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The Day I Spent All My Money On A Pair Of Gloves That I Did Not Wear Again

Note 1 - I am putting my life as stake even as I write these words since my mother does not know about this wonderful er epic, so I might actually get into (a lot) of trouble if and when she reads this. Three cheers for Kapoorni's never ending heroic deeds!
Note 2 - A lot of people ask me this, and yes, all these stories are true! I'm not exaggerating.
Note 3 - Mommy, if you're reading this, I'm totally kidding. This did not happen.

Okay, so a few days back I attended this badminton tournament, which was part of this annual sports meet thingie let's call it the AST (Annual Sports-Meet Thingie) as part of the school team (which does not actually exist). So anyway, there were five of us, three boys and two girls (talk about an unbalanced sex ratio) in addition to our Tennis Coach who was our escort since we do not have a badminton coach.

Or a badminton court.

But I digress.

Anyway, the Badminton AST was to be held at this school, let's call it The School. So The School is pretty far away from our school, and all six of us plus the driver could not fit into a car, so our coach sent two girls and two boys by car, and he followed us with another student on his bike. He told us to meet him by a coffeehouse, let's call it The Coffehouse (I rock at this naming game, do I not). He told us to wait there, and he would join us in a while.

Now let me just say I'm about the worst person to have along on a road trip of any sort. I am completely clueless when it comes to directions (or, well, anything) so I had no idea where The Coffehouse or The School were, I just listened to my music during the card ride and prayed that the other people would have some clue as to where we were headed. After listening to Bang Bang and All About The Bass approximately twenty five thousand times, we finally arrived in front of The Coffehouse. The car dropped us off and went. We assumed that our coach would be arriving shortly so we just stood outside The  Coffehouse in the cold and waited for him.

He took his sweet time. We did everything to pass the minutes. We clicked selfies. We talked. We discussed the probability of winning or losing our upcoming matches. Eventually we got tired of the small talk and just looked around at the neighbouring shops. There were these small roadside shops everywhere selling the typical cheap, horrible quality, second hand goods. I was checking out this particular shop selling gloves and beanies and that sort of thing, when a particularly horrendous item caught my eye.

Okay, so you know those motorcycle gloves (I'm assuming that's what they are called...)? The fingerless ones? The ones that make one look like an ultimate badass? Yeah, those ones. I love them. Always have. I never had my own pair so I just improvised by cutting the finger part off the gloves I already had (something my mother truly loved...not).

So there I was, standing in the cold outside The Coffehouse waiting for the coach to show up, trying to focus on not letting my leg warmers freeze to my shins when I spotted the most lovely (ie ugly) pair of fingerless gloves (they were really ugly I don't know I loved them I don't know what's wrong with me I really don't). It was love at first sight. I asked the shopkeeper how much they were and he quoted a price. I have no experience in bargaining so I had no idea whether this was a reasonable price or not. I consulted my teammates who shook their heads in pity (perhaps at my taste) and got the price much down. They would've gotten it down even further had I not begun to already take the money out of my pocket. Anyway, so I paid and then realised that I had spent all the money I had on me, which had to make me survive for another six hours at least.

But it was worth it. The gloves were amazing.

Except for one thing. They reeked of leather. Not that yummy leather smell that comes from that really awesome shoe shop. No, it reeked of that bad leather smell. The smell that makes you hurl for an entire lifetime. I tried spraying every inch of the gloves with my perfume but it still lingered, so I decided to just the put the darn gloves in my bagpack and wash them the following evening (I think they're still in my bag).

Even after all this, our coach still hadn't shown up, so we decided to just sit inside the warm and toasty coffehouse and treat ourselves to maybe a coffee or two. We sat down, all four of us, and neatly assembled our respective rackets and kits, or math book, in my case. Everyone was doing their own thing. The boys were talking about...whatever it is that boys talk about, and my fellow teammate was listening to her songs, while I was doing maths. I was politely waiting for one of them to order something, since

1) I was famished
2) I didn't have money on me
3) We would be there a long time and The Coffehouse would throw us out if we didn't order anything soon.

I finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"Guys, are we going to order anything or not?"

They looked at me in a quizzical manner. Long story short, I was the only person who had brought along any money, apart from the other boy, who was with our coach. I had spent it all, however, on a pair of leather-reeking gloves, as you well know, hence meaning that none of us had any money.

The minutes passed.

One of the waiters eventually, subtly, slipped a menu on our table.

 Wow, subtle as a gun.

I remembered that I did have a ten rupee note in my pocket, and one of the boys had four one rupee coins. Put together, we had fourteen rupees (I'll hold on while you get the calculator to check my math).

We got really excited, and checked the menu. Doughnuts, coffee, ice cream, sundaes, juices, sandwiches..out of our budget. The cookies were fifteen rupees. So close, yet so far. We did spot one thing, however, that was totally in our budget, but it seemed a little impractical to order the add on cheese dip. We were toying with the idea of maybe ordering it, when thankfully the other boy, ie the Boy With The Money finally arrived, and we immediately tackled him and made him order nachos for us.

We looked the waiter straight in the eye as we ordered, as if to say What if we sat here for forty minutes clicking pictures and not ordering anything, we finally did order something, stop judging us, we will tip you!!!!!!!!!

I never thought a box of nachos could regain my lost dignity.

Shitty Tales : Do not read if you don't have a strong stomach

12 hours of my life I'll never get back.

I awoke at 6.40 am today, caught my school bus at 7.20 am, reached the AMC stadium (what does it stand for,  I don't know, I've been going there since approximately 45,000 years and I haven't the foggiest idea what it stands for) at 8 am, and reached home at 7.50 pm. I don't know why I need to tell you the exact time of everything. You get the gist. As I mentioned before, I'm part of my school's Student Council. We have our Annual Sports Day (it's our 5th, maybe 6th Sports Day I have no idea how it's annual) tomorrow, at the previously mentioned AMC stadium. We had our run through cum final rehearsal today, for both the Junior and the Senior school, meaning that the Council had to be on duty for almost twelve hours. Wow.

Now, let's make this clear. I want to have seven kids when I grow up. I don't know why, I just do. It'll be cozy. Like the Weasleys' family. (I'm going to name my daughter 'Aziza', a name I read off A Thousand Splendid Suns. I don't know why I'm mentioning all this. I also don't know what I'll name the other six. I'm welcome to all suggestions.) When little kids cry, my heart kind of breaks a little and it makes me cry too. But all in all, I hate kids. I don't know how this makes sense, it just does, okay. Please. So today, we had to look after these tiny, hyperactive kids, and it was...exhausting would be an understatement. I swear to God, these kids didn't tire themselves out for even a single micro second. They were either

1) pooping
2) running
3) crying
4) all of the above, IN EVERY POSSIBLE COMBINATION

I kid you not. There was this one frantic kid who was running around the entire hall crying. It was so traumatizing. But the thing was, he wouldn't stop running. We kept trying to comfort him but he kept running away from us. In the end it resulted in the Crying Kid running around with my boyfriend Jai running behind him trying to catch him, with another teacher running behind him. I would be lying if I said I didn't sort of chuckle (read laugh).

But the highlight of the day was what happened with me. The kids were sitting in two big halls, waiting for their event to start, and to their extreme right were the bathrooms. Hold on, I'll illustrate it for you :

I don't know how little kids think. I think they thought that the bathroom was some sort of a magical disco where wishes were granted and candies handed out. Every single kid was crazy about going to the bloody loo. They lined up, and waited for their turn to come, so that a Prefect could come and guide them (ie unzip/zip up their pants, make sure the little twits...er...darlings didn't get lost on the way back etc). I refused to take even a single kid. But then this really, really, cute boy looked me straight in the eye and said something like "ehhhnnnn bathroom :(" so I had to take him. I took his tiny hand and led him towards the boys loo. I asked him thrice if he knew how to unzip and zip his pants, and thankfully he did. The loos were temporary, and were parted by curtains. Anyway, we reached the boys loo, and this adorable kid did something that has scarred me for not only this life but the next one as well. I have no idea what he was thinking, he headed straight for one of the curtains, and lifted it, and crawled underneath it, hence stepping into straight into some shit.

