Dad can drive.... sigh!

From the above title it is easy to come to the obvious conclusion that my dad can drive. Of course, he's been cruising behind a steering wheel for more than 3 decades. What more do u expect? The problem and the reason behind this post is the fact that because he knows how to drive... HE WONT LET ME!

This doesn't mean that he never lets me anywhere near the car. I do drive him around once in a while. Infact, i drive ONLY under his vigil. Because, the last time and the only time he let me out alone, i came back home with the rear part of the car smashed in. Err.... Nothing happened to me, don't worry. It was just the rear guard that got hit. Following that, my father has laid down strict rules that i shalt not use the car unless he is sitting right next to me.

That might not be so bad if HE LET ME DRIVE. Yesterday, I had to go somewhere for a 5 minute work and i asked dad if i could borrow the car. As you would have guessed, he decided to accompany me, since i'm still 12 years old and i cannot drive (that was sarcasm btw :P ). Anyhow... here's a conversation between my father in my subconscious mind:

Act 1 Scene 1

The parking lot at our apartment is narrow and it takes a little time to maneuver the car out of it. My dad, who had driven the car the previous night, had not put the gear back in neutral. I did not notice this. This is wat happened:

I turn key

Car lurches

My mind (MM): Dad must've left the gear on. Will change it to neutral and start again.

1 second later

Dad: I've left the gear on, don't you see? Where are your eyes? Don't look at that boy standing there. Look at the gear. Change it to neutral

Act 1 Scene 2:

As we wait to turn into the main road

MM: Here's a gap. I'll just put the indicator and turn.

.5 second later

Dad: There's a gap. Turn here. What are you doing? Put indicator. Do i have to tell you all this? And you want me to let you drive alone.

MM: Sigh...

Act 2 Scene 1

Driving down a considerably empty road.

MM: Let me shift to third gear.

1 second later

Dad: Shift to third gear now. Don't you know you have to shift gears? You are wasting my petrol! I am paying for it not you.

Act 2 Scene 2:
Nearing a red signal

MM: I'll just gradually push in the brakes from now on, so that it stops completely behind that innova.

1 second later

Dad: Put on the brake. Why are you driving at top speed when you know that the signal is red. You wil only hit that innova if you do. Step on the break gradually and halt there.


Act 3 Scene 1:
Nearing a one-way

MM: I think i should just take a U Turn here

Almost

Dad: Take a u turn. It's a one way. Can't you see? Blind girl. You are giving me tension every minute. Why can't you think all this for yourself? Why are you waiting for me to tell you?

MM: @#%@$@$@^@

Sweeping someone off their feet.

Now, i'm not really into research and analysis et all but today as i was watching a 'Varanam Aayiram' song video, i hear Suriya mutter this punch dialogue to his lady love "I'll come for you and i'll sweet you off your feet". Now this expression 'sweeping someone off their feet' sent my abnormal brain into deep thought and this brain quickly brought up a theisis on the expression itself!

'Sweeping' someone off their feet can mean two things:

1. Sweeping with a broom 'off' their feet, meaning, somewhere around, inbetween or in the vicinity of their feet.

2. Sweeping them off their feet >> using a broom to trip them so that they are totally 'off' their feet or hitting them with a broom until they are down on their knees. Now they're on their knees, not feet, right?

Do you get it?

Now why would someone want to do that to someone they love? It is beyond me. Let us consider both situations alright? And consider yourself in the middle of each and trying to propose to someone you love.

Situation 1:

"I will come for you and i will sweep you off your feet"

Action: The person standing in front of you and you take up a broom and start sweeping around them. Actually, if you are a guy, this might sound grim! But looking on the brighter side, the girl might actually accept you for one of the following reasons :

• She thinks you'll make a good house husband
• She thinks your broom is a good one
• She thinks your a part of the witches committe
• She thinks you are dumb, which is an added advantage
• She's a dominatrix whose sole aim in life is to make men sweep floors.

If you're a girl, well, consider yourself married by next monday!

