Microsoft Word Is Better Than Pages But You Didn't Hear It From Me

So, okay. Assignments suck. I've decided that's my vibe for 2019. Not to hate assignments. That's been my vibe since I began this thrilling quest we sometimes call university life. No, the vibe is to jump straight into things. Like, I haven't updated anyone about my spicy&exciting&fun&fresh life in almost a year now so you know what I'm not going to beat around the bush like I always do, let's just get straight to it.

But right before we do, I honestly just have to say I tried vegetarian sushi for the first time last week and mmm it changed my freakin' life. Do I curse on my blog? Is freak a curse word? My curling iron is also heating up as I write this and it's midnight and I have a 10 am meeting tomorrow and I don't know why I'm curling my hair at midnight so excuse me but I cannot think straight. But we digress my young, young children. Back to the sushi we go. It was good. I must mention I had it during a study group meeting while the other group members were talking and discussing ideas and I was dunking the sushi into soy sauce, it couldn't have been much fun for them watch me lick sauce off my hands. I would give the sushi a solid 8/10 but not a study-group-type-meal.

Speaking of new year's resolutions (we weren't really but we should have been) I have decided I simply must stop saying the world 'like' every 2 seconds. It is:

1. uncool
2. not fun&fresh
3. makes me sound like an idiot

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

AnyWAY, assignments though, amirite! I thought switching from a double major to a single major might be easier but I would like to go on record and say it is in fact not. I am also a disgusting human being and even though I am no longer in the Adam Smith Business School and am very much in the School of Social Sciences only own a business school hoodie which even has my name on it which I got after I switched schools??? No follow up questions, thank you.

We kid of course. Psychology is my One True Passion and though the journey is sometimes tiresome and triggering, tis a fun one. I'm halfway through 3rd year now so just a year and a half to go, which means I have a #system for coursework by this point. I have a very weird but thorough (in my opinion) process. I own a MacBook which doesn't have Microsoft Word, only Pages (R.I.P. in pieces). I write all my assignments on my laptop, which is alright but Pages and Word are a little different; the word count isn't the exact same, I prefer writing my reference section in Word and in general formatting in Word is easier to me. So I write my draft on my Mac, then I export it to Word, then I email that to myself, then I go the library early morning the day of the submission to snag a library computer on Level 3 (near the cookies and coffee mmm) and only THEN do I submit. Because Pages is shady. You didn't hear it from me. But it high-key is.

 I've been doing this for almost 2 years now and I never thought what a long process this is. Also how dumb it is. I also never thought maybe I should just pay for and buy Word??? Maybe if I didn't spend all my money on deliveroo I'd have some left to buy the things I actually need. But I do need taco bell as well. Some strong arguments were made tonight.

So last week we had a group submission and being the team player your gal is, I piped up I probably shouldn't be the one to submit it, given my s y s t e m. I was all "Oh you know I have a mAc!!!1!!1!! we know how hard those are to work with!!!! #relatableteenzonly". At which point I was met with confused looks. Heart beating fast, I noticed everyone else also had a Mac but no one was agreeing with me. I was all "Don't you pals use pages?", to which the pals replied "R u ok and also what is pages but more to the point r u ok???"

It turns out our University offers us a free trial of all Microsoft Office products for as long as we're in the University. So 4 years for me. Which I found out when I have been at this University for 3 years.

So it's not awesome. But at least I don't have to work in Pages anymore.

Horse Therapy: A Confusing Concept

Zoning out is rude, insensitive, and frankly detrimental to your own health. The human sub conscious is scary, and carries on functioning even when your brain has decided to switch off. Like right now, I just zoned out while typing this sentence, but some part of my brain knew I had to google the word detrimental to make sure it existed and was not something I had made up, like I often do in Word With Friends which is why my mother has stopped playing with me. So I zoned out and googled the word health instead, and I have since confirmed both the words detrimental and health exist. Good progress today, word-wise.

I zone out a lot, which is not very good because I also talk a lot, which means I think a lot about a lot of things, which means I am not the best listener sometimes. I do admit when people are talking to me I horribly start thinking about the next thing I am going to say mid conversation, and end up missing out on what the person just said. I had adopted the nasty habit of interrupting my friends' stories by giving them a patronizing smile and gently saying, "Shh, Anoushka is talking now!" which has caused some difficulties in the past. As a result, I have been making a conscious effort to not talk as much and try to listen more, which means when I do talk now, my stories are strange and ill received by the general public, because I have somehow forgotten how to make conversation. Here is a classic example of how I have been telling stories recently:

Me: "Hey, remember that one thing I vaguely mentioned three weeks ago that I saw that time in that place?"

Pal: ????? "Okay."

Me: "I saw it again today."

Pal: "Oh."

Me: "Indeed."

The 'stories' usually end in an awkward silence and then I start apologising for telling a bad story and making things awkward which makes thing even more awkward and is followed by further silence. I don't understand why I am like this but I am working on it.

