Gifts under my tree...

So, of all the times that I’ve been slack with this blog, today just can’t be the day! It’s Christmas Eve and I just have to write.

We don’t have a tree in our house this Christmas and that’s not been disappointing at all. What’s a tree after all? Just material embellishment! As a family, we haven’t been that traditional with Christmas anyway, and so it really doesn’t matter if there’s cake or not, if there’s a scrumptious turkey dinner or not, or even if there are lavish gifts or not! We’re just cool about this season...and take it as it comes!

I was thinking today though, on my way back from work, that if we did have a tree at home—a really tall and pretty one, with lights and hanging angels—what would I really put under that tree? Gifts of course!

What would I have under that tree for Daddy?

Is there anything I can buy with money, Dadda, that will be a good enough gift for you? What ‘thing’ can say I love you so much; and the way to talk to me; and laugh with me; and tickle me till I cry; and break my knuckles because I like it; and the way you sit on the edge of the seat when I drive; and the lame jokes you crack so often; and the songs you sing to me and with me and for me! What would I put under that tree for you? Gosh!

And, Mamma? What could I possibly give you?

What ‘gift’ can say I love the way you think I’m the most beautiful girl in the world; the way you believe in me (even when I don’t); the way you talk to me continuously on the phone even when you know I’m on my way home; the way only we both find Tamil comedy funny; the way we diet together; the way you e-mail me health and beauty tips; the way we shop together; the way you’ve prayed for me every single day since I’ve come to be? Would anything ever suffice? Hmm?

Haha, Sammy! Sammy! Sammy! What would I have bought you, ya?

You’re the most difficult person to buy a gift for! I was thinking a guitar would be nice. But, do you think that will say thank you for all the times you listened to me yap the same story again and again and again; for the times you’ve be kind enough to tell me I’m singing off; for taking my side not when I need it but when it’s the right thing to do; for the times you’ve given me that all-so-needed reality check? What ya? That guitar won’t do! Really!

I’m glad we don’t have a tree at home. Too much much-much! Gifts and all...and that’s just too hard! So, I’m glad the way we are!

I know we’re supposed to be celebrating Christ’s birth tonight—which we are—but I’m also secretly celebrating my birth into the Leslie clan.

J

Shiprah and Puah

Shiprah and Puah—I hadn't heard of these two women till today. Or it's likely that I might have heard of them but didn’t really pay attention or think much of them. But here's the deal—when God decides to speak to us, He uses the unheard of people, those we don't really pay attention to!

So, here's when it all started! I began to study Exodus and couldn't go past chapter one. This story had me arrested (Exo 1: 15-20):

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah, “When you help the Hebrew women in childbirth and observe them on the delivery stool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.” The midwives, however, feared God and did not do what the king of Egypt had told them to do; they let the boys live.

Then the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and asked them, “Why have you done this? Why have you let the boys live?” The midwives answered Pharaoh, “Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive.”
So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families of their own.

Here are these women who didn't—or rather couldn't—have families of their own, and whose profession involved helping other women start families of their own. I can only imagine the pain they might have experienced each time they helped a women deliver a baby.

Often God calls us to serve in the very areas we lack in. He requires us to be there for the needy, when we ourselves are in need. He asks us to give, when we have nothing to give. What attitude do we do this with? Do we complain about our nothingness, our sickness, our weakness, our pain, our problems? Or do we cheerfully serve where we are called to? I couldn't help but think about how these women carried out their service in the community "in spite of" how much it might have hurt or upset them. This was the first thing God spoke to me—Do what you are called to "in spite of" what's happening in your life! What you are called to do, is not about you, it's about Me!

The other thing I learned from these women was their "fear" of God. I don't think we fully understand what "fear of God" means. The Bible says they "feared God". The king of Egypt, who obviously had the power to kill them with one word from his mouth, asked them to do something that would compromise their calling. I don't know what this king was like, but if he was ruthless enough to suggest killing babies, I'd think I wouldn't want to get on his bad side.

But Shiprah and Puah decided to do otherwise. They quietly listened to what the king had to say and then went back and continued carrying out their work as they used to. No alterations. No change of plan. No compromise. They could die at the hands of the king, but they didn't fear that. They "feared' God. They actually were scared of not fulfilling their God-ordained work. They were frightened at the thought of being answerable to God for the blood of innocent children.

