Merry Semi-Pagan but Still Meaningful Religious Festival!

              Merry Christmas everybody! It's been a really, really long time since I posted and my creative process is not being helped by the fact that my little cousins (10 and 5 and adorable) from Dubai are sitting next to me watching 'Super Striker' really loudly. This is a television show which, as far as I can make out, seems to be about a football team but for some reason there are yakuza involved? As soon as I get back to civilization and internet connections, I will download all the seasons and that will be my life for a while. ("I will not tell you my nakama's moves so you can make DVD!" What a beautiful sentiment. This is the true meaning of Christmas, you guys.)

             So the reason I haven't been able to  post lately, besides my crippling writer's block and basic lack of anything interesting to say, is because the last couple of months have been pretty hectic. I'm spending the Christmas holidays in Kerala and it's a nice change of pace to mark the time by the density of the swarm of mosquitoes that is eating me alive rather than the minutes of work I've put in.

           I've also been eating way too much. I looked in the mirror today and I was like, this mirror is a curved mirror, right? I'm not actually bulging like that in the middle, right? I'm consoling myself with the thought that I'll be back to Bangalore in four days, where two slices of bread and a thin layer of cholera count as a full meal. ("Honour and trust? Do not speak to me of honour and trust! Maybe you would like to make a DVD of my moves in case I ever decide to leave the nakama.")

              It's that time of year when people look back on the compromises of the past twelve months and make optimistic, and usually blatantly false, promises for the year to come. I'm mostly pleased with the way 2014 turned out. I did well in my board exams! I placed for the Albert Barrow essay thing. I did my grade 6 piano exam. I learned how to spell 'unnecessary'. I turned eighteen, although that one didn't actually take much effort. I wrote a seventy page dissertation on neutron stars! And discovered my life's calling in the process. I joined a decent college to do a decent course which I'm moderately happy doing. Looking back on this year, I can sum up its successes and defeats in three simple syllables: "Eh. Good enough."

          My resolutions list is usually something preposterous, like: achieve world peace, start exercising, stop reading regency romance literature. I'm going to set myself reasonable goals for 2015.

           Next year I would like to give more time to people and less to the internet. I'm going to try and get an internship in the Indian Institute of Astrophysics over the summer. I'm going to cut my hair short. I'm going to spend less time worrying and more time enjoying the moment. I'm going to be kinder to people, especially my immediate family. And I'm going to figure out the answers to all my moral and philosophical doubts (okay, so, most of the things are reasonable).

          I might not do all the things on this list.  I might not even do some of the things on this list. I mean, that's the real point of these resolution lists, isn't it? At the end of 2015, I'll probably just look back and say "Eh. Good enough" again, but I want to be sure, this same time next year, that I spent the whole year trying really hard to be happy. If I've learned anything over the past eighteen years, it's probably differential calculus. And also that happiness is a choice.

             So, in 2015, I'm going to be happy. And then all the other things like hardworking and fit and all that. In closing, a few days ago my sister said, "For once can we all please sit down at the table and eat like civilians?" Happy New Year all of you! Itarashai!

CHEER UP

                    Have you ever had one of those days when nothing terrible has actually happened but you just generally feel as though you'd be a lot happier if the earth would just slide gently out of its orbit and hurtle into the sun? Yeah, me neither. Sorry, that was a weird question.

                     But for reals. Everyone's had these days, right? Days when you just lie in bed in your underwear and feel like existence is pointless and all human endeavour is vain (besides cricket, obviously. How about that Rohit Sharma, am I right, ladies? Hey, batter, batter, swing, know what I'm saying? Yeah, me neither.) I'll tell you what I do on these days. First I put clothes on, because it would be awkward otherwise. Then I look myself in the mirror and I say, firmly,

                 "Joanna Koshy, you are a good looking young whippersnapper. But you are also a whiny-ass little girl. If you don't cheer up and soon, no one is going to want to hang out with you any more. Hell, I'd rather be somewhere else, and I'm in your own freaking head." Then I wonder what I'm doing in a room alone talking to a reflection. This is.... actually not that encouraging. Don't do this if you're depressed.

                 But people, I mean, come on. I know we're supposed to allow ourselves to be sad, and crying is therapeutic, and avocado is good for your blood pressure (don't quote me on that, I'm not actually sure. If you have something wrong with your blood pressure, please take your medicine. Or don't. I'm not your daddy.) but how far are we allowed to take this pampering?

                 Just stop for a moment and think about it. What do you actually have to be sad about? Write down your reasons, impress me.

1) I'm sad because that's what I feel and I can't explain it - weak.
2) I'm sad because Miley and Liam haven't gotten back together yet - okay, that's somewhat reasonable, you're excused.
3) I'm sad because nobody understands me - if I had a doughnut for every time I've heard a teenager say this, I'd have too many doughnuts. ITS IMPOSSIBLE TO HAVE TOO MANY DOUGHNUTS. Well, either that or type two diabetes.

           I'll tell you which people legitimately have reasons to be sad. If you have ebola, you can be sad. If you were born as a peasant in the eleventh century, you are allowed to be sad. Go ahead. I give you full permission. If you were a villager in an area Genghis Khan thought would be a nice place for his summer getaway, you would have a reason to be sad. And also dead, possibly.

                 But YOU, you privileged, empowered, well-fed, twenty-first century kid. What do you have to be so freaking depressed about?

                  Look, I'm eighteen years old. I get it, okay. I know them feels. It's nice to take black and white selfies of yourself, and put up emo band lyrics as your status and just wallow in self-pity till your fingertips get pruny. But don't you feel like it's kind of a waste of valuable time?

                This is a platitude, but things become platitudes because they're true and people need to hear them a lot. This is a magnificent and interesting and beautiful freaking world. Your time in it is like the best Christmas gift ever.  Don't waste it feeling sorry for yourself. So what if nobody understands you? There's loads of things people don't understand, and you are not even the most interesting. Just.... think about something outside you for a while.

                   So, go forth as transformed creatures into the new dawn, my beautiful doves! Spread your wings and turn cartwheels in the freshly minted sunshine! We're all here and together and everything's most probably going to be alright. Forget about global warming and Nicki Minaj and all that other stuff. That stuff is behind us. You and I are the product of many years of evolution, the best versions of humanity that mankind has come up with yet. Okay, actually I'm eighteen updates behindhand which is a thing that genuinely upsets me but it's not that big a deal. Right?

                    We're survivors, you and me. Whatever life throws at us, we're going to knock it straight over square leg's ugly face for six (LAST CRICKET REFERENCE, I PROMISE). I know it's kind of mainstream but... be happy.

(AUTHOR'S EDIT: If you still haven't cheered up, firstly, gosh, you hard-shelled bloobs. Secondly, what does an insomniac agnostic dyslexic think about at night?.........

.....................................................................................................................

... Is there a dog?)

Stories Our Parents Should Have Told Us (continued)

                      Once upon a time there was a man who was a wonderful, loving, considerate, good-looking person The catch was that he had made his money as a bank robber and, on hot days, his palms were occasionally sweaty. Kids, we're all human. The truth is that no man is perfect, and don't you let Disney tell you any different. This man fell in love with a lady who dies very early on in the story, so I'm not going to bother with much character development for her. They got married and their union was quickly blessed by a beautiful baby girl, whom they decided, in a fit of fey humour, to name 'Ella'. 

                      Things were going too well at this point and since stories without conflict are boring, the universe decided to make little Ella an orphan, for the sake of the plot. The universe is kind of a jerk that way.

                    Ella's father had had a business associate back in the old days when he was a tattooed young punk doing stick-up jobs for drug money. One drunk night he slipped a knife into this man's ribs and made off with the loot they'd accumulated till that point. Crazy Bill didn't forget, and eventually, he tracked down his old friend. The lesson from this is that if you've made the decision to try and kill someone (wrong and uncouth behaviour), at least make sure they can't find you later and get revenge.

