See? It Happened Again.

So I’m coming home. I turn into the colony gate and roar down the arrow-straight, recently-cemented road at the end of which lies Casa 1945.

As is my wont (to put it pretentiously), I do what I sometimes do– take both hands off the handlebars and let the bike ride itself to the end. Look ma, no hands and all that.

The mother-daughter pair having a gas outside Thatched Hut 1943 watch with interest as I dismount, lock, and take off my helmet and run my hands through my hair.

“Excuse me, aap kahan rehte hain?“

Like a fool, I get tongue-tied and tell them I live in atthara-sow saatt. Club 1860 was my citadel two years ago; it’s two blocks away.

“1860 pe?“

I mumble some rubbish about “pichle saal” and point to 1945. “Second floor.”

“Oh, achha, aap yehi pe rehte hain? Okay thank you.”

Fuck you, bitch. Even if I didn’t live here, I still have the right to park anywhere I goddamn like on a public road, got it? Got it, bitch? (I’m mentally strangling her at this point. It’s been a while since I punched anybody.) The “my colony my parking” rule is invalid.

And, you drippy cunt, would you have opened your mouth if I hadn’t been a bike rider who gave the appearance, for about four seconds, that he’s your usual overconfident roadside romeo?

We should all swap places, just for a day.

PS There’s hurt under the bravado. In case you didn’t see that. Just like there’s hurt when you’re singled out for luggage checking at Heathrow, in front of everyone else. And like when you’re called a “fucking Paki!” as you walk down the street. Those were years ago; decades ago in the latter case. But look how readily they spring to mind?

I Only Sign My Name If I Don’t Know You That Well…

Yep, all good. I hardly get any email these days, so haven’t checked for a while. Today’s exam wasn’t bad.. I could have managed my time better though. Finished the paper, but could have written more for the last question.

Next one on Saturday… then two on Wednesday and Thursday. This is the toughest week… after Thursday I have a week for the last exam… but until then it’s Slog City…

I think I want to stay put in my room only next year. Apart from not having to shift, and making holiday plans a lot easier… I just realised that if I shift this year and get flatmates, I’ll have to shift again next summer, because they’ll leave! The point of staying alone last year was to avoid the reliance on flatmates. I want to not have to worry about where to keep my stuff next summer.

Just wondering how to break it to A… he’s a really nice fellow, you see. And my not moving in with him will kind of screw him over. His family isn’t that well off, and he can’t take money from them once he starts working. So he has his own requirements for his residence… has to be cheap, and has to be as close to the metro station as possible, so that he doesn’t have to spend too much on rickshaws every day once he begins work. If we were to stay together I’d be quite happy for him to use my bike, but he doesn’t like riding bikes in Delhi, and he doesn’t like borrowing people’s vehicles in general.

Anyway… he’ll have to figure things out for himself, I guess. I’ll also be scuppering the other chap’s plans… but same principle there.

If I don’t have to shift in May/June, things become very simple– except that I’ll be leaving Delhi for more than a month just two weeks after the car arrives. Very silly. One reason for bringing the car now instead of later was to help me shift. Anyway… I suppose people take holidays, and just leave their cars parked somewhere. Can leave it here and disconnect the battery, or ask my landlord to start it once a week (he’s a nice smart chap, either the old lady’s son or her son-in-law), or ask SJ if I can dump it somewhere in his gated compound… how do people with cars ever take a long holiday??

Anyway I’ll worry about that once the car actually arrives and it’s time for me to go. No sign of the papers or the car, Amma. I’m not expecting the car before this weekend at any rate.

So yeah… if I’m not shifting, then I’m free after May 14. My tentative plan is this:

- Spend a week in Delhi fixing up my internship and my paper-writing with CCS

- I’d like to go to Bombay for a couple of days around my birthday, if that’s okay. A lot of my friends are there and they’ve moved into a nice new flat. It’ll be more exciting than spending it in Vellore anyway; no offence Amma, but you know what I mean? Anyway my Vellore friends are all busy these days. It’s not so much about my birthday anyway (stops mattering the farther from 21 you get :), I’d just like to see those guys.

