Listalicious

My life has been the most pleasant ordeal of dealing with thesis stress over the last few months. 

In this time I have surpassed my own prior levels of low self esteem, constantly in war with the dark, evil part of me that thrives on negative, self-deprecating thoughts and the positive, beamy part of me that radiates goodness and encouragement and tries to sprinkle my self esteem with tiny, but colourful rainbows with pots of feel-goodness at the end (read: writing encouraging messages on post-its and sticking them on the wall against which the study table rests. The evil part is such a little prick that it picked out a capital L on one of the post-its and thought 'Haha. Loser. Just like you!' And just like that, it hurled some rainbows from the Happy me into a burning, stinking pile of negativity, fanning the putrid flames).

It's not quite as bad as I just described. I'm not crying or hugging my knees and rocking back and forth or something. I just got carried away with the liberation of writing in a language I can properly express myself in after so long. 

Anyway, it HAS been rather cumbersome, boring and challenging at times, but I don't have to work much longer and I have already started my list of things to do after I'm done.

Since dealing with the stress has been my main activity (besides, of course, working on the damn thing), I thought I would, being the benevolent person that I am, share with you my favoured methods of coping with the horror.

Coping mechanism #1:

Procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate oh shit I have to submit in a month. Oh well. Procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate procrastinate

How do I manage to achieve such colossal levels of procrastination, you ask? Why I'll tell you: tumblr tumblr pinterest facebook blogger pinterest blogger facebook tumblr

Coping mechanism #2: The Pretend Mechanism:

*Play reggae music as you work, pretend you're on the beach.
*Pretend the stand fan whirring behind you is the sound of the waves.
*Pretend the murky cup of coffee is a glass of pina colada.
*Pretend that the healthy snack next to you (because you turn into a feeding monster when you work, so you have to eat stuff like cucumbers and puffed rice) is a plate of something seafoody.
*Pretend that the linoleum floor is actually cool sand.
*Marvel at the new personal levels of escapism you have just achieved.
*Burst into angry Ihateeverything tears.

(I didn't actually burst into tears, just sighed at the new levels of patheticalness).

****

Sometimes, well more often than not, I'm just sitting still, frustrated because my mind has switched off and refuses to give me any material to write about. So...

Things I do when I'm creatively blocked:

Stare out the window.

Stare at the floor.

Stare at my freaky pimple upon a pimple in the mirror.

Stare at the mirror. Not my reflection in the mirror. Just the mirror.

Stare at my notes.

Type inane things and then backspace like wheeeeeeeee.

Drink coffee.

Drink jasmine tea.

Drink buttermilk.

With salt, with mint, with mint and sugar.

Pace restlessly.

Sweep the floor like a maniac.

Open the window.

Close the window.

Snack.

Fill ink in fountain pen.

Ask everyone I know how they're doing.

How's everyone doing?

The Cyniqueen

A random list of miscellaneous things

Since I think I've sort of been bogging everyone down talking about the depressing winter that REFUSES to end, and also because it's been long since I've done one of these, I'm making a random list:

Via weheartit.com

• Snow and frosty cold in Berlin is a fuckillion times better than boiling heat in Pune or Goa.
• I'm getting a lot of great practical experience in my new internship.
• And it's in this lovely neighbourhood with just the right balance of diversity, coffee shops, cleanliness and quaintness. I've honestly never seen anything like it.
• I scrubbed the floor of my tiny apartment last weekend and it is now back to a respectable standard of cleanliness. Before that, it was so dirty (oh god I can't believe I am typing this even as I type it) that I was too disgusted to exercise on it, because I sometimes do Surya Namaskar, where it's imperative to have a clean floor *hangs head down in shame. And then sees now sparkling floors and feels less bad.*
• I don't posses the ability to pack light. Like if you took all my DNA, pried it apart or wrung it really hard to get every single essence of my traits (dormant and active), you would not find amidst the greasy juice, the trait of packing light. My bag which I carry to work (which is half an hour away from my place) hurts my shoulder because it weighs like 18 kilos. It seems that my prehistoric ancestor should not have survived on account of the giant dinosaur would have killed him if he insisted on carrying all his cave rocks and animal skin-skirts with him everywhere. But then again, I'm really good at raising each eyebrow in quick succession to a beat and it seems to me that evolution decided that the unibrowed Neanderthal should be allowed to pass on this miraculous talent to his progeny. (Okay, Neanderthals and dinosaurs didn't coexist, I'm aware. But two words: poetic license).
• I love wearing kurtis in Berlin. Besides the fact that kurti and jeans is the most comfortable daily wear on the planet, it makes me feel very exotic. I can never, ever wear a bindi on a kurta here, though. Just, no.
• For a while now, I have found this brand of ceylon-assam tea bags that taste like proper Indian chai. And then I found ginger tea bags, which is actually just ginger water. So I mixed both to make adrak chai (ginger tea). Didn't work.
•  Not being able to talk to my family regularly sucks. Internet problems make Skype impossible at times. I love whatsapp though.
• I had started reading Churchill's biography (because I like biographies) but last week, I officially and very guiltily abandoned it because it was too full of military, imperialistic jargon.
• Once, when I was extremely distracted by my own thoughts,I walked into a wall. This happened in class. Embarrassing as it was, thankfully, it happened in Germany. If it was in class in India, I would have tots had a white chuna mask on my face to add to the mortification.
• People sometimes leave garbage bags in the elevators in my building. I hope they crap their pants in public for every time they do this.

