BRAIN BALONEY

He is Sam. He is fourteen. I think he's very cool. He plays excellent football, and has a very good haircut. He wears his jeans too low, but it comes off as adorable to me. He's also very funny.
When he first moved here, all the little girls could not stop gushing. I think he deserved it.
He is always very sweet to me, apart from those jokes at my expense. He always asks me to play hide and seek. Sometimes, I do. Sometimes, I do not. But I do think he is very nice.
One thing, I do not like. He smokes too much. But what can I do?
His girlfriend is a girl named Angel. I think thats a very funny name, but what can I do?

This is the strange nature of a blog post; there's always a 'but'.

You know how they say, 'trouble comes on an idle Tuesday afternoon, when you least expect it.' And then it did, it finally did.

He fell off the terrace yesterday. He lay there shaking for fifteen minutes, until somebody found him. I did not have the guts to go and see his spattered blood, but my friends did. Its very, very serious and they're saying there's a very dim chance. Its mostly head injury, and with that, you can never say. I cannot imagine.
T'was very, very sad yesterday, it seemed like the whole world had come out to find out whats happening. I think he will like to know, that so many people care. I do too, very much.
His parents are not even in town; nobody can even begin to imagine what they'd be going through.

I prayed for him yesterday, and I hope he makes it.

We discussed Tuesdays With Morrie in school yesterday, our teacher had told us to read it. We had a fantastic time, talking about what we liked about Morrie, and what we didn't. He was a funny character, this Morrie. That book is all about death and nothing else has gone through my mind for the past few days. Yesterday was also Tuesday.
Morrie too is also very wise, no. He tells us all these great things about death, that if you learn to die, you learn to live. I liked his ideas about emotions and family more, the Theory of Detachment. A very good scene, part of the ocean, which we enacted out in class yesterday.
Death, death, death. It just won't end. Live like you're dying, my teacher had said.

Its quite funny the way Morrie absolutely dismissed everything he didn't believe in. The young are not wise, they have very little understanding, he says. He says we will always remain deficient if we keep getting manipulated by people who tell us to buy this perfume, and you'll look pretty, and buy that jeans, and you'll look sexy. This will never complete your spiritual development.

But here, I think, Morrie is wrong. He fails to understand that these things may be a part of somebody's spiritual development. Does that sound odd? I will feel very, very good if I buy a jeans that makes me look sexy. Better than if I, say, donate that money to a charity or something, however shallow that may sound.
I will feel absolutely ecstatic, if I buy a good perfume. Maybe its Morrie's age. I don't know. But he's not understanding, that deriving pleasure out of simple things in life IS development. Fine, the other love and devotion is important too, but what is so wrong with buying good stuff for yourself? Why shouldn't people buy  the next great car if they can afford it and will be on a high for the whole following year, thanks to that car. Don't chase materialistic things, he says. I don't find anything wrong in getting pleasure out of materialistic things.
What is wrong with being number two, Morrie also says. Lets be number two. But from where will we get the incentive to grow, if we're happy being number two? Sure, don't beat yourself for being number two. But at least try for number one next time, try to see what your faults were. Try to improve. I'm nowhere NEAR number one or two, see, but I like to rant.

But there are many things Morrie says that I agree with.
"Do the kinds of things that come from the heart. When you do, you won’t be dissatisfied, you won’t be envious, you won’t be longing for somebody else’s things. On the contrary, you’ll be overwhelmed with what comes back"


"Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too - even when you’re in the dark. Even when you’re falling."


Very beautiful lines, all of these. He also says this- Death: the only true emotion felt in an apathetic world.
I don't know what to say. True? At one hand, he's talking about love and all its wonders, and then he says that death is the only true emotion? Is that possible?


So many questions.


Pray for him though please?

Santa is just a costume and gifts are just excuses; using these two, all people want is to spread love.

This may sound hysterical but its true.

I read a Christmas based book, The Gift by Cecilia Ahern (who now, has become one of my very favorite authors). Its a beautiful book, and I recommend it to anyone who's as crazy about Christmas and lesson-teaching stories as I am. This is an extract from the book: (note how vividly she describes everything, and how true all of it is)

'On Christmas Morning, an air of calm settles outside. The emptiness on the streets doesn't instill fear; in fact it has an opposite effect. It's a picture of safety, and, despite the seasonal chill; there's warmth. For varying reasons, for every household this day of every year is just spent inside. While outside is sombre, inside is a world of bright, frenzied colour, a hysteria of ripping wrapping paper and flying coloured ribbons.

Christmas music and festive fragrances of cinnamon and spice of all things nice fill the air. Exclamations of glee, of hugs and thanks, explode like party streamers. These Christmas days and indoor days; not a sinner lingering outside, for even they have a roof over their heads.'

In my old school, on the walls along the staircase, there were quotes and Thought-for-the-day's pasted. And I read the quotes each time I passed. One of them I recall clearly, and a few days ago, I realized its true-ness.

This Christmas, lets try to be a little nicer. Family, friends, strangers, anyone.

So,

If you could wish for one thing this Christmas, what would you wish for?

I like to call it 'The Human Aspect'. The Human element.

26/11

I saw a very excellent documentary on Discovery, Surviving Mumbai yesterday. And noted down these small details.

The gunmen rounded up some guests in the hotel and this woman, she was wearing a black evening dress. When they were rounded up, she quickly wrapped a black pashmina around her.

To appear as a 'conservative, middle-aged woman' to the Muslim gunmen. I think that was very quick thinking on her part. Or it could've earned her the gunmen's wrath.

