Serious Issue Sunday #3 - Why do movies portray women as objects?

Why has it suddenly become okay for the media to potray women as sex objects? Why do item numbers always involve women dancing to slow, seductive songs, dressed in little or no clothing?

Movies are a big part of our lives. They affect us.

See that boy's haircut? He's copying Aamir Khan from Dil Chahta Hai. You should hear this girl in my class. Her accent sounds just like Katrina Kaif.

We can't deny it. Whether they're good, or bad, or enjoyable, or boring, we are always influenced by all social media - specially movies (I'm not even going to defend myself - most of my knowledge has come from reading Archie comics since a very tender age).

So it's alarming when our source of influence is so disgustingly gender-biased. (My sister had used a very long word for it, but I can't remember it now, even after I googled long word meaning gender-biased). Why can't we ever see a movie in which the females don't spend all their lives dancing in clubs wearing skimpy clothes? (Not that it's not okay to wear skimpy clothes, but that's not all women do. They might have their fair share of skimpy-clothes-club-dancing, but they do other stuff as well). Or one where they have successful, normal jobs? And a stable and secure future? Without the help of some loverboy?

Okay, I love watching movies. (Mainly for the nachos). But watching movies nowadays just makes me shake my head.

I went to see a movie today, in which one of the characters slapped his wife when she forgot to bring ice for his drink.

Let's stop for a moment.

Okay, this stuff actually happens. Not in my house, not in your house. Maybe in someone else's house, but it definitely does happen. This stuff needs to be shown in movies, because why hide the bitter truth? This scene would've been tolerable if they had shown later that something was being done against this. Maybe the wife stands up to him, maybe the police arrests that man for domestic violence. No such luck. So why show it? Is the world not a hard enough place for women as it is? Do you really need to plant more ideas into people's heads? Like seriously, half the population is not educated in this country. They're not going to think wow, what an insightful scene. Um, no. They're going to go home and slap/kick/beat their wife/mother/daughter/sister, because, uh, hello, if some big shot hero in some movie is doing it, why can't they?

 If you show this stuff in movies, (with no action being done against it) it's only going to make matters worse. Controversial subjects like this are taken way too lightly. According to Bollywood, you should basically blame everything on the woman:

Do you have a horrible, meaningless life? It's probably not because you're a useless human being who does no productive work. Don't be silly. You're a man. It's probably because you have a wife who nags you a lot. Or a daughter who's too outspoken. Or maybe a mother who's too modern for your taste. But heavens no, it can't be your fault! You're the man! The man is never at fault, remember?

So let's say now, that the life of some man in some movie is falling apart. What will he do next?
 -Go to a pub and drink. Cue item song.

Maybe the man is happy about something. What will he do next?
-Go to a pub and drink. Cue item song.

Maybe he's just having a usual day, like any other. What will he do next?
-Go to a pub and drink. Cue item song.

Like, wow. We live in the twenty first century and such songs are still made. Like I'm sorry, I'm still very young, I haven't seen the world, haven't had that many experiences, but correct me if I'm wrong, I do not see the need for a song with a woman balancing a glass of wine on her chest in a movie when it has approximately zero connection with the story. I mean okay, who am I to say anything, I'm just some kid typing away things that come into my head. These people have been making movies their whole lives, they know what they're doing. This is what the public wants. Item songs. These make the movies roll in money. Fine. Make item songs. But at least don't sacrifice the moral integrity of women. Why is sexy being equated with cheapness? Tell these people to go him and watch B-grade movies on their laptops. The big screen is not a place for songs with  lyrics like Touch me oh touch me. Trust me, I know music. I play the piano and I sing. This is not music. This is called a waste of time.

Maybe there would be less rape cases if songs like Mein balatkari hun (I'm a rapist) were banned.

Dear movies. Please stop showing such stuff on the big screen. You're not helping. Only giving people ideas.

Dentist = ouchie

French manicures are the best. Period. No arguments.

Anyway I'm halfway through my Structure Of An Atom project file (i.e., I've written two pages, and on one of them I've only written the heading and my name) so I thought I'd take a little break.

My day was fun! I got up at two and read Chamber of Secrets for a while but then my mother was throwing me extremely dirty looks so I went and did something productive for around two minutes or so. It was different from my usual routine; I liked it.

I just came back from a walk with my best friend, let's call him Pizza. He's been telling me for a while now, to write about him, and I finally did. Pizza and I did age appropriate things, i.e., we played on the swings and slide set next to his house, for a time longer than I'd like to admit. Usual for all fifteen year olds. (I really really wanted to see-saw too, but he drew the line at that). I hate Pizza, he's so bloody thin. We weigh the same but he's magically thinner than me. We clicked a photo of our shadows (he refused to take a selfie) and I look like a man in it, whereas he looks like a fairy on a very healthy diet.

I think it's very insensitive of him and he should simply put on a few extra pounds for my sake. A friend in need is a friend indeed, etc.

But the point of this entire entry is, going to the dentist SUCKS. It's not the dentists' fault. Obviously, it's mine. I've actually had a lot of experience with dentists. I wore braces for two years, I've had two extractions, two root canal treatments, and uncountable cavities filled in.

I obviously do not learn from my mistakes because I was back at the dentist's clinic today, missing out on the last hour of my badminton time, to get two huge cavities filled in.

All I can say is, I'm so glad I dropped Biology. I'm sure if I had known what was going on inside my teeth the pain would have amplified.

God it hurt so bad. My dentist is very kind and she was trying to be as gentle as humanly possible but it felt like somebody was trying to saw a a very big hole into my tooth with a finely pointed drill. I kept whimpering and digging my nails into my hand. I finally decided to sing Everything has changed backwards in my head to distract myself. I had reached the chorus when the pain got particularly bad and I cried out.

I'm not proud to say that a tear might have slipped out.

But I reminded myself that I was a warrior. I had gotten my eyebrows done inspite of the fact that the lady doing it had cut my forehead. I could survive anything.

The good news is that I can have as much ice cream as I want.

You know what they say. All's well that ends well, specially with ice cream. 

Poker is hard

Desi Spiderman is the best song ever. Period.

