Stepping Into Shit...Quite Literally

Breathe.

That is all I can do.

And hope. And perhaps pray? You tell me.

Lovelies! Something very sad and disturbing has happened to me, and I can't even believe I'm still functioning on account of the fact that I recently went through severe trauma and doctors (mommy and daddy) have advised me to rest in bed and not think about the complexities of life and definitely stay well away from hazardous equipments like my Physics Part II book. Yet here I am, because of my extremely selfless and larger than ever heart. And good looks. But we're deviating from the topic.

Where do I begin?

Okay. So today, fellow buffoon and part time model, ie, The Kapoorni, participated in an inter school fest. I participated in a poetry writing contest and a group song competition (we sang Gone, gone, gone in case you were wondering, which I'm 77% sure you weren't, but it doesn't hurt to be informative), both of which were held within the school hours, but since the host school was pretty far away from my own, commuting between the two took a lot of time, so we reached back to our school with only about forty minutes of school time left.

So there we were, all of my fellow participants, walking from the bus that dropped us off, to the school gate, wild and young and free, not bothered by the dangers that were in store for us (well, me, mostly).

I was talking animatedly (like I always do) to my friend Jai, telling him how he never looks at the person who is talking to him and how annoyed I get by that, so I was going on an on about looking at the person you're speaking to, and to illustrate my point, I said :

Me : You should look at me when I talk to you
Jai : Mmmm. *looks at trees*
Me : ...
Jai : *still looking at trees*
Me : Hey, hey, hey, hey, listen, listen, listen, listen
Jai : *turns to me* Yes
Me : *cleverly looks other way* oh hahaha how do you like this do you see what it feels like now hahahaha I'm not looking at you I'm looking in the opposite direction ahahahah lol at you yay not looking where I'm going tralalalala

After having displayed my point wonderfully, I quite forgot to look where I was going...and I subsequently stepped into a beautiful patch of fresh cow dung.

I felt my left foot suddenly glide across the pavement, and judging by Jai's expression, (who said, to quote, "Wow you cut the cake") I knew what had happened. I couldn't bear to look down, because I was afraid of what I'd see. So I did what any logical person would do.

I squeezed my eyes shut, squealed very loudly, took the cow dung-d shoe off with the tip of my right shoe...and I left it there.

Admist the cow dung. I showed the wretched shoe it's rightful place.

I somehow managed to hop back to the school, and desperately went around asking people to give me their shoes. I even generously offered a few girls a hundred bucks for one shoe, which is a good deal if you ask me, but like every genius idea of mine, that got shot down too.

I even had to compete in a race for my P.Ed. grade, and I tried to explain my circumstances to my P.Ed. teacher (Sir, I have recently been cow dung-d and I cannot possibly think about racing and so on when I obviously require critical care ASAP) but I failed to get the message across, and ran the race, and since I'm the conqueror of the world, I won, because that is just how I roll my lovelies.

So that is the story of how I hopped back to school, sporting a dirty sock, one shoe, and a brave smile.

Legend says that the shoe is still resting in the cow dung, casting misfortune on all those who pass it.

A Box Of Doughnuts

A ribbon of silk tied with a bow,
A glossy wrapping paper, that shone and glowed.
In it, was contained a box of  eight fried treats,
Of glazed, honey-dipped, and sugary sweets.
He had her favourites - all
She had admitted only last fall
Blushing slightly, she'd confessed,
How she was obsessed,
With these fried balls of dough,
(He didn't hear much though,
Distracted by the speckles of green in her eyes)
But then she had sighed.
She hadn't had them for a year or two,
(Peer pressure does that to you)
She thought herself fat, when she clearly was not,
Who wants to be curvy when you can be hot?
She thence skipped meals, and cried when
Looked at her 'fat' self in the mirror then
She cried and ate, and cried some more,
Then retched and dirtied the bathroom floor.
She was ashamed, yet she spilled it all to him,
She knew he wouldn't judge her for her sins.
It was all done in the hope to lose some weight,
And maybe finally score a prom date?
She'd said the last line with a bashful gaze,
He'd been thinking about her pained smile for days.
He wished he could make her see
How beautiful she could be,
When she didn't at all try,
How mesmerizing her face was, when she laughed, or even cried.
Knowing she'd love them, he got packed a box,
He knew it would be perfect to knock off her socks.
He also knew she'd refuse to eat them, but thank him for being so kind
But maybe the personalized message on them would change her mind?
Thinking happy thoughts, he shifted the gear of his car,
He hummed to himself, and saw her house from afar.
He got ready to pull up, the rearview mirror he checked,
It happened all too fast, his car beyond damage was wrecked.
She heard the crash and ran outside her gate,
She sunk to the floor when she recognized the shattered nameplate.
His possessions were sorted through, the box of  doughnuts lay forgotten,
If only to the right destination it would've gotten,
The message on them was still intact to those who would see -
The eight doughnuts read, "Will You Go To Prom With Me ?"

