The Pink Fluffy Bunny Club

So many things to say, so many things to write.

So many emotions. Feelings.

Prayers.

So many prayers.

I pray for MFG to be happy.

I pray for him to lose his worries.

I pray for him to laugh and smile that wonderful smile of his.

He's a wonderful, amazing guy who deserves all the happiness in the world. I pray for him to get it all.

I wish with all my heart that he would get it all.

 

Nightmares and Racist Letters

I had the nightmare again.

The same nightmare I had a couple of days ago. Stupid, ugly nightmare. Not random. Still in my mind.

My nani. MFG.

I can't talk about it. It's painful. And scary.

I managed to shove it aside in the morning. And seeing MFG's face made me forget everything. But I remembered in class and I cried. I hate crying in public! It's one thing to cry in front of MFG - it's another to cry in class. I couldn't get that sight out of my mind, that feeling. I wanted a hug really badly!! But I asked MFG to squeeze my hand. That helped a lot.

The whole thing went out of my mind again. For a long time! Then I couldn't help but remember it while getting back home from work. No tears this time, thankfully. But the need for a hug - intense! I really wish MFG was there - really badly...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In other things, there's a letter that's gone viral - famously titled 'Open Letter to a Punjabi Boy, from a South Indian Girl'. When I read it for the first time, I didn't concentrate much or read each and every line, and ultimately I thought it must be a joke letter or something - you know, similar to the joke letter that starts off as "Dear Santa, I'm writing this real slow because I know you can't red fast...". I thought it was weird but pretty funny for a joke letter. I got to know later on that it was a blog entry written by a female and it was in no way a joke letter.

That changed things for me.

Suddenly I couldn't help but read each and every line again. And it felt so wrong. Just so wrong.

It felt... racist.

First things first - I'm a south Indian. I know what it is like when someone says, "So you're a madrassi?". But to be fair, every south Indian I know tends to call everybody above the Vindhyas, Punjabis. If someone forgets that the South has four states, it isn't fair to them that the South also forgets that the North has many more states than that. So, if you think that calling someone from Kerala a madrassi is racist, also remember that you calling someone from U.P. a punjabi is racist too.

Secondly, Punjabi boys and Delhi boys are not the same thing. A Delhi guy can be from anywhere. He doesn't necessarily have to be from Punjab. Equating the two shows that you never paid attention in Geography and neither does the logic part of your brain work.

Thirdly, not all Delhi guys are ignorant, chauvinistic oafs. I know there are guys who lech, and I've already ranted against guys who think that the only purpose of their life is to constantly keep hitting on girls and making them feel uncomfortable. But it's not so with everyone. I know quite a few guys who respect women and are damn sweet. And they're north Indians. Furthermore, I've also known south Indian guys who are ignorant and chauvinistic and complete imbeciles. Something tells me this behaviour doesn't exactly pertain to your geographical roots.

Fourthly, dressing style. Do we really need to go into this?? I know that loud dressing is eech!! But to contain this phenomenon within Delhi/North India (I've sort of lost track about who she's referring to by this time) is sheer foolishness. I've seen examples of really horrible dressing everywhere - north, south, west. Too bad I've never been to the east. And I still can't get over the four years of bad dressing examples I'd seen in Hyderabad when I'd lived there for 4 years. I was 12 during my last year there, but I still haven't forgotten. Wearing trousers with slippers figures most prominently in my head. Yes, I've actually seen that.

Fifthly, society free of any discrimination. This one makes me laugh! I'm lucky to have been born in a family which loves its daughters as much as its sons. Yes, lucky. Do you have any idea how orthodox people are down south? There's so much I want to write but I won't because they're not my stories and I wouldn't want to write someone else's story without at least asking for their permission first. Actually, I do have a story of my own, but it's something that I try not to think about, so that wouldn't go on this page. No discrimination? That's funny!!

Now I'm just feeling bad for this female. I don't want to go on because I'm tired. I can find a hundred things wrong with this article. It's far too biased and bitter. The one thing I was in consonance with was the whole ' All south Indians are black' thing, which actually does make me see red. But the rest is just plain unfair.

I've lived almost my entire life in the north. I feel at home in Delhi. I'm a Delhi girl at heart. And I have friends from here whom I love and who are sweet and funny and awesome. The guy I'm in love with is a Delhi guy and he's not even 0.0001% of what this female makes a Delhi guy out to be. He's awesomer than Batman, Iron Man, Spiderman and Superman all rolled into one. And amazingly sweet and very respectful. I could go on!

I know that taking offense to something doesn't always seem right to people. But I stand by what I feel. A joke letter is light humour.

This letter isn't one.

What if I tell you that I'm scared? Like scared, scared. Do you think you'll get it?

No, I'm not trying to insult your intelligence. I very well know that you would know what fear is. Wold perhaps have opened the dictionary when you were a kid and found out what Webster decided to define it as. And if you've read Asterix, you'd also know that Normans don't know the meaning of feeeaaar!! And neither does anyone from Asterix's village, but everyone knows that.

I wish I was from Asterix's village.