I think everyone agrees with that. Go watch it if you haven't already. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-RW3nUHs8g

For those of you keeping track (i.e., none) I had forgotten to blog about something serious on Sunday and instead wrote about hot boys. I know, I know. Hot boys are just as important. But I am still a forgetful buffoon. Oh, well. Let bygones be bygones.

My friends from Delhi came today, and I went to meet them with Izzy. Like all normal sixteen (okay, fifteen and a half) year olds, they decided to play Poker. Having never played it before, I was extremely bad at. Izzy kept saying things like I'm all in guys and my friends kept saying things like Raise and Okay, 10 chips now and throwing chips (the ones we were playing with, not Lays chips) into the center and I was so confused the entire time.

 Frankly speaking, the chips were so bright and colourful I got a bit distracted by them. Anyway at the start of every round I'd declare very confidently that I had the best cards and I was surely going to win, but wound up losing every time, even after I secretly googled how to be good at poker. I kept betting all my chips. In every round. Even when I had the worst cards.

In the end, I lost all my chips and my (horrible) friends wouldn't let me play any more. So I sat there eating chocolates and watching them play. And win.

Ah, life. How cruel you can be.

Also I'm really stressed out right now. Apart from the fact that I have two project files to make, a test to study for, and a notebook to, well, make, my phone is being really annoying. My nails are pretty long by now and whenever I try to type anything, my nails get in the way and all my efforts to type like a normal human being go to waste. So I have to type really carefully and really slowly, one letter at a time, and it usually takes me around 45 billion years to type one word. It's really annoying and time consuming. I have places to be, and people to see. And Chamber of Secrets to re-read. Time and tide wait for none, etc.

To put the cherry on top of all the awesomeness that is going on (i.e., sucking at poker, phone being annoying) I'm probably going to have (another!!) Root Canal Treatment! Yay! Self-five!

Ah, well. That didn't stop me from eating a Kit Kat ten seconds ago.

Hot boys - Do NOT step on them

Boys are so annoying. Period.

Good evening, lovlies!

I hope you're heaving a great day. I'm not. I've been having a crap day so far. You're right, I should probably go and watch 90210; it's been a long time. But I can't. No. I have duties to fulfill. And my mother has been telling me to move my Physics book from the table from the past three hours but I can't be bothered to do it. My body feels like it's been the punching bag for a very skilled boxer. Every limb feels like it shall fall off like that time I fell off from my cycle when I was three and posing for a picture, and I tilted too much to the left and fell down. Anyway, you get the gist. And it's not even like I'm doing anything productive to be so tired. I mean I played only like three badminton games only, out of which I lost one also. But I spent the entire morning standing, since my friend (Marshmallow) and I are the anchors for this Summer Wokrshop thing. So my butt aches. A lot.
I cannot believe I'm blogging about my butt.
Oh God.
Anyway I'm just sitting here dressed like a boy (except for the skirt) with my hair tucked into my cap (which I'm wearing for reasons unknown) feeling horribly sorry for myself for no reason. I hate it when this happens.
Anyway, this blog is not self-pity-and-other-random-things. Heuehuehuehue. Lettus get down to business.

24 hours later -

Today was a good day! Hurray! Mostly because I took a (well deserved) four hour power nap in the afternoon instead of
1) studying
2) attending my math tuition
3) bathing
4) doing anything productive
5) eating lunch
 Three cheers for laziness!

I had lots of dreams in those four hours. I vaguely remember something about Mtv, and colouring drawings in with some boy. I don't know why my brain functions like this.

Anyway, today was the finale of the Summer Workshop of my neighbourhood, and I was the anchor with Marshmallow, like I said before. Basically we spent nearly five hours standing around, putting makeup on little kids (I put eyeshadow on a boy with a lipstick - it was so much fun...he looked a bit traumatized though) and clicking selfies. It was fun but exhausting. The only saving grace was that there was a semi-hot boy there. He looked at me about two times so I'm positive he has fallen victim for my intellect and charm. Except for when I was running in my heels and I climbed, like, two stairs, and one of my heels came off, and he saw. That was embarrassing. Also when I was again climbing stairs and I accidentally tripped (what is it with me and stairs?!) and I squished someone's foot, and I squealed sorry, and turned around, and realized I had stepped on his foot. It was really sad. I gave him lots of come hither looks to make up for it.

I live in a sad world of my own, let me be, don't judge.

Anyway, I was talking to my sister a few hours ago and she was all why aren't you blogging and I was all I have nothing to blog about right now and she was all blog about how bad the ending of How I Met Your Mother. And I was all okay. 

Typing in italics is so much fun.

So here is my verdict on How I Met Your Mother's ending - it was bad. (You're entitled to your own opinion of course. Unless your opinion is that the ending was nice. In which case you are wrong.)

So I kept my promise to you, big sister. Thank
me later.

Anyway my life is semi-boring right now. The latest interesting thing that happened to me was when Izzy (who is a talented artist) used me as a drawing board and drew on mustaches and beards on me with her eyeliner. It was fun. For her, I mean. I will enclose a picture of what I looked like too, but only because I love you. Please don't judge. Please come back. I don't look like that usually, I promise. (Okay that's a lie.)

(I'm sorry I accidentally removed the picture. Anyway, I looked hideous.)

I let her do this to me and do you know how she repaid me?! I was going on and on about how crap my love life is and I was sharing very intense things with her when she gazed very seriously into my eyes and asked me to pass her the chocolate lying next to me.

Great.

Shoes weigh a lot - Who knew?

Royals is the best song in the entire world. Period.

(Seriously. Like go listen to it right now. STOP READING GO LISTEN TO ROYALS.)

I'm back! I was too chicken to go play badminton today. I thought maybe all my lovely friends at the court were having too much of a gala time without me to screw every game up, so I thought I'd skip today and ruin their games tomorrow. Instead I watched Princess Diaries 1 with Izzy. I'd originally told her that I wanted to watch House and she got super excited, but 20 minutes (okay, 3 minutes) into the show I was checking my mobile a lot, and scraping old nailpolish off my nails, so Izzy politely asked me if I'd maybe like to watch Princess Diaries and it's kind of sad how quickly I agreed to it.

I mean, House was very interesting. All three minutes of it. But I really wanted to see Princess Diaries.