- Thought I’d take the train there and fly down from Bombay in the last week of May.

- Vellore till early July; with a week in Blore for MBL exams.

- Then back to Delhi and begin my internship.

Sound okay?

Appa I do want something from Australia– a year planner!! I’ve been completely clueless about days and dates this whole year.

Don’t want anything in particular for my birthday. Perhaps some dough… or a new music system for the Zen! I think the camera was supposed to be my bday present anyway :)

I don’t know what it’ll be like with the car here. Hitting that bus made me hope like hell I don’t hit anything here! Confidence will grow as I get used to it, I suppose. I think all the Qualis driving has made me used to that over this.

My bike is falling apart as usual. Latest to go is the horn! It’s getting baked in the sun every day despite my moving it around every few hours; seat cover is cracking because of that. Haven’t yet got a cover for the bike, although the Zen will certainly need one in the Delhi summer sun. I meant to ask Pandian to get one while he was repairing it, but forgot. And some fool broke a (bike) indicator. I don’t care though; it still works so I’m not going to fix it. The Bajaj people don’t have a replacement fuel gauge either. But the Jawa never had one, and I can manage without. Despite my attempts at keeping the bike well-maintained these last two years, it’ll command a very low resale price (ten thousand tops). Just too old. I think I’ll just hang on to it for another year even with the car here.

Anyway I’m hardly worrying about cars and bikes now, until my exams are over.

Am going to have another beer, then sleep, then get started for Saturday. Getting up early and studying doesn’t work well here like it does at home, so instead I study till at least 2 every night, usually 3, sometimes 4… get up by 10 or 11. Read the paper, have breakfast, and loll around. Start around 12. Lunch break at 3. Dinner break at 10. The system works well because I have afternoon exams, so I never have to worry about getting up early. On exam days I sleep early-ish and get up by 8 or 9, a couple of hours before my alarm goes off. Subconscious tension I suppose :) Don’t worry about lack of sleep; this system is working well for me. 

Have stopped gymming entirely: it’s foolish to pay 400 bucks membership when I can go only once a week. Don’t feel like working out after an exam anyway. I leave the house after the heat has broken every evening though, at least to buy milk, sometimes to buy highlighters and pens (am running through them!) and sometimes to the dhobi.

Let me know what you thing about not moving out and Bombay…

L

me

Public Service Referral– II

Okay, so maybe if I get this blog post out of the way I can go back to The Principles of Natural Justice, aka Topic Four Out Of Six For Wednesday’s Exam.

So, If You Don’t Know Me By Now, I’m a little anal-retentive, right?

> Every morning I obsessively spray deo on both underarms in turn, until I feel that each axilla has received exactly the same amount of antiperspirant as the other one.

> In college, undergrad college that is, if hit/slapped/punched by a batchmate on one buttcheek/thigh I’d myself slap the other buttcheek/thigh with numerous low-intensity pats until I felt it had received the same punishment as the other one. (If a junior dared touch me I’d fucking skin him alive, and if a senior dared touch me I’d question his sexuality. But that was then, when age and seniority mattered to me.)

> I’m obsessed with ensuring that my bike/car tyres have exactly the recommended air pressures at all times. Tyre pressures vary with even a few kilometres of running; what this means is that to get an accurate reading you have to check/top up the air when the tyre is cold. “Cold” in this case means not having been run for at least 3 hours. In practice this is near-impossible, unless you have your own air pump at your place of residence or parking; but I make it a point to fill air twice a week after the vehicle has been stationary at college for at least 3 hours. Law Fac – Malka Ganj Petrol Pump distance is approximately one point two five kilometres; the increase in air pressure over this distance due to heating of the tyre air from friction with the road is offset by the fact that while recommended air pressure for the bike is 24.5 pounds per square inch for the front and 31.5 psi for the rear tyre, I fill 25 and 32 psi respectively. Of course this is because the air pump is calibrated to a least count of 1 psi, not 0.5 psi, so I can’t help it… but overall, I think it all evens out.

