Dancing Potato

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Anais - Rap Collectif

Hello everybody! Sorry I’ve been away for so long. There’s been a lot going on and I’ve just been putting off writing on here indefinitely.
The second year of college is coming to an end. I’m really happy how this year has shaped up, we’ve got a few really interesting texts like Othello and Dr. Faustus and the Mahabharata, also some very excitable teachers, so good fun all around. I’ve been turning a bit studious lately.
I’m really enjoying Delhi right now. Its gotten insanely cold for the past few days, and now the heater buzzes constantly in the bedroom.
The play has almost wrapped up. Only a few shows left now, and I think the director wants us to go to Jammu in the summer. Anyone interested in Kharashein should come to IP college this Saturday, we go head to head with the English adaptation of Death. Besides that I am looking forward to spending the summer with my sister.
Also damn it has been a long time since I have seen a good movie. Recommendations?
I feel awfully dull right now actually. I spend all my time writing or studying or watching movies or writing or working. Its all terribly unexciting. Must drum up some sensational news, like Britney Spears. Poor little girl that one.
That’s all folks!

…I do love me a good list.

1. Watching swirly milk dissolve in tea.
2. First bite of a hot kabab.
3. Dusting.
4. Being up insanely early in the morning.
5. The indentations my ballpen makes on the thin papers of my notebook.
6. Polka dots.
7. Scaldingly hot showers.
8. Beautiful colourful cutlery.
9. Kitten heels.
10. Audrey Hepburn.
11. The wooden planks of a stage.
12. White roses.
13. Blowing air back into a drink through a straw. In other words, being COMPLETELY DISGUSTING.
14. Getting hysterical with laughter during a lecture.
15. Goals.
16. Swings.
17. Exotic new face washes and scrubs.
18. Text messages!
19. Peeling a boiled egg.
20. Irritating Sabira by talking a bit too much about Gael Garcia Bernal.
21. The colour green.
22. Working on a play.
23. Having my entire family in one room.
24. Gael Garcia Bernal. Mmmm.
25. Old movies.
26. My lip balm. BEST lip balm in the universe, I own it.
27. Really, really inapproriate jokes.
28. American Idol!
29. Blogs that are updated frequently.
30. Dirty Lesbian Dancing.
31. Shopping for socks, food, shoes and books.
32. People laughing at my jokes.
33. A croissant falling apart in my hand.
34. Sharing an orange with friends.
35. Hot water bottles.
36. Lists!
37. Being such good friends with a guy/girl that their special someone is a little bit suspicious of my motives.
38. Playing truth.
39. Having secrets.
40. The library at the club. The cushions are soft and the books aged.
41. A good lecture at college.
42. Washing my hair, falling asleep immediately, and waking up looking like Edward Scissorhands.
43. The lamps lit up in the verandah at Diwali.
44. Gogol Bordello.
45. Airports, when its me who’s leaving.
46. Being remembered.
47. Being comfortable in a large group of people.
48. Dinner parties.
49. Travel.
50. Guys with nice hands.
51. Steamy bathrooms.
52. Embarrassing Minu with teasing.
53. Knowing that Sabira knows everything there is to know about me.
54. Beer.
55. Lots and lots of fucking beer.
56. Mehendi on my hands.
57. Making fun of Joe.
58. Smell of mud when it rains.
59. Knowing everything is so very, very fantastic and its just going to get better.
60. Bitching about everyone we know with Sonakshi.
61. Emails.
62. Writing.
63. Mathieu Chedid!!!!
64. Discovering new lotions.
65. Thin gel pens.
66. A new razor.
67. Red Bull.
68. Being lucky with my strikes. Ahem.
69. My green shoes with flowers on them.
70. The feel of my mum’s cheeks.
71. Supporting my friends.
72. Letters. Anything in the mail really.
73. Popping bubble wrap.
74. New York.
75. Walking in home just as it starts raining.
76. Playing with babies.
77. Radiohead.
78. Burning the edges of paper.
79. Falling backwards into a body of water.
80. Long aimless drives.
81. The long pathway leading into college.
82. Momos!
83. Winter days when it gets dark really early.
84. Stray dogs who want to be best friends.
85. Using blankets for curtains on a temporary basis, then forgetting to put real curtains.
86. Stalking cute boys.
87. Being an enthusiastic idiot.
88. Watching my grandparents squabble.
89. Cutting off huge chunks of my own hair whenever I’m bored.
90. Sitting on the road outside McDonald’s and leering at passers by.
91. Marbles.
92. Being mean to lame people.
93. Sounds of popping popcorn in the microwave.
94. The sound of a gtalk chat window opening. Its like plooomp. Best noise ever.
95. Being obsessive and unashamed.
96. Avril Lavigne’s “Girlfriend”.
97. Buying really expensive overpriced books just because they look oh so pretty.
98. Buying CDs for the same reason.
99. Getting over a guy.
100. The light that filters through the window of my room.

A text in the morning made me think of this.

1. Kabab Connection
2. Chandni Bar
3. Casablanca
4. Khosla Ka Ghosla
5. City Of God
6. Run Lola Run
7. The Graduate
8. Lagaan
9. Donnie Brasco
10. Harold and Maude

These are on second thought in the wrong order, but shit this list was hard to make.

Maine kal Taare Zameen Par dekhi. Dekh ke achha laga ki mei apni ekdum bukwassss school life me akeli nahi thi. Yaar me dyslexic vagera tho nahi hu, par firbi “bindas” sahi shabd hoga un dino ke liye. Koi aur bhi hoge jo “please, please, PLEASE” kar ke, ezam papers fadh ke, etc etc ghar jate hoge. Hasi bhi ai yaad kar ke, jo pehle kabhi nahi aai thi. Achi movie he, jao dekho.

