my airtel account is being its pirate self again...have gone through like 6 cards in a matter of weeks and really not talking that much. had the the most horrible party on friday...everybody just sat and looked at each other for boring hour after hour....so I vamoosed to next room, got progressively drunk while playing solataire and listening to mournful hindi tracks. after a while the world began spinning really fast and I curled into protective ball on bed trying to make it stop...first time I felt this sick by the way...
next day stabilsed over finishing hand-knit shawl which I wore the next friday for outlook pay and play party. if nothing else blessed be the boring continuity of my life....of course party was not the best place to be exibiting my knitting skills so generally flung skirt around the place, got groped by two people and laughed uproariously at A's chicken dance and S's swaying S move.
In cal now, with the worst still in front of me. feeling like maria outside the von trap house, so i shall twang belly up and rush in where fools fear to tread...and ask....why am I so scared?

self preservation kicks in
As of today I have RED hair...muhahaha...well not actually red but more streaks of red in my hair, and i look, i am pleased to report, nothing like original me. Though I ponder about the implications of doing this right before going to calcutta. Will they see this as the ultimate sign of "mei ta pagol ho gache" and thus deemimg me unfit to be left alone? Despite the fact that I have been contemplating going red since 2001? Debateable and we shall see. Actually going red has deep seated spiritual significance caused by sangha to scream "lay off" after I hugged her. Thus new resolution is that I won't a)hug everybody as I am wont too. b)I am finally over the "pleasing everyone" stage. Which means that a) That I will not get involved unless I am personally involved in anything going around me. b) I shall live in one room flat in CR Park come January for Rs.3500 and shall live for the first time, truly alone.

guess what i am....

Disorder Rating
Paranoid: Moderate
Schizoid: High
Schizotypal: High
Antisocial: Moderate
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: High
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low
URL of the test: http://www.4degreez.com/misc/personality_disorder_test.mv

and am destined for -

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's" Inferno Hell Test


and more whose results weren't as interesting...
http://www.dutchfurs.com/~haze/islove/
http://quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=266

"English doesn't borrow from other languages. English follows other languages down dark alleys, hits them over the head, and goes through their pockets for loose vocabulary."

my mom once told me the story of a man who was born in those "old money" families of calcutta. Rich, intelligent, generous,and too beautiful for a man, he is the toast of the bong soceity, till his father dies. Then rumours start circulating that there isn't so much of that old money left. He has of course never been trained to do anything, in true zamindari style. The creditors start asking for their pound of flesh and most of his friends start backing away. He smiles, heartbreakingly of course, through it all. Pays back every creditor and quells these rumours. Borrows some money from his best friend and hosts a huge lavish party where he invites everybody, his friends, his foes, even the whisperers who say he is doomed. At the height of the party he announces that he is going to england and that he never coming back. the best friend worries, and curses his own naivety. A month later he receives an envelope. In it is the money and a letter. It says "You trusted me when no one else did and when I had nothing. Nothing except my own body. So i sold that too, to the highest bidder in England's organ market. The money will reach you even though i'm dead. my solicitors in London will make sure of it."

Protagonist is handsome, doomed and end is macabre...ergo he lingers in some corner of brain.

On the days when life precedes me
On the days when nothing makes sense
Swallow the insecurities
With a malai tangri, pizza or shake
And hope people don’t realise
My smile is fake

gem...absolute gem...
http://www.thingsmygirlfriendandihavearguedabout.com/

Sometimes aimless flicking thru channels at night pays...not usually but sometimes. Yesterday was introduced to this quaint, tucked-in-its-own-corner movie called Ghost World, starring thora birch (enid) and scarlett johansson (rebecca) as just out of highschool misfits and Steve Buscemi, a middle aged loner. The movie is supposedly an adaptaion of an graphic novel (thank you google) which i now want to pick up but don't know how.

5 am Saturday morning...an unearthly yell. I get up to see dad standing under the windchime with an expression of having seeing medusa in flesh and blood. Proceed a little further to see mom with a plastic bati and a jhadoo poking insistently under the book rack..repeated poking of bapi introduces no new information to explain the scene...only more yelps. till i hear the words chamchiki or something to the effect. which I intrepret as a sodding huge chamaleon. Only it is not, it is tiny furry baby bat which emerges from said book case and makes low threatening swoops over bapi's head. hehehe...more screaming and ma charges with the jhadoo... too much excitement without caffeine. Said bat had earlier come and nesetled on bapi's tummy, whereupon he indulgently thwacked it and came in contact with something furry and small and warm. But I still rate his experience after didi's. She found a dead pigeon in her bed. i had more fun with that.