As I sit at work and type this article, I can only think of how many times I haven't feared God. The many times I have thought it okay to lie a little for "fear" of being caught, or to make excuses for sin with the "fear" of being embarrassed in front of my friends. What a shame! Let's repent of "fearing" the wrong party today. Right now.

Lastly, I can't help but mention how God blessed these women with families of their own when He noticed how much they feared Him. It wasn't when they prayed for families that He blessed them. It wasn't when they continued serving Him patiently under "normal' circumstances that He blessed them. It was when their "ministry" was boldly challenged; and when they made the harder choice of fearing God and not their circumstance were they blessed with families.

Beloved, let's not assume that if we are doing our bit in the church faithfully, praying and serving diligently—that this alone will bring down the much awaited blessings in our lives.

Let's learn from Shiprah and Puah that demonstrating our "fear" of God in all the choices that we make is what moves the heart of God.

My Alien Encouter!

So, here's the deal. Since I must narrate everything unusual that happens to me on this boring blog to give it that slight face lift, here's the scoop of the weekend —I got attacked on Saturday but an alien. Really. No jokes.

I intend to share my paranormal experience only to reinstate my faith in the supernatural and the utterly unbelievable, of course.

So, I was walking down the aisle of a supermarket (of sorts) looking for a moisturiser for my face. A moisturiser. Just a moisturiser.

As I was strolling unassumingly, I was confronted all of a sudden by a woman who was wearing the biggest smile I've EVER seen, and who was wearing a white coat. She looked totally human but little did I know she was just the host body being used by the alien residing in her. Anyway, she offered to help me find just the thing I was looking for.

SHE KNEW WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR? I was, for a moment, surprised at her ability to "know" what I wanted without asking me.

I followed her to a counter where she said with the same plastic smile on: "Madam, try this new fairness cream on and it will really make you fair. Come let me show you." She pulled my hand and dropped a bit of white cream on the back on my palm and before I could protest, she started massaging it into my hand. She then lifted my hand and showed it to me saying: "See Madam, you can see how fair this portion has become. I think this is the best cream for you."

That's when I saw it! By "it" I mean the ALIEN! Behind that smile and that normal human body was a paranormal being that came from another universe where darkness was not to be. The alien was on a special assignment to Planet Earth to eradicate all dark people and had found home in this smiling little Olay fairness cream campaigner. Oh no! The horror of it. I hope this makes national news.

Anyway, my first reaction was horror but that quickly turned into anger and I suddenly felt my animal instincts show up. I wanted to curl my hand into a fist and see if it reached down that woman's throat to where the alien was! But my mum was with me and I saved the grand show for another day.

She persisted and suggested that I have a "tan" and must get some fairness cream but I just calmly informed her it's not a tan and my original skin colour (which I am happy with!)

I made it through Sunday (the day after the alien encounter) without a word about this. I was thinking about what to say or write but I've decided to call for war!

Here is my humble plea:

Dark skinned sisters and brothers, let's unite!
We will not be taken down by these aliens from Planet WTF (We're Totally Fair). Today, I declare war. Let us stand firm and not be exposed to their paranormal agenda. But in case we are, let's not give in without a stiff fight.

If you read this and agree with me, you will be launching the largest e-battle in this history of mankind. Mankind—that word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps, its fate that today is the 16th of November, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom, not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution—but from bleachification.

We're fighting for our right to live, to exist. And should we win the day, today will no longer be known as just another day, but as the day when the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive!" Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!

Okay, I admit the last part of my extremely moving speech was borrowed from the movie "Independence Day" but you get my point na?

Fight and what not!

Chalo! XXX

Condoms? I'd rather have coke!

So, I read really long back (like coupla years back) that the Delhi University campuses were getting condom vending machines installed. It surprised me, angered me and then drove me to write an article. Note that this is like five years back okay. I suddenly woke up this evening and felt a strong urge to share it on the blog today. I don't know why today but I hope you read it and be blessed! It's my opinion and I'm not ashamed of it!

Here's the link to the original news article that instigated my article below: http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/543913.cms

My Article:

Condom vending machines are the latest debate among almost all sections of Indian society. The recent installation of these machines in the university campuses at Delhi as well as in public urinals all over the capital has become a matter of grave discussion.