Some kid's shit.

Some kid's fresh shit.

All the little kids went ewwww and were trying to escape and get away from the Shit Kid, and it made me feel kind of sad for the little guy, but not sad enough to approach him, so I asked someone else to get the kid washed and dried, and I meanwhile took deep breaths to calm myself. I sang the Pokemon theme song under my breath for motivation. I could do this. The kid came back and I offered him a warm, gentle, and loving smile, though I still felt like crying. Our eyes met, but things had changed. I didn't really meet his eye; I sighed and led him back to his hall.

Only this time, I held him by the edge of his collar.

Better to be safe than to be sorry.

30 Sexy Pin Up Fringe Girl Hairstyles

Esteemed chums and chumettes.

I never ever thought that I'd feel sleepy at 9.34 pm. Wow. This when my day usually stars; by the time I'm finally done with my studies and my important time-wasting activities.

The thing is, today was (my first ever) MUN. Hurrah!

For those of you who don't know, MUN stands basically for a Model United Nations. An-

One day later.

An? I have no idea. The point of everything is that the MUN was AWESOME. I was in the MOM (Ministry Of Magic) Committee, and our agenda was debate over resurrection of the Dark Lord, post the events of the Triwizard Tournament. I was originally Bertha Jorkins, then Albert Runcorn, and ultimately I was Rita Skeeter (long story). It was brilliant, and I got a verbal mention. (I thought that was the same as a special mention and ran up to the stage to collect my award, only to realize that a verbal mention is...well.. a verbal mention,)

We had a DJ party after that, and for those of you who know and care (i.e. none) I'm a terrible dancer, so naturally, it was a hoot. I may never be able to walk again though, but that's a different story.

Ten days later

Good Evening to one and all. I am once again back to my usual, insomniac self. It is one in the morning, so naturally, I'm blogging because

(a) My pink-and-silver nails make a very pretty tapping noise against the keyboard
(b) Isn't the first reason good enough?

Technically today is Sunday, but if I put up a Sunday post after a long absence, people start stuff like Stop with the negativity and then I have to curl up with my dog and feel sorry for myself for a very long time (Just kidding, I appreciate criticism. Ish. Hahahahaha. No, I really do. As much as I appreciate double Physics classes. HAHAHAHAHAHAH okay seriously. I do though.).

Anyway, day before was Diwali, ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diwali if you're lost) which means of course like every Diwali, the following happened -

1. I threw approximately 45,000 tantrums because it was a bad hair day (i.e. a normal day for Kapoorni)
2. I bought a toy gun and broke and/or misplaced it within fifteen minutes
3. I burned my hand(s)

It was still fun because I love festive times since it's an excuse to drink all the soft drinks my mother keeps in the fridge for guests who might visit (who ultimately have to have carrot juice).

In other news, I started reading my mother's favourite book Gone With The Wind but the protagonist in the book has a seventeen inch waist and that just makes me feel bad about myself, so I decided to use this as positive motivation and work hard to become thin and dainty like Scarlett O'Hara.

LOL, no, I felt bad for a little while, then had some chocolate cookies and read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory instead.

Honestly though I really do need to start working out soon since my badminton time usually gets eaten up by study-time. I secretly google things like how to get abs in three days and how to get complexion like Emma Stone but after reading all the wikihow insturctions, I just give up and have another glass/bit of pepsi/chocolate(s).

Note 1 - All this googling has to be done in secret since I once googled a very, very embarrassing thing, and even today whenever I type 30... in the search box, it always comes up. I am not going to tell you what it is. It's very sad.

Note 2 - Oh, alright. It was 30 Sexy Pin Up Fringe Girl Hairstyles

Too Many Rulers Spoil The...Whatever

The only difference between having and not having an exam the next day is that you can do random stuff during the latter and not feel guilty about it. My point (somehow) is that my exams are over!

