All that nonsense about the city heaving a collective sigh of relief was complete shit.
Everyone did heave a sigh of relief in the first 20 minutes of the rain. But then it continued to pour. And pour. And pour.
Then drains began to overflow. The streets, roads and underpasses began to flood. Water began to leak into the interiors of homes from the nooks and crannies of balconies (trust me, my dad and I spent almost 20 minutes trying to clean up water that was leaking into the sitting room!). People were stuck in traffic jams. 45 minute journeys stretched on for 3 hours. 1 hour to 1 and a half hour journey became 5 hour journeys. Mosquitoes swarmed the streets. A part of National Highway 8 looked like a river.
The whole damn city came to a standstill. I guess it's safe to say that I don't love the monsoon as much as I thought I did.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thank You So Much! FINALLY!
Today, God and the sky have finally obliged me.
Today, the grey sky finally unzipped it's emotionally stunted being, and unburdened itself onto the lovely city of New Delhi (and all its numerous suburbs). It exploded in a manner I have not seen in the last 3 years. Raindrops the size of coins; and when they smashed themselves into the pavements, roofs, balconies, roads and gardens of this glorious city, I think I heard a collective sigh of relief escape its many millions of residents.
Today, the grey sky finally unzipped it's emotionally stunted being, and unburdened itself onto the lovely city of New Delhi (and all its numerous suburbs). It exploded in a manner I have not seen in the last 3 years. Raindrops the size of coins; and when they smashed themselves into the pavements, roofs, balconies, roads and gardens of this glorious city, I think I heard a collective sigh of relief escape its many millions of residents.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
A Fucken Douche
I know I'm a fucken douche.
O NOES!
But yes, I'm rather terrible at writing about anything not to do with guns, cars, dead people and computers.
I love Agra.
And Vodka Tonics (I think I'm warming up to vodka over whiskey now).
And Miss Mary (Bloody or Virgin, either is good).
And Swimming.
And... er... I don't really remember most of the stuff that I now love.
But love it I do.
Skaal
O NOES!
But yes, I'm rather terrible at writing about anything not to do with guns, cars, dead people and computers.
I love Agra.
And Vodka Tonics (I think I'm warming up to vodka over whiskey now).
And Miss Mary (Bloody or Virgin, either is good).
And Swimming.
And... er... I don't really remember most of the stuff that I now love.
But love it I do.
Skaal
Monday, July 6, 2009
Southern Absenses
I spent the last two weeks in South India with Vinita, Shreya, and Kavisha.
We went to Bangalore (aka Bengaluru/Bengalooru), Coorg (for the coffee plantations and spice plantations) and Mysore. Then I headed to Chennai by myself. I probably should've written a bunch of things while I was there, but I felt/still feel lazy. So I'm not going to. Sorry:S.
I've read and re-read 13 books this summer (I'm starting my 14th one right after this). Some have been really, really, really good (Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh, for example) while others have been bordering on silly and time-pass (Breaking Dawn from the Twilight Series and Five Point Someone by Chetan Bhagat). But of what I've read, I would encourage others to read God of Small Things by Arundati Roy (really well written, not so sure about the plot), In Custody by Anita Desai (should've been depressing, but it surprisingly wasn't) and Sea of Poppies of course (I am currently a little obsessed with Amitav Ghosh).
Otherwise, everything is well.
I'm biding my time until HBP comes out. And as pathetic as this may sound, I will be there for the first showing, as usual.
Oh. And also. Michael Jackson!!!!! SAY WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. We were heading to Coorg when my dad called to inform me. And I know that he might have been gross to little kids or whatever, but his music was amazing, and I do feel really sad that he won't be able to make more. So until next time, Beat it!
We went to Bangalore (aka Bengaluru/Bengalooru), Coorg (for the coffee plantations and spice plantations) and Mysore. Then I headed to Chennai by myself. I probably should've written a bunch of things while I was there, but I felt/still feel lazy. So I'm not going to. Sorry:S.