Other side-effects of zoning out include me saying 'yes' to a lot of things. This is not always bad; what is life without a little risk and adventure and being open to new experiences? Although it becomes a bit of a problem when the person who is talking to me isn't asking me a yes or no question, or if I blankly say 'yes' without any context whatsoever. Last week my friend told me to message our other friend to tell her we had reached her place, and I responded by looking into the far off distance with a faint smile on my face and just said yes very quietly, because I was probably thinking about something else by that point, which alarmed my friend a great deal. All in all, it just makes the people around me question my sanity and logical skills.

Like the whole horse therapy thing. Damn the whole horse therapy thing.

I am a psychology-economics major which basically means I spend 87% of my time worrying if I'll be able to cope with honours next year/what I'll do after uni (and the other 13% sobbing). I am pretty sure I want to be a counsellor but when I was 14 I was pretty sure I wanted to be a badminton player by day and rogue-singer-slash-rockstar by night, so who knows what my sinful heart will want in two years time. My course friend, who loves horses (and has like 27 billion of them), and I were discussing what we think we'll do once uni ends, and she mentioned something called 'Equine Therapy', more commonly known as horse therapy. My friend was talking about getting into this, but the only words I caught were 'horse therapy', and unfortunately I must admit my mind drifted off just a little bit the first time my friend actually explained what this therapy is about. She talked about it a lot subsequently, and I listened with great attention, because even I'm not mean enough to not listen when my friend is genuinely talking about something she cares about, albeit I didn't quite understand what it was she cared about. It did seem really interesting, even though I didn't exactly remember what horse therapy was. My simple minded brain assured me that it was probably therapy for horses, right? HORSE + THERAPY = THERAPY FOR HORSEYS????? Here is an accurate visual representation of how my brain probably processed the information:

So I naturally assumed my friend wanted to counsel horses. I imagined a horse lying on a couch neighing about his or her problems, while my friend patiently listened. My eyes filled with tears and my heart swelled with love. I finally decided to speak up and let her know how proud I was of her. I told her, "I am proud of you. Helping depressed horses is a very noble path." I further went on to ask exactly why the horses felt depressed. Interesting, isn't it, I continued, we are so wrapped up in our own problems we forget about the fact that horses can also feel depressed. I wanted her to know she had my full support with regard to equine therapy, i.e. therapy where the patients are horses. She calmly listened to me ramble on about depressed horses before gently asking me if I know what equine therapy was. I admittedly felt a stab of pain at this blatant accusation, before she changed my life:

"Anoushka, you do know equine therapy isn't for the horse, right?"

TL;DR: Horse therapy isn't for horses. It is for human patients. The human interacts with horses. The horse isn't depressed. Probably (unconfirmed). 

Campaigning DOs And DON'Ts (Mostly DON'Ts)

Greetings boys and gals and non-binary pals!

I am currently sitting in my room which is in desperate need for a vacuum, but the vacuum cleaner is all the way across the hall, and since I went for a gym class today we can all agree I have completed my work out quota for the day. What is semi-interesting about my gym class is that it was a dance class, and the interesting (debatable) part about that is that I usually go for that class with my friend, who is an excellent dancer and can actually follow the instructor, whereas my coordination skills are not the best in the region, so seeing us dance together isn't exactly the most motivating part of my day. My dance moves include an awkward shoulder bobbing and also some head nodding if I'm feeling extra adventurous. Also the last time I actually danced at a club was also when I hit a random boy on the head with a giant beach ball. No context. Context doesn't even make it better, frankly. Clubs in Glasgow can get wild. Can't really comment on the whole clubbing scene though, seeing how the only place I usually go to on Friday nights is the pub right next to my house, and it is to eat curly fries. Yesterday, I went there all alone after my morning Psych lecture, and treated myself to curly fries at 11 am, which just goes to show giving me a credit card was a big mistake.

I really want to stop talking about curly fries now and move on but I can't think of a subtle way to do this.

*can you do me a solid and pretend this sentence was the transition okie tnx xoxo* 

I can't believe I've been back at uni for more than a month now. So much exciting stuff (Fresher's week, a capella society, stats lectures) has happened, and so has a lot of not very exciting stuff (climbing 75 flights of stairs to get to my new flat, dieting and eating 'healthy', did not sign up for this good lifestyle thing, ew). The most exciting and recent event in my monotonous life was probably last night, when I was deemed elected as a board member for one of the uni's student unions (the best one, in my unbiased opinion). I had spent the entire week campaigning around campus, surviving solely on oatmeal for some reason, and not really sleeping, but to be fair that is not something I do anyway, and who doesn't love oatmeal, so I'm not complaining really just counting my blessings. Wow, that got super wholesome, super fast. I need a second.

The campaigning was exhausting and also amazing. I still can't believe I won, my entire campaign revolved mostly around self deprecating jokes, pictures of food, and my obsession with one of our uni's buildings. I would like to think I have gathered expertise beyond my age in the field of what to do, but more importantly what not to do to get votes.

