Why you should listen to LTP.

My head is just cluttered with so very many things at the moment. And they aren't pretty. But I'm gonna put it down anyway, because who knows! It might elicit a response somewhere. I might have made some sex offender feel like shit in some corner of the world. So here goes.

I read a blog today about growing up. And I loved it! I have been beating myself up over the past few days, about the Guwahati incident, wondering what it was. What the need was for some people to violate other people's rights.... their privacy. It was ignorance and immaturity in parts. I'm relieved that I understood. That alone has given me a certain sense of calm. I'm not an idiot. I understand that realising why, doesn't solve the problem. But at least we're half way there. And I'm not gonna lie. I'm still scared. I'm always looking at people for what they might be. On the inside. What might be behind that facade, that appearance. And it sucks. It really does. When I'm out on the road, waiting to take a rick, I wonder if this guy is going to be nice to me. I wonder if I should keep a friend on speed dial who can help me out of a difficult situation. I have contemplated buying a can of pepper spray so many times. But you know how everybody had this idea that it will it actually never happen to them? That is what is stopping me. And it's the stupidest idea I've had in a long long time.
And yet, there is some part of me that disagrees. Why should I!? Yes, I sound like a jackass. But it's a valid question. A friend once told me that girls and boys cant be equal. They just can't. And, you know what? That's fine by me. I'm not saying I'm loving it, but I'm okay with it.
My point being, you don't have to treat me like a guy. No please don't. All I ask for is some respect. Respect that I have my choices. Respect that I am also human, with preferences and ideals. Respect that I also sometimes need some recreation. Expecting me to lead my life, fearing that you can't keep your 'desires' in check - kinda unfair don't you think?

So please. Grow up. Educate yourselves. Find a way to educate those who need this kind of lesson. Learn the quality of self control. Its not too hard really. You just need to try it. I'm not asking for a whole lot here. Just asking you to respect each other. Be it man, woman.... Whoever.

That's enough ranting for one day, I suppose.

Life before 2nd standard

Childhood was pretty awesome for me. Till 1st Standard, I studied in my mum's friend's school, and boy it had its perks! I got to call the Principal 'Mytheee Aunntteee" and eat snacks whenever I wanted. (Yes, I've been a food-pig from waaaaaay back then) Also, my class consisted entirely of 5 people. Including the class teacher. This was definitely an advantage for me, because I was always first in class! Even when my spelling skills were as poor as 'frends' and my drawing skills were cat, when asked to draw a dog. My mom would glare at me, as I'd regale my athais and cousins with tales of how I came first in my exams, first in the fancy dress competition (dressed as pattu maami), how I delivered the longest dialogue in the school play. Basically, I was a superstar all-rounder (according to myself)

I was in my final year (first standard, in Akshara terms) and our school day was fast approaching. It just so happened that our school principal was related to Arvind Swamy (the actor). And he was coming to Trichy to attend some show. So 'Mytheee Aunteee' invited him to come visit our school. I, being the star achiever of the school and the eldest, was asked to greet him at the entrance. Of course I was all dolled up for the honour - well-pressed uniform, shiny shiny shoes, well-brushed, coconut-tree pony tails... you get the picture. So I was standing, near the gates, when the car arrived. 

This is when things took a turn for the strange. He got out of the car, and I went crazy. I saw him and screamed my head off. And started weeping. No, wailing. And sadly, my memory of the event ends there. But, from what I hear from mom and other sources, I proceeded to run inside the school, still wailing, and hid myself in the art cupboard. It took 3 people, including my mother, to pull me out of there! Apparently, Mr. Arvind Swamy was very upset by what happened and tried to get in my good books by bribing me with chocolate!! I'm totally bummed that I don't remember this part. But on the bright side,  by that evening I was apparently sitting on his lap, "smearing my face with diary milk and stuffing my mouth with gems". These were the words my sister used and was also gracious enough to let me know that I did not share even a morsel of chocolate with anyone. I have to say, I'm proud of myself. 

Synonymous with Stupid.

When I was in school, I was one of those kids. By those I mean the ones that were neither here nor there. I know that sounds like I am bisexual. But I'm not. I think. Anyway, I was one of those people who was never remembered for some cool trait or strange quirk. You'd think that being an active member of the culturals club would change that, but no. It didn't. Don't get me wrong, people knew me. And that's about it. I was never associated with anything. I was never the class topper, the art freak, the notorious criminal. Nothing. If I must describe school in one word, it has to be "average". I drifted through school-life with below average looks, average grades and above average friends.