Vlogging and all

I've started a vlog.
Instead of studying.
It's about my days as a buffoon.
Here is the link -
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ywLUDK2erUM

Ex-Husband.

She closed her eyes.

A teardrop was balanced neatly upon her wet lashes. As she angrily stomped her foot, the tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes tumbled down her face in gay abandon, past her pale cheeks, past her long, flowing hair, and landed into her now damp dress, which had been a gift from her husband...or should she call him that?

Thinking this, she clutched her face in her hands, losing her patience, and cried hysterically, stomping her feet up and down. She gasped and forced herself to stop crying, regaining her strange calmness.

She opened her eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room, now mixed with a sinister, almost metallic smell. She ran her hand shakily over her usually smooth, but now, wrinkled forehead, almost as if trying to even out the creases set deep within her skin. She limply tried to finger-comb her hair, scattered all over her (usually) peaceful parlor. Absentmindedly she chewed on her bottom lip, then said out loud to no one in particular (or so it seemed) :

"My marriage is over."

There was a muffled cry at this. Hearing it, she once again angrily stomped her foot. She inspected her right hand, looking blankly at the gold and white ring adorning her finger. She twirled it around and around in her hand, remembering how, twenty seven years ago, her husband, well, now ex-husband, had gone down on one knee, prior to slipping it onto her bony finger. She remembered how she'd blushed, how he couldn't stop smiling. How he had vowed to love her, to cherish her, to take care of her. Were they just hollow words? Empty promises, holding no meaning whatsoever? Maniacally she stomped her feet, chuckling darkly, thinking of all the lies, her husband, well, now ex-husband, must have told her, while he was busy spinning a romantic tale with some other wretched woman. How he must have lied to her, day in and day out, while she unsuspectingly woke up next to him every morning, how she faithfully slept next to him every night, until today morning, when she had found a picture of this other woman in his wallet, with her phone number and a heart (what where they, teenagers?) scribbled at the back.

Recalling that awful moment, she stomped her foot once more and she took off her ring. Angrily she hurled it to the wall, from where it bounced off, and fell beneath her feet, striking against the metal of her knife, before landing squarely in the pool of her husband, well, now dead husband's blood.

Calmly she removed the knife wedged between her toes from her husband's, well, dead husband's heart, not bothering to cut open the ropes tying him.

She reached into her late husband's pocket and fished out his wallet, looking at the dreaded picture. She carefully scanned the picture, making sure she memorized it. Her lips twisted into an ugly smile. Pocketing the bloody knife, she kissed the man she loved for the last time, before hurrying out of the door.

She had another job to do. 

Pardon?

Lovelies!!

Greetings, fellow buffoons. I'm giving my mock IELTS tomorrow, and I'm pretty nervous(ish). While I do not really excel at good vocabulary-usage-ness and so on, what we must remember is that I am (extremely) over confident, so lettus hope and pray that little Kapoorni does well. Anyway, I was evaluating myself, thinking about my experience with English over the years, reflecting back on past memories, you know, like your average sixteen (and nine months) year old, when I remembered a story.

Note - I apologize for any errors that I may have made I'm typing on a really tiny laptop and you must remember that I have hands like paws and it's difficult for me to get used to the human behavior and so on, do cut me some slack okie.

Ah, yes. Settle back to enjoy yet another story that will make you question my intelligence and capabilities as a fellow human. If you don't already question it, that is.