I had a bad dream. Simple. But the crazy part is that I don't remember it - just the fact that it scared me like hell. I mean, it's not everyday that you wake up and feel like crying. Or feel the same way in bits and pieces throughout the day. I kept feeling bipolar. I'd be happy and relaxed for quite a good chunk of time, and then I'd suddenly remember the fear - never the dream, just the fear - and I'd feel like crying all over again. College - check. Office - check. I somehow seemed to calm down after reaching home, though not as much as I'd hoped for. But better.

I just heard MFG's voice. It helped calm me down. With him, it's like magic! He just makes me feel really happy and relaxed and secure and unafraid of anything. He's a magical guy! And I love him!! ^_^

Ooh! Cobwebs!!

*dusts this place since she really doesn't like cobwebs*

It's just... they have spiders! I don't like spiders!

*feels happy with her bad-joke-of-the-hour*

Today's agenda - try to figure out how to beat up someone using a kambal and a lathi. And I mean that in a perfectly non-nonsensical manner.

This is not a confession. Or an admission. Don't send me to jail plzkthnx.

 

A Happy Cat is a Happy Cat

Furry litttle happy cat
Rolling in the sea,
FL. OAT. I. N. G.
First comes splish,
Then comes splash,
Then come leg cramps and whiplash.

How Facebook Ruined Birthdays For Me

I'm not a big birthday person, in the sense that I don't require a huge celebration, lots of gifts and people wishing me left, right and centre. I'm happy as long as I have my family and close friends by my side. But since the past couple of years, I've positively been dreading logging onto Facebook on that day. And that little bar in the right hand corner of my home page is responsible for that.

Before Facebook, either people remembered my birthday or they didn't. And it was pretty simple for me. If they remembered and called/sent a message, I thanked them. If they didn't and they were close friends, they'd get a whacking from me. I still remember calling up a close friend at night and ordering her to wish me :D. And if people forgot and weren't close friends, it didn't matter.

But now, Facebook ensures that people wish you. And the wishes are more like a thousand tsunamis rolled into one!! It's slightly scary to get 25 notifications by 12:15 a.m. and knowing you'll get somewhat about 200 notifications by the end of the day. My inbox groans under the weight of so many happy birthdays. And I feel lost..

Still, somehow I manage to wade through all those wishes, thanking everyone and chatting with a few. The real heartbreak comes when you see people who call you their close friends wish you by writing on your wall. If you lose my number, then that's an exception - as happened this time with a very close friend of mine. But if you have my number AND call me a close friend of yours AND until last year, used to wish me by calling/messaging me on my cell (plus remember my birthday, yeah), then writing on my wall is not exactly acceptable in my books. Simply because I would never do it. If I call you a close friend and have your number and remember your birthday, I will call you or at least send you a message. If I don't do that and just simply write on your wall, you'd know that either
(1) I don't consider you as a close friend.
(2) I've lost your number (but I'll mention that for sure).
And there's another thing. Don't taunt me for wishing you in the evening on your birthday if you can't even remember mine. 'nuff said.

All this stuff apart, my birthday was awesome!! I spent the whole day with MFG (that itself makes my day awesome ^_^). First there was college. I bunked a class by running out of it (for the first time!! Yeah!!). Went for a movie (Aarakshan. Could have been bloody brilliant but was bloody horrible.). Met friends in the evening for an early dinner. Received the best birthday gift ever - a really sweet poem by MFG. It was such a fun day!! I loved it!

*happy dance*

Weird Cat

My cat doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no'. He lives in this happy world, somewhat like that of Allie Brosh's simple dog, where all that is relevant is going outside on the balcony, verbally abusing tomcats, hitting on the female ones, sleeping and eating his nuggets.

While sleeping at night, he'll wake up occasionally to project a bout of the cat crazies. This includes:
- suddenly jumping off the bed begging to be let out, only to come back in after a couple of minutes.
- chomping on the wire of my phone charger.
- chomping on my earphones (I can't make up my mind whether they look so woebegone because of use of because of his teeth and claws).

As I said before, 'no' doesn't work on him. Not if I say it at least. Neither does 'stop' or 'you're mad!'. The only way to get him to stop ruining stuff is to run after him like a headless chicken. And it works 98% of the time.

He also went through a phase in which he replied to everything I called him except his name.  There actually was a time when I would call him a gadha and he would look at me. I'm trying to control my impulses. What blaady identity crisis, no?

I probably could go on about all the idiocy that takes place. And I will. Some other time though. Right now, there are a few wires which need me.

Up, up and away!

It will always be you.

Was. Is. Will be.

To put a smile upon my face.

To make me laugh.

To get me to thank God a million times a day for bringing you into my life.

It will always be you.

To make me look at stars and wish I could get them for you.

To teach me how beautiful love is.

To make me feel happy.

It will always be you.

Nostalgia and Senti-pan

There's so much I'm going to miss.

The early morning nescafe coffee.

Hunting for a computer not in use.

Calling up Ramesh bhaiyya almost every hour for stuff.

Pestering Pandeyji for change.

The constant ringing of the phone for free interns.

The greeting given by guard bhaiyyas, which would totally perk up your mood.

Going for lunch on the 9th floor.

The cold coffee/iced tea ritual.

Standing in front of our counsel's desk, waiting for work.

And the interns. The crazy, funny, lovely friends I made. I'd miss them the most.