Rainy Days Aren't Always Fun

Nicknames are a weird thing.

I've had loads. My name is very peculiar as it is. It's not spelled in the usual way. It has an o in it. For reasons unknown.

Anoushka is a Russian name (spelled "Annushka"). My father studied Russian in school and he always had this bond, I guess, with Russia and all. Anyway, that's why my name is spelt so weirdly. I swear to God, every English teacher has told me at least once that my name is incorrectly spelt (why don't you let me decide how I spell it). So basically, my name is always misspelt on cards, certificates, and Starbucks.

Hence the many nicknames. They range from good ones, like Ansha, Aku, Anoushki, Kurdedaan (meaning of course, trash can) etc to um, particularly well thought out ones, like Ak.

Nicknames - A test

Q - Calculate how many seconds were spent on coming up with the nickname Ak.

A - Approximately half a second.

Anyway, the latest nickname I have is baby.

That's right.

Why? Why, baby, you may ask. I ask myself the same question. It all started when one of my teachers called me that. Accidentally? I don't know. Anyway, when Hot-y and Tall-y heard it for the first time, they got that shine in their eyes that my dog Sid gets when I let him have my leftover Pizza (the food item, not the friend), and a billion jokes have thus been formed since then. Anyway, that has now become my official nickname. This long rant about my nickname-ness was to answer all the queries I have been getting, regarding my personal life (i.e. none).

Today was Hot-y's birthday! (Technically 13 minutes ago). It was a hoot and a half. We went to a disco, and even though my foot hurts a lot, I completely forgot about that, especially when the (horrible) DJ played Give me everything for the third time. I jumped around and danced like a lunatic, and I'm pretty sure it's worse now, meaning of course, I cannot play badminton for another week or so, and I will have to play Sims instead. Which is what I did today for two hours instead of

1) bathing
2) studying
3) wrapping Hot-y's present

Ah speaking of not doing stuff. It rained a lot yesterday. And day before. And day before day before. A lot. Something horrible happened to me.

The last bell had rung. I was in the canteen with some friends, trying to open a frozen bottle of Mountain Dew, when I saw that the weather was all hahahahaha okay let me ruin your day and it had started to rain crazily, randomly. I was perplexed. I had to cross the field to go to the school lobby, and then I had to cross the parking lots to get to my bus. I was all YOLO, and I decided to run till the lobby, which was actually a ten-second-journey, but I was drenched by the time I reached the lobby. Luckily, I spotted Tall-y (who is, as you might have guessed, tall) and we decided to run for our lives and catch our respective buses together. Now, Tall-y must be six feet tall, and I'm somewhere around five feet something. Naturally, he ran faster than me. Way faster. What that lovely boy did was, he told me to follow him, and I limped towards him, carrying with my poor twisted ankle, and my bag weighing a thousand pounds, trying to avoid the rain entering my contact lenses, and trying to keep up with my helpful and chivalrous friend. Basically, I fell. Into a puddle. A big one. And I couldn't get up. For a very long time. And all my juniors stood around me. And laughed. A lot.

To make a long story short, my mother shall be dropping me to school on rainy days.

Also, I'm not sure if I really like the concept of going to college all that much. Mars (my friend) leaves for college day after, and it will be particularly sad, because he is the last senior I was friends with who hadn't gone away yet. So his departure shall mark the end of an era regarding Kapoorni's friendships'. I hugged him five times today. I would've hugged him again, but he had to go home. Pity. I told him repeatedly he should just stay in this city and give me company, and I gave valid reasons too (why do you need college, what good will studying law do, etc) but he will still go. I don't understand why we can't just have this one country/city dedicated to colleges, so that all your friends can be with you, and also, since we're on the subject, this college country/city should also have a paragliding area because that sounds pretty awesome.

Anyway, it is very late, and I have to study Principle Mathematical Induction tomorrow morning.

Kidding.

I need to catch up on reality shows with Izzy tomorrow morning.

(No, I will study PMI.)

(Probably)

Injuries Are Injurious

The human body is a fascinatingly ridiculous thing.

I hate it.

My parents are doctors. Meaning of course, I could never pull the old I think I'm ill, may I skip school today routine on them. That being said, I think I am singlehandedly responsible for all the profit that any medical institution makes. Or will make. Or has made. My medical history will astonish one and all.

It's crazy. I mean hello, I would totally be fit if I worked out more. I shouldn't fall ill/break bones this often. Also, I have the freakiest of accidents. There should be an entire section on Ripley's Believe It Or Not dedicated to me.

For instance, when I broke my right elbow when I was maybe seven, I wasn't even sure how I broke it. There's this huge slide in one of the parks we used to play in (I won't say I still don't go there with Pizza at times) and I was sliding down the slide like a normal slider would, when suddenly, my elbow hit the base of the slide or something, and next I knew, my elbow was sticking out in a weird position.

What. The. Hell.