(Hey I wrote something similar once hahaha what a great time to be alive check it out Interviews - DOs and DON'Ts (Mostly DON'Ts)

 Let us commence:

PRIORITISE: 

- I walked around with a cardboard sign around my neck, with my campaign slogan written on it. This took (I kid you not) three hours to make. For my degree examination in Econ last year, I forgot my ruler and drew the graphs that had to be very precise with my student card, that was bent in the middle. However, whilst writing on a cardboard with a sharpie, I made sure I used the best ruler money could buy.

ATTRACT PEOPLE: 

- Sometimes you see someone with a face that is rather nice. I don't know why this sentence turned out this way, but I'm keeping it. Anyway, I was climbing the Hill of Death from the main gate to the library, when I saw a young attractive male looking in my general direction. The exact moment when we made eye contact, my cardboard sign (which was around my neck) hit me on my face, spreading my purple lipstick to my chin(s). Scotland is a great place, but the wind can be unfortunate sometimes. I kept a scorecard between my sign and me, and so far it is 75-0. I have been defeated by half of an amazon box. The apocalypse is now.

BE SUBTLE:

- Some of my friends helped out a lot with my campaign. They distributed cupcakes with me, they gave out my flyers, they shared their thoughts and opinions, but most importantly, they listened to me talk about it c o n s t a n t l y for 7+ days. Thankfully, I am very skilled in the art of subtlety, so I could ask them for favours and help with the campaign, without sounding too desperate/needy/unprofessional/all around psychotic.

Incidentally, I think I also sent friend requests to every single person who has breathed the same air as me in uni.

DO NOT THREATEN:

- University students love food. Do you know what else they love? Not spending money. I gave out lots of free muffins and cakes and doughnuts with my flyers stuck on them to tempt people into voting for me. I am an extremely hyper active person, and my friends can be just as enthusiastic as me. Whenever anyone would pass us, my friend would immediately run up to them with the tray of food inches away from their mouth and ask breathlessly "HEYDOYOUWANTSOMEFREEFOODITSFREENOMONEYVOTEFORANOUSHKA"which was very nice and worked mostly, but it made me question the method somewhat.


DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT THAT IS REALLY WEIRD I AM SERIOUS:

- The free food concept ended up working really well, but there were lots of times when my friends and I just stood with the trays of food waiting for someone to take something. During this time, whenever anyone would even glance at the tray, I would immediately look into their eyes, then smile really slowly and creepily. I think a few times I even yelled "Come and get it, I know you want it." at complete strangers, and I have since been informed I am not allowed to do that.

This entire blog post was just an excuse to issue a formal apology for my extremely inappropriate behaviour.

I was high on sharpie fumes.

I cannot be held accountable.

Washing Clothes Is Unnecessary And Life Threatening (Ish)

You know the exact moment you feel your life spiralling out of control, like when you want to make stuffed chicken at night because except for the chicken that expires tomorrow you ate everything else in the fridge (instead of going to the gym, or like... not eating constantly) so okay, you go to Tesco to pick up some sun dried tomatoes but you can't find them and you've already asked the Tesco guy where the cheese is you can't possibly ask him another question no one in the history of the world has asked someone two questions so your face becomes hot and you remember you forgot your inhaler at home ineedamomenttobreathe 

It's just all still so fresh...

Going through a downward spiral is pretty easy, and once it starts it can be hard to snap out of it. I am, for most of the part, very happy with my life in Glasgow, but only because I am a simple (albeit lovable) and slow little fool. I am easily distracted, so as long as I am in my onesie and watching Modern Family I forget most of my worries, but as soon as I remember one, they all come crashing down. I was telling my friend earlier today how my recent econ lecture was a little hard to understand, and I hadn't worried about it before, but now that I was thinking about it we had a test coming up in only like 27 days which is not a lot of time to un-foolify yourself, and pretty soon I was breathlessly also stating how I have seven unwashed dishes under my bed, how I had 'forgotten' to go to the gym every day since like 10 months and also that I hadn't taken out the trash for five hundred and a half days. She sympathised with me and said she needed to do some chores too, like her laundry, which reminded me I needed to my damn laundry as well and everyone knows how triggered I am by my laundry.

It all started roughly a year ago.

I was a fresher (ah, youth) at a foreign university, and since I knew how high the expenses were, I was dead set on saving as much money as I could. I tried to not skimp too much on essentials like food™ and Stuff From Primark That I Absolutely Did Not Need At All Under Any Circumstances, but I had a very clever plan - or so I thought. We had our own washing machines and dryers in the halls, which were outrageously expensive, so I had the extremely bright idea of washing my own clothes by hand in the sink and then just using the dryer - I'd be saving a whole 2.40 pounds on the washing machine (WHO CHARGES A KID THAT MUCH FOR CLEAN CLOTHES) and I honestly didn't understand why everyone else was not in on this hot deal. So I washed my clothes by hand, embarrassingly excited by all the money I was going to save. Having lived a privileged chores-free (ish) life, I didn't know just how wet clothes were supposed to be post washing machine adventures, so I didn't think it odd loading absolutely dripping wet clothes into a dryer. But hey, think of all the money I was saving, just spending a pound on the dryer.