So you definitely understand my surprise, mingled with shock at the loud applause that greeted me on that monstrous Monday morning. It was the Monday after our excursion to a certain theme park. The mood in general was a mixed bowl of disappointment and excitement - disappointment at the end of an epic excursion and excitement at the prospect of sharing pictures and recollecting the fun stories. I entered my classroom thinking about how the chutney I'd had for breakfast could've been a little more spicy, when I heard the deafening sound. I looked up, slightly confused and turned around, wondering who they were clapping for. I looked around the room for....lets call her Traitor for now, my one chance at an explanation. My then-best-friend was sitting in the second row and staring at me, her face ridden with guilt and an expression that then reminded of a scared puppy. Focusing all my attention on walking to my seat without running into the awkwardly-placed pillar, I walked like nothing was happening. After I sat down and dropped my bag to the floor, I turned to face Traitor.

"Umm, what's going on?"

"Uhh...I'm....."

"Ray, what's up!?"

"They know. Shradha, they know."

For about 15 seconds I heard just the cat calls and whooping. I was looking at the Traitor as she sat beside me, fiddling with the Dexter pencil I'd given her for her birthday, two weeks back. 

Oh crap.

For those of you who stuck around till this, the story is a little strange and definitely proves that stupidity is synonymous with your's truly. We went to a water theme park on our excursion. And after jumping like an electrocuted maniac in the wave pool, the Traitor and myself decided that we'd had enough. We wanted to change. I was to wait at the plastic palm tree near the pool, while she went to the little girl's room, changed and then switched with me. That was the plan. So I waited. And waited and waited and waited. It had been 4 minutes dammnit! Thats it. Imma be going to change now. I walked quickly, because I didn't look as hot as I'd have liked in wet clothes, and ran into the first enclave with a restroom sign above it. Imagine my horror when I saw a bunch of boys standing just outside and changing into dry shorts. 

Any normal person would've stepped out, checked if they were in the wrong room and then proceeded to doing whatever the appropriate thing to do was. But me? No. I, being the self important ass that I am, decided in a matter of seconds that I COULD NOT be in the wrong room. How dare these fools of the meaner gender occupy OUR restrooms to change? I started screaming and yelling at them, asking them what they were thinking, and that they were going to be in deep trouble. My bag was flailing about in my arm, hitting the wall beside me, when I heard the Traitor shout out my name. I turn around to see her with her hand covering her mouth, horrified. I was just about to ask her where the hell she went when I saw it. Right behind her. A HUGE green board that said in plain and clear English - GIRL'S BATHROOM, with that ugly mnemonic of a bald girl. 

Shit. 

I swiveled around and walked across to the other side, pretending like nothing had happened. Had it stopped there, it wouldn't have been too bad. But one of the boys followed me. He tugged at my bag, one hard tug. Terrified I turned around to find a fairly tall boy, in shorts and a white t-shirt, standing right in front of me. I inhaled and broadened my shoulders a little bit, my defense mechanism on the ready - to run like my life depended on it. He stretched out a long and surprisingly muscular arm with a torn piece of paper on it. I was almost sure it was a threat of some sort. I looked up at his face. No expression at all. And I wanted to whack my head with a brick, because all it could register was how cute he was. I looked at his hand and took that piece of paper with a trembling hand. He couldn't possibly think I was cute! Well, you never know. Before I could open it, he was gone. I turned around and found the Traitor dumbstruck. I opened the torn and folded entry ticket.

No he didn't think I was cute. He didn't give me a number or anything. It said, "Are all girls idiots like you?" Not only did I embarrass myself, I brought shame to my entire gender. I looked up to see the entire lot of them looking at me and laughing their heads off.

After swearing never to talk about it, EVER, I threw the paper away and we left to find our classmates and the rest of the trip was uneventful (except for Ms. Caroline's snoring at the planetarium. That was good fun!)

Back to cruel reality, I turned around and saw a group of them still laughing and pointing at me. One of them waved their hand at me. I was going to give her the "WhatEVER!" look when my heart stopped for a split-second. She was actually waving at me a torn and crumpled ticket that looked strongly familiar.

Raaaaaaay.... Gaah!

Traitor indeed.


Post Script: There were pictures, by the way. That's right. The Traitor actually took pictures while the mean-ass cute fellow gave me the note. And the story is only partially true. Which part isn't, I ain't gonna tell! :D

Mindlessness over mind

Since when did I become this person? Since when did it matter what someone wrote to some one else? Since when did I become insecure about things the weren't even my concern in the first place. Since when did something affect me this much!? Well I suppose I have been affected by things in general, pretty easily. Something/someone with even an ounce of persuasive powers could get me. Unless I was stubborn about it. That aside, I don't know whether I should be happy or go into panic mode. You know this constant state of paranoia you are in, even when you are actually doing something else? I think I might be getting there.