Okay. The year was 2006. I was in Australia, we had arrived maybe a couple of weeks back, and we were set to stay there for a year. That one year was by far one of the most exiting years of my entire life. Anyway, like I said, we had just arrived, and I was seven and a half. To be frank, up until that point, my experience with the English language had been rather upsetting. After returning from London at age two, I knew just a few vital words of immense necessity (popcorn, shut up, no), and the Is marriage a word incident ( http:// /2014/06/english-difficult-language.html ) had already happened. Hence, contrary to popular belief, I hadn't really shown any signs of being a genius just as yet. So when we set out to Australia, I innocently thought I could perhaps mend my ways and regain my lost name.

What a naive child I was.

I hadn't started school yet. I was enrolled at East Fremantle Primary School (BEST SCHOOL EVER) but there were complications; I had done grade 2 from India, but the system in Australia was a little different, so I wasn't old enough to start year 3 yet, but I was too old for year 2, so finally I was put in this awesome sauce class called year 2/3 which was basically really cool and we had a gala time and I don't remember the details it feels like a distant dream now. Anyway, I was really scared, I was tiny and brown (I'm allowed to say it) and had a funny accent. Ouch. Not surprisingly though, everyone at the school was really, really, really, really nice and friendly and I made friends in no time, because what I lack in communication skillz, I make up for with my immense wit and charismatic appeal. Er, maybe. This is what I looked like, you decide -

Okay, okay, I understand that you are smitten by my good looks but we really must go on. So okay, yes, everyone was super friendly, and I felt at home immediately. There was just one problem though, and that was understanding my classmates. Our accents still sounded funny to each other, so I guess we had a little trouble understanding one another. Whenever they failed to understand me, they'd say something. That perplexed me, and I ignored it a few times. But then it started to become more and more frequent. I tried to pay attention and catch the word, and at last I did - Adam. Was he some beloved classmate, perhaps? Was this some primary school lingo? They said it sometimes to each other too, what could it possibly mean? 

When I got home, my parents asked me how school was. I explained my problem to them; everyone was very nice, the teachers were extremely helpful and kind, but everyone kept throwing this random word at me!! I was very, very confused for a couple of days, until finally, I got used to hearing the accent, and at last I understood that what they were saying was not infact Adam, but pardon. Er, yes. I don't know if I am partially deaf, or just an idiot in general. That is for you to decide, dear readers. All two of you. 

This story has been told and re-told at so many dinner parties and family lunches and White House conferences that I forget how the real ending went. Either way, I was a slow kid.

Let's just hope this sort of thing doesn't reappear if I'm applying to colleges in Australia, how sad would that be -

Interviewers - Ah, yes, have a seat.
Me - Adam?
Interviewers - wat
Me - I'll show myself out

:( 

Leaked: An Exclusive Interview With A Ravishing Beauty

Lovelies!
Do you realize what day it is?
It's June 3rd.
Does that ring a bell?
No?
It's okie. I still love you.

My blog turns a year old today! Zomg and huzzah and wowness! Butterbeers all around! First and foremost check out my newly dip dyed hair and say lots of nice things about it -

I'm pretending to look deep and mysterious. I'm probably thinking about cat gifs. Don't be fooled.

On the occasion of this yummy day, I have arranged for you an exclusive interview, starring -

AK, the ever famous exotic interviewer, and
AK, the ever famous blogger.

COMMENCE


AK - Good evening.
AK - Thank you for having me.

AK - Thank you for taking the time out from your busy schedule! And I must say, you look ravishing, you oaf. I know you quit your workout routine weeks ago but I'm still obliged to say this.
AK - It's not a problem. It was either this, or another round of Fruit Ninja against myself, or differentiation questions. I'm actually getting pretty good at those -

AK - Yeah, yeah, all right nobody cares. So I hear your ever famous blog turned a year old today? Your fans must be excited?
AK - Oh that they are. They personally called me to tell me. Both of them in fact!

AK - Haha, congratulations. You've officially been jobless for a year!
AK - Mucho thanks. The credit goes to the uninteresting study syllabus combined with my ability to type as fast as lightning on my mobile.

