*Click*

A two syllable (three at the most) word that holds so much more importance than you would attribute it considering its meager phonetic roots. But no one I believe, dares undervalue a good (or bad) photograph these days.

Photos are everything. They’re proof, they’re nostalgia, they’re pride, they’re shame, they’re weapons, they’re embarrassment, they’re blackmail and more often than not they’re worth a thousand words.

I must say that up until a few years ago (a.k.a in Sharu’s world as two years. Max.) I would always end up making myself look like a total buffoon in any photographs that I accidentally happened to get caught in (sometimes voluntarily but mostly involuntarily). I have since learned a few tricks that have helped me become less conscious but sometimes I revert back to old Shar and I am once again nervous and sweaty and end up looking either constipated or murderous (surprisingly how similar these two emotions look on my face).

It makes me nostalgic to think of all those times that I would run and assault anybody who had a camera and literally snatch it from them. Then I’d refuse to relinquish control while regretting every minute I spent behind my little pseudo-purdah. I didn’t realize until much later that “GOD it doesn’t matter”! Who gives a flying fuck how you look in a photograph as long as you’re there and it reminds you of something special. And trust me; people who take pleasure in pointing out your ‘retard’ moments caught on film are probably crumbling from the inside out owing to a string of insecurities. One point where I do draw the line is putting up ghastly photos on social networking sites. I mean, there’s a difference between not really caring and really bloody asking for it!

Nowadays I’d still prefer to be the one behind my camera but for totally different reasons. It’s because I have a certain affinity for candid shots of my subjects so that the instant I see it in the future it becomes a story of sorts within one single photograph. (“oh look, I’m angry here because you refused to smile just so” and “she’s running past because she’d just stolen his favourite undies” and “doesn’t he look like he wants to kill her?!” etc, etc.)

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be in a fair share of the photos either. Cheers to being a braver me than old me!! \m/

The Fly Dutchmen and more important stuff

Hey ya'll!

Its Dutch men this time. I have a new band whose music i adore. I shall introduce them on treble notes when my turn eventually comes so please please check them out! Yeh!

I have had an eventful time these past two weeks! :)

The biggest news being that things finally fell into place perfectly and i got my tattoo! Its a phoenix and I'm glad that i waited till now. The munches (MMmunch and osh) were present, cringing as i did, holding my hand(without me asking) and laughing graciously at all the jokes that came as a nervous tic to me in anticipation of the awesome pain that was tattooing (I kid. It didn't hurt all that much. Pretty overrated methinks. But the jokes, i admit, were killer. ) 

One thing irks me about the whole shebazzle(thats a made-up word but you get the idea. If you don't, leave now). The minute people find out i have a tattoo, one of the FAQS is "How much?" whilst eagerly nodding waiting for a ridiculously cheap amount to pop out of my mouth (Twelve rupees!). Well, they do hear a ridiculous amount but one thats at the other end of the spectrum.

In Sharuland, i would nod authoritatively at these people while saying "the tattoo was priceless" but in the real world, i have to admit, it did set me back a bit. But regret doesn't figure in my current mindset. I feel safe and secure in the fact that it will not get infected and i will not in fact get aids (something the oldies in my family never failed to mention while shaking their heads dolefuly when i mentioned getting a tattoo) or some other disease that has nothing whatsoever to do with the needle (did i hear someone say herpes?). I'm happy that i don't have to worry that if it did happen i would have someone to blame and thereafter sue the pants off (pun intended).

Quality counts right!?

In other news(in newscaster-y voice),

• Today was Widegrin's sister's birthday and i had an utter and total BLAST! The chocolate 'non sponge' cake, the chinese food, the ghost story i told that freaked me out more than anyone else, the chain of ghost stories that followed, lorita's 'ghost story' that made me make my throat soar, the phantom knocks on wood, the hysterical laughter and photo session to top it all before the cloud on the way back home. And noone let me forget the boobage! I loved it all! Thank you WG! :)
  

• I'm leaving for Ahmadnagar tomorrow to meet the old man and woman and have a blast! :) Dubba is accompanying me and it should be a fun bus-trip. I am taking my guitar and so my co-passengers shall be well entertained. Whether they like it or not. But the guitar is to be left on the bus. My father has misplaced pride in my guitaring skills and insists on making elaborate plans that all feature me playing in front of an audience. This i do not like. And hence i shall be leaving the guitar on the bus when i reach. Why take it in the first place, you ask? Need you ask when it concerns moi?
  