> What passes for my dressing table has three neat columns of cosmetics on it. Column 1: Shave foam, deodorant, shampoo, cologne. Column 2: Cheap aftershave, cheap cologne, expensive aftershave, expensive cologne. Column 3: Contact lens solution, moisturiser / sunscreen (depending on season), Ayurvedic pimple cream given to me by mother dearest that I use as dark circle remover cream. Column 4: Hand mirror, lens case, lens moisturising solution, ashtray.

(Yeah I know, incongruous last item, but it has to go somewhere, innit? Don’t you dare fuck with my cosmetic columns.)

> I have to change my towel once a week, or I’ll get cooties. From the people I share my towel with, namely: no-one.

> I used to have to shampoo my hair every Wednesday and Sunday in school; I’ve been able to conquer this somewhat. I can shampoo at will now– whenever I feel my hair is dirty. Ha!

> However, I can only cut my nails after I’ve had a bath, and preferably after I’ve washed my hair. Fingernails once in 10 days at most. Toenails no less than once a month.

> I cannot brush my teeth before breakfast. I know most people in the world brush first thing in the morning, before taking a crap even. Yuck! What’s the point? Think about it– if your mouth is the toilet bowl, and your toothbrush the flush, you’re basically flushing the pot right before you take a dump. Anyway you’ve brushed your teeth just before sleeping at night, so your mouth is reasonably clean. Then you clean it again– and straightaway proceed to screw it up with bacteria fodder? The maximum damage to your teeth happens in the first 15 minutes after a meal, I’ll have you know. Eat breakfast, then immediately brush, that’s what even dentists recommend.

(Yeah, it’s different if you’ve spent the night with a girl. Hygiene ideals can take a flying fuck, in that case. Minty-fresh breath is what matters.)

> I can’t fold a (paperback) book over on its spine. It gets all puffy!

> Come out of the bathroom wearing towel (even if alone), put on lenses (if applicable), apply lip balm (if applicable), wash hands to get Vaseline off (if applicable), take off towel (if alone), put on chuddi (if applicable), put on shorts/pants, take off towel (if not alone), put on vest (if applicable), spray deo (see above), inspect self in mirror and hand-comb hair. Put on rest of ensemble, including sandals/shoes. Fill pockets (see below). Ensure that you’re below the fan at all times. Shirt / tee is the last thing to come on, preferably just before leaving.

> Left pocket: handkerchief, keys, matchbox/lighter, lip balm (if applicable). Right pocket: cellphone, cigarettes. Keys can’t go in right pocket, they’ll scratch the celphone. Right butt pocket: wallet (open side down). Left butt pocket: glasses case (if lenses not being worn), extra money (if travelling). In crowded areas wallet is shifted to right front pocket. Never left.

> My backpack, which I take almost everywhere, always contains: raincoat, Delhi maps, spare lenses case, cellphone handsfree attachment, mp3 player, mp3 player earphones, essential medicines, pen drive, passport-size photos, spare keys, glasses, baseball cap, both sets of sunglasses, cellphone charger, and camera.

> Left sock before right! Left shoe before right! Aaaargh!

Yes, I don’t blame you for snorting in disgust; I piss myself off quite often.

Sooo… point being, I’m a particular chap. Don’t get me wrong– I’ve been called level-headed and easy-going more than once, but that just means: (a) I only get angry when the correct buttons are pushed– the easiest way to do this is to drive like a MORON, and (b) outside my room / my space, you do what you like– I don’t give a fuck.

And now we come to the point.

I own three time-keeping mechanisms. (1) My watch. An Accurist from Greenwich of GMT, that cost like 10 pounds (basically a 500-buck watch) that’s now entering its fifth year, and that still gets “Hey nice watch! Is it new?” comments from the uninitiated. (2) My Nokia 6070. (3) My ThinkPad R52.

