Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Saat samandar paar



Ok not saat, just one maybe. I guess that’s how many samandar’s there are between India and Saudi Arabia. And yepppp, I’s the going’s the home sweet home’s for the nice longgg chuttiiiii next month!

To begin with, I’m one of the world’s worst travellers. I don’t mean that I start screaming just before the take off or anything, I mean the overly hyper kinda behaviour where your intestines start sprouting like ActII Popcorn on the inside for the most part and you anticipate all the world’s worst case scenarios.....Omigod I lost my passport! Omigod I forgot the ticket at home! Omigod what’s that sound- noooooo puhleeez I don’t want to dieee!!! Yes for real. No kidding there.

Now with all that paranoia you might think I am very careful with the udaan formalities and believe me, I am! Somehow though, for some unexplained reason, I have become poster girl for travel related muddles. But I’m learning.
I could take this as cue to tell you about the frantic dame who met an awesome prince except emm well, I didn't! And the one time I did, he couldn't spell out till the hopeless end, how meant to be the two of us were.
Bleh! I digress.
Anyway, so here’s a couple of things I have already learnt from the side-artists I've met on my travels coursing a span of less than 2 years. I figured, that still is second best.

Story *starring miss kind lady* where i learnt the importance of big golden Godrej locks with big silver keys.
It’s like this. I once had an automatic lock on my suitcase. You know the one where you have a code to remember? Right so far so good. Now the woman at the baggage screening sez she wants to check out all the treasures inside. Ok no problem. So I jingled with the code and set forth to open it. And Haila! What happens? The lock wouldn't budge. Panic gong starts yelling, reaching higher decibel levels in my head with every second and in that frantic moment what am I to do? Redo. Redo. Redo. No luck. Bahhhh! Ok Deeeeep breath. Calm downnn. Try from 000 all the way to 999 and thennnn by some stroke of dumb luck THE woman *God bless her, she is sooooo going to heaven!* said never mind and allowed me to go. *Phew!* And what am I supposed to say next? Thank you??? Nah! Instead with all the tension in my head this is what I say instead,
‘Are you sure?’
*dies*

Another Story *starring the awful meanoo Sunsilk wala's* where I learnt to never ever ever everrrrrr carry shampoos.
Now you may think why in the world I needed to carry a shampoo in the first place. Allow me to explain. I was going to my naani’s place and pretty much our entire khaandaan was going to show up as well. So I gave some sound advice to self. I said, ‘Hey Sadiya! Where are you going to find the time to shop for a shampoo? Take one from home.’ Thik kiya na ji maine?
But nahiii. The bottle BROKE!!!! Into two pieces!!!!! In the suitcase! To make things worse, thanx to the suitcase tagging along with me, I smelt like a shampoo ki DUKAAN, all the conents of the bag were ruined and the worsttttttesttttt part being, I had to wash the bag when I got home and the ‘jhaag’ filled up the entire bath tub. Also, the high its perfume gave me, went straight into my brain. Neverrrr use the yellow wala Sunsilk mannn! Can't even manufacture strong bottles so what kind of strength is it going to give to my hair????
*smug*

Voila! One more story! *starring this time our uniformed men in green* about how holding an aircraft hostage can be pretty cool.
No, my aircraft wasn't hijacked. It’s like I forgot my handbag at the security check and given my kamzor yaaddash, I remembered it only 5 seconds before they closed the aircraft door so I went all, 'Roko rokooo.... chain kheechooo!!!' kind, after which, what followed was a pretty fun experience. They took me in this van like vehicle with armed macho police guys and back at the airport where some responsible folks had already opened my bag, opened my wallet and had my name yelling in the speaker! Whooopieee! I have never felt so like a Miss Popular! And as they escorted me back, I realised the flight had been delayed a good 5 minutes just for meeeeeee. Yayyy! How cool is that! Let me tell you mere liye to generally Auto bhi nahi rukta! :(
The only dampener was the other passengers glaring at me. But hey! Who cares! Ye india hai boss. Chill. As long as no one's dead, Sab chalta hai!
Keeheee :P

Ok, ok last story *starring the invisible Genieee!* giving gyaan on why you mustttt buy only dhinchak bags.
Really! And I mean traffic signal types. Now its not that I am color blind or anything, and believe me- When I put my luggage at the check-in counter, my bag was black. I repeat BLACKKKK- underline underline!!! But then suddenly at the baggage carousel it became blue, so obviously I didn’t identify it and waited for almostttt half an hour although it was rightttt mere nazro ke saamne!!! Honestly. Some things, you just can’t explain!

Those have been a recollection of my experiences thus far. Wonder how it's going to be this time. Maybe I'll miss my onward flight and then be put up at a fancy hotel so naturally that's where I'll meet my SOULMATE! *sapno se bhare naina* :o
Let me know if you have any of your own travel bloopers to share.


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Saturday, February 11, 2012

Black and White





This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.


People have such crazy notions these days. Like murder is taboo. Like a murderer has no right to be heard by an everyday audience. Like if you ignored to acknowledge my existence I just might cease to exist. You secretly hope that, don’t you?
I could change that for you. Give me a chance, yeah?

Now that you choose to hear me, you must know my story is rather tragic. I’m not raging with vengeance or evil though. That’s what I hate about you. You judge me. And you pretend like you’re fair. Justice and all that baloney.  

Some sing, some write. I kill. It’s much the same. It’s art.
And the thing with art is, you can’t decide it to be ugly or beautiful. It all boils down to a perspective. Odd isn’t it, that an uneducated bunch of your folks gang up against me for a bad show of art and suddenly I’m crime material?

And then there is the rigmarole of a pattern. A serial killer must positively have one, they say. Crazy notions I told you! My ‘episodes’ don’t have a pattern. Unless you thought the lack of one to be the pattern. Which could make sense, but then that leaves only a shadow of mutually exclusive outcomes never to recur, as opposed to a universe of unexplored outcomes that you have no idea about.
Worse, if I unwittingly chose to imitate myself from the past that would leave you all confused and messed up. A bit like you are right now, eh?

To tell you the truth, I never choose my victim. If I could, there may have been some satisfaction. But that’s bad for my soul. It’s selfish and if you don’t know by now, I’m a giver. My subject is nothing more than a variable. I often see the attractive faces on board, their dainty laughs, lean fingers and wonder what would change if they encountered me up close. Would their eyes still flutter? Would their lips quiver in shy anticipation? Or is it all a facade that will rip apart?

I don’t know if the sting hurts. But as my pierce scathes one soft layer of flesh through to the next, deeper and deeper, there is a faint trail of crimson that oozes without restraint. The stuff you’re really made of. All those ideals of truth, morals and identity can go kiss the drain for there is just one raw emotion.
Fear.
Such a beautiful thing. It makes people so real. Come back to their innocence. The arrogance, the class, the tantrums, all those additives washed away leaving plain simple pleading. Uncomplicated. Man, I dig it!

I take away the life breath but I give to you in those last seconds of your pathetic existence what really is priceless. What always was. Every act you were ever passionate about, every soul that ever touched you comes alive. I taught you to value it! Now that is satisfaction.

I don't care for your disapproving gaze and I'm not afraid to confess it to the world. It's what I am. A German knife.
One that talks into murdering innocent strawberries every single day of my life. Big ones, little ones, unripe ones, ones that look good on the outside but taste really bitter on the inside.....all of them.
Go figure! :P

When you have a day that looks a glum black and white, tip the blues away with a splash of red.
It’s a sick world with a sick sense of humor!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.