Like Meredith and Derek.

I have finally realized what I want. I want Meredith and Derek. I want something that is insane, complicated, dysfunctional and crazy. Like Meredith and Derek. I want something that despite all of those things, I want to come back home to, that I cant function without. Like Meredith and Derek. I want someone who is a rock when I am unsure. Like Meredith and Derek. I want a bit of land on a hill top that is meant just for us. Like Meredith and Derek. I want to know that its right and that its meant to be, even when I dont know that. Like Meredith and Derek. I want the assurance that it will work out, against all odds. Like Meredith and Derek.


I want the stuff of legends. Like Meredith and Derek. 

My Piece of Perfect

A job that I like in a city that I love. A place I can call my own. A tiny, furry dog named Buttons who would sniff at my toes. Not being the third wheel on Saturday nights. A boy I can call mine. A boy that would stay mine. A smile that reaches upto my eyes. Thats all I am asking for. 

Happy 18th my Pani-Puri Head!!

Dear Baby Sister of mine

I honestly cannot believe you are 18 already! I know they say time flies but I never knew it could fly so fast. I am trying not to sound like a 90 year old but I remember the first time I saw you. Actually you were the first infant I had ever seen. I was six and I had not seen anything quite so beautiful before. Tiny, red faced and a shock of black hair, you were wrapped in a red flannel blanket that used to be mine and before that used to be my sister's and before that, used to be somebody else's. I had been the baby of the house and in you came, dethroning me in all your glory. Suddenly you had everybody's attention. I should have been bothered but I was not. Because I thought something so adorable deserved all the attention that she got. And more.

Eighteen is an important year. Eighteen is when the government acknowledges that you have made the transition into an adult ( even though you knew it wayyyy before. When guys stopped being disgusting and started being adorable!). So what better than to chronicle your life so far, highlighting the special moments!

To begin with, you were the first baby I was allowed to hold. Which I did, by grabbing you by your armpits and nearly strangling you. You promptly responded by peeing all over me. Thank you for scarring me for life. Also, remember the time I drooled all over you?? Well, payback is a biatch, baby :D

At three, you had developed a wonderful speech impairment where your R's were your L's and your L's were your L's and your S's were Sh's and evelything wash vely confushing. This one time Peeps and I spent about 15 minutes figuring out whether you were talking about Mamu's car or his leg. When we still could not understand, you clutched your forehead and said "Malu is getting a headache". Oh you were also in your whole referring to yourself in the third person phase. Sigh. I liked that phase. Bring it back. I am sure it will be a huge hit in your Uni. Point to be noted - You were crazy about Akchy Kumal then. Couldnt string a sentence together but already boy crazy. I was so proud. !

You were about 6 and you had an obsession with midriff baring outfits ( something I think you might have inherited from me). Which meant that you would be prancing around in a light orange dress all the time. All. The. Time. I have a photo album from that time where you have that outfit on in almost every single picture. Disturbing, some might say. Oh also, here started what I like to call The Era Of Nube-Torture. (Yknow, shutting her in the bathroom and turning out the lights. Making her cry just because we could.Sigh. Fun times)

Fast forward to when you were 12. There was a strange new obsession with Post-Its. Whatever you had to do went on a Post-It. Whatever you didnt have to do went on another. Stuff you had to remember. Stuff you had to forget. There were Post-Its in different colors. Different sizes, shapes. Seemed like you were solely responsible for the sales of Post-Its all over the world. Post-Its plastered everything you owned. And still, you fretted. So. Darned. Much. That phase I do not miss. I love you though ok??

Then you were 15 and awesome. Tripping over your own feet, talking about NASA, getting dissed by Nubes (the plates had turned. The torturers became the torturees. Nubes turned out to be super sarcastic smart. Darn ! I love you Nubes ok??).

Now you are 18. Still being the only one to laugh at your own jokes, fantasizing about gulab jamun flavored cakes and being just too cute to be true. You are going through the whole toe phase which I would love to say everybody else goes through too. I wish things were easier. But I also hope you quit whining soon because like I said earlier, you are finally the age that the Government acknowledges as adulthood. Meaning. P.A.R.T.A.Y!!! I havent seen you as much as I would have liked to over the past few years but now that you are at my favorite age, I intend to take you under my wing and ensure that you have the best time of your life !! I wish you a very happy birthday, my Baby Girl. I love you forever and may you have the loveliest, happiest, drunkest 18th year ever !! :D

xoxo
Big Sister. (The cool one :D).

