Unhealthy rants

*I am ranting now. Feel free to ignore*.

I have been a zombie who runs from work to home and makes lunchbox meals in between. All zest to make stuff new, walk on long ways, stand and smell sunshine have been sucked away. It is so horrid that there are five unread (really nice) books and I have not touched a single of them. I have not prayed properly, have forgot the nirvana of cleaning my room and spend hours watching re-runs of sitcoms. I have officially lost all my ideas of a productive life. On the work front, I made terrible third grade style mistakes. Looks like the muse is finally leaving me. The reason - stress. As crazy as it may seem, according to my GP - I am stressed beyond limits.

Not to mention, health and wellness is at bottom rock. For now, I am looking forward to the weekend and really hope I feel better by next monday.

And there, goes the first crib/rant post on moods. Damn!

This picture remotely represents my mood now. Please laugh. Thank you.

And a totally blog worthy moment too..

On Timeline : Bought her second Parker Pen.

I know the I has to come before A in diary but we got to live with it.as they say, you can't change the written word. Also, it's my red notebook; so I can choose to spell it the way my mind works. Pardon, dear purists.

To Hell, with The Good Indian Girl.

I was all of 22 when this question first arose. We had gone out to a nearby trek as a group and I chose to sit with a guy in a bus journey, who I was neither dating nor had any intentions to. Of course, he was not my brother or anyway related. Over the next two days, we spent time doing stuff together – waiting on each other at unknown bus stops, filling water bottles for each other, sharing one vegetarian dish over lunch ( cause we were the only two loners), being on one team in antakshari. He was also my personal photographer. The trip got over, and two days later I realized I had just stooped to an all time low from the good Indian girl I was.

Someone from the group assumed (rather stupidly) that I was trying hard for him and created an online photo album full of pictures of me and him.  Most of them were falsely cropped and edited as we did not take too many pictures together. This album was shared, rather secretly amongst the group until the guy in question saw them. He went berserk with rage and screamed choicest abuses. Of course we chilled it over with some good ice tea.

The good Indian girl does not have conversations with seemingly nice men and call herself friendly. She usually hangs out with the equally demented girls and is given wry and naughty eye stares, giggles and not mention flat, senseless comments when she does break the norm. She will call herself independent and will cross waters for a much rated elite education, however she will still be “at least hesitant” to go alone with a guy for a movie. It is to be understood that going to the movie is perfectly acceptable if initial hesitance is shown in melodramatic doses. A girl who refuses to be hesitant is usually labeled “loose” and more intensely called slut.

Her usual comments on love and relationship are heavily influenced from puke sweet doses of movies and any non-adherence to the usual map calls for a scrutiny on fidelity. If a couple break up, the anatomy of her relationship style is heavily examined. Not to mention, every one of her previous 9345 boyfriends become instantly lucky and the future 9346’s goat is a martyr. The first time I heard an account from a friend about how her roommate ditched her boyfriend (she was in a seriously depressing con called love) and got herself a “local guy”, I had doubts if the report was on a hooker. Oh no, if you call me exaggerated, I request you to email me for the whole story.

The rather demure girl has all her aspirations, dreams, hopes on a perfect wedding with her boyfriend (of course, only sluts or “impotent women” break up). Anyone like yours truly who has no ideas on her wedding is promptly ignored. I cannot remember the number of uninvited conversations I have been a part of, and the amount of vague confusion every conversation has led me into.  It is even more annoying when the said girl has interests in photography, design, sarees, mehendi, men ( in that order). All this pressure makes it harder to do simple stuff like listen to Adele without being questioned.

If I had to assume all this drama ends with the grand finale of a marriage, I cannot be more gullible. It almost continues all thorough her life with questions, wry glances, broken giggles, clandestine conversations, gossip filled pizza nights and transcends from the just graduate, to the new bride until it reaches the recent widow. And here, I am talking only about the peer group of women. They are mostly equally educated, equally fat with bank balances, and mostly of the same age. I am not taking the aunties who sit back home to gossip ( who, IMHO are more soft with thoughts/words), and I am not taking one whole half of the world into my observation.

This may be a rant to few but any woman who has nodded her head through knows what I am talking about. It is that unspoken worm, the creepy devil in every Indian woman’s head. That devil , which the society garlands and celebrates womanhood. To hell, with it. To hell, with the good indian girl. I am plainly sick of you.