Nico, my canine fluff of white and brown wonderfulness is as i say is a "budoh: baby...if u scratch him in the right places he has a buddha like mien and smiles like mona lisa, besides that his sole purpose in life is to get in bapi's way. He is becoming more senile by the day and keeps talking to himself. that day ma was feeding him and he was trying to get away and ma kept saying "sit, sit" finally out of desperation he yanked himself away and RAN to the bathroom doing hagu in little droplets till he reached the loo.

being drunk has this unfailing result of me spreading the love around. PLATONIC love. the flip side is my ensuing peevishness if that all-embracing love is not returned.
So end result of monday's drunkeness was that I hugged six people and said I'd beat the crap out of two.
will miss samit's apartment till I get my own. This is the time to thwank that voice in my head which says i'll leap off marine drive in six months time. I won't and will be bloody happy.

it is on spectacularly bad days that you realise that bitches are usually the ones who got up in the morning realising that they have a whopping bad hair day coming up.
Or felt that delayed whoosh of air deflating from their lungs when their love life went down the crapper,
Or when they were on the verge of being fired.
Actually it doesn't even have to very major. Just midly irriating stuff that builds up, making you believe no, absolutefuckingknow that the world owes you a long overdue favour. and you don't have to be nice to ANYONE. since that is the only bloody fundamental right you've got anyway

so my sister left yesterday. Primary weapon is gone, and all you have left is secondary weapon, me. It still hasn't sunk in that I won't see her for atleast another 3 years.
Not unless I am a good girl and save for a round trip to New York. So while I'm giving flap to my parents about webcam and voice chat and how i'll fix up everything so that they won't miss her at all, I'm thinking "all you have now guys is me," secondary weapon than tends to blank out all the time.
I don't know how to handle dad, she did. I know how to handle mom, but only to a point. So when both of them put on the waterworks there is precious little I can do.
Except inanely chatter about above mentioned webcams and voice chat. and then crack even worse ones to my sister on the phone about how she is Krishna leaving bridavan forever.
I can't handle emotions. real ones in anycase. It always has to be lalala doesn't it. secondary weapon is good when it comes to having fun and making people laugh. My talents end there.
so its obvious I shall miss my sister in heaps. but I still had to fight with her, even when there were just a few days left till the big departure.
and then yesterday she asked me to "take care" of the parents...right, like how? since I'm running off to b'bay at the first possible break because I can't bear being the one holding the parental bag of incessant worry.
there is a name for people like me. "bitches"

the 'punched in the guts' feeling is not going away. NOW, i feel sad. talk about delayed reactions

If sages and time as sages say
Are things that cannot be
The fly that lives a single day
Has lived as long as we

But lets us live while yet we may
While life and love are free
For time is time and runs away
Though sages disagree

(written by anubha in my college notes)

Diary entry from 1st year college

"Suddenly that void is back. The need to talk endlessly with someone about nothing and everything. Restless, disturbed. I'm not usually like this. I want to sit down and feel one with everything again. I've lost it. The feeling of being involved and yet removed, aloof.

Probably all the petty bitching is getting to me. Making me angry, hurt, sad, bewidered. What keeps hitting back is that I can feel sadness again. I don't want to. Its useless I know. I can't believe that people want to bitch, scream, rant at each as if we were specimens of the lowest scum ever born.

Its okay to be disliked. Period. But an endless torrent of ugliness can be quite depressing. When you keep seeing people in their worst possible moods. It feels so utterly pointless to be stuck in a glacier of ugliness, without respite.

The surface is smooth. Blue skies, green meadows and colourfully clothed teenagers. But its different when you look closely. More stillted, unnatural, stiff. Going through the motions its supposed to.

I see people cheat, lie, decieve each other, see the satisfaction glint in their eyes like they have scored a point. Mean 10 to love. And so the isolated patches of bitterness. It makes me think, why am I here.

I should be somewhere out there laughing, singing, playing with the inborn sense of pride in being a creature of life and loving and then I keep reverting back to the original question. "Why the hell do people do it?" If it is for the momentary high of being authentically peverse and crooked I may as well start digging a hole for my faith in people.

As far as I am concerned I'd rather just sit alone and talk to my invisible friends again. Talk about nothing and everything, endlessly without restraint and get the venom out of the system..."


How sweet was I...

up to 8 fags a day...hmmm. state of utter boredom thus depression. but final solution I realise is in length of hair and weather.

Items to convince parents on:
1) That I shall be living with hirsute males in Bombay..no they are not bad and shall not take advantage of me
2) that everything is not going to stapled into place by the time I go there...
3) that bulki is a goddess who has cast her benovelent eye on me, and nothing goes wrong on her watch
4)that I love them though by going to b'bay I am doing something unforgivable
5) I have more brains than it looks

walk...run...escape...NOW

not for the squeamy...yesterday i gave blood. blood is very unlike ketchup, its not a bright bouncy and fake...it is a more congealed red, like something gone bad, looks like the red you see when you close your eyes and think of the apocalypse. anyway blood taker pushed needle in and then began poking around...a thin film of my skin was lifted up and then the poking began...and then there was this flash of white (no i had not died, the bloodtaker had smiled, her teeth were neon white compared to the surrounding black skin.)
"does it hurt yet?" she asks. if her needle wasn't within me I would have flattened her then. "no" I smile sweetly. parents look on with a mixutre of horror and fascination...my dad's face is especially comic, his eyebrows came together in one sharp line, his mouth twisted like an acorn...a father remains a father...my mom however was looking with unconcealed hatered at the woman, did i tell u i love my parents...
the crosseyed elephant on a lopsided skateboard incarnate bloodtaker finally found my delicate spidery viens and then she said "clench"... I clenched for all I was worth and there it was...filling up the syringe in spurts of dark life fluid. the deed was done and i was given a ball of cotton-ether to stub out the germ-fest on my largest organ.