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.