I cannot write well. I never got good marks for essays when i was in school. my teachers always put red marks on my writing. like ishaan awasthi. i dont enjoy reading also too much, all these poems go above my head. but I see so many blogs. the first time i read one, was when one candidate had put blogging as a hobby on his resume. i was given the task of analysing what kind of a person he was. it was such a boring task. but so many others look so nice and beautiful. I dont think mine can ever be all that. everyone has such exciting lives, all of those who blog. I dont. maybe, now that i have a blog, my life will be exciting too. after so many years of just reading some blogs on and off, i decided to write one. i thought, when she can, i can too. moreover, i liked the comment she made that blogs can help you think clearly. they help you articulate whats on your mind. So I will keep a log of all that makes me want to say out loud, but I cannot.
when I heard her over phone, I imagined her to be tall and beautiful and well groomed. her voice sounded so nice and chirpy. she is a friend’s friend’s girlfriend’s friend. I was as nervous to meet her, as surprised you are, to see that long-distance friendship. I was feeling so inferior. my voice never sounds so nice over phone.
I walked down, met a tall neautiful well groomed woman, dressed in red. my petticoat would be bigger than that red dress she was wearing. tell me, how come that thing stays on the body? I dont know. hi! Hi there! so, shall we go for the interview? excuse me? she said in such a voice, I felt like I was a waiter who had poured water all over her. you ..ermmm… arent Dee? my voice sounded more like a mouse’s than mine. Sorry she said, raised her nose and turned around, all in a split second, that I was left feeling so bad, that I could drown in my own sweat right there. I already hated Dee for something she had not done at all. it is a long day ahead. What kind of a name is Dee? I thought, dee, my friend’s friend’s girlfriend had told me, is a short form of a nick name. I sat in the lounge, trying to dissappear in the soft cushions, and conjuring up wierd images of dee. would she be like Randeep hooda in the D company? but in every imagination, she was tall, beautiful and well groomed. Without notice, I found myself staring at someone who is short, dark, pudgy and had hair like a chidiya ka ghonsla. I was well dressed than her. Hey! Ani? she asked. and I could barely nod. I was that mollified. Hey! this is Dee, she shrieked. and gave me such a warm hug, that I could not but like her. Man, am I glad to know you. she said as though we shared huggies when we were kids. she was nothing I imagined, but atleast, she did not turn away and raise her nose in one fluid motion and make me feel like I was the scum of the earth. she made me feel nice, in fact. both the job interviews she attended went down the drain. one she did not make it, the other, she tore up the offer letter. Noida, hurmpf she said. I dont like Dilli. I spent the whole day with her. she has that … way to make you laugh. now I know why she has so many men who are her friends. try this
Q: what will you call rabindranath tagore when he blushes?
A: sharmila Tagore.
Q: why do sea-gulls fear jackie chan?
A: chan will trap them in his chan-gull.
Q: what two words are the same as this one word in Punjaabi?
A: Pa-pay
me: shaadi?
she: dilli door hain beta!
me: to phir kab?
She : jab dilli kareeb aa jaayegi
I cannot remember any more. but I do remember laughing a lot. it is a nice thing, my mind was off A. I needed to get away from A. A and I have been going around for a long time now – two years to be precise. two years, three months and 17 days today. I love him. He loves me. I think that is the only common thing we have. I am not getting any younger and dad will not allow me to marry anyone outside our caste. I dont know whom to choose and how to choose. his aayi does not like me, and to be frank, i also dont like his aayi. but he is a mama’s boy. what if I choose him and he chooses his aayi? too many questions. of late, I am turning into someone I dont like. everytime I talk to him, i feel guilty. no, I havent done anything wrong, but you know. I am not a good enough writer to write everything I feel on paper, but I am feeling guilty even thinking that maybe tomorrow, I might choose dad over him, no not might. I will. I know I will. I am not strong enough to face dad and tell him I like someone who is not even of our religion. I feel so bad. sometimes, I think I should just stop talking to him. but you know, two years is a long time, and we are so used to share everything with each other, he even knows the wrong times of my month. I know the size of his, well, I know everything. so it is difficult to stay away, when something happens and you tuck it into that folder of your mind which is labelled “to share with A”. when the first number in your phone is yours. no use deleting the number, you know the number better than your own landline. so i feel guilty and I feel powerless, and I feel blind. After the two interviews, sitting in a bar, having downed two drinks, I told her. she looked at me long and hard. and you wont believe it, she started laughing. if I did not know she had not touched even water in that place, I would have thought she was drunk. maybe, just smelling all that had made her go drunk, so I started crying. she seemed to think it was so easy. you dont love him enough, in fact you dont love him at all, she said. he is just a habit. throw him off, break up. now chill - whats your problem. I hated her then. I hate her now when I think of it. I love A. she does not know. but maybe she is correct.
so here I am, writing about that day. I am not sure how and why I have written it. but it feels nice to write. and I think that is nice.
Q: why did the chicken cross the road?
A: mujhse kya pooch reli hain, chicken se pooch na! 
