The Youngest Writer to Win the Booker

Here's something I came across.  Eleanor Catton, the Youngest Writer to Win the Booker
source: Outlook India

'via Blog this'

This time it's more than pitter-patter

I like the sound of pitter patter. Rabindranath Tagore called it "tapur-tupur". Raveena Tandon sang "tip-tip barsa pani". You can choose your own words. 
Like, rain is falling chama cham cham... actually this is clearly an understatement in Gujarat right now. Raining cats and dogs, if this expression can cover all the cats and dogs of the world.

3 years ago, before joining the college, I had asked a family friend, who had been studying here then, to describe Surat. She had said “it rains all the time”. I had shamelessly displayed all my incisors in ecstasy. Rains, I love.

It brings out the lazy, the foodie and the romantic in me. There’s the cool breeze that splashes the raindrops on your face. My lush green campus becomes oh so green! I lie in my bed all day long, cuddle with my pillow, imagining I’m on a bike ride and he stops to buy me a hot bhutta. Mushy daydreams aside, rains give me a craving for bhajiye and chai. There were days when I used to dance in rains. Whatever happened to that, I wonder? My nanaji’s anecdote pops into my mind. When he was young, whenever it rained, the school would be dismissed. I mean, isn’t that AWEsome!!

And this time the heavens poured just a couple of hours before my exams. And boy, did they pour! They had to actually announce that the exams have been postponed. I wake up because of the blaring noise that the public announcement system is, and I find my batch-mates dancing like peacocks. What a sight (And we are a bunch of clumsy gals). While panic was about to strike the city, a new lease of life was awarded to us students.

Then came the awkward moment when no one really knew what to do with this sudden freedom. And was it freedom indeed? I mean, we all knew we can shift+delete all the mugging. We can sleep. We can dance. We can yell.  We can do all that pleases us, within the threshold of the hostel. So this is going to be like stranded in the safe, albeit boring havens of H-12, the quintessential girls’ hostel.

And stranded we are. We have all the food, the water, the wifi- the basic necessities of everyday, mundane life. We can hop about, like a frog. We can go to each others’ rooms, to download into our external storage devices, the movies they have and we don’t have. We can listen to the radio; they are playing some of the sexiest songs of the 90’s. We can (as advised by our grey eminences and ignored by us all) utilise this time to study some more.

I, on my part, have been doing all this with a new found gusto. I am reading Agatha Christies. I’m day-dreaming big time. I’m eating all the biscuits and dry fruits I could hoard in this time of emergency. I’m listening to my favourite rain-song “Saawan barse tarse dil...♥”. I’m liking and commenting on facebook updates and uploads. I’m talking to my ma round the clock to know how much water has Ahmedabad received. I’m convincing my papa I’ll step carefully on the glazed tiles and through the water puddles and not slip/skid/fall like I’m prone to.  

Then there’s the municipality’s praise-worthy feats of cleaning and recovery that one hears about. There are also many crusades my fellow comrades are pursuing in an attempt to live their own version of Prison Break (read once again our safe havens of H-12J) I, myself, am thoroughly enjoying my days in the VIP cell: P

I would like to sign off now, with the hope that the rains will come to a stop and sunshine once again spread in our lives (literally as well as figuratively). Meanwhile, I advise all to list and listen to their favourite rain songs. J   

Status Quo

In each one of us, there is a dream to make it big. Some hit jackpot, while others do it step by step. We all want gold, in cash or in kind. Basically: top class job, sexy lifestyle!

And when that moment actually comes, when you cross the threshold of jitters to job, hassles to hired, panic to placed, the feeling is all you have. Amidst smiles, tears, hugs (and ass-kicks), you know you did it.

We do it for our parents, our siblings, ourselves. Years of hard work (or just work) seem to pay off. A new sense of self-respect seeps in .  Bole toh achievement ho gayi mamu!

Facebook updates, twitter tweets, dur ke rishtedaaron ka saalon baad telephone karna , mom-dad ka mohalle me mithai baatna and dear friends yelling "treat treat treat" all happen so suddenly, you realize life does change. 

So when yesterday I too got placed on-campus, the world expected an fb update. A juicy status update. Moreover, they wanted to post congratulatory messages on my timeline. That is, virtual hugs and kisses. And love.

And a self-invite to party. 

But, well, my timeline has posts by me only settings. And I didn't update any status. Nor did I change my profile pic to some pic with me in interview attire. Nor did my cover photo say "placed"/ "hired" . Nor did I use the hashtag of the company hiring me.

Why?

(Asked my friends in my mind and out loud)

Am I not happy? Of course, I am. 

Didn't I want this job? Of course I did.