Anyway, I traveled from Mumbai to Lucknow this morning. I already made an utter fool of myself whilst traveling from Lucknow to Mumbai (delayed the plane, etc) and if you think I didn't make an utter fool of myself this time, you are sadly mistaken.

It is all thanks to my amazing sister. (Jk, ILY) She's changing rooms when she starts her fourth year at Law School, and she (somehow) decided that it would be a great idea to bring a suitcase full of junk she didn't need, pay zillions of rupees to get it through security check in Bangalore, then dump it on mother and me in Mumbai, so that we would pay zillions of rupees getting it through security check.

 Ah, great times.

We reached the airport two hours early, mumma and me, and we were so proud of ourselves. We were so ready. So organised. Whatever may come our way, we would battle it.

Except for nineteen kilos.

That's how much extra luggage we had. We had three suitcases in total, between two people. How. Retarded. We freaked out. I'm not even going to tell you how much it would've cost to pay for that extra luggage. (Hint - It was a lot.) Anyway, we decided it was insane to pay that much, so we decided to throw some unnecessary things (like a pair of sandles I loved, but had these annoying three hundred kilometers long laces which came undone every two seconds) and stuffed the other stuff into our carry on luggage. (So now our check in luggage weighed less, and our carry-on luggage weighed a thousand tons-problem solved!) People usually do all this when they have to board, like, seventeen hours flights to faraway lands. Not when they're boarding a domestic flight lasting hardly two hours. It was really embarassing. We had to open our suitcases and rearrange all our items. A really hot guy was sitting just behind us, and I'm sure he heard/saw everything, including when my mother was scolding me (loudly).

I still don't get how our three tiny suitcases could've weighed forty five kilos. Er, I kind of do actually...

Well maybe I shouldn't have taken along six pairs of shoes for only a week, but come on, what if I saw Shahrukh Khan and I was wearing my sneakers? Even though one pair of my shoes alone weighed one kilo, (my beautiful wedges, which I stole from my sister, which are three sizes too big for me, and my mother says, and I quote, that I don't look like a normal person whilst walking in them) the shoes were mandatory.
The shoes weren't at fault.
 The shoes are never at fault.
You know what's better than shoes?
More shoes.

Creepy salespeople are golden hearted

Terribly Tiny Tales are the best thing in the world. Period.

I know, I suck. I haven't written anything for two entire days. I had so many funny things crammed into my mind about which I was totally going to blog, but then I listened to Hips don't lie and Evolution of bollywood music about twenty seven thousand times non-stop, so I've kind of forgotten what I was going to say.

For those of you who care, (i.e., none) I have decided to not get a pixie cut. I asked one of my friends, let's call him Breezy, whether I should get it, and he said yes, and then I was all yaar I'm not thin enough for it and he didn't say something like WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU TOTALLY ARE!!! so I have decided to not get it for the time being. I know, I fish for compliments, I deserve to not progress further in Candy Crush Saga. On an unrelated note, if you like my blog, follow it. I have about, um, one follower. He/she feels lonely. Join him/her. I will give you a lollipop. (But I ate half of it).

Anyway. Do you know what else sucks? Getting your eyebrows done. (Oh get over yourselves, boys.) It's the most excruciatingly painful thing in the entire world. I don't know why we choose to subject ourselves to such physical torture. One of my best friends, let's call her Marshmallow, is obsessed with getting eyebrows done. I'm not kidding. We go for dates to the parlour together, and sometimes she cheats on me and goes alone too. If you're reading this Marshmallow, which I know you are, since I'm going to call you and tell you that I blogged about you in a moment, you should know that I love you even though you're obsessed with getting your eyebrows done.When I usually get them done, I scream and/or cry a lot, but I was in a different city when I had them done recently, so I had to behave myself. Which is not fun. Or painless. I had to continuously dig my nails into the palm of my hand (which is what I did in Social Studies class to prevent myself from falling asleep) to keep myself from crying out/shouting abuses. I managed to keep my tears in (somehow). I also kept repeating the names of all cute boys I knew, plus Andrew Garfield, and tell myself that I was doing this for them.

Basically, getting eyebrows done = ouchie.

My suffering paid off though. When we went to Vero Moda the next day, the salesperson would not stop flirting with me. My sister reckons he was doing his job, and not hitting on someone ten times younger than him, but I say she's just jealous. My mother was pretty angry about the whole thing but frankly I couldn't stop laughing the entire time. I tried on like seven different dresses, and looked like a very pretty pregnant woman in all of them. Anyway, the salesperson, let's call him Mr. C, (C for Creepo) wouldn't stop hanging around us. I mean we were rejecting all the clothes he offered me, and yet he would stand beside my mother, and whenever I would come show her how hideous I looked in the dresses, Mr. C would be all Ohhh madam, whatta fitting, whatta fitting, you look great! My mother was extremely annoyed and in her state of her annoyance she bought me a really cute pink skirt without any argument, just to get out of the shop, so for me it was pretty much a win-win situation.

Alas, our encounter with Mr. C did not end there. I was wearing four rings that day (shut up, four rings is not that many) each with the letter L, O, V and E on them, hence spelling, er, love. Anyway, I kept singing LO-LO-LO-LO-VE by Ashley Simpson the entire day when I was wearing the rings, and waggling my fingers in mumma's face. When I was repeating this routine as usual, I noticed that my rings spelt ove not love. I had dropped the L somewhere. I realized the only place I could have dropped it would be when I was trying clothes on. I ran to Vero Moda, and thankfully found the ring. Mr. C emerged from nowhere, and gave me my hairclip, which I had apparently dropped as well. All in all, Mr.C was a generous soul after all, and that was the last we saw of him.

I mean he didn't die, we just didn't go to that store again.

So anyway, my life is full of sadness but at least I'm finally going home tomorrow and I will finally play badminton after approximately eight thousand days. I mean I have a ton of homework to complete and a LOT of studying to do.

But you know what they say. He who procrastinates is awesome. And sexy.

Serious Issue Sunday #2 - Uncleanliness

*Note- This is not meant to hurt the sentiments of anybody. I did not mean to speak against any particular city. If anyone finds it offending, let me know.