It is now 2:34 a.m and i am well out of things to do online since this post is now over. 

Ciao!

Ima gwain tuh Pune! Whu!

I'm my own conga line!
I swear its fun and easy. And all in three easy steps:

1. Watch joey and learn the joey dance.
2. Four jolts to a circular motion with hands (like stirring a large cauldron) and four words for each jolt. (You can use mine or your own...or increase or decrease words. Really, do what you frikkin want)
3. Don't forget the "Whu!" at the end that is punctuated with an alternately upward-downward both hand throwing out gesture thing, accompanied by weirdly twisting knee-bendy motion.
PS if my instructions are complex, its because I'm being selfish and dont want to share the perfectness fo the dance with you.

Ah, Pune.
My five glorious years in Pune are like a dream for me, or a nightmare. I had a horrendous time there, i had a wonderful time there. I'm effin dissapointed i didn't stay but i'm glad i got out when i did. I think i made great friends there(even if i suck at keeping in touch with them). I know i made a few enemies (even if im the one who hates them and they hardly know i exist).

And now, i've been in Bangalore for 2 years, 4 months and 16 days(half the time i was in Pune). 2 years, 4 months, 16 days of growing up, feeling the pain, being stepped on, kickin ass, hauling ass, being victorious, being rebellious, being secretive, being told off, telling people off, being miserable, being elated and finally realizing that vanilla is indeed my favourite ice cream for a reason and that i like being this person. This irrevocably crazy, at times insecure person who just can't get enough of learning about herself through obsessively scrutinizing other people.
And thats why i love both these places. I love them because they have attached to their very core whoever i am today(talk about being in love with inanimate objects!). To sum it all up its like i'm a snail making slow progress through life while leaving slime marks all over these places like a personal marking ritual.
I realize the analogy is just pure absurd and grose but its late and i'm distracted.

D day- 25th October

The Return of Dougie and Examination stories

Dougie has returned! The star reptile of my bedroom stopped by my right wall for a minuscule second before heading over to his favourite hotspot; near his mirror. He checked himself out (AGAIN) in the reflective band of the clock and made a quick exit out the window.
*drumroll*
BUT NOT WITHOUT A QUICK PHOTO!

Dougieproof!

Speaking of strange animals, we recently had examinations and there is a sub-species commonly known as 'invigilators' that are inevitably a part of them..

Our college is really coming down hard on cheating and the invigilators thus, were forced to divulge into the bounty hunting profession, out on the hunt for dirty low down cheats (literally). I found this entire scenario very entertaining and kept bursting out into laughter every now and then-while writing my paper. Obviously this only aroused their suspicion in my 'activities' and I had a tough time not taunting them outright.

Anyway here are a few things that made me laugh:

Halfway through the exam, alls quiet on all fronts, the invigilators are prowling down the aisles praying that they catch someone, anyone, to claim as their prized catch, like brutally competitive fisherman. And then it happened-the ultimate travesty! A phone rang. I immediately looked up (I'd rather have died than missed this moment) in time to catch a flurry of activity. The bounty hunters all stopped in their tracks, beady eyes aglow with the bloodthirst of a hungry tiger. Then simultaneously, they raised their heads upward as far as their necks would allow and turned them to and fro rapidly. IT WAS HILARIOUS! They looked exactly like meer-cats. (See below)
(Please disregard the cat head that popped up suddenly. This is the only nice photo i could scrounge up)
Another fun story that a classmate told me and MM munch after one of the exams goes a little like this. A particular boy (who shall remain unnamed) had a dreadful cold and he was obviously in possession of a handkerchief that was considerably doused in his errr....snot. A lady invigilator (the most ruthless type of this sub-species) walks up to his desk and eyes his 'innocent' looking handkerchief suspiciously. She then proceeded to pick up the sodden rag and unfold it till it couldn't be unfolded anymore and in the process touching its every inch.

Karma is a bitch. And a vindictive little boy with a cold who knew just how to get them back. Well done, son!!

