An Uncanny blog from a Baleful child

Shit Happens. Life sucks, and then, you die.

God sure has a very twisted sense of humor.

This is the tale of a Girl who has lots o'time to spare

Come take a glimpse of the world I live in... Where neighbors seldom love you, where people have more hair on their armpits than their heads, Where grammatical errors are are a way of life, and everyone is 26.
And that's just their IQ, nevermind their age!

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

...But, I'm back! Back from the dead!

Readers, followers, friends: lend me your eyes. And your comments, thereafter. Honestly, I did not remember not deleting this number 1037484059 months ago.
Dang, you all make a girl want to write.
So, here's a for instance. I'm aspiring to make a new blog. A fresh start. A blog that's more me than... Well, this neglected old broad that was once my love.
I plan on a book blog because -and I'm sure you all know this -I'm a bibliophile.
Like I swear, any more attached, and bookstore cops would arrest me for abuse. If, that is, they exist.

Fuck my enchiladas, I'm rusty.

But hey, ok, I am TELLING you, my new babe will be the young, hot, fireball of book blogs. It's gonna be so good Victoria's Secret Angels will look like hangers next to it. That's right. The SUN is going hot with embarrassment. Yep. Watch the news, it's happening.

Shit, why do you even read my blog, your eyes deserve a luxury spa treatment for dealing with this shiz. And therapy, but that's really a given.

I digress. My entire existence digresses. If that is correct. Slap me with a dictionary, someone!


I'm a regular on goodreads ("newbie") and I love the app (*snorts*) and I post reviews all the effing time (*gags*)! You can find me as 'Sangeeta K.' ("Can I get a what-what??)
So, I'm thinking of calling that one, 'Eat my reads'.

I know what you're thinking; my creativity makes you wanna kill yoself. Get in line, pharmacies are running outta pills cuz of me.

So, what I wanna know is: do you guys wanna start over with me? Let's rekindle. Let's be friends. Again. Like, actually, friends.

You guys were always great with all the reviews and critiques and that was the best part about having this blog. That's why I'm taking a new step forward, and want to take you guys with me.

So, hey, I'm Sangeeta, that book geek. What's your story?

Monday, July 19, 2010

The Indian Wedding

Yes. It happened.
And, how?!
15th July, 2010

Well, I went to Soni's Parlor.
"Ahh.... Jyoti! Getting married, huh?" Soni teases. My sister affirms this with a nod and a grin. The two ladies start to laugh.
"And, Sangeeta? What will you do today?" She asks, brightly. 
"Oh, I know! Why don't you get your legs waxed?" She asks, tilting her head. I turn the thought over in my head. 'Why haven't i ever gotten myself waxed in all this time? Sounds like such a good idea....'
Or, atleast, it did. Before i heard the most agonizing scream from the lady sitting in front of me, getting her arms waxed.
'...that's why.'
"I.... think i'll pass." I risk a gaze at the woman who, now, is writhing in pain.
Razor Razor Razor Razor...