Situation 2:

"I will come for you and i will sweep you off your feet"

Action: The person is standing in front of you. You take a broom and start beating them up or tripping them, both of which ain't a very bright aspect. But..... but... they may accept you still because:

• They will be tripping and hitting other parts (oww!) of you very soon
• They think you will stop beating them if they accept
• You them a good back/foot massage that cured an annoying crick in their back/foot that has been there for years.
• They think you are trying to drive a deadly spirit out of them
• You are putting them to the test with a very weirdly done obstacle course

So there's my analysis of this very peculiar situation. It might not be a thorough analysis but it is one still. And it will make you think the next time you use that word to propose your love to someone... hahaha.. i've expertly ruined one of the most romantic english idioms ever :P And i'm proud of it.

The Encounter Specialist

V - Encounter Specialist in the FLASH

At the wake of terror in Mumbai, two important people of the country were in deep discussion on how the situation could have been handled and how easily it would've been to rescue the hostages then.

My friend V and I were discussing possibilities of her becoming an encounter specialist and saving those hostages. Here is the conversation:

V: My blood boils everytime i see terror attacks on my country. I was telling my mother that i want to join the RAF.

Me: What was her reaction?

V: What do you think? She laughed on my face.

Me: I would have too, had i been her. Why don't you think of something more feasible for you? Like sucking on your lolly pop?

V: Shut up. Am almost a year older than you.

Me: But you look like a 12 yr old.

V: That is an advantage. I have a plan all sketched out in my mind. A plan, had i been in RAF now, that would have worked against the situation.

Me: What plan?

V: I will dress up as a cabaret dancer and entertain the terrorists so that they're distracted then i'll shoot them all. *Makes gun noises*

Me: Child, if you look like a 12 yr old, they're gonna be disgusted. They may even say 'awwwwwww' instead of 'aaaaahhh'. They're not pedophiles you know.

V: Excuse me. Now i'm 20 and i look like 12. When i am 26 i'll look 18 right? I will look like a woman then

Me: You are right. So, if u are a cabaret dancer it means u'll have to dress scantily. You don't think they'll spot the gun?

V: Good point. I didn't think of that.

Me: Do one thing. Do cabaret dance and invite them one by one to your room. When they come, shoot.

V: Super plan! Cha i wish i could become a commando. I'll be the bravest. And when i'm killed in an encounter with a terrorist you'll see vidoes of my marching straight, looking all brave, in every news channel.

Me: Haha... Yeah. They will say "V took a bullet for the country".

V: Yeah. *dreams*

Me: By the way, why didn't you come to office today?

V: My mom told me she'll kill me if i step out of the house today.

Me: ROTFL! Hostage situation, indeed.....

ITS OUT! ITS OUT! ITS OUT!

This thing's giving me the goosebumps.... superb trailer!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE

Just off the head.....

Today... i was trying to write a lead paragraph for ma story on Ranga Rao (refer to previous post). I think i've seriously got into another one's of my writer's blocks. Coz i wrote and i wrote and i wrote... and at the end of a strenuous 2.5 hrs, i had mastered the art of writing two full sentences, which i later erased because i thot it wasn't good enough! Leaping lizards! And i thought i could write.......

Anyway, my comp at home is infected by sum 'entranneous illegal activity' (thanks to a very tech savvy dad who doesn't know anything about viruses and is extremely fascinated by pop up windows) and i sat down in my office to write the article. I was bent on finishing it today. Well, my luck was otherwise...

I began..

"A seventy something bespectacled man opened the door...."

naaaaa.......

"A man, sporting a striped orange kurta and white pyjaamas with sandles"

I'm not writing for Vogue

"Down a narrow wooded lane off haddows road..."

Uh... this ain't a horror novel...

"What do you do when you are passionate about art, music, dance and writing? You start a collection of gramaphones"

DELETE DELETE DELETE

"What do you do when you are a music and dance scholar?"

Make sure you never give an interview to this shitty journalist.... DELETE!

"Ranga Rao, a seventy something man has the country's largest collection of gramaphone records, numbering to a massive 42,000"

Stamp, trample, kill..... yourself

"....................................................................."

That's the best i've written all day

And so i've been going on...... and i'm yet to arrive at the perfect sentence... Sigh!

False Impressions

Till this very day, i thought i wasn't a judgmental person. I thought i was a person who could determine people's characters well since i observe alot, by default. But i proved myself terribly wrong and bow my head in apology to a man i learnt to admire today.

V.A.K Ranga Rao. He's in his late 70s' and i decided to interview him for my paper. What is so special abt the man? Well, his impeccable english though he's just done his 12th std is one. Apart from which he owns the largest collection of gramaphone records in the country (42000) to be precise. Whoa!