None of these are accurate in the strict sense of the word. The last time I was in England, December/Jan 2003/4 I think that was, I desperately wanted to buy a radio clock. The idea of being synchronised to the hundredth millisecond with official atomic clocks appeals to me more than I can tell you. Since the days of College Past, when I used to synchronise my Timex (that I lost on a Goa beach, and good riddance to the plastic strap, too) to Chennai Central time, I’ve wanted to be as much in sync with the world’s official time as closely as possible. But then I realised that the radio synchronisation of the said clock wouln’t work outside the EEC and, let’s face it, i’m Indian not Coconutty, so I gave up on the idea.

But here’s something to ameliorate your worries.

The NISTime program, developed and run by the United States’ National Institute of Standards and Technology, operates to synchronise your computer clock to a US official time that, for all our practical purposes, is as close to The World’s Official Time as we’re ever going to need.

Double-click your computer clock, at the bottom right of your screen. Click the Internet Time tab. Try synchronising with an internet time server, go on, I dare you. For me at least, more often than not, it doesn’t work. But this NISTime stuff does.

*Sigh* Alright, I’m sorry I put you through that. Stay tuned for, I promise, more interesting posts. Two posts from now, in fact, I’m coming up with a real killer. If you don’t find that interesting, why, You Don’t Know Me By Now.

Public Service Referrals

If you have ten minutes to spare.

If, like me, you’ve never seen the Dilbert cartoon on TV before.

And a good one coming up after I do a couple of hours of werk.

Bitte schön.

I’ve Got Some Money, Since I Just Got Paid

I had my first exam today.

It went okay, but it could’ve been better. Law Fac has introduced from this year a compulsory question consisting of four short notes on topics drawn from the entire syllabus. Doesn’t sound like much, four short notes, but what it effectively means is that: (a) you now have to write four 5-mark answers in the time usually allotted for one 20-mark question– not easy, because the sum of the times is greater than the whole, if you get what I mean, and there’s never enough time as it is and (b) you can’t follow your usual practice of picking and choosing 6 topics to study, sure in your knowledge that you’ll get your 100-mark denominator.

Net result = constant tension and worrying, “What if they ask this?”

The ideal course of action would be to do the entire course well in advance of the exams… but HA to you if you think I’m capable of that.

As usual, I wasted most of last week lounging around instead of killing the books. Yesterday morning I was pottering around in my bathroom when it suddenly struck me– Dude, if you don’t slog like a bitch from right now, you are going to fucking fail this exam.

Until last year I could be my usual overconfident self. Fail a law fac exam? What do you think I am– an artsee?

But the compulsory question, the-compulsory-question.

To my credit, I really swotted yesterday. From ten last morning to 4:30 this morning, I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote. (Exam notes.) One break to go lech at the dhobin. Another to buy milk and cigarettes and caffeine from The Coca-Cola Company (see previous post). One inadequate afternoon nap. Innumerable 5-minute breaks spent lying on my bed and hating myself for being so lazy. One episode of The OC over dinner. But for the most part, serious studying. We have afternoon exams, 2:30 to 5:30, so I could afford to stay up late, get up late-ish (~9) (I used a tilde!), and revise to make sure the case names didn’t begin their usual practice of swapping respondents and dates.

And, thank the God I don’t believe in, it worked. I did Articles 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 21, 22, 29, and 30. Of the Constitution, that is. Fundamental Rights, kiss my ass.

They didn’t even ask 12 and 13. For the first time in what, the last ten years? How could they not ask 12 and 13? The definition of “the State” and the Doctrine of Eclipse? They asked 20, though, cunning bastards. See anything missing from the list above? 17 doesn’t count, it’s nothing. Thank Him I studied 15 and 16, thank Him all ye Holy Hosts. I answered 14, 16 (4), 19-cum-368 (cunning question, that– I knew the 368 bit from GK though), 21-cum-19-cum-14, and the compulsory question.

Screw all that. Point being, I wrote enough to pass comfortably. After studying for one day.

If only I’d known this was possible all those months ago when I skipped exams for lack of time to study.

