My India.

I write this, not because today was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi's 145th birth anniversary, but because the Indian mindset hasn't changed all that much since this day almost a century and a half ago. Sure, Gandhi led the non-violent war against the British and won the Indians a much-deserved freedom from the White Man's tyrannical rule; unfortunately, that freedom did not involve freedom from narrow-mindedness. 

In this twenty-first century, where women are no longer said to be oppressed, they are; where everybody has the right to speech and free expression, it is found shameful for a man to cry. In the largest democracy in the world, people are still distinguished on the basis of the kind of clothes they wear, on the job that they hold, on the kind of car that they drive, and even on the very color of their skin. Where there is said to be unity among diversity, there isn't any. In fact, the more diverse you are, the more shunned and alienated you are, and it is that fear of the unknown that unites homo sapiens all around the planet, and what extinguishes the flame of change and evolution. 

As far as we Indians are concerned, women should be tall, voluptuous, busty and fair-skinned, with a mane of long, dark and shiny hair skimming the tops of their ample backsides. These conventions are said to have changed over time, and many men of modern times claim that they prefer independent, slim girls who have manageable hair. Sure, some men abide by their views of the female kind. But some are just plain hypocrites. When the girls at their college or school go short-skirted or skinny-jeaned, they think it's a turn-on. But when their own wife or sister does it, it's just plain vulgar. Really, men? Ever heard of hypocrisy?

Which is why I am proud to say that I am short, skinny and dark with shoulder-length wavy hair that is battling a certain amount of dandruff, dryness and hairfall. The kajal I apply on my eyes spread at certain times when I am not using a good variety, or when I rub my eyes (yes, I do that). I mostly wear loose jeans and shabby t-shirts. I'm not very good at dressing up. I have a job that I enjoy. I don't ask for respect, but I respect those who respect me. I have a habit of biting the skin off my lips when I'm obsessed with something (yes, it looks bad). I bite my nails. I don't know dressing up. I like action comedies, and cheesy romances.

 All this, because I am HUMAN. I am an ordinary girl, and not a made-up model for some overly blown-up Italian fashion magazine (which features a lot of anorexic girls, by the way). Accept us the way we are, let us be - or go look for someone else. Oh yeah, and good luck finding someone "better" who'll tolerate you hypocrites the way we seedha-sadha aurat do.

Post

This is not an official post. This is a post that has arisen because I want to post something, but don't know what to post. So I thought I'd put a few photographs that I took with:

1. Canon EOS 1100D
2. Canon IXUS 130
3. iPhone 3GS
4. Samsung Galaxy Note II
5. HTC Desire X

All the photographs have been taken at various points of time. I lost out the Note to Hubby, to whom it originally belonged (I wrestled it from him when I realized that he was using it in addition to two others - the iPhone 4S and the Samsung Galaxy Tab 10.1), and I sold the iPhone 3GS (it was a cute, loyal phone, but the battery wasn't all that great and it was much too messy when it came to transferring files. But an iPhone is an iPhone, no matter how outdated or old-fashioned it is, and I miss her. A lot.)

Anyway, here are the photographs:

Just a garden flower
Canon EOS 1100D

Villaggio Mall, Doha, Qatar

Canon IXUS 130

Another garden flower

Canon EOS 1100D

Another part of Villaggio Mall, Qatar

Canon IXUS 130

Charms on a bracelet

Canon IXUS 130

Sunrise from my sister's apartment in Kochi

Canon EOS 1100D

Sunrise from the previous day, same apartment

Canon IXUS 130

My sister's garden flower

Canon IXUS 130

View from Al Corniche, Doha, Qatar

Canon IXUS 130

Storm clouds brewing at Thannermukkam Bund, Alappuzha, Kerala

HTC Desire X

Seashell at Mararikkulam Beach, Alappuzha, Kerala

HTC Desire X

Sunset at Mararikkulam Beach, Alappuzha, Kerala

HTC Desire X

Fallen leaf from the forests of Thommankuthu, Idukki, Kerala

Canon EOS 1100D

Another wild flower from my mother's garden

Canon EOS 1100D

Seashells, arranged precariously and leeched of all colour (editing, of course)

Canon EOS 1100D

Seashells, a golden Laughing Buddha and a hollowed, well-abused piece of wood (I had a little photo session with the seashells, actually)

Canon EOS 1100D

Well, I realize that there are no iPhone shots or Note shots here (I think I Instagram'd all those shots), but I'll show them to you sometime. Also, I know that I am not all that good at photography. But I can promise you that I did not cheat. Whenever I used the DSLR (that I got for my 21st birthday, from Hubby, by the way - he is sweet), I totally put it on manual. I couldn't help with the others, though - they were all autofocus ones by default. But I'm learning to play with shutter speed and ISO and stuff, so I daresay I'll be learning some new tricks soon :)

Until then, take care and goodnight!

Torturing a Mosquito

It seems that a lot of my bog posts are about animals and birds - particularly the most annoying insect in the world, the mosquito. 

Mosquitoes and I go way back. They started picking on me when I little, and have continued to do so to this very day. If there is a mosquito within a ten-mile radius of me, it will invariably find me. One night, I went to bed with the window open a crack, and I was forced to swat mosquitoes all night until I had the sense to close the window and cover my body with a spare bed cover that was thankfully lying around. Next morning, I woke up with my face covered in cute little pimples that took a whole month to get rid of. 

So after little things like these, it would be very hard to feel even remotely sorry for their entire species. But I did, once. Here's that story:

I was in the Physics lab with my fellow eleventh-graders, experimenting on the angle of trajectory or something of water jetting out of a needle (whatever. Science and I have never gotten along, for some reason). I was sitting at one of those long, wooden tables with one of my group mates, my legs dangling from the stool I was sitting on. My group mate didn't have much success either - we were both pretty short for our age, though he beat me in the bulkiness department.

We were talking about some random thing - Full Metal Alchemist, I think; we were both anime lovers - while our other group mate went to woo a girl he was crushing on, when a mosquito started buzzing around my head. It took a few rounds around me, but maybe it thought that I didn't have much blood in my body to spare (I was too skinny at that time), so it headed for my group mate. He followed the mosquito's path as it zoomed around him and finally settled on his arm.

"Want me to swat it for you?" I asked him, raising my notebook.

"Nope," he said.

He then moved his hand very slowly towards the mosquito, and I thought he was going to squish it. Then he did something strange - he caught it between his fingers. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, as he uncapped his pen. 

He didn't reply, but I began to wonder if he was going to put the thing under a microscope and dissect it or something, because he has his tongue between his teeth and a look of intense concentration on his face, the mosquito struggling to be free. Then, so fast I didn't even see it happen, he stuffed the pen's butt into the cap, with the mosquito trapped in it.

"Dude, what are doing??" I said, disgusted, as he began to shake the pen vigorously, with the mosquito still inside. The poor thing's wings were fluttering madly, and it kept hitting the sides of the cap. Then he held the pen still and looked at his prisoner, his eyes screwed. Then he rattled it some more, and the mosquito began to move around madly.

"Just let it go!" I said, trying to snatch the pen away from him. He held it out of my reach, grinning, as the mosquito began headbutting the plastic for freedom. After a few more minutes went by with my friend watching the mosquito struggle and I watched him watch the mosquito (the other group mate was now singing to his crush, and was blissfully unaware of his friend's craziness), he set the pen down on the floor and pulled off the cap.

The mosquito ran. Yes, it literally ran for its life on its spindly little legs, and, while I laughed, I couldn't help feeling sorry for the thing. I watched it run all the way to the next table without looking back, where it opened its wings and took flight. I looked back at my group mate, who was now snickering, and asked, "What did you have to do that for?"

