Archive for January, 2011


sorry for the chaos!

hey you guys! (whoever is reading this out of chance or choice… i don’t think there are many of you either)

the last couple of posts were just some stuff i wrote on the spot while waiting in mumbai airport, getting really bored. so i apologize where the complete PMS-ing back there 😛
btw the latest post is the last post ok? 😛

I was watching the OC (yes i know i’m four years too late, but WHATEVER :P) and i watched this episode where Summer records a voice over for herself. I think thats the Absolute Coolest Thing EVER. I, for one, would love to have a voiceover going on behind me all the time. Maybe its because i like to think alot. Or maybe its because i’m an absolute drama queen.

Have you ever listened to a song, and pictured yourself in a video for it, created in your own head (totally different from the real video)? Well, been there. i have also imagined myself right into a movie, a book, a music video, a radio talk show,a TV show… you name it! :P. and obviously i have also gone through the trouble of creating a back story for myself, my aims and goals, my relationship with the characters (always with the cutest guy and always ending up in a disaster:P) and how ultimately that story would become my story.

Its funny how in my head, i try to make it all about me you know! All these stories and everything: they are all about me! And it gets even funnier when the “me” always ends up in a tragic death, disability or misery. In short, i like to think of myself as a struggling cinderella, handling a lot of suffering. Which is weird because i am not strong mentally or physically. So this leads me to question, “why though?” the only answer that pops into my head is an insatiable need for attention. this is ofcourse followed by the next question, “why?” well, the answer to that is still a mystery, considering the fact that i do get a lot of attention. The only thing i can possibly be proud about is that despite this mania, i still try not to demand attention from most people.  Possibly thats why people like me i guess… i may be wrong though 😛

But back to voiceovers, i want a voiceover to explain what’s going on in my head. Possibly because the result will be hilarious. And probably because it makes me feel important. Who knows, its possible because I believe that my “thoughts” are funny. Which i can’t vouch for 😛

LOL

I feel damn intelligent to be sitting here among people, wearing square black pseudo-journalist glasses, and clattering away on my laptop. I wonder what people are thinking when they see me. Perhaps an author in the making???? 😛 lol high hopes are what put a smile on my face i guess, when all i want to do is just roll up into a ball and sleep J but yes i AM intelligent and clever! I’m the perfect pseudo-intellectual 😛

 

When my flight landed safely in Mumbai, the announcing stewardess said something like this: “ To all the foreigners, we extend a warm welcome and wish you a pleasant stay in India. To Indians, welcome home.” I think this was the first time, i actually listened to something an airhostess said……. and thought about it too 😛 her words, scripted though they may be, made me think, inspite of my mild contempt for the air hostess types. HOME. This word has so much associated with it!

Indians, welcome home! The immediate thought that popped into my head was, “haha yeah right. this is SO not my home!” home is three thousand miles back the way i just came. Home is that small… scratch that… modest flat in the sixth floor of Sarah Complex in Salmiya (little india), Kuwait. Home is that apartment where i spent six years of my life: its that bed i lie on, shared with my dear little sister (who is not so dear or so little any more :P); its that table where my mom made me sit and fed me countless meals; its that living room into which my dad would enter saying “Hi baby” or “Hi pappu” every evening around eight. Home is where i grew, where “Rashmi” became, where i could be anything without judgement, where i did not need to impress people, where heartbreak, backstabbing, bitching was literally a TV phenomenon….. Home is Kuwait. Home is my past: my friends, my family, my room, my school, my sanctuary in books, my old life!

Its not often one hears a twenty year old who is given a lot of freedom (yes it is still granted by parents, we haven’t modernized THAT much yet :P) attending arguably one of the most chilled out universities in the country brood this much! Yeah i know i’m a kinda person who is steeped in negativity but still the thought of home (and yes embarrassingly enough, reading my own paragraphs) makes me want to cry. There are some things in life you just cant disconnect. Or you constantly need a distraction (positive or negative) to keep you disconnected. That warmth you receive from your parents when they see you after months, or you act like a little kid (in a non-annoying way) or you achieve something, or even if you just open up to them or appreciate them, keeps you warm from within. I guess this is not the case with everyone. I know people who aren’t blessed with parents who treat their kids with respect and kindness but atleast mine are. And for that i’m thankful.