Except that I didn't. After the first cycle in the dryer, my clothes were almost the same as before, so I put them in for another cycle. After all, second time's the charm?

But after 3 cycles in the goddamn dryer my clothes were still wet. After spending maybe 7 pounds trying to dry my clothes (which means 7 cycles in the dryer, yes I study math), I bundled them all up and hung them up in my room instead, much to the delight of my new roommate (but we now share a flat together, so things worked out, spoiler alert). I had towels hanging from my cupboard door, and socks hanging out from my window, which is literally the Most Indian To Ever Have Indianed. I don't what our strange urge is, I guess you can take an Indian out of India but you can never prevent them from drying clothes outside windows (please never quote me on that).

Also, it never hit me that perhaps attempting to dry wet socks at a window sill in the city where it rained 25 hours a day was not one of my better plans. But at that time I still thought I had saved money by not using a washing machine for 2.40 and instead using a dryer for 7 pounds, so we can all agree I was a naïve idiot and nothing but.

The next morning my clothes were still a little damp, and I had to sit down with my face in my hands for a little while and attempt to understand why the universe was personally victimising me. My newly made friends had a little heart-to-heart with me, which felt mostly like an intervention, and explained how maybe I didn't need to own 8 towels and wash them all together and how maybe, just maybe, I could not be a stingy little moron and use the washing machine instead of spending all the money I had ever owned and ever will own on the dryer.

Things are a little different in my new flat, because we have a washing machine but not a dryer, so I use a drying rack now.

It takes nearly 48+ hours for my clothes to dry but it beats seven cycles in a dryer and endless emotional trauma. I count my blessings every day. 

Father Vs Mother (Youngest Daughter Makes Special Appearance)

On the List of Things I Think I Have But Haven't Technically Been Diagnosed with, insomnia is also included. It's currently 5.08 am, and after seeing countless episodes of Oswald (the lovable but idiotic octopus), the theme song of which always makes me sleepy, I am still awake, so the obvious solution is to give up sleeping altogether and make myself  a cup of coffee. If I sleep at 6 am again tonight (today?) and wake up at 4 pm tomorrow my mother will actually stab me. Quite possibly unnecessarily and repeatedly. 

My best friend, who has been staying at my place for the past three days, is fast asleep beside me. She is a fashion major, currently working on her portfolio, and yesterday she fell asleep with her right hand in the position of holding a needle. It was rather adorable, which makes what I almost did to her poor, unsuspecting sleeping stance even meaner. But you will soon see, my mother is to blame. Not I. 

Not I…not me? I don’t know how to English.

Anyway, do you know who snores? Papa. My father is a precious cinnamon roll, but man does he snore. His pattern is not even the same throughout; it keeps changing as the night progresses. And how do I know this? Okay. Hold up (OHHHH….HOLD UP!!!! Was High School Musical 2 even a real movie?). 

What you’re probably thinking right now is, wow, Kapoorni, I love you, you devilish beauty!, which is cute but a little irrelevant I am afraid. What you should be thinking is, Er do you still sleep with your parents you gigantic oaf the answer to which is sometimes when I remember the time I read the story of ‘The Human Centipede’  even though I knew it would freak the hell out of me. Whatever, it’s not like I am an almost 19 year old, about to go into second year of University, who is still afraid of the dark.

And clowns. 

My point is, man does my dad snore! My mother is probably used to this by now, and has devised a rather sound but a little questionable system for this. The second my father starts to snore (albeit soft at first) my mother’s sharp ears catch it even if she is in a deep sleep herself. It is rather remarkable (and somewhat frightening) how quickly she reacts; swiftly her hand flies to his face and she lightly smacks him. Round 1, Mother emerges victorious. All is peaceful. Father shifts a little in his sleep. The signs, they are evident again. Round 2 is not far away. Ah, it beings. Father commences a different pattern of making sounds. What will Mother do? All wait with baited breath for the opponent to strike again. Not missing a heartbeat, Mother chooses a different weapon of choice this time, and lightly prods Father in the back, while perhaps letting out an angry growl to drown out the enemy’s sound. Father is thick skinned when it comes to Snore Battles, and (although now silenced) registers no knowledge of the physical abuse he is suffering at the hands of the mother of his children. Round 3 begins with Father snoring in an extremely rare and a little concerning manner. Mother, now tired, thinks about letting her Substitute Candidate play a few. The Sub doesn’t need to be told twice; or even once, for that matter. As soon as Round 3 begins, the Sub is on it. Father undergoes sudden attack by youngest daughter. She neatly elbows him in the stomach, sometimes accompanied by battlecries of “Papaaaa yaar shhh pleaseeeee”. The game continues, neither opponent gives up. Next Morning: Mother and Father wake up with no recollection of nightly battle. Meanwhile, daughter learns that assaulting someone if they snore is what social convention dictates. 