To which he said, "Now that mosquito will think twice before attacking me again."

You got that right, bub. No bug in its right mind would ever go near you again. You made sure of that.

The Frog and Zeus' Master Bolt

This particular incident took place when I was preparing for my 12th standard Board exams, a.k.a the agnipareeksha - the test of fire - that would determine the fate of every higher-secondary student in the country; whether or not he or she would be an engineer, doctor, chartered accountant or a lowly science/arts graduate(needless to say, I belong to this particular group), or, in some rare cases, would be spending an extra year at their medical/engineering entrance coaching centers. 

On the eve of my second Chemistry model examination, I was sitting with my textbook and embellishing my name written above a chemical formula explaining the manufacture of cement (I really hate my name, but, hey, it was the eve of an exam. Of course my name would suddenly be of extraordinary interest to me). It was wet and moist outside, thanks to the constant downpour even during the middle of February. Mom was outside, pottering about in our small garden. Moss had been taking over her flower pots, and there's nothing that breaks Mom's heart than seeing her precious plants being taken over and eaten by slugs and weeds. I was thinking about how nice it would be if there were no crows in this world - weird, I know, and totally random - when I heard Mom shouting outside. Wondering who on earth was at the receiving end of one of Mom's selective curses (since I was inside, minding my own business and doing everything apart from studying) - because, believe me, they aren't very nice, and that's an understatement - I (gladly) threw down my textbook and went outside to investigate. 

When I got to the front door, I hid behind the door frame (I really didn't want Mom to see me away from my textbook, because that just might cause her to fling the damn thing at me) and peeked outside. What I saw made my jaw drop (in a ladylike way, not in The Mask way).

Mom was piling up all the mossy flower pots and some bits and pieces of wood (which made me wonder how she got her hands on so much timber, ours being a relatively modern house with hardly any full-grown trees in its premises) all around our front steps in a frenzy, and cursing and shouting at something at her feet. I stretched my neck and stood on tiptoes to see the object she was being so nice to, and found, to my surprise, a tiny frog, no bigger than my thumb. I was so taken aback by the sight of the frog jumping around Mom's feet, dodging pieces of wood being hurling from all directions at him, that I came out of hiding and started laughing. I was close to doubling up with laughter, when the frog took a giant leap in my direction. 

Squealing like a mouse under a cat's gaze (quite unlike the new-generation mice that steal food right from the rat trap, much less a cat's hypnotic stare), I ran inside to the safety of my room. When I came out five minutes later, meek and trembling, and a little bit ashamed of myself, I found Mom relentlessly in pursuit of the frog, her hands jabbing at the amphibian with a long, plastic pipe, left over from a recent war with our plumbing system. The poor, albeit slimy, creature was performing a bunch of difficult maneuvers that I had the feeling no ordinary frog would be able to do unless chased by a plant-crazy lady with a three-feet-long pipe (that must have looked like Zeus' master bolt to the thing), but there was no getting away from Mom and her master bolt. 

After fifteen minutes of swearing, shouting, cursing and a lot of tinkering, Mom pushed and poked the brave, defeated warrior outside the gate with the pipe, and warned him never to darken her garden again. Then she turned around and looked at me, and it was clear from her expression that she was thinking, "If you try to play games with me, I'll show you how it's played."

With that, she walked away, shouldering her pipe and her nose high up in the air, but not before gesturing me to get my butt back inside my room and study. I left, laughing (nervously - anything that can move around by itself and is out of my field of vision is a scary, blood-sucking monster to me), and I really had no wish to hang around, in case the frog's relatives came looking for him. So, I happily went back to creating designer fonts for my name. 