Don't I want my fb friends fraternity to be happy for me. That's really your choice :-)

The truth is, for me, I'm still the same Vinti. The careless, pampered youngest child of my parents. The baby sis of my big brother. The fatty little, daydreaming, boastful gal of my gang. I still have the sames issues: weight and weighty ones. My aspirations still intact, purse still empty( and so chic! ;) ) 

Novels and gossips and Chandler Bing still rule my heart. 

Status: Status Quo. 

Of strings and sugary cylinders....

Well this one's after a LONG time!

In India, it's Rakhsha Bandhan today and tomorrow. Although it's been years since I actually tied the thread on Bunny bhaiya's wrist, I miss him today. I miss all of it. 

Yesterday, when I went shopping with my girl-friends, they were all bubbling up with excitement about the big day. The lovely red-pink threads, some with beads and some with angry birds, were calling out to me. 

Add to that, suddenly EVERYONE has a brother-sister profile pic on fb. Even the radio stations are giving away presents for your siblings rather than couple tickets for the latest movie! 

LLL

Of course I could never go overboard as the other girls... I mean if he were here, we would be comfortably asleep before mom scolded us and pushed us into bathroom so that at-least today we lazy-heads do something productive. 

We would bathe and dress our regular (only well-ironed) clothes, I would tie a knot on his wrist that would untie just the next second and he would only want the cylindrical shaped gulab-jamuns. Other than that, we would pretty much end up living the day as everyday.

Whereas today, I woke up early and walked down to the post-office (not to post some last minute rakhi, but a hastily filled application to a college). 

Our hostel mess served ♥custard♥ and little dal-samosas in the lunch. For dinner, they prepared ♥♥kheer♥♥.

I was entertained by ☺☺☺Chandler Bing☺☺☺ for 6 hours straight. 

I even called a surprised nani-ma  (who thinks I never call because I have forgotten them, although it's more related to call rates and the fact that I'm kanjoos) and my baby cousin Ananya (who really was more interested in watching Doraemon than answering the call, but I LOVE that naughty lil' angel so much!!)  

There's only 1 guy whom I could miss so much as not to appreciate ALL these blisses: BUNNY BHAIYA.

P.S.: Just send me a $dollar$ present soon!

Verbose

Despite being an ardent fan of the celebrated author, couldn't miss to "hit" share . Read and enjoy , not just the article, but also the comments :)

Don’t make fun of renowned Dan Brown - Telegraph:

Empty symbolism: When Rahul Gandhi paid Rs 1000 for a newspaper - Firstpost

 " Rs 1000 note for a newspaper becomes unwittingly symbolic of the leader who can offer no change."

Eleven-year-old Kaushal Shakya knocked on the right car window to peddle his newspapers – Rahul Gandhi’s. It happened when Rahul’s motorcade was stopped at a traffic light in Bhopal (Really? The Rahul motorcade stops for lights? And a newspaper vendor is allowed to get that close to the crown prince?)

read more...

Playboy

Chapter E: "Flashback to Feb One"
read what happened on Feb One 

Feb One, In one of the boys' hostels:

(1) Sean Trumpman, meanwhile , was going through St. Columbas' Year Book 2010-11. He was happily revisiting those blissful days spent at his alma mater.

(2) Those detentions with Kunal, bunking Mr. Khurana's lessons to go to Friendship Colony (a place to find many "friendly" girls), tripling with Ankit-Sanchit on Delhi-Gurgaon or Delhi-Noida highways or standing under the ruthless sun for hours to get a ticket for India Pakistan cricket match at FirozShah Kotla (IPL and cheer girls were the latest attractions).

(3) Sean would frequent Convent of Jesus and Mary (to catch a glimpse of Mini Johny) and St. Thomas School (to bird-watch Devika Nanawati , when Mini was out of town).

(4) Dhruv, Kunal's younger brother and Arabella's eye-candy, had written a particularly "funny" joke in this year-book that made Sean stare at it for a little longer than required. How dare Dhruv write something like this about Sean's younger sis in Sean's yearbook?

(5)Arabella Trumpman was a good girl. [Every brother expects this to be true].

(6) "Tweet tweet, tweet tweet, S....M....S..!!" shouted Sean's cell phone. Bella's "I love my brother" kind of message.
"Tweet twee-" again. This time it was Shelly Sharma.
This Kanpur girl was driving him crazy. She topped in class, was great at Scrabble, always took his DVD's in that authoritarian tone and worst, Sean was being teased with this small-town girl.
 It read: "hey, i'm backing out of robo-race, really unwell :'( ".

(7) Now, Sean was lost. Should he be shamelessly happy (he would now be "in" in the college Robo-Race Team)? Or, should he be sad( Shelly was the best girl he would ever meet; hard-working and helpful, a girl with actual brains)?