The fact that I'm hungry has nothing to do with this post.

I'm a hungry, hungry hippo.

I think travelling by first class for two months spoiled me. I was mildly terrified of the ladies compartment today. Did you know that if you have to get down at Kandivali station, you have to shovepushscratch your way to the door two stations in advance? And then hordes of women invade your personal space and  touch you inappropriately? How do people live like this?!

There was a lady clutching the doorway who almost fell off and had to be pulled in by three women. But does she heave a dramatic sigh of relief at her narrow escape and scramble inside the train like a normal person? No, she decides that carrying on hanging from the doorway and laughing like a banshee is a better way to celebrate.

I thought the universe was trying to make me feel better by getting me a rickshaw the moment I stepped out of the station. Then my rickshaw ride turned out to be a religious experience. I don't know what kind of murder-suicide pact my driver had in his head but the only thing I had in mine was "Please don't let me die, please don't let me die, ple - OH MY GOD THAT TRUCK ALMOST CRUSHED MY KNEE - please don't let me die." I swear my hands were shaking as I handed him his fare.

And to top it off, as I was clutching the rod in sheer terror and seriously considering cutting my losses and just jumping out of the vehicle, a man old enough to be my father whistled at me. I officially give up on the suburbs.

Do Suburbs Cause Loss Of Sanity Or Does Loss Of Sanity Cause Suburbs?

I'm back after a life and a half and Blogger is upto shenanigans. What is with all these fancyschmancy changes? I preferred the old Blogger with its messy clutter. Now it looks too neat and clean looking. I distrust this sort of tidiness. Which is another reason my house always looks like The Wicked Witch of the West decided to cycle through it with a twister in tow.

Speaking of upside-down houses, that's what mine is right now. I moved to the very distant Western Suburbs about a month ago and my house is still full of boxes! The blame for my lack of posts can be shared by my laziness (no it doesn't want to say hello, it's taking a nap) and the fact that I had no internet for a month and a half.

To make myself feel better about living an hour and a half away from my old life, I've become scarily obsessed with decorating my house. No, seriously, I get dreams about it. And then they turn into random nightmares where a clock turns into an Excel sheet and tries to strangle me.

I'm telling you, the suburbs are turning me into a nutjob. As if there weren't enough here to begin with. A couple of weeks ago, I went to a Jain mall. I spent about fifteen minutes stomping around the food court looking for meat and finally discovered that there were only two counters serving chicken; one of which was called The Non-Veg Kitchen which I decided to skip because it looked like it served dodgy pigeon meat instead. Succumbing to the inevitable conclusion of a vegetarian meal, I eureka-ed when I spotted an Italian counter. That feeling quickly went away when I saw that their idea of Italian didn't include either pasta or pizza but just papad with tomatoes and onions. I am never stepping foot in that mall again.

The journey from my house to the nearest station takes a good twenty minutes. On the way, there is a joint called Fooodiiees with exactly that number of vowels.

Once, as I was looking outside the window of my bus, some random guy yelled "Wassup!?" at me.

To fix my chocolate craving, I went to the store near my house to ask if they had Nutella. The attendant nodded enthusiastically and gave me a box of Nutrella, which I'm pretty sure is just some pseudo soy crap pretending to be edible. When I slowly told him I wanted the chocolate spread you apply on bread, he looked at me like I was the crazy person. I was this close to giving up on this place. But last week, I found restaurants that deliver chicken (thank you burrp!) and life is good again.

Do you have any ideas for decorating my new house? Please tell me or I will never think the house looks perfect and I will keep looking up more ideas which will probably lead to recurrent murder-by-home-decor nightmares which will definitely lead to me being declared clinically insane.

Oh also, if you know anywhere I could get cool art prints or you make some yourself, please let me know because I've become obsessed with them. Etsy has great ones but I might have to sell a body part to get a few shipped here.

Another last also, I need to find a large wooden bookshelf. My books are currently lying in boxes and I keep buying more to dull the pain of their homelessness. My old books took up four cartons. Four. After the moving guys tried to convince me to leave some behind and were met with my horror-stricken expression, I think they might have sneakily tried to throw some off my balcony.

But the Weasley home had garden gnomes

This house hunting business is sucking the soul right out of me. And cleaning the house to reduce the number of things we have to pack is even more frustrating! I get so emotionally attached to random inanimate objects that the pile of crap just keeps getting bigger. This mental instability is definitely genetic. My mom once mourned for an entire day and spent the rest of the week harassing me over a very old stapler I'd taken to college and forgotten to get back.