Potterwatch!!

The news headlines on Yahoo (yes, I read the news on Yahoo. Go on. Judge me. But you know you do it too.) today flashed "JK Rowling reveals name of new book". Now I didn't know why it was such a big deal for the next book by Rowling would but of course be called "Harry Potter and the mid-life crisis" or something to that effect. I mean, c'mon!! Why would someone who has created and written Harry Potter even want to think about writing something else? It is officially the greatest, coolest, most uber awesome-st book series in the history of mankind. Who would be stupid enough to not want to continue such a stupendous level of brilliance? The answer to that is, JK Rowling. For apparently, her new book is called "The Casual Vacancy" and its about a seemingly sleepy little town in England where something sinister happens. Sure I'll read it. Of course I'll read it. But at the same time I will nursing the wounds on Harry and particularly, Draco's backs from where her knife stabbed them! A book about Muggles. Is this what the world has come to?! Sadly, Ms Rowling has moved on, as she should have. And I believe its about time I did too. Its about time I let go of Harry too. I understand where Rowling is coming from. Draco doesnt, but I do.

Any which way, this news bit is an addition to a series of Potter related thoughts that have been occurring to me. For instance, just last week I woke up randomly in the middle of the night around 3.am-ish. Actually, I didn't just wake up. I jerked into awakening and sat up gasping for breath. And the thought that was racing through my mind, the thought that had so violently shaken me awake was, " Johnny Depp should have played Sirius Black. Oh god, what have they DONE??!" Which is where I should probably interject that I was very unhappy with the casting of Sirius in the Potter movies. While reading the books, Sirius was one of my favorite characters and I absolutely adored the morbid, depressing way that he had been described in. Gaunt, with black eyes, a wild black mane, high cheekbones, hollowed out cheeks, bearing vestiges of great good looks and a perpetual haunted expression. That is a classically dark description and the Sirius in my head was none other than Welsh footballer Ryan Giggs. Sneer all you want, but you know as well as I do that he fits the bill perfectly. Specially the haunted expression part. Of course, I realized that the chances of brilliant acting skills manifesting in him just so my imagination is satiated are tragically minimal but I hoped that they would find a suitable substitute. Instead they go cast what-his-name! Bloody ginger headed guy with perfectly permed hair, grey eyes and a general non-emaciated look about him. I hated that they made one of the strongest guys in the book look like a hussy and I hated that he couldnt even act to make up for what he lacked in likeness. Also, I pictured Sirius as being tougher. Like he'd break your neck if you looked at him funny. THIS guy looked like he was more likely to invite you to tea. 

Sirius Black in the movies was a disaster. And all these years, I was too upset by this to try and think of who could have done it better. But my sub-concious mind apparently cared more about what casting choices would have made the makers of an already multi-million dollar movie franchise richer. Yes, I am that concerned with the happenings of the world. And the answer to that question is stating simply and obviously, Johnny Depp. Let me begin by saying that Johnny Depp could play Catwoman and still be perfect for the role. There is nothing, I repeat NOTHING that Depp cant play to perfection. And he would have nailed the role of Sirius. He has the look and the accent down pat and besides, its how I always imagined Johnny would look like if he was on the run. And this has me so indignant that  I am unable to keep myself from imagining various situations wherein I travel back in time and across the globe to prevent the darned director of third movie from making such a catastrophic mistake.

 I found this online. Depp as Black. Maybe we could refine the look a little but you get the picture

And while we're on it, Nicole Kidman as Narcissa Malfoy. And that, is just plain obvious. And maybe, Adam Brody/ Elijah Wood as a younger James Potter and of course, Ian Mckellan as Dumbledore.   Come to think of it, I am not sure I am willing to let go of Harry just as yet. 