AK - I will ignore the fact that you just said 'mucho thanks' whatever the hell that means. So now I'm obliged to ask you a deep question, such as, Why do you write?
AK - Ah, I shall call that a good question and frown, as I pretend to think, though I'm wondering if I should stop at McD on my way back. I'm now going to clear my throat, and begin my well rehearsed answer: The question is not why do I write. The question is why not? Isn't language the greatest of gifts bestowed upon us? Isn't this what makes us superior to other species on the face of this Earth? I write not for your approval nor mine. I write not to be accepted, to be praised, to be laughed at, to be admired, to be remembered. I write because I know nothing else. I know no other way to express myself clearly. It's been rightly said - "Either do something worth writing, or write something worth reading."  Also, I'm definitely stopping at McDonald's later.

AK - I will 'hmm' and 'ah' even though I didn't agree with/listen to a word you said. I recall something about writing, so I'll ask you this - do you see yourself doing this professionally?
AK - I will scratch my chin and think, wondering whether I should get a Filet-O-Fish later, or maybe just fries. But ah yes, I don't think I can see myself doing this professionally. Contrary to public opinion, I'm very bad at handling criticism (hahha low self esteem ftw lololol so funny hahaha wow got 99 problems and low self esteem is all of them) so I don't think I'll be able to handle it when people don't like my work. I'm just trying to be the best that I can, to accept MYSELF, because as Sylvia Plath said, "The worst enemy to creativity is self doubt."

AK - I see...speaking of doubts, a lot (almost all) of the people don't find you funny and think you should just shut up. Thoughts?
AK - Such people exist? *high pitched laughter with hints of unresolved self-esteem issues* It's okay, we have different perceptions of humor. After all, "One person's craziness is another person's reality."

AK - I've been meaning to ask you: what is it with you and quotes?
AK - Er, we're in love. It's healthy. I have a jar full of them. I've also scribbled them on my walls.

 They keep memories fresh. After all, "Sometimes memories crawl out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks."

AK - Er, it's "sneak out of my eyes".
AK - ...

AK - Your lack of knowledge is starting to bug me, I'd like you to leave now...
AK - :(

AK - Okay fine er what is your favorite quote?
AK - Well you know I love all it depends on my mood I can't just pick a favorite -

AK - I will cut you.
AK - "There comes a time when you look into a mirror and realize that what you se see is all that you ever will be. And then you accept it. Or you kill yourself. Or you stop looking into mirrors."

AK - Tennessee Williams, so sassy.
AK - I know right.

AK - Didn't I ask you to leave.
AK - :(

Thank you dear reader, for all your support. I don't care if you read regularly, or if this is your first time or last time reading my blog. Just...thanks. Much love from Anoushka. 

Regret Reprise

My sister wrote a sequel to my previous poem Regret -

"My dear, oh dear, the years slipped by,

Your hair is grey, your knees ache and sigh.

You have been happy, have you not, friend?

You had a wife and a child and wealth to spend.

The world was your oyster, the sky your limit,

The only trouble (of course!) was a little bee in your bonnet -

The image of a girl, though now she would be old,

The mascara on her lashes that made her look bold.

And now as your life fades,

In and out of your memory she wades.

You shake your head and chide your heart,

For being such a foolish work of art.

But my dear, oh dear, you are unaware,

To think of you, she does also dare -

Yes, when she is alone, and when she is not,

You forever warm her thoughts:

From the way you took out the thorns that could prick her,

Out of the roses that you'd give her whenever you'd bicker.

To the way you'd touch her cheek with a finger,

And just a second too long, let it linger -

She remembers it all though she acted cold,

It was just an act - a truth untold.

And so today: a lady approaches the front of your door,

Her hair is short and her dress is long,

But her boots are still scuffed and that makes your sure.

The lovely lady, she says lovely things,

The things she has been hiding all along,

You understand now why you were wrong -

To think that you didn't haunt her dreams,

(Indeed, everything is not what it seems.)

My dear, oh dear, how the years have passed,

You are at peace when you breathe your last."

Regret.

My dear, oh dear, you cannot see,

How she plays with you so obviously.

How she bats her lashes so thick, you come to her running,

How she chuckles so softly, you don’t know how cunning

She really can be, to her, it’s all a show

She left the battlefield years ago

Her heart too delicate to bear it again and again-

Love stabbed her in the back when.