The munches and Yakub have their own way of typical behaviour in the exam hall..

MM is hereby labelled 'tough munch' since she refused to give up her paper till the last minute and resort to a mini-tug of war with the invigilators that was downright ballsy. Me and Pari watched bemusedly from outside the window.
Oshmunch feverishly writes in her paper like she's recharging her life's energy through the act of writing in the goshdarned thing. She is another that refuses to surrender the paper unless the time is beyond up.
Yakub is probably the only one who walks out of the exam hall like a brilliant ray of sunshine. Jokes, grin and all. (While complaining about imminent failure even.)
My main aim after an exam is to get away from the source of my worry as quickly as possible and it works wonders on me!

NEW BLOG-Treble Notes

I have a new blog!!
I realized that i was writing more and more about songs that i liked on this blog. And its enough to make another blog about exclusively. That one i will update weekly most probably. Pop by and check it out! I promise it'll be worth it and you may find some pretty good music!
The link is www.pridenoprejudice.blogspot.com

Updates

1) Made feckin labels. Lots of them. Laborously thought up label names and then assigned all posts labels.

2) Changed template. Changed it back.

3) Removed 'This day in History'. If you're thinking

"Huh? This day in history? Wassat?"

Then i guess i did the right thing! Cheers!

4) Added one more crazy metaphor (which i am proud of)

Three a.m

Thanks to kristopher and pari. Their reactions helped me click the 'publish' button.

I feel like my whole entire life is passing me by. That I am twenty and I haven’t a revelation to my name. I fear my entire life will pass by in replica decades and that I will be left an old woman with regrets that clutch at her throat, bringing her to tears ever so often. Nothing to achieve. Nothing to look forward to. Just a vacuum ironically filled with hope yet reigning back hope to replace it with pessimism.
I am in turmoil. I am in constant contradiction of my pessimistic thoughts. Yet it remains. Like a cold stone in my gut. Immovable, impassable, ever-present. I’m beginning to realize that I am beginning to give in to this stone and its call. It is inscribed with the stories of millions of others, as human and imperfect as I, who just gave up. Who surrendered because it was too difficult to make a life in their world.

I often pray to a god I do not believe in. I pray feverishly for me to be transported back to a time where I will feel at ease with myself and those around me. I grit my teeth as I pray. Knowing how foolish I must sound. For this reason I would never voice my turmoil to a soul. It remains within my being. As though bound to the stone in my gut. The stone of the losers-the people who have given up. Who let fear feed on their persona and let the stone become a cancerous growth that becomes heavier and heavier till it consumes them whole and stiffens the blood in their veins.
Why must I be like this? I believe I have talent. I believe that I am as good as most out there yet I am bogged down by my eyes that register every movement of those I envy and by the thoughts that enter my head as my eyes are feverishly taking in all they can. The thoughts dissuade me. The thoughts make me feel like I have nowhere to go. That I have reached a deadly plateau of ‘average’ and have ceased any forward movement.
My body tingles as I write this because the truth does that. It makes you tingle in places. Your neck, your head, your stomach. It makes you feel like your pores are vibrating. Like they are all alive at once. I have often felt this. When I fall into bed and am still for the first time in a day. Then they vibrate. But that is a good vibration. They thank me for the work I did. For making them feel alive, for making them work together. But this is different. They want to no longer work as a unit but as individuals. I want to give in to them. But all I do is run my fingers hard through my hair to create a rival sensation. To forget their tingling. Or at least to mask it. To mask their traitorous aim. To feel whole again. But they continue. They continue to whisper, to vibrate and whisper pleas of freedom. But no I will not let them go. I will not let them be individual. I will deny them their pleasure as I feel I have been denied mine.
The stone is my gut is feeling warm. It is often warm as it shrinks. I run my hands hard through my hair, over my shoulders, down my arms and over my stomach. The tingling is going away, but it echoes still in my wretched memory, lingering as a warning of it return. But then that will be in a while, when I feel hopeless again. When I think of giving up again. When I am weak again.
For now I am safe. I feel the warmth of confidence. I decide on which smile to smile. The one that makes my one dimple show, I think. That one is a winner on most days, on most people. I square my shoulders. I suck in my gut. I walk into the room and I am me again. No one must ever know.