Tourism in India. An oxymoron if I ever heard one. What would foreigners visit our country for? The various appealing factors? The fact that women get raped, and hung on trees? Or maybe for the fact that rabid dogs happily roam around residential quarters? To see transgenders, bisexuals, and low caste people living on the fringes of society? Why would someone in their right mind come to our country? Why do we bother to live in this country?

Tiny cities like Macau have managed to keep their city clean, and praiseworthy. Macau's national income is supported by the heavy amount of tourism the country enjoys. India has the most social diversity as far as countries go. Where else would you find a place where you can enjoy delicious delicacies like dosa and sambaar or visit beautiful architectural sites like the Taj Mahal? India has a lot to offer. Unfortunately, it is like the typical lazy school going student - has a lot of potential, yet fails every test.

Speaking strictly of tourism, India is not exactly the top student.

India's tourism rates have not been that unsatisfactory; however the maintenance of tourist spots has. I recently visited the Gateway of India, and the experience was pretty traumatic.

Let's talk about that for a moment.

The Gateway of India. One would assume that the something called the gateway to the country should be kept spick and span. It was the most depressive sight I had ever seen. Beggars in tattered clothes roamed around. The place was covered in every possible amount of garbage. Human as well as animal excreta was found just about everywhere. It stunk. A lot. The Gateway itself was breathtaking. It almost made the filth surrounding it worth it - almost. 

Mumbai is also famous for it's seas. Most of them were extremely well kept, and the serenity was unimaginably comforting. However, some of them were like this -

What normal person would throw garbage into a river? Like, seriously, dude. Go home and throw it in the trashcan. It does not involve rocket science to know it, and it does not require superhuman strength to do it.

The beaches are another major concern. I visited Goa last summer, and it was just as filthy. What thrill do these people get by destroying natural scenery? Is it a contest amongst litter bugs? Let's see who can make the country the dirtiest the fastest?  The beaches were not maintained properly, and full of garbage. Not that there aren't numerous beautiful beaches in Goa or Mumbai or anywhere in the country - there are, but that does not make it alright for other places/beaches/roads to be dirty.

The award for most unkempt city however goes to my lovely hometown, Lucknow.

Don't get me wrong. All these places are amazing. But amazingly dirty as well. I didn't even know Lucknow had a backstory. My father did a report on Lucknow or something last year, which is when I discovered that the city has so much history connected to it. It used to be such a beautiful city, with architecture that could take your breath away. Nothing has been done to preserve it though. Roaming through the streets of Hazratganj, one wouldn't even recognize all the buildings which used to be of immense historical significance, that have now been converted into jaleebi shops with peeling wallpapers and floors covered in trash. Countries take pride in their history. We don't. We never try to preserve our cities. (With a few exceptions, like maybe preservation of Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar, or Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad.)

I think what I'm trying to say is...it makes me sad. Lukcnow, or Mumbai, or Goa, or any city in our country deserves as much recognition as cities like Auckland, known for it's beauty and tourism.

I think it's time we stopped spitting paan out of car windows, or smoking beedis in public, or throwing our McDonald wrappers on the floor. We need to be proud of our culture and natural beauty, not abuse it, if we want our country to rise.

 If it won't swim, it'll drown.

Starstruck - It's contagious

A very good evening to all you lovely people!
I have crossed 1,000 page views and I'm on cloud nine. Thankyou so much for reading about my amazingly strange life. Free hugs for all.

As you may know by now, I'm currently in Mumbai. Which is where all the celebrities live. Whom I want to bump into. Accidentally. On purpose. If you catch my drift.

Anyway, I have a lot going on in my life. Like I said, Bombay is basically where you can apparently spot superstars walking their dogs or like jogging with their bodyguards or something. Anyway we've been here for four days now, and the closest we've come to spotting a celebrity was when we stopped outside Shahrukh Khan's house and took pictures of it. I really wanted to climb over his wall or something but mumma reckoned that it was probably electrified. Plus I was wearing heels.

We did the next best thing. We decided to go sit in the Taj Coffeeshop, and nonchalantly sip our coffees and eat pehaps a biscuit or two, whilst dressed in our finest clothes, in case some celebrity happened to stop by.

We failed (miserably) today but we're going to repeat the process tomorrow. I will not rest until I meet Ranbir Kapoor or someone. And when I do, I will get a picture clicked with him. And maybe smell his hair. And I'm okay with Katrina Kaif punching me for it.

I heard about this one girl who stood outside RK's house on his birthday and sang Happy Birthday for him loudly which led to him inviting her inside. Maybe I could go sing Happy Father's Day To You for his father, and then he could invite me in for a tea and scones? I mean, come on, we're practically family what with being Kapoors and all. I'm sure we have some long lost common cousin. Not that I want him to be my big brother or something. Anyway he's 16 years elder to me, so whaever.

The other major crisis in my life is wheher or not I should get my hair cut. I want a pixie cut.

This is what a pixie cut looks like -

Tell me if I should get it. Comment below. ♥

*Note - Don't forget to read the Sunday post tomorrow. :)

Sightseeing - It's exhausting

I'm currently sitting in Starbucks sipping my cold coffee which is very sickening and I'm about to go throw it in a minute. They provide free wifi though, so that's awesome. So why am I sitting here? Because mumma and I are sightseeing. We're in such a beautiful and historically acclaimed place, and where do we go? Starbucks.

*
8 hours later :
Today, like all days involving mumma and me, was eventful and embarrassing. If you need to know how to not sightsee, read on.

So how did we end up at Starbucks? Ah, that's a story in itself. I will not name names. Mumma and I had planned to go to this cafe, which was supposed to be very heavily acclaimed or something, but it turned out to be pretty disappointing. Flies were buzzing around the food, and the locality was pretty strange. I told mumma there was no way I'd ever eat there. We told the cab driver to stop near the cafe, so that we could walk around (hence do sightseeing) till we could find a decent restaurant. We found ourselves in front of a very fancy place, let's call it Fancy Place (no, that wasn't it's real name). We heaved a sigh of relief and asked for a table for two. We were the only customers there so all the waiters' attention was on us. We opened up the menus and got the shock of our lives. Baked heart of artichoke? What the hell is that? I'm already picky when it comes to food, so I was certainly not going to eat some random things I had never heard of before. But what were we to do? We had only laid out our napkins. We'd already taken sips of our water. And now we wanted to run away like nervous almost-wed-people in all those movies. Damn. All the waiters were standing beside us, giving us hopeful looks. I cleared my throat. "Mommy, do you think we should have a look around and then come back?"
Mumma took my hint. She told the waiter we were going to 'look around' and come back.
Only we never did.
We ran to Starbucks.

