Fatigue.

I'm tired. Of most things around me.
I'm tired. Of trying to find order where people don't see the need for it.
I'm tired. Of trying to regain that spark when most avenues seem shut. Firmly.
I'm tired. Of asking questions, only because people don't WANT to answer.
I'm tired. Of fighting this constant vacuum.
I'm tired. Of making a beginning where people don't want to let go of the past.
I'm tired. Of just bloody trying.

People should be honest. To themselves and to those around them. Then we'd all need less Gatorade.

What must 83 have felt like?

I've watched it over and over. And yet, the hair at the back of my neck never stood up. Today, my generation lived our 83 moment. The men in blue have won and HOW! As the crackers lit up the sky, I did my little jig in the hallway. SMS's came in a frenzy, calls were made to friends across the nation and rasmalai was devoured gleefully. Poetic justice, to have been written off and to show the world that we took ourselves a lot more seriously than they expected us to.

Through this tournament, several players have grown in stature. Rudra Pratap Singh has bowled with controlled aggression, Sreesanth has struck gold on occasion but could do with some discipline, Bhajji and Pathan made fantastic comebacks, Yuvraj (need I say more), Ghambir has chipped away at the runs, Robin has shown fine temperament (in addition to being super yummy, that is) but one man stands out as a daring, new-age Indian- Mahendra Singh Dhoni. The Ranchi lad has come a FAR mile from the days of horrendous hair colour to show that captain's feather will sit pretty. It took some nerve to toss the ball to Joginder and some more to claim that he gave it to him because Bhajji wasn't confident enough to get the yorkers in. He'll do us proud with his cricketing ability and straight talk, provided he can stop doing terrible endorsements for hair products.

Spare a thought for Misbah. One shot away from being a hero. Twice over. Even at 33, he's Pakistan's find for the tournament.

This T-20 Championship has brought us to the crux of 2 questions : What will happen of India's big 3? And what will happen of One-Day cricket? Till such time as there come some answers, we shall savour this win.

On being big boned.

Most people would say watching 'We, the People' is perhaps not an ideal way to spend a Sunday evening, but, when the debate was on Fat vs Fit, I was all ears. And eyes.

There were all sorts that comprised the panel, the ones who loved the fat they were in, the ones who were skinny and still wanted to lose an inch, the ones who followed every diet in the book and the rest. Many questions were put forth that elicited answers that were close to my heart. While it really takes no science to figure that we live in a hypocritical, judgmental society, certain things said on the show I will not forget.

I for one have never been happy with my body. I cribbed. I still do. I still wish my largish arse away. I've also stopped making excuses and started making an effort. It takes time, but, I will do this the right way.

Random thoughts that follow:

People always use how much weight you have gained or lost as a measure of how much control you have over your life.

The way you look counts. Say it again.

There never existed a happy skinny woman.

Men don't 'need' to care as much. The fat pay check helps on Shaadi.com.

Fat defense. Never works. People see right through the insecurity.

Not all fat people are gregarious / intelligent and not all skinny people are self-obsessed.

Worry about Fitness. Forget about Fatness.

Your genes WILL tell the final story.

Every once in a while...

... there comes an event that makes you change the way you look at yourself.

You realize that you’re perhaps not as independent as you thought you were, not as guarded as you imagined yourself to be and definitely not as cold as you made yourself out to be.

In that instant, you also know that your views on life have been shaped differently, yet again, for better or for worse.

It’s the best out-of-body experience, every once in a while.

The Four Letter Word.

I've signed up for a GMAT prep class and I have to take their Math classes, every Sunday morning. For three hours. I went to my second class today and the instructor was a lot faster than I'd have liked. Then again, if I began to ask him doubts the class wouldn't go anywhere and that's unfair to the rest of the bunch. All of this is mundane but it serves as background for what's to follow.