Who breaks a bone like that? When I broke my right wrist about two years after that, I didn't even know it was broken until a full day. I had collided with a cyclist upon which my wrist had been supposedly hit, but I reckoned it was a sprain, and even continued to write with my hand the next day. It was until I came home and my parents saw that my hand had swollen up, that I realized it was a hairline fracture. That was awesome though, because it didn't require a lot of medical attention, but I got this kickass cast which everyone signed, and I was excused from all homework for about two months. (Basically I'd sit in class and play noughts and crosses with my friends, but my wrist would suddenly become too fragile when there was social studies homework to complete, how convenient.)

That was actually a pretty non weird injury. Hold on to that thought.

In 8th grade, I really wanted a huge dog, and I have a labrador, which is a huge dog, but you must remember that I am delusional and crazy, and I wanted a dog basically the size of a horse so that I could like sit on it, and I could ride it. That didn't stop me from pretending that my doggie was my horsie, and I tried to get him to act like a horse (I tried to make him give me a ride around the garden) upon which he made me fall to the ground. Long story short, soft tissue injury in right elbow.

The list does not stop there. I have suffered fates way worse. When I broke my hand the second time, I had another injury to pile onto my already tarnished immune system. I was having hot chicken soup, while watching, um, probably Shinchan. Anyway, the cup was full to the brim, and I am already not the carefullest of people. Basically, the soup fell all over my left thigh, resulting in First Degree Burns. I swear to God, that has been the most painful thing in my entire life. More painful than when I got my heart broken, or when I lost the final match in a badminton tournament; even more painful than watching the last episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It hurt. A lot. It left huge, freaky looking blisters. And scars. Which I have till this day. Also, I smelt of chicken soup. For like a month. To this day, I can't stand the smell of chicken soup.

Anyway, you get the idea. I get roped up into a lot of weird stuff. I know what you're thinking though. What is the weirdest one till date? Ah, that's a good question. When I had to surgically get a cyst removed from my lip, and for one month I had to keep hearing Anoushka got a lip job from my friends? (IT WASN'T A LIP JOB.) Or when a car ran over my right heel and I cried non stop and my parents were in Paris, unable to comfort me?

No. They are close competitions. But no.

The weirdest incident of my life - I was in Australia. The year was 2006. I had gotten my ears pierced three years ago, and like all 8 year olds, I loved wearing earrings. Like all younger siblings, I loved borrowing/stealing my elder sister's stuff. Basically, I wore these beautiful, tiny studs (not the male stud, the earring stud) for a long time. They were like little pearls, circular in shape. They looked somewhat like this -

They were really tiny though. One day, my father looked at me for a long time. A long time. Then he asked me why I was only wearing one earring. My hand shot up to my ear. Had I dropped one earring somewhere? No. I could feel both the earrings in my lobes. I went to have a look in the mirror.

Life is so weird.

One of the earrings had entered my earlobe. Like, wow. The front, circular part of the earring was actually inside my ear. 

Let me explain via a diagram -

It was...painful. I had this ouchie surgery, which required laughing gas.

Lettus talk about that for a moment. Laughing gas is not, as you would have naturally thought, a humorous fart. Laughing gas is basically Nitrous Oxide and is used as an anesthetic drug. Anyway, the surgery was pretty painful and weird and all that, but I think I consumed a bit too much of the laughing gas. I don't know the medical side effects and stuff are, but I'm pretty sure I was high. Like legit high. I kept hearing things, and seeing stuff. I was hallucinating. It was the weirdest (and awesomest) day of my entire life.

The point is, I twisted my foot yesterday. And I don't even know how. One second I was playing badminton, and the other second, I was unable to walk. I know, life is strange. So I'm stuck home today, since my mother, and my Math teacher have forbidden me to play today. Which means of course, I will watch reruns of Keeping Up With The Kardashians instead of studying Complex Numbers.

Long live procrastination!

An Ode To Broken Phones

Broken phones are like broken hearts,
(whether they're iPhones or Nokias or Androids, smart.)
It takes time and effort to put it right,
It really is the saddest of sights.
Let's begin the journey with Phone Number One,
It was the worst phone possible under the sun.
A hand-me-down, it was still a luxurious treat,
(I only used it to text the cute boy down the street!)
The keypad, within a month, refused to work,
Mother was somewhat angry, if not irked.
Along came Phone Number Two, a used blackberry,
But the old yet intact phone made me happy - very.
I now had an air of maturity around me,
Though circumstances would soon put an end to my glee.
For i went to a music competition to another city, and left my phone there,
On the train back, I looked around for the broken blackberry in despair.
In spite of the fact that I had broken the phone's frame,
I did not want it to be injured or maimed.
Even though I had spilled water on it twenty thousand times,
I loved that phone, it was special, it was mine.
So I thence returned home phone-less,
I got a severe scolding, (but another phone nonetheless)
Along came Phone Number Three, which was finally not a used one,
I vowed to care for it and protect it like a faithful mum.
After two months, the screen and keypad came apart,
I sheepishly asked my mother if i could perhaps buy another one from flipkart.
Thus came along Phone Number Four,
It was pretty much the same as the one before.
Initially I carried it in a pouch, protected and safe,
But I obviously will never learn from my ways.
I flung it around one too many times -
(And i'm not just saying this to help with the rhyme)
But the screen was crushed and it went completely blank,
As for my heart, below the ground it sank.
I was finally given a decent phone on my 15th birthday,
And hence Phone Number Five had an important role to play.
It finally had apps and a normal sized screen,
When I first held it, you should have heard me scream.
With it's sleek body and gleaming white frame,
I felt as though my life had not perhaps been lived in vain.
Maybe I will not destroy this phone, thought I,
But alas, fate was smiling upon me with a smile so wry.
That phone broke not just one time, but five,
Into the crux of the problems, let us dive -
Twice I dropped it, and the screen mercilessly shattered,
Third time the power button broke - the one thing that mattered.
Fourth time, it hit the ground after colliding with Marshmallow's head,
Fifth time, when my friend Mars called me at six in the morning, the shock made me fall right off my bed.
My mother refused to get it fixed now, "There is no hope" she says
"You're careless as shit, you'll never mend your ways!"
So maybe she didn't use those exact words, but you get the gist,
Basically, if a mobile were a super hero, I'd be the evil antagonist.