(Too Long; Didn’t Read - Family normalises abuse, then wonders where youngest born gets violent tendencies from.)

Recollections Of The Times I Had Very Little Or No Chill At All

If you asked me exactly when I realised I blow things out of proportion, I wouldn't be able to answer you. I think it occurred to me around the time when my sister was playing Sims when she knew it was my turn, and I pulled her hair and maybe also punched her shoulder, that I might have some sort of an issue (I still maintain she fell down from the chair on her own; I cannot help but be muscular and magnificently strong). I think that is when it dawned on me that perhaps I responded to some life events in a...somewhat different (for lack of a better word) manner.

It all began when I was a young, young child on the cusp of girlhood. Wait, what? No. I remember I was like four, and I had this obsession with blood. I craved it like the goat craves that mineral.

I blame my parents, who are doctors, and who have no sense of private space. Often times folders marked as 'Images' on our computer were filled with photographs from gory surgeries. Imagine a four year old stumbling onto these (not that I still don't, thanks guys), and the sheer trauma faced therein. So I had this newfound fascination with blood (which is pretty ironic, because I gave up studying biology in 11th grade because the sight of blood made me queasy by then) and I didn't know what to do with it. Until one day it burst forth with gay abandon. Several times, actually. I remember whenever somebody was hurt, or someone even talked about someone being hurt, I always had one question on my lips:

"But did it...bleed?" I would ask quietly, in a breathless gasp, standing on my tiptoes to sneak a peak of the delicious bloody wound. It was actually much creepier when I did it in my mother tongue ("Khoon...khoon aya kya?"). To be fair, it's pretty darn creepy any way you put it, I am sure I looked like a sick, twisted kid fresh out of a horror movie. I completely forgot about these incidents, until a few years ago when my sister gently asked me why I used to be a maniacal sociopath as a child, for which I had no answer.

In case you're wondering, this serious condition has no official name yet, nor have I been given the medical attention I require urgently, which is why I am unable to stop these urges, even during University. To this day, I continue to have very little, or almost no chill at all. I recently tutored someone who wanted to learn Hindi. I was teaching her how to ask for directions, like how to say "Where can I find ____?". The sentence I chose to illustrate this point was Where can I find the hospital? which, to me, seemed pretty normal - don't get me wrong, I've had my share of scary hospital visits, like the time I had a soft tissue injury in my right elbow (unsuccessfully tried using labrador as horse, got thrown to the ground and stepped on by own doggo) or when I got high on laughing gas (got earring stuck in ear - true story). To be fair, the day I got high on laughing gas as an eight year old was easily one of the best days of my life, though I creeped the ~hell~ out of my parents. My point remains, inspite of these lovely and numerous trips to the hospital, I still view it as the nice friendly place where I get to drink coke in the sunny courtyard whilst my mother tends to her patients, but I forget that most people don't; hence how I freaked my student out a little by suggesting the holy palace of blood a.k.a. my favourite place should be the first thing she should learn  how to say.

The most recent incident of M.H.A.N.C.A.A. (Me Having Almost No Chill At All) was last December. During my psychology 1A degree examination, we had to answer a question on conditioning techniques. I was writing about operant conditioning, and needed an example for positive punishment (in simple terms, decreasing undesired behaviour by presentation of aversive stimulus). I wrote the very first example that came to my mind, which I realised (only after submitting my answer sheet) was slightly, if not completely, questionable : Positive punishment, example: spanking an infant while potty training him or her. First of all, not only did I write the word 'potty' in my degree examination, the implications I linked with it were somewhat debatable. It is a wonder I have managed to pass Psychology at all, and now that we are on the topic of Wonder Woman, here is what I have to say about it:

1. it is an excellent movie
2. I may or may not have seen it several times already
3. it is an EXCELLENT movie
4. Bill Wurtz is a God

The 4th point wasn't related to the movie but I felt like pointing out that Bill Wurtz is indeed a God.

Why I Do Not Swim In Glasgow - A Survivor's Tale

Hello, mischievous children.

It took me seven tries to type 'mischievous'. On an unrelated note, I am pretty sure I am dyslexic, after all Google diagnosed it for me and the internet is never wrong (Side note: if you accidentally say "tex in a saxi" instead of "sex in a taxi" in a conversation to your flatmates and then try to pass it off as mouth dyslexia they will most certainly not believe you, and instead ask you to go stand in a corner).

But we digress. As we have all established by now, my life is one full of never ending pain and suffering and so on, and recent incidents have further confirmed that belief.