Anyway, I'm supposed to be working for the MUN I'm attending in two weeks, so of course I'm watching How I Met Your Mother bloopers at the moment.

Also, also, ALSO, a few weeks ago, my blog crossed 4,100 views! If you're reading this, you're awesome. If you're not reading this..well..you're still awesome. But read too. It's fun(ish).

I was going to though my drafts yesterday, and I discovered an entire post I'd never gotten around to posting, so here is something I wrote about a month ago -

One Month Earlier

It is currently 6.05 am. I have a football match in an hour and twenty five minutes. I'm sitting here, looking down at my yellow and blue flowered shorts, wondering if I should pack an extra pair if these tear.

Good thinking.

I'll pack two extra pairs. Maybe three. Ooh, maybe those cute pink ones.

Thirteen hours and one football match later

I managed to not tear my shorts! Hurrah! Butterbeer all around! Also, we won the match! I thought I would drop dead halfway through the match, but I somehow (miraculously) managed to stay alive. I may never be able to move again though. (Funny story, we ended up winning all the matches!)

Anyway, I have my Chemistry test tomorrow, meaning of course I'm completely hyper and anxious right now, like I am before every damn test. Ah, Keeping Your Cool 101 not brought to you by Kapoorni. (This is the one in which I managed to get everything right except for one damn numerical, and I would've gotten that right too had KFH not traumatised me with his superpowers of flying spit mere hours before the test.)

The point (kind of) is this, that it made remember a story from my 10th grade Physics final.

It was a warm day in February. Wait, March? I'm not sure. In fact I think it was winter time, and it was a cold day. Okay, scratch that. It was a coldish day in February or maybe March. I was studying for my Physics final the next day, when I remembered that I did not have a ruler, which I would almost definitely be needing the next day (spoiler alert - I wouldn't). Anyway, I called up Izzy, and asked her if she would be kind enough to lend me a ruler perhaps? Izzy said that she did not have a ruler either, but she had a protractor, which is of course, not even nearly the same thing, but I substitute just about anything for a ruler, (my badge, a bookmark, my finger) so I said that it would do. Izzy promised to leave it out for me, and I could come collect it in the morning.

I have the remembering capacity of Dory from finding Nemo, (ie none) so being the lovable fool that I am, I called up Marshmallow too, and told her to bring an extra ruler for me in the bus, which she said she would.

Come the next morning, my mother went to fetch the protractor from Izzy's house, but returned instead with a set square. (What.) Beggar can't be choosers, so I told my mother that the set square would do. Besides, I had managed to fish out an old ruler and a protractor from my own bag.

Counting - A Test

How many rulers/substitutes did I have by now?

Two rulers, one was mine, one was Marshmallow's, a protractor (mine) and Izzy's setsquare 

Okay, you follow that? If you do, give yourself a pat on the back.

Anyway, the next morning, I was sitting in the bus, slightly bewildered by all my rulers/substitutes, trying to do some last minute revision, when our bus stopped suddenly a few feet away from the local market. One of the conductors got down and ran towards a stationary shop, from where I frequently got stuff. I looked at my watch and frowned. Some idiot kid had probably forgotten some stationary and we were being to made to suffer. Why can't students be more responsible?

 I shook my head and asked the driver what was wrong. He threw me a dirty look but before I could ask him what was wrong (we were the best of friends, he had once told me a very long story about some animal, or maybe his kid, I couldn't really understand but I nodded and smiled all the same, so such cold behaviour was  towards me was rare), the conductor came back, carrying with him a very long ruler and a normal sized ruler, both freshly bought. He stopped for breath and came and stood in front of me.

I look astonished. Surely, surely these were not for me? How did the conductor even know that I needed them? Had the ruler-goddess descended down to Earth? Had the conductor read my mind? Just as I was going to ask him whether he was a Legilimens, he explained to me that my mother had called the driver up this morning and explained my apparent ruler-less situation to him.

I hate it when she does this, she often forgets the social boundaries one has to maintain with one's school bus driver, and she often crosses it. I have often woken up from nightmares including her and driver having long conversations on the phone, but no one understands my pains.