I've read and re-read 13 books this summer (I'm starting my 14th one right after this). Some have been really, really, really good (Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh, for example) while others have been bordering on silly and time-pass (Breaking Dawn from the Twilight Series and Five Point Someone by Chetan Bhagat). But of what I've read, I would encourage others to read God of Small Things by Arundati Roy (really well written, not so sure about the plot), In Custody by Anita Desai (should've been depressing, but it surprisingly wasn't) and Sea of Poppies of course (I am currently a little obsessed with Amitav Ghosh).
Otherwise, everything is well.
I'm biding my time until HBP comes out. And as pathetic as this may sound, I will be there for the first showing, as usual.
Oh. And also. Michael Jackson!!!!! SAY WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. We were heading to Coorg when my dad called to inform me. And I know that he might have been gross to little kids or whatever, but his music was amazing, and I do feel really sad that he won't be able to make more. So until next time, Beat it!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Come tomorrow
I'm back in Delhi. And (surprise, surprise) it's hot.Shamsher, PJ chach and I drove down from Kasauli yesterday, and it did not take us all that long to get here (6 hours with a 45 minute pit stop for food), which was great because I hate sitting in cars.
As far as Kasauli is concerned, after my last, incredibly crabby post, things got a lot better. Partly because I began to tune out the annoying, extraneous noises (demands from my family, my sister's whining, the annoying pitter-patter of pine needles on the tin roof of the Kasauli cottages, Angober's (sometimes) shitty music) and partly because the rest of my cousins arrived so my family stopped pushing me around because there were a bunch of other kids to push around instead!
Friday was really interesting, because I FINALLY took my first official project train ride. I woke up at 6:30 and we drove down to Dharampur station so that I could catch the 7:30 train to Shimla. Dharampur station is really cute- it's a small station in the middle of a hill town. When I got to the station, the booking window was closed, and the station master was nowhere in site and I was the only person in the station, except for the man who was selling chips. So I waited for 10 paniced minutes (it was 7:15 when I got to the station) until it finally occured to me to knock on the station master's door. Which is, apparently, what I should've done earlier because the station master was in there, sleeping.
I eventually bought my ticket (it was Rs. 14 which should've told me what kind of train I was getting onto), and waited on the platform.
At this point, I think I should mention that my family had led me to expect a proper, long distance train to arrive at the platform. In fact, the train that has traditionally gone from Kalka to Shimla is called the Himalayan Queen, and it is FAMOUS for it's "old world charm".
So of course, the train that showed up on the Dharampur platform at 7:55 that morning was not the Himalayan Queen, but a local train. Which is fine, except that there was NO space on the train for me. The ladies compartment, which was the nice short length of 7 feet, was crowded to the extent that there wasn't even a square inch of space (women were scattered all over the seats, all over the floor and were even hanging out of the door). I pleaded and pleaded with the ladies in the compartment, and all of them refused to move, which was just great because the TT had blown his whistle twice by then. Eventually, when the train whistle blew, I ran along the platform in a panic, looking for any bogey with any space, and finally climbed onto a random one toward the front of the train. Of course, there was no place to stand in that one either, so I ended up being one of the people who hung out of the door.
The whole hour long ride to Solan was really awkward, partly because I was the only woman in the compartment, and partly because I was dressed in jeans and a hoodie (all the other women in the train, above the age of 15, were wearing Indian clothing). But after the first stop, a lot of people got off and more space opened up on the train. So eventually, I was able to stand near the compartment door in peace and was able to take in the mountain scenery, which was incredible. I have a ton of pictures, but the reels are being developed right now, so I might put them up later.
Anyway. When I got off at Solan, and I can't lie but I was a little relieved. It was the first time I had traveled alone as the sole woman in a sea of men. And now that I've done it, it will definitely be easier to do next time. After Solan, we drove to Shimla (it took an hour and a half to drive to Shimla; if I had stayed on the train, it would've taken me an additional 3 hours to get there) and I took a bunch of pictures at the station there. And then headed back to Kasauli to enjoy the rest of the weekend with the family.
So at the end of it all, the last weekend turned out to be great. I won Rs. 500 at a tambola game at the Kasauli Club, lost Rs. 239 while playing rummy with my family, ate a shit load of great food, re-read The God of Small Things, and walked a hell of a lot everyday. Now I'm back, and getting ready to go to South India on Thursday.
So until next time, stay safe, and stay tuned.