This guy, he's hiding in a room in The Oberoi or the Taj (I forgot which one). He looks outside the window and there is a house in front of the hotel. He can view the inside of the house and he sees a man...brushing his teeth. The hotel in front of him is burning down, and he's carrying on brushing his teeth. Like nothing's happening.

A woman remarked that the terrorists wanted to wash their hands or something, but they couldn't open the taps. They could open-fire among a crowd but couldn't open a tap. "But when you have a gun." she said. "Everything is possible. Isn't that interesting?"

The staff of the Taj hotel were extremely helpful. They sealed the guests inside the Chambers and themselves remained outside and led the terrorists away from the Chambers. This guy who worked in the Taj had the chance of getting out and getting home to his wife and children, who lived just three blocks away. But he decided to stay and help. He died two days later. Vir Sanghvi wrote an article a while back, praising the dedication of the staff at Taj towards its guests even in such a crisis.

Anjali Pollack said, "When the doors finally opened and light spread out, a commando walked in. And I swear, at that moment...he looked nothing less than Brad Pitt to me."

I have a book which recounts the experiences of women detained at Concentration Camps during world war2.

One woman wrote that there was this other woman in the camp, who used her very limited ration of margarine to smear on her face, instead of spreading it on the bread. And they were given very little food.

There were a group of French women, who went inside the gas chambers in Auschwitz singing Marseilles.

In the camps, everything was so filthy and dirty, you couldn't clean up properly. Women's heads were shaved off and sparse little hair grew on them. But once, these girls encountered a French man who was exiting from the same door as them. He held the door open for them and said, "Apres vous, madame." Which means, after you, ma'am. That little gesture made them feel a bit more woman again.

My stupid keyboard's given out and on screen keyboard is not fun.

More later.

'My dad always said that when you're struggling with something, look at all the people around you and realize that every single person you see is struggling with something and to them, its just as hard as what you're going.'

'And when her lips met mine, I knew that I could live to be a hundred and visit every country in the world, but nothing would ever compare to that single moment when I first kissed the girl of my dreams and knew that my love would last forever.'

-Dear John, my favorite Nicholas Sparks<3

The Zoya Factor by Anuja Chauhan

One of the best chick-lits ever written by an Indian author, The Zoya Factor will glue you to itself. Anuja Chauhan, the mastermind behind lines like Yeh Dil Maange More, Oye Bubbly! and Nothing Official About It, has come up with a different writing style altogether.

By some twist of fate, advertising executive Zoya Singh Solanki was born the exact moment that India clinched the World Cup back in 1983. While on an ad shoot with the Indian cricket team, she breakfasts with them and the team scores an unlikely win. Some of the players start thinking that Zoya may just be their lucky charm, as they are defeated by the weakest of teams in her absence, and indeed, that IS the case. Whenever Zoya breakfasts with any team before a match, they win. Pressurised by the eccentric IBCC president and the repeated requests of the team, Zoya agrees to accompany them to an all-expenses-paid trip to Australia for World Cup 2012.

But whats a story without a sprinkle of romance?

Indian skipper Nikhil Khoda flatly tells her that he doesn't believe in luck; only hard work. Nevertheless, he is amused by the quirky and obsessed-about-being-cool Zoya.

But the best thing about this book is the hinglish language. For example,

'Wahi ki Zoya ko Australia bhejo, we will take good care of her and everything.'

'Complimentary hai jee, waiting de vaaste.'

I read an excerpt of it online, and bought the book the first chance I got. But as soon as I got it, we had to leave for Jaipur. All through the journey, my head was buried in the book. Dad kept saying, "Bahar dekho! Look outside! Look at the people and everything" But I couldn't. To hell with Jaipur-shaipur. Zoya had me hooked.

Here are some excerpts. Hope they get you interested too.

'Which is agony in advertising because when all the snooty ad people think Karol Bagh-type, they imagine a pushy wannabe in a chamkeela salwar-kameez with everything matching-matching. Someone who says 'anyways' instead of anyway, 'grands' instead of grand and 'butts' instead of butt. (As in, she has no butts, earns twenty grands a month, and lives in Karol Bagh. Who does she think she is, anyways?)'

'Any time an auntie at a party asked him, 'Beta, vot you wantu be ven you grow up, hain?', he'd chirp 'I'm-going-to-be-a-soldier-and-fight-for-India!'. And then everybody would go all moist eyed and sigh,'So cute'. While I spent my childhood and adolescence dithering over lawyer/banker/fashion-designer/nurse, he remained committed tp playing with his tanks and singing chal chal re naujavan.'

'No more I've-been-wanting-to-kiss-you-all-evening kind of stuff.

It was depressing, of course, and sometimes I wondered if I had misheard him or something (kick you all evening? kid you all evening?). That one measly remark had fully put me off all the nice, normal, well-to-do boys my dad had made me meet on various weekends, which was, of course,completely pathetic. I kept dreaming these cheesy dreams where Nikhil Khoda, a resplendent in his Indian Blues, showed up with a bouquet of pink tiger lilies at the Mother Dairy booth where I stood in queue with a stainless-steel doodh ka dolu on my arm. Really corny stuff. If anyone ever were to find out, the shame would kill me...'

Read and enjoy!

No, not the Cyndi Lauper song. Because girls do just wanna have fun. Atleast I do. But the song is nice too. And so is The Way You Look Tonight by Tony...hold on, I forgot his name. Tony something. Or something else. And I've recently discovered, that the lyrics to the song One in a Million by Miley Cyrus (tsk all you want but everyone secretly likes her) are true. So much that it is actually freaky. Like: