I want to be thin.
I've always felt that I was a skinny, uncurvy, athletic tomboy trapped in a well, chubby girl's body. I have felt this way since I was , I don't know, ten? Before that, I used to climb trees and play dodgeball and not care.
Then Hrithik Roshan happened to India. And while all my friends began to drool over him, I drooled over wanting to BE like him . (Did I not mention that I was a weird child?) I began to dance and exercise and got my hair cut really short. (It somehow made me look more er, challenged than boyish, with my curly hair and glasses. Shudder. I hate to recollect those moments of childish insanity).
As I grew out of that phase (thanks be to God that I did!), I had crushes and got crushed in the process. And somehow grew to believe that my chubbiness was the cause of such a situation. Of course, there was the matter of me not being able to bleat a word around the presence of the crush. (Class topper, public speaker, house captain-these designations were harldy daunting compared to saying hello to a boy I fancied. A root canal would've been far less painful.)
So, I did it. I exercised, lost interest in fries and rice and knocked off ten kilos. It made a great difference. Not romantically, but it did wonders to my confidence. I could be loved! I could be a worthy individual and contribute to society!
Well, then I decided to go even more further and shed some more personal gravity this summer and guess what happened. I put on 6 kilos! And my sorrow has been infinite ever since the discovery of this fact (and the painful realisation that 95% of my wardrobe does not fit me).
Like K remarked, "I wish we'd all been born with the perfect bodies we wanted" (I don't know why people who are perfect ALREADY say things like this! He is an ice cream worshipper and can eat all the Toblerones he wants but he still exercises. The dedication of the boy, I tell you. Touchwood for him.)
It's not fair that I got a backache when I went to the gym. It's not fair that pizza is banned for me BY me. It's not fair that all my idol women are thin, thin, thiiinnn (Kareena, Katrina, Shakira, etc) I don't wanna wear kurtas all the time that reach up to my knees. (Well, now I have to. All my skirts have been relegated to the back of the closet). I want to wear skinny jeans and loose clothes without looking bigger than I already am. I want to not nearly kill myself in guilt of having not exercised. I want to jump and hop and skip without people saying "ooohhh earthquake" (well, they USED TO in school. Kids can be so mean.)
Sigh.
But...
A wise person told me (okay, it was K again!) that we are all born with certain flaws and certain perfections. That I should think of all the perfect features that God has given me.
I don't know about perfect features. But I'm sure glad He's given me understanding friends. Thanks for that, God. And well, the Kingdom of Estarra.
But someday........! I hope that gravity shall NOT be on my side...!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Lazy Don't Save Me
It's all cloudy. I'm picturing a desolate beach(the white sand variety) under green palms( do those exist?) swaying under a tempestuous breeze to the sound of the waves.
According to K, I shall find this in Kerala. In all probability, yes. But I'm highly sceptical owing to my memory of the place my Mum dragged me to 3 years ago. It was hot and we spent all the time temple-hopping (which was not as bad as I thought it would be. Except for the time I stepped into fresh cowdung and had to wipe it off with newspapers and grass. Repeat after finicky-me, EW.)
So, well, basically I never got to experience desolate beaches of any kind, kathakali dances, boathouses (though we did get to boat on the Vembanad Lake) or those other 'God's own country' things which I drool over in travel advertising features. It was a learning experience, though and made me realise how much of a city slicker I am. It didn't manage to make me to feel any connection with my so-called Malayali blood (does it exist if you don't believe its existence?) But it was good. Remind me to tell you about it, some other, more proactive time.
Well, I hope I encounter some of those dreamy imageries when we go on our class excursion at the end of this month. (It aches to think Naveen won't be there with us. It's so strange how life has to move on. Sigh.)