Anyway, the guy was haughty and threw an attitude on the phone and i braced myself for this meeting, thinking i was about to face a 'cantankerous' old man, as he himself told me later. Well, when i reached his place and called him, he told me to come ten minutes later. Of course he didn't know i was waiting outside his place but it put me off. It worsened the already bad impression i had on him.

But as soon as i went back ten mins later and knocked on the very old house he lives in, i knew i was wrong. He invited me inside graciously. He sported a smart orange kurta and white pyjamas. He looked scholarly and a little weathered. As soon as i entered the house, i found is ironical to his sophisticated, impeccable behavior. The house was MESSY! it was full of dust with gramaphone records, books, papers, envelopes lying all round the place and a table right in the centre. The house had 2 floors.. .all three levels containing more books and more records. I was mesmerised!

As he started talking about him as a critic.. the amount of mistakes he found in every book, i was hooked since i was a voracious reader myself. I found his knowledge on varied subjects to be absolutely stunning. He's what one would jokingly call 'walking encyclopedia'. And by all means, he justifies the nick name.

After a tour of almost 5-6 rooms in his mansion dedicated to books, books and more books, videos and records, i wondered if they were his only company. He seemed chatty, asking me a few personal questions here and there but not altogether unprofessional. He was blunt, straight forward and did not mince words at all.

I find bluntness in men a very admirable quality. And this old man was right on target. If i spoke softly he would say "i'm sorry, i'm deaf, could you be louder?". If i stood up and continued the interview he would shoo me to a chair "i can't talk to you if you stand. Please sit or i won't be able to hear you". If i asked him a particular question and didn't write it down he would say "i don't tolerate factual errors". it made me scribble steadfastly across my book even though i didn't understand what i wrote.

He said to me "just wait 5 mins. i 'm making tea". When i refused it he said "it's not for you. It's for me. in the process, i'll just give you half a cuppa"... and he made me drink the drink i despise so much i've not even smelt it in years!

Well, by the end of the our interview session, i had become his ardent admirer. The guy is an expert, not because he has to be but because he wants to be one! It was superb and though i didn't have an ounce of the knowledge he had, i felt as though i had achieved a great feat by interviewing this man.

He was not such a cantankerous old man after all, just a guy who can-carry-tank-sized-info and had a computer like amazing memory. Kudos! to this walking encyclopedia.

The Eeenglish patientu

Here i am beings the eeenglisu patientu because-u today i happenings to meetings oone verrry interesting persons-u that wantings to know the ways to one place-u. But she thinkings su that i don't know tamil and talkings to me in the eenglisuuu.. you understandings aah? Anyways, i was the walkings to the buss topu and was standings waitings for the bussu to come when the ladies approachings me and askings very eeeemportant koshtin in the eenglisu...

"Where to go for porur?", she the askings, leavings me the dumbfounded. I not understandings a word she sayings so decently i askings "pardon me". She smilings. I was wonderings why all adventures happenings in connection buss for me. "You not know eeeenglis?", she askings me kindly. That throwings me long long ways. "I the understand", i stammerings.

"Oh oh... You not know proper eenglis? All these girls these days not know proper eenglis even though they studyings in the eeenglis medium school. Grooming is not nice i tell you", she the complaining. I the gaspings. THIS LADY THE TALKINGS ABOUT THE PLIGHT OF THE EENGLIS... i not bearings.. i decidings to show her who the boss is.

"Look", i tellings her. "Eenglis is very the tough language to the understanding. I can see that you have the masterings it but i haven't. Don't keep the complainings. Why not you startings a coaching centres to teach the eeenglis to the poor childrens?". i the retortings. Suddenly for her bulb is oning and bell is ringings.

"Yes yes", she sayings. I am hopings it is not what i am dreadings. "I am going to the start one coaching centre for traning all these childrens in proper eenglis. I am thinkings that i won't even charge the fee. it will be free. you want to the join?", she lookings hopefully at me. Sarcasm is the lost, i'm thinkings.

"Its wokay madam", i consoling her. "I'm very the busy with work now but i am tellings you, your students beings the very lucky. Tell my congratulations." She the satisfied and walkings off, leavings me nostalgic.

I'm thinkings of a particular physics teacher in the school where i was the studyings who gave amazing dialogues about the girls who are the wearings short skirts.

