I Hate Love-Stories

(Warning: Contains Spoilers...heck,it's the whole story.Don't tell me I didn't tell you!)

I just saw this movie, Thattathin Marayathu(or Behind the Veil)...Roy gave it to me saying he loved it and I didn't want to hurt him with my cynical singleton views on love(ha!) stories so I watched it.

For those of you who didn't know, I'm South Indian and the movie is in Malayalam (yeah with the loopy writing. Which you’re not going to understand).So here’s the story:

Hindu boy sees Muslim girl. They’re 10 years old. Or some other ridiculously small age to decide who you’re going to marry and talk like you’re an 18 year-old guy. Still, young Vinod decides little Aisha is the girl he’s going to marry. And tells God too.

Repeat after 10 years when he sees Aisha in a hospital after knocking her down some stairs when running during a Muslim friend's wedding. Enter young girl with stencil and secret message writing technique. Sorry Aisha. Aisha smiles. Vinod rapturous. Falling in love.

Manages to get a letter to her. She says nothing. Hero gets warned to leave the girl alone...still, he goes jumping over walls to meet her in the night. She still doesn't say anything. More falling in love. Song.

Enter rival in love. Our hero calls Aisha up to bitch(or whatever you call what guys say about each other) about Mr Rival.

Gets a telling off from a friend and he wants to meet her for the last time.

There she takes his hand, tells him that she doesn't want to be like the countless women she knows who hide their dreams behind a veil forever and hands him a letter. She loves him. He reacts with general Sreesanth-goes-to-Lords behaviour (Indian cricket. Ignore if not understood)

Song.

He gets beaten up by the girl’s family.

Interval.

Scene: Police station.

Present time (because all that was a flash back when our hero was languishing in prison)

The police like his story and are kind-hearted (and have nothing else to do).They are going to help him in his quest.

Vinod walks out of his home due to family-pressure. Starts a helmet-business to earn money to woo Aisha.

Super successful (obvious in India where hundreds die on roads).They enlist the help of her tutor (typical) to smuggle letters and the romance blooms. And Vinod opens (or begins) a purdah shop where he kisses her on the forehead.

Best-friend: 3 months and you only got till the forehead??

Girl’s uncle caught in factory-workers strike due to a mining-accident or something.

Lover boy fends off party-workers attacking the uncle. Father angry and decides to send her off somewhere else to a new life.

Crying on both sides. Vinod arranges a last meeting with the help of elder sister Mehru.

Loved this dialogue: Aisha the girl will never forget you but Aisha the Muslim has to.

Crying in car. And pleas to stay and run away(on Vinod’s part).Aisha runs off into the rain.

Thoughtful uncle says this is wrong. Because it wasn't what Aisha’s late mother wanted for Aisha. What happened to Mehru (terrible failed arranged marriage) wouldn't happen to Aisha. Permission granted.

Beautifully happy Aisha tries his cell phone. Expectedly switched-off. Last-minute tension.

Has he killed himself??

Till they trace his phone to a port/bridge. They meet (Cue: confetti throwing!!):Kiss...as seen from behind the girl's head. Like in a fake kiss in a cheesy Hindi movie. But this is(supposed to be) real all right. Pretty considerate toward a parent-including audience.

Smart-aleck best-friend: Bugger finally got beyond the forehead.

Sweet as sugar smiles on everyone’s face.

 Lights on!

Maybe my synopsis hasn't been kind to the movie so for the interests of fairness,it was a sweet lovey-dovey romance of the innocent lambs type but not of the silly chunariya-udti Bollywood kind...depicted like only serious cinema can and Bollywood can’t. And the songs were pretty good too. The only problem: I couldn't watch it. However cynical and scoffy I sound here, every time the hero (what we call the male lead in India)went ultra lover soppy eyes at the lady or a very romantic song began I’d feel uncomfortable and skipped it. This is acceptable if you’re watching the stuff with anyone else but I wasn't.

Funny that I can’t handle two people making puppy eyes at one another when I don’t mind some hard core making-out between Jean Grey and Wolverine.

And I've been wondering why.

It’s just like singletons can’t bear to be around two people who are really in love. All the closeness. The privateness. It’s like your'e invading a person’s home when they’re singing in the shower (or having sex.Trust me to dramatise drama).

