Fucking exams.
Fucking shit.
Fucking fuck.

I feel a little better.


i know everything.

I should be studying psychology right now. But I'm not. Because I know everything. Except Statistics but that doesn't count. What's to know?

2364444446: Mode is 4.

2 2 2: Mean is 2.

See? And the Median is the point above which and below which 50% of the cases lie. Therefore, the Median is the midpoint.

And the Normal Probability Curve looks like an upside down bell. When it is skewed, it looks like a bell made out of plasticine and stretched out of shape. No big deal.

The range is the difference between the highest score and the lowest score. Standard deviation is...okay fine. One thing I don't know. Once again, no big deal.

And they better ask me a question on Carl Jung. I know Jung inside out. I also know that his name is pronounced Yoong, unlike most of my class.

I like Carl Jung. Collective unconcious: experiences shared by all human beings, part of our biological heritage. Archetypes are manifests of the collective unconscious. This is why certain concepts or images like sun, hero, wise old man, mother are shared by all people. This is why the folklore of different cultures contain many of the same figures.

So cool.

And I know mental disorders. Most of my family seem to suffer from most of the symptoms I've read about. I have an uncle who definitely suffers from delusions of grandeur. My grandmother suffers from depression as well as delusions of persecution. One of my cousins suffers from depersonalisation disorder. I know everything about schizophrenia. Especially catatonia which is a type of schizophrenia where the schizophrenic remains in an awkward/abnormal/very uncomfortable to look at position for long periods of time.

I also know everything about stress. I am not feeling stress at the moment. No stress. But I know the causes. And effects. And ways to cope with it. Sorted. I shall never feel stress again. Whenever I do, I shall practice progressive relaxation.

What else? Oh yeah, Freud. I know Freud's theories. He was a sick bastard.

And therapies- I know all the therapies. I've been counselling my friends since I was six years old. Free association? Been there, done that. Unconditional positive regard? Ask Vikram. I have put him in an atmosphere of unconditional positive regard. Does he appreciate it? HAH!

What else? Applications of psychology? Common sense. Intelligence tests. Stanford Binet Scale. Invented in Paris in 1905. Revisions- mostly usless in my opinion- done in 1908, 1911, 1916 (bloody Stanford University), 1937 and 1960. I presume they gave up after that. Wechsler...I know how to spell his name. That's more than anyone else knows I bet.

And I know about endomorphs, ectomorphs, mesomorphs. I know about sanguine, melancholic, choleric and phlegmetic types.

I also know about introverts and extraverts (not extroverts)

I am an introvert.


It's been a long time.

A really long time. And sometimes it feels like forever and sometimes it feels like a fleeting breath. A whisper into the wind.

And sometimes there's fire and sometimes there's water and sometimes wet earth and cloying winds. A sultry summer's day. Too sultry maybe. Too still. Sometimes.

But when I need to climb into that hole and pull the darkness over me, you are that darkness. Gentle and velvet and soft and protective.

And the light I see when I open my eyes.


I've lost track of how many exams are over, but I know that after today, I have only three exams left. Kind of fucked up that they're going to drag on till the second though.

The trouble is today's exam. Bangla.

I've read all of Nishkriti, for the first time ever, but unfortunately I don't understand what they're all on about most of the time. I've read the first fifteen chapters of Rajarshi, which I understand, even less and I'm relying on Jahnavi Jha, who is my lifeline, to tell me the rest. I looked over the eighty four bagdharas that Manjudi made me write out and I've mugged up about thirty. Knowing my fucked up luck, none of them are going to come anyway. I know that red is tocktock and black is koochkooch which is evidently going to help me a lot today.

Never mind. This is hopefully, the last Bangla exam I shall ever have to write. I bid a not so tearful farewell to Manjudi on Monday. My affection for her has increased of late. Especially when I saw her walk out the door. She's promised that she'll be taking me and Jayatri to eat Chinese food before I leave for my Amazing Holiday. That could have something to do with it. I'm a sucker for Chinese food.

Next exam is on the twenty eight. So today I'm going to meet Vikram and we are going to get some rolls for dinner and watch Juno. He hasn't seen Juno yet. I'm betting we'll watch about twenty minutes of it before he makes me switch it off. He's not a fan of movies that don't have people dropping dead.

Last night, Mama realising how depressed I was, was nice enough to order some Spaghetti Al Funghi for me from Fire and Ice. I love Spaghetti Al Fungi. It's this thick cheesy spaghetti with mushrooms. We sat and watched an episode of the Vicar of Dibley which is the most hilarious tv show ever.

Tomorrow, I shall sleep in. I'll put the AC on and draw my curtains and sleep in till at least ten. It's comforting to know I won't have to wake up at three thirty in the morning for the next ten days.

The second is looking a whole lot closer now. When I was in class eight, I was always convinced that class ten would never come. Then it was class ten and I was positive that after ICSE, ISC would never come. Strange things have been happening. I'm eighteen now, which is something that my ten year old self was convinced would never happen. When I get back from my Amazing Holiday, I shall take driving lessons. I always thought the epitome of grown upness was driving a car, with Mama riding shotgun, and with sunglasses perched on my nose.

That's another thing I'm going to do as soon as the exams are over, buy sunglasses.

I am so lame.

Our new maid is from Orissa. She's a tribal I think and she has tattoos all over. I've counted at least three so far. God knows what else is hidden under the sari. Anguri doesn't like her because she's really nice and efficient. Anguri feels jealous.