Bullying Is Bad

Wow so I saw the The Fault In Our Stars yesterday, finally. Let's talk about that for a moment.

I had just had a very (very) large Coke, and I really needed to go use the bathroom. Like really bad.

But I cried so much, I think my body got confused about which end I was supposed to lose water out of. It was like my body had decided to compensate by by making me cry so that I wouldn't have to pee.

It makes perfect sense. Don't question my logic.

The point is, it was an amazingly beautiful movie, and it made us cry a LOT. But obviously, like I pointed out at the top of my voice in the theatre, the book was better.

Anyway, that concludes my critical view (ish) vis-a-vis The Fault In Our Stars.

On a not so random note, do you know what's bad? Bullying.

Do you know who got bullied? Me.

I'd always been a skinny and puny sort of a kid. A crybaby too. I remember I had this toy which like sang songs and glowed in the dark or something. You had to push a button to make it sing and that was one of the most complex problems of my life - what was this magical button? How did it turn the toy on? How does one push the button? What is this witchcraft? I never figured it out. I'd simply start crying until my sister patiently pushed the button.

 I mean now I've evolved into what my sister calls, well, a man, since I beat all my (girl) friends in arm wrestling and maybe I've gotten clothes from the boys' clothes section more than once, and maybe because one of my friends calls me 'puberty boy' implying that my voice sounds like a boy's. Going through puberty. (Pretty self explanatory).

Anyway, I was not always the unbelievably sexy monster that I am today.

It was a warm day in August. Maybe. It could've been. I was in Nursery School. I was minding my own business and sitting beneath the slide (naturally) and maybe playing hide and seek (not eating dirt like Izzy claims I was). Suddenly, this boy from my class spots me having the time of my life sitting peacefully under the slide, and decides to destroy it. I still remember him. His name was Abbu Salim. He looked at me, and said to me the choicest of swear words in Hindi. I'm not going to mention them here. I'm not going to repeat them on this side of the grave. Anyway that was the day when a two year old made me cry using only words.

The other Major Bullying Event in my life was when I was maybe eight. I was playing football with my fellow buffoons (having not discovered badminton yet). That was the year I had returned from Australia and I had this weird obsession with and craze for beanies and bandanas and hats. Anyway, I was wearing one that day and Pizza, whom I was only acquainted with, (little did we know we'd grow up to be best friends heuehuehue) decided it would be a lovely idea to snatch my beanie off my head and throw it around. We had a gala time chasing each other around the field.

Ah, kids are so simple minded.

Anyway, pretty soon Marshmallow and, let's call her Momo, decided to join in on the fun. The details elude me but next thing I remember is getting beat up by two of my would-be best friends (thank you guys). They decided sit on top of me, just for the hell of it, and kind of, well, hit me. It was a actually kind of funny. Pizza was rolling around laughing. What basically happened was they pinned me to the ground then kind of hit me with my own shoes (for fun). We were all tiny so I I doubt that they were actually hurting me but that didn't stop me from bawling loudly at the top of my voice. My mother had it finally come and fetch me, even though the field was like right behind my house.


So that was how I got beat up by own shoes.

The End. 

Interviews - DOs and DON'Ts (Mostly DON'Ts)

While I may sound like a non-model student, what you cheeky minxes may not know is I was accidentally elected as part of the student council last year.

Was it because of my killer looks or my charming personality? Or both? Or maybe my subtle modesty? We may never know.

Quick recap before we launch into this. In 9th grade, I wasn't a part of the council, and God was I sad. I cried for days, maybe weeks, and it was really pathetic. It just shows how priorities change in life, eh? That's all I wanted throughout 9th grade, I'm not even kidding. I just wanted that gleaming golden badge on my chest with the word PREFECT written in bold, black letters.

In 10th grade, I was made the prefect of my house, and while it was obviously a wonderful opportunity and I was greatly honoured, I cannot help but wonder if it was worth all the tears I shed? (Not being sarcastic or ungrateful, just philosophical.) Also, it's ironic considering how much I wanted that badge, and when I got it finally, I lost it within a month.