Back to my dreamy state of existence. It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, almost Sunday-like, but only with a vague expectation of activity. I wonder if I will ever get up to it. Have been dreaming of long TV hours with a mug of cold coffee (No one makes the way I LOVE it like Mum does)
Have an exam on Monday-Mass Communication Theories. (Honestly, it's more interesting than it sounds). Got a pile of notes to rifle through. But all I want to do is dream of picture-postcard beach and listen to the alt songs under the playlist I titled 'Moments' in my iTunes. Listening to Rabbi's new album now. Nowhere as great as his debut album, but appropriate for my current mood.
Oh, did I tell you about the Strings concert I went for last Saturday? It was absolutely beautiful. Sure, Parikrama was great ( I especially loved their own comp 'Am I Dreaming?'. Man I wish I could get my hands on that song) but when Strings came on, they brought such a precious, positive energy to the atmosphere. I totally lost myself there. The music, the lyrics, the melody and the sweetness in their performance. Just thinking about it makes me smile. I've always been in love with their songs 'Sirkiye yeh pahar' and 'Anjaane' (have mentioned the lyrics in my previous blog post of favourite lyrics) but their new one 'Koi Aaney Wala Hai' is adorable as well. I love the lyrics. It's about expecting an angel. And they depict that in the video too, with John Abraham as an angel. Ha ha ha. But I prefer imagining it in my own way. Bilal (oh he's so cute!) and Faisal(oh he's so sweet!) are angels enough.
Well, I'm going off for now before I ramble any further. This has been a long, aimless one-sided conversation (oh God!! That reminds me of the criticisms of the dominant paradigm of Development Communication. Don't. Even. Go. There. My exam's over today and I don't wanna think about it all over again. Though it is highly interesting...google it if you're interested. I taught 4 different people about it, including myself and my mandatory student, J.)
OK. BYE FOR NOW. (Someone gag me!)
According to K, I shall find this in Kerala. In all probability, yes. But I'm highly sceptical owing to my memory of the place my Mum dragged me to 3 years ago. It was hot and we spent all the time temple-hopping (which was not as bad as I thought it would be. Except for the time I stepped into fresh cowdung and had to wipe it off with newspapers and grass. Repeat after finicky-me, EW.)
So, well, basically I never got to experience desolate beaches of any kind, kathakali dances, boathouses (though we did get to boat on the Vembanad Lake) or those other 'God's own country' things which I drool over in travel advertising features. It was a learning experience, though and made me realise how much of a city slicker I am. It didn't manage to make me to feel any connection with my so-called Malayali blood (does it exist if you don't believe its existence?) But it was good. Remind me to tell you about it, some other, more proactive time.
Well, I hope I encounter some of those dreamy imageries when we go on our class excursion at the end of this month. (It aches to think Naveen won't be there with us. It's so strange how life has to move on. Sigh.)
Back to my dreamy state of existence. It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, almost Sunday-like, but only with a vague expectation of activity. I wonder if I will ever get up to it. Have been dreaming of long TV hours with a mug of cold coffee (No one makes the way I LOVE it like Mum does)
Have an exam on Monday-Mass Communication Theories. (Honestly, it's more interesting than it sounds). Got a pile of notes to rifle through. But all I want to do is dream of picture-postcard beach and listen to the alt songs under the playlist I titled 'Moments' in my iTunes. Listening to Rabbi's new album now. Nowhere as great as his debut album, but appropriate for my current mood.
Oh, did I tell you about the Strings concert I went for last Saturday? It was absolutely beautiful. Sure, Parikrama was great ( I especially loved their own comp 'Am I Dreaming?'. Man I wish I could get my hands on that song) but when Strings came on, they brought such a precious, positive energy to the atmosphere. I totally lost myself there. The music, the lyrics, the melody and the sweetness in their performance. Just thinking about it makes me smile. I've always been in love with their songs 'Sirkiye yeh pahar' and 'Anjaane' (have mentioned the lyrics in my previous blog post of favourite lyrics) but their new one 'Koi Aaney Wala Hai' is adorable as well. I love the lyrics. It's about expecting an angel. And they depict that in the video too, with John Abraham as an angel. Ha ha ha. But I prefer imagining it in my own way. Bilal (oh he's so cute!) and Faisal(oh he's so sweet!) are angels enough.
