Dear Diary, I like Maaeri :D

2012-11-19
2037 Hours

I don’t feel like taking out a pen and write. More importantly, all the pens in the house have gone missing, have died or have broken down. Either I can go out to buy a bunch more, even more so because my exams are looking at me from a week away (“Hallo!”). Or I can just type it out here.

Not that there exists a desperate and particular reason to try to breathe life into this deserted corpse of a blog. I just want to do it. That is reason enough for me.

I started this day with Robert Pattinson. The good ol’ Freshly Pressed helped me waste my time by recommending a feminist tirade against Twilight franchise (it is the flavour of the season and I have nothing better to do, so why not?), which then led me to this blog where Robert Pattinson supposedly hates his life. And I’m convinced; I hate Twilight and I don’t even watch it. Then, I can imagine the contempt and anguish for a sane person who has to endure it for 4 straight years. At some point (mostly when the stomach is full), we are able to see past the feeding hand to the ugly monster head. He had that moment somewhere before Breaking Dawn, though many argue that he didn’t like the plot even before the first movie was out.

Continuing my love for this Pattinson guy, I almost gave him the short end of the stick. Taylor Lautner used to be the only thing worthy in the whole series, but now that I am knowing more about the man behind the drab, creepy vampire, I am loving every bit of it. He actually has the smile to die for. He is happy to guise his frank opinions in cutesy winks and hearty laughs. He is able to make joke of himself and doesn’t take himself too seriously. He knows his shortcomings very well. People say it is self-loathing, I say it is self-awareness. That I would watch his movies, I don’t know. But I would be anticipating his interviews as fiercely as Norah Jones. And that is saying something.

It was captivating enough that I kept myself awake till 6 am. At which point my father came back home from his night shift. That prompted me to close my laptop, act like I just woke up from his doorbell and sit sleepily on the settee before laying down again. Today was the day when I had to pick up admit cards for exams today. So to keep myself awake, a spontaneous burst of adventure, I put on my jacket, grabbed my mp3 player and slipped into my floaters. I was ready to go for cycling!

But my father was there to puncture my instant dreams. My cycle apparently doesn’t has air in them. Just when they are needed the most. I wonder why do I buy these things. But I am feeling creative, so I nevertheless go out, with Lenka sugaring my ears. I feel like a low adrenaline rush pass through me, though in retrospect, it might just be a chilly breeze. Plans buzz in my ears. Where shall I go? Might it be my college? Or someone’s home? Nah and nah. I am in it alone. So I try to make some half-hearted aims, which I convince myself I want to follow upon. So there I am walking along the known streets, lazily searching for some new area to try out. Mostly, I am just lip-singing along with Lenka and trying to bob my head sideways a little and trying to keep my balance simultaneously. The dark roads were dark enough to keep me from thinking to much about people walking past me.


I reached Madhuban Chowk (literally: a crossing). And then this idea struck me to explore Pitampura area. The Powerhouse road parallel to the Metro line, the one where 990 and 971 go. I don’t know that area at all. But I was starting to feel cold. I had a warmer, a cotton tee and a warm jacket to keep my torso warm. But my legs were freezing and my ears were paining. Underestimated the biting winter. It didn’t used to be so cold at this time of the year, after all!

And somehow, my Karma started catching up with me and I was feeling sleepy again. Though I attribute it to my turning off the mp3 player. Logic being, since I was here to absorb and explore the new surroundings, I should keep away the distractions. But the twin factors ensured I walked with raised shoulders, huddled body, lowered face and half-shut eyes. Might as well as put on some black shades and shake hands with a passing drug dealer.

The road to joy suddenly was paved with thorns from hell. My ears seemed to freeze and I alternately rubbed them with my jacket’s woolen cuff. But what could I do with my cold legs and open feet in floaters? If there is one thing I have learned over the years, it is to just trudge along without waiting a second. I had 10 rupees with me and could easily take a bus to cover half the distance. But I didn’t, for I am a stingy person when it comes to travelling and was sorely missing my bus pass. Weird thoughts passed my mind like seawater through a sponge.

At last, I reached my home. It was 7 am. I opened the laptop to waste 5 minutes till I could bear it no more. When everybody wakes up to get ready for college, I asked my mother to wake me up exactly 20 minutes later. I woke up 3 hours later. But what is 3 hours when you are a walking zombie. So I wasted more time on internet till I ensured it was 11:30.

Then panic ensued. In my mind. I still paced slowly, brushed my teeth slowly, actually took a bath (slowly), put on clothes quickly. I was ready to go and conquer the new day with the same jeans I wore in the morning jog, the same floaters I wore in the morning, the same jacket that I wore in the morning. I basically only changed my tee beneath my jacket.

I hoped to reach college with enough time at hand, because there was my German class at 1 pm. Despite my fervor prayers, anguish at inability of the bus-driver to jump a red light and a resentment in general for all the red lights in my way, I reached college at 12:53. Really? The window of the office from where I had to get admit card was closed for lunch hours only to open at 2 pm. My German class goes on till 3. And the office people are grubby enough to not cooperate late in the afternoon. So with a heavy heart I sat through my German class and leapt out as soon as I got the chance, i.e. at the very end of the class.

Phew! There were people still standing at the window. They were a handful and I had to endure 30-45 minutes of slow bureaucracy till I got to sign an undertaking for having short attendance. Pretty useless fluff: it is basically an official pinky promise that I would always attend my classes next time round.

So, I came back home to my father at home. He seems concerned when my general food consumption is concerned. He makes sure I don’t forget the lunch he packs for me, makes sure I ate at college. Oh no, I didn’t get time to eat it there, then he makes sure I eat it at home, and that too after properly heating it in microwave for full 2-3 minutes. He constantly offers me tea and snacks and other stuff throughout the day. And he cooks my food too when he gets around to cook his own. But, he gets a little overbearing. In short: I am unselfish git. But really, nobody can love my father. All this sounds mostly fake, but I have stopped getting into predictable criticisms. Much ink has been martyred for my family before.

But mostly I just took hold of laptop and passed my time here and there. Proof: it took me  4 hours (!) to write these bunch of letters, more so because I didn’t even have to invent a plot or something. There are always advice columns from Dear Prudence, the likes and comments on my thoughts on ‘Dumb Ways To Die’, ‘Dumb Ways To Die’ itself, Norah Jones, Robert Pattinson, Wonderwall and its OMG buttons, urban dictionary, YouTube interviews and much more. I just feel lucky I got to see the end of it.

My public diaries seem more funny than my senti-menti private ones. There is always a worry of trying to explain things here. Translations and contexts have to be provided here, whereas they just constitute the unmentioned, unknown black hole in my private diary. I liked this one for a change! Thank you guys, for no reason at all!

– Anon Con
2012-11-20
0046 Hours

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