And this was a damn movie. They WANTED to be invaded. Still I couldn't.

Maybe I'm a jealous single 18 year old. Funny, because I really don’t want to date.

Or maybe the protagonists were REALLY in love and those love beams were seeping out from the movie. But no news of a scandal.

Or maybe it’s some spell or potion my parents have secretly fed me to keep me single (and out of the influences of romantic tosh) till they can marry me off. Highly unlikely. Though daddy’s Keep-the-family-name-high speeches do have a similar effect.

Or maybe I'm just not a romantic person. No. Because I do have crushes and things like that (yay, I'm normal. Take that, shrinks!)

Or maybe I should stick to cartoons. And X-men (anybody else think James Mc Avoy is geek-fantasy material? no one?), which is a pretty good lookout, so, oh yeah!

I rediscovered Cheb Khaled after another crazy 90’s music session with the family. And boy do I love the songs!

The first is an Aisha song I'm really loving...it's a remake of a Khaled song by Outlandish.But you can go watch the Khaled version on YouTube.

And the next is Didi. One of his most famous songs.You'll probably remember hearing it from your childhood like me!

And I have a job with A Lot of Pages...well, not a job. But it is a commitment so I reviewed Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. Boy was I crazy punch drunk after that book. You’ll find the review here!

The Winter Welcome Wagon!

December...the month of cold winds and warm blankets. And sneakers and socks. And boots and baking. And winter-blues and warm baths!

I've been busy with my final exams and even wrote a poem about it(which I’ll post soon),hence the lack of posts...but I'm back with(out) a bang!

Ooh and something I didn't mention in the previous list: Christmas and cooking!

Speaking of which, here’s a story I dug out from an old children’s storybook. It’s a story I've always loved and is perfect to go with all the cooking going on everywhere (which I'm sorely missing but anyway!)

The story is about Petal, an Elf who has newly moved to Elftown and is from ‘The Elegant Elf’ of the Little Library series by Parragon.

                      The Secret Recipe

Everyone in Elftown agreed that Petal’s restaurant was a great success, and one of the reasons was her extra special blueberry cake. Any elf who was feeling a little tired in the middle of the morning or around teatime simply hurried into the restaurant for a slice of cake. In two minutes he felt better...and ready for another slice!

Many elves asked Petal for the recipe of her special cake, but she would just smile mysteriously and shake her head.

“I was given this recipe by a very wise woman,” she said. “I promised her that I would not tell it to anyone else, unless they knew the secret already!”

That didn't seem to make sense at all. Why would anyone need to ask if they already knew the recipe?

Of all the elves who longed to know what Petal put in her blueberry cake, Old Mother Sedge was the most curious.

“I can taste honey,” she would say, munching a large slice.

“Yes,” said Petal. “It is honey from your own bees, Mother Sedge. Isn't it delicious?”

“And there are blueberries in here”“cried Mother Sedge triumphantly, taking another bite.

“Well, there would be, wouldn't there, in a blueberry cake?” smiled Petal. “Another slice?”

By the end of the week, and several more slices of blueberry cake, Old Mother Sedge had guessed all the ingredients except one. Yes, there was flour and butter and eggs. There were lots of blueberries and at least five dripping spoonfuls of honey. But what was the last ingredient?

“Nuts?” asked the old lady.

“What kind of nuts?” asked Petal in return.

“Hazelnuts? Brazil nuts? Peanuts? Pecans? Walnuts? Almonds? Cashews?” Mother Sedge was thinking so hard her face was as wrinkled as a walnut herself.

“No,” said Petal. There are no nuts in the cake at all.”

“Fruit?” asked Mother Sedge. “Apart from the blueberries?”

“What kind of fruit?”Asked Petal with a mysterious smile.

“Er...apples? Plums? Peaches? Blackberries? Raspberries? Pears? Strawberries? Apricots? Mangoes? Bananas? Nectarines? Pineapples? Prunes? Grapefruit? Oranges? Lemons? Blackcurrants? Redcurrants? White currants? Gooseberries?” Old Mother Sedge stopped to catch her breath.

