spewing

I sort of want to abandon this blog, but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm in that odd sort of slump again, the one that resembles the vaguely annoying cousin that you're resigned to hang out with for n number of hours, since he's the only company you have at a party of adults. Somewhere along the way that metaphor got lost, bumped into walls and suffered a concussion.
Anyway.
There are ways. Meandering roads and dimly lit cafes, glitzy boutiques with names like Louis Vitton and Prada emblazoned across their walls. There are skinny Asian chicks with long black curtains of hair, a Gucci purse tucked under their leather jacket clad arm, and a Louis Vitton package dangling from a little finger. There is love and hate and the frustration that comes with a lack of space and privacy. There is Carrot juice and raspberries that go rotten within a day. There's a dull ache somewhere and a recognition of a small void. There's a new September TV schedule which brings back House, HIMYM and Gossip Girl (yes, i know >.<). There's Criminal Minds marathons every other night on television, and then there are vivid daydreams about Spencer Reid. There are cute greying, motion-impaired Italians and stuck up thong-wearing elegantly dressed Russians. There's a ruddy English guy with the accent who plays sports and pipettes with equal panache, and a Maria lookalike from SOM, who is about to get married. There are hosts of co-workers and a cushy cubicle without internet restrictions. There's my frayed bright neon green Benneton backpack which has a ginormous hole in it's side, and was my going away to college present from kuku-kuki.  A dancing silver man on my spiral bound black notebook. Bison sausage on a bun with saute`ed onions and horseradish.A pair of raccoons scampering on my neighbour's balcony, looking up at me with alert beady eyes.  Ignored online courses and an enticing Toronto calling out to me. Cramps and blinding migraines. The tattooes that I just can't seem to get.
This can't go on for much longer without me shooting myself. Life is good and kind of pointless right now. I should be really really happy but I've worn myself out. Stuff needs to change. And I need to snap out of whiny irritable self pity/loathing cuz they are so interchangeable. Longing for godknowswhat and waiting for godknowswhen. Snap out of it, you know? Where's the fucking motivation? Should I have just stayed back and become a stoner chick? SNAP OUT OF IT!

From Toronto, With love

It's been a long, long time but you know that. I meant to write to you, Daff. Honestly, and truly I did. But I've been so caught up in just doing things and exploring and running all over the place, poking my head into places they clearly don't belong. It's wondrous, this freedom of being able to enjoy a place. To set off after a day of work to look around town and stare unabashedly at people, buildings, seagulls- did you know the first person I saw when I moved into my rather sketchy neighbourhood was a transvestite! She was dressed quite nicely but her being tall and burly sorta gave it away. I was Delighted, and mum nearly had an aneurysm. And then we passed a bunch of homeless people lolling on the grass, shirtless and smelling of weed. We went into this seedy looking Popeye's for lunch and in stumbles this drunk redheaded lady, her dress falling off and her breasts spilling out of her cheap black bra. She came in and kicked at the bathroom door, swearing like anything at the counter-people, who'd locked it and kept insisting that they didn't have a bathroom. She tripped over close to me and I held my breath, a little terrified and a little excited. Then she stalked off calling em sons of bitches. After that we crossed a BDSM shop and a bunch of sex shops- God, Daff, it's the funniest thing. Our house is located on this intersection-Sherbourne and Dundas. So right next to our house is this shabby huge cafe called True Love Cafe, replete with pink hearts and advertising 'Lovely Sexy Milkshakes'. Right opposite that is a church and about a few yards away is Filmore's Strip Club. It has those broadway bulbs blinking all night and says things like "When the sun goes down, and things get hazy. Good girls go bad, and the night gets crazy". I kinda want to go, you know. I mean, how many times am I going to be in the city at 19 years old, Right downtown? But I can't figure out whom to ask to come with me, who wouldn't be too freaked out and think I was a pervert or something.
Anyway, I'd better get back to work. I'll write to you soon. Tell you about the pigmy fairy sword juggling acrobat on the street. Not a joke.
Love and 'lovely sexy' hugs.
Rai

going home post- 2011

so, i'd say "fuck you bitches, i'm going home", like last time. but i've actually grown to like quite a few of you this time around. so i guess i'll just settle for a resounding BUH-BYE BITCHEZ. i leave in a little more than a day. ohmyfreakinggod, if my smile got any wider, it would tear roads apart. 

