.. she didn’t realize that she was leaning with her back on a guy until we told her and that’s what she turned and said to him! Lol.

Lesson #14:

When you’re eating pani puri with your friends, it’s advisable not to stuff a HUGE one in your mouth and try to shove it down your throat because your friends will burst out laughing and the pani (the green water thingey) will probably come out through your nose.

In Esha’s case, the pani apparently came out through her eyes.. and this made us laugh even harder! Hahahaha…!

Lesson #15:

When someone's taking a group picture for you and they say "Say cheeeeeese!", the ideal response should be to smile widely and not say "NO" to the person.

Chong-chong my darling, that goes out to you! Muah! Lol. Loved your response to the McDonald's guy baby!

Lesson #16:

When you're having yoga classes in school and asked to lie down in 'shavasan' (a posture in yoga that basically just requires one to lie down on the floor!), refrain from falling asleep because everyone around you will sit up when they are asked to and will notice that you have not budged for the past twenty minutes!

Esha!!! I know that you don't want me to mention this here (be glad I'm not mentioning the other stuff!) but this was way too funny! Oh my goodness.. I will never forget that yoga class and the way Misbah had to wake you up!

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Well I've learnt a lot more than mentioned above, but as usual, I lose my patience trying to type it all out. Hope this has been an educational and "enlightening" experience for you!

Just Beyond Me

2007-01-07T07:56:00.000-08:00

:

Ah…the wonderful world of Organic Chemistry…where the carbon atom is the supreme ruler of the side-chain universe. A universe governed by nomenclature, catalysts, temperatures, pressures, functional groups, isomers and the likes. In short – an abstruse universe that makes utterly no sense to me and basically, a universe I don’t give a rat’s ass about.

With less than a week left for my exams, my conscience finally pricked so hard that I just HAD to open my dreaded chemistry book (read: BLOCK…it really resembles a block of solid concrete…and its just as hard to open and weighs approximately 12 kgs!) and glance at the hundreds and thousands of pages, full of equations and gibberish in some other language that just escapes my understanding of the subject. “Ok….”, I think to myself, “You can do this…c’mon girl…you show ‘em who’s boss!”…So I begin my conquest…"Ok… calm down…this is making sense…(isn’t it?)…Chill maadi”…But another nasty voice somewhere inside my head screams, “WHO THE F*** ARE YOU KIDDING MATE?!”. I decide to try a little harder and put a little more effort into it…but alas, its not working. My brain cells are DYING. They’re pounding against my impenetrable skull (which comes along with an in-built organic-chemistry-barrier)…they’re screaming, "LET ME OUT...have some mercy on us!!!!” Aaaargh….I can’t take it anymore! I try restraining them with my mind’s invisible hands (yes, HANDS…just like a mind’s eye!)…Oh no…They’re too strong! Finally…my iron will manages to vanquish their vain efforts (yeah right!).

My book currently turned to the chapter – Alcohols, I begin to feel thirsty. I’m losing my focus. Ok…one shot of vodka won’t do any harm. Now, I shift my undivided attention back to chemistry.

WHY the hell would anybody care about what temperature, pressure and catalyst is required for ethylene glycol and acetaldehyde to give cyclic acetal? Oh, by the way, I should probably mention that it has to be treated with p-toulenesulphonic acid (say what?!)

Page 216743265765:

Inter-conversion of alcohols:

Half the goddamn chapter is based solely on this!

Add acidified potassium dichromate solution to a secondary alcohol in order to obtain a blessed ketone. Then add a Grignard reagent to give an alkoxy magnesium bromide compound, which then undergoes acidic hydrolysis to give a tertiary alcohol.