When I tell the world I was born with no grasp of mathematics, I can't count, I can't make sense of little triangles sharing planes with other shapes, please believe me. We were discussing Mensuration and Coordinate Geometry this week. Though certain concepts of Mensuration did seem like French, Coordinate Geometry was well and truly beyond me. Given that I was functioning on little sleep, here are my 'staying awake and alive' tips for the day:

1. If everything seems to be a blur and sleep's calling, try giving each eye a rest. I shut one for 20 seconds and then the other. At some point in time, the guy teaching must have thought I was hitting on him.

2. Fiddle with the mobile phone. Pretend to read messages. There are very few people on my list who are awake at that hour who will find humour in this given situation.

3. Write the lyrics to all the songs you're singing in your head in the 'rough' space. There was 'Hands Clean', 'Losing my Religion', 'Change the World' and a few more.

4. Practice weird signatures.

5. Doodle. Draw. Sketch.

6. When the class ends, say Thank You the loudest.

The weekend that was.

The weekend off at Bangalore has helped me unwind, considerably. That’s good news for everybody who’s had to put up with the crib machine! :)

For the first time in a long time, I managed to stay awake for most parts of my train journeys. Indication enough that the biological clock is tick-tocking in the right direction. The Chennai to B’lore route had me sitting next to a family of four who were visiting India from America. The dad was extremely friendly as he patiently entertained the kids whose curiosity was a little hard to contain. Mixed accents, Spelling Bee version Lal Bagh 1.0, numerous trips to the loo – one kid at a time… I wonder if I will be the mum ten years hence. For a person like me, it seems a really scary thought but I’m learning to leave the doubts behind and view things positively.

Also, I saw several abandoned station buildings along the way and I wonder what ghosts inhabit them. There’s a charm about old abandoned buildings that sends a tingle down my spine. I took a trip down nostalgia lane to a time when my friends and I made up stories about the old building we lived next to. There was the ghost of the old lady (poor woman, our imaginations killed her long before her time), the mysterious helicopter used by the hooded stranger and the several surreptitious activities we thought the house might be used for.

B’lore brought me back to the present. This trip was a first of sorts. I didn’t find the city unpleasantly cold. It was cool and breezy, though; by the end of it all I was / am saddled with a sore throat. There’s always something wonderful about reconnecting with good friends. Over yummy lunches, dinners, interesting shopping experiences, fantastic tennis matches and stay overs, I had one of the better weekends in a while.

Laallalalala. I’m living down the last few days of being 22. Till the 23rd. :)

The countdown to nowhere.

I’m feeling a sense of despair that I’ve never felt before. Each morning, I wake up feeling empty and I just can’t place why. I don’t know when I ever placed my life in the hands of many others quite like this, but, it is proving to be extremely difficult to win it back.

This new move isn’t helping as much though I do realize I’m being a brat at times. I’m enjoying a lot of luxury at home that I will miss dearly if I move out again. Then again, I miss the independence so much that I’m starting to wonder if I’m just one of those people who’s meant to be at their best when left alone? Or are independence and loneliness two entirely different entities?

Fewer things keep me sane through the day and I’m counting each one down. Only I don’t know when this countdown will ever end. I’m the only one who can stop it and I just don’t know how.

Your kind.

A friend at work said this to me, "You know, we all find our kind."
This was said over dinner and it has to do with a person who almost always eats alone.
Made me think of the number of times I've eaten alone. It's always been for the want of a little quality time with the self. We all need that to keep our sanity, my two.
For most parts, I'm a people's person. I'm not all smiles and polite chatter all the time, but, I do make friends wherever I go. And then I say something from within and lose some too, but that merits a different post. :)
I can't imagine myself being alone for more than a certain self-imposed period. I need to laugh at someone, cry with someone, talk to someone, plant kisses on someone and do so much more.
Having said that, I have found a fair few of 'my kind' and I hold them close to my heart.
You know, it would be nice to see someone walk upto her table and eat dinner with her.

Trying my best to turn that brand new leaf.

My world of colour, where do I begin?