Our normal behavior did not stop there. After seeing the Gateway of India, and a modern art gallery, and other historic places we saw techincally from our car window but decided that it counted as sightseeing, we decided to go to the Prince of Wales Museum, so that we could finish the confounded sightseeing today and hit all the shops tomorrow peacfully. It was 4 o clock by then, and of course, raining in Lucknow the moment we had left it, and humid in Mumbai the second we had entered it.

 The museum was beyond beautiful. Mumma and I even bought one of those pre recorded audio visual tours. But we could not enjoy it. All we could think about was how much we wanted to get a coke and drive back to the hotel and play QuizUp. The tour was supposed to last for more than sixty minutes, but after approximately five and a half minutes we gave up. The museum was fascinating, and it had an entire exhibition about Krishna, which I would normally love, and I even spotted a semi hot boy by the Great Bath Exhibit, but I had had enough. I'd gotten up at 7:30 to drop my sister, and I'd only had a four hour long power nap. I needed to recharge myself.

That's how mumma and I visited six historic places in the space of three hours, and ran out of a restaurant which is probably still waiting for us to return.

The End.

Mayhem in Mumbai

Good evening lovelies! I have woken up from my 4 hour nap, rereshed as ever. I'm in Mumbai, and I reached yesterday,  but I have already committed two embarrassing crimes. Before I get to Day 1, let me start with Day 2.

Today morning, we had to wake up at 8 am, which is a time of the day I am not familiar with, to have breakfast, which is a meal I'm not familiar with, since I usually wake up by lunch time. However, my sister's internship started at 10, so we had to have breakfast and then go drop her since it was her first day, and since my heart is only full of love for others, I agreed to sacrifice my precious sleep. Before we begin, let me tell you about her. She's five years elder to me, and extremely pretty and witty, though I'd never tell her this. She's better than me at everything, with the exception of Sims and sports.  She's going to start her 4th year in Law School. Okay that's enough. Getting back to the story.

The breakfast was a buffet. Now, in case you're unfamiliar with me, a few blind people call me 'thin.' They poke me and say, Do you ever eat? If you want proof that I do, more than normal people,  read on. Buffets are tempting. Not because their is so much to eat. There are so many different things. Should I have a chicken sandwich? Or a cupcake? Both? Together? Okay!!!

I had, a sugered doughnut,  a smoked salmon sandwich, a slice of bread (with nothing on it for some reason), a glass of mango juice,  watermelon, oranges, a cheese and vegetable omelette, and a cup of tea.

 Now my sister claims that the 'mango juice' I had was actually on display for other customers,  and I wasn't supposed to have it. It was kept in a tiny bottle in an isolated corner of the room. I asked the waitress if I could help myself to some, and I did, but when I asked for ice, they brought me a fresh glass. So maybe I did have a few sips of stale mango juice which was on display for other customers. So what. YOLO.

There was one waiter who I'm sure hates me, because whenever he would come in our direction, I would ask him to do/bring/take away something. He said to me oh my god you little nuisance you're so tiny how the hell can you eat so much I hate you leave me alone!!!!!!! I mean he didn't really say that. He said it more with his eyes. It's a wonder he didn't spit in my omelette, (which I asked him to bring) which is what I would've done if I were him. So anyway I was pretty tired after eating just about everything in just about every possible combo. As soon as we dropped my sister off, I took a well deserved nap, and just woke up from it.

About Day 1. Mumma and I were to travel to Mumbai. Mumma and I are completely alike. We make an amazingly interesting combo. My father makes us leave for the airport approximately 8,000 hours in advance. So mumma and I were sitting there, all checked in, waiting for our flight, wondering what to do. That's when we spotted a tiny cafe tucked away in the depths of the airport (not really. It was to our immediate right. I don't know how we didn't spot it before). We immediately bought two huge slabs of chocolates and settled down. I ate mine while reading a book. Mumma had two bites of hers, intending to save the rest for my sister (she finished it during the flight) and meanwhile whatsapped away to glory. We were sitting right by gate 5, where our plane was supposed to arrive, at 12. Surprisingly,  by 11:55 the boarding wasn't announced. By 12:15, when we should've been freaking out, we were absorbed in our own littlr worlds. Finally, mumma's phone rang. She answered it and her face turned white. She grabbed my hand and we started to run. Turns out, the plane was due to arrive at gate 4, God knows why we had decided it was gate 5, and we were the last two passengers who were not on the plane. They had been repeating our names from the past 20 minutes, asking us if we wanted to board or not.

So that's how I delayed a plane by 15 minutes and ate everything in the buffet in the space of 48 hours.

The End. 

3-D glasses - A mystery to behold

And the goddess has officially crossed 630 views! Wohoo! Awesomeoness calls for celebration. Also, I may not be able to write a new post everyday, only when something post-worthy happens, I shall blog about it. I don't want to waste my time, and more importantly yours, because I love you.

I'm pretty sure all of you are by now familiar with my partner in crime, Izzy. Yesterday, I went to watch a movie, X-men (at 8 in the morning) with Izzy, and a friend, let's call him Tall-y. (I'm great with names.) Anyway, the movie was in 3-D, and as most 3-D movies, it required 3-D glasses, which, like all 3-D glasses, make you look like a total (and complete) idiot. So, there we were, Izzy, me, and Tall-y, watching our 3-D movie. Izzy had seen it before, so Tall-y and I were constantly asking questions at the top of our voices like Izzy why is that girl bluuue and Izzy whatttt's happening, Izzy explain the moviiiiiiiiie which led to Izzy throwing popcorn at us. At one point, Izzy's phone fell down, below the seats, and then it ran 45,000 miles away, so Izzy had to crawl on her hands and knees and search for her phone up and the down the aisle as well. I helped her by laughing. I'm sure the theater will never let us return. But that is not the point. After the interval, Izzy and I returned to our seats, and we had missed a bit of the movie, so we frantically put on our glasses and tried to make sense of what was happening in the movie. Twenty minutes into the movie, Izzy snatched my glasses off my nose and gave me hers. She claimed that her glasses had mysteriously stopped working after the interval, so she needed mine. I playfully smacked her on her face and snatched my glasses back. Izzy decided to take a nap instead of watching the movie with defective glasses. After the movie was over, we went to return our glasses. Izzy is a crazy, I mean, er, strong-minded person, and she always needs to give people a piece of her mind (I love you Izzy). She walked up to the person collecting the glasses, gave him the glasses and said, Excuse me, you gave me defective glasses. The man looked at her like she was crazy and said Ma'am, these are your sunglasses. Basically, Izzy being Izzy had watched the entire movie wearing her aviators and that's why she couldn't see anything 3-D-y. Tall-y and I had a jolly good time laughing at her. I frankly love Izzy for being so blog-worthy.