My dear, oh dear, you cannot understand,

When she lets you hold her hand,

She’s trembling from within, behind her façade so strongly built,

When you give her flowers, from her coldness they do wilt.

When you ask her how she is, she will shrug and not reply,

She won’t ever trust you, she’ll feel betrayed and shy.

Her carefully applied mascara will not further spread,

No more tears over love will she ever shed.

My dear, oh dear, but you cannot hear,

Her soft tears at night, when she wants you near

She’s too ashamed to admit it, so she stretches her smile wide,

Her teeth hurt, and her cheeks ache; but she mustn’t lose her pride.

So she walks confidently, though shaking inside,

“She’s a player”, they whisper and hide

From her rude glares thrown their way,

With her long hair, short dress, scuffed boots, she know what they’ll all say.

My dear, oh dear, you did not pay heed

She warned you to never do the deed

She told you to stay away,

Why oh why did you not listen to her say

That her world was not for you,

Now you must return heartbroken, and empty handed too,

For she is too broken, do not try to put her together again,

Too many have tried and failed to do it when.

My dear, oh dear, you did not know,

She loved you too, she was just too afraid to show.

Chemistry Helped Me Battle Depression - Based On True-y Events

Lovelies!

Today was not a good day. I ran a temperature last night, and I didn't have a very nice day at school. I was expecting something to happen and it did not, and I was upset, but not upset enough to not juggle.

Wait. What?

I can juggle. Thassright.

 I have had a lot of time to think, which is awful, because I always over think and get even more depressed. Anyway, so I just wandered around my room all evening and afternoon, doing Physics problems and drawing Chemistry diagrams while listening to music. It was kind of sad. But not very. I have (sadly) reached that point in life where I like my subjects and somehow everything I say/do ends up being related to either Maths or Physics or Chemistry. Like okay I was talking to one of my girlfriends earlier today about something that had happened with her, and we were trying to figure out who could have done it, so I casually suggested that we could draw a Venn diagram with two sets; of all the people capable of doing it, and all the people who had the resources to do it, and merely analyse the intersection set.

We had a moment of silence after that.

But honestly, everything in my life is somehow connected to my studies.

I will give you a personal favourite - There are two gas equations that we study in Chemistry (or atleast that I know of). We first studied the Ideal Gas Equation. The Ideal Gas equation, in simple language, states that for a gas having ideal behaviour, the product of Pressure and Volume is equal to Number of moles times the Ideal Gas Constant (R) times the temperature in Kelvin (T). To sum up,

PV = nRT

(Simple enough? Got that? Okay, stick with me. I have a point, I swear.) 

However, Van Der Waal pointed out that the pressure and volume taken in the previous equation was actually incorrect (or something or the other), and gases did not actually obey this law. He came up with two corrective factors, namely    and nb, and thus corrected the volume and attractive forces between gas molecules. He hence altered the Ideal Gas Equation and came up with The Real Gas Equation using his corrective factors - 

(P + )(V - nb) = nRT

I can really relate to this.

 We think of scenarios in our heads that are ideal. We imagine that this ideal way of living is how life is supposed to be lived. With little, or no sadness, with things going according to plan, no sorrow coming our way.

And before you can even say Van Der Waal - and why would you - things screw themselves up and we're depressed. Why?

We forget to account for the corrective factors. Our ideal life is shattered by our biggest enemy - reality. We forget to live in reality. We have to apply the Real Gas Equation, my friend(zz). Life is going to be very shitty, but that's the harsh truth. It also going to be very beautiful, that is the hidden beauty. I don't want to preach and sound monotonous, I just think a lot about things, in fact I think so much about my problems (both petty and big) that I always arrive at a solution myself (I don't mean that my friends and family don't help me, I mean to say that for every problem I face, I always know what the solution must be, something which is both rewarding and frustrating) - The only message I want to convey to you is this - Life will be unexpectedly crappy when you want it to be the Ideal Life. Those annoying corrective factors will bug you and demand a space in your life, and when you do account for their space, you will compensate for that space with your happiness, and you will get unhappy. However, when you expect things to not go your way, when you expect to get a bad grade on that test you did not study for, when you expect the boy who has been flirting with you for 100000 years to never ask you out, when you don't expect a call back from that interview you applied to, life will surprise you, you will get the best grade, the cute boy will ask you out, the interviewers will admit that they loved you, and accidentally, without even you realising, life was fair, for those five tiny seconds. Live for those unexpected moments.

