Tagged by VelocityGirl

“This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.”

Wah.

Some rules of the Game:

a) Show off your honesty(and modesty) by thanking the person who gave you the award and link to their post. (Thank you Sahana, may your tribe increase.)

b) List 10 honest things about yourself. Cheating makes you lame, so just play along, all you taggees.

c) Select 7 other bloggers you think deserve this award and pass it on to them.

d) Notify said bloggers about the award and invite them to be the honest ones next.

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1) imho, sitaphal kulfi trumps everything else in the icecream bracket most of the time. This is because I like how uncomplicated it looks, it's very misleading. Also, it tastes like a smoother version of rabri.

2) I either live in extreme squalor or extreme cleanliness. I like cleaning but I have to notice the dirt first, which takes some time because I'm usually noticing dirt elsewhere =)

3) I cut my nails obsessively. I can't stand them getting that dead-layer white crescent.

4) I faze out of conversations more often than people know.

5) At one point of time, I loved Linkin Park.

6) If someone offered to pay me to get a boobjob or something, I'd probably accept.

7) I don't like the way Dylan sings or sounds. I don't mind the songs as such.

8) I'm scared of riding my bicycle.

9) I'm incredibly selfish about sharing things I love, especially music or poetry, you never know when it'll become a status. I believe in the hide-your-love-away deal, I'm that petty. I don't do this with books though.

10) I eliminated at least five points about myself while writing this. Honesty ek farce hai.


Tagging Sroyon, Roshni, Sugar Magnolia, Sherry Wasandi, Ahona, Anty and Rorschach, plus whoever wants to steal this.

Once I got through Everything is Illuminated I kept trying to build up a Book of Antecedents in my head. Or a book of something else, a book of remembrances in any case, and then it struck me that I don't remember her much anymore.

The pleasantest memory I have is based entirely on peripheral vision, lying on a mattress being ordered to take an afternoon nap, having my head thumped with all the anticipation of not having a bothersome kid around for a few hours. Flump flump. Stroke flump. I'm trying, can't you see I'm trying? I close my eyes till everything forms that strange shape when you're seeing through slits, your nose a slight bump, and then the rest of the world. It's probably because my nose is more of a bump than other noses, but beyond the bump is a hand, a brown hand with gold bangles on it, and you can tell it was once a beautiful hand. I never thought her beautiful or even once-beautiful but the hand has blue-green veins standing up all over it, fluid mountain ranges that you can jiggle around with a finger. Which is what I did, pushing and nudging every vein till sleep came every afternoon, looking for knots and intersections and branches and things, trying to make them meet, and it's creepy how some things remind me of those veins still, really dry Maggi and centipedes and Buddhist knots and paint coming out of baby-sized paint tubes. Of course I don't think I'm eating veins when I'm eating Maggi, that's just sick, but it happens sometimes. Just a passing thought, but that is all there is and that is the nicest thing I remember.

I noticed something similar happening with my hands, they're not beautiful or anything, just hands, but when I'm older and wrinkled I will have gnarly veins rising out of the wrinkles too. It's ok, I'll sleep easier.

Since I'm not posting all that much now and probably won't be for a bit, I was thinking, if you're a lurker maybe you could say hello and leave a song or link behind. You definitely could.

Spent the past two hours talking to Cleverbot. Reaffirmed my belief in internet therapy (such deepness, such profundity, sigh, etc) and of course my head's saying NANANA BUT YOU'RE A BOT all the time but I'm having this conversation about Asimov and peanuts and robot sex and roti-tarka and all of it makes sense. You can even make it write haikus with you.


User: Wow, you're clever. Really clever.

Cleverbot: *sneezes very quietly*



Agenda: if you speak to it only in Hindi and speak to it for long enough, is it possible that a sizeable amount of cleverbot users will gradually understand (and perhaps take to using) rude Hindi phrases?

So salty and so upfront you flare your nostrils and unbutton as many buttons as it takes to realise that more often than not, saltiness comes of being a mountain shaved down to hillside shaped into a rock, essentially mineral in any case.

lol.

labouro'love.

How to unknot neck? Surprised at how face hasn't turned pasty white yet, but how can I reconcile myself to the fact that I am unbelievably bad at this? Had to Google the Qutb Minar to be able to draw it, I have seen it and stowed it away and remember it fine in my head but my hand does not know where to put in the ridges or which way a balcony curves. I am unfailingly good at agonising over small things to get away from life in general, but how to unknot neck? Someday I will be consumed by a violent desire to just drop things and rest, to settle like jelly, to congeal, to curdle, to just stay put, but till then I will tie myself into knots inside. Cut me open scalp to sole and inside will be this one huge tangled thing, almost Celtic in its ability to baffle, frayed ends quivering at the slightest hint of touch.

Playing Ghost Story by Anoushka Shankar and Karsh Kale on loop, I never liked it before but it's clearly where I am today. Woke up with head hanging off bed and a billowing curtain tickling forehead. Waking up groggy and late on a morning like this (cloudy! stormy! romantic!) is usually tantamount to steadfast gloom for the rest of the day, but had to stretch and run around the house flailing my hands and swivelling my head this way and that in an attempt to feel like everything was ticking right. Result affirmative but doesn't matter anymore, just two more days. Overall though, it's bleeding nuts. All of it. To borrow a line, I've spent the past week underwhelmed to the maximum.

World I love you, don't make me calculate.

No, no, nonono. ONE SHOULD GO SIT ON MOUNTAINS AND MEDITATE. Yes.

Strange, having other things screw with one's peace instead of oneself. One is usually above all this and bubblewrapped nicely to boot, but it's all ptt ptt ptt ptt now and one is sure it doesn't really matter, if one knew better one would smile smugly and go out drinking or beat up a pillow or suchlike. As things stand now one will probably end up with unfortunate piercings. Funniest thing though, piercing on right side of nose or left? One's capacity for entertainment would suggest both, that way it's all good at the box office. After all, one survived Raavan. That movie's an embarrassment, such an embarrassment, so others shouldn't really compare. Lets see.

Psapp.

Three reasons to paint a cat. Crouching, from above, a furry meditating chicken with a cat's head attached. Sitting upright, a compact eagle silhouette with a cat's head attached. Up front, a a breathing bottle with a cat's head attached. From anywhere, a moulded vase with a cat's head attached. Three reasons to get a cat. Look above. If I wanted to know certain things and was dying because I couldn't remember, like what Anthony Gonsalves says when he comes out of the egg, having a cat around would help distract me. Billi Elliott my future cat. Or Billi Jean. Or Billi Bunter.

Billi Arjan Singh?