-The Cyniqueen

Ain't no sunshine when you live in Berlin

So cute I can't even

There's a strange glowing light in the sky right now, and it feels...different, a little like biting cold, but extremely pleasant somehow. Oh wait, that's the sun. No wait. Nope, never mind, its gone back into the butt of the clouds where it has been residing for the last few months. Seriously? I'm not even exaggerating. Remember how I started off my last post? I don't always do that.

Usually, I'm not the sort of person who sits with my chin in my hands, pining away when it's a cloudy day. I mean, sure, it's really pleasant when the sun is out. Except in the summer in India when it just stops short of searing into your skin and makes you want to wear an unmeltable ice-outfit at all times.

So anyway, over the last few weeks, since January actually, the sky has been a dirty mix of ash grey mingled with a pale dying blue. All the time. And I thought may be I was making too big a deal out of it, but then I read that this winter has been the darkest since 1950 something and it's been the second darkest winter in Germany since they started keeping records. So I'm not paranoid.

After all of this hopelessness, we had a glorious four or five days of sunshine and *gasp* warm-ish weather last week. Everyone hastily packed away their winter things, made plans to go sit in the sun with closed eyes and idiotic grins and started shaving their legs in anticipation of short, springy dresses (I mean just the women and our transgender friends, obviously. And cross dressers. You know, in a city like Berlin, this list could go on for a while, so I'm going to stop here).

But then, before you could say Betriebswirtschaft, it started snowing again. And it didn't stop all weekend. Out came the winter coats, the fancy hand creams and everyone's grumpy winter faces.

Now I really find myself craving some sunshine. At this point, I absolutely insist that you go here and see this one in particular. Someone at my office where I'm doing my current internship discovered it and everyone was laughing for like five years. Makes most sense for people who live here, of course.

So. That was the weather report for this quarter. Next week: Could your house plant be killing you? Stay tuned.

Suspiciously,
The Cyniqueen.

Image via google.com

Kickass cloudy procrastination

Berlin has been having a LOT of these days lately. On most days, it doesn't bother me me much. But I've slowly started waiting for the morning a splendorous shining sun just bursts through the clouds like an arrogant rock star and tells winter go to shove off. That would be nice.

Operation clean up, as I had called it in my mind because it sounded kickass, has in fact, not been kicking as much ass as I thought it would. But I try doing a little bit here and there when I have time from watching movies, which has been my main task lately. 

As Utopian as it sounds, it's true: I have to begin writing what is called a Master thesis for my course soon, and I'm looking to do something with movies and the portrayal of journalism. So everyone I know has been obligated to produce a list of movies they can think of with journalists in them. I really want to do something with the movie Chicago, one of my all time favourites, but I watched it again last night (for research, you understand. The cookies were merely a tasty aid to get my intellectual juices flowing) and I have a feeling I'm going to have to let it go. So any suggestions or ideas are welcome.

Also, Pinterest is threatening to destroy my life with its magnificent procrastination inducing powers. 

And, I miss India.

Love and warm, glittering sun rays hitting you like pew pew pew!,
The Cyniqueen 

Dirty talk

What's brewing, Netizens?

I've been feeling very positive about writing recently. Turns out, a figurative kick in the creative part of the brain helps.

Until a few days ago, no amount of proverbial kicking and prodding seemed to ignite my will to clean my tiny apartment, though. It was not a pretty picture, let me assure you. I kept sliding down a spiral of disillusionment. See, I always figured that at some point in your life, you stop acting like a child and kind of get your shit together and have this efficient household.