“No,” laughed Petal. “I can tell you that blueberries are the only kind of fruit in my special cake.”

Poor Mother Sedge! The more she asked the less she knew.

Not exactly the picture I had in mind but it'll do...the boy can be Mother Sedge who's pissed off because Petal(the girl!) won't tell her the recipe!

Then, one morning, the old lady happened to visit Acorn when he was making an apple pudding for his supper.

“At least I know what goes into one of those,” she sighed, and she repeated all the ingredients one by one.

“That’s right,” said Acorn, “but for a really fine apple pudding, you've missed one out, or at least, that’s what my dear old mother used to say, bless her soul.”

“Not you too!” cried Old Mother Sedge. “There are more secret ingredients in Elftown than I've had hot dinners!”

“Not at all, my dear,” said Acorn. “The secret ingredient is the same in all my cooking and I must say it makes a difference. I'm quite sure that you know it as well as I do, but if you like, I’ll whisper it in your ear.”

So Acorn bent down and whispered the secret ingredient, and Old Mother Sedge went quite pink for a moment, before she smiled at her old friend.

“You’re quite right, of course” she said. “My mother used to say the same, and I've never tasted anything to beat her raspberry tarts...except perhaps Petal’s blueberry cake.”

Next time Old Mother Sedge sat down to a slice of Petal’s special creation, she smiled at the younger elf but asked no questions.

“I can see that you have guessed the secret,” laughed Petal. “The wise woman who told it to me was my mother. She said, ‘everything you make will taste better if you put in a little spoonful of love.’ That’s the secret ingredient in all my cooking.”

She was quite right, you know. You should try it sometime.

And to top this off, Here’s a video that’s keeping me from slipping into cold gloom!

P. S. The tune is really hummable and might turn into an earworm if you're not careful. Don’t say I didn't tell you!

Rejected, Raging and a Review

Feeling dejected now...I can’t go for Teach India this year (the first time I applied) because my final exams will be going on and I’ll have to miss two days of training. Vacation plans spoilt. No certificate, no teaching, just more wasted time. I do have my blog though, my only consolation...my shining beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak day. The first thing I do on my computer is check my statistics.Sigh... how easily satisfied I am these days. All it takes is a little statistic and my day is done. A large part of my happiness these days comes from my page views graph...the higher the graph, the wider my smile. Trivial, childish me.

I just noticed, I've kinda developed a double chin...a stupid bit of fat hanging behind my otherwise sharp chin...I hate it. I've declared a fast to thinness until it disappears. Exercising is so bloody painful. It works, yes. Fifty crunches and I have an almost flat tummy (until I eat again at least). I'm scared of eating and then puking...I’d like to do that but I've read enough about Anorexia and Bulimia not to try extreme stuff.

And then the computer...

Obnoxious little brother won’t get up...he’s developed a penchant for bribing.

“Want me to get up? Put my favourite music on” (which means I have to listen to Akon's sexual exploits until I'm ready to kill the guy) or

“Want me to get up? You lose your time”, bloody brothers, I hate him at times like these, sister dear is easier to handle...put on a movie and she’s happy.

Bro makes me grovel and beg...which hurts my ego like anything and not only that, he'll squeeze every last drop of begging out of you till you're ready to go bury yourself and then get up with a lot of grumbling and groaning while extracting promises from you to get up soon. Horridly exasperating.

I've almost killed him one or two times in the past for doing that (with equally horrid repercussions). I'm better at controlling my temper now...losing my temper has many downsides compared to controlling it. Controlling it makes the beast inside me cringe painfully for some minutes after I let go, making me cry sometimes, telling me I'm a sissy without a spine but losing it is worse, the physical pain, emotions running so high, broken furniture and bones and a dressing down from daddy.

Whereas after controlling my temper I can pat my back, reward myself and tell me what a good God's child I've become.

So, I'm not a very happy girl now. And reading Black Swan Green isn't making me feel any better...for lack of stuff to say here’s a review of what I've read until now.

I learnt about this book from Flavorwire’s Books To Replace Catcher in the Rye as the Perfect Teen Book, as Catcher has now become the cool book for cool high school teachers, not cool teenagers!