I paid the price for that in the next day's exam. The only question to which I knew the proper answer was the date, but I scraped through with just enough marks to pass. Oh, well. At least the show last night was

The Flaws of Life

We all claim to be living life to the fullest. But often, we are so wrapped up in getting everything right in our tiny lives that we completely forget our "living life to the fullest" policy. Here are a few glitches of life that really makes me appreciate how nice life is:

• Burning yourself while cooking (and I'm not talking about those fourth degree burns here).
  If you don't get burned while cooking, you're not cooking - you are probably assembling a sandwich, which any idiot can do.
• Bruising your knee.If you don't fall from your bike while learning to balance it, you're missing out on one of the biggest lessons in life - perseverance. 
• Losing in games.If you don't come last or next to last in your school running race or lose out in a game of hide and seek or cards, you will fail to learn to suck it up and get on with life.
• Getting stuck in traffic jams.Okay, so there's nothing nice about getting stuck in a mile-long traffic jam, but it still teaches you that life won't always be very smooth.
• Getting caught in the rain (rain, and not a thunderstorm - unless the thunderstorm throws Thor out of Asgard and banishes him to the Earth. Then you can stay outside and drool, girls).Ever heard of kissing someone in the rain? It's a very nice feeling. I don't mean grabbing a random stranger in the street and sucking their face in like those disgusting aliens (gross) - I'm talking about the one you love. Heck, if you can't kiss them in public without risking life sentence, just hold hands. Switch you iPhones and Androids off and just ... walk. You will realize that love can walk you through anything. (Make sure you dry yourself off later, though)
• Falling sick.Seeing the drab hospital walls all around you and smelling only hospital disinfectant and eating only mashed up broccoli, carrots and peas that are devoid of any taste will definitely help you realize how much we take life for granted - bright, sunny outdoors, your favorite dish, the smell of a flower and the buzzing of bees (unless you get stung - keep your nose out of their nest).
• A late-night drive.Yes, I understand that this isn't always possible, and that it might be downright dangerous just to step out of your house after 8pm in some places, but it will be a great feeling. Roads empty, no noises, no dust, no angry honking - only you and your ride, maybe with one or two friends, all alone and peaceful in the golden glow of the street lamps, and a slight chill in the breeze. Really, there is no feeling quite like it. Makes you see your city/town in a whole new light.
• Working for a living.That feeling you get after working for a month a receiving your salary, especially your first one? Nothing short of one of the proudest moments in your life.

There are a million things that makes life incredible, but I believe the real beauty of life lies in its bumps and potholes - it throws light on how much the rest of life is beautiful. It may may or may not be the best way to appreciate how good we have it, but this stands out for me, like watching sunrise and sipping a cup of warm coffee. Now, that's YOLO.

A rant to mosquitoes, about mosquitoes

WARNING: Do not read if you are easily affected/offended by profanities of the really profane kind. If you are and still read it, don't come telling me that it is not the language fit for a girl. I will simply ask you to fuck off and mind your own business. 

Dear mosquitoes,

I have been wondering for a long time about this particular aspect of your lives - do the suckers in your, tribe, ever shower? And do you ever get sick? Like really sick? If you don't, you should know what a fresh feeling it is to be sick for days on end and then take a complete, proper shower after recovering from the sickness, getting dressed in your favorite jeans and t-shirt and sitting down, feeling like you are in the topmost branch of the Jungian Tree of self-actualization, which, I'll admit, I got from HRH Mia Thermopolis. 

Which is what you assholes ruined for me.

I had two seconds of peace before you started stabbing me like a bunch of demons descending straight from Satan's personal collection of nightmarish abominations. The already-pockmarked skin on my hands were being ripped open again by your tiny little suckers. I tried brushing you all away, but no, you were hellbent on drinking my precious blood. That's when I started slapping you all to death. When I look around, I still see the remains of your pathetic little friends all around me. Even in death, I wish ill of you all.  

You know, I always wonder why you always come for me, even if there are fifty other fat people with the rarest blood groups in the world sitting all around me. I'm just the measly, common universal donor, but you d*******s can't seem to get enough of me. I have never heard another soul complain of mosquito bites as much as I have. Nor do I think has anyone else endured so much because of you motherfuckers as much as I have. 