***

I finished my exam, retrieved my backpack from outside the hall, deposited my pad, ruler, and pencil bag in it and fished out my cellphone and cigarettes, and went straight to the parking lot. Didn’t stop to chat-chit with anyone, I didn’t. There’s only one person in my year I really ever want to talk to, one person I genuinely like because she’s a connection to the past I knew and loved, but I’m not supposed to talk to her right now. Plus I couldn’t see her anywhere, and I wasn’t about to look. So I hopped on my bike.

[Which, by the way, is fucking falling apart, but I'm beyond caring now. A fat lot of good all the love I've showered upon it has done me. It takes two to make a relationship work, honey, and 12,000 kilometres, two cities, and 10,000-odd rupees in maintenance is all very well, but I'm sorry, it's just not working out.]

[Oh God. Re-reading that paragraph made me well up. I love you, bikey, I really do. And you're a her, not an it. I pwomise.]

One air-filling stop later (I’m crazily meticulous about such things, just as I crazily overuse these parentheses), I was with the other connection to my past. A rather different connection, to be sure, one of afternoon lab sessions where I’d go to sleep in the inside computer room and wheedle my class girls into doing my record books– something I’ve excelled at since school Bio labs, btw; I think they’re floored by my nose or my hair or something– but a connection to my non-Law Fac past, nonetheless. Another Mal was there, but he soon left on his long journey to Haryana.

The remaining Mal and I discussed our plans for next year. He’ll be clerking with a High Court judge, and I’ll finally be in my final year in this shithole that I detest and will forever curse for wasting four of the best years of my life (barring two or four great girls), and we’re supposed to move in togetherr, sic. Except that I don’t really want to anymore, now that my water woes seem to have resolved themselves (touch wood! touch wood! touch your fucking faux wood desktop if you must, but touch something wooden, damn you!) and my landlady plans to soon sink an illegal borewell. (Water at 90 feet, not bad for a city, apparently.) My mother doesn’t want me to move either, and it would really be a lot simpler for me to stay put, what with having bought a Godrej with a mirror on the door, a bed, two tables, a chair, three bookracks, a fridge, a beanbag, two buckets, a supersize water container, and assorted knick-knacks. Plus I have everything sorted out here– Gupta Stores with near-unlimited credit, the newspaper guy, the internet connection, the greasy-palmed chowkidar, the parking space, the eminently edible tiffin… oh man, I just don’t want to move.

But I said I would, so I will. I think.

***

Look, more than you, I know it’s not ideal the way I studied, but it boosts my confidence that I did alright today, and that’s what matters. I was really very scared I’d fail this paper, not because I don’t know my Constitution– a series of moot courts has taught me more than class ever will– but because I didn’t know enough to vomit on the answer sheet. And failing a paper is not an option this set of exams. I can’t lose another year. Doing decently in this paper has bolstered what little self-confidence I have left. Given me courage to face next Wednesday, and next Saturday, and the next Wednesday, and Thursday, and Wednesday. And on the fourteenth, I’ll be done. And I’ll chill for a week, and celebrate my birthday with the Old Monk and more Coca-Caffeine.

Speaking of which, I just went to the teka, and: “Rum nahi hai, bhaisaheb.” Ye gods. (Note small case.) Ye Gods. (Last night I fervently asked believer friends to pray for me; I may as well keep it up tonight.) Aristocrat Premium, it is. Gym, it isn’t. I haven’t gone for a week, can feel the atrophy, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, I really don’t give a shit today. I can last until Monday, when I’ll skip it again.

And so it’s Another Saturday Night, And I Ain’t Got Nobody.

By the by, that’s the first Cat Stevens live performance I ever saw; until now it’s only been tapes and CDs that had the honour. I’m quite straight, but fuck me, isn’t he an attractive man? If only he didn’t sway so much. And Lord, doesn’t his keyboard player have the biggest tits you ever saw? On a mustachioed, Afroed man, that is.