Anyway, the book is the story of Jason Taylor...stammerer (not stutterer, both are as different as diarrhoea and constipation!), teen (didn't catch how old, but old enough), poet and mid-range in school status hierarchy. There are many characters coming in throughout, Dean 'Moron' Moran - best friend, lowest level in school status hierarchy, Dawn Madden – boyish, inscrutable crush and a host of others, plus a four-member family: pa, ma, irritable elder sister and Jason.

It’s raw, honest and a reference dictionary for substitutes to f*** (which I think everyone really needs). The f-word is so overused...show some creativity people!

I felt it similar to The Casual Vacancy (Rowling’s latest (adult) novel) but not as boring (not at all. Whereas Vacancy should be read only if you really really want to know what are Rowling’s capabilities in adult fiction and you have two days to waste if you can finish it that fast).

So it’s a good read.

Ma has just put the radio on. Bheege hont tere is on, somebody please kill me...did someone hijack and obliterate Radio Mirchi's song database that the RJ didn't have anything else? Gawsh, I'm tuning out. Cya when I feel better. Bye.

  

P.S. My thoughts after re-reading this later: I sound like a total brother-hater. Do not misunderstand. I love the little angel (Though I would like to say varmint!)...It's just that he gets on my nerves sometimes.

And that sounded totally Hollywood. Why did I publish it then??Two words...Bone Lazy and incessantly proud of anything I write, even if its crap (a. k. a. Writer’s Disorder!)

Nostalgia

Scene: Today’s bible class and Roy's Dad has just picked a new song.

Situation: I, not knowing the song, mumble along but hear Ma singing. She sounds old now with her voice cracking a little...Ammachi (grandmother in Malayalam)....ha-ha...not funny actually, I’d hate to see my ma so old. I want her to remain the way she is now, forever(well, maybe excluding the jelly belly and stray grey hair and wrinkles. For her own good).

(Mom and dad listening to Usha Uthup now...that woman is something else!

Confidence and happiness and magnanimity just leak from her...and somehow she reminds me of Sister Ann!)

Scene: Jo on a visit and walks into the meeting with that gangly grin of his.

Situation: Gets me thinking about times past...SSC exams...all those laughs...my innocence. Not understanding all dose undercurrents and double meanings behind people’s words (yep...me a late bloomer!).

Scene: Rachel and Elizabeth playing.

I love the innocence of these children(they're three and seven years old respectively). They’re just so...pure. So perfect. So pristine...in their hearts (and bodily as well. they have the best potential to developing the perfect model-bodies ever. Fair skinned. Toned. Clear, without a mark. I envy them), the way everything is written and can be seen on their faces.

The crystal clearness of things to them...either Black or White. Good or Bad. No Grey areas. No subtle layers and hints to their words. No trying to guess what the other person is thinking. No keeping grudges. No sleeping unhappy.

I think the world would only be a better place if adults had the nature of babes (that’s babies, NOT girls!).

That’s why Innocence is so sought after. No donkey-like Dumbness, I mean Innocence...the state of mind where you look into a pile of filth and only see the goodness shining through.

Stuff I miss about my childhood:

1.    The Innocence:

The bliss of ignorance...of not knowing the things I know today...the negativity and all the evil.

2.    Daddy’s Girl:

This was fun! I was dada’s favourite girl, I combed my hair like dada, took bath like dada, liked what dada liked and rebelled against anything that dada didn't like (sometimes that meant mama). Now that place is for my brother. Before it was so hard relinquishing that title...I hated it.

Slowly, it has fallen into place...the ‘Eldest Daughter’ instead of ‘Successor’. I still do miss it at times but I think I have been compensated for it by the new-found relationship with mummy.

3.    That feeling of ‘My parents, The Best’:

Don’t know if ma and dad feel it too, but my parents (especially dad) were my heroes before (sometimes still are). Always right, Never wrong. For most people, this knowledge erodes over time like mountains, one chip at a time. First, you feel they’re wrong at little things and then that they know nothing but then again think they know something and finally (when you have kids of your own, you salute them for what they did!)

4.    The Lack of Self-Consciousness:

I miss this. A lot. I'm one of those girls who hate the little fixations that come with being a girl: Learning to be modest, keeping my legs crossed, adjusting a dupatta, staying sweat-free and toned...all that.