As far as Kasauli is concerned, after my last, incredibly crabby post, things got a lot better. Partly because I began to tune out the annoying, extraneous noises (demands from my family, my sister's whining, the annoying pitter-patter of pine needles on the tin roof of the Kasauli cottages, Angober's (sometimes) shitty music) and partly because the rest of my cousins arrived so my family stopped pushing me around because there were a bunch of other kids to push around instead!
Friday was really interesting, because I FINALLY took my first official project train ride. I woke up at 6:30 and we drove down to Dharampur station so that I could catch the 7:30 train to Shimla. Dharampur station is really cute- it's a small station in the middle of a hill town. When I got to the station, the booking window was closed, and the station master was nowhere in site and I was the only person in the station, except for the man who was selling chips. So I waited for 10 paniced minutes (it was 7:15 when I got to the station) until it finally occured to me to knock on the station master's door. Which is, apparently, what I should've done earlier because the station master was in there, sleeping.
I eventually bought my ticket (it was Rs. 14 which should've told me what kind of train I was getting onto), and waited on the platform.
At this point, I think I should mention that my family had led me to expect a proper, long distance train to arrive at the platform. In fact, the train that has traditionally gone from Kalka to Shimla is called the Himalayan Queen, and it is FAMOUS for it's "old world charm".
So of course, the train that showed up on the Dharampur platform at 7:55 that morning was not the Himalayan Queen, but a local train. Which is fine, except that there was NO space on the train for me. The ladies compartment, which was the nice short length of 7 feet, was crowded to the extent that there wasn't even a square inch of space (women were scattered all over the seats, all over the floor and were even hanging out of the door). I pleaded and pleaded with the ladies in the compartment, and all of them refused to move, which was just great because the TT had blown his whistle twice by then. Eventually, when the train whistle blew, I ran along the platform in a panic, looking for any bogey with any space, and finally climbed onto a random one toward the front of the train. Of course, there was no place to stand in that one either, so I ended up being one of the people who hung out of the door.
The whole hour long ride to Solan was really awkward, partly because I was the only woman in the compartment, and partly because I was dressed in jeans and a hoodie (all the other women in the train, above the age of 15, were wearing Indian clothing). But after the first stop, a lot of people got off and more space opened up on the train. So eventually, I was able to stand near the compartment door in peace and was able to take in the mountain scenery, which was incredible. I have a ton of pictures, but the reels are being developed right now, so I might put them up later.
Anyway. When I got off at Solan, and I can't lie but I was a little relieved. It was the first time I had traveled alone as the sole woman in a sea of men. And now that I've done it, it will definitely be easier to do next time. After Solan, we drove to Shimla (it took an hour and a half to drive to Shimla; if I had stayed on the train, it would've taken me an additional 3 hours to get there) and I took a bunch of pictures at the station there. And then headed back to Kasauli to enjoy the rest of the weekend with the family.
So at the end of it all, the last weekend turned out to be great. I won Rs. 500 at a tambola game at the Kasauli Club, lost Rs. 239 while playing rummy with my family, ate a shit load of great food, re-read The God of Small Things, and walked a hell of a lot everyday. Now I'm back, and getting ready to go to South India on Thursday.
So until next time, stay safe, and stay tuned.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
My Vacation So Far
I'm up in the mountains in Kasauli with my family, which used to be a really fun thing because it usually meant hanging out with my cousins for extended periods of time and not really having to give a rat's hairy ass about what the adults say/said. But so far, only Niamat, Fateh, Gurbani and Jagat (who is 1) are here. And we're staying in a house full of 12 people. Which means that I'm always getting told about what I should and shouldn't do, and I swear to God I am going to hit someone if they don't stop.
There are so many things I want to say (mostly hatin' but whatever), and I can only formulate the thoughts if I make a list. So here we go.
Things That Have Been Annoying Me Since My Return To India Two Weeks Ago
Eh. I know I'm complaining a lot, but to be honest, there have been some good things too. The food and mangoes are amazing, I've already read 6 books for fun in these past two weeks, I've (re)watched most of House seasons 1 and 2, I've already found so many leads for stuff that I can use in my History thesis (thank you Di Drumond!) and I have pretty much been eating an orange bar a day. Which definitely brightens my day, even if it is only for a minute. At least for now, there's nothing that an orange bar (or two or three) cannot cure. Even if it is only for a few minutes.
