I cannot drive well with my parents sitting in the car. Period. There, i said it. And this is not a statement one is likely to make over an evening tea, i have given this a lot of thought, most of which was when my parents were shouting into my ear for overtaking a car, oh which by the way was going at 30kmph and had a huge L on its back.
I'm not saying that they are entirely wrong, after all Delhi's traffic is as predictable as its weather. But i could do a lot better if i dint have anyone standing on my head and shouting into my brains.
Its not just the shouting i hate, there are comments sometimes. Yes, comments!!! comments which have nothing to do with the topic of discussion or even anything remotely related to places passing by.
i like my drive to be all about me. I want the stereo to be playing system of a down, at a volume only i can listen to, i dont wont to honk and neither to be honked on. I want a cold beverage next to me and most importantly i dont wont either of my parents sitting next to me!!!
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
My friends in the hostel are trying to teach me table tennis, and believe me it wont be soon before they shave their heads, change there names and move to
Apart from the horror of teaching me TT, my hostel is an excellent place to live in a group…we have so much bonded which each other that we have even appointed an official hostel rapper! He has full access to any one’s room and the shower even when sum1 is in it. And I m proud to say he is so good he is on his 3rd term!!!
I don’t gt it, why do I have to pay a hefty sum to unknown people eho call themselves “ Skin specialists” to tell me how bad and ugly my skin is. Why cant I just call Simon?
The jaipur blasts were a real tragedy and it was sweet of my friend to call and ask me if everything was fine at my house in jaipur, the only thing that stinged was wen he remarked, “ Good, so no one was picked up fr questioning frm
Friday, April 18, 2008
JUST ANOTHER DAY
Free day. Cricket. Party. Chinese. Vodka. Mettalica. Fight. Blood. Water. Broken glass. Nescafe. Phone. Colours!!! lol.....frikkin college life......
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
THEY WILL BE MISSED
"It was a freak accident...." Thats how they explained it, thats exactly how. Maybe you too would have called it a "freak accident" if you happened to be present there, at that moment, you too would have seen - just like i did - the car hit her and go on to bump into a tree. You too would have stood there-just as i did-staring open eyed as your brain calculated fast and tried to come up with a conclusion on whom to help first. And its moments like these that the brain shuts down, refuses to take in anything. Maybe its just not manufactured to take in "freak accidents" like these. And after all would have passed, the bodies taken, the scene cleared, you would walk away- just like many other- to tell others about this "freak accident", but i din't. I stayed. Cause i knew, knew a lot.
But will they still call it a "freak accident" when the parents arrive? won't they be taken into a big room or a small room or any room strong enough to swollow there voices. Will they be told everything? the fight, the letters, the bottle of vodka, the mid-night stroll? Will they be informed about the night he was discovered outside the girls hostel having passed out only after shouting her name out loud countless of times? or that why she had been missing classes or the body pain she had been complaining about so much.
Mothers will cry, fathers will blame each other. Making one last attempt to calm their minds, to find an answer to the questions their children left them with.
But who shall i blame? i knew them well to understand that it was the circumstances that caused all of this to happen. I will sit down where we three always sat when we wanted to get away from everything and what will ring in my ears is something she said to me the last time we spoke:
"Maybe money cannot buy love, but u can end up paying heavily for it."
But will they still call it a "freak accident" when the parents arrive? won't they be taken into a big room or a small room or any room strong enough to swollow there voices. Will they be told everything? the fight, the letters, the bottle of vodka, the mid-night stroll? Will they be informed about the night he was discovered outside the girls hostel having passed out only after shouting her name out loud countless of times? or that why she had been missing classes or the body pain she had been complaining about so much.
Mothers will cry, fathers will blame each other. Making one last attempt to calm their minds, to find an answer to the questions their children left them with.
But who shall i blame? i knew them well to understand that it was the circumstances that caused all of this to happen. I will sit down where we three always sat when we wanted to get away from everything and what will ring in my ears is something she said to me the last time we spoke:
"Maybe money cannot buy love, but u can end up paying heavily for it."
Sunday, February 10, 2008
AUSTRALIAN OPEN 2008
Sport follows a plan. Every coach swears by it, every manual prescribes it. To win you need to sweat, embrace consistancy, gain a new perspective, sometimes you change tactics, sometimes your mentor. There are customs to be followed for success. Please understand.
For instance, Nadal takes his game to the workshop for an overhaul, takes the spanner to his mind, tightens his discipline. He manages to reach the semi final of the Australian Open for the first time since turning a pro. This makes sense. Logic is at work here.
For instance, Maria Sharapova oils her awkard movement, polishes her confidance, finds a new perspective to life, mentally takes a leap last year where she brakes barriers against top names in tennis. In Australia, she pushes her way to the final. She wins. no surprise is felt, her work ethic is evident, her discipline plain.
But sometimes, rarely, magnificently, sport makes little sense, it sneers at logic, it laughs at convention, it mocks every rule. Victory lands in from nowhere and its powerfull because it reinforces the art of impossible. Occasionaly it is the closest we come to magic.
What we saw at the open was exceptional. The new surface was approved by almost ever player, the pace added to the ball made tennis even more fun to watch this time.
Unseeded players making it to the final, Serbians exposing a poet's imperfections, the flaws in his meter. Stars packing bags early, players geting into controversies...it was like a priyadarshan movie.
But the end was a swan song for both the finalist, each making a mark at there standings. Justin Henin dissapointed, Sharapova impressed, Venus struggled, Sania depressed, Ivanovic came of age. But its to soon to question Federer's place in tennis. Roddick and Hewitt need a miracle, Nadal needs to find consistancy.
Whatever the outcome, this Slam was something to remember. Not just for what came on the field but also for what went off it.
For instance, Nadal takes his game to the workshop for an overhaul, takes the spanner to his mind, tightens his discipline. He manages to reach the semi final of the Australian Open for the first time since turning a pro. This makes sense. Logic is at work here.
For instance, Maria Sharapova oils her awkard movement, polishes her confidance, finds a new perspective to life, mentally takes a leap last year where she brakes barriers against top names in tennis. In Australia, she pushes her way to the final. She wins. no surprise is felt, her work ethic is evident, her discipline plain.
But sometimes, rarely, magnificently, sport makes little sense, it sneers at logic, it laughs at convention, it mocks every rule. Victory lands in from nowhere and its powerfull because it reinforces the art of impossible. Occasionaly it is the closest we come to magic.
What we saw at the open was exceptional. The new surface was approved by almost ever player, the pace added to the ball made tennis even more fun to watch this time.
Unseeded players making it to the final, Serbians exposing a poet's imperfections, the flaws in his meter. Stars packing bags early, players geting into controversies...it was like a priyadarshan movie.
But the end was a swan song for both the finalist, each making a mark at there standings. Justin Henin dissapointed, Sharapova impressed, Venus struggled, Sania depressed, Ivanovic came of age. But its to soon to question Federer's place in tennis. Roddick and Hewitt need a miracle, Nadal needs to find consistancy.
Whatever the outcome, this Slam was something to remember. Not just for what came on the field but also for what went off it.
And Sharapova, we hope you havent forgotten those roses.
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