 I have promised my sister, however, that the next post will be about her. I'm going to meet her tomorrow after a lot of months, so if we don't end up fighting, or if I don't end up accidentally tripping her and then kicking her like that time when she tried to play Sims when it was actually my chance, I will definitely blog about her. Thankyou for reading. You rock, whoever you are. Let me know how you liked Izzy's craziness. Comment below! 

Serious Issue Sunday #1 - Friends of the opposite sex

Note - *If you have/will ever had/have the (mis)fortune of meeting me, the last thing you'll think of me as will be a serious person. And I don't want my blog to be serious either. I want it to be a funny one, a simple one, with no airs or graces, where you can read about my awesomeness and stupidity and laugh.
But life isn't all fun and games. The pen is mightier than the sword, and I want to write to bring a change into the world. Every Sunday will be a special edition blog day, where I'll discuss matters that need resolving. All feedback is welcome.*

Why can't we have friends of the opposite sex?

I am an 11th grader. I am proud to say that all my best friends in school are boys. I'm not a tomboy nor am I boy crazy. I love mascara and lipglosses. I love arm wrestling with my crazy classmates during intervals. I love wearing high heels. I only sit with/talk to boys in school. No, I am not madly in love with them. No, they're not madly in love with me either! We're JUST friends. I have my fair share of girlfriends too, so why can't I hang out with boys and not have teachers and adults raise their eyebrows at me? Its pathetic! Why can't we be allowed to be friends with people of the other gender? At the end of the day, aren't we all human? Let me quote an example of how narrow minded society is.

A few weeks ago our school took us for a movie. I chose a spot with my friends, like everybody else. I obviously want to sit with people I like! Even if its my favourite movie, and you make me sit in a theatre with people whom I don't know/like, will I enjoy myself? No. I sat with a few boy friends, and within approximately five and a half seconds, the boys were asked to get up, leave, and shift to another row, and a few girls were seated beside me (who were extremely generous and kind thankfully). Now hold on a moment.

I understand what the school board/teachers think. Its sort of justified. We're teenagers. We have feelings and hormones we can't control. Leaving girls and boys together in a dark theatre? Yeah...I don't think so. What they don't understand is, stricter rules create wilder students. We need them to trust us. We are not going to snog in theatres. We just want to sit with people we want to. That could be a girl or a boy or a walrus or any damn one. If you don't want us to be irresponsible, give us responsibilities. Set some ground rules, but let us learn from our mistakes. Give us thr power to differentiate the right from the wrong. Restricting our movements like this will make us sneaky. We don't want that, and belive me, neither do they. 

Summers - They suck

The temperature is currently 39 degrees. It feels like the sun has specifically chosen our town to shine down upon. It feels like at any moment, all of us will succumb to death. Everyone is in an irritable mood. Even the air conditioners seem to hate us. They're all no you do not deserve fresh, cool air!!!!!!!! and are instead emitting refreshing gusts of warm, dusty air. Everyone is sweating bullets, and everyone in my house is ready to kill each other. At times the electricity decides to ditch us too, so that really is the cherry on top of the cake. When the weather is as horrible as this, this is what you should not do -

I woke up at one thirty in the afternoon, in a pool of my own lovely sweat. The electricity was out. My friend, let's call her Gizzy, brought over some chocolate for me, and we gossiped for a while, so at least the starting of my day was productive.

Later though, after I had studied Physics for some time (haha, no, not self study, tuition) I decided I needed to live my life to fullest, today. 7th June had to be awesome. I needed to do something unforgettable.

I called Izzy and asked her for ideas. Being the genius that she is, she suggested that we should drive to the nearest tuck shop, load up on snacks, then mindlessly watch a tv show or a movie at her house. I agreed, and we started to think about possible means of transportation. Both of us drive, but since I rammed the car into a pole not twenty four hours ago, driving by ourselves was not an option. Neither of our parents agreed to take us either. We had to be self reliant. We needed to reach our destinations ourselves. We needed to achieve our goals by our own means. We decided to cycle to the tuck shop. By we, I obviously mean that Izzy would ride the cycle and I would sit behind her. We've done this many a time, once at 12 in the afternoon, during a lovely May morning, with the sun beating down upon us, when Izzy called her mother halfway through the ride and said, and I quote, Momma pick us up, I think I'm about to die. Why we cannot simply take two cycles will remain forever a mystery. But we are deviating from our topic. So, Izzy agreed to cycle to the shop, while I sat behind her, holding an umbrella for her, which made me lose my balance, and I also sang loudly into her ear, and danced a bit too, to entertain her, but the other pedestrians as well. The shop was 2 kilometers away, but I must say I got pretty tired what with my constant entertaining. We managed to reach the shop and get back to the house safely though. After cycling 4 kilometers, Izzy looked she might kill herself and/or me, so I said I would reward her.

"How?" She asked me.

I replied, "I'll blog about it."

This is not a real post

I AM SO HEEPPPPPYY. I have reached 380 page views in the space of three days! A toffee for all you lovely people is due. I know most of the page views are from people who know me personally, but I shall remain optimistic as ever, and blog on like a good blogger.

Anyway, I have nothing to blog about; nothing interesting has happened to me in this past week, except for when I was sleeping, and then I woke up to find a tiny spider crawling across my left eye. It was a lovely feeling, when all eight of his/her legs scurried across my eyelid. 