The last few months that I've been away from this page, my life has done the yo-yo. Almost like never before. Sure, there have been those moments where you lose a footing, where the right words seem a thousand miles away, but a few life changing decisions are sitting before me, waiting for one of the two buttons to be pushed.

If you've read Jonathan Stroud, I feel like I'm a being from the Other World. No form, no shapes and sizes, just fluidity. I flow from one day and spill onto the next. Let me try to bring some order to this:

First up, in about a month I will put this one year at my current organization behind me. Not entirely, mind you. I take with me the knowledge that when the going gets 'potholes-in-the-road' rough, I chose not to go, not to run away. I will leave on my own terms and the few extra rupees don't make me flinch.

Then the biggie. My parents want me to get married. Serious married. Have your pictures taken, married. I haven't rebelled, as for once, I'm thinking beyond myself. Many jaws have dropped, eyes have rolled, nothing I didn't expect. I go back in time, think of my interview at college, on how I never EVER wanted to be married. *Insert: I want to be 17 again.* What puzzles me is how do you answer questions like, 'Do you think this is the right thing to do? Isn't it easier to fall in love? Do you want to be subjected to this sort of judgment? How will you connect with a boy sitting in NY, for crying out loud?' I don't have any of the answers. I make some of them up, but find myself getting annoyed for attempting to justify. I don't know if there's a Mr. Right who will waltz in when the clock strikes 12, holding the shiniest shoe or rock on a ring or any such thing. I'm only trying to see how far I can go, how far I can accept that every knight will have a couple odd kinks in that armour. And why don't people get that?

Just before this comes to a grand close, I want to hug and thank all my friends who've stood by me, lent their ears and a whole lot more, let themselves be subjected to my all consuming rants, who've either been indifferent till I run out of words or who have something nice to say at that moment or who've tried to crack the lousiest joke just to see if I have any humour left in me. I love you all. :)

...

Hit the pause button.

Take it one day at a time.

Live for yourself.

Sing the blues away.

Dance like no one’s watching.

Read, understand absorb the thrill of a new sphere or subject.

Aha. I see my life getting better already.

My name is Divya.

It seems to me that the whole world knows how to pronounce 'Sheel-paa' . For the last day and a half, all the news networks have obssessed over the leggy beauty and the racial slurs made at her on Channel 4's Big Brother. I'm not condoning calling people names because of their ethnic origin, heck, it did enrage me for a bit even, but, hasn't this issue been stretched GROSSLY out of proportion? With a star cast of B grade, barely bitten by fame or stardom celebs, jealousy is bound to surface. Big Brother's Indian version Big Boss is no less dramatic but when your 'stars' are Bhojpuri actors and item-bomb starlets, racism never did figure.

Every other two bit who's who has something to say in favour of Ms. Shetty. Polls have been run and the support numbers grow. The I & B Ministry calls on its secretaries to address the issue. UK's Chancellor presents the picture- ' intolerance is unnacceptable'. The governments sure know when to be involved. Their sense of priority is beyond my comprehension. Where were they when indiscriminate attacks were made on South Asians in the UK? When Muslims were made targets of racial profiling post 9/11 and 7/7? And the instances don't stop here.

The emphasis thrown on the same by different news networks is even more puzzling. The week has been dominated by Aishwarya, Abhishek and Shilpa. The rest be damned. The little scroll space beneath glitzzy pictures will do. Pardon my sarcasm, but none of this makes me proud to be an Indian journalist.

The only good I see coming out of this is for Shilpa herself. Three crores and a screenful of publicity can't hurt when your career graph doesn't merit either.

Is it really easier when you ask?

You said ask and I did.
Only, last time 'round the subject in question was someone else.
Now you know how it's tough to answer, leave alone ask.

I wish it didn't hurt. Not one bit.
Then again, if it hurt any less it would have never been real.

I wish I weren't this broken.
I'll be made of steel soon.
After all, I just lost my last chance at a happily ever after.