There are so many things I want to say (mostly hatin' but whatever), and I can only formulate the thoughts if I make a list. So here we go.
Things That Have Been Annoying Me Since My Return To India Two Weeks Ago
- The lack of rain. On Wednesday, I got excited because it began to pour. Which (I thought) would mean that the Monsoon had arrived in Delhi. Unfortunately, it rained heavily for about 15 minutes and then stopped. Which means that Gurgaon witnessed a passing cloud. Which means that I wanted to scream and curse at the sky. On Thursday, it began to rain when we were at Harshyla's in Defence Colony. This time, it went for a whole 10 minutes before it stopped. Yesterday, after I came up to Kasauli, the clouds burst above this mountain. It rained for 20 minutes. Needless to say, I want Pooja to do her rain dance again, because I want some rain goddamit!
- Trains (and my family when they talk about trains). Train bookings are a bitch here. I can't get a train reservation for the days that I want to be in South India. Which is just great because that means that I have to fly. Which means that I have to spend more money. Fucking hell. Ordinarily, I wouldn't get worked up about this, but of course, my family is looming over me and bombarding me with all sorts of advice, left, right and center. I know they think they're being helpful, but they're only giving me a headache.
- This burn on the inside of my lip. We went to the market here yesterday. Inevitably, we came across a man selling bhutta. I paid my Rs. 12 (rip off) and waited for him to find a good cob of corn to put on his small coal fire, and ended up waiting for a full 10 minutes because everyone else was trying to be smart with him and tell him how to do his job. Anyway. He eventually took the roasted cob off the fire, put some salt and lemon on it and handed it to me. I was completely famished, so I took at bite at it. Unfortunately for me, there was a small, tiny piece of BURNING HOT COAL lodged in between two kernels. That hit my lip and burned the inside of my mouth. I now have an ulcer on the inside of my lower lip. It's swollen and I look like an idiot.
- The lack of good options at Sarojini Nagar. Harshyla, Pooja and I went to Sarojini Nagar on Thursday. And I was looking forward to it because who doesn't like good, wholesale clothes for cheap? It was evening time (around 6ish) so I expected the bazaar to be crowded, but we walked into a never ending throng of human flesh, bones and mal-odour that pressed onto us like mould. Which was also fine, because hey, that's just the nature of thing. But as we cruised through the market, and looked through all our options, it turned out that there was nothing worth our time and Rs.150 in the market. We came away with one to two things each. And the one thing that I took away with me, well, Harshyla and Pooja bought that shirt for themselves too.
- Pushiness. Why the fuck does everyone have to be so pushy. Why the hell can't we discuss our plans and come to a consensus about our proposed plan of action together? People here keep trying to make everything play out their way. Including my aunt, including my cousins, including some of my friends, including those stupid people who were waiting behind (but pushed in front of) me in the line for bhutta yesterday. Next time someone is being pushy, I am going to push their heads up their asses so that the only thing they can be pushy about is figuring out how to get their stupid noggins out.
Eh. I know I'm complaining a lot, but to be honest, there have been some good things too. The food and mangoes are amazing, I've already read 6 books for fun in these past two weeks, I've (re)watched most of House seasons 1 and 2, I've already found so many leads for stuff that I can use in my History thesis (thank you Di Drumond!) and I have pretty much been eating an orange bar a day. Which definitely brightens my day, even if it is only for a minute. At least for now, there's nothing that an orange bar (or two or three) cannot cure. Even if it is only for a few minutes.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Welcome Home
Yesterday, a bird crapped on me.
It's a slightly (only slightly) exciting story; one that involves me sitting in an open topped jeep (my cousin's friends) holding an Orange Bar (sidenote: I LOVE Orange Bars with a fiery passion that rivals their colour) with the wind making my hair fly around. But the point of it all really is that I hope that the bird shit hitting me at 60 kms/hr makes my luck change.
So far, Delhi has only been ok. I enjoy being home to the extent that I enjoy meeting my friends and enjoy meeting my family and enjoy eating the best food that the planet has to offer. But I can't handle living at home with my family anymore. I fight with my sister and mother on a daily basis (oddly, I haven't fought with my father yet but that might be because he understands what it's like to go to college far away and return home only sporadically) and it's getting to the point of excrutiation.
I think the last two or three days have been better than most. But that's mostly because I didn't spend all that much time at home. On Thursday I went to Old Delhi with Prashant, and then we went to Def Col market and had some beers. Harshyla and Pooja joined us, and then after that I spent the night at Harshyla's. I went to sleep early because I had a headache (which was probably the result of walking around the city in the heat), but it was nice to spend the day far away from my house. Yesterday, Harshyla, Pooja and I went to lunch and then I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Niamat and Harleen (which is when the pigeon poop fell on me) and only met my parents and sister at about 10 o'clock at night. Which was nice, because I didn't fight with anyone until about 9 pm. 36 hours of quiet.
Anyway. Getting back to the point of the crap story... Over here, people consider a bird crapping on you to be a sign of Good Luck. It probably has something to do with crapping being so bad that nothing worse can happen (thus, a sign of changing luck). But I don't really care. All I know is that I really want this trip to get vastly better because as much as I love my family (fighting and all), I don't think I will be able to handle living like this for another 3 months.
It's a slightly (only slightly) exciting story; one that involves me sitting in an open topped jeep (my cousin's friends) holding an Orange Bar (sidenote: I LOVE Orange Bars with a fiery passion that rivals their colour) with the wind making my hair fly around. But the point of it all really is that I hope that the bird shit hitting me at 60 kms/hr makes my luck change.
So far, Delhi has only been ok. I enjoy being home to the extent that I enjoy meeting my friends and enjoy meeting my family and enjoy eating the best food that the planet has to offer. But I can't handle living at home with my family anymore. I fight with my sister and mother on a daily basis (oddly, I haven't fought with my father yet but that might be because he understands what it's like to go to college far away and return home only sporadically) and it's getting to the point of excrutiation.
I think the last two or three days have been better than most. But that's mostly because I didn't spend all that much time at home. On Thursday I went to Old Delhi with Prashant, and then we went to Def Col market and had some beers. Harshyla and Pooja joined us, and then after that I spent the night at Harshyla's. I went to sleep early because I had a headache (which was probably the result of walking around the city in the heat), but it was nice to spend the day far away from my house. Yesterday, Harshyla, Pooja and I went to lunch and then I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Niamat and Harleen (which is when the pigeon poop fell on me) and only met my parents and sister at about 10 o'clock at night. Which was nice, because I didn't fight with anyone until about 9 pm. 36 hours of quiet.
Anyway. Getting back to the point of the crap story... Over here, people consider a bird crapping on you to be a sign of Good Luck. It probably has something to do with crapping being so bad that nothing worse can happen (thus, a sign of changing luck). But I don't really care. All I know is that I really want this trip to get vastly better because as much as I love my family (fighting and all), I don't think I will be able to handle living like this for another 3 months.
It is NOT to late to Apologize
So Angalandar and I are terrible at this whole Blog thing.
I can't speak for him, but I think that I am going to start being more regular with it, now that I am home in India, and on summer vacation. At the very least, there will be updates about my travels. I promise.
New post coming later today.
I can't speak for him, but I think that I am going to start being more regular with it, now that I am home in India, and on summer vacation. At the very least, there will be updates about my travels. I promise.
New post coming later today.
Monday, May 11, 2009
It's 6:17am and I've Been Up All Night
I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the type to finish my work and get it out of the way ahead of time. In fact, I believe that I am quite the opposite. I'm the type to procrastinate so much that I often finish my papers 5 minutes before they are due and then make a mad dash to the Professor's office so that I can get them in on time.
I will admit that I have been known to pull a couple of all nighters in my time. But seriously, this semester has been the most ridiculous of all. 10 days ago, I stayed awake for 36 hours without even a 15 minute nap. Today, I've stayed up for 24 hours with only a half hour of sleep.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm in some sort of weird funk, or if it is because I'm just exhausted after 3 years of school. It's not that I hate my classes (I actually love them), it's just that I don't feel like writing my papers or turning in my assignments.
This semester has been about chugging along and hating on every single assignment that I have got. And now that I'm down to the wire and now that it is time to turn in my big, 40%-of-my-grade papers, I'm writing like a mad woman and hating every single thing that I turn in.