To every section it’s point of view. The Aids awareness activists say it’s for the purpose of safe sex, the students say the accessibility is awesome, parents are simply paranoid and culture vultures are apprehensive beyond measure.

I must have my say, too. And why not? It’s constitutional and, well, different from the two poles we have right now. I’m not discussing who is right and who is wrong. No, no. I’m just talking off the top of my head. You can read on and well, think for yourselves.

So, let’s start.

Firstly, the idea is brilliant. Whoever thought that a condom could come straight out of a vending machine is one heaven of a genius. The wonders of human creation. First, coke cans and then, candy and hey, now condoms. Isn’t it amazing what the human mind can do? So, the idea sounds great. And think about this, it’s getting popular in India faster than the coke vending machines or even, the chocolate vending machines. I can bet none of the campuses in Delhi that have the condom vending machine will have even half a coke vending machine. Nah! Nothing close to it even.

So, that brings in my argument. With condoms that accessible, would sex be more of a conscious choice? Hmm? Think of it this way…A couple in college know there is a vending machine where a condom comes out with just a few coins. Would they choose to hang out behind the rocks and crevices, where they previously used to make out superficially for fear of pregnancy, or would they simply look for a better place to have sex now that the safety part is taken care of?

Oh! We understand your intention ‘Aunt Aids Awareness’. It’s only Aids that you want to prevent. The Indian National AIDS Control Organization (NACO) estimates that approximately 5,100,000 Indians are infected with Aids. 75% of these are men and women over the age of 30. Another 11% are children below the age of 10. Also, the south Indian states of Andhra Pradesh (2.25%), Karnataka (1.25%) and Maharashtra feature among the top so far as states with the highest AIDS infected population goes. Delhi is shown as negligible on the NACO stats. Condom vending machines in university campuses in Delhi??? Is it a wise move?? Mull over this for a while. I’m just wondering myself.

So, after all the wondering, here’s what I say. This move has less to do with preventing aids and more to do with promoting safe sex. And what is safe sex? Sex with a condom? Is it safe? Safe is subjective, isn’t it? Does safe mean a lifelong promise to commit? Does safe mean to have and to hold for better and for worse? Statistics also say that 93% of relationships that involve pre-marital sex do not end up in marriage. The condoms can come easily but commitment doesn’t come easy, does it? The coins seem little to give away in exchange for a condom but is virginity that inexpensive?

Oh! I’m not forcing you to deliberate my way. I just want you to think. As logical, rational individuals. As intelligent youth. Will Mumbai colleges be next? Not if we have anything to do with it. Not if you have anything to do with it. We need to get together and keep a strong front. We can’t let our college grounds be places where the sex is defiled and separated from the confines of matrimony. We aren’t so frail and weak-willed that we would trade our virginity for some high-school fantasy ride. Nah! We’re substance. You’re substance. We aren’t what they think we are. We don’t need those machines in our colleges. Period.

Railway Stuff That Bothers Me!

WHY is there a board in a remote corner of the first class ladies train coach with irrelevant messages?

The one that annoys me the most is "Please allow passengers to alight first".
What the heck? With a steely-eyed determination, I've fought my way through a flood of women - some of whom I am certain don't have a first class pass; I've managed to get half a seat to rest half my behind on and all I want to do is let out a sigh of relief!!! Allow passengers to alight first???? Why this post-knowledge? Shouldn't this be displayed in bold outside the train or on the platform? Before I boarded the train? Before I pushed that aunty who seemed to take forever to get down. And that heavily decked female who was acting like she was walking down the ramp? I pushed my way in, got a seat and now you tell me?

I think this is IRS's secret agenda to propogate guilt. We won't tell you to let others alight first in advance, but after you push your way in violently and let out your animal instincts, we will make you feel bad about it. I hope the concerned authorities are reading!

And then WHY do men who are selling stuff in the train always yell out the name of the item they are selling?

"EARRINGSSS-AAAH", "LIF-TICK-AAH", "NAIL POLIS-AAH"! Like I wouldn't have known what they were selling, hadn't they to tell me! I could understand their ear-piercing yells if they were selling some new groundbreaking fashion accessories. Like earrings that looked like lipsticks. Or nail polishes that looked like earrings. "Earrrings-aah!" — then that would be justified especially because I thought those little things looked like lipsticks!

And WHY do these men have to 'AAH' at the end of every word?