Hold on, my dog is barking in his sleep. He's probably having a nightmare, so I have to wake him up. I wish someone would wake me up when I have nightmares. Why, just last night my frendos, I dreamt that I was in a swimming pool with Lynette from Desperate Housewives. It was rather frightening. You will soon see this story is actually related to the one I am about to tell you. Keep up, keep up. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

As everyone who is interested in my life and is keeping up with the kapoorni (i.e. no one) knows, I am studying in Glasgow and am currently home for the summer. I was telling my mom this story (not the one about me studying in Glasgow, she pays for that, she knows that, the story I am about to tell you, cheeky minxes!!) and my mom was all like

"Hey, that's funny, I think you should blog about this, also why are you a fool LMAO stop embarrassing the fam." (That is more or less of the gist of what she said)

And then I thought

"hmm, okay". 

Oh wait, I don't have to be irrelevant here, I don't need to extend the word count, it's not like it's my Psych1B Essay OHHHHHH SHOTZ FIRED DAYUM SON!!!

Moving on, back to the swimming nightmare I had yesterday. I am pretty sure I know why I had that nightmare. It's because of the hellish experience I had (that one time) when I went swimming in Glasgow. I know what all of you are thinking. "But aren't you a good swimmer? Didn't you bag second place among like four people in a race like six years ago?" I can no longer deny the rumours, yes that is true. And thus, like the naïve yet somewhat lovable fool that I am known widely for being, I went swimming in Glasgow. Now, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm brown (This joke is much funnier with my white friends. Wait, can I say white friends? Can I call myself brown? What are the rules?). That means nothing really, but sometimes I'm...let's say conspicuous.

Q1. HEY! Do you know what's also somewhatishkinda conspicuous?
A1. The colour (bright) purple.

Q2. WHAT'S SUPER CONSPICUOUS OMG GUESS????
A2. A brown person in a bright purple costume!!!

There I was, looking satisfied in my bright purple costume, until I saw that every other girl there was
a. in a bikini
b. a goddess

Another thing that made me panic was that swimming caps weren't compulsory. Back home, all girls are expected to wear swimming caps* (*this compulsion does not extend to men because men and women are not equal, I'm sitting in the kitchen typing this because that is where women belong haha the 21st century sure is great) which is awesome because I happen to look like a rather large potato in a swimming cap, but it's okay because so does everyone else (to quote my roommate: #communalsuffering). In Glasgow, I was clutching onto my black super shiny hat, but no one else was wearing one, so I decided to pull my long, thick hair into a sexy bun on the top of my head and casually seduce some unsuspecting men.

Not.

I scraped my ear-length hair into a tiny onion-like ball on my head, which made me look like an oompa loompa, according to my kind friends.

So here I was, in my purple costume, looking like a sad oompa loompa, but hey - that's not too bad right? WRONG.

Back in sixth grade, life decided that wearing braces wasn't enough for me, I also needed thick glasses. The braces came off, but the glasses stayed. Thankfully my kind mother had mercy on me and agreed to have contact lenses made for me, especially because I played badminton and swam, and so lenses were much easier to handle. The thing about wearing lenses and swimming is, you can't open your eyes under water because the thing about chlorine is, well, to make a long story short it's not the best thing to expose lenses to. So whenever I swam, I had to wear swimming goggles as well, to protect my ironically poorly sighted eyes. Now the thing about my head is that, well, it's not very big. Which means I have to tighten my swimming goggles as much as I possibly can, which means that the straps stick up at the ends, which in turn means I look like I have horns growing out of my ears. Which, in my humblest of opinions, is not a great look. To sum up, this is what I looked like in a pool fool of gorgeous, beautifully chiseled, and non-purple-clothing wearing people:

It is no mystery why I never returned to that wretched place.

a (love) story

the bonny lass with hair as fair
as the morning shining sun,
would look out her palace window in despair
gloomily, grumblingly, glum.
waiting for her charming prince,
who would be caring, loving, and sweet,
it had been a while since
she had been swept off her feet.

born to the queen and king,
who were now turning rather old,
in thirty days to exchange a ring
she had been strictly told.
on the day that they would wed,
she had been promised white horses and doves,
the one problem that wasn't said:
the bonny lass had never been in love.

each day suitors came,
from kingdoms far away,
with many deeds to their name,
to hear what the princess had to say.
each day rode in handsome lads,
tall and short, young and old,
every type their kingdom had,
cowardly, timid, brave and bold.

and so our young lass
dolled up every single day,
she was asked to withhold her sass
and appear pretty, merry, coy and gay,
her tiny waist was tied
in a corset rather tight,
while she silently sighed,
everyone oblivious to he plight.

her yellow hair was brushed
rather shyly by her maid,
over the princess she did fuss
while her hair she quietly made.
she parted the golden strands,
with fingers delicate and thin,
with patience and soft hands,
the only time the princess did grin.

each day for twenty days
the princess met new men,
by her parents' rules she did play,
but they were flustered when
they saw her dwindling interest,
about her they worried,
they just wanted her best,
but, ah, love cannot be hurried.

and thus on the thirtieth day,
the princess blushingly confessed
the kingdom didn't know what to say,
but soon the couple was blessed.
a smile replaced the frowns,
admittedly they made an enchanting pair,
especially in the two bride gowns -
the princess and the girl who brushed her hair.