But before, I just wasn't aware of all this but then, at the magical age of 12,my ma had this sudden idea that I should behave like a girl...wash my own underwear, check all the sweat stains, it was difficult. I'm shameless maybe,  saying all this, But until then, I had never given a thought to these things and so had a hard time adjusting; Learning to preen, pout and pirouette (not really, the words just sounded so good together and the first two things, I haven’t learnt yet and don’t think I ever will!)

Before, it was just bindass...look at those small girls happily drawing away on the floor with their drawers showing! Do they care? Not a bit! (Maybe the zealous mother does!)

5.    The Lack of Greed:

I can’t remember any time before the age of 12 that I asked my parents for clothes or gadgets or pianos...anything I ask for now...the highest amount I hoped to get was Rs. 20...you got a packet of Lays™ for that...Heaven!

There never were any arguments about money then...sigh.

What I craved for most was books, to be read, to be written in, anything and stationery...ahh. I was a total hog freak...it has stayed but now its digital stuff (books, movies, music!).

6.    The Clearness and Honesty:

I miss the clarity of relationships outside my family too, the friends. The foes. The guys. The girls.

We, in the society wouldn't have to be worried about the groups of ‘-ists’ movements prevalent today, all born out of feelings of inadequacy and misunderstanding in people’s hearts, if we all had children’s hearts. Children just don’t feel that way...when looking at a boy, children don’t see a potential bf, groom, or whatever, and so avoiding all the flirting, and hinting and pouting and falseness...I miss that. Terribly.

Now, I'm afraid to open my mouth for fear of saying something wrong (still doesn't stop me) and the fear not being accepted....trying to change myself so that I can fit into the brackets made for me by society; I do my hair, painfully exercise (that’s for my own good as well, I know), try to look pretty, put on stupid airs, not talk to someone because someone didn't talk to me...do all the stupid things I have to do.

Comparatively, the souls in The Host(Stephenie Meyer's other-than-Twilight novel) had this super policy: Live and let Live (that they did this by being parasites and stealing human bodies is another matter), but still, I can’t help being fascinated by the goodness of it all...no fights, just trust.

Lobbying for a Utopian world isn't going to change anything I know, but just shouting it out feels good!

Bye then.

P.S. You might have noticed that my entries these days are of a more personal nature. You might not like it and I apologize if you don’t but if you do, thank you!

Leave a comment!
Please please do...

The Long & The Short

This idea is a continuation from an older blog but is a nice topic for a bit of chitchat and writing stuff down red-hot is the best way to preserve them so here goes...

I've just been reading The Host and I'm loving it!

After a long spell of self-imposed adult-novel reading, a heart pumping YA novel is just the thing to lift your spirits!

The problem with the novels I call adult novels is not that don’t have content...they do. Life of Pi and Lolita all had good, real, genuine stories to tell.

Not that they didn't have romance and passion, far from it, they had all that and more...and being 'adult' books gives them the freedom of including s** scenes, all the more masaledaar for being an adult novel!

Not that the characters aren't relatable to...they are...I liked Pi Patel, Saleem(Midnight's Children) and the rest of them...

Then what is?

I'll try explaining...the thing about YA stories is the delicious immediacy...you don’t have to wait forever for the hero and heroine to fall in love and kiss, for the villain to die, for the climax to come and so, for the happily-ever-after ending to come(sometimes not-so- happily-ever-after).

Hey and that doesn't mean I like my books short, no siree, even if I don’t reach the climax soon, I at least have something or the other happening in the story(I think that’s what makes short stories popular. Less to read and more happening)unlike a typical piece of so-called ‘Great Literary Fiction’ that tends to dwell for immensely long periods of time on something normally insignificant like a falling leaf...

I'm not saying that books ought to be the type of Tony-is-a-boy-Tony-goes-to-school type of fare meant for toddlers either, all I'm saying is that spending inconsiderate amounts of time on trivial things doesn't mean a book should classified great...that would make Literature the joke that Art had/has become, where a few squiggles made by a toddler is considered great painting.

It simply doesn't work that way...