Whims of March

Its that time of the year again! When the cold lull of winter slowly bids goodbye and the the sky is no longer grey. The birds come out and the weather begins to play hot/cold with you and you suddenly realize that you dont have any proper spring outfits in your wardrobe. Everything is either too warm or too flimsy. But the sky is blue and every breathe of air makes you feel like Nature is on a Wrigley addiction phase. And children are annoyingly chatty again and all the puppies that were born in the winter are now bitey tweens (or whatever you choose to call that phase where they are too skinny to be cute and too puny to be scary). And I dig out floral stuff from my closet and everybody is dressed in a bright contrast to the gray vision that the last few months have been. Fervently agreeing to this sentiment is the cover of Vogue looks like a balloon party and everything inside is a delightful splash of colors that make your eyes water with joy and your heart rejoices that winter is finally, finally gone ! Back in school these days went by in a flurry of anxiety and anticipation of the end of the final term exams, which would inevitably bring with it the throng of children with orange lips and tongues, sucking on ice lollies and wandering about the city like the destitute. Though things have obviously changed now, in that I no longer like ice lollies but the sense  of unbridled freedom remains unchanged. There is this inexplicable, unfathomable comfort of the 90s that I feel again. Of that time in my life when worries were limited to quiz scores and the cute boy who lived down the street and suddenly everything I see becomes a Jason Mraz song and all I want to do at the end of the day is eat chocolate, watch Friends and pretend that they never went off air.

 Every year in March, the weather leads me to believe that things are finally about to change. For the better. That this will be the year that I finally get what I want and that life would stop sucking so much. And even if it doesn't, I will be fine. Because March will come again. 

Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future - Bah! Humbug.

Christmas has always been a big deal around the Udaikumar residence.Why, however is one question I cannot for the world of me answer. I mean, we are not Christians, neither have we ever lived in a Christian neighborhood, my sister and I did not attend a convent school (although we sometimes like to pretend like we did and put on fake accents and come up with ridiculous etiquette rules and embarrass our dad in public!), we did not know much ( read - ANYTHING) about the festival and I am certain that if any of our elderly relatives read this post about a festival belonging to another religion, I would be disowned and written off from all of their wills. (But that is a risk I am willing to brave, specially since none of them even know where the start button on a computer is).
However, every year me and my sister would unfailingly have sleepless nights instilled by the excitement that was Christmas. We would take out the little fake Christmas trees (two of them, to avoid conflict) that our folks had bought us, no doubt to shut us up, and the little stick candies and the little stars and the little ball-things and the streamers and the little twinkle lights and basically every form of miniature festival decorations that a festival-decoration store would proffer. Then we would sit down and chalk out a decoration plan which would dictate where what sparkly midget-y thing went and after a long discussion, come to a conclusion that we both found agreeable. That is to say, my sister would ignore all my ideas and then threaten to bonk me on the head with my tree if I didn't do as she said and I would meekly agree. Nevertheless, what followed was always pure, unadulterated fun. Even the multiple death threats that Deepa would casually and consistently keep throwing my way. Once the tree was done, we'd get out the cotton. Because Christmas in Calcutta had to be a white one. It just HAD to, okay? So on went bits and balls and flakes of fake fluffy snow. And the twinkle lights. This entire exercise would take roughly 3 to 4 hours, after which we would spend another half hour sitting back and admiring our handicraft. After that, we would not know what to do. So we would leave the thing and go eat dinner and the decorations would stay there gathering dust till March, when more death threats would ensue, this time from Mom and we would put it all away. But it was the most wonderful time of the year, the one festival where we could do whatever we wanted with no parental interference.
This year, Christmas was a subdued affair with my sister sitting in a different continent and me being 20 something and supposedly, too old for miniature decorations. Instead I just cooked a dinner fit for a small army of extremely hungry midgets and we all sat down and ate like it was The Last Supper itself.
Alas, another tradition falls prey to Change. We take it in our stride and move on. Maybe someday, chancing upon a box of dusty old decorations in the attic and smiling at what was and accepting that it never will be again.

Borrowed.

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?  I guess that wouldn't work.  Someone would leave.  Someone always leaves.  Then we would have to say good-bye.  I hate good-byes.  I know what I need.  I need more hellos.  "


~Charles M. Schulz