Splendid isn’t it? I THINK NOT! All I see when I read the above is, “One quarter of vodka + one shot of tequila + 2 pegs of white rum + a lil’ Bailey’s Irish Cream = One hell of a drink…I must try this out!” What useful information is this textbook giving me anyway? Do they ever mention how to convert vodka into gin? NO! When you’re relishing a Breezer, do you ever consider all the conked-up chemical reactions that were forced upon the poor, innocent reactants that had to exchange Avogadro's number of molecules, ions, electrons...WHATEVER, in order to produce the drink? Ok…maybe I should’ve just stuck to one shot of vodka with juice instead of three…Hmmm…. These compounds look pretty…OoooooOooooooOOo…. Ethanoic acid…Yummy…. The page is a blur now…. Hey…are the arrows leading from the reactants to the products supposed to be dancing on and off the page? Wow…I love yrtsimehc…I mean, chemistry.

Yep…that’s about all I can really recall from my last attempt to stuff chemistry into my head…the last thing I remember thinking was, “Hmmm organic chemistry and vodka aren’t compatible reactants when passing-the-exam is supposed to be the product…Wish I had a magical catalyst!"

I leave you with a taunting image of our blessed text books...torn and tattered as they are, an object of my anger...

Devilish Indeed...

2006-11-25T00:44:00.000-08:00

To begin with, this isn't some self-obsessed blog entry. For my friends who have known me for many years, well...you know most of what I'm about to write, but read it again for the heck of it! For my new friends and readers, let me tell you a little something about what my poor mother had to go through with me as a child. Firstly, I was a VERY annoying and stubborn kid, always throwing temper tantrums and screaming and crying (sheesh..I dunno how they restrained themselves from murdering me!)...my mother and sister tried everything they could to shut me up and calm me down. When none of their methods worked, my mum was so frustrated that she started writing a diary which contains evidence of my "evil-ness"..it also has a few funny incidents! Anyway, all of the following material has been substantiated from her diary (which she now shoves in my face to show me all she had to put up with)!! Read on.

This is proof of my treacherous sense of humour, inherent evil in all its innocence and my meta-physical methods of driving those unfortunate enough to be related to me, up the wall. I have included only the best ones (the first few are really innocent).