Eerily Reminiscent of…

 

I’ve now learnt that you can keep milk in the chiller tray– rather than the freezer– for a day and a night and it won’t go bad. Nor does it freeze. (This is no thaw. This is Spring!) So it’s back to muesli and milk for brekky now, not muesli and ice cream.

The milk went half-bad the one time I tried keeping it in the regular fridge compartment for a day. I’m lactose-intolerant, and even my daily dose of fresh milk sends me running to the loo within half an hour (I time it so that I can brush my teeth and bathe directly afterward). The half-bad milk wasn’t a good idea.

I’m getting a little tired of myoosli, though. Think I’ll go with a small carton of Coco Pops or whatever they’re called, next time, mother’s warnings of money wasted notwithstanding. (“It’s just air!!”) Do we get Rice Krispies here?

And oh, oh, I can’t stanndd porridge. What was Goldenlocks thinking?

 

 

Now Playing

The one song on my computer guaranteed to get a raised eyebrow from unsuspecting room-visitors.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HhXcrJMZXY

Tag The Second

From the Millhouse.

8 Things That I’m Passionate About

1. Dream Theater

2. Driving

3. Drumming (ha)

4. Working out

5. Basketball

6. Alcohol

7. Cleaning my room, bathroom, and self

8. Inveterate text messaging (!)

I’m not passionate about sex. That would be weird!

8 Things To Do Before I Die

1. Get a tattoo

2. Buy a drum kit

3. Buy my mom a Jaguar (she’s downgraded her wish to a Merc, but a Jag is what she really desires)

4. Learn to fly (not commercial aircraft, just your average turboprop)

5. Go for a Dream Theater concert, with Revanoor

6. Be at Times Square for the New Year

7. Bring in the New Year in a coital position

8. Ride a large, foreign motorcycle on fast roads

8 Things I Say Often

1. *tsk* “Abey!”

2. “Arrey, yaar…”

3. “Let’s drink”

4. “Abey teri fucking bhehn ki lund… motherfucking bastard choot” (at moron drivers)

5. “Maa ki lund” (at rascal friends)

6. “Bhaiyya dus Marlboro regular de do please”

7. “Really / Are you serious?”

8. “Where’s the toilet?” (at bars, usually while half-heartedly sticking out my little finger, in case they didn’t understand me)

8 Books I’ve Recently Read

1. Air Force One – Edwin Corley

2. Jackdaws – Ken Follet

3. Catch-22 – Joseph Heller (half-read counts)

4. Notes From A Small Island – Bill Bryson

5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – J K Rowling

6. Gone With The Wind – Margaret Mitchell (loved it!)

7. Scar Tissue – Anthony Kiedis

8. Constitution of India – V N Shukla (*sigh* exams…)

8 Songs I Can Listen To Over and Over

1. Home / Solitary Shell / Another Day / In The Name of God - Dream Theater

2. Mr Brightside – The Killers (I loooove this song so much!)

3. Can’t Stop Now – Keane

4, When Love and Hate Collide – Def Leppard

5. Dreams – Van Halen

6. It Must Have Been Love – Roxette

7. The Point of No Return – from Phantom of The Opera

8. Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through – Meat Loaf (hardly a great video, but guess who’s in it?)

8 Things That Attract Me To My Friends

1. A love of alcohol (well, not really, but they can’t be too prudish)

5. Similar thought processes and values (I suppose)

8. Loyalty (I’m one to talk, but still)

That’s it. Myself simpleton.

Same taggees from the last post!

Tag The First

From Miiiiiiiiister CROWley, and from someone else too– I think the Childwoman, but for some reason I can’t access her site to check.

Last Movie Seen In A Theatre?

Hmm. I can hardly remember, so rarely do I watch movies… I think it was The Golden Compass. Yep, it was. And the day before that we saw Evening. Both with mother dearest. She liked Compass better, I liked Evening more. (It had Claire Danes!)

What Book Are You Reading?

