Sunday, October 22, 2006

Why The Peep Must Stay Single - Reason #36387

This morning, my mother's speaking over the phone with a socialite aunty, who's called up, absolutely disconsolate that I couldn't make it to her 'Diwali nite card party n dinner-dance, darling. dress sexy! ha ha ha!' and have absolutely dashed all her hopes of making me a match made in heaven with Aunty R's lives-in-london son. [ok, she only almost speaks like that]. So, my mother shakes her head at me, who am reaching out for the ten billionth tissue the better to wipe my nose with, and says to the Nokia:

"Aarey, M, all these nyaka girls! Lying in bed for 6 days with fever. Nothing to do?! And look at you! I mean, JAAST LOOK AT YOU!! Like a good parson, finding a good-boy for this girl. WHICH GIRL, JAAST SEE?!?! Just come and see, lying like moharani on the bed! *the doc had advised bed rest. which, i admit, i don't need. but hey, if i'm not allowed to leave the house, then i'm not quitting the bed either*
ladka dikhne mein achha hone sey kya hoyega? mera ledki ko dekho na abhi, beelkul shoshan ka mora ka maafik dikhne mein hai. goru ka maafik bhNuri hai, aur mukh mein ekdom gaal-tobrano. .. hain hain, aarey .. u know .. the cheeks ... almost inside the face *don't even ask*. And the hair is not there anymore! *wonder where it is* whatever she has, gone completely white. *grey*
anyway, i have given her so many rishtas, M. she only wants poet with jhola-daari! *i certainly don't. anyway, i suspect she meant jhola and daari. not .. uhm .. hanging beard-like* Ekdin uttha ke leyke aayegi mera matha khaane ke liye. .... no, no! jhaaru peetke peetke i will kick out any ghor-jamais!"

sigh. Happy Diwali everyone.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

A Very Meaningless Post

Bed rest? Bed rest?! Do they think i have NOTHING better to do with my life than lie in BED?!?!
Dearly beloveds, pray for the Peep, for she ails.
I have a sore throat, a snotty nose, red eyes, and a splitting headache. And I spend most of my day standing in front of a mirror looking for dengue-symptomatic rashes. It is not a happy time.
I have my own rehearsals, which I am missing. I'm telling you, they can't do without me, there. And I'm missing rehearsals of Squee's play too, where I'm helping out - generally. They can't do without me either. Honest. [Hey, the LEAST you can do is indulge a sick ol' friend, who, for all you know has given her life up to a swarm of mosquitoes with ugly names].

Incidentally, I have ogled at a pair of Biceps with watery eyes, sniffing next to me at the Doc's chamber. As in, the watery eyes belonged to person with biceps - the biceps themselves didn't have eyes on them. I had eyes on the biceps. Oh dear, too much the head aches after excitement.
Of course, this is a good time to work on my litcrit assignment, but tell to me, does any of this make the vaguest sense to you?

1. Theorist as artist
2. Theorist as criminal
3. After theory

I'm not kidding, if you know what these phrases mean, feel free to help. I haven't for the life of me any idea. Shotyi bolchhi, I might not pass the lit theory paper. Oh god, oh dear god. Too much chinta in my life!

Monday, October 09, 2006

Dyspe(e)psia

Listen. I shan't have it anymore. There's only so much I can stands, i can stands no mores. I mean, it's O.K. to holler for me across the department corridor and come trotting up to jiggle my arms and watch amazed at the 4 and a half 'good vibrations' [stop pretending you didn't know i was cheesy] they will execute for you. And sure, when I'm having my evening coffee at Milon Da's and you're all a-rosy and prepared to play ranna-bati with my arms, making me spill my coffee as you enthusiastically knead like it's time for dinner - I don't mind. I'm even going to smile indulgently, and say a little prayer for the ground to crack open and swallow you up, you little termite, you *notice terribly indulgent tone of voice*. But I'll tell you what I won't stand. I will NOT be disturbed mid-jhaari at a pujo pandal, and I will NOT have crazy women sprinting for my fat, wrists asunder. There is absolutely No point in trying the seductive come-hither when the other-party sees trusty aides massaging your biceps in public, like you were some sort of pehelwan. Girls, i love you, I do, but ... break on through to the other side, as it were.

Very nice. Point number two. I do want to make friendship with you. Oh yes. But I don't need to join Orkut for that. Please cease and desist sending invites, o wellwishers and one and a quarter lovers of the Peep. You may all contact me on Yahoo, and we shall talk of beautiful things like life and it's intricacies. Victoria's Secret. Or yours and mine, even.

I've been a little distracted. A trifle angry. I'm also afraid it probably shows.
Anyway, I've been drinking like a fish, making new friends and doing some other things.
Maybe, another day, I will tell you the story of how my cousin sister punched an aged relative on the nose, and promptly got a bottle of water emptied on her clothes. In the middle of a crowded street. Tiring, this.

By the way, does anyone think Nizam's serves its kebabs half-cooked?

And this is frightfully important. I need a topic for my writing in practice assignment. A short story. Please. Anybody. Interesting topics. Quick, before I become an alcoholic.


p.s. : i am NOT becoming an alcoholic.

update : Kindly extend your sympathies to a certain Pom Fretty who has been hurling herself under falling trees with disastrous consequences. May she continue to provide entertainment, albeit minus health hazards to her frail frame.