Five random memories

Haha, now that I've started blogging again, I can't seem to stop. I'm constantly looking out for things to blog about. That's when this idea hit me. Five Random Memories. Here we go.

1. Year, 1994. Age, 6 going on 7. Standard 2. Cochin. I was asked to monitor my class for an hour or so 'cause the teacher had other more important things to do. I was thrilled. The Class Monitor. What a freakin' star I am, I thought. The teacher must really like me to give me *such* an honour. I strut around class, giving everyone a i'm-the-boss-now-don't-mess-with-me look while i secretly bask in my awesomeness of being made the Class Monitor. I share giggles and winks with my friends (hey, I might be a monitor, but I would never give them  that look). I'm on top of the world. But then, I see this one kid who sort of starts talking. I give the kid my world famous look. Nope. Doesn't seem to work. I try once again. Nope. Nothing. I tell him politely next, cos I'm nice that way. That only gets him talking more. Now I'm really pissed. I raise my voice. He stops for a bit, and starts when he thinks I'm not going to give him hell again. I pick up a scale. Ha! That should intimidate the crap outta him. Like all normal beings, he's curious. Will the girl with the stupid grin on her face actually wield the pain-maker? He makes his neighbour laugh. I go up to them and brandish the scale in his face. It's a warning. Don't you dare let a sound outta that stupid hole in your face, I say. He's quiet again, for a while. By this time, everyone else in class is starting to think I can be messed around with. There are a few more giggles and whispers floating around. All of a sudden, almost everyone realises I don't really intend to use the ruler, and it's mayhem! Everything's going wrong. The kids are supposed to listen to me, be scared shitless by the scary picture of the scale and me! In vain, I scream, I'm gonna hit you if you don't keep quiet. But obviously, noone's listening.

2. Year, 1998. Age, 10. Goa, Holiday with family. It was the year one of my cousins  got married. We'd come down to Bangalore from Hyderabad for the wedding and decided to go on a family holiday to Goa, of all the places. I don't remember much of the trip. We went on a 'cruise' one evening. There was alcohol and soft drinks. I remember thinking how awesome it was that I was allowed to have TWO Pepsi's.   I was a kid high on Pepsi and loving every bit of the 'cruise', which consisted of not much. Some lame-ass chairs around the deck, some lame-ass music and a lot of old people getting drunk. We went back to the hotel where I slept like any 10 year old sleeps, deeply. Obviously all that cola had to manifest itself in some form or another. That night, it didn't stop me from falling asleep. Instead, it woke me up in the middle of the night wanting to be released. As a kid, I'd always been afraid of the dark, and a dark hotel room was scarier than all the scary stories put together. There's something about hotel rooms that creeps me out. And the bathrooms are worse. That's the scariest room in a hotel room. The while tiles, the mirror, the shower curtains, the bath tub, the towels hanging on the side, the paleness and smoothness of it all is the perfect place for a monster to hide. And the walk to the bathroom. *shudder* The thought of my heart beating in my ears as I walk towards the bathroom is enough to send me deeper into my sheets. I try and wake my mum up. The monsters wouldn't dare attack if my mum was around. She grunts and rolls over. 'Amma, I have to go to the bathroom', I explain. She asks me  what I'm waiting for, half asleep. 'I'm scared, come with me'. Normally, she would, but I guess she deserved a break too. We were on a holiday, after all. She tried yelling. I persist. One whack is what i get next. That silences me up and I draw back into the sheets. I can't remember if I went to the bathroom till the next morning or not. Guess if I had, I'd remember, huh?

3. Year 2002. Age, 14. Standard 9. Chennai. Sitting on the kattai at school. Get up, walk towards the volleyball match happening. A bunch of seniors playing. He was there. Melting heart at the sight of him playing volleyball. My favorite sport. Getting teased by my friends who knew. All of a sudden, he faints. Worry. People screaming for water. Someone asking me to give my water bottle. Me standing still, not able to do anything.