Well, I'm going off for now before I ramble any further. This has been a long, aimless one-sided conversation (oh God!! That reminds me of the criticisms of the dominant paradigm of Development Communication. Don't. Even. Go. There. My exam's over today and I don't wanna think about it all over again. Though it is highly interesting...google it if you're interested. I taught 4 different people about it, including myself and my mandatory student, J.)
OK. BYE FOR NOW. (Someone gag me!)
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Lost where you belong
(Okay I wrote this a couple of months ago and it was meant for this plotless story that's been in my heart and head for the past 7 years and refuses to unravel itself on to paper fully. Sigh. Okay, read it.)
Everything is a sign.
Every line of a page is a message. Every turn around the corner is an omen. Every name in the paper, every lyric of a song conveys exactly what you want it to be.
The universe is lying to you.
She was free. She wasn’t bound by convention, family, choices or mistakes. Yet she lived in constant fear. Fear that made her tear at the cuticles of her fingers. Fear of fear.She missed someone terribly. It could have been something she missed but a mental checklist revealed that there was nothing substantial or conceivable that she longed for or lacked.
So, it was a nameless, faceless someone for whom she lay in wait, day after day, night after night. The messiah.
As quickly as she recognized this yearning and waiting, she also berated herself for seeking a human being, an individual to fill the space inside her. To bring colour to the white walls around her. Or to open the door.
It was obviously a spiritual need that sought to be fulfilled. Hadn’t she heard this before? People ached for something to fill their loneliness and tried all the material things before they realized God was the answer.
She was spiritual, yes, but in a quiet way, unlike her religious (especially before exams) friends and also the atheist ones. She recognized her need for God and communicated with him in the way she wrote in her diary-sporadic, but honest and direct. But she knew that she would never be satisfied until He overwhelmed her in His effulgence and took her back to wherever she came from and away from this confusing spectacle they called reality. But she also couldn’t fathom a life of austerity and meditation (She couldn’t sit cross legged for two minutes and couldn’t stand being away from her clean and big bathroom)
So, she figured, as she waited endlessly, that there must be a reason He put her on this planet with almost everything she wanted. Almost everything…except a clue.
Everything is a sign.
Every line of a page is a message. Every turn around the corner is an omen. Every name in the paper, every lyric of a song conveys exactly what you want it to be.
The universe is lying to you.
She was free. She wasn’t bound by convention, family, choices or mistakes. Yet she lived in constant fear. Fear that made her tear at the cuticles of her fingers. Fear of fear.She missed someone terribly. It could have been something she missed but a mental checklist revealed that there was nothing substantial or conceivable that she longed for or lacked.
So, it was a nameless, faceless someone for whom she lay in wait, day after day, night after night. The messiah.
As quickly as she recognized this yearning and waiting, she also berated herself for seeking a human being, an individual to fill the space inside her. To bring colour to the white walls around her. Or to open the door.
It was obviously a spiritual need that sought to be fulfilled. Hadn’t she heard this before? People ached for something to fill their loneliness and tried all the material things before they realized God was the answer.
She was spiritual, yes, but in a quiet way, unlike her religious (especially before exams) friends and also the atheist ones. She recognized her need for God and communicated with him in the way she wrote in her diary-sporadic, but honest and direct. But she knew that she would never be satisfied until He overwhelmed her in His effulgence and took her back to wherever she came from and away from this confusing spectacle they called reality. But she also couldn’t fathom a life of austerity and meditation (She couldn’t sit cross legged for two minutes and couldn’t stand being away from her clean and big bathroom)
So, she figured, as she waited endlessly, that there must be a reason He put her on this planet with almost everything she wanted. Almost everything…except a clue.
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