So, anyway that is how I wound up with four rulers, a protractor, and one set square, out of which I used none.

The End.

Barcelona Diaries Minus The Barcelona Bit

Chums and chumettes! It is currently..well..I have no idea what time it is. I am currently on a flight from Zurich to Barcelona. According to the screen in front of me, I am 350 miles away from my desired destination. Time till destination is 51 minutes.

Glad we sorted that out.

Anyway, since morning I’ve had a buttered bun, a glass of coke, a double cheese burger with a coke, half of a footlong sandwhich with a glass of coke, and I just had a salami (maybe it was ham?) and cheese sandwich. With of course, a glass of coke. The point is this; I have a bottomless pit for a stomach.

Anyway we’re flying over some mountains right now, not sure which, Geography was never my strong suit, and it looks really pretty.

I’m kind of bummed that I won’t get to celebrate my birthday (in four days time) at home, but then I think about the possibility of running into David De Gea in the streets of Barcelona and it calms me down.

Hold on. They’re handing out those little chocolates on board. (I had specially taken a picture of the chocolate and I was all Imma be the best blogger ever with pictures and all yayayayay but I lost my memory card)

Yum yum yum.

Nothing much to write about now. The only unusual incident that has happened in the past couple of hours is that I have gone more than 12 hours without using any wifi, which is a very big achievement. Not just for me. For humanity.

Okay. I’m going to watch Mean Girls now.

Two Days Later

Esteemed chums and chumettes. I just had two mini cupcakes. I can’t stop eating those things. They’re yummaliciously yum with just a hint of yumminess.

Today was so exhausting. We hopped on this hop on hop off bus, with those little guided audio tours, where you put on those headphones and a British lady’s voice tells you everything about the city - and I’m telling you, if I EVER have to hear that guide’s voice again, I’ll scream. And possibly hit her.

At every damn stop, she reminded us that we could refund our 20% off discount coupon at the nearest shops. I became so annoyed with the tour, I watched 500 days of summer instead of listening to the tour. As my father rightly said, “I don’t know my own city as well as I know about Barcelona’s discount copouns.”

Touché, sir. Touché.

A month later

A MONTH has it really been that long?! I know, I know, I was all oh my God I'm going to post fifty times a day now I'll never ever disappear again teehee and then I vanished for an entire month. I don't even know if I have any readers left by now, but if you're reading, I love you, and I'm not even kidding.

Anyway, I couldn't post because I had to, well, study what with being in the 11th grade and all that nonsense. Exams really are rather inconvenient, disturbing my blogging and what not. Anyway I have just two more exams left, and one of them is English, so I'm sort of practicing writing, eh? Okay, I'll keep telling myself that.

THE POINT IS THAT the following has happened in the past few weeks

- I went to Spain

- I came back from Spain

- I turned  16 in between all that

- Sims 3 has been replaced by Zoo Tycoon 2. Life = Bliss.

I thought that I'd write a little bit about my trip everyday, and then compile it all at the ending with all the pictures I had taken but that plan failed because

(a) I forgot to write

(b) I forgot to take pictures

Ah, obstacles. How I hate them. Anyway it's one thirty in the morning right now and my room is colder than Antarctica, and I'm unwell also, because after sleeping for about 3 hours before my Economics exam, I came home and (instead of sleeping) watched The Fault In Our Stars so naturally I had a splitting headache from crying, and then instead of sleeping I put on approximately 45-inches heels and went for Tall-y's birthday party, and by the time I came back I was, well, dead-ish. 

Anyway this was a pretty random and nonsensical post, but I just wanted to say I'm back for good, and even if I might disappear for a few days (to study The Subject of Doom-ness, also known as Physics by some) I'll post for sure on the 29th, if not before.

Thankyou for taking the time out to read this!

Much love,

Kapoorni.

KFH - A comic

Good evening boys and girls and ladies and gentlemen and frogs and herbs.

Wait. What.