A few things my mum found funny, hope they make you laugh as well:
March 28th-1993(I was born in 1990):
I had attended someone's funeral and left Devathi with my sister-in-law. When I returned, she told me not to ever visit the funeral house again and when asked why, she said, "If you go there, you will also die". She talked so much even when she was just two and a half years old.
August 10th-1993 :
Devathi was reciting the alphabets. From 'C' she went directly to 'U', 'V' and 'W'. When I asked her what happened to the rest of the alphabets, she said that they all died.
October 6th-1993:
Meghal and Devathi had both gone out by themselves. After they returned, I yelled at her for going off alone without telling me. I asked what would happen if anyone took her away and she said, "See, I have come back home and nobody took me". I was dumbstruck.
October 13th-1993:
For three continuous days, Devathi brought her handkerchief in a muddy state back from school. When asked how she managed to get it so dirty, she replied, "My classroom tables are very dirty...so I clean them with my hanky".
November 10th-1993:
Devathi was playing around on the bed with a pencil in her hand. I told her not to do so as she may accidentally poke her eyes, and she replied saying, "Its alright! I'll poke my eyes, shut them, go out on the road and beg people by saying - Amma thaye, give me some money. I haven't eaten in four days".
November 18th-1993:
I had to buy some snacks for Devathi for her to take to school. Her dad gave me money in small notes. On the way to the shop, she asked, "Mummy, why did you take all of Daddy's money? If everything gets over, what will happen to us?".
January 4th-1994:
Devathi's dad was singing "Jingle Bells" while washing his face. She tugged on his shirt and said, " Daddy, you are not a small baby to sing that song. If you want to sing it, then go and sit in my classroom".
January 19th-1994:
My friend, Dr. Rhenu, had come home with her family. After she left, Devathi said to me, "Mummy, your friend is not a doctor like you said. She came with a purse instead of an injection".
January 29th-1994:
This morning my daughter said to me, "Mummy, I'll give you all the money I have in my piggy bank". On asking why she replied, "You ask Daddy for money everyday and you like money. That's why!".
February 8th-1994:
Devathi was given cough syrup by her dad and he asked her to lick the spoon when she was done. She curtly replied, "This is not a lollypop".
March 4th-1994:
We were coming home from Renu's house and Devathi wanted to go to her friend, Sohan's house. Her dad asked her the direction and she said, "Daddy, from my school you should go straight and then in a sleeping line".
March 20th-1994:
Devathi and I were watching a Tamil movie together. In one scence, the villain is pulling away a girl's saree and she tries running away, while calling out to a goddess's statue. After this, the saree on the goddess flies to her. Seeing this, Devathi looked up and sais, "If you also pray to God, God will give you new sarees".
April 14th-1994:
Devathi said suddenly, "Mum, I've got very little money in my piggy bank. If I grow big, you will become small and I have to buy you a lot of chocolates and I need lots of money".
June-1994:
We were sitting in the balcony when Devathi said to her dad, "Please get a new mummy. Let this one die and you bring a new one from the shop". Her dad asked how he'd know which one to buy and she replied, "Her name is Nancy. She won't beat me and neither will she fight with you".
August-1994:
Devathi's dad had bought her snacks for school the next day and she wanted to eat it before dinner. I refused, saying that my husband had bought it for me and she said, "First he's MY daddy, and only then he's your husband".
February-1995:
Mahathi was learning for her board exams in her room. I was sitting in the same room with Devathi and after a while,
she started to make a lot of noise which annoyed her sister and was asked to get out of the room. Angrily, she replied, "This is not your room and you did not build this house".
April 11th-1995:
We had taken Devathi to Manipal Hospital for her booster dose of polio and triple antigen. Dr. Mohan Rao asked her if she wanted a "pain" or a "no pain" injection. All she said was, "I don't want ANY injection". The doctors and assistant doctors in the room burst out laughing.
May-1996:
Devathi was dancing away to a song in my mother's room and she told the others (Trisha, Vicky and Nishanth), "See..even Michael Jackson can't dance like me"!
April-1997:
We were watching Bay Watch and there was a kissing scene. Devathi covered her dad's eyes and told him tat he should not be watching all this.
March-1998:
Devathi was grumbling about how her friend's dad got her everything she wanted on the same day and took her wherever she wanted on the same day as well. She was angry that her father wasn't taking her for a movie though she had asked many times already. I told her that I would give her up for adoption to someone like her friend's dad and this was her curt reply: "Why should I go? You divorce and marry someone like Sarah's dad".
April-2001:
Devathi's older sister wanted to learn to cook something every Sunday. On hearing about this, she went to her sister and pleaded, "Please cook only when I'm not at home. I don't want to be poisoned. Socrates was 70 years old when he died and I'm not even half his age".

This is one incident that my sister told me about:
She was telling me a story which began like this, "A man walked into a room.." and I cut her short by continuing, "..and the fan fell on his head". Hahaha...evil wasn't I?
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VOILA! Bring on the tantrums!!!

My mum wrote-
"Devathi had been a troublesome child from birth. She had spent only one night at the nursery. Mahathi requested the doctor to let her stay in the room with us and she agreed. The nurse was glad and relieved as she said that she had had enough of the noisy baby fir one night. Thus began the tantrums"