              Ella's mother was taken away to the unknowing void (she was an atheist) first, in a drive-by shooting. Ella's father took the baby and ran. Two years passed, and one day he figured out that his problems were even bigger than a psychopath with a grudge. Ella had requested (as much as incessant crying and screaming till the lungs are devoid of oxygen are considered a request) that he buy her a barbie doll for her third birthday. And he realized at this point that he was not man enough to take his little girl to the store and undergo the process of barbie doll selection himself, enduring the various looks of pity and contempt from the sweater-wearing mothers who lurk in these dank holes of sparkly consumerism and death.

             And one after another terrible visions filled his mind of the painful but necessary scenes that would inevitably ensue from his single parenthood - the awkward "birds and bees" conversation, the explanation of Ella's first period, the struggles that would occur when she grew old enough to wear a bra. The decision did not take long to make - Ella was going to need a new mother.

             A new mother was found. Not long afterwards Crazy Bill finally laid his demons to rest, as well as Ella's father, in a switch-blade duel on a cliff. It ended with both men plunging off the summit of the cliff into the roaring sea below as 'Jenny Again' by Tunng played in the background. Little Ella was an orphan, and her life was changed forever.

             Her new existence was not a vale of unmixed sunshine. As per the rules of storybook land, Ella's new stepmother was, not to put too fine a point on it,  a heinous cow. She was the sort of woman who, when people left her missed calls, sent them missed calls back. Her secret handshake with her intimate friends was the Nazi salute. She oppressed poor Ella dreadfully.

              She had two daughters who had wonderful personalities even if they did not conform to the standards of beauty at the time. Jane had an unfortunate nose and the kindest thing that could be said for Ruby's face was that all the general parts seemed to be present and correct, even if they had gotten a little mixed up and battered in the process of assembly. They were called 'the ugly stepsisters'.  Their own mother rarely referred to them as anything else, which was a bit weird.

             "Hey, ugly stepsisters," Ella's stepmother would say, flicking her long, blow-dried hair, "Pass the salt."

              And they would pass the salt, the fine crystals dampened with their tears. It was a terrible situation. And it didn't help the seasoning much either.

               One day, a ball was held in the kingdom to find a bride for the young prince.

<to be continued> <again> < lol>

A boy and a girl sat by a river
Dipping their feet in the tide
By the water's edge they dreamt in silence
As the sun slipped silently by

"Lysanna, my darling," said the boy in a while,
"The evening is turning to dark
"Put your head on my shoulder, and rest for a while
And later we will walk in the park."

And so they sat, as the moth-flowers awakened,
And the sun passed lingering by
The light grew dim, the red river faded
And Lysanna started to cry.

She wept as the swallows flew home to their nests
She wept till her eyes were dry
"Why, Lysanna, what on earth is the matter?"
"To think, one day I shall die!"

"You will die, my dear, you are flesh and grass,
And yet the stars will continue
The sun will swim in the red river's tide
Only I will pause to mourn you."

"Much good it will do me, when the worms eat my flesh
That you and the stars are faithful
I shall be earth in an earthly bed -
Asleep unknown in an unknowing cradle."

"Leave this talk of death, Lysanna, let us speak of love,
It runs high as the blood runs thick.
I will love you till the earth meets the sky -"
"You know, sometimes you make me sick."

The quiet river flowed as the moon filled the sky
The boy kissed Lysanna's drooping head
"Lysanna, my dearest, isn't it a shame-
One day we shall both be dead."

Stories Our Parents Should Have Told Us

In case you have some problem with reading titles, this post is going to be about the stories our parents SHOULD have told us when we were little. But first

I was kidding! Don't leave me! Come back!

The Many Pros of Having A Short Boyfriend (Short Version) (Haha) (You're Welcome, Deb)
1) Two words. Napoleon. Complex. Why was Napoleon so succesful? Sure, he was a great general and all that but the real reason is that he was a small man. He had something to prove. And that gave him drive! Ambition! Fantastic style in hats! Short men make up for what they lack in inches in confidence. Ain't nothing more attractive than that.


Cinderella

               Once upon a time there was a wonderful, considerate and loving man. Well, he was rich, which amounts to the same thing. This man fell in love with a lady who dies very early on in the story, so I'm not going to bother with much character development for her. Their union was quickly blessed by a beautiful baby girl, whom they decided, in a fit of fey humour, to name 'Ella'. Unfortunately, after producing her, Ella's parents dropped off like flies in quick succession. First her mother was taken away to the angels, and then her father stuck his fork in the wall, but not before he remarried.