I've always wondered about this. It's not an 'aah' of agony because no one's buying their stuff! It's not an 'aah' of excitement because they are surrounded by women! It's not even an 'aah' of relief, that they managed to get on the train. It's just an 'aah' that's a suffix to the word — "Mobile Covers-aah", "Bhel-aah", "Chickoo-aah!"

IT DRIVES ME NUTS!!! Really! Makes me want to yell back: GET-OFF-THE-FRICKING-TRAIN-AAAAH!"

And the worst of all — WHY do they have a sign that says "In case of emergency pull chain" next to a barrell shaped object that hangs on a pipe shaped thingy???

That "thing" doesn't even look like a chain!!! What is one to think? Imagine an emergency. Since, I'm a woman who travels in first class, the only emergency I can think of is a violent cat fight between two or more women. Hair is being pulled; gaalis are flying left, right and centre; dupattas and handbags are being used as weapons; and God forbid, people are being thrown off the train! I would want to read an emergency sign.

In case of emergency, pull chain. What chain? My purse chain? The chain around my neck? My zip? Someone else' zip? What the heck am I to do? After pulling every possible chain in the compartment and getting thrashed by the women who haven't been thrown off the coach — I am certain to be told later by some authority that the message was referring to the barrell-shaped thingy hanging on the top! Severe miscommunication is what I call this!

And severe dicrimination as well! Imagine what a short woman would do! Let's say there's a shorter damsel who has spotted distress, she decodes the "indirect" emergency message and wants to pull the "chain".

Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Several jumps later, the disillusioned person she wanted to pull the chain for has fallen off the train, died and reached the Pearly Gates. Madam is still jumping! Discriminatory and plain unfair is what it is.

I can go on listing my woes about the local trains in Mumbai, but I'll save the 'whyning' for another day!

Tamplis...

I remember frolicking with my friends around my school campus and playing all sort of games - hide and seek, catch-catch, sakhlee (the weird running game where you have to catch someone and then form a chain and catch others), phugdi, colour-colour, red letter, etc, etc. I remember running so fervently, as if my life depended on it. 

But I also remember that every now and then, when I got tired or when my sides began to hurt (with the laughing or running), I would scream out to my friends, "TIME PLEASE!"

It usually was said so fast and so loud that it almost sounded like this new word "TAMPLIS!" And I still don't understand why I always curled my hand up into a fist and kissed the back of my hand when I said the word.  

Anyways, point is "TAMPLIS!" usually meant, I could take a break from the game and rest aside. Sit down, maybe on a bench or on the ground even and watch the others run and play till I caught my breath. 

Why did I remember this today? I feel like screaming "TAMPLIS!" to life around me today. To everyone. To everything I have to do. To all the promises I have to keep. To all the noise around. To all the movement. To all the things that are expected of me.

TAMPLIS!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me sit on a bench and breathe! Let me see others play! Let me hear others laugh for a while! 

But then I wonder what I'd do if God took time off from loving me and said "Boss, Tamplis! You take care of yourself and your needs, I will sit on this bench and catch my breath!"

Hmmmmm.....

My Unfaithfulness...

I'd like to say I've been moody with my writing. But that's not the truth. I've been unfaithful.

There’s a reason and I’m here to justify. My “free” time is spent ploughing a virtual farm on Facebook which gives me virtual crops that I can sell for virtual money to buy more virtual seeds to sow in my farm. Farmville. This Facebook game has effectively grabbed my relatively short attention span these days and I find myself checking my virtual animals and virtually petting them rather instead of writing. What appalling infidelity. I visited the blog this morning and felt shivers of shame run through my system. I felt like an unscrupulous woman who has betrayed her husband and found love in the arms of another man.

But this just has me thinking! What a world we live in!!! Who ever thought of a virtual farm? The guy is no doubt a genius but a wicked one too! What next? A virtual family you will virtually live with? Virtual friends you can hang out with? Virtual food you can eat? What are we doing???
While we find pleasure in spending our time on virtual stuff, we compromise daily on our ‘real’ relationships and passions. I have! I’ve been unfaithful!

But now that I’ve realised it, I want to undo it. I want to call a friend I’ve forgotten to stay in touch with. I want to pet my neighbour’s cats. I want to play a good old board game. Maybe Scrabble. I want to write a letter to my grandma. I want to read the newspaper. I want to smile more. I want to love more. I want to be there for people more. I want to write more.