Meh. All I want to do right now is go home, or go to sleep. But all that's stopping me from doing either is 6 pages for today, and 26 pages before the week is over.
I will admit that I have been known to pull a couple of all nighters in my time. But seriously, this semester has been the most ridiculous of all. 10 days ago, I stayed awake for 36 hours without even a 15 minute nap. Today, I've stayed up for 24 hours with only a half hour of sleep.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm in some sort of weird funk, or if it is because I'm just exhausted after 3 years of school. It's not that I hate my classes (I actually love them), it's just that I don't feel like writing my papers or turning in my assignments.
This semester has been about chugging along and hating on every single assignment that I have got. And now that I'm down to the wire and now that it is time to turn in my big, 40%-of-my-grade papers, I'm writing like a mad woman and hating every single thing that I turn in.
Meh. All I want to do right now is go home, or go to sleep. But all that's stopping me from doing either is 6 pages for today, and 26 pages before the week is over.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Rant and Rave
Angad and I created this blog with the intention of ranting and basically being mean and angry and pissed off with the world.
For some weird reason, that hasn't happened yet, and I have definitely used this blog to just spew stuff that isn't angry, but just stuff.
Today, however, is a different story.
I HATE MY SPANISH TEACHER. I can't think of a single person in this class who actually likes her, and the messed up thing is that I was actually the one who defended her or whatever. She is a complete moron, and I am completely convinced that she is better off teaching a high school class because she treats all her COLLEGE AGE students as if they were 3. Today, before my Spanish oral exam, she tells me that she "could kill" me for not showing up to her stupid Spanish major dinner where I was supposed to meet with her daughter and talk to her about her stupid photo project in India (which for the record, isn't actually stupid, it's pretty good, but that is beside the point).
First off, I was only going to go to that stupid thing because she asked me to, and I had every intention of going, except that I forgot because I had a GIANT photo project due the next day. Yes, the same fucking photo project that I stayed awake 31 hours for. So yeah. I'm so sorry I forgot about her precious daughter and couldn't talk to her about her cultural sensitivity. Which, evidently, the fucking professor doesn't even have because she says 10000000000 culturally insensitive things a day, even though she tries to pretend that shes with it.
This is the same fucking professor who made judgement values on me and my family because we decided that I should go home for my cousins wedding ("I don't understand parents who pay so much for school and then pull their kids out for a week"). The same fucking professor who didn't understand why some Mexican families spent a lot of money on Quinceañeras for their daughters ("Can you imagine?! They spend $2000 for the 15th birthday party"). And she's married to a Mexican man! WHAT. How dare she say shit like that to the class and at the same time have the balls to pretend that she gets it. I don't care when you went to Berkley, that does not mean you are an ally to people who deviate from your damn American norm.
Who the fuck is she to a) tell me that she could kill me and b) tell me about how I could've done a lot better in her fucking class. I'm a friggin' junior! These are not classes that I have extra time to put into. And I understand why I must get a lower grade, but the world does not come to an end because I spent 3 less hours working on my Spanish. And it's really fucked up because I really wanted to learn how to speak Spanish before this class, and after this, I am actually losing any interest that I had. That's the effect that this bitch has on people.
I'd like to know what the median grade in her class is. My guess is that only the little blonde suck up will get an A. At this point, I'm sure I'm averaging a C in her class. And I don't even fucking care. After tomorrow, I don't ever have to see her face again. So good riddance to the bitch. She's even worse than Markus.
For some weird reason, that hasn't happened yet, and I have definitely used this blog to just spew stuff that isn't angry, but just stuff.
Today, however, is a different story.
I HATE MY SPANISH TEACHER. I can't think of a single person in this class who actually likes her, and the messed up thing is that I was actually the one who defended her or whatever. She is a complete moron, and I am completely convinced that she is better off teaching a high school class because she treats all her COLLEGE AGE students as if they were 3. Today, before my Spanish oral exam, she tells me that she "could kill" me for not showing up to her stupid Spanish major dinner where I was supposed to meet with her daughter and talk to her about her stupid photo project in India (which for the record, isn't actually stupid, it's pretty good, but that is beside the point).