Anyway, for those of you keeping score, (i.e. none) I'm now in 11th grade, which means that the council is being re-elected. I really want to hold a higher post this time, but I'm not going to say anything about that, because I don't to jinx my (already poor) chances. The point is this, that today was the interview. Well, something of the sort. See one of my favourite teachers got transferred to my house and is now my house master. I think he just saw me roaming around the corridors today (I wasn't technically roaming around. I was doing important work. Maybe even for Obama. Maybe not. No. I was writing a speech. For my house. Like a good Prefect. 10 points to Slytherin.) and asked me to appear for the interview. The interviews for the post I want weren't even being held today, so I think that interview was just to mess me up. Or maybe it was the real deal, I DON'T KNOW.

Here's how it went.

They summoned me in.

I went in, panting. (I had been running. For reasons unknown to humanity.)

The teachers were all sitting there, maybe six of them, and they quickly sized me up.

Subject appears to be panting. Subject has on a short skirt, with sinister marks of blue gel pen all over the left side. Subject appears to be in a good mood. Subject's socks are of uneven length; the right is longer than the left. Subject's shoes appear to be unpolished since 1998.

I was still panting and they asked me if I needed a minute. Ah, this was a test. Or was it? Retrospectively speaking, maybe I should have said yes, I need a minute, gone to washroom, combed my hair, calmed down, maybe wiped the ink marks from my skirt, and the smudged  Chemistry equations from my palms.

But I'm all about the spontaneity. I shook my head. I was ready. Come at me.

They asked me why I should be considered as a candidate. Ah, I had the answer to that. I launched into an explanation about how I was a good academic student, but I also keenly took part in co curriculars. I told them how I had taken part in a singing competition (that was 3 years ago) and how I was part of the Girl's Football team (we came 3rd amongst 4 teams) and I forgot to mention the extempore in which I had actually gotten a prize.

Go figure.

They asked me next what changes I would bring if I were selected as a candidate. Ah, yes. I had the answer ready for that as well. I once again launched into an explanation about how I don't think every student is given an equal opportunity and how I would personally make sure that every student from the junior most class to the senior most class would be informed about every upcoming event so that they could, I quote, be given a platform to showcase their inherent talent. 

Shut up, that's pretty good. Don't be mean.

Anyway, they asked me a bunch of more questions, like my strengths etc. The highlight of the day was when they asked me my weaknesses.

"Um." I said brilliantly.

Oh God, I'm such a narcissistic witch. My mind went blank, I swear to God. I mean I have a zillion weaknesses. Too many to count. You want a list? Won't clean room, stubborn, did not know correct spelling of protein until 6th grade, hyper active, lazy, loud, annoying IT GOES ON AND ON. But it turns out that apparently not being able to list my weakness is also my weakness.

I stared at them for a full minute then I mumbled something intelligent like "Ah, yes. My weakness. Hm. Okay, yes...My biggest weakness..would..probably..um..be..ah, yes.."

I did that for sometime until I finally said something about being very underconfident and irresponsible and how I could work on this by being trusted with a post.

Anyway, they seemed convinced (I hope) and there was a lot of nodding, and oohing and aahing, until finally, a teacher said, "Beta, what is up with your hair? It looks untidy."

Lettus talk about that for a moment. It was the zero period. Like school had begun 20 minutes ago, and my hair was already looking untidy? Great. One point in Kapoorni's favour. Not.

Secondly, I'm very touchy when it comes to my hair. I don't care about how ugly I may look, I want my hair to look perfect. (Which it never does). I nearly burst into tears right there and then. Not because I was pulled up by a teacher. Not because I might lose the post. But because my hair was criticized.

Also, I ask you this, as one rational person to another, how do I make it look tidy? I got my long hair chopped off in January (for reasons again unknown to humanity) and now it won't fit into a braid, or a pony. Then I got a bang. Now I just stuff it into a cap or a beanie all the time.

The only hairstyle in which it looks a wee bit tidy is the one in which I look like a boy. Like seriously, a legit boy.

On an unrelated note, Izzy and I had a big fight one time, because I said I'd be hotter than her if we were boys.

It's true. 

Working Out - A guide

I wish I were a cat. Those things are really fuzzy.

No lie.

Do you know what's the weirdest yet most entertaining shit in the entire world? Animal videos on YouTube. Dogs and cats can be jerks, Cute dog wakes up owner, Cat does handtsnad, Rat does cartwheel. (I might have maybe made the last two up. But it's the thought that counts.)

Izzy is obssesed with them. She makes me watch them against my will. She once made me watch a forty minute video about a dog trying to get up from the floor or something. Last month she made me watch a video about a rat who can like fetch the car keys or something (I forget the details). Today she made me watch one with a dog trying to act like a DJ.

I wonder if other people go through the things I do.

Anyway, do you know what's really, really, hard? Like tougher than learning Trigonometry? ( Just kidding, nothing is tougher than that.) Doing pushups.