Phew! This is at least a start!

Ask of me...

Ask of me...
The frail treasures I hold with an unyielding grip
This lie web I’ve woven that is starting to rip
This façade I’ve built that is ready to fall
These habits I nurture that I reckon are small

Ask of me...
My ego inflation that’s soon going to burst
My relentless desire to always be first
My cynical thoughts that clutter my mind
My blurring vision that oft goes blind

Ask of me...
These talents I have hidden so deep in the ground
This genius I think in me I have found
These opinions I have off all those around
This matter I talk that I deem incredibly profound

Ask of me...
Everything I harbour, honour and hold
Everything calloused, carnal and cold
Everything withered, wilted and weak
Everything blatantly blasphemous and bleak

Ask of me...and I will give it to You!!!

Emotion Monitor...

2.33pm, Wednesday July 15th 2009

Location: In the office...just after my lunch break...

Emotion: I feel like my will power has gone on a long vacation to a sunnier place and left me with the blues this monsoon! I've even lost the will to reason.

My Aging Woes

I'm two days away from being 25 and I can't believe I haven't done any of the things I wanted to do before 25...

• Read the Bible from cover to cover 25 times.
• Play in a proper basketball team.
• Write a novel and be the youngest person to win the 'Booker Prize' for it. (sigh)
• Be a size 8.
• Get totally used to wearing high heels in a city like Mumbai.
• Invent a really cool word that would make it to Webster.
• Have my own website.
• Buy my parents a new house.
• Take videos of my brother dancing like a ghati.
• Have a bedroom with a secret door to the Loo!

And the most important,

HAVE A BLOG THAT DOES MORE THAN JUST LAMENT!

tsk tsk...Woe is me x 25 = 25 Woe is mes...

My Pararnoia

If you read my previous post, you might have realised I'm busting my chops this week. Apart from revealing how much I weigh (which apparently, no woman will...in public), I have also decided to share my biggest paranoia.....my impending fear as it were....my little secret obsession.... that drives me crazy sometimes.

If you're thinknig it is cockroaches or floods—you are wrong....if you're thinking it is heights or closed spaces—you are wrong again. Stop thinking. It's the most unassuming, harmless thing ever but it has me on the edge of my seat every single time I confront it alone....

So here it is........ for the first time in my short-lived and not-so-happening blog-life....my biggest paranoia is........hold your horses and your breath.......(drum roll, please)........AUTO & TAXI METERS!!!!

Phew! That feels better. Now, that I've let my crazy out...I feel the burden of justifying it. But then again, I'm sure it deserves an explanation.

AUTO/TAXI METERS....they make me nervous...I'll tell you why.....

• I can't sit in an auto alone without my eyes fixed on the meter...I fear that every meter is rigged and that I am quite certainly being cheated.
• My obsession with meters and being cheated is such that I must count the seconds after every time the number falls and if the intervals aren't an even match....I must prepare to confront the driver about his unscrupulous meter rigging....
• There isn't a time that I remember where I haven't kept close eye on the meter to see how fast its ticking....I usually make it less obvious if there are others with me...
• Another aspect of my fear is specifically to do with auto meters. I once witnessed an accident where the passenger's head was crushed against the meter and one of his eye was hanging out....I'm sure that says it all....but I must make sure that I sit on the right side in the auto and not on the left where the meter is...just in case, you know...

So there you are.... shameless confessions that are but true....

I'm sure we all have our little paranoias, fears and pet peeves but we're less ready to admit they are there....it's these little weird things along with a lot of other normal things that make us different from each other and I think we should embrace this fact with a bear hug....

My Schizophrenia

So here's the deal. I woke up this morning all pepped up and ready to work my stomach off. You should have seen me jog. I was certain my stomach would fall straight off my body as I was running. And then came the sit-ups. There were 20. I went for them with a steely-eyed determination. Then when the exercises and walking were done, came the fresh juices. I downed a glass of tulsi juice, mixed with amla juice and kokkam. As I gargled the filthy taste of the juice down my throat I could swear I felt 5 kgs lighter. I came home and looked at myself in the mirror. There I was....all 59kgs of me (minus the 5 kgs I thought I lost).....so correction....all 54kgs of me....looking at my future that looked so thin and pretty.... my new work out regime had given hope to many clothes that hadn't seen the light of day....