I don't think I've mentioned my Amazing Holiday. Strange, because I've told everyone else about it. To the extend that everytime I open my mouth, they all tell me to shut up.

Anyway, basically on the eleventh, I leave for Madras to spend a couple of weeks with Dad. Even though it means sitting at home with not much to do because he's always working, it's still okay because Proiti has an amazing movie collection and I'll be watching five movies a day. There are also seven dogs in the house for me to talk to. Dogs are very good listeners. All you have to do is keep a biscuit in your hand. And I'm going to make Dad take me to that Italian restaurant near the beach and get drunk on wine again. I won't be going down to the beach though, on account of how the last time I went, with Teesta who was staying for a couple of days, I got accosted by two strange men who asked me to take their photgraph. And then they tried to take ours. I got totally freaked out and didn't say anything but Teesta was unbelievable- she started screaming at them, saying her father was in the government and would put them in jail and then they ran away. Then we waded into the sea and a wave knocked me over and I dropped my phone and I pulled Teesta down with me and she dropped her phone too and we spent the rest of our holiday trying to dry out our poor phones (which never worked again) with a hair dryer.

But I digress.

After Madras, I'm going to Kuala Lampur for four days to stay with Siddharth. He has already promised me that I shall not spend a single moment of that time, sober. What fun.

Then Bali for a week, to stay with my cousin. He lives right on the beach and I shall go para gliding and bungee jumping (My mother's been telling me that my eyeballs will fall out of their sockets but whatever) and I shall swim, swim, swim (I know how to get out of a riptide by the way, it's easy. Must be only stupid people who drown) and come back with an amazing tan.

It's taking me five days to get home because there's no direct flight and I'm stopping off for another weekend at Madras. I'm back on the 11th.

I think this is why my mother's being so nice to me. I've never gone out of the city without her for more than two weeks. I think she knows that once I've left, there will be an irreplacable hole in the house. Good. Serves her right. She should appreciate me more while I'm here.

Anyway, it's past nine and I'm going to go and call Jahnavi and get her to explain the entire syllabus to me.

This is a very long post.



The faculty of making happy discoveries by accident.


Boys In Books Are Just Better.

Fictional male characters in books who I could very happily commit myself to for all eternity:
1. Joe Morelli, Stephanie Plum
2. Harry Potter, Harry Potter
3. Jughead Jones, Archie Comics
4. Mr Darcy, Pride and Prejudice
5. Michael Moscovitz, Princess Diaries
6. Julian Kirrin, Famous Five
7. Gilbert Blythe, Anne of Green Gables
8. Aragorn, Lord of the Rings
9. Gerry Something, PS I Love You
10. Noah, The Notebook
11. Robin Hood, Robin Hood (there must be a book on him somewhere)
12. Robbie the Sex God, Confessions of Georgia Nicholson
13. Mr Knighton, Emma
14. Jesse de Silva, The Mediator
15. Algernon Montcrieffe, The Importance of Being Ernest.


There is a little man running inside my head.

Running, running, running. He can't see very well so he bangs around my skull.

Bang bang bang.

Run run run.

Bang bang bang.

Run run run.

He refuses to go away, that little man. He refuses to go away and leave me alone. And he tells me things, things that have so many words and the words have so many syllables and letters and colours and it whirls around in my head and makes me want to scream.

I need a holiday.



I went to the Servaias' the other evening.

Their cat- which I rescued, a lifetime ago- was very much in evidence, but I couldn't see the pigeon- which is a relatively recent acquisition- anywhere. This didn't really surprise me because the cat is a noisy cat and is always everywhere, peeing on bags and drinking from glasses and biting and scratching and making strange sounds because apparently, she is starved of sex. The poor little pigeon on the hand, is never seen nor heard.

Anyway that evening, I wandered into the little verandah where the pigeon is usually kept (she can't fly). I didn't see the pigeon. Then I wondered if she was dead. It was quite possible. Vikram/Aditya could easily not have mentioned it to me because the pigeon is something that is not usually mentioned. On account of it never being seen or heard.

I felt very bad at the thought of the poor dead pigeon who had been rescued by these kind people only to die.

I went into the living room and asked Vikram when the pigeon had died.

"The pigeon isn't dead," he said, looking puzzled.

"But it's not anywhere around," I said.

"Oh, it's probably under the bed," he said.


"Under the bed,"


I was about to ask whether it wasn't dangerous for the pigeon and the cat to be loose at the same time. Because cats eat pigeons. I looked at the cat which was too busy licking itself in obscene places to worry about the pigeon. Stupid question.

I learnt that the pigeon likes to wander around the house. But her favourite place is under the bed where she takes long naps and probably tap dances in the bargain. There was a lot in my mind that I tried to put in my mouth but it didn't work, so I just sat quietly on the bed, ignored the cooing sounds that were coming from underneath and ate buttered toast.

Sometimes to keep your own sanity, you have to accept the insane.


Ha ha. Ha.

Sitting and staring.

Sustainable Agriculture. Sustainable Management. Sustainable Development.

Sustainable everything except Sustainable Interest.

I call Minnie. How much have you done? Wait I don't want to know.
She laughs and doesn't sound freaked out. I suppose she's done everything.
How much have you done, she asks.

Four chapters, I say.

She laughs and tells me to stop joking.

And I don't have the guts to tell her

That I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life.


*Blink blink*

Studying for ISC has completely dried up my creative process.