They
will
be
worth
it.

I promise you.

Creeping People Out With Knowledge 101

Lovelies!

It is 4.30 in the morning! Why am I not sleeping? I'll tell you why : I don't have school tomorrow! And do you know what? I didn't have school today either! And do you know what? I don't even have school day after but that's because it's a Sunday so I should typing in italics now okay.

So okay I'm in 12th grade now. I can't believe I'll go off to college in a year. Less than a year! One of my best friends/juniors, lettus call him Hittz, sincerely asked me if I could maybe stay back after 12th (he did not say it in those words, he said please fail) but I had to patiently explain that my mother says I have to pass school. Bummer. :(

Right, so it's 4.30 in the morning, and after watching The One With Bary and Mindy's Wedding (er, I mean after studying Current Electricity...), I decided that I needed to write. I tried writing a poem, and I typed one halfway, but then I decided that I hated it and deleted it. I don't know why I'm telling you all this.

I think my writing skills have exhausted because I had to write a three page essay on India as I see it in 2020 and those were three mighty big pages okay I kid you not one page was about three feet long okay it took a lot of effort to write it and why am I telling you all this.

Lettus get straight to our point.

I was lying in bed just staring at the walls of my bedroom or something I don't know and then I looked at my nails (what even) and I remembered something that happened a few weeks ago -

THE TIME I CREEPED OUT REKHA DIDI FOR ALL OF ETERNITY

Okay, I was making french toast for myself. For those of you who don't know, what you basically do is, you slice up your bread (the bread you have I mean, I was proof reading this and slice up your bread sounded very wrong for some reason), then you beat eggs into a bowl, and then you dip your bread into the egg batter thingajima, and then you fry the bread and then, well, you eat it.

So I was making french toast for myself, instead of you know, studying or something, but I got bored after making like two slices and I asked our domestic helper, let's call her Rekha Didi, (Rekha is her name, didi is a term for endearment, or a term given to your elder) to finish off the job for me. When she brought the toast to me, I offered her some. She said no, she didn't eat egg. I shrugged and devoured my toast. She looked at me and asked me, didn't I feel cruel eating another animal's baby? I was confused, since the eggs we purchased were not fertilized eggs, and hence there was no animal-baby eating.

Now, she doesn't understand English (She's learning though. My father, a professor of cardiology, patiently sits with her and says Good Morning, Thankyou, Please etc until she repeats, and she's such a fast learner, better than me anydayyy). How could I explain complicated stuff like fertilization to her without having a common language to communicate? How does one describe chicken sex and fertilization in Hindi? That's not exactly what we're taught at school, is it? But I couldn't let her think I was some insane animal baby killer eater. I just couldn't. (But I do eat chicken...can't we just assume the chicken we eat are all the mean chickens who bullied the other chickens so the bullying chicken in question had to be eaten? No? You're going to stop reading now aren't you ;_;)

I called her to my side, and started explaining.

Me : You know when two people *makes awkward hand gestures* you know when two people like you when they you know do like you know it
Her : Wtf r u saying lol
Me : You know how you know us females er we have like um eggs you know...
Her : WTF R U SAYING I HAVE AN EGG INSIDE ME
Me : Oh dear God not like the eggs we eat you don't have a sunny side up floating inside you...damn...okay so you know like males they have this thing inside them you know which they like give to us...
Her : ....
Me : *makes awkward hand gestures* you know when like they give us the thing and then like eggs it gets the thing so you know baby etc
Her : pls stop pls pls
Me : So like...when they like don't give us the thing..so like in hens..the rooster and the hen..they like don't do it..so no like *makes awkward hand gestures to imply implantation*  no baby...you know...
Her : I'll eat egg if you shut up.

Watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Is The Solution For Everything In Life

So I was watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S. yesterday. The One Where Ross and Rachel take a break. So Ross 'cheats' (do you think it was justified? I do not.) on Rachel, and her reaction...I don't know what it was, but her reaction made me stop and think. How angry she got, how unforgiving she was, how she hit him with pillows, and it made me feel so proud. It made me proud to be a woman.