Anyways, I don't know when it happened and how it happened and how I led myself to what happened next!

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the floor, stufifng my face with bread, cheese, ham, luncheon meat and salami. I smothered the bread with some 'oh-so-delicious' ketchup and then over it went a layer of salami....actualy three pieces of it....then came a fat cheese slice....followed by some scrumptous ham....and topped with another layer of luncheon meat and bread.....it was the SANDWICH FROM FAT HELL.........I downed that calorie-bomb like a fugitive from Sarajevo..... like a starved rat from Somalia...... I ate that bad boy and there was no guilt but only pure pleasure.......... what makes this more unbelievable is that I personally went and bought the meat from a cold storage shop and made that killer sandwich myself.... the girl who looked in the mirror a few minutes back had left the city on a long sojourn to the land of Maybe-Never-Ville....

So thanks to the two people inside me..... Wanda and Susan.....it may be light years before many of my clothes see the light of day......(I've named my personalities Wanda and Susan.......their full names are Wannabe Wanda and Savage Susan).......

Statutory Warning: Do not try this at home... by 'this' I don't mean jogging and then hogging... I mean.... writing about it in public soon after! ..... Woe is me.....

My two types......

I've decided that there are two types of people—the "fashionaly late" and the "lately fashionable". I also learnt that I can stand either types and would never want to be a part of either.
Firstly, let me explain the categorisation. I've been hearing so many people categorise mankind in "two types" that I thought, "Why shouldn't I do it as well?"....Go-with-the-flow sorts....

Anyways, now to explain my spite for each category in great detail.

I am not sure who I dislike more—the "fashionably late" or the "lately fashionable"...hmmmm...

The "fashionably late" are those who are always late... for everything...at work....at parties....at church....at literally everything.....and that too not once or twice....EVERY SINGLE TIME.....
They are okay with being late....in fact, that's what annoys me the most...the complacency...the acceptance that it is okay to be late.....But what realllllllly gets on my nerves and stays there....is the fact that they come late ALL DRESSED UP!..... I'm sorry but if you belong to this group, I don't like you....not because of 'you' but because you don't respect time and also expect to be appreciated for looking good.....Sorry...but you're not exactly on my fan list....if you know what I mean!

Then there is the "lately fashionable". They are fewer in numbers...and annoy me lesser but I bet my wit that you all know someone like that.... someone who was simple and was doing their own thing....until recently....they made some new friends....or hang out with "cooler" people and their style has suddenly...almost drastically changed! They now wear their jeans low....althought it looks horrible on them....you'd rather not see them crack so much.....They colour their hair in a shade that totally doesn't suit them.....and most importanly, although their outside appearance has changed....inside they are still their old selves.....That's what annoys me....They can so be themselves....have their own style....their own way of doing things....But NO......they're trying so hard to fit in that they'd rather be someone else....Wear clothes like someone else and pretend they are "cool".....I know some of this kind and I want to hold them by their shoulders....shake them up real hard till the "real' falls out......or atleast till their jeans do!

So there we go.....I feel happy that I've been able to make two new people categories today and my job is done....

P.S: You do notice how I'm trying so hard for this blog to be conventional, right? No sarcasm intended but this is what 99% of blogs are made up of....unwanted gyaan from people that looms in cyber space till someone actually agrees and puts it in the Chicken Soup Series or something.....aaaaaaaah.....

Humph!

I've been lazy this year with my writing. It's May 18th and this is my first post on the blog and I'm not sure what to write either. Lazy, lazy, lazy!

I'm not sure how I got to being like this but here I am. I've never been a disciplined writer. Moody ramblings are what you will find here, if anything! But then again, who made history by sticking to routine? Not that I liken myself to any iconic figures of the by-gone eras. Just making a point and subtly justifying my lethargy.

Anyways, deeply profound excuses aside, here's promising all my non-readers of this conveniently non-existent blog that I will write more often. In fact, maybe everyday even. Or maybe not. And who knows, maybe this will be the one promise I will keep. The 'Promise' that will bypass all 'Compromise'. And unriddled uncertainty, that most definitely shrouds all my decisions.

By now, I have realised that I'm just rambling nonsense that sounds like gyaan. So, I'm off now. Hopefully, tomorrow, I will have something to say that's worth a rat's behind! :)