             According to the rules of storybook land, Ella's new stepmother was a horrid woman. In fact, one might even go further and say she was not a nice person at all. I shall be perfectly frank. She was a heinous cow. When people left her missed calls, she sent them missed calls back. Her secret handshake with her besties was the Nazi salute. She oppressed poor Ella dreadfully.

              She had two daughters who had wonderful personalities but they lived in a male-dominated society and so they were just called 'the ugly stepsisters'. It wasn't 'the politically incorrect stepsisters' or 'the stepsisters who talked about people behind their backs', it was 'the ugly stepsisters'. Their own mother called them this.

             "Hey, ugly stepsisters," she would say, flicking her long, blow-dried hair, "Pass the salt."

              And they would pass the salt, the fine crystals dampened with their tears. It was a terrible situation. And it didn't help the seasoning much either.

               One day, a ball was held in the kingdom to find a bride for the young prince.

(to be continued!)

The Many Pros Of Having A Short Girlfriend

                Hello, blogiverse! How the hell are ya doin'? I don't know about you, but I feel fantastic right now. I am just in a wonderful place in my life at the moment. Cox Town, Jeevanahalli, to be precise. It's a lovely neighbourhood, full of Tamilian dons and crazy people. And I have met The One.
                                           https://www.youtube.com/user/AnnaAkana
           
               That's her. Anna Akana. God bless the Japanese - they're a wonderful people. Do yourself a favour, go to her channel and watch her videos And then, if you're fed up of awesome, watch this:

                                           Because you should never be fed up of awesome.

              So, this post is going to be a little self-praising, because I am a short person. I can see how this might come off as untrustworthy, not to mention shameless, advertising. But ask yourself: would I ever be anything less than honest with you? Yes? Well, let's not get caught up in the details. This is a gospel-true, unsentimental LIST OF FACTS. I tell you nothing but the truth. The voice of the prophet calls out the coming of rain over the desert, not because he wants people to buy his umbrellas, but because he cares. All you guys out there, YOU'RE WELCOME.

The Many Pros Of Having A Short Girlfriend (I Gave Up On Correct Capitalisation A Long Time Back)

1) Instant Arm-Rest: It's absolutely fantastic after a long, tiring day to be able to rest your aching arms on a very conveniently placed head. WARNING: Please make sure that said girlfriend has not just spent hours doing her hair, or your unthinking gesture might result in angry tirades / biting / the loss of a few fingers.

2) Automatic Man Up: There's something about having a delicate little woman hanging off your arm that immediately bumps you up ten points on the Scale of Manliness. Can't grow a beard? Did your last attempt at bear wrestling result in shame and viral Youtube videos? Get yourself a short girlfriend and feel like Arnold Schwarznegger on one of his extra rugged days.

3) Easily Lifted: So the inspiration for this post was actually a very demeaning / hilarious list one of my friends sent me as a joke, and I honestly cannot think of a funnier point than this even when I try. The list claimed, and I quote: "You can pick up a short girl and carry her around like a trophy." It's all about the accessories, people.

4) Human Shield: In connection with the previous point: under the event that a) you are being fired upon by expert Russian snipers, b) an irate Mallu aunty whose beef curry you disrespected is hurling chappals at you with deadly force and accuarcy, or c) you're just indulging in a friendly game of laser tag, your short girlfriend can be used as a human shield to block any incoming projectiles. This is a one-time thing, though, so use your discretion, because this frankly sociopathic behaviour generally results in either death or breakup.

To show that this is a sincere thing and I'm being real with you guys here, I will also include some of the few negatives of having a short girlfriend

1) Unwarranted accusations of pedophilia
2) Early onset neck arthritis (yes, it is a disease).

I will get back to regular posts about interesting things soon, I promise. It's just been a bit hectic here recently. Be happy! Not telling you what to do or anything, just a suggestion.

AYC 2014: Part I

           Hello, everyone! I've just got back from another of my frequent trips to Kerala and words cannot even describe what a good time I had. So, I guess this is the end of the post.