So I came up with this -

I AM A WOMAN

"I flip my long hair over my shoulder,

I chop my locks off, it makes me feel bolder.

I lid my eyes with black, make my lips dark and red,

I wear my sweatpants and eat Cheetos in bed.

I wear four inch heels, and still manage to twirl,

I jog for miles, my bouncing ponytail still intact and curled.

I am unique, you can spot me in a crowd,

I am a woman, and I am proud.

You cannot lay a finger on me,

You cannot tell me whether or not to be free.

You can’t define the length for my skirt,

You can’t force me to clean the grime and dirt.

You can’t tear my clothes and take me by force,

You can’t shut me up just by shutting the doors.

You can’t twist my wrist, and make me feel pained,

I am a woman, I cannot be contained.

You can’t raise your eyebrows, if my bra strap shows,

You can’t roll your eyes if I pierce my bellybutton or nose.

You can’t purse your lips if I work a nine to five job,

You can’t punish me if I have a teenage heartthrob.

You can’t cheat on me, and think you’ll get away – how absurd,

You can’t beat me to pulp, and expect me to not say a word.

You don’t know that I have thousands like me by my side,

I am a woman, by the Girl Code we abide.

I demand equality, and fulfilment of my rights,

I can and I will put up the deadliest of fights.

I am the spirit of every girl that has been wronged,

I am the incarnation of those, for justice who have longed.

I will not be swayed by your hollow words,

I will not step down until my voice is heard.

I will get peace and freedom, no matter what you may say,

I am a woman, I always get my way."

not a real post, part 50

I started an Instagram account for my poems! Check it out. :) I'll update it as regularly as I can.

https://instagram.com/perfectlypretentiouspoems/

Okay, I'm going to watch Gossip Girl now.

xoxo

Do You Want Aloo Gobbi In Your Hair Too?

Guys and gals and pizzas and mushrooms.

HELLO!

My exams are over! I am officially done with 11th standard. I can't believe I'm a gazillion years old already. I can't believe I'll leave for college in a year. What even? It seems like yesterday that I was teaching all my friends how to skip rope. Er, I'm not too sure what that has to do with age and maturity and so on. But you get the gist, okay. 

Speaking of zwingylalaness, I am soon going to start an Instagram account for posting pictures of the poems I will write (and have written) in this really awesome typewriter font thingy which will make everything seem deep! Look, I'll prove it -

Ya. :3 So yes, I'll link the account to my blog, CHECK IT OUT otherwise i will crie.

Okay.

So today to celebrate our second official day of freedom (our last exam, Economics, was two days before), and to spend time with Tall-y who is leaving us in two weeks time (his father is being relocated), all of us went bowling. I came, er, second last. The only person I won from was Tall-y's younger brother (who is of course taller than me, what with him being Tall-y's younger brother, KEEP UP) but I was very proud of myself. I spent a lot of time gliding across the floor in my bowling shoes. I've bowled a zillion times (is that how you say it) and yet I got like five gutterballs in a row. It was sad, we will not talk about this on this side of the grave ever again.

Moving on.

So after losing tremendously at life, I decided that I wanted a haircut. A side fringe to be specific. Many fashion experts asked me with many a quizzical looks why I did not go for a front fringe. My answer to that, my dear young loves, is patience. It shall happen in the summer vacations. Not yet. But we digress. This is not to discuss the beauty of my hair. That is scheduled for Thursdays at 9 p.m. (IST)

ANYWAY. So I went to the little salon, and I had dragged Hot-y along with me, while the other boys did weird stuff that boys do when they are alone (ie went to the Nike outlet and made noise and I don't know dribbled basketballs and stuff). So while I was paying the receptionist at the salon, there was a man eating an Indian dish called Aloo Gobbi. Now, now. Do not get me wrong. Aloo Gobi is obviously a very delicious dish. Aloo = Potato and Gobbi = cauliflower. So it's actually a pretty tasty combination. I mean I loathe it, but you must remember that I am a buffoon. This is what it looks like (the aloo gobbi, not me being a buffoon) -

 Anyway, it's cleared out, it's a tasty dish, but this man was eating it with his hands etc, and I HAVE NO PROBLEM WITH THAT, but I'm just a bit picky when it comes to food, so that scene was slightly off putting for me. But I put it all behind me and I patiently waited for my haircut.

