Watered down

We sit on Kooki's terrace. Six of us, I think. I can't tell for sure, it's pretty dark. There's a rustle and glass breaking. Someone curses. The pungent smell of alcohol hits me. I am leaning against the wall. Somewhere to my right, a phone rings. And Deep's face is illuminated momentarily with cellphone light. He slurs slightly, and rubs his forehead. It is his mother,evidently. Evidently, he is also lying to her. I look up.At a distance, the sky is lit up with fireworks. Someone is getting married. Or a cricket match is won. I think it's the marriage. I stand up, and my ears buzz a little. I walk cautiously to the other side, trying not to step on to feet and cans and broken glass. My phone rings. It flashes A's name. I cut it, and try not to think of her. I don't think I need this right now. I hear my name being called. I turn- I am being offered a plastic glass. I am not sure what it holds. I sip, it's a strange concoction- probably Kooki's idea. A seasoned drinker- he likes his drinks to be full of surprises. I down it, and stare hard- trying to digest the potent liquid. Kooki laughs- through the darkness even, he can see my raised eyebrows. Or maybe he is plain high. I walk to the edge, and lean against the rail.I look 7 floors down. It's pitch dark. I hear some one cussing. A generous exchange of four lettered words, in several languages occurs. My phone rings- it's her again. I pick it up. Her voice is deadpan. The truth potion from the plastic glass hits my head- very slowly. I am leaning over the railing. There's silence again. She is asking me something.I pay no attention.
"I cheated on you" I say.
And while, supposedly, her nonchalant world tears apart, or so I believe-
I lean even further and throw up into the darkness.
And far away, the sky is lit up with yet another marriage celebrating electric green firework.

Of small strokes, and large cokes.

A while ago, on an unsuspecting Tuesday afternoon- after an innocent economics extra lecture, I figured I was worried. I don't know what I want to do in life, i have no clue about the status of my scores, my friends aren't really pleased with my lack of time to spend with them, and more often than not I end up sleeping disgruntled.
I walked down and sat through a perfect 30 minutes watching my friends audition for a band and i enjoyed myself thoroughly.
The bit that followed was tiring.and upsetting. While somewhere not very far from where i was, my friend sobbed over the increasing pressure of cultural activities- I stood at a window in LR 52 and cried at the confusion in my life. And while KT tried to assure me how it's all going to be okay- I cried some more at what an awful person i was. And while the people behind me wondered what was wrong, another friend not too far away again, toyed with the idea of backing out of a committee because she was denied a deserving post. Life, a lot of times, is a bitch.
I left college alone- after a long time. Usually, i travel with friends. sometimes it's some one's car. Today everyone had their own plans- Malhar, binge drinking, a date. My phone had died, the battery was upset too. I had no company, no music, and nothing to read. Unless i wanted to spend the last bit of my brilliant day reading labour unions and monopolistic competition. On a admittedly geeky note, that wouldn't have been so bad.
At the station, I ran into you. You were heading home and looked like a mess yourself. But hell knows why, you offered to buy me a burger. At this point, I should tell you I am a die-hard foodie. Offer me a brownie when I am crying blood, and in minutes I cheer up. So as the rain splashed on the glass windows of Mcdonalds in an ironically movie-like manner, you told me over fries and mayo how you'd just gotten dumped. As a mark of extreme empathy, I offered you my coke. You grinned, and did a very innocent variant of the bottoms up. And like a true friend bought me another large coke.
If my days had colours, I'd call this one a bottle green. You're really wary about it, and it's seemingly uneventful. But sometimes, unlike yourself you pick up the bottle green sweatshirt at the back of the store, never wear it, but remove it once in a while, and are very glad you own it.
And when there's enough sleep or alcohol overpowering you, you admit that you don't mind the bottle green so much.

A Smattering of Sundays

I don’t like Sundays. Yeah, it’s a holiday and there are more colored pages in the newspaper- but apart from that what’s the draw? Honestly, I think it’s the most overrated day in the week. All the movies from the back of beyond of the film industry play on TV on Sunday, and once the crosswords have been solved and Sudoku has been mulled over (and never solved. Numbers nauseate me.);the Sunday begins to drag. I engage myself in several useless pursuits- the forty thousand networking sites I am a part of ensure that. If I am not playing Scrabulous ( scrabble for those who choose to burn their calories clicking on a mouse as opposed to moving tiles on a board) or looking at pictures of someone from my Math class posing next to a fountain on Facebook- I’m sleeping. By late afternoon, I am all cooped up from being home all day, my parents take enthusiastic trips to supermarkets- and get me to cheer up by bringing home pop-corn packets and juice- but it’s almost never my flavor.

When my sister was still here, and hadn’t turned into a crazy workaholic American- we’d spend the afternoon watching re-runs of FRIENDS. And almost always- we’d get into a discussion about favorite parts in the sitcom, followed by favorite lines from movies, followed by favorite lines in books- followed by favorite books- and usually rounded off with a smattering of funny quotes from our favorite books and movies .Necessarily in that order. I like the word smattering. It makes me think of warm boiled corn and homemade butter. I don’t know why, but it’s always corn and butter.Now, my afternoons (obviously after I have finished my share of the above mentioned useless pursuits) involve talking on the phone (it’s usually Tandon.) I think I am going to take a minute here to mention what a special person Tandon is. Apart from being a bomb of sunshine on Sunday afternoons- she usually is the protagonist of all the crazy tales I tell and re-tell in social settings. But more on that later. Yeah so it’s the phone- or it’s the newspaper (colored and glossy Bombay Times) or it’s usually some college work that was assigned several weeks ago.Or it’s just pottering around- making to-do lists on fancy stationery, or doodling on the edges of notebooks. For the record, I always make triangles.

So, on one such Sunday evening- Tandon (you will see shortly why she is who she is.) who happened to be in my house decided that she wants to make us an omelette. I conveniently pulled out of this exciting plan. I am not very big on flipping omelettes. She made a huge fuss of chopping onions- and snipping peppers to the right size. It saw its end pretty soon- when Tandon (who can handle only up to 3 eggs) burnt our majestic four egg omlette because she blanked out in the part when you are supposed to flip it. So we had charcoal mustard and ketchup (with just the right taste of burnt eggs) for dinner with lots of juice to run down the aforementioned dinner. By the end we had a sink full of blackened utensils, a broken glass, and a slightly upset looking dining table to clean up. We didn’t say anything good about the eggs- lest the tiny black burnt pieces get insulted. I am going to be off eggs for a while- and Tandon is going to prove her cooking mettle several times till we let her cook for us. But you know what, we may not make the best dinners- but we usually scrape a story to tell. And unfortunately not too many people can pride themselves on that.