It’s 11:51, and I’m guessing I can’t procastinate anymore. I have no clue what to write about today. It’s too confusing. So much that I’ll let be a blank space
So, why didn’t i post yesterday? well because i slept off and I knew what exactly i wanted to post. This. The twelve days of Christmas with who?, well my favorite author. YAY!
To see previous posts,
(For the last few days of 2014, I wanted to countdown at my blog.)
The book has a lot of history behind it. Previously owned by two very smart students (one of them being a blogger) everypage has little bits of extra info and caricature. I remember spending an entire day just reading through the book and laughing at the memories left behind.
She was born in a country,
Where the people were free.
She had the choice to blossom,
And breathe in the fresh breeze.
Her parents were liberal,
The wanted what she wanted.
To experience nature, culture and traditions
Of the lands around she.
But then if she did step out,
To see what she wanted.
A million stares was she the subject of,
In the bus, in the car, in the train, even on the roads!
Heckling became a part of her life,
And pepper spray her bae.
It wasn’t what she wore, be it a kurta or jeans,
The stares and looks were part of her daily routine.
In the metro, in the bus,
It was like a daily massage,
A massage she did not enjoy,
But she had to bear.
Her parents were worried,
Their child had to be safe.
Safe from the dangerous world,
Of what is called society.
People blamed it on her,
It was her fault.
Why be a women and give,
Impressions to all.
Why step out when not needed,
Why go out with boys,
You brought it on yourself,Living in this place.
Throw away your mobile phone!,
It causes rape.
In a society were girls are killed right before they are born,
In a society were girls are judged before they can stand tall.
In a society were girls are judged on what they wear,
In a society were its her fault, she shouldn’t have been born
Will we see equality at all?
So my mother, (sorta like Kris Jenner but way way smarter) made this statement yesterday while we were at a wedding that in a wedding or a funeral you mustn’t hold a personal grudge against anyone (including the dude who spilt dal makhni on your dress).
I’ve always been a fan of weddings, Good food, you get to wear Indian stuff you barely get to wear anywhere else, hot guys (may the odds ever be in your favor), pretty decorations and stuff, and most importantly (for me at least) the emotions, the relations and the feelings.
In the movie 27 dresses there is this certain thing on how the lead female always likes to look at the poor groom while the pretty bride make her entry. I being me decided to try it out, and when the bride made her entry while doing the walk of red lehengas and phoolon ka chadhar to that song which has been stuck in my head for the past 20 minutes the dudes face glowed like a million light bulbs (or maybe it was just the lightning) and that even though there were 300 people out there 3% of them beside him and his neck must have been hurting cause he had been wearing this money garland. Like if it were me in his shoes (which were soon to e stolen) I’d roll up my sleeves, call it a day and start watching Kanan Gill. FUN!!
Apart from the bride and groom (OBVIOUSLY!) a wedding has many other factors, most importantly clothes, or basically overly embezzled pieces of taffeta and net! And let me assure you, going underdressed for a wedding (I’m talking less sequins on your skirt) is worse than getting less marks than bobby ka beta, or having a less expensive car than your neighbor, or being dark skinned. (in my country darkness is a dark dark sin, and I’m guilty). Basically, you go to a wedding to dress up. Not dress up for a wedding, and once you’ve dolled up you compare. Compare yourself with other people. Compare your cut colour and shape, compare your length (or lack therefore) and compare how many sequins are there in one square centimeter of fabric.
One of my most favorite aspects was that families were together. There was this little photo session going on with kids and their nana-nani’s , dada-dadi’s and the millions of relatives from around the world. And it was cute. It made me miss my family. It make me take a selfie with my mother. It doused me in love.
And that the general feel in the air was of love, of relationships and of family and of good food.
I like weddings. You can invite me for yours.
A pretty smile, Chinki eyes,
Beautiful hair and a brain better than me.
A shoulder to sleep on,
Rebellious she may be.
But with a captain badge to bare,
May I say that’s pure irony.
The tiniest of the lot and the most mature,
Change is her, responsibility she is.
Perfectly poised, with good clothes to wear,
Talkative as a myna.
I can see your halo, pretty one,
Shining in the sun.
A heart of platinum,
Rare yet precious.
I can swear all heads turn,
Because she is beauty and brains mixed into one.
Little chunk of perfection,
Smart is she.
And she goes admiring lesser mortals,
Humble be she.
One of the four,
She stands out.
Not for her beauty, nor her brains, or her grace,
More like because that is what,
Everyone works for.
Little ann ban,
Don’t you worry bae
I’ll be there for you.
We all have that one eccentric relative who always says and does the strangest things. In your family, who’s that person, and what is it that earned him/her that reputation?
So, because I live in a nuclear family with uncles and aunties, cousin brother and sister all over the world and I barely get to see them I’d like to interpret this post and dedicate it to a very very dear friend of mine Anmol.
In class there are people who will distract me and get me to fail the rest of the school year. My best friends, my better halves, my chink chamelis.
One of them is Anmol. You know certain people when they open their mouth to speak pure music comes out, because they be so beautiful sounding? Anmol is like that. Except when she speaks its pure sass. So much so you’d like to bottle it up and use it in your next blog post.
And the fact is she is the most focused of us four. So in the time the other two and I would speak about unicorn poop as glitter she’d finish her work and be ready to give her inputs (which would be unanimously agreed to).
(Lets like throw the grammar books out of the window today okay)
Honestly, if you have something to like share you’d share it with Anmol. Not because she would be a shoulder to cry on but more because she’d like kick you and tell you to get your life back together.
And that’s why I love you Anmol. You may not be the eccentric one but you are the perfect one.
and you are unique. Just like your names says.