Hold that thought.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all about the health and fitness and that sort of thing. It's not like I'm super skinny, and it's not like I eat only healthy food. In fact I haven't even tried 75% of the vegetables. But I really, really love working out. Pizza and I made this deal three months ago, we made an entire routine for ourselves, (20 squats, 45-second wall sit, 20 butterfly crunches, 20 lunges, 20 pushups daily, that sort of thing) and we really stuck to it. Our lowest weight reached was 48 kilograms, and everyday we tried to top each other and become even fitter. It was exhilarating and awesome, and if I sucked my stomach in a lot, and didn't breathe for a long time, and if you looked at me from a distance, you would totally think that I have a six pack. I'm not even kidding.

Anyway, it was great for a while, and I was really enthusiastic about it. I stuck little notes for myself all over my room. Stuff like Don't drink that last Coke! 45 kgs by 7th May, you can do it! Stay focused! 

I never forgot to work out. One time, we had gone out, and I was wearing traditional clothes or something, and I realized that I had forgotten to do the routine, so I did it there and then, doing crunches in my churdidar. But alas, I did not get my happily ever after. After some months, I fell sick, or maybe I had too much studying to do, anyway, I forgot to the do the routine for a few days, and then I completely forgot about it for a while. I was getting really good too, I could finally even do 30 (very) crude pushups, but at least it was something. 

Anyway, Pizza already had his stupid six pack, and I was nowhere near getting mine, so I just decided to stop the routine and eat chocolate instead. Until today.

Izzy and I were bored, and she randomly said something about a pushup. Upon hearing this term, my ears perked up, like my dog Sid's ears perk up when he smells Pizza. (The actually Pizza, not my friend the Pizza.) Anyway, I told her pushups were a piece of cake and I could totally still do them. Izzy laughed at me for a while then asked me to go ahead and demonstrate.

Heart hammering in my chest, I slowly got up from my chair. I felt like an Olympian. I subtly pulled up my shorts for the fear that they might fall off, and advanced towards the edge of the bed. (I CAN ONLY DO A PUSHUP WITH THE HELP OF AN EXTERNAL SUPPORT OKAY LET ME BE) I slowly lowered my body on the floor, or whatever it is you do, and immediately crashed to the floor. It hurt. A lot. I tried again, but I again hit the floor, and I couldn't even get up. I was just lying on the floor with my stomach on the floor, flailing about like a dead starfirsh. It was really sad. Izzy told me she could do it, and she confidently did exactly what I had done. It basically ended up with lying face down on the floor trying to get up (and failing). We stayed like that for a longer time than I would like to admit.

My mother finally came in and saw us lying on the floor laughing admist the dust and Sid's hair which he sheds 24/7.

I'm sure she questioned a lot of her life decisions when she saw me like that. 

Confusing Life Decisions

You guys, I'm such a non-model student. It's 11:12 p.m. and when I should be revising Chemistry or something I'm singing I see the light at the top of my voice. What is wrong with the kids of today? (A lot).

The human body is an amazing thing though. After staying up till 3 in the morning to watch the Fifa Final (IN YOUR FACE ARGENTINA) I still woke up and went to school like a good student. I even (somehow) sat through double Maths, double English and double Economics in spite of my repeated pleas to Hot-y/Tall-y to shoot me between the eyes.

I came home and took a well deserved three hour nap after which I told myself I would definitely complete-

24 hours later

Definitely complete what?! I have no idea, I no longer remember, nor do I care. Anyway, I'm still a non-model student. I somehow sat through my one-and-a-half-hours longer Physics tuition (sir had tricked me and not told me it would be half an hour extra today) with a splitting headache. It felt like somebody had sliced my head open. I really thought I'd die mid-way (I really, truly did).

 My body is crazy, no lie. It refuses to do any work all day long, except for when it's 2 am. Then it springs to life like it is ready to dance across the street. But at that time I'm supposed to be sleeping. Sucks how things work out.

Every damn day the same thing happens. I'll be sitting in class, listening carefully (ish) to what the teacher is saying, somehow trying to not hum stupid girls in my mind (somehow). Anyway, every day I make a mental note to myself - today I will go home, take a quick nap and revise everything taught in the class, and read ahead for the next day.

The second I reach home, after gobbling down lunch, taking out my contacts, I jump into bed and snuggle up and watch reruns of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. or How I Met Your Mother. After completing my sitcom syllabus, I reread old books, which I've read a gazillion times before (A Thousand Splendid Suns, Looking For Alaska, Harry Potter, etc) instead of reading something new or doing something productive. Next, I take all the snacks in my house into my room, and just lie there admist all the chips and biscuits and soft drinks, thanking God from my wonderful life.

Anyway, needless to say, I'm not very, er, determined or focused towards, well, productive stuff.

But that's not the only reason why life is strange right now. I fall sick every week. Like seriously, every other die I have fever. Tall-y politely suggested today that I might have tuberculosis. (Why, Tall-y, why?) So anyway, I know I'd get better if I rested for a full day, and everyday I tell myself that today I will rest and not play badminton, but I accidentally end up playing.