May-1991:
I was returning from Chennai with Mahathi and Devathi by the Brindavan Express. At Katpadi, Devathi started to cry aloud. One lady said that she must be feeling hot. I took off her dress but her crying never ceased. I requested a man for his window seat for the breeze, but that didn't work either. Mahathi carried her and walked her up and down the aisle, but in vain. A little child in the compartment offered her a sweet, but that didn't work either. I was nearly in tears and didn't know what to do. Finally exhausted after three hours of persistent crying, Devathi stopped crying and went to sleep. The whole compartment sighed and people were commenting saying, "This baby cried for sooo long". This was a very embarrassing situation.
May-1992:
This incident seems a continuation of last year's train incident. This time, we three (Mahathi, Devathi and I) were returning to Bangalore from Secunderbad. It was a night journey. At 10.30 in the night, when we were all getting ready to sleep, Devathi said that she wanted to go to her "daddy" and asked us to get off the moving train at once. No amount of pacifying would silence her. One lady offered me a tablet that would put her to sleep but I blankly refused. I was very much embarrassed and annoyed because her crying was keeping all the passengers awake. Till midnight, she cried relentlessly and a fat woman in a salwar had come to find out the reason behind the racket. At this moment she stopped crying. Taking advantage of the situation, I explained to her that the lady would take her away if she resumed crying...and the crying stopped.
February-1994:
Devathi had fallen in school and her knee was injured. After bath, she started to jump about. In all her wild tantrums, she would jump about as if possessed and call me foul names. Today she asked me why I gave her a bath because all the mud from the wound had been washed away. Very angry, I asked the servant to go get mud from the road to put on her wound (I couldn't take it anymore!). For that she started her tantrum afresh, saying that she didn't want mud from the road, but only that from the exact place where she fell.

Another one of my mum's entries:
Why doesn't this child die? I cannot handle her anymore and feel she is possessed. Why am I being mentally tortured by this accursed child? She troubles only me and doesn't go to anyone else. Will I ever find a solution? I don't have the strength, physical or mental, to bear up to her tantrums. Nothing seems to work- soft words, beatings, cold water being splashed on her face...nothing!

August-1994:
I don't think there are any more tantrums from Devathi. She has stopped giving me trouble and has become an angel. On July 30th, she was admitted in the hospital as she suffered from inflammation inside the rectum. She had apparently suffered it for two months and we neglected. She spent many days in the hospital, but now her motion tests and culture show no problem. For four years I had grumbled about her, but now I'm glad and feel rewarded for my patience.

Haha..she spoke too soon! Read on...

October-1996:
Today evening she was acting funny without sleeping in the afternoon. I told her that I'd call her dad and she replied that I needn't call him to beat her. With this, she started to hurt herself, slap her own cheeks and bite her fingers hard.

And it keeps going...I really don't have any more patience to type all of it and I'm sure you don't have the patience to read it. So I should congratulate you now...you have just survived through this! Until the next time.....
Signing off Problem Child.

[To be continued due to popular demand *sigh*]

Haha!

2006-11-25T00:38:00.000-08:00

This is in honour of all those people who have literally killed english grammar! Well I did also add a few grammatically correct sentences in here because they were just way too hilarious! I'm not gonna be mentioning any names to save those poor, grammatically-challenged people from public humiliation (hey! we all make mistakes...but these are just tooooooooo funny!...you'll realize once you read them).

A few things that my schoolmates said to me:
*I want to be a pilot! I just love driving planes (Hmmmm weird...I thought pilots FLEW planes!..Anyway, you go girl!...Let me know when you finally become the proud driver of your dream plane!)
*I want to friendship with you (Uh..no thank you!)
*Did you cut my hairs with scissors? (No, I didn't cut your HAIRS!)

Well, I had Gautami help me on this one..while we (the rest of the class) were catching up on our sleep during Hindi periods, she bothered to take down a few crucial "notes". Thanks to her, we now have a complete diary of the stuff that our Hindi teacher used to say in class that got us rolling on the floor... laughing of course! It must be noted that a few words are in Hindi so as to bring out the real "experience" of listening to her speak! Oh, I should also mention that she was a reallllllly good teacher, and we did NOT hate her at all...I'm just doing this in her fond memory! Here goes:

*Did you understand or do you want me to express it in more brief? (Uh...I'm "trying" to capture her accent as well...but its a little difficult)
*I came late and you're another late
*Ayyyy I took a five minutes extra in a 12th science to finish a one chepter (chapter)
*How many noise you make? By the time I got to a staff room all the teacher are asking me ki who has to go to the 9 'c'
*Ayyy I will give you a slap because no other language you understand (was directed at Divya!)
*Where is you? Where is you? Where is you? Aha! There is you!! (was directed at Gautami!)
*The first time I learnt a scooter (she means, the 1st time she learnt to ride one) I went so much kilometre and everyone was staring me
*I is talking, you is talking...everybody talking talking
*The sadness is a permanent on their faces (while explaining Chandragupt)
*Ayyyy you think ki if I'm sitting here that I don't have a ear or a eye? (to a girl sitting in the last bench and talking)
*If you're happy with the little little happiness then whatever the happiness in the world, who take it? (please help me understand these words of wisdom..I'm still having trouble deciphering them)
*He was agree 2 them both marry (she means that Samudragupt decided to get his son and some woman married)
*Don't copy like a blind man during the exams (oxymoron!! firstly-BLIND men can't COPY! secondly- its an all girls' school...so there aren't any "men" in the classes)
*Those who are not interested, I don't mind you sending out
*You should not have the more than one child in China but here in India, they have more than 10-10 child (wow! talk about family planning!)
*Tho you all start doing mischievous
*Tho for revision they have August month, September month and October month
*You had a Monday grammar? (did u have grammar on Monday)
*They will conduct the one puja
*Everybody will start shouting on each other
*See the how important the person is, the person who clean the road
*You should not give the less for the worker and the more for the adukated (educated) person
*There are many examples are there
*Tho they used to bring the water from the very far
*Now I will make you stand under the sun for the one hour (will trying to punish us for creating a racket)
*If you know the swimming, you can go to the deep and bring the pearl
*And you take this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, you can't find a nice and tasty (?????)
*Matlabb he want the such a time when his father has a doulat
*Aaj se no English talking
*I'll send you somwhere to see the whether you are the sher or the bhainse (bull)
*Hum sansaar mein can live with the less comfort
*What you're sleeping or tho kya you're dreaming?
*If you put a ten cup tea and a one cup sugar then what happen?
*They used to some trouble cause
*We got a soooo bad name
*Like a he is a talking to the God
*Day-night he does the bhajan
*He feeling very violence
*If one make the sound, everybody make the sound
*He said to bediya, I bow my head on you feet
*He will get a happiness up (in heaven she means)
*After your death you will have this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this
*Because she wanted the him ki to help me
*Leave the mischievous and do the work (directed at the entire class cause we were just having a ball!)
*He was taking the round and round in a room (walking up and down)
*Bharat is in India only (er.. yeah.. where else can it be?!)
BEST FOR LAST:
*A man who was a drunk come to house and shout on wife and child and kill to them

(K I should thank Gautami A LOT for this cause she gave me this book where she'd written most of the above! Thanks man!)

Ok...now it goes from chuckling-kinda funny to downright humorous! A few of Mrs. Kaveriamma's famous er...sayings (if that's what you classify them as). Well I should probably introduce her to those who weren't in the same 8th standard class as I was. To start with, she was our 5th physics teacher that year...and we still wonder from which halli she was regretfully hired. All I can say is that she has a permanent place in our memories now..and I'm glad she went back to where she came from (aren't all the ex-8 'c' students?)! K...read on:

*You ask my husband and daughter, I don't slap hard. (Hmm this situation needs a little background explanation as well. Well, Kaveriamma had just slapped one of our fellow classmates due to no fault of hers and her mother came to complain to our principal the next day and this is what she says in the princi's office! Gosh! her poor husband...she ill-treated him as well!)
*If you think you're too smart, go get married
*You laugh everything like a big buffoon
*First you ask for your papers, now you have doubts. What you think? Teachers are like cockroaches running up and down? (Maybe teachers were considered cockroaches in her halli)
*Remove you flats (plaits)
*Your smile is so beautiful, i want to throw YIT YIN the cowdung (Hahaha.. must thank Shruti for this one!!)

If you're not laughing yet, I'm sorry to say that your sense of humour SUCKS!

:)

2006-11-25T00:30:00.000-08:00

K this is for those who aren't on my msn messenger list and can't access my blog on "My Space"... I have copy-pasted everything here from my pre-existing blog, also titled "Devathi's Treasure Trove of Rubbish" (http://devilishdev.spaces.live.com).