I don't understand why none of my friends are getting married. Everybody else knows about-to-be-married people. What is wrong with my friends that they harbour absolutely no marital aspirations? Do I have to make shaadi.com profiles for them myself?

I don't think arranged marriages were made for me. First of all I have to be able to tolerate the person enough to not throw a chair at his head. Second, he has to lovingly accept my mental patient status. Also, I've decided I want to marry a Banerjee. What are the chances of getting this three-in-one offer?

Why are people who think social rules are stupid largely called weird? Who makes these rules? Why can't someone go watch a movie alone? Or refuse to carry a cellphone? Why can't grown ups call in bored to work instead of sick and spend the day making blanket forts? Wearing too little makes people go haw; wearing too much makes people go huh. You want to be a writer but you end up making presentations. You should be teaching kids to read and fly kites and instead you're trying to sell fairness creams (and your soul). People should be happy but people want bighuge houses with funparty lives. What to do?

Whenever I start thinking serious thoughts, I look at pictures of donuts (well, almost), think about bubble wrap being sold at Landmark (56 bucks for a roll!) and wonder what everything in existence would look like if it was all in one place. I also think about the three ducks I met and named in Kerala. I wonder how Pondi, Cherry and Vishakapatnam are doing.

I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my Squishy.

If you've already watched the video because I forced you to, you can just watch it again because it's worth it okay? Okay.

Pacman is the spawn of Satan. Yeah I said it.

I got off the bus this morning and the first thing I wanted to do was drop to my knees and kiss the ground for making it out in one piece. People responsible for public transportation should not be allowed to relive their failed childhood dreams of becoming F1 drivers.

I wish they taught us to play Pacman at school. I could really have used the practice. I played all day and I still suck at it. My coworker preferred Angry Birds on her laptop. Would it be unethical if I downloaded Chrome just to play Angry Birds at work?

My Hindi was insulted by a woman at work yesterday who suggested I should switch back to speaking in English since I spoke so slowly in Hindi. I've been pretty proud of my Hindi in recent times so that was a complete slap in the face.

I am such an office klutz. There are these long dangly things on the doorway near the boss's cabin. They look eclectic and pretty and all but every time I walk through that doorway, I get my hair entangled in them. Every single time. And then I have to struggle to disentangle myself trying not to look like a complete idiot all the while hoping my boss or her son don't notice.

And today after I had a serious grown up office talk with my boss's son, I walked into the door on my way out of the room.

I need to carry this bag as a warning to everybody around me.

And you need to listen to this song. (Courtesy Bones)



You're welcome.

Really? REALLY? Really.

Oh look. I'm just going to blog twice in one day 'cause


Okay so I'm a sucker for tacky songs (I'm South Indian but I don't know what they're saying okay?), terrible (you say terrible, I say hilarious) movies and cheesy reality shows (even I stopped watching that one two years ago).

Judging by the very first episode of Just Dance I watched last night, I'll have to add another reality show to my must-watch list. I love watching dance shows (I'm an award show junkie just because they have so many people dancing *hides face*) and I also love Farah Khan (she's my imaginary best friend). Put those two together and you know I'm going to be glued to the TV every weekend.

That show made me laugh so hard that I'd have choked on Pepsi had I been consuming any.

Star moment of the show no. 1 (See? I'm plugging the channel also. They should just give me a job there. Preferably as Farah Khan's gal pal)
A nineteen year old guy with a medium-sized tummy came onstage with a (in Farah's words) Wonder Woman star on his forehead and started belly dancing. YES. What was truly scary was that he actually could shake what his momma gave him. Just a little bit.

Star moment of the show no. 2
A person who looked very much like an engineering student (how many of you have I offended?) came onstage and touched all four feet of the two Hritik Roshan cutouts that were behind him. He then talked about how much he looked forward to unleashing his inner crazy while dancing and went on to do exactly that.

Star moment of the show no. 3
A guy walked in, said "I love you so much ma'm" to a horrified Farah, gave her a melted Dairy Milk bar ("Oh it melted! You're so hot, the chocolate melted.") and when asked his name said "Ashish. Naam toh suna hi hoga." Her reaction? "Why do my fans have to be the crazy ones?"

What I don't like about this show is the ludicrous amount of fakeness they expect us to digest and the elevated sense of superstardom they've thrust on Hritik Roshan. Getting to meet him is supposedly the specialest of special moments in every single person's life. If the contestants qualify, they get a bracelet with the initials HR - which made me roll my eyes three separate times. And they refer to him being godlike on multiple occasions. God of dance this, god of dance that - oh SHUT UP.

What I like is watching fellow rhythmically challenged people on this show. Hey at least I don't showoff my lack of dancing skills on national television.