"All these girls want to do is show the boys boys boys their thighs thighs thighs"

Cinderella Story..... II

From then on, life isn't so bad. I spend my days sneaking a few minutes before and after work to talk to Ajay. At last i have a friend. He teaches me many things. About life, about love, about family.

For months, i learn from him. He slips me few bucks here and then and my savings is considerably large now. I'm scared one day my father will find it and take it away. And i'm also scared about another thing.... I'm falling in love with Ajay. His careless smile, his charm, the way he holds my hand when he wants to say something serious, his hugs, the way he taught me to dance the other day, pulling me close et all; they make me feel things i've never felt before. I want to hold him too.

A few days later, at the restaurant, i see a man and woman kiss. It gives me goosebumps. The rest of the evening i sit in a corner, imagining myself kissing Ajay. It's a worthless fairytale dream. I know. But i can't get over it all the same.

I have decided to tell Ajay how i feel. I'm scared. I still wear the same old dirty pant and shirt when i go to work but i change into what he has bought me when we meet in the evenings. I am wearing a black and white t shirt and blue jeans that he'd got me few months earlier. I try to tame my hair but it isn't working out. I look into my small pocket mirror and decide i look decent. Today will be the day i break my own heart. But i can't help it. It's the risk i need to take.

I wait at the usual place and he cruises in on time, in his fancy car. He is wearing an olive green tee and light blue jeans that are hanging on to dear life on his lean hips. He waves. "What's up buddy", he gives me a hi5. "I need to talk to you", i say. "Sure. Shoot". "I.... Umm... I think i'm falling in love with you", i blurt out.

Uneasy silence follows. I want to die right then. He's going to laugh on my face and tell me that i was a slum girl dreaming of unattainable things. I see his face fall and his jaw drop. A tear seeps through my eye lids. I've never cried before. It's a strange feeling. Half relief and half pain. What a mixture. I see him shake his head and walk away from me. I knew then he'd never return.

5 years have gone by. I still think of him and tears come freely. My parents are still at it. They have now started kicking each other. Improvement, i mutter to myself and walk away everytime it happens. I have changed jobs. I'm now working at a beauty salon and get paid a lot more than i used to. I get around Rs.3000 a month now. My home life is still shitty. My personal life is as lonely as ever.

I walk down the narrow lane to the rented apartment that i now live in. I shifted here since my salary was good enough. It's not much but it gives me a separate room and i stay away from my violent parents. I have realised, as bad mouthed as they are, they need me and i don't complain anymore.

I lose myself in my thoughts and a sudden movement in the sky makes me look up. A shooting star. The pang slices through me like a knife. I walk faster. No more empty wishes. My father was right. Why would god waste his time on a pathetic excuse for a human being like me. As i break into a run, i dash into a passer by. I look up to excuse myself. "Sorr..." The words stop.

The man who made me run is now in front of me. He has grown taller, more muscular. His shirt fits his broad shoulders like it is custom made for him and his trousers stand perfect at his waist. There is no more the air of a laid back teenager. The lines around his eyes have hardened and he is now a man. "Hi", he says and i go back five years. The table. My dirty dress. His 'hi'.

I nod. I don't know if i should say anything. "Remember me?", he asks. I nod again. He seems to gain more confidence and moves closer. "Your looking beautiful tonight". My head snaps up and meets his eyes. I've heard these words a million times in these five years; men trying to court me, trying to get fresh with me, trying to touch me but i've never heard them the way he said it right now.

I find my legs giving way as i try desperately to stay calm and resist the urge of running to him to give him a hug. I stay still. "I'm sorry i went away that evening. I was just 19. I didn't knw what i was doing. All i could think of from that very day was you. I dreamt of the day i'd meet you again. When i finally found the courage to come to you, they said u had moved. I thought you didn't want me in your life and you decided to move on. But i couldn't give up. I searched the entire city and found your place a few months back. I've been watching you. Today, i decided it's time for me to make myself clear. I love you. I made a mistake. If you would give me one more chance, i'll spend my entire life making it upto you".

Uneasy silence again. I look up. The shooting star is right above him. I smile. I know right now that God had indeed taken time off to make my wish come true. But i had to know. "Are you sure?", i ask him. Slowly, he smiles too. The same smile that had made me fall for him. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life". He extends his hand to me. The same way he had, five years ago. I take it and he pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me. And i have my first kiss after 23 years of nothing but disappointments and regrets. The same way i had imagined kissing him 5 years ago. I pull away and point to the sky....