And what, just what is the deal with the Goddamned singing around my ears??? Don't you realize that not a single bloody one of us wants to hear your out-of-tune, depressingly monotonic composition? And why do you insist on buzzing on the inside of my eardrums??

I realize that you suckers do not shower. Instead, you spend your time wallowing in human and animal excreta and open sewers (because you just wouldn't be able to get out and torture us if the sewer was closed). You are even immune to our Maxxo coils and GoodKnight liquids!! I have tried everything, everything within my power to stop you from invading my house, but despite everything, you swarm in like a pod of sharks attracted to the smell of blood. In fact, you ARE those fucking sharks - and I'm the prey.

BUT, guess what? I'm not totally helpless. I have the skills of Rafael and Nadal to assist me in annihilating your sorry asses. Oh yeah, I have the Bat with me - you cannot be immune to five hundred watts of electricity fucking through you, and take my word for it, you will be ripped apart like a chew toy in a hyperactive puppy's mouth. You will be tasered into painful oblivion. Your puny little asses will quiver until they smoke. And I will watch. I will watch as every single one of you get barbecued for the ants to eat. I will continue my assault until I make sure that your species has disappeared from the face of this unfortunate planet that you think is your fucking property.

Watch out, d'bags. I am coming for you. You ruined my perfect evening, and I will get you for it.   

P.S.: All the best things in life happens at night. Mosquitoes are again a constant presence, yes, but hey, some things you just enjoy even if there are some unwanted guests buzzing around your ears. 

Anyway, here's my drawing of a mosquito:

Well, it resembles a mosquito. This one looks like a bad-ass motherfucker who's smoking pot and got high. That's what his stinger thing looks like - like he's smoking. And the little d*** even has brown eyes! And brown horns. Horns?? I must be high from all that mosquito bites, because I have never seen a horny mosquito before. 

And I hope I never do.

Yours extremely faithfully and Fuck You-ingly,

The owner of this blog.

Mini Review - Snow White and the Huntsman

Directed by - Rupert Sanders

Written by - Evan Daugherty

Distributed by - Universal Pictures

Highlights - Nominated for two Oscars (Best visual effects & Best costume design)

>>>>>

Alright, before you read this, keep in mind that I wrote this review at 1.30 in the morning on my phone, because the mosquitoes were so happily keeping me awake. It appears as though it's incomplete (and it certainly is), and that's because my phone was almost out of battery (one of the many reasons why I love Apple's iPhone and the creator Steve Jobs. NOT). I had also written something else before the "By the way", but that's only for my eyes. Here, you will get an un-edited, middle-of-the-night, highly interesting activity that I came up with, which finally made me end up in a crash and wake up at noon. Read on.

>>>>>

By the way, Snow White and the Huntsman is a bad movie, and Kristen Stewart, beautiful as she is, is a horrible actor. Really. I was left wondering what was so special about the whole movie for it to get nominated for an Oscar. The good thing about the movie was Chris Hemsworth. And the Witch - Ravenna - she was beautiful, though she did have a weird nose (i agree with sis there). Stewart's beauty was marred severely, in my opinion, with her exceptionally poor acting skills. Really, that tree monster had more facial expressions than her. No wonder people slam Twilight so much.

You know, i get the feeling that whoever decides which actor should play which character chose Stewart for the role of SW just so that the film would attract a lot of audience, what with the whole Bell Swan thing. But it ended up with Stewart screwing with the film's director, hence breaking poor Brit Pattinson's heart. But whatever, he took her back. Bitchy.

And as for the witch's brother, well, he kinda reminded me of Rupert Grint aka Ron Weasley. Maybe it was the pitiful expression on his face. Too bad that Hemsworth sent him up. He could definitely have survived, had he been on the good side. Then again, maybe not, as the helpless sidekick always sacrifices his own life for his more talented and important companion (mostly someone at the top layer of the social hierarchy). Just like how he died for his sister, though he didn't want to die. Ah, well. Wrong team, bitch.