All I'm saying is the greatness of a work of Writing (or Literature), shouldn't be judged on its grandiose words or length or so called 'intellectual' content (which is just psychological tosh and a posh way of saying ‘boring’!), but on its content and ability of drawing you into the story and making you empathize with its characters.

That, for me, is the mark of a great book.

Time for a list!

How I Know When A Book Is A Good Book:

1. When I cry, out of sadness, joy, frustration, empathy, whatever...it has to be good to make me cry...tears are precious after all!

2. When I laugh...crying is fine (even All the Best (pathetic excuse of a Bollywood movie if you didn't know!) made me cry) but only a truly great book can make you laugh. Laugh at the characters’ predicaments, thoughts, words, actions, anything!

Think: Roald Dahl...gawsh, he was one terrific author.

3. When I think and sometimes act on what I read. Anne Frank was one such writer. I don’t call her my writing-defining author for nothing; her diary was/is one of the most relatable books I’ve ever read.

4. When I empathise, sometimes wish I were the character in question. Ok, confession: I'm guilty of having wished I could be Bella and try to undo some of the dumb situations she got herself into (Sorry dear Twilight haters!)

5. When I learn stuff and try doing them for real. This happens with most books whose writers have a better vocabulary than I have but whenever I learn a new word, phrase, or tone of speech or mannerism I like, I usually end up liking that book.

Phrase watch: Laissez faire

Sentence use:

The new presidential nominee should lobby for a laissez faire system of government, but that would be like trying to enforce a utopian world!

Note: I do not know if that sentence is correct!

Till then, Adieu!

Mirror, Mirror On the Wall

I remember this comic strip in Archie where Archie is shown through the eyes of his family and friends: he’s a baby for his mom, a Casanova in his dad’s eyes, knight-in-shining-armour for Betty, melted puddle to Veronica, himself (with a Jughead-ish nose) to Jughead and most importantly, after all this, he says only he himself sees himself as he is....a beefy hunk!

Har har.

Jok (ey) ing apart (hee hee), I actually feel empathy for Archie after the bathroom incident and Bub's comment ('Look I've got sweat stains just like you'. Wounded. Pride.).

When I look into a mirror (and I feel s**y), I see this buxom lass with a nut-brown face and creamy body...all smooth. The tummy, thighs, and upper arms (all the problem areas) could do with a little shaping. Otherwise, I'm physically fine to myself.

But if I'm in the throes of self-hatred, then God help. All my ranting about why I hate myself begin...my fat tummy, thighs and things, my excess melanin, pimples, moles, hair, sweatiness...never ending(that’s when I envy these actresses).

I just love this phrase: Arms akimbo

Use in sentence: Mako stood under the coconut tree arms akimbo to catch the ripe coconut that was going to fall any minute on his landlord’s head to try to get off from paying that month's lease for saving his landlord’s life. This continued until his landlord noticed him standing in a 'saviour of the world' pose and caught him!

(I'm a literature major now! Emotionally Weird has been helpful in this matter showing me the dark underbelly of the world of literature and philosophy majors as opposed to the normal perceptions of their colleges being liberal and easy going. As for the book, it’s good, detailed and occasionally funny too and somewhat comic throughout. My only gripe is that it’s too stretched out; I wouldn't have been able to read the whole book a few years ago (even now I'm taking it in small doses).

But this is not what I wanted to say, I wanted to tell you about the strange case of the girl who play-acts before the bathroom mirror!

Does that sound funny enough? Or should I modify it??

Forget it. Yes, so Yanni’s Aria was on that day when I was in the bathroom and it’s the best possible music to pretend you’re a Roman princess to, I tell you!

You should have seen me...eyebrow stylishly (and saucily) cocked, entreating my cruel father king Herod to release the foreign prisoners. My grief when he disagreed, my indignation at being refused and my pity for the imprisoned...

Then I boldly disguising myself to fight the king...and the hot foreign prisoner catching me escaping and then we spar with words and flirty expressions...

I got there and had to stop to have bath.