Two and half years later, sometimes, when i think really hard about it, i realise that i don’t belong here… i mean, in manipal, india. I love the place and i am so thankful for some people this place has brought to me, but still I feel like these bonds are most probably fleeting. Worse than that, i guess the feeling of not belonging somehow stems from the feeling of not being needed.  By not being needed i mean, people’s existence wouldn’t come to a standstill if i … say… ceased to exist. My best friend characterised this feeling as an internal constant craving for affection. May be she is right.

The bottom line is, there was this feeling at home: a weird sense of security and stability there with old school friends and family that nothing bad will happen and everything is going to be ok. Leaving home, that security vanishes. Is it fear? Is it insecurity? Does all this arise from low self worth? Well, i’m not sure, but sitting here in Bombay, in my so called home-country India, i miss my desert: the deathly cold, dusty, dry, boring, laid-back, little gulf country called Kuwait.  And i guess i already cant wait to go back home.

 

Oh i’m so annoyed! Fate has a really wicked way of screwing with you at the wrong time. I boarded a flight with a balance of 10rs… and ended up with -5. Does receiving an sms after travelling from one country to another really cost 15 bucks… well i’l be damned. And because of that i cant even use the internet, which requires a stupid bloody sms… ugh! If only i had known. Now i have to endure three hrs of waiting with NO entertainment. All alone. One crappy flight. And then a two hour car ride!!!This is so not fair.

Its so pissing off! And to add to it, the only people i have talked to so far, was an ABCD tamilian who was quite lost (trust me, it is quite something if I find sumone “lost”), an over-eager uncle with bad breath, and a guy with thick eyebrows who popped out of nowhere and offered me a fone. Well, yes i guess i should have smiled and taken it. But a> i didnt no who to call and b> weird eyebrow guy was kinda creepy. I guess i was right not to encourage him…. at the same time I felt a bit racist …. not racist… (fascist??? Sexist???)…. paranoid about weird guys who talk to me. Which brings out a strange thing about us humans. A person would talk to a stranger of the opposite sex without a second thought if that stranger was “hot”, but anyone else automatically falls into “creepy”… true or not… let me hear opinions 😛

So here i am, sitting in CSIA, mumbai airport i mean 😛 , typing on MS word like a fool, making pre-prepared blog posts to upload. maybe i am the diary type. Guess i never realized 😛

 

WOW

any one with any interest in photography MUST check this out:

http://mcalisterium.wordpress.com/

its not the best feeling… feeling helpless and stupid… feeling like a loser. it is not a good feeling at all.

the worst thing about negative emotions is they tend to multiply like a geometric progression. like an inverted pyramid. a single bad thought pops up, as if by accident, and that grows like a banyan tree…  soon your so deep in the quagmire of negativity EVERYTHING looks bleak. for example, it starts with “oh i cant solve this problem” and eventually develops into “i’m good for nothing”.

its a tricky thing to talk about. its not meant to be a public confession because that would make you a pussy. but sometimes it all just build’s up inside you and you need to share it with someone. why not that someone be a faceless stranger reading this blog because they have nothing better to do.

i don’t know if its a problem with just me or my friends or a problem of a women/female beings, but we do fish for compliments. sometimes, i feel like i need someone telling me and assuring me, no I’m not a complete failure in life. Maybe its not someone… maybe its that one person.. or maybe its those people who are always there to keep telling you that.

today i feel like a failure. sometimes, i’m on top of the world, but today i feel like a failure who has nothing to talk about or nothing to credit to myself. Today i feel like because i’m a failure i will always be one. i feel like a person who has no ambition, no direction, nothing to live or strive for. I am sure there might be countless people my age who experience the same feelings everyday, but yeah, today i feel the need to be annoying and talk about it.

i feel like i’m always a second pick, the one who can tag along. i feel like i’m not considered worthy of respect by ANYBODY… and why would i be?

i need to find the girl in me who can move mountains, because i’m sure that she is down there somewhere. i need to be something more than a shopping companion, study buddy or a joke (this is all me talking i know that). i need to fins my passion and be somebody. i just need some help along the way.

“If you have ambition, you might not achieve anything, but without ambition, you are almost certain not to achieve anything.”
Whitfield Diffie