Accidentally. (Ish)

On an unrelated topic, I have no idea why I've taken PCM. If you ever need help selecting subjects, please do not contact me. I had previously opted for Biology, which I absolutely loved, which I started to hate after approximately three and a half seconds into my first Biology class in Eleventh grade. Now I have Physics, Chemistry, Maths and Economics, which is, well, interesting, but when I'm not going to like become an engineer (funny story, my English teacher told me he wanted to see me top the IIT entrance exam, and I nodded like Noddy the nodder and said Yessir in my most convincing voice, but I forgot to tell him I didn't want to go to IIT) these subjects really hold just about zero importance in my future.

During my last Math class, my teacher was showing me how to solve a particularly difficult question and suddenly put the pen down and asked me if all this would ever be required by me in my career.

I told him the truth -

 Sometimes I love Science, and Math, but sometimes I just want to burn my textbooks in a heap and dance around the fire. 

Stealing From Labs

LIFE IS SO UNFAIR WHAT EVEN IS HAPPENING

I fell sick again! Like come on, at least give me some time to recover! I can't even skip school because today I was sitting in Chemistry class like the complete moron that I am, not being able to comprehend a single word (in this one particular topic, the rest I could understand, I'm not that buffoon-like) until my teacher finally asked if I was okay, to which I gave an intelligent nod. Anyway so yes, I cannot even skip school tomorrow otherwise I shall look like an ever bigger buffoon, which, unlike what most of you may think, is possible.

School was so much fun today. Apart from the fact that I spent the entire two-back-to-back Physics periods singing Royals/Rap God/Radioactive/It's Time/Wake me up with my best friends, Tall-y who accompanied my singing and, I've never mentioned him before so let's give him a name, Hot-y (he told me to call him that) beatboxing, it was also our first ever Chemistry Lab practical today, meaning of course 30 out of 35 students had forgotten to bring the lab coats. Anyway we did this really cool thing called 'jetting a glass rod' where you basically heat a glass rod at one point in it's center, until it becomes all melt-y and squish-y (descriptions are not my strong suit) and then finally you can like pull the rod apart and it will separate at the center, hence sealing the glass rod, which is called 'jetting' it. Anyway it looks like a really cool icicle sort of thing, so I had a jolly time pretending to sword fight with my lab partner with our respective glass rods. The fun ended there, and we were told to throw all the bits and pieces of the rods into the bin.

Let's talk about that for a moment.

Let's say one is sitting peacefully, reading Archie comics, or being awesome in general. Not doing much. Then suddenly, an adult comes along and says, whatever you do, do not go outside and run around in the garden naked. Naturally, the only thing you'll want to do after that is go outside and run around in the garden naked. I'm a future psychologist, I know what I'm talking about. Believe you me.

The second we were told we had to separate ourselves from our beautiful glass-rod-icicle thing, I knew I had to pocket mine. Feeling like a criminal, I slipped it in between the pages of my Maths notebook (which I had with me during Chemistry class for what reason) and casually went back to the classroom. My heart was pounding in my chest. I felt like a changed human being. Pocketing broken glass rods? Had I not promised my family I would never bring shame to their name? What was I doing with my life? My face was marked with shame.

Until I found out that Tall-y had also pocketed his.

Long story short, if we go to prison, at least I'll have company. 

Being Sick - It's not fun

SO...MUCH...SLEEP...COMING

I have no work to do. My eyes are closing. This tends to happen a lot when I'm driving, which, for obvious reasons is neither very safe nor fun.

It's so hot right now (The temperature, not me you silly minx!), so naturally I'm sitting here with the lights switched off, wearing a thick jacket. Why? Because I fell sick. Again. 

Falling Sick - A Questionnaire

Is falling sick fun?
No.

Did it stop me from going to school?
Yes.

Did it stop me from completing my Maths/Physics homework?
Yes.

Did it stop me from interacting with people?
Yes.

Did it stop me from playing badminton/Sims?
No.

I had such a good, school-free day. I woke up at 11:30 and after attempting to solve about 10 questions from my Trigonometry exercise, I gave up and played Sims instead. In all honesty, school is actually better than staying home. Whenever I bunk school, I have this guilty, nagging feeling all the time. Like there's this tiny person sitting on my shoulder, whispering You should be studying! You missed school! WHY ARE YOU HAVING FUN AT HOME GO AND STUDY YOU'RE IN THE 11TH STANDARD FOR CRYING OUT LOUD into my ear. It can get quite annoying. It usually results in me thinking that I should study. I take deep breaths until that feeling goes away.

Anyway, things are pretty annoying at the moment. My left ear is blocked, so I can't hear anything from it which is extremely tiring. On a completely unrelated note, these are my current life goals -

Study and get into IIT.

Hahahahahahaha. NO. 

These are my real current goals -

1) Learn Rap God by heart till this time next week (because it's way fun-er than learning all 37 Trigonometry formulae) and/or

2) Start a vlog on YouTube

Ah, yes vlogging. Lettus talk about that for a moment, shall we?