I know that I have not written anything for more than a week, but you must keep in mind that I'm a forgetful buffoon and making commitments is a very big challenge for me. I find it difficult to stick to things, which is why I can never have a favourite song, or a book, for more than a week. Or even a favourite colour. (Currently it is navy blue. Keep that in mind.)

(Quick, unrelated note - My blog hit more than 3,500 views a few weeks ago! Butterbeer all around! Also, FOLLOW the blog. SUBSCRIBE to it. I will love you for it.) 

Anyway, I shall now be regular in my posts, and blog on like a good blogress.

Hehehe. Moving on. 

I have missed approximately a gazillion days of school, because I went to visit my sister at her college, and I shall miss another gazillion days next week, when I leave for Spain. The point of this is that I feel pretty disconnected with a lot of my classmates, which, as you would rightly guess, sucks. However, there are certain people I'm glad I haven't met in a lot of days.

Like this kid. In my bus.

I hate that kid. I like to believe that he was put on the Earth to make life difficult for me. Let me illustrate via an accurately drawn comic strip. 

Wild kid appears out of nowhere. Kid wasn't in my bus yesterday, and he suddenly apparates out of thin air. Why/how? I'm still busy learning the Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, while simultaneously trying to figure out when this random kid got on my bus, when I hear a terrible noise. What could it possibly be? I realize it is coming from the Kid From Hell. (KFH)

KFH starts singing this song, called I'm a disco dancer at the top of his voice. He's not even singing the correct tune. He's just saying the words loudly to whatever tune he wants. Excellent. I stare at him  aghast. Surely this isn't normal behaviour? I was so cute and innocent as a kid. I just ate mud occasionally and went for nature walks with Izzy to find fairies and that sort of stuff. Why was this crazy kid singing so loudly into my ear? 

But aha, the crazy behavior does not end there. Everybody has a super power, right? Mine is obviously, being careless and procrastinating. KFH had one too. What was it? What could it be? I found out the hard way. 

This is what I, as a rational person, said - 

This is what KFH did - 

Kid starts frothing at the mouth, and I freak out. Does the kid have rabies or something? Shit, what the hell do I do know? Why did I drop Bio? What the hell was I supposed to do why was this kid frothing at the mouth omgomgogmogm.

Suddenly, all my prayers were answered. I put two and two together. I realized what was happening next. 

Basically, the kid spat on me. To make a long story short. That's what he does everyday. He sings loudly, when we tell him to shut up, he starts getting ready to spit on us, and we run away from him in fear. 

(This is not the first time I got bullied by a kid three heads shorter than me. A year ago, there was this kid who used to routinely hit me and/or bite me in the bus. I like to believe that he is related to KFH in ways more than one.)

To sum up, 

The End. 

Adventure Camps Can Make You Cry - Apparently

It's currently 1 a.m. and I'm awake, listening to The Cool Kids, which obviously means that I will have to fall asleep during double Economics tomorrow, which is a pity because I really enjoy Eco classes.

There is a tradition, however, in my class, that every student has to blow off at least one Eco class to go and play volleyball, and if he/she fails to do so, he/she will be shunned by other students, and everybody will get to hit that person with a brick. I might have altered a few details, but you get the main idea.

The other day, I promised myself that I would bunk Eco, to prove myself to others. I made a very long plan, about how I would slip out and go and sleep in one of the slides in the playground. It was tempting. The sun was out, I could even get a good sunbathing session out of it, which is of course, the dream (probably not the one that Martin Luther King Jr. talked about though).

Naturally, I chickened out. This was the not my first time chickening out. I'm actually pretty much of a self taught expert in that field.

There was this time, years ago. I must've been in grade eight. I'd taken part in our school's adventure camp, in which, I realized a moment too late, everybody was younger than me. Anyway, there was this zip lining thing that everybody was doing, where basically there was a zip line running from the school's balcony till the field below. All these puny little kids were doing it, so being the courageous pterodactyl like daredevil that I am, I decided to give it a whirl. I was all strapped down, and made to wear these millions of safety chords and stuff, and when I finally went to the balcony with a sick smile plastered on my face, I looked down.