figures that the 100th post would be thought-rambling. happy century bloggay, i love you

to have a kid is sort of a marginally terrifying concept. for one thing, i dont believe that unconditional love exists. all love is conditional. parents' love- the good ones, that is- probably stretches beyond its limits for the most part but still. i'm terrified of having a kid for a multitude of reasons.for instance- what would i do if i had a kid who didn't read? a kid who didn't like music or a kid who only liked top 40? the other day i was talking to a classmate and i asked her what kinda music she was into. her reply was something along the lines of..."i dunno. whatever's on the radio i guess. i don't really have one". i can have friends who are that way but never really identify with them. but if i had a kid who was like that i couldn't really segregate them into "nice but nah" into my head. what if i had a kid who was mean? just plain all out mean. or one without a sense of humour. or dumb? it's scary. apart from all the ways in which you'd probably fuck up your kid, there's all the ways that they will find to fuck you up. what if i had a kid who was into mindless gossip. who didn't like webcomics, who didn't like sports, who didn't like leather sofas or the wonderful feeling of sinking into a plush bed with crisp white linen sheets and plump fluffy pillows? what if i had a kid without feelings, without imagination? what if i had a dull boring kid? who didn't have dreams but cared only about money? what if (s)he was average? and content with mediocrity? it's so terrifying, i almost understand the concept of designer babies, perverse as it is. it's incredible to think about, but somehow the world has been carrying on this way unremarkably for ages. inconspicuously. parents pumping out kids who then pump out their own kids. and the world keeps spinning on its axis, with the exception of the few parents who freeze/ burn/ kill their kids. but i'm not assuming that they're sane, so they don't really count. it's crazy really, when i think about it. how on earth did my parents manage to love me through all the times that i was a disappointment to their hopes and dreams, or what they thought was apt, or ...i dunno. it's nuts. just madly madly nuts. if i were to have a kid, i would love to be there for them always. to introduce them to harry potter and roald dahl, and lemony snicket and watch their eyes sparkle. i would love to see them sit in a corner, absorbed in a book, forgetting time and place and the need to do Anything else. i should love to see them be rational and logical, winning debates. i would be there each time my kid scraped his knees, falling off a tree. and i would applaud as he kept running a race with bleeding knees just because he was obstinate enough to do so. i would bake them the world's most chocolatey melted fudge cake and curse the loser who dumped them. and i would bleed quiet tears for them inside my heart. i'd talk to them about politics and tell them about the glorious indian freedom struggle. i'd introduce them to the horrors of the holocaust and make them watch schindler's list. i'd see them realize that adverse conditions bring out the essential goodness in even the most self absorbed human beings. i'd nourish their faith in innate goodness of humanity and i'd rejoice as they went about life being decent caring individuals. i'd take them to the beach and we'd make sandcastles, and watch them be swept away by the tide. i'd explain how time changes everything and one of the saddest and the best parts of life was that nothing is static, everything is fluid. i'd push them on the swing and scare them enough so that they didn't try to leap out of it and break their heads. i'd push them through the boring, the frustratingly mundane aspects of student life. i'd teach them to view education and good grades as keys and tools to a better life. i'd try to make sure that they were educated in the truest sense of the term. i'd like to see them nurse an intense love for a subject and grow up to pursue it. i'd take them travelling on a whim. we'd run off to dusty roads and trail paths in little lost beaches, stopping for ice cream along the way. we'd get a beautifully mischievous dog and romp around with it in the backyard. i'd watch them grow up and hope that they wouldn't grow away. i'd watch gilmore girls and friends with them. i'd hope that they would teach me new things. i'd hope that they would understand that i was imperfect but i was only doing my best and that i loved them very much inspite of it all. i'd try to keep my temper and never ever strike them. if i ever did, i'd hope that they'd forgive me. and i would make it up to them a thousandfold. in all this, i'd hope that when they grew up, we wouldn't grow apart. and i'd hope that they'd love me as a person and not just as mum. i'd love to have kids for the love of all this stuff, but that's the easy part, innit? i'd want to not give up working for any longer than absolutely necessary. i'd want to travel as much as i could. i'd want to keep being a nomad, and in the way that i was brought up, i'd hope that my kids could find a way to put down roots, despite travelling and meeting a hundred different types of people. i'd want to work in different places and see the world as much as i could and do as much as i could with the tiny insignificant body i've been given. how to reconcile being a mother and a nomad?
i don't know. but i hope that one day i'll be able to do it.

Canada and spring have been terrible influences on me. I've become so used to the "toodle-o" kind of cheeriness and the raised sunshiny Timmy's tone, that I find it hard to be angsty on my blog anymore. Or at least, I'm so generally tired out by all the running around and doing this and that, that I'm too tired to be properly angsty about it all. Out angst-ed by my own angst. Egad!
And you thought I was going to make sense. :)

Outdated

dark chocolate.
kalbaisakhi.
getting drenched.
pudina hajmola.
soft kisses,near misses.
streaks of blue.
moods and hues.
sugar intolerance.
competetively psychotic.
rationally erratic.
Thunderstorms, D&G.
Guns n Roses.
chronic nobility complex.
genetically moonstruck.
rambles.
brambles.
peoplewhomakemylifemakesense=♥
new-book-induced adrenaline.
scribbles. giggles.
ami.

This used to be my facebook 'about me'. today- one swift sweep of the mouse. delete. :)

This be the Verse aka What terrifies me about having kids

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.

- Philip Larkin