Like I said in my first post, this is not my first blog. Similarly, if I do start a channel on YouTube, it won't be my first one. I've already done a cover of a song with Marshmallow before. Now, I will include the link, because everyone deserves a good laugh. We're actually pretty decent singers, but this video is a bit embarrassing. I mean Marshmallow sang really well, but my voice is a bit...frog-like? I don't know. Here's the link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOFzfRP7VpE.

Please do not judge. This was before we had gotten our eyebrows done. We were young, we were innocent.

Anyway, how did this whole vlog thing even start?

How all great ideas start.

I was bored.

I put up a status on Facebook, If this gets more than 20 likes, I'll start a vlog!

Wow, it got like 50 likes. I was not prepared for that. I might start a vlog though, I don't know. It's not like I have, you know, a life or anything.

I have so much work to do, it's really exhausting. To think about, I mean. I have to write a write-up for a debate on Water Conservation and Resources by tomorrow. WHY will any sane person speak against the topic has seemed to escape everyone's notice. I don't know, life is confusing and all.

On an uneven more unrelated note, I have started to reread Catcher in the Rye and in case you haven't read it, you should.

Okay my father just fell asleep on my neatly folded school clothes for tomorrow, I need go rescue them.

The clothes, I mean. 

Serious Issue Sunday #4 - Suicide is not the answer

July 6th.

I hate this day and I always will.

July 6th, 2013. A day that will remain etched into my memory no matter how hard I try to forget about it. I remember it like it were yesterday. It was a Saturday. It was maybe around 7 p.m., I had come back from playing badminton, and I was talking to my good friend Breezy on the phone and checking my Facebook. It was a great day. Earlier that morning I had been selected for a tournament, and we were discussing the day's events. I was laughing at something he was saying, when I saw I had a message from one of my friend's friend, let's call her Kuku. We weren't very close, so I was a bit surprised to hear from her. The message said, I need to talk to you urgently, please call me. I immediately messaged her my number and told her to call me whenever she wanted. I continued to scroll down the News Feed when my blood froze. Was this some sort of joke? I didn't say anything for a long time. Breezy asked me what was wrong. I started to howl very loudly and told him what I had just seen -

May you RIP. We will miss you. You shouldn't have left us like this. Come back, we miss you.

These posts were written on my friend's wall, let's call him Pooksie. (That was what we called him. He detested this name so naturally we only called him that.)

Everything suddenly made sense. That's why Kuku wanted to call me. She was Pooksie's close friend. She probably wanted to break the horrible news to me. Breezy and I were both crying by now, since he was good friends with Pooksie too, and I hung up and called Kuku as fast as I could and my worst fears were confirmed.

My best friend had been dead for two days. Pooksie had hung himself on July 4th.

I loved him and I will always love him. The reason for his actions is still unknown. He left us to starve for his presence, but we have forgiven him. He will always watch over us, and we love him to bits.

 Anyway, I don't want to mention Pooksie any further because

1) It's too personal
2) I'll break down

I was wasting time the other day, reading posts on http://iwastesomuchtime.com/ (see what I did there?) when I came across this beautiful quotation -

"Suicide does not end the chance of life getting worse. It eliminates the chances of it ever getting better."

Suicide. Why?

I know depression, I've faced depression. It can be because of the silliest reasons. I don't understand Physics. I want to drink Pepsi but I'm afraid I'll get fat. That cute boy won't reply to my messages. My dog is ill.

It could be because of any damn reason. 

 I think every teenager has been depressed at some point of time in his/her life. The magnitude and reason of the depression is not valid. One can be depressed for however big or small or insignificant a reason; whether over one's love life, or not making that desired Math grade - depression is depression. It makes one go crazy.

Why should I continue living? Things can never change. Everything will continue to suck. Nobody will ever care about me. I'm a pathetic and total waste of space. If I cut myself, will people start to love me? If I my wrists bleed, will the new pain numb the old one? If I hang myself, will the disturbance finally stop?

No. You can only fight depression. You can't end it suddenly by taking impulsive decisions. Every problem can be solved. You need to tell yourself. You were born into this world for a reason. Time does heal all wounds. It sounds sappy, but it's true.

Nobody can be happy all the time. It's not human. I'm pretty satisfied with myself all the time but sometimes I just need to break something, or shout loudly, or just cry into my pillow. It's normal. Our eyes have to be washed by tears sometimes to perceive things more clearly.

But that's not a good enough reason to end your life. Believe me, you might think that the stars may shine when you die, the sun might come out, the wind might blow. But without you, we don't want them.

I don't know who you are, random stranger. Maybe I know you, maybe I don't. Maybe you have a wonderful life, maybe you have a terrible life. Maybe you're having a crappy day so far, maybe today was the best day of your life. I don't know. But I care. And so do countless others. Never ever quit. Things get better. We may find ourselves in the middle of  nowhere sometimes. But sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, we find ourselves.

Cheer up. Things get better eventually. Life may seem cruel to you, and only you right now. But things will pick up soon, I promise. But don't quit. Please.

 Give life a chance, it's not that bad. 

That Badminton Match - A Life Altering Incident

Kapoorniandotherrandomthings turned a month old today! Hurrah and hugs!