The Aloo Gobbi man finished aloo-gobbing and washed his hands with water. In front of me. Without soap. And then. He came. Towards me. And. 

Cut.

My. 

Hair.

With his Aloo Gobbi hands. 

It was sad, okay. It reminded me of what had happened in the early summer of 9th grade. Which brings us to today's rant. COMMENCE.

It was a warm summer evening in ancient Greece. Wait. What? No. It was some time. In India. Little Kapoorni was in 9th standard, and she had a Hindi exam that day. She was riding in the bus, going to school, revising her notes like a good girl. 

She will stop referring to herself in third person now.

So I was in the bus. Sitting. Studying. Like a good girl should. So our bus had those railings over the seats, where we could keep our bags and stuff. Anyway, the bus was jam packed, but I was not paying attention to anything around me. I was vair, vair engrossed in my Hindi notes. Suddenly, I felt something on my hair. Was it raining? I had definitely felt something warm and wet touch my immaculate french braid. I frowned, and touched my hair. I felt something warm and sticky on my head. Had my head voluntarily exploded? I looked at my fingers. There was something...yellow-y on them. I think I almost burst into tears. I felt something again hit my head. I looked up. Was God peeing on me? I inspected the railing above my head and my blood froze. 

It was the driver's tiffin! He'd probably gotten daal chaawal (read lentils and rice, wait let me show you what it looks like)

for lunch and it was falling all over my bloody hair. Plus, it smelled so funky. Pretty soon, lots of delightful yellow chunks of it had fallen into my hair. Ah, attractive. Take note, young girls. Take beauty tips from Yours Truly. So by that time, everybody had noticed what was going on (I was shrieking very loudly) and they were all sympathizing. Ie laughing. I couldn't do anything about it though, I had a test to give, so I did give it with misty eyes, while everybody called me daal girl for the rest of the day.

What can I say. Sucks to be me.

I WROTE A POEM AND IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A TITLE YET BUT I'M TOO EXCITED TO CARE!

OMG YOU GUYS IT'S 2015! (In case some of you had forgotten - The Obvious, brought to you by Kaporni) Yay I'm so excited I have so many goals and I'm going to be so organized and so SO good at Math maybe even Physics this year! Except that it's 1.45 am and tomorrow is a school day and I'm not yet asleep. But that's for a good(ish) reason! Okay so it's been a pretty long time since I wrote a poem which wasn't dedicated to somebody (for a friend, etc) which made me very sad and doubt myself but not for a very long time though. I'm pretty self satisfied when it comes to all that. OKAY so I hadn't er 'penned my musings' in a long time if you will (I wouldn't) and tonight I finally did! Hurrah and yippie! I was lying in bed looking at my pictures in my phone's camera when I began feeling very nostalgic for some reason, which is sort of the theme for the poem. That, and time. I don't quite know if I'll convey the message I want to, or if people will be able to relate to it. I sure hope they will.

So the poem is about time and nostalgia. And how things change. And how sometimes we desperately try to stop change but change is all "To hell with YOU, Imma do what I please!". And sometimes, we do nothing to stop it. Either way, Change wins. And that scares me. And comforts me.

"Time seems to be slipping by, and I can't seem to stop it,
Someone, somewhere is killing it, and I seem to be the culprit.
People change, and so do the circumstances,
We promise that we won't, but we soon do run out of second chances.
The face of your alleged 'lifelong friend' since ages you have not seen,
A month or two since your hour long chats it almost has been.
Day by day, everything and everybody appears to be the same,
Yet when you look back, it is altogether a different game.
You gradually replace people, one after another, in your life,
If they cut the cord, chances are, you handed them the knife.
Maybe you tried to hold on, but your hand eventually slipped,
Maybe to not let go you weren't yet fully equipped.
Change is but natural, for existence required,
He who can change yet remain consistent, is, however, admired.
Time is eternal, yet life will be over in the blink of an eye,
Call up someone you used to talk to; and don't ask why.
Some people are worth keeping around till your last breath and final sigh,
After all nobody will be around forever; neither you nor I."

Thank you for reading!
Hugz 4frm Kapoorni