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.