So anyway, I know what I'm going to blog about tomorrow, but that's going to be a Special Sunday Blog. Don't forget to check it out! So, for today, since I'm not writing much, you can have a flying picture of me when I was 7 years old to entertain yourself :

Llama Cinderella - It's a thing

Fairy tales. You've read/heard/seen one, you've read/seen/heard them all.

A beautiful princess, subjected to a harsh life of cruelty by someone jealous of her beauty or money, (no, not personality. It's never the personality.) Cue handsome prince, who whisks her away and the live Happily Ever After. All fairy tales are the same. Hold that thought.

It was a beautiful morning, full of birds chirping outside, singing the song of their people, the wind blowing through people's hair; the perfect sort of day to stay in and have a movie marathon. I called my best friend, let's call her Izzy, and told her to bring some movies over. Now, Izzy has the best collection of movies. She has everything from Harry Potter to New York Minute. I thought we could have maybe a back to back F.R.I.E.N.D.S. marathon, or watch Aisha for the zillionth time. But life decided to be cruel to me.

Ah, Izzy.

I opened the door for her, and noticed she wasn't carrying her hardisk, which is where she stores her movies, and had instead in her hand, multiple CDs.

"What's this Izzy?" I asked, aghast.

"Oh, you know. Cinderella movies." She answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and should've been my first guess. 

I know what you're thinking. Cinderella movies? Like... more than one? 

Such were my thoughts. 

Apparently, they were different versions of the classic fairy tale, from all over the world, and probably dubbed into English.

She insisted they were great, and we must see all of them.

We started with Rumpelstiltskin for some reason, which has nothing to do with Cinderella, but I had never seen the original one, so Izzy forced me to watch that horrible, poorly edited and dubbed version, in which Rumeplstiltskin's face looked like it had been chewed off by a blind, rabid dog. That movie still gives me nightmares.

After that lovely experience, we got down to business and saw the first Cinderella movie. It was the most tolerable one. The story line was pretty much the same, except that Cinderella and all other characters belonged to an African tribe. It was quite enjoyable.

Things became odd when we saw the next few ones. In one of them, the story line was again pretty much the same, except that all characters were frogs...or maybe fish, I don't remember. I could call Izzy and ask her what they were exactly, but I'm afraid she'll make me watch them again.

The highlight of the movie marathon, and the highlight of the day, and the highlight of my life was Llama Cinderella. It's the best movie I've ever seen.

Ah, Llama Cinderella.

Llama Cinderella, as you can surely guess, guest stars a Llama.

Cinderella lives with her evil step mom, younger half sister, who's jealous of her, you know the drill. Only difference is, they're not rich, and they have a couple of pet Llamas. The plot twist arrives when one day Cinderella is washing clothes by the creek, and some of them fly away due to a strong wind. Cinderella, who chases after the clothes, finds herself on the doorstep of a kindly woman, who asks her to look after her cottage and children for a while. Cinderella has a heart made of gold (she had nothing better to do) so she willingly agrees. The woman returns after some time, to find that Cinderella had taken excellent care of her house and children. She gives Cinderella a gift.

A magic wand? 

Wealth?

The Crown?

Nanospeed 5500?

No.

A star on Cinderella's forehead. (Don't try to find the logic. You can't.)

So Cindy returns with this new star on her forehead, and her half-sister is all Yo mom wth I want like a star on my forehead too so step mumma is Um, okay then how about you go wash clothes by the creek and do stuff that cindy did.

However, the step sister is not golden hearted like Cindy, so she fails to please the woman, and hence returns with a star-less forehead. Now, one daughter cannot have a star on her forehead while the other does not. Inter-sibling rivalry is not tolerated. So Cindy had to tie rags on her head to keep the star from showing.

Fast Forwarding many years, the prince comes looking for an eligible bride, and he comes to Cindy's house as well. Step mummsy and half-sister keep Cindy hidden, so as to increase half-sister's chance of making the Prince fall in love with her. So the Prince comes to their house, is disappointed , as is about to leave when... 

The hero of the movie enters. That's right. It's the Llama. So what happens is, the star from Cindy's forehead detaches itself, and flies to the Llama's forehead, blessing it with the power to speak.

"The true bride fit for the Prince is CINDERELLAAAAAAAAAAAA!" The Llama cries out like a total kiss-ass.

Instead of thinking Holy Shit, a talking Llama!!!!!!!, the Prince is all, Marry me Cindy, though I know not your full name and whether or not you're a psychotic serial killer. 

So yeah. That was Cinderella...but with a Llama.

The End.

English - A difficult language

Like your average sixteen (okay, fifteen and nine months) year old, I devote much of my time looking back upon my childhood. Its refreshing and somewhat displeasing to discover how little I knew about life back then. I look though my old diary entries, for instance, and instead of finding relevant things like I played badminton today I find stuff like I was torning the paper.
Let's take a moment here and acknowledge the fact that I am well versed with the English language. I do not support the use of improper grammar, nor am I a poor orator. I wirte poems, and one was published in the newspaper as well. (He who brags has little to brag about. Also, um, am I insecure or what.)
Having said that, I was not born reciting Wordsworth as one would have naturally thought. Inspite of living in London for a year when I was one, by the time I was one or two or maybe three, I could only communicate crookedly by inventing words like "Ponkha" meaning of course, popcorn, and "Ishish" meaning ice cream. I'm pretty sure the only legitimate English words I knew were "okay" and "shut up", so that was something to be proud of. I was a pretty confident and happy child so little bothered me. Things became uncomfortable after an incident that changed my childhood.
It was a bright sunny morning in May. Maybe, I don't actually remember. I was five. I was talking to my friends about the usual businesses in life, when my friend said the word 'marriage' and I froze. Marriage? What a peculiar sounding word. Oh no. Everyone was nodding. How did evryone know what the bloody word meant? What was I supposed to do? I was only 5, and unprepared for such worldy affairs. My friends noticed that I was hyperventilating and they sensed something was wrong. You're five years old, and you don't know what marriage means? They said with looks of disgust. The words stung. I blinked away my tears. I drew myself to my full height, which, wasn't a lot, and looked them in the eye and said with as much dignity as I could muster at that point; We're not supposed to know so much English yet.
*
Basically, by this post, I made two points-
1) If you ever feel like you haven't accomplished much, remind yourself that you knew the meaning of marriage.
2) If you need a good comeback, do not contact me.