Bad move.

My body chose that moment to decide that it was scared of heights. Not when I was seven, and I rode that horribly awesome rollercoaster all alone. Not when I went bungee jumping a hundred times. No sir.

I had already climbed over the balcony, so I literally only had to like go down now. I should have told myself to calm down, maybe hummed the Pokémon theme song for self motivation.

What I did instead was, well, I started to cry. Very loudly, in front of my juniors. And seniors. And the staff.

I was too scared to move and one of the supervisors had to come rescue me.

Needless to say, they didn't set up a camp at our school again, and I wasn't exactly heart broken about it.

Moving on. A lot of people said that the previous post was too negative, and I don't love my country, which is so NOT true (read in the voice of Chandler Bing). I will prove this by telling you what happened today.

Today was, of course, our 68th Independence Day, in the honour of which our school had put up a very touching play, depicting the different stages of our country's struggle for independence.

I will be lying if I say that a few tears did not slide down my cheeks, only to fall down to the ground, the very ground that may have soaked up the blood of our freedom fighters.

(And these tears had nothing to do with the fact that the school canteen has replaced Pepsi with fruit juice.)

What can I say. Kapoorni puts the 'K' in patriotism.

Serious Issue Sunday #5 - Happy Independence Day

15th August, almost here yet again,
Why has this date gained such respect and fame?
Another year, to celebrate what, exactly?
The fact that sisters can't be protected, in spite of the so called rakhi?
To celebrate murders, or deaths, or maybe the rapes?
To celebrate a society where no unbiased ideas can ever take shape?

In the time that it will take us, to sing the national anthem,
In our country, the following will probably happen -

A mother will be neglected, hit and abused,
Hands, not words, will be used.
The poor will yet again be treated like filth and scum,
Funds will go not into education, but bottles of rum.
The illiterate will continue to thrive,
The billionaires' children will drink and drive.
A Mid Day Meal will be opened, and it will probably be rotten,
The 'of the people, by the people, for the people' system will still lay forgotten.
Equal Rights for all will still be more or less a joke,
When was the last time a person in India freely spoke?
Shootouts will happen, justice won't be served,
Families will not  get the compensation they deserve.
Shah Rukh Khan will sign yet another contract,
Sachin will make history once again with his cricket bat.
Crores and Lakhs will fit into their bank account, maybe more,
While another farmer will hurl himself into the sea shore.
Students will hang themselves, succumbed to the pressure of boards,
Accidents will happen and thousands will die - due to such well built roads.
Somewhere, a little girl will be molested,
By her alcoholic husband, a wife's patience will be tested.
A student will be slapped, for forming an answer in words his own,
For innovative students are not needed, only textbook-learning clones.
A father will hang himself, for he can't get his daughter wed,
While a fifteen year old will be married off, with her dreams and aspirations dead.
A boy will turn into a brute, and pick up a knife,
For he was misunderstood by society all his life.
A girl's clothes will be torn, and she will shout out for help,
But the country will turn a deaf ear to her pleas and yelps.
A baby girl will be drowned, without any hesitation,
And then a boy will be born - God's finest creation.
People will keep on reproducing, having children maybe seven or maybe eight,
For population control isn't a priority, it can surely wait!
A 97% scholar, will be failed in his final exam,
For the seats will have been filled, courtesy of some bribes beforehand.
Somebody will write a poem or an article about the country's shortcomings,
And then forget all about it, come the next morning.

Such is our country, full of partiality, violence, and greed,
Mera Bharat Mahan indeed.

Detectives And Baby Animals

I just ate -

A McChicken burger, large fries, a coke and a small chocolate soft serve with extra topping. (But I still fit into my skinny jeans! It's like Shakespeare said - Haters gonna hate, potatoes gonna potate)

I feel a little sick.

I haven't played in a week, I have no idea how I'm going to burn all this junk I'm piling on. In the meantime though, I can't exactly say this bothers me. (The getting fat part. The not playing badminton bothers me. It bothers me a lot.)