~ a love story

A Breathing Paradox

A BREATHING PARADOX 

Sleep eludes me some nights,
Though beckon as I might.
I sweet-talk it into coming,
Until I hear morning birds humming.
Yet sometimes I spend hours in bed,
Asleep when my pillow is hit by my head.
These times are not rare,
To find me peacefully asleep and blissfully unaware.
I ask myself, how can it be?
Two clashing souls alive in me?

Some days I curl my short locks,
I wear my favourite cream frock.
Spraying perfume on my wrists,
Adorning bracelets onto my fists.
But ah - I may not always pluck my brows,
I often forget to wash my blouse.
My eyes I may not line,
My skirt may bear stains of white wine.
I ask myself, how can it be?
Two clashing souls alive in me?

When it's cold,
I wish I had someone's hand to hold.
"You're beautiful", he'd shyly confess,
Even when I looked like a mess.
But I also enjoy solitude,
And escape someone else's swinging moods.
To walk by myself in the snow,
Directionless, wherever I wish to go.
I ask myself, how can it be?
Two clashing souls alive in me?

I can't even look people in the eye,
And can't open up no matter how I try.
I sit in a corner, dejected
From society, feeling rejected.
And yet, there are days when I skip, not walk!
When I can endlessly talk!
I can throw my head back and laugh till I cry,
You'd think me anything but shy.
Again, I ask myself : how can it be?
Why are two clashing souls alive in me?

An Exclusive Interview With A Ravishing Beauty : Part II

Lovelies!

I know I am a forgetful buffoon and it's been several decades since I've updated you regarding my ever eventful life. Let me give you a quick recap, in order of relevance :

My hair is golden again.

I now (for some reason) run a bakery wherein I...well, bake.

I have graduated from 12th grade!

It is true, fellow kiddies. I am done with Physics and Chemistry  but probably not Maths (damn) and Economics (YASS). I will probably go to either Uni of Glasgow or Exeter in two months which means I have only two months to do everything I wanted to do after school, ie go on a roadtrip, learn the guitar, start a vlog, become a millionaire, write a book, become thin and maybe even good looking, you know, your average 18 year old (okay, 17 and nine months) wish list.

Side note, have you noticed how whenever I mention my age on this blog, I am always three months
away from my birthday?

No?

Nobody cares that much?

Cool, me neither.

GETTING TO DA POINT NOW.

So today is the third of June! That lovely time is once again upon us, ladies and gentleboys (I do not know why I say this. My sister says it. I do whatever my sister does. #healthy).
It's the second birthday of my blogggggg! Butterbeer all around!

Do you know what that means?

YESSSS!

Welcome to :

An Exclusive Interview With A Ravishing Beauty : Part II

AK: Hello, and welcome back! I am your exotic host, and today we shall be closely viewing the life of a fellow jobless oaf, namely, AK!
AK: Thankyou, thankyou very much. It is indeed an honour to be back here. I have so much to share-

AK: Okie cool story Anshi. So, are you excited about embarking on your second year, even though you have approximately seven and a half readers left?
AK: *patting eyes with tissue* I sure am. And it's eight and a half. And don't you worry, that did not stop me from mentioning in all my college essays about how I love to write, and even run a moderately successful humour based blog with more than 8,000 views.

AK: Is that true?
AK: Next question.

AK: Tell me about your bakery. I don't really care but it's 11.30 in the afternoon and I clearly have nothing better to do with my time.
AK: Ah, yes. The bakery. It's called "BakeBaby."

AK: Okay.
AK: Do you want to know the story behind it?

AK: Frankly, no. But neither did your college interviewers yesterday, but you still told them, so shoot.
AK: *Nervous laughter with hints of unresolved childhood trauma* So in the national treasure Bridesmaids Kristen Wiig (ie the Goddess) runs a bakery called Cake Baby.

AK: Doesn't she shut that bakery down due to bankrup-
Ak: So I told my sister I'm going to name my bakery Cake Baby. But she came up with the brilliant idea that it should be called Bake Baby. Why, you may ask?

AK: I'm not askin-
AK: Because then when the bakery is really famous, and I have advertisements on TV, after the commercial finishes, a tiny baby voice will whisper "Bake Baby."

AK: ...
AK: ...

AK: *clears throat* I hear you'll be perusing your combined degree from the UK?
AK: I may have to sell both my kidneys, but yes. I will do anything to adopt their accent.

AK: Their...what?
AK: Their education.

