Dark, twisted people should not be allowed to blog.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
A month no different, no new
Monday, October 19, 2009
The leaves were white before they turned Orange
Took a major aptitude test, got drunk, came back home reeking of musty south Indian dishes after having helped cook for 500 people, drank some more, procrastinated to the point of nauseating myself, came threateningly close to lashing out at this man I am forced to work with, discovered Alexi Murdoch, befriended a Colombian Latina, donned a sari to the local Durga Puja, raised funds at the campus for a flood back in India, fell in love with a Polish young lady, batted eyelashes at a south Indian grad student – and then forgot all about him 24 hours later, got funded for a project to last me half a year, got whammed on the nose by the workplace politics I was hitherto unaware of, found that I am too fat now to fit into my only pair of formal pants, wallowed over the weight gain with junk food, missed three buses in a row, got asked out by a creepy black student and came very close to a heart attack in the process, witne
But their goes one entire month of my life that I will never get to redo.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
When there are things going on
MAJOR exam meltdown, will resurface in a couple of weeks.
__________________________________________________________________
Monday, September 14, 2009
Realizing
What you know: So, obsessive neurotic that I am, I could make my heart go 400 beats a minute, wondering if I should take the plunge or dwell forever in the bitter incapacitating misery jabbing every rib bone of mine, one excruciating poke at a time.
What I learned: Answer to everything you ever wondered about is just one step away. You just NEED TO ASK.
___________________________________________________________________
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Where you need more than an Orange Button to publish
Ah the joys of Senior year.
This time of the year all vestiges of pride fade away, when you practically wander from one professor's door to another - requesting, mooching, downright begging. This is when the stringencies of classroom conformity seize to exist. What I mean is, given my undergraduate field of study, I am most likely supposed to go the extra mile in a research laboratory, and no, one is not enough. So I snub back all inhibitions, and approach the professors directly. And guess what, they actually think I am good enough. Okay, so this was a year back. so you'd expect that I should have got this covered, right? Well, turns out - not so much. Now I need to get a paper published.
Wait, WHAT?
Right, as an undergrad, I need my name up there, alongside people I'd consider nothing less than celebrities - people who, given their 15 years of experience, make my 4 measly years of college education look like pigeon poo. Well, at least that is what page after page of graduate admission requirements tell me.
So I wander around the hallways resplendent with the palpable air of academic intellect, muttering to myself "Will not pass out, Shall not pass out".
______________________________________________________________
Monday, September 7, 2009
What do you say when they point at you?
Once in a very long while, you realise that the little bubble you have built around you may not be as resilient as you would prefer to believe. Like when you find out someone has been talking about you. Good things? Atrocious unaccountable snide? It doesn't really matter. Because as far as I am concerned, either elicit a similar reaction. A feeling of helplessness, of being jolted back into reality without prior warning - there are people looking at you, forming opinions about, saying things about you - and here you believed you are invisible. The wispy imperceptible veil, that until now only fluttered sporadically to let you catch fleeting glimpses of what lies beyond, now melts away, and you feel naked and raw - exposed to the leers of all.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
THAT is your last name?! (are you sure?)
We are taught to take immense pride in our names, right?