First off, I was only going to go to that stupid thing because she asked me to, and I had every intention of going, except that I forgot because I had a GIANT photo project due the next day. Yes, the same fucking photo project that I stayed awake 31 hours for. So yeah. I'm so sorry I forgot about her precious daughter and couldn't talk to her about her cultural sensitivity. Which, evidently, the fucking professor doesn't even have because she says 10000000000 culturally insensitive things a day, even though she tries to pretend that shes with it.
This is the same fucking professor who made judgement values on me and my family because we decided that I should go home for my cousins wedding ("I don't understand parents who pay so much for school and then pull their kids out for a week"). The same fucking professor who didn't understand why some Mexican families spent a lot of money on Quinceañeras for their daughters ("Can you imagine?! They spend $2000 for the 15th birthday party"). And she's married to a Mexican man! WHAT. How dare she say shit like that to the class and at the same time have the balls to pretend that she gets it. I don't care when you went to Berkley, that does not mean you are an ally to people who deviate from your damn American norm.
Who the fuck is she to a) tell me that she could kill me and b) tell me about how I could've done a lot better in her fucking class. I'm a friggin' junior! These are not classes that I have extra time to put into. And I understand why I must get a lower grade, but the world does not come to an end because I spent 3 less hours working on my Spanish. And it's really fucked up because I really wanted to learn how to speak Spanish before this class, and after this, I am actually losing any interest that I had. That's the effect that this bitch has on people.
I'd like to know what the median grade in her class is. My guess is that only the little blonde suck up will get an A. At this point, I'm sure I'm averaging a C in her class. And I don't even fucking care. After tomorrow, I don't ever have to see her face again. So good riddance to the bitch. She's even worse than Markus.
Monday, April 20, 2009
इस को देखो
Wow. That is completely crazy! I didn't know that Blogger could transliterate.
That's pretty cool.
In other news, I know it's been a while since we wrote anything but Angad and I have been BUSY. He came to Claremont this weekend, and partied till 6 am. I, on the other hand, retired at 2. I guess I'm no freshman anymore. Can't really handle it.
That's pretty cool.
In other news, I know it's been a while since we wrote anything but Angad and I have been BUSY. He came to Claremont this weekend, and partied till 6 am. I, on the other hand, retired at 2. I guess I'm no freshman anymore. Can't really handle it.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Fateh Can't Dance Saaaala (But Himmat Can)
It's been a full 3 days since I left. Left Delhi, left the wedding celebrations, left my family.
The week before that was a whirlwind. A whirlwind that I have repeatedly tried to explain to outsiders in vain. Because no one truly gets it: my American friends vaguely comprehend the wedding process and my Desi friends (who actually know about about weddings and their various events) don't understand my obsession with certain songs and they just don't get the inside jokes or the endless stories that are playing on repeat in my head.
I think about the wedding at least two times every hour. I incessantly think about Shamsher on auto-pilot or Angad's beard needing cleaning on the night of the youngsters party or Niamat and um, our non-stop jokes about her neck. But these things mean nothing to the people I know here- they don't understand these stories, and the jokes just don't seem funny to them, no matter how well I try to explain. Most people over here just react with a passing laugh or a confused expression (or, in the case of the Angad beard story, they react with a disgusted face). And while I understand why this is so, I really do wish that I could share these memories with the people that I experienced them with.
When I look back at that one week, and especially when I look at the wedding pictures on facebook (repeatedly, of course) and listen to hunta thon mera (also repeatedly, of course), I remember each one of their faces. And I think about how happy I was during the wedding. I know that there were moments of frustration but now that I think about it, I genuinely feel happy that my family is my family. And while it is true that you can't choose your family and that you can choose your friends, I think I'm proud to say that my cousins are my friends, and that no matter how much I want to kill them sometimes, they're friends that I'm happy to be stuck with. No matter how frustrated I get with them, they'll always have my back. And more importantly, they will always make me laugh.
So cheers to Hersi for taking the plunge without crying and without the slightest tinge of fear or nervousness. Cheers to my moronic cousins who will always be Lutzes in my eyes. And cheers to us having many more weeks like this past one together.