4. Holding hands with a friend. Comfort. Warmth. Security. Happiness.

5. Year, 2010. Age, 22. Eve of a friend's birthday, Hyderabad. We're sitting in my hostel room listening to music and jabbering away. Laughter comes easily and conversation is light. Music playing in the background. Two of my friends are sitting on my bed. I'm sitting in front of my desk on a chair, sort of straddling it. Someone asks for the time. I lean back to look at my laptop and suddenly realise something is off. I seem to feel weightless. The chair! It's falling. As I try and grab at the desk, I look at my friends looking at me. Falling. They seem to think I'll hang on. Everything turned slow. I seem to want to get it over with, the falling. But it took forever. I scream, 'I'm falling, I'm falling, Duuuuude, I'm falling!!' One of them makes an attempt at getting up, but it's too late for that. Time decided to hurry the hell up at that point. The next thing I know, I'm on the floor, with a chair between my legs. I look at myself. There's nothing else I can do. The laughs come. The mad hysterical ones that you can't really stop. I can't stop laughing. No one can stop laughing. I can't breathe. Best birthday gift ever, I've been told.

What If?

Sometimes, I can't help but wonder. Sometimes, there are only What If's and If Only's.
It's a terrible thing to be thinking of. It can eat you alive. It can reduce you to something you never imagined you could become. It can force you to do things that you never imagined you would, or could for that matter. What If's are my favourite pass time. Honest. They help you get by on a friend-less day, and they can bring you down and leave you there in that void, on a friend-less day. I absolutely love them. And I absolutely detest them. That's the magic of it. What If I'd been in one school all my life? What If I'd never left Madras? What If I'd spoken my mind when I should have? What If I hadn't yelled? What If I'd never met some of the people I consider my own? What If I hadn't read that book? What If we hadn't fallen apart? What If I'd tried harder? What If? What If? What If? It's driving me insane. I love it. I hate it. One particular What If has been haunting me for a while now. I'd like to talk about it, if you will.
I had this friend once, at least *I* felt that way. It was back when it was 'cool' to be on Yahoo! It was when I had big expectations and aspirations for college. It was when these were crushed and all I had were a handful of friends and the internet. It started how all friendships start. How all relationships begin, for that  matter. I cherished it. I built a castle of What If's around it. We had so much in common. We had nothing in common. I learnt loads from it. I was so thrilled to make a friend - a friend, who previously, even though our paths crossed, I hadn't spoken to, until later - I wrote in my journal about it. A friend, who was actually interested in the mundane-ness of my life. I lapped it up. I logged on, every night, night after night, to talk to this being who seemed to be interested, who seemed to give a damn.
Maybe, it was meant to last only so long. I'd like to say Thank  You. I wish we'd kept in touch. I wish you weren't just another 'friend' on my 'friends list' on Facebook. Even though it seems like we'll do just fine without ever crossing paths, sometimes, I wish I'd addressed it to Matthew Perry.

It's been almost two years since i last blogged and on some levels it doesn't seem too long and on others it feels like it's been ages. I itch to write, but like some people say, Nothing is coming!! Every time I think I should jot something down, immediately I feel, on some level, that that particular topic is not worth talking about, not worth discussing or not worth my attention. Still, it lingers on, for a while at least.

I would like to believe it is because there's something out there that keeps me from spinning out gripping stories that constitute my life, or well worded opinions on supposedly topics that matter. To some extent, that is probably true. Or maybe, and this is more probable, it's because i'm just plain ol' lazy!

To continue with this train of thought, let's assume that it is indeed that something that is holding me back from writing. I try to convince myself of it every time i feel the need to write. Writer's block, screams a voice inside me, while another one snorts and says, yeah right, more like apathy. As I try to hear myself think over these bickering voices, i realise it's not just with the writing. It's with everything around me and everything I do. The inability to get involved or get excited or get angry or get whatever-it-is about food, movies, music, relationships, books, people, ideas . . . Little seems to interest me, and even if something does grab my attention, it's fleeting. I guess that's beautiful in a way, huh?
It's a rut, Apathy is. Then again, what else can let you look at things with such wonderful detached-ness? Yup, it's quite a beautiful thing.

This is where i found the picture: http://slovly.com/2010/09/27/down-with-this-sort-of-thing/