I was reading Catch-22. But I stopped at home; over there I read a lousy Ken Follet (‘Jackdaws’), some book called Air Force One by Edwin Corley, bits of Bill Bryson (Notes From A Small Island) and JK Rowling (Harry Potter 7). Not to mention assorted Archies and Asterixes. Not one to read heavy stuff, me. I don’t think I’ll get around to finishing Catch-22.

Favourite Board Game?

No question– Monopoly! I’ll beat anyone, any time. Favourite counters– the ship, the car, and the iron. Favourite properties– the browns, the purples, and the utilities. I call being banker, though.

Favourite Magazine?

Time.

Favourite Smells?

Freshly-baked bread, freshly-baked cake. Freshly-cooked basmati rice. A freshly-mopped room. I hate the smell of rain on mitti. Don’t like rain. Chee.

Favourite Sound?

My old Jawa motorbike’s engine. Anything by Dream Theater.

Worst Feeling In The World?

Lonely, I am so looonelyyyy…

What Is The First Thing You Think Of When You Wake?

‘What time is it?’

Second, if applicable: ‘Is my lungi still covering all that it needs to?’

Favourite Fast Food Place?

Subway! And since one’s required to be all cool and ethnic– the biriyani stall at home. And any roadside stall serving medhu vadais…

Future Child’s Name?

Varies according to the name of the girl I’m currently besotted with… (girl child)

It’s fucking hard to come up with something that’ll go with ‘Perakath’ (boy child)

Finish This Statement: If I Had A Lot of Money, I’d…

Experience a rise in self-confidence. And become the laziest lout in existence. I’d be Hugh Grant’s character in About A Boy, that’s who I’d be.

Do You Drive Fast?

Too fast…

Do You Sleep With A Stuffed Animal?

I’ll sleep with pretty much anything that moves, to be honest– but stuffed animals don’t, do they? I sleep with my cellphone. As a young child I used to sleep with a real golliwog that my grandmother knit for me. I still have the little critter…

Storms– cool or scary?

A pain in the ass. Rain= wet vehicle, wet clothes, wet towels, wet wallet. You’re stuck inside, most likely with no electricity. Even if there is current, there won’t be cable tv. And it’s not safe to use a modem, so no internet. It’s not safe to swim, either. Bah, humbug. 

Do You Eat The Stems on Broccoli?

Do you?

If You Could Dye Your Hair Any Colour, What Would Be Your Choice?

What hair? *sobs*

Name All The Different Cities/Towns You’ve Lived In.

Madurai, Vellore, the London area, and Delhi. Not counting internships and the like.

Favourite Sports To Watch:

Basketball! Gymnastics. Baseball (I never have a clue what’s going on, so it’s good fun.) Does a fashion show count as a sport? Fucking hate cricket, I do.

One Nice Thing About The Person Who Sent This To You:

He’s a lawyer who DJs after work. Very cool. And she, if she did tag me, she keeps reading here :)

What’s Under Your Bed?

Two trunks full of plastic bags.

(I’m serious. They have other stuff too, but mostly plastic bags. I hoard plastic bags. Never know when you’ll need them.)

Would You Like To Be Born As Yourself Again?

No. As a rich, blindingly hot girl. Ahem.

Morning Person or Night Owl?

I like to be an MP, but I keep slipping towards nocturnalism.

Over Easy or Sunny Side Up?

Scrambled, boiled, or omeletted. In that order. What is ‘over easy’?

[Man, does this tag never end?]

Favourite Place To Relax?

How many places are there? My room, with Dream Theater, a book, and alcohol.

Favourite Pie?

I can’t believe no-one’s said banoffee yet!

Favourite Ice-Cream Flavour?

In general, vanilla. But the raspberry at Movenpick is delicious. *mouth waters* Do we have a Movenpick in Delhi?

You Pass This Tag To–

Handboy, Nostalgic Chica, The Rant Readers, Zen and The Art, Asha Bhosle, Jana, the Village Person and Beks. And shall I go out on a limb and say Scott Adams and Zorro?

Of All The People You Tagged, Who’s Most Likely To Respond First?

Handibal.

 

 

Made You Look

Behind you!