16th July, 2010
Today is the "Sangeet" and "Mehendi" (i'd gotten the henna applied two days ago, but that's irrelevant) ceremony, and the Ganesh Puja also happens today, itself. My sister sits in her bandhani sari, while i get myself into my blue lehenga.
I've already dressed myself up at three-forty in the evening, when we receive a call. 
"Hello?" My mother begins. "Where are you?? People are pouring in already!"
They're at the hall. At three-forty. Whereas, they should be there at four.
I turn toward my sister, horrified.
"People have started coming in..." 
"WHAT?!? No way! These are Sindhi* people! they're never on time!" She says, her hair all odds and ends.
"Forget the language, they're INDIANS! Have you ever heard of an INDIAN coming in early in a function?! Most of the post-mature births happen in India!!" I wail.
Without wasting much time, Hema Aunty, our beautician, begins to fret around, trying to get my sisters' make-up on. I sort myself, and try to get my NEW pair of killer-heels on.
"You're wearing that?" Hema aunty asks. I grin at her, a little ignominiously
"Ok..." she says, uncertainly. 
'Best of luck trying to torture your feet..." is implied, but not said.
The Ganesh Puja is over with, and we're back after my sisters' dress-change. I see a few people on the floor, dancing to old, yet up-beat songs.
Time to go nuts.
And that's exactly what i do. I kick my shoes off, and get on the floor. all the people i know are here already. Reena, my sister's best friend(at work), Neema, her best friend (since college), Madhu Bajaj (The kind lady who lives in the opposite building with her delusional son and a bore for a husband), and my cousins. I start off with dancing solo, before moving on to Reena.
At one point, during a song, she goes down on one knee, and gives me her hand, which i kiss, pull her back up, and twirl her around with.
"Not allowed in India." Neema chimes in. I dance to a few punjabi numbers with Neema, and Madhu Aunty (who seems possessed. Really, she's sixty-one, and has danced more than my mum has in a life-time, who's seven years younger). Most of the men/boys present seemed to prefer watching the girls dance in lieu to shaking a leg themselves.
In fact, the only other guy(excluding my "Jija") who comes down to the dance floor is Tejas, my brother-in-laws' best friend.
Who's a great dancer.
You can assume whom i danced with next, right?
My sister and her 'almost-husband' are singing songs to entertain the public, two-thirds of which has gone home.
"Ok, we've made an entire plan about how to steal the shoes of the groom," My cousin, Ameeta, begins. Well, it's a ritual where the sisters of the bride steal the grooms' shoes, and ask for a sum of to return them back.
"We're going to steal the shoes." Natasha says.
'Nice plan, very innovative.'

17th July, 2010

The Haldi rasam of the groom took place today. To all those who don’t know, HALDI is a Hindi word meaning “Indian saffron” or "Turmeric", which is ground with water into a paste, used to give the esteemed a fairer glow. We had rented a bus, (which came two hours late) and went to Malvani, to attend the function. I had the kheer in my hands, which was almost two liters in volume, and was meant to be finished by the groom, who had digestion problems.
When we arrived there, I, as the sister of the bride-to-be, had to start off the first rasam- doing the puja mean t for the groom. The "tikka" was applied, and the sweets were fed, i washed his head with a pink bar of soap, and made him drink the kheer and eat the namkeen.
All the young siblings of the bride did the same, and then, the actualy haldi rasam was carried out.
The important (see: old) women of both families sat down and applied a bare minimum of haldi on his head, both arms, and feet. I wasn't up for that. Instead, i dipped my hands in the dish full of turmeric, and smeared it generously on  his face, arms, and feet. He groaned in defense, and my cousins rejoiced the shattering of the status quo. 
After a while, i introduced myself to Ginni and Ritu, the cousins of the groom.
We sat and talked at length, where my older cousin Sanjay began flirting with them and my other cousin, Ameeta, began showing off with her "Anglo-American" accent.
Which, strangely, wasn't there just an hour ago.