Good Evening!

Inspite of being a non model student, I have accidentally once again been selected in the student council, as the Vice Captain of my house. We had the ceremony today, and it was so funny, the sash I got with the badge was longer than my skirt. Way longer. My co vice captain and I shared many laughs about this.

Also,

*3 hours and one Physics Tuition later*

Also, what? I don't remember now.

So I was thinking the other day, about my depressing love life and all. Why is it so hard to find nowadays? I mean all I want in a boy, is charm like James Potter, wit like Mohammad Tariq, humour like Dave The Laugh, maybe a singing voice like Flynn Rider, a brain like Michael Moscovitz, and looks like Sirius Black. Like wow, is that really too much to ask for.

Anyway, that is not the point. The point is that there are currently three lizards living in my bathroom. I have christened them, namely, Pascal, Slytherin, and Juju. I'm sure there are more than three now, it's somewhat alarming to see at how fast a pace they're reproducing. But ah, live and let live, or something. 

But the awesome thing is that one of them is probably the baby lizard I had previously blogged about. It has grown up to be a fine young man. Or woman, I'm not gender biased like that. It's good to see your young ones grow up before your eyes.

I currently have an obsession with baby animals. From baby teacup pigs, to baby pandas. I want them all. I keep telling this friend of mine, let's call him Jai, to get a baby polar bear for me. We must remember however, that boys are species unknown to mankind, so I don't know whether he will keep this promise or not. I was also telling him the other day (for no reason at all) about how I wanted a dolphin, and how I would name it Fuzzy Boots, when he pointed out that the name was ironic since the dolphin in question, or any dolphin for that matter, did not have legs, hence making the name scientifically incorrect.

Touché. 

When I was a kid, my mother always told me that she wanted a baby elephant to keep in the backyard. There was a catch though; she wanted this elephant to never grow up, thus maintaining it's cuteness, forever and always. I'm pretty sure the 'never-growing-up' theory has devolped because of me. When I was like two, and we lived in London, I would carry brooms up and down the streets and randomly clean stuff, and now that I'm sixteen (almost, just two months to go) I clean my room about once in four months.

Anyway, we must remember that this cleaning-streets-of-London story was told to me by my elder sister, who has deceived me many times in the past. Allow me to quote an example.

The year was 2006. We were in Fremantle, Australia. I was in elementary school. My sister was in high school, meaning that she came home about ten minutes before me, everyday. Anyway, I was eight, and like all eight year olds, I was obsessed with detectives. I was obsessed. My parents got me this magnifying glass, and I would carry it everywhere with me. I would pretend to be a detective, and when my then-thirteen-year-old (now twenty) sister was in a good mood, she'd play with me. I'd put on sunglasses (like all detectives, duh) and scramble around the house with my magnifying glass. Bliss.

Anyway, one day, I got an email. From an actual detective. Wow, I know. Impressive. Legit detectives keeping tabs on eight year olds pretending to be detectives - believable! The email said that it was from a detective agency, and they wanted to hire me. But this was a secret, I couldn't tell anyone. I was on cloud nine. My entire career was planned out for me. Life could be enjoyed at last.

I held on to this secret. It was my pride. I had proved myself. God was rewarding me for my endeavors.

My glee was short lived.

My mother sat me down one day, and explained to me how this was all my sister's (evil) doing. She'd come home everyday from school, and send these emails to me every day, just before I came home. That's how she was always one step ahead of me. Ah.

Retrospectively speaking, I should have guessed that someone was messing with me, I'm sure the email address that I was getting emails from was something like 'detective123@wearedetectives.com'. Like come on, we all that all detectives have awesomesauce and believable addresses like 'vanilla thunder 93' and so on. So anyway, my sister had been tampering with my dreams and aspirations. I made a very long plan to get back at her, which involved me pretending to be her basketball coach and saying that she had been selected for a tournament, but the plan backfired because I fell asleep devising it. 

Hello, I was eight.

That's how my sister broke my heart seven years ago, about which I still cry into my pillow at night (sometimes). 

The End.

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.