HIM : So it’s a date then! Picnic, out on the grass, ants and the whole shebang. See you then.

ME : Right okay bye - NO WAIT! Is this like a real, honest-to-goodness picnic?

HIM : Might be, why?

ME : Well. I was just wondering, cos if it’s a picnic, I should probably pack sandwiches, and maybe bake something. And so I was wondering if you’d prefer blueberry muffins or chocolate chip.

HIM : …You know, I think this is why we’ve been friends for so long. Because you wonder about really important stuff like that.

Once upon a time there was a young woman who lived with her parents in a small village. She was beautiful and shy, and though she mocked the idea of it when speaking aloud, in reality she waited desperately for love and marriage.
Her life was the same every day - her father was balding, a very kind man but he knew her not at all. He read four newspapers a day. Her mother was a thin woman with a tight knob of white hair at the back of her skull. She was beautiful once, but now she looked merely angry. She asked the yound girl everyday if she smoked, and made her swear on the Bible to never ever smoke. Her mother, when she wasn’t asking the young girl if she smoked, plucked the dark shoots of hair from her wrinkly chin. It was her favourite occupation, and if she wasn’t peering in the mirror to tweeze each one out, her hand was sure to be at her chin, fondling, caressing, waiting for the enemy to spring forth, and she would cut them in their infancy.
Her mother and father loved each other very much. She arranged his newspapers according to section everyday (sports, comics, headlines, business, and medical, in that order) and he pretended not to see her hand stray to her chin as she cooked. It was an ideal marriage.
The girl had the same life everyday - tomorrow was the same day. Her sadness was never enough to make tears, but enough for anger, terrible anger. Some days she would get up in the middle of the night, say around one am, and run like a madwoman through the pathways outside their cottage. It was an endlessly winding path, she tripped and fell and bloodied her knees and laughed harshly. Sans love is not a good way to live, and it had taken a toll on her. Some nights she would pretend she was a bride, running down the church steps, one of two, admiring faces grew in the rosebushes and the leaves threw rice at her retreating back. Drops of blood were ideal for the petals that fell madly from her bouquet, she reflected. The moon was the disco strobe twinkling to trashy music and steaming plates of braised beef. But what about the children? She panicked suddenly, gasping to a halt, looking around, suddenly worried. Every marriage had two to three children with watery noses and powerful throats. Maybe those rocks over there…she thought vaguely. But no! She skimmed the pebbles into the muddy puddles of yesterdays rain with a grim satisfaction. A No Children Marriage. Adults Only. On the invitations themselves, so there would be no confusion. She ran on and on, faster and faster, till the sound of her feet became the sound of the cheering crowds and the uncorking of champagne.
And when she tired, as she did eventually, she came back home, slid in her bed and with her hands between her legs and fluttering eyes imagined the next step - The Consummation. The First Night. She worried for her future self. The First Night Bride. Would she know what to do? Would he like her, naked as she lay? What if…she realised something with a shock. The only woman she had seen naked was, was herself! She peered anxiously down at her twitching fingers, the moon twinkling friendly through the window - what if, what if, she was hideously deformed and didn’t even know it! He would spring back in shock and horror, arousal dissipated, roses faded, rice grains dislodging themselves from his tousled hair! What have I married! You disgusting woman! Get away! Falling off the bed in his confusion, backing away, confused and afraid. He would cry and howl and rage against the injustice, swear and cry and drink. He would slowly crumple and fall naked to the ground, a beautiful broken thing, while she the perpetrator of this injustice curled silently on the bed. Time would pass, and maybe he would forgive her, just maybe, she didn’t know…what she was, he loved her anyway for those little scars on her knees. But he would read the paper more and more, grunt in response to her care, start arranging the newpapers in a preferable order - headlines first, quite definitely - and she would gently stroke her chin, two people in a bedroom, one girl in a bedroom. Shoulders would sink, hair would fall, and tomorrow was the same day.
It would be at this point that she would finally drift off to sleep, hands curled up over her stomach, fears spent in frantic rubbing and rapid strokes, skin glowing with the exertion - the sun was glowing pink in the sky and tomorrow was the same day.

I’ve been feeling very happy and fulfilled lately. Its a sweet and smiley time for me. I’m not clear why the sudden upsurge of cheer, but I will not question it and accept it at face value. I sing in the car, run along college corridors, giggle in lectures, think up jokes when I’m trying to sleep, smile to myself when no one else is around! Its nauseating.
I be busy. Love you all and miss most of you.have happy weird little dreams, memorable walks at night, one cigarette with breakfast and a piece of chocolate to feel mellow. Love.

To my mistakes to my mistakes of cowardice
She shimmy shakes, the jimmy jakes of consequence
Born of the airs and dues, my airs of madness do declare
That its okay, its love
It’s what you wanted to see, it’s who you wanted to be
For what you needed to need, she’ll make it up
Love, it’s who you know
Machine gun blues, her vacant rush is so steel
I’m unaware, lost inside your visions
I got mine too over, I got mine and I got you
Cause I know you, you’re love
Its what you wanted to see, it’s who you wanted to be
For what you needed to need, she’ll make it up
Love, it’s who you know
Can I look up to you as you look down on me
Can I feel in to you as you felt in to me
I can’t help what you see, I can’t help but to be
For what I needed to need, she’ll make it
Love, it’s who you know

Keep on walking.