Prose before hos

Here's the deal- I see only couples around me. Where are the damn single people? Is no one ever interested to hang out 'so-lo', without carrying the baggage of relationship? I don't fucking understand the idea of sticking together like one soul, two bodies. I mean, do you guys use the same toothbrush? If the answer's no, then you shouldn't stitch those two lives together. Not when it involves a cynical, asexual snob (who's single and unavailable, thankyouverymuch). Some three-four years back when these couples got together or were on the verge of getting together I somehow had the semblance of keeping their individual life separate to their 'couple' life. Now, when I speak of 'couple' life, I imply the stuff couples do, mostly involving other couples as opposed to their single friends (who are another degree of hopelessness and obsessed with power dressing).

I hang around with a couple in college, spent the better part of my day watching Life of Pi (which is a 'spectacular visual treat!', how nice of everyone to tell me via their facebook statuses) with a couple and ended my day with another couple while they circled  around the colony aimlessly.

Over the time, I've turned my circle big and accepted my committed friends and their partners into my social life circle (which practically is as badly illustrated as the rest of my free hand geometrical figures). Trouble begins when you/the couple is awkward around you, which more often than not is the case. I can identify the types of couples- the ones where you become friends with the couple itself is a tricky category. If you're friends with one and the person gets a better half, that's kinda hard because you begin sharing your friend and vying for their attention all the fucking time. My friend has been dodging me for past two months. Exams for the last two weeks has been her excuse. Today, she recited four incidents of how she hung out with her guy after teaching him accountancy, in my neighbourhood. The same friend, who I hadn't met in months, had planned a dinner date. Post exams, she'd come to see me at 6 pm and we'd go out for early dinner at our favourite Thai restaurant where we'd order one bowl of soup and shamelessly talk for two hours (because the serving is gigantic). Post soup, we'd go for a drive and circle around the neighbourhood while she'd incessantly fuss over her boyfriend while I'd nervously fiddle around with my phone, texting someone/fussing over someone in my hand. To conclude the trip, we'd work around the radio, blast some bollywood from 9os and sing along until she'd drop me back home.

Reality beckons. My friend gets her boyfriend in the car.

"He wants to meet you, come out.", instructing, as though, I'm a specimen at the zoological park and her boyfriend, the VVIP visitor wants to see the African Orangutan that looks like the cross between a panda and mongoose. I change into a comfy pair of stirrup pants, as opposed to cropped black pants, because it's chilly outside, also cause I'm unaware as to how long I need to entertain this foreign entity who's possessive about the girl that he wouldn't let her come for a girls night out without tagging along. He's parked himself on top of the window, which has been rolled down to fit his unshapely ass (I'm losing some friends tonight, time to clear my schedule). We exchange pleasantries, he looks visibly bored, almost as though, he's been forced to come here and see my face. "Can I see your dog?", he demands. I feign an excuse and linger around for a bit to figure out the nature of our then dinner and now haze of a plan because of the foreign intrusion. The man's quiet.

"Get your ass in the car", barks friend.

"Are we going?", I ask quizzically.

"What do you think we're doing?", replies friend, who by then, is sitting over her boyfriend, fist fighting or bull fighting or boyfriend fighting. Something of that order. I adjust my way into the back seat and friend asks in a cursory fashion if I'd like to sit in front, her boytoy would swap places with me. I refute the offer and go for my phone, cursing my friend and her guy to another one. Spot on, my friend snatches my phone and begins wondering if I am "seeing" someone. People here are just obsessed with one thing. I pounce on her and there's a debacle in the middle of the road because my friend wants to read a conversation where I am just ranting about her. Scary prospect was that she'd have thrown me out of her vehicle in the freezing weather if she'd read the stuff I was penning down. Honesty is the best policy, sure; not when your friend is behind the steering.

After an hour of driving mindlessly, we drop the guy and head towards the park where we discuss how a Harvard returned asked my friend out. She said no and now he's back in Harvard, at UK.

Me? I just talked about how I demand people to bake home made cookies, pasta in red sauce with extra cheddar and jalapeno cheesy omlette and how I do end up getting that stuff more often than not.

Cheese will never dessert me. Nope.

There are times when you just want to be hugged and tugged and said, "It'll be okay, it'll pass."

 I've had a grotesque day. The kind that beats entire 14 years of convent school experience- from morning till the evening.

Here's the deal:

Dogs do eat stuff- homework, belts, your kebabs.

People do pass infection.

Cameras don't always produce impressive bokeh.

Your best dress does make you look fat and unshapely.

For more, buy me lunch/dinner/filter coffee/cardamom chai and I shall tell you gory details.

^I didn't think of any of this before.

Defining Halloween can come close to putting on several layers of IP Calamine, prescribed by doctor and purchased from hospital pharmacy. Just when I thought I'd said adieu to the rash infested days, hives came back to high five me on my nape and neck. What went past was Halloween eve, Halloween and post Halloween evening covered in a fresh, thick layer of hives and calamine smothered over it with a whole lot of agony, cussing and near tourette state of mind. Thankfully, this post comes when I am done chumming and brimming with happiness for it is Sunday and I am in no mood to reply to anyone about my whereabouts.

November kicked in, almost as weepy and silent as the exit of October. Tautologous crap but I can't help it. I don't exactly remember what all went past. My cousin got hitched, Pandal hopping was done, two re-unions with less than half of our classmates turning up in different instalments and evading classes with exams. Exams, ah. We're back at cribbing, full blown. Oh, there was Weekender, Delhi's own Woodstock- for glitterati indie lovers. Neon hats, ribbons, flags, Smirnoff buckets (alcohol will not be served to guests below the age of 21), boot and shorts; everything NCR and Delhi can encompass at an event that yells "commercialization" yet the vibe was amazing. I'm a sell out, after-all.

Coming to something recent, I lost my Wong Kar Wai virginity to Fallen Angels today, followed by losing yet another one- Marquez's Chronicle of  a Death Foretold. Today's afternoon was nothing short of intellectual stimulation- the kind that is not easy to come by when you're enrolled in master's course (and are slacking most of it). Brings me to an interesting revelation, inspiration can come from anywhere.

In my first year at college, film society had organized a Wong Kar Wai week. That was my first brush with Neo-Wave cinema. Later, the society represented our college at some Inter College Event for a short film making event and won some prize. I was massively impressed with their production. Now that I think of it, it's a fully inspired piece, cinema noir a la Wong Kar Wai. Strangely, I was re-reading this Murakami piece last night and it reminded me of this guy I know, who appreciates his work. His writing style being eerily similar to Murakami's.

When I compare these pieces, I do not imply the content. I simply state the mechanical process-something like carving a pumpkin, on account of Halloween. There will be a certain style to hold the knife or even while employing a kind of knife, the idea that goes in the purchase. Strangely, I function on the same spectrum. While I idolize certain people, I make sure I carve my work, just as if they've touched it. It's a lot like this scene from Fallen Angels where Ming's partner visits the bar and takes the same seat as him, just to feel his presence metaphorically. Later, when she crosses path with his blonde lover, she encounters the same scent. If you've ever been in place of Ming's partner,  you'd know the intensity of madness as propagated by the person who idolizes it. It's almost as if a dog was made to sniff a bone and then it disappeared. The dog's madness is akin to the person who's reproducing his work in style of his master.

And, that's that.

Sound exam, which is partly physics and partly mind-fuckery has been postponed twice. On both the occasions  my study graph fell substantially as I involved myself in better things than numbing head over trash like Nagra, Digetic and Pulse Code Modulation. In all likelihood, I'd fuck this, the way I'd fucked my head studying it. Perhaps, even more. Speculations precedes reality. I'm in no mood to hook people up (hint hint).

Now, if this post ceases to make sense, it's not because I've a confusing idol, it's because it's written over the span of 1o hours when I did everything possible in the middle of it- ate, wrote a script, skype-ed and even napped. To lazy day writing.

When your semester exams kick in a month's time and mid-semester exams kill your brain cells, you stop blogging.