AK: Right...And why did you choose both psychology and economics as your majors?
AK: Obviously, for very well thought out reasons. Not because I liked them both and was too lazy to choose one. Yeah, come on AK, it's not like the thought of having two majors is freaking me out okay. It's not like I'm afraid of not understanding psychology since I've, you know, never studied it in my life! Hahahahahaha. Maybe you're afraid. Have you thought about that? Hahahahaha maybe you're the one who's scared of college. Maybe you're the one who fantasizes about being married to Eddie Redmayne.

AK: That is true. We are the same person, you moron.
AK: Can we talk about Eddie Redmayne now?

AK: No.
AK: I love Eddie Redmayne.

AK: I want you to leave now.
AK: Are you going to watch Les Miserables?

AK: Probably.
AK: Ask me one more question. Ask me what my favorite movie is.

AK: Do I have to?
AK: I know you have nothing better to do. I know you're going to go watch Les Miserables - behind the scenes. I know you. I know-

AK: What is your favorite movie?
AK: How does one really choose a favorite? I can give you my top three, and maybe throw in a free autograph but that's all you're getting you cheeky minx-

AK: If you wind this up quickly I will tell you a fun fact about Eddie Redmayne.
AK: 1. The Social Network
       2. Les Miserables
       3. 10 Things I Hate About You

AK: That is really exciting. It is.
AK: Fun fact time!

AK: Fun Fact : Eddie Redmayne is married!
AK: i crie

Thankyou for reading! Thankyou for sticking with Siriusly Riddikuls, seriously ridiculous though it may be! I know I rarely update, and my content may not be that good, but it really keeps me going to see that even two years down the line, there is still somebody reading my silly stuff every single day. I promise to try my best to make you laugh, dear readers, because you guys da best. Love and hugs from Anoushka.

Struggling

And my mother stood in the doorway
Smiling at me as I dipped pieces of bread
into egg.
While I giggled, she shook her head
Saying how happy she was
That I was out of bed
And laughing.

And later that night,
We were watching a show
on the TV.
It was so bad, it made me laugh out loud,
And again my mother said
How I hadn't laughed that much in days.

And I tried listening to music
But I was just reminded of the past
I tried reading books
But I was going too fast
I didn't have the patience anymore
To stop and read all the words
I was being absurd
I just wanted the task to be done
But my efforts to do it were none.

And I finally stumbled across one song
that made me happy.
But then I listened to it far too long
When I showered the next day
and heard it again,
I remembered all the pain.

And still later that night,
I looked in my mirror
As I ran my purple brush
Through my golden strands
And the reflection mimicked my hands.
A smile seemed to leer
on my face
And I thought it queer:
For I usually hated the girl in the mirror.
But not this time.

And the next day I told Him how
I didn't feel as miserable now.
How I listened to One Republic all night,
How I finally put up a fight
With my own self
And conquered my sorrow
At least until tomorrow.

What He Saw

At five, he saw with his eyes so wide,
A plane across the sky gleam and glide.
At five, he did wonder and think,
About these flying objects; didn't sleep a wink.
At five, he searched the sky, running around in his street,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of this treasure so sweet.

At ten, he saw his paper plane sore ever so high,
With envy the other kids did sigh.
At ten, he tore a sheet from his book,
Expertly folding down the corners and crooks.
At ten, he crafted a plane out of his hands,
And made it fly across imaginary lands.

At fifteen, he saw his mother carefully wipe
Her eyes, her smudged kohl left a wobbly stripe.
At fifteen, he touched his father's feet and asked for his blessing,
Told his sister he'd be home soon, she needn't be fussing.
At fifteen, he kissed his girlfriend goodbye (promising he'll see her again),
As he left home to train, and at last fly a plane.

At twenty, he saw his name printed on the uniform,
He had undeniably stirred up quite the storm -
At twenty, those twice his age listened to him when he spoke,
Everyone agreed his leadership skills could persuade and provoke.
At twenty, his fellow men marvelled as he led the forces with remarkable skill,
With fear, the hearts of his enemies stood still.

He never saw twenty five.

Pain

Soft hands, and arms pearly white,
It really was a heart wrenching sight.
Of this maiden so fair,
Her face now contorted with despair.
Left paralysed by the searing pain,
She tries to fight the agonizing strain.
Her creamy skin bears red slashes,
Her life before her flashes    
As she looks around at the blood her own,
Making her weak till the marrow of her bone.                    
Her head spins as she cries for help,
The world deaf to her wails and yelps.
She holds her hand still,
As the blood continues to spill.
She draws breath in through her teeth,
As the pool of blood gathers at her feet.
Her face now adorned with beads of sweat,
She thinks of her past actions with regret.
Down her cheeks, her tears do crawl,
To tumble down into the red waterfall.
Catching her pathetic reflection in the mirror,
She angrily looks around for her killer -  
But her bloodied razor lies forgotten, forlorn and sad;
At shaving her arms, she'd always been bad.

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."