And whatever happened in the end? Who was the one for SW? The awkward, geeky prince William who has had a crush on SW for a long time, or the manly, straightforward widower Huntsman (whom i call him Thor, for no special reason) who kissed the lady back to life? They're just leaving us poor souls hanging, and, I'll be honest, i wanted a kiss b/w SW and one of the guys (who cares which guy, they were both cute. Though why Stewart chose to hook up with a sleazy director dude who was twice her age when she had the very sexy, very British Pattinson at her command is completely beyond me). I mean, come on, a kiss kinda seals things. Wait, maybe they left out the kiss because it'll happen in a sequel. Oh God, if that's the case, please let Stewart as SW be dead due to old age, and her daughter Rose Petal (whatever) hunt down the evil witch's insane daughter. Maybe Emma Watson could play Rose Petal. Yeah, Watson would make a fierce warrior woman, and she's pretty, and she can act. Jennifer Lawrence should play the Witch's secret offspring. And the leading man should be... Tom Felton with white blond hair. I really have a thing for Brit boys.

You know, I reckon Stewart (i used reckon instead of think, not because i'm a Brit, but because i grew up reading Harry Potter) has made it a hobby to act only in films in which she is required to run to and/or from dangerous people/supernatural abominations (much like the glittering boy. So gay), jump into cold, dangerous waters from great heights (though she had nobody to rescue her the second time she did that), lie curled up in the forest floor in a fetal position (though she gets up and leaves the second time when she realizes that there are no werewolves/gay shapeshifters to pick her up and get her home), goes Ahead and stupidly gets herself poisoned, and relies on the stronger, much more capable people around her to bring her back to life. Really, Stewart, ever heard of a little somebody called Hermione Granger? Or Katniss Everdeen? Or that girl from the Lord of the Rings trilogy who kills Sauron in the end? (I'd write Anabeth from the Percy Jackson series here, but i've never read it before, so i don't really know her).

And RPat really shouldn't have taken Stewart back. He should have broken up with her as soon as she came swooning back to him (because you can't help but swoon - he's our own Cedric Diggory, aka RPat, duh). He should have asked her to leave and never to darken the Cullen driveway again, and slammed the door on her face (possible ending to the Twilight series of books in a parallel universe). A lot of trees and readers' money could have been saved.

I'm not saying SW&H is a completely horrible movie - i'm just saying that Stewart should stick to modelling, when she's not smoking pot or making out with their directors. Hemsworth, though a fairly good actor, didn't have much to do in this movie, except grieve over his dead wife and drink. The only person whose performance was definitely good and pity-generating was Finn, Ravenna's brother. You can't help but feel sorry for the overshadowed, overpowered man who had perhaps a little too much faith in his vampire sister.

>>>>>

Okay, I realize it is not the greatest review that the movie has ever got - in fact, I realize that this review is mostly about Kristen Stewart cheating on Robert Pattinson with director Rupert Sanders, and also about her acting skills (which sucks). And I now realize that Emma Watson would be better as the Witch's secret daughter, as she's beautiful, and could pull off a negative role quite easily. Snow White's daughter Rose Petal (again, whatever) could be portrayed by... I don't know. A brunette AnnaSophia Robb? And I stick to my conviction regarding the hero - Tom Felton with white blond hair.

And I know I should have used "I" instead of "i", I was just plain lazy to press the shift button, so stop pounding on my door, grammar Nazis. I know what I did, and what I should have done.

And the "sis" mentioned in the beginning is my second cousin, with whom I watched the movie, while also reading out the various everyday words that her five-year-old wrote out on his exercise book for both our benefits, all the while jumping up and down on my lap (he ended up falling asleep on sis's lap, curled into, guess what, a fetal position).

So that's it for my "review". Hope you enjoyed the reasonably foul language. Ciao!