Sims - A marriage turned creepy

Before commencing this rant, I must admit to myself a fact. In all honesty, I never thought that if I started a proper blog, I'd blog about baby lizards or 90210. I thought I'd start a blog about maybe reviewing books written by Jeffrey Archer, or maybe I'd write about serious issues like the lack of Kurkure in the school canteen. But, okay.
In all honesty, I say 'in all honesty' a lot, so I promise to you I shall never say it again. In this post.
Okay!
Ah, Sims. In case you happen to have a life unlike me and don't know what The Sims is, its basically this virtual reality game where you can customize an avatar, your sim, and then you have to get a job, build a household, get married, have kids, (spellcheck changed have kids to have aids) and pass on your legacy to your children. The point of the game is basically, um, nothing. It's awesome and I love it. But when you're entrusted with so much power, the power to build more people (more sims) and change the shape of their nose and the sound of their voice, things are likely to get out of hand.
I was living in a sprawling bungalow (in Sims, not real life!!) with my husband and my two sons, one was a teen, let's call him Pierre and the other a young adult, let's call him Jaque. None of the sims in town were good enough for my boys, so like a creepester, I decided to build a new household, with two girls,one teen one young adult, and place it in my town. Yes, I was going to build my daughters-in-law. People do it all the time.
Now. I made a gay couple, and I wanted them to have two daughters, one teen, one young adult (YA). Apparently, a YA couldn't be living with her parents, (wow Sims,  judgmental much) so instead I made the YA the sister of one of the men, let's call her Mariam, and the teen was the daughter, let's say Amber, who'd grow up to marry my younger son. Follow me? Jaque and Mariam, Amber and Pierre. Creepy and pathetic, just like I wanted. But alas, happiness would evade my family for years to come.
Things were going splendidly. Jaque and Mariam got married and had a son. Amber and Pierre started dating. However, once THEY became YA, things took a left turn into creepyville. Once Amber and Pierre got married, the relationships within the family became a bit odd. Amber was Mariam's niece, so Pierre should be her nephew-in-law. But Pierre was Jaque's brother, so Amber should be her sister in law. So, what is the true relation between these four people? Such questions should be put up in SATs and CLAT exams. If you can answer this, you will win my copy of Sims Expansion Pack : Showtime, and not because I lost it yesterday.
Also, I like to believe that Pierre and Amber no longer have dinner with the rest of the family. They hide in their room due to shame.

Baby Lizards - Scarier than regular sized ones

Shakespeare once said, "Only thing-eth worse-th than having a baby lizard-eth in your room-eth, is not knowing where the baby lizard went-eth."
This will make a lot of sense. Later. Maybe.

I was halfway through my trigonometry exercise when I remembered I had blogging to do. I decided I had studied enough for today (5 questions) so here I am. 

In all honesty, I'm in a pretty bad mood, but writing soothes the heart, and what not, so let's make the pain go away by talking about happy things. Yes, the baby lizard.

Ah, baby lizards.

I was entering my room a few minutes ago, completely unaware of the dangers that were waiting for me right in the lap of Satan. I opened my door, and just then, with my eagle/hawk-like vision (ignore the fact that I'm myopic) I spotted it; my doom. A baby lizard perched on the edge of my door. The first thought that came to my mind was not I'm going to blog about this like one would've naturally thought. It was I'm probably going to die. I didn't though, (surprisingly) and I handled the matter in a very mature and brave manner. I let out a squeal, sort of like a blood curdling scream, but in a whisper, since I didn't want to wake my family up. I know, I know. My heart is full of love for others even in the middle of catastrophes. But we are deviating from the point. I went into my room anyway, avoiding any contact with the door. I swiftly turned around to look at that tiny lizard, with a meet your maker you tiny animal!!!!! sort of look, but it had disappeared.

In a nutshell, there's a baby lizard somewhere in my room, but I have no idea where. 

 

Page Views - A controversy

Two posts in one day?
Am I not the best blogger ever?
(Yes. I am.)
Page views. Ah, yes. I thought I had lots of page views. I posted a few hours ago, and I saw that I had lots of page views (by lots I mean 6). Impressed with myself, I vowed to write more; after all, the people loved me work. (Okay, 6 people). Anyway, I was checking my previous post out, when I saw that the page views had increased to 7. Awesome, right? No.
It was all me.
I am my own audience. Every time I read my own blog, the stupid 'page views' thing increases.
Life is sad.
Nobody is reading my blog.
I will still remain optimistic. 

Blogging is tough

I'm bored. That's the bitter truth. So why am I here?
Well.
Ask my mother.
I was having a perfectly good night, playing (very horribly) Candy Crush Saga at 2 a.m. in the morning, when Mother is all, "You're in 11th! Why aren't you studying or something?" and I'm sitting there trying to figure out a way to answer her question while simultaneously figuring out how to blast all the remaining candies in just two moves, when I realize all I've done since morning (which is 12 p.m. for me) is watch 90210 (episode 1, things are not looking so good for Naomi yet) and play CCS. I needed to do something better with my time. Something to keep me challenged and motivated. I wanted to like, go outside and maybe click pictures of a red chested chameleon dancing with an angel or something. The only problem with that plan was that
a) I didn't have a camera
b) I don't know how to click pictures
c) Chameleons scare me.
I needed something simple, yet exciting. I couldn't be bothered to upload another YouTube video, since the last time I did, it got like 5 likes. (3 from my family). So...that was out.
But.
Blogging?
Okay.
Let's give it a whirl.
In all honesty, this is my 3rd blog. I deleted the first one; it got very few hits. I forgot the password (and er the username) to the second one. Ah, well, you know what they say; "Third time is the best time" or something like that, I wouldn't know.
But.
Blogging is tough. I have so far figured out how to do the following-
(This is just a trick. I have figured out nothing so far.)
Things like 'pick template' and 'enter sub-domain name' are pretty alien to me, but I'm trying my best to take it in my stride.
Oh, well.
*Note: I have accidentally created about 7,000 blogs from this account and I don't know how to delete any of them. Help.