Think that funny? There are so many more....I once had Edward of Twilight fall in love with me...I mean Robert Pattinson(the guy looks good though I refuse to recognize the caricature they ,made of him(and everybody else) in that terrible excuse of a movie called Twilight)...the person not the vampire...even that play-act had a lot of I'm-flirting-with-you expressions and wordplay (mostly on the guy's part...in my stories, I'm the hot and elegant ice-princess with the cheeky replies and nose in the air whom guys still want to date (Yep...what I'm so not in real life!!Stories ARE the antithesis of real life!))

But isn't it a scary and comforting thought at the same time that, whom we see in the mirror isn't how we actually look on the outside but who we want to be on the inside?

So all the times I've been happy about how I look were just delusions and all the times I was sad about it was just more illusion...anybody else feel cheated?

I've been spending these exam days exercising, Yanni-ing (glorious!) and having epiphanies (don’t you just love that word!).All nice, but not very productive...

Funny, I found a makeshift mirror on the terrace today...had a good long look at me. Didn't like what I saw, I've lost any hint of s**y hips I had, and my butt is LOW.

I am an unsatisfied girl.

Got to go!

Review: I sound totally self-obsessed and superficial here...have to set another tone for future blogs. 

 And if anybody thought the less of me for endorsing Twilight(I'm talking about my adult, Twilight-is-trash readers here. If there are any Twilight lovers reading this, I mean no offence to you whatsoever because I was one among you too!) , rest your thudding hearts darlings, I'm so out of that phase and into the brand-new grown stage of adult-novel reading but I might have minor relapses when I want my stories to go faster and generally have a bit of good old fashioned laughter!

That rhymed…

But it’s a nice topic for a blog!

Regrets & Ravings

Things I regret:

1.    Not having learnt music when I was younger.

2.    Not having used sunscreen and picking scabs (that have now become horrible stains which won’t go way...Keep this in mind all you girls reading this!) in my childhood.

3.    Having become too close with Roy (that was once upon a time but still). It wouldn’t be wrong if you thought that I regret this because I lost my ice-princess fame because of Roy or else I’d still have been the great, different, separated, on-a-different-plane girl I was then!

4.    Getting that ATKT in my second year

5.    All the times I didn't behave well, did wrong just for the heck of it, and made way for the devil to blacken my already horrible heavenly track record.

6.    All my sins.

7.    Not having been more athletic when I was younger.

I really wish I had gone for ballet or horse riding or something, dammit...I feel now that I have wasted a whole 18 years of a life learning nothing except how to understand story plots.

I didn't even write seriously, something I have potential in.

It seems like I spent the most impressionable of my life doing nothing but see and hear...and read...what a waste.

I seem to spend a lot of time wishing I had done things these days.

Maybe I have a chronic jealousy disease or something, but whenever I fall in love with somebody's talent (sometimes even them in the bargain!) I start envying them and cursing me and badmouthing them in the end (case of sour grapes).

Reading Yanni's biography can make anybody jealous though, he had everything I wish I had...A Beautiful talent(which he took pains to develop),a hunky physique and one of the most emulation-worthy set of parents I’ve known, and one of the world’s most beautiful places to call home, Greece.

If that won’t make you jealous, what will?

But then, in the end, even he’s a person, a single soul among a billion others, and doesn’t believe in God so he’s pushed away the one support system he could have had...

But he says he’s got an intimate relation with God, more personal than anything else so he is suspicious of anyone telling him about saving his soul(which is exactly what we preach...a personal relationship with God, but I guess people might have made it sound ritualistic to him. Don’t laugh, it’s possible).

Whatever the situation might be, he’s one person I want to see in heaven (not only because of his music (though it’s glorious), because I like the person he is).

Gosh, I definitely am mad, talking about a world-renowned artist who is old now, (and hot! Yep, even I dint know I could fall for old men!), as though he’s the person next-door!

Anyway, you really should read the book, it’s wonderful...the life story of a wonderful musician and a good book as well.

So I guess I'll wind this up here with this perfectly fitting quote I found in One Day at a Time by William MacDonald:

Of all the words of tongue or pen, the saddest are, ‘It might have been'.

- Bret Hart

Isn't it nice?!

It might seem like an antithesis to my blog, calling it sad.

But then, only when you take stock of your past and understand what you would like to change, will you be able to build a wonderful future!

Ciao then!

Your loving,

Lost in grandiose musical dreams Blogger!