Blue bottles

I was the Harvard National Model United Nations.

My new Year resolution was/is to be open and affectionate.

Open.

Affectionate.

If you have known me in the past, you will believe I’m NOT these two things. I have always been secretive (horribly so) and my affection/love is reserved to two people in the entire world (not counting babies).

So this year, I have decided to be things I haven’t been in the last 21 years.

I have nothing more to say.

I holidayed and came back. Happy, tanned and with three pairs of medium heeled pointy sandals. And a very nice fake Valentino bag.

 More on this when I have time.

A very very Happy New Year to all my beloved blogger buds.  

I always wonder how a person who blogs would be in real life. Would he be confident? Would she be as dreamy? Would he like dogs as much? Is her life as dark as she blogs? Is he cute? Is she? Is it a guy or a girl?

It turns out people are nothing like their blogs. I should know. I spout endlessly about how my blog is only a fraction of me. A bit of my life I like to share.  

But it is great fun to discover these people and break preconceived notions. A delicious thrill just before you come face to face with the person who knows your most intimate dreams and loves without knowing your real name.

A sort of comfortable companionship exists even though you have never met that person before. Because the first-time awkwardness, judgment, curiosity, nervousness and am-I-looking-fat?-thoughts has been dealt with the first time you verified the word verification.

It’s amazing how comfortable things are. Maybe it’s because that person already knows you. Even if it is only a little bit of you.

I like blog meets. So there.

P.S. Crapper, you were right. I was going to blog about this.  :) 

(Two people sit around. One smokes, exhaling through the mouth. The other is glassy eyed.)

He: Yeah. She pretty much ripped my heart out and stamped all over it.

She: Dude. The fucking smoke is in my face. Gerrof!

He: Shit. I’m glad you’re here. (smile)

She: I know. It’s raining.  (smile)

We’re the Royalty of Irrelevance.  Satpal and I.

The only reason I like him is because he never asks me questions.  He’s there. We sit around, watching the rain and drinking tepid tea.

There’s never anything new to talk about. Both he and I do nothing. Our friends are boring barring one.

Yet.

So you understand why I like him, right? He’s comfortable and completely asexual. Like warm socks. Or a midnight phone-call calling to ask for assurance.

One of my much-adored people. Lads and the others, I present my favorite friend who burps very very loudly – Satpal D.

Please meet me. I have a week free and I don’t know what to do with it.

This is specifically for Amuls.  And the others. If you want that is.  

We haven’t been taught how to mourn effectively. We’ve been taught (by example) to squelch the grief and pretend life moves on.

So how’re you now?

Oh friggin’ awesome! I’m good! Never been better! 

Sure life moves on. But with the gaping void that tumbles life around. Because if something is to be mourned about, it must have been a pretty big part of your life, non?

So you have this huge sadness and your life is upside down. What must you do?

<<Shrug>>  LIFE. GOES. ON.

I remember when my grandfather died. He was one of the biggest influences in our lives. And when he passed away, everyone was shattered. Devastated.

But three days later, all the grief was carefully hidden under school uniforms, clocks, tiffin carriers, tests, disinfectant and work. Back to work! No one mentions it (the sadness) anymore.

Even now, when occassional pangs come by (when I see nunge or hear someone say muttakose) I shake my head and pretend that sadness isn’t a part of me anymore.

We still haven’t gotten a dog. It’s been two years since my dog died. We remain in tacit denial of our grief. (A, you now know where I get it from, don’t you?)

For such an extravagantly emotional community we can’t mourn. Whattapity!

I’ve learnt to be this way. So damn difficult to un-learn it. I can’t mourn. I can’t.

Because I don’t know how to.

Maybe I knew once. And then I had to unlearn it. Like those lefties made right handed.

Shit.

this is what I was.

Your past life diagnosis:

---

I don’t know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern USA South-East around the year 1600. Your profession was that of a jeweler or watch-maker.

---

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
Such people are always involved with all new. You have always loved changes, especially in art, music, cooking.

---

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
There is an invisible connection between the material and the spiritual world. Your lesson is to search, find and use this magical bridge.

---

Go check yours here.

I wonder what my future will tell me. Maybe that I’ll have to take my exams over again. Because I haven’t studied anything. :(

Shitty lesson I learnt man. I should have learned to patent my watches so that I could enjoy the benefits of my past life now.

Will not be functional for a bit. Both my blog and I.

 Inconvenience is regretted.

He’s right.