I can truly say that when this week ended all I could think was "Hunta thon mera dur jan da ji ni kar da ni". Home is home, Delhi is Delhi, family is family. And my family is crazy. Cheers to nothing ever changing that.
The week before that was a whirlwind. A whirlwind that I have repeatedly tried to explain to outsiders in vain. Because no one truly gets it: my American friends vaguely comprehend the wedding process and my Desi friends (who actually know about about weddings and their various events) don't understand my obsession with certain songs and they just don't get the inside jokes or the endless stories that are playing on repeat in my head.
I think about the wedding at least two times every hour. I incessantly think about Shamsher on auto-pilot or Angad's beard needing cleaning on the night of the youngsters party or Niamat and um, our non-stop jokes about her neck. But these things mean nothing to the people I know here- they don't understand these stories, and the jokes just don't seem funny to them, no matter how well I try to explain. Most people over here just react with a passing laugh or a confused expression (or, in the case of the Angad beard story, they react with a disgusted face). And while I understand why this is so, I really do wish that I could share these memories with the people that I experienced them with.
When I look back at that one week, and especially when I look at the wedding pictures on facebook (repeatedly, of course) and listen to hunta thon mera (also repeatedly, of course), I remember each one of their faces. And I think about how happy I was during the wedding. I know that there were moments of frustration but now that I think about it, I genuinely feel happy that my family is my family. And while it is true that you can't choose your family and that you can choose your friends, I think I'm proud to say that my cousins are my friends, and that no matter how much I want to kill them sometimes, they're friends that I'm happy to be stuck with. No matter how frustrated I get with them, they'll always have my back. And more importantly, they will always make me laugh.
So cheers to Hersi for taking the plunge without crying and without the slightest tinge of fear or nervousness. Cheers to my moronic cousins who will always be Lutzes in my eyes. And cheers to us having many more weeks like this past one together.
I can truly say that when this week ended all I could think was "Hunta thon mera dur jan da ji ni kar da ni". Home is home, Delhi is Delhi, family is family. And my family is crazy. Cheers to nothing ever changing that.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
JFK, Heathrow and Indira Gandhi International
I never thought I would be one of those people who went home in the middle of the semester. But here I am, sitting in Terminal 7 in JFK, waiting to get onto my flight to Heathrow (and eventually Indira Gandhi International).
I can't help it. My cousin is getting married, and I can't imagine not being there for the wedding. I can't imagine not going home for a bunch of different reasons: not only will my entire family be present at this (at least for us) momentous occasion, but I also can't believe that this moment has come upon us so soon. I always imagined this happening maybe 2 or 3 years down the line from now, and I can't pretend that it's not going to be really strange next Sunday during the wedding.
But as it stands, it's real and the wedding is happening. So I'm here in in JFK, even though I know I'm missing an assload of work for college (God knows I'm emailing 3 papers in next week) and even though my family is paying a lot of money for me to be in Delhi next Sunday. But honestly, I can't imagine it any other way.
I guess the next time I update, however small the entry may be, it's going to be from my house in India, probably with some sentimental crap about how weird it was to see Hersi get married. But until then, I guess this will have to suffice, because um. They just announced the final boarding call, and I have to run!
I can't help it. My cousin is getting married, and I can't imagine not being there for the wedding. I can't imagine not going home for a bunch of different reasons: not only will my entire family be present at this (at least for us) momentous occasion, but I also can't believe that this moment has come upon us so soon. I always imagined this happening maybe 2 or 3 years down the line from now, and I can't pretend that it's not going to be really strange next Sunday during the wedding.
But as it stands, it's real and the wedding is happening. So I'm here in in JFK, even though I know I'm missing an assload of work for college (God knows I'm emailing 3 papers in next week) and even though my family is paying a lot of money for me to be in Delhi next Sunday. But honestly, I can't imagine it any other way.
I guess the next time I update, however small the entry may be, it's going to be from my house in India, probably with some sentimental crap about how weird it was to see Hersi get married. But until then, I guess this will have to suffice, because um. They just announced the final boarding call, and I have to run!
Haha
I really liked this one because it's actually kind of intelligent. Haha!
One of my favourite moments is when the South Asian major adds his 2 cents, the end when he talks about being paintingand also when the flag is upside down. Enjoy!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
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