Since most of the people reading this know me personally, some of you may know this incident already, since I recited it during a school extempore, upon receiving the topic Describe an incident that changed your life.

Fear not. You can laugh at my stupidity once again.

Getting down to business. Apart from wasting time, badminton is my favourite thing in life. I have an unhealthy obsession with it. I play everyday for hours, no matter what. If I have a Physics exam the next day, my teacher will specifically tell me to not play, but as many of you may know by now, I listen to only the following people -

(You've fallen victim to my tricks again. I listen to nobody.)

Anyway, Mother decided that if I was going to waste so much time, something good should come of it. We decided to get try out one of those Badminton Coaching things. I'm in 11th grade and all my classmates have joined coachings to help with their studies and/or competitive exams, and here I was, joining a coaching for a sport.

What a peculiar teenager.

Anyway, we set out, Mother and me, with high hopes. We went to our city's badminton stadium, in the hope to get me enrolled in one of the classes. I've played at that stadium before and it was extremely intimidating so I told my mother, and I quote, that I will "hide in the car" while she talks to one of the coaches. My plan backfired though since the coach beckoned me to come inside. I entered the stadium and it was just as scary as I remembered. I recognized some of the players and quickly hid behind Mother. The coach sized me up and told me to run five laps of the stadium.

Now. I had just had a McChicken combo, with a large Coke and I was afraid I'd throw up all over the beautiful stadium. But apart from being insanely witty (and outrageously modest) I'm also extremely stubborn. I nodded and began to run like a wild person. I'm good at a lot of things (braiding hair, peeling off fevicole, combing my dog's fur) but one thing I lack in life is grace. That's why I'll never be a good dancer (there goes my pole dancing career). I'm completely graceless. That's why I look crazy walking in heels. And why I look like a chicken when I run. So there I was, running around looking like Godzilla, when the coach had mercy on me and stopped me after three laps. I refused to drink any water and asked him what to do next. He told me to stretch whilst he looked for somebody to play opposite me to see how I played.

He came up to me with a tiny girl. I was kind of humiliated. Really? He was going to make me play against some small kid?! Um, okay then.

That girl was tiny. Honestly, she looked like my child. Nevertheless, we started the match, and I decided to go easy on her.

But she didn't decide to go easy on me.

Long story short, a girl three heads shorter than me and probably 1,000 years junior to me beat me.

Very bad.

Three times.

The coach didn't say anything because she was apparently one of the good players there (thanks for telling me that in advance!) and asked me to return the next day in the evening to start a crash course for three months. I nodded, smiled, thanked him, and left with Mother, with the promise to come back the next day.

Only we never did. I went home and cried and watched Pretty Little Liars on a loop feeling sorry for myself.

That coach still haunts me at night.

Best Game Ever

I'm facing a major crisis in life right this second. Apart from the fact that my right contact lens just did a backflip in my eye and it hurts like hell, my mother expects me to drink my milk without a straw. Really, wow. We're all adults here, let's get rational. I cannot drink it without a straw. Nobody understands me.

I'm a Science student. I've taken Physics, Chemistry, Maths, and Economics for higher studies in grade Eleven and Twelve (I'd previously taken Biology, and it had taken only one week for me to realize I will/can never ever ever ever ever like Bio again) even though I personally think I'm cut out for Arts. I mean I love Science. I do. My grandfather is a physicist. I'm supposed love Science. Runs in the family, etc. But there are times when this love is tested. Let me quote an example.

It was a wintry morning in January. Okay, no, I don't remember when this was. And it wasn't morning, it was midnight. Izzy was sleeping over at my house. The previous morning my mother had gifted to me one of those Do It Yourself - Easy Science Tricks for Kids! (ages 8-10). I had tried to build an electric circuit, but all in vain. The kit had all sorts of fascinating and science-y things like iron fillings, balloons (for the static electricity experiment), horseshoe magnets, wires, etc.

I showed it to Izzy, who confidently declared that she could easily perform any experiment. Long story short, she couldn't. She became too engrossed in the magnets and ended up playing with the horseshoe magnets. Next, she dropped all the iron fillings on my pillow. (I still maintain that they sometimes poke my neck in the night). We tried to make sense of the kit for hours and hours. I googled things like 'how to cut copper wire with hand' and God knows what else. We finally gave up.

Until.

We spotted the balloons.

Yellow and purple. Two, huge balloons. Calling out to us like a buffet at Taco Bell. This was our destiny. We blew up the balloons and had a gala time playing Hot Potato with it. But then we improvised. And invented the best game on Earth.

The rules of Chappal Badminton are sinple. What you need is a balloon, two slippers (chappal) and two people who have nothing better to do on a Saturday night. Anyway, the balloon functioned as our shuttlecock, and we held a slipper each, in place of rackets.

I'm not proud to say that we played this for many hours. Chappal Badminton can last for days, weeks, or months. I heard a tournament in Chicago lasted for five months. It only ends when the balloon bursts.

So that's how Izzy and I gifted to you the Best Game ever.

You're welcome, world.