Regret Reprise

My sister wrote a sequel to my previous poem Regret -

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

Your hair is grey, your knees ache and sigh.

You have been happy, have you not, friend?

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

The world was your oyster, the sky your limit,

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

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

The mascara on her lashes that made her look bold.

And now as your life fades,

In and out of your memory she wades.

You shake your head and chide your heart,

For being such a foolish work of art.

But my dear, oh dear, you are unaware,

To think of you, she does also dare -

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

You forever warm her thoughts:

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

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

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

And just a second too long, let it linger -

She remembers it all though she acted cold,

It was just an act - a truth untold.

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

Her hair is short and her dress is long,

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

The lovely lady, she says lovely things,

The things she has been hiding all along,

You understand now why you were wrong -

To think that you didn't haunt her dreams,

(Indeed, everything is not what it seems.)

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

You are at peace when you breathe your last."

Regret.

My dear, oh dear, you cannot see,

How she plays with you so obviously.

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

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

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

She left the battlefield years ago

Her heart too delicate to bear it again and again-

Love stabbed her in the back when.

My dear, oh dear, you cannot understand,

When she lets you hold her hand,

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

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

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

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

Her carefully applied mascara will not further spread,

No more tears over love will she ever shed.

My dear, oh dear, but you cannot hear,

Her soft tears at night, when she wants you near

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

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

So she walks confidently, though shaking inside,

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

From her rude glares thrown their way,

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

My dear, oh dear, you did not pay heed

She warned you to never do the deed

She told you to stay away,

Why oh why did you not listen to her say

That her world was not for you,

Now you must return heartbroken, and empty handed too,

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

Too many have tried and failed to do it when.

My dear, oh dear, you did not know,

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

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

Lovelies!

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

Wait. What?

I can juggle. Thassright.

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

We had a moment of silence after that.

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

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

PV = nRT

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

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

(P + )(V - nb) = nRT

I can really relate to this.

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

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

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

They
will
be
worth
it.

I promise you.

Creeping People Out With Knowledge 101

Lovelies!

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

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

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

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

Lettus get straight to our point.

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

THE TIME I CREEPED OUT REKHA DIDI FOR ALL OF ETERNITY

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

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

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

I called her to my side, and started explaining.

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

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

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

So I came up with this -

I AM A WOMAN

"I flip my long hair over my shoulder,

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

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

I wear my sweatpants and eat Cheetos in bed.

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

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

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

I am a woman, and I am proud.

You cannot lay a finger on me,

You cannot tell me whether or not to be free.

You can’t define the length for my skirt,

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

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

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

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

I am a woman, I cannot be contained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I demand equality, and fulfilment of my rights,

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

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

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

I will not be swayed by your hollow words,

I will not step down until my voice is heard.

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

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

not a real post, part 50

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

https://instagram.com/perfectlypretentiouspoems/

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

xoxo

Do You Want Aloo Gobbi In Your Hair Too?

Guys and gals and pizzas and mushrooms.

HELLO!

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

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

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

Okay.

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

Moving on.

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

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

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

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

Cut.

My. 

Hair.

With his Aloo Gobbi hands. 

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

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

She will stop referring to herself in third person now.

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

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

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

What can I say. Sucks to be me.