"Look! There's a shooting star. They say if you make a wish on a shooting star it'll come true. Why don't you try. It worked for me "

The cinderella story.....

They say if you make a wish on a shooting star it'll come true... I made one too..

I brush the dust off my already dirty pants and start walking home. One, two, three... I count the steps to pass time and just as i reach home, the remnants of the smile i wore faded away. I see the usual scene... my mother screaming her eyes out and throwing things at my drunken father who tackles them and rushes at her with his meaty fists.

Sigh! If only they would just shut up. If only they knew how angry i was becoming with every fight. If only they knew that their only daughter hated their guts because she was 18 and had to work her ass off while they fought and spent whatever money she made.

I don't have any pretty clothes. I don't have a cell phone. I don't have money. I don't have friends. I work at a local restaurant that pays me Rs. 100 a week, which barely helps meet ends at home. I wear the only pair of faded Grey pants (handed down from my father) and blue t shirt that i own to work everyday. They laugh at me. They howl and jeer. Though tears sting my eyes, i always manage to suck them back and move on, hoping that one day i'd be free from all this pain.

I sit in my chair, looking at my mother curse my father with words that i've grown used to over the years. They've been at it since i was 6 and 12 years of this has made me numb to it. I stay still until the fight is over and then walk to my mother like i do everyday. "Dinner", i mutter and she gives me a disgusted look. I hold up my plate and she slaps a very weird looking goo on it, like she does everyday.

I push down the goo without so much of a second thought and walk outside. I look up at the sky and smile as i spot a shooting star. They say if you make a wish, it'll come true. I close my eyes and make a wish. I hold it close, afraid that someone will steal it from me if they ever sense it. I am suddenly afraid God might not like it if i didn't smile when i made a wish so i give the biggest smile i can muster as i release my wish into the sky, all the while looking at the star as it leaves a temporary trail across the skies.

THUMP! Something suddenly hits me hard on the head. I turn to see my father hitting me with his liquor bottle. Any harder and the glass would have broken and i would have been lying on the ground in a pool of blood. "What" i ask him. "What are you doing outside? Oh, little girly is making a wish. Don't you have any better thing to do? Do you really think God has time to listen to your pathetic little wish? Move over before i kill you". The alchohol in his breath is enough to kill me. I inhale deeply to avoid passing out and run into the cottage i call home.

I drift into a troubled sleep, only to wake up from dreams of absolute poverty and homelessness. They strike me every night and i wake up drenched in sweat, my heart beating faster than mortally possible. Every night i go through this.

The next morning, as i scrub plates and deliver food to zillions of customers i spotted one of the regulars. This one, i liked looking at. He was my age, always wore loose tee shirts and jeans, with some music device and headphones poking out of one of his hundred pockets. His head seemed to move to the music and he always sat with his eyes closed til his order came.

I walk up to him with his food and he smiles at me. I smile back. "What's your name?", he asks me. I am starled. Why would this guy actually want to talk to me? I suddenly feel conscious of my looks and shy away. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks again but i'm tongue tied. Nobody's ever wanted to talk to me before. But here is one, asking me my name. "Aisha", i say, and it turns out to be a whisper. "Beautiful name", he smiles. I blush, much to my embarrassment. "So where do you live?", he egged me on. "Umm..." i didn't know what to say. I decided to confess the truth since he'd find out for himself sooner or later. "The slum near S.t Xavier's church", i reply. He nods his head. "I'm Ajay", he gives his hand to me. Ok what am i supposed to do now? I stare at him. He laughs, takes my hand gently and shakes it.

"We're friends".

To be continued....

TAG!!

I was tagged by a certain someone who was later mad at me that i hadn't posted the tag the same day... so here it is... please reply :P and no funny answers! (SINDHIYA... THIS MEANS YOU)

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. Something I have and YOU want?
4. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it?
5. Describe me in one word.
6. What was your first impression of me?
7. Do you still think that way about me now?
8. What reminds you of me?
9. If you could give me anything what would it be?
10. How well do you know me?
11. How do you see me in the future?
12. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
13. Are you going to post this in your blog and see what I say about you?

If thou hast read the post, then thou art TAGGED!