          JUST KIDDING. But, seriously. Wow. You know there's something wrong with you when you start having life-changing experiences in Kerala, of all places.

          For those of you who don't know, which is probably most of you, since I haven't mentioned this before -  if you do know, it means you stalk me, and now I'm worried - I've just got back from the ASIAN YOUTH CONFERENCE 2014 *fireworks* *sound of applause and babies crying*.

           Here's what I brought back from the conference : a really defined tan-line (I thought that wasn't supposed to happen to south Indians. That was basically our only genetic advantage and now it's gone! What the hell, DNA), a few extra kilos from all the pork flavoured cup noodles and seaweed crackers (more on this later), a Chinese flag, a bookmark, a T-shirt and a spike bracelet, the type normally worn by American drug dealers. Does it not sound like I had a good time? WELL, I DID.

So in the end, there were people at the conference from China, Indonesia, Turkey, Singapore, Switzerland, Norway, England, Dubai. Apparently there were twenty-three countries attending, but I have my doubts about that figure, as Tyra Banks said to the unfortunate model.
           
          My sister and I were rooming with the girls from Hong Kong and, man, do they know how to have fun. Those Hong Kong girls are crazy. Over the past four days, I learned how to say, "hello,", "thank you," and "STEP AWAY FROM THAT IMMEDIATELY" in Cantonese, purely for purposes of survival. The only thing I didn't like about living with them was that they start screaming in Cantonese if you take too long in the bathroom, and people speaking Cantonese always sound extremely annoyed/threatening. It's kind of like Kannada, that way. I mean they're probably just saying something like 'you're taking forever in there, please hurry up', but it sounds like 'I WILL EAT YOUR CHILDREN IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF THERE - BLOOD!"

          Yeah, so, it was amazing. I took my camera but I didn't take any pictures because there wasn't time, but I will put some up as soon as somebody sends photographs to me. Some random fun things from the conference:

1) During the fancy dinner thing that we did, there was a Norwegian guy sitting at my table whose name translated literally to English as 'Wood Bear Onion'.

2) One of my jobs during the conference was shop-keeping for an evening. Never again. Foreigners bring thousand rupee notes and ask for seven rupee packets of sweets and exact change and I'm just like

 My favourite part was when these two boys from Norway who didn't speak any English tried to buy two bottles of water from me. They eventually got what they wanted, although I first offered them, in succession, a portable fan, sanitary pads, toilet paper and four small chickens.

3) We played a really fun game on the first day of the conference called 'TNT Trade'. It was genius, all the youth were divided into teams and they had to run all over the place completing challenges. I didn't get to play, but that was okay because I was given the most awesome role in the game. Basically, there are these people called 'crew' who may either be 'dealers' or 'secret police' and it's up to the players to figure out which they are. We keep switching as the game progresses and I got to wear shutter shades and gold chains, so it was just Win. All. The. Way. I got a little too much into my character at one point though, and I think that was confusing for the players.

Team Leader: Hey, little lady! Come over here.
Me: (going all Robert de Niro up in that place)

Team Leader: Yes, actually.
Me: Alright. Alright. You wanta talk business, let's talk business. But don't waste my time. Time is money. I mean, I have money. I don't need money. But don't waste my time.
Team Leader: Er, okay. Can you buy our TNT?
Me: Okay, show me what you got.
Team Leader (It's amazing, by the way, how much these people cheated at a Christian conference. I shudder to think of how this game would be played at a Gamblers Convention or something.): <pulls out some TNT>
Me: What? What is this garbage? (spits for effect) Why do you disrespect me like this?
Team Leader: Look, do you want to buy it or not?
Me: Hey, don't rush me. This is not a race. You racist? No? Good. Okay, I feel sorry for you monkeys. How much you want for this rubbish?
Team Leader: Five hundred.
Me: What? I could kill you right now, sell your kidney, make less money than that. Who're you trying to kid, huh?

It went on. I had fun. I am actually extremely tired right now because I endured a bus ride from hell earlier today and I just finished unpacking, so this is the end for now. Have a good week, all of you!