18th July, 2010

The big day...
."Hurry up! hurry up! We haven't got all day!!" My mum screams her way into the room, only to find me in my choli. She stares at me awkwardly.
"It looks nice," she begins, "But it's raining outside, you'd better wear something else of your lehenga, or it'll get wet."
So, i ended up wearing the petticoat of my mums' sari as a bottom, and a dupatta to cover the top. I covered my head, and ran outside into the car, which took us to the venue of the marriage.
I braced myself. As soon as the car stopped outside of the hall, i hitched up the petticoat, revealed my killer heels to the world, and ran head-long into the hall.
Which was so exquisite, i was dazzled. 
The stage had a canopy made of a gold-colored fabric on it, with assorted red flowers. I gasped. I looked up at the huge chandelier overhead in a daze.
My sister came into the hall shortly after. She was not bedazzled. Instead, she was doubled over with laughter.
Because i looked silly standing in the middle of the hall staring up at a chandelier.
Some people must really get their priorities straight.
1:00 pm
"Oh. God." My sister breathed.
"Akshay says he's on this way." Akshay is the groom.
"Wha-ha-hat?!? Why the hell is everyone hell-bent on coming early?!" I turn from the mirror, shocked. If he left at one, he'd reach by two. And he had to be here with his entire family no time before two forty-five in the afternoon.
Nobody from our side could receive them, because nobody was here.
Except me, but there was a slight problem with that.
I was dressed in my baby suit then.
2:50 pm
After I've dressed myself in my teal colored lehenga-choli, I rush forward to see the groom and his family. My mother is ceremoniously inviting him in, while my father is at a sheer loss of words. I stand next to my mum, and peer over at the guests and relatives of the groom. Ginni and Ritu smile sweetly at me, while Tejas flashes me a wry grin. I sneer at him, and advert my gaze. Dattu uncle (father-in-law of the sister) points down at the grooms shoes, and mouths 'Take... and... run...'
And that's exactly what i do. I snatch his shoes, give everyone a wide grin, and run back to my dressing room, where i hide them in my cupboard.
The girl has taken her seven oaths, the boy has taken eight. And, now, the Pundit beckons me to light up the havan**. My mother and all my aunts have already started crying. I roll my eyes at them and look around the audience, only to meet gazes with my best friends, Sugi-Sama and Gemini, and my cousins. The Pundit has the seven virgins come forward and start the process of teasing the bride and groom. I go first, i have to put their heads together, and make them see each other in the tiniest mirror in the history of the most tiniest of mirrors. This is to check if the bride and groom can see. And for doing this, i was awarded with five-thousand rupees.
These are the days when i wish i had a few more older sisters.
The wedding is over with, and my sister has already proceeded to the stage for the reception. My sister is the belle of the ball. She dresses herself in a maroon sari, and has her short hair tied back, and has put he rest up in ringlets, which are fanned delicately around the nape of her neck. 
I'm in the dressing room again. For returning the shoes, i received a ransom of Rs. 7,000, which is quite expensive for just one pair of shoes. I have decked myself up in a beautiful red lehenga-choli, and have let my hair loose, so they flow down my back. My friends come in, and shower me with sweet compliments. 
"No photos on facebook, ok?" I say.
"Are you kidding? It's already on facebook." Gemini says,  and we click a few photographs together.
I leave the dressing room, and walk up to the stage, my killer heels still on my feet. On the stage, i greet all the close family members and friends of the bride and groom, who whisper "You look lovely" in my ear ever two minutes. After all that, i sit myself down next to Tejas and Ginni.
"You look good," Ginni says, smiling at me. 
"Good? She looks awesome!" Tejas chimes in, and I look away from them in embarrassment.
I make matters worse still, Ginni leaves me alone with Tejas.
I try to talk with him without spluttering with mortification, before my mother calls me to the other side of the stage, to receive the guests.
I knew then, that this would be the longest part of the entire day.
After refusing to have picture clicked by many of the guests in the hall of the sister and I, and being sort of dysphoric about the amount of people in the hall, i sit down on a sofa, right in front of the stage. A boy, no more than nineteen, comes forward to serve me some water. I look up at him and, without quite meaning to, give him a wide smile. I've never been this happy before, watching my sister with Akshay, all pink and sparkling and joyous. And i wanted everyone to know just how happy i was.
Which was a mistake, since my father blew up with anger and dismissed the poor fellow rudely.
I walk up to where dinner is being served. My sister and my brother-in-law are seated at the longest table, grinning from ear to ear at each other, and the silver plates in front of them.Though they are dead beat, and don't have an appetite left, and are just a few minutes away from collapsing of exhaustion, they are elated. They are the happiest people in the entire room- happier than i am. Happy with each other.
I ate a few spoonfuls and left.
It was i could do not to cry.

Phew! That was a really long post, right?

* Sindhi is a language spoken in sindh(now in Pakistan) and Kacchh(Gujarat.)
** The Fire around which the bride and groom take nuptial rounds.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Well, I'm Back.

My little vacation lasted three entire months in city Z, and i still wish I could go back soon. Well, that doesn't exactly count as a vacation, because i was made to join a high-school in said city on the 19th of April, 2010. There are a lot of things i would love to write, but i wouldn't want to bore the few readers i've managed to have. So, I'll get to the gist of things.
For a start, I love my new high-school. But, if one has read my first post, i have mentioned clearly that i do not like change.
Inspite of that, i'm happy in city Z. It's just that the people are friendly, the roads are safe, and the western Expats are, for a change, not complete idiots. And they look funny trying to swim back toward an abra.
Well, for most people my life in city Z will be quite drab, with all the torrid affairs i've been having with people as Winston S. Churchill, Acton Bell(Anne Bronte), William Shakespeare, Anton Chekhov, Paulo Coelho, Sidney Sheldon and the like, them being the crème de la crème of great writers. Though i do not agree with many of W.S. Churchill's thoughts as in "The Great Democracies", but i like the way he's written, nonetheless.
Today, my father and my sisters' in-laws are sitting around, talking about booze and stag parties.
"In Goa, when they come from the bar, they look like the dead!" Jyoti's Mother-in-law means the boys my to-be brother-in-law has befriended.
My dad falls into his pool of reminisce, when the loved to drink -though not too much- and liked to appreciate the "finer things in life". He is broken out of his reverie, by the sudden chatter about "haldi" rasams and "Lehenga-cholis".
As usual, i shake my head and resume my typing- it being my answer to everything.
All of my professors are worth remembering, but my favorite of them all is Shirin Chandy, my english teacher. She trusted me inspite of knowing me the least, and i loved the sophistication with which she conversed with everyone.
I've come back for a month to attend my sisters wedding on the 18th of this month.
And I just LOVE marriages.
I'm just glad she's not joining the Mafia...

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Ek "AAM" Ladki ke "AAM" Kisso ki "AAM" Kahaani

"Hockey is India's National Sport.
Cricket is India's religion.
I am an atheist with a strict "no-stick-on-field" policy."

March is a month that begins with the dreaded board exams, stress, anxiety, electric bills, chewed-up fingernails, "Emotional Atyachaar" mania, and the end of a non-existent winter.
March is a month that ends in relief, payrolls, stressing on marks, farewell parties, convocations, tears, silent promises to stay in touch and, of course, Summer.
Think "Summer".
Think "Yellow". "Think "sunshine".
Think "The Delhi Fashion Week", "Swimsuit season", "New openings at pretti slim", "Price hikes on Sunscreen", "Fat women top-naked on public beaches", "Fat women in tight see-though white kurtis", and "Mindless Ogling".
Think "Dollops of sunscreen", "Summer clearance sales", "Cute guys top-naked on public beaches", "Sweating on the wrong places", "Long drives", "Avoiding public transport", "Avoiding your neighbor", "Avoiding the sun", "Avoiding men who smell like dead rats or kitty-litters", "Excessive deo", "Long working hours", "Sweat-soaked clothes". Think "another excuse to shorten the length of that dress"
Think "Mating season", "holiday migrations", "another dollop of sunscreen", "minimal make-up","sunburns", "aloevera".
And, then think the BAAP of a fruits---
A summer delight in India during the scorching summer months, they are the only reason people in India still believe that God exists. The coming in of Summer brings with it new items to menus of large urban indian food outlets. "Mango-chaas", "Mango icecream" "Aam ras" "mango milkshakes, mangoes, mangoes, and plenty more mangoes that are sold in every alley, every shop, every busy street of the City that never sleeps. Why, summer is the only season of the year when Mumbaikars look at a glass of "Maazaa" and say, "Know what? I think I'll pass..."

Here I sit, my precious, ripe, juicy, yellow mango in the very palm of my hands. My first bite, first lick, first slurp, and every other first that i left out is finally happening today. Gluttony takes over and I begin to devour my prized mango with animalistic vigor. Call me what you like, but I'm a sucker for mangoes.

I remember the tree outside my aunts appartment which always had ripe alphonsos five days after the Ides of March. Nice, ripe, juicy yellow mangoes always hung on the dainty branches elusively. My brother used to go up the tree and pluck them, and I used to hold the ladder up. He fell on me one day. We never plucked mangoes together after that.
I always hated that bastard...
Oh, well.

This month, I've decided to go to city Z in the Middle East from here for a holiday with my mum and sister. After a lot of negotiation, mum has agreed to travel to Z, which is two hours and 2,560km (approx.) away from Mumbai.
My birth city is the most beautiful, clean, lush, peaceful and excruciatingly BORING city in the entire world.

Yes, no cursing on the highway, no public tantrums, no mooning, no picketing, no harrassment, no NOTHING.

My only sources of enterntainment are 1) the frequent number of accidents on the streets right next to the 2)cemetry just a few yards outside of my house.
Well, shit.
But fretting I shalln't do, for throwing expats off an abra is what i shall do if the city gets too boring.
As someone had said, "When the going gets tough, the tough haul people into the sea for the heck of it".

Mangoes, anyone?