Getting your shit together means being a grown up. It means becoming the kind of people your parents were when you were a kid. It means that things in the house progress smoothly and efficiently. It means bills being paid properly, the subscribed paper actually being read everyday, pets being fed at the right times and having a well stocked kitchen at all times. It means periodical cleaning and never running out of milk in the house. It means taking out the garbage every day and changing the sheets and pillow covers every week. It means the laundry getting done before you have to reach into the laundry bag to retrieve dirty socks because there aren't any clean ones. Thank God, at least I have a laundry bag and not some big old plastic shopping bag whose mouth wobbles every time you throw something in.

It really scares me to think what will happen if I never grow up and have like a baby or something. I have these really disgusting thoughts -- will I forget to change it, will I lose it in a pile of papers or forget where I put it? What if I have a family and I can never teach them that you're supposed to fold your clothes, keep them in the cupboard and pick them out in a civilized manner everyday? What if they think that the norm is to keep a knotted pile of wrinkled albeit clean clothes in the laundry basket (or in my case, one of those big, blue, brilliantly shapeless IKEA bags) and wear them out of the bag till it's empty and that's how you know it's time to wash the clothes again. Small saving grace, though: I always, but always, make sure my kitchen counter is clean, because I grew up with the 'food is sacred' philosophy and I end up feeling really guilty when it's dirty.

When I was a child, and then when I got older, I just figured somewhere down the line everyone kind of 'adults up', stops messing around and starts living like someone's watching them. I was still waiting for my imaginary beobachter (*watcher/observer. But it sounds so much better in German). But I guess they're not coming.

So after this horrid phase of disillusionment, I admitted to myself, very grudgingly, that there is no magical, springy moment where you learn to be grown up -- you just have to do it.

And that's how my week's been. Other things? Cooking chicken curry for friends over a really fun dinner, landing a very promising internship, beginning to be able to see a still-hazy but certain end to my student-life a few months from now and really, really wanting a cat, thanks to this NGO in Mumbai who's doing such a commendable job and posting the most adorable pictures of animals for adoption on Facebook. Which makes me break into a string of incomprehensible, mushy baby talk. Which  makes for some embarrassing moments when I'm out in public, with sane, functional people around and I realise that I can't control the mushy squeals.

Eeeeeeeeee,
The Cyniqueen

Smokin' mad

I love that in Berlin, you can go out of the house wearing literally whatever you want and not get stared at in the U Bahn. I love how the roads are full at 3 am on a Saturday morning and the delicious smell of soft, hot french fries wafts from little eateries that would probably sell batatawadas in India.

What I don't like about Berlin, besides the Crazies, is the smoke. I don't mean weed, although you don't chance upon its sweet-ish smell very often in Berlin. Just sometimes, when wisps escape from under the Studentenwohnheim doors or at underground pubs. The smell of weed doesn't bother me. Nicotine does.

The fact is, for all of Germany's love of rules, they go easy on Berlin. Which is may be a good thing when it comes to breaking the pedestrian signal or for people with the aforementioned weed. But Berlin missed the memo on smoking being hazardous to your health. Berlin, my Berlin of the fat birds, the Schrippe and the alternative culture, encourages smoking.

It's not just the second hand smoking, which is bad as it is. It's that ugly stench. The smell of nicotine clogs your nose, fills your lungs with a burning, singing smell. It hits you straight away. And worst of all? It stays. It slinks into your clothes when you're not looking, and sits in your hair and on the inside of your coat - which means almost every time I go out on a weekend in Berlin, I come back smelling like the smoking room at airports. I then proceed to hang my coat, my scarf, my top and jeans (and several other layers of clothing I'm wearing because it's winter) on a hanger and hang them in various corners of my tiny studio apartment so that they air out. I do this even before I remove my make-up, before I go to the bathroom. before I start foraging for a very early morning snack in the kitchen. Then I sleep, with nothing to do for my hair and skin at the moment, which the smoke does not spare, drilling its stale odour into my very bones. 

Pretty in pink, but still you stink. Sigh.

Now look, I can give you this much: when I whiff some smoke as I'm walking past somewhere or someone, because of its cultural context, it pulls me into a momentary happy place, with friends and good times and relaxing, even though I don't smoke myself, as anyone must have figured out at this point. But it does not mean that the smoke smells good. Worst of all are the pubs that let you smoke. And in Berlin, that includes a LOT of the pubs and bars.

What do you do when most of your friends smoke? What do you do when you're in a smoking bar (because of your friends) and your friends start to light up and look at you and go "Oh I'm sorry, do you mind if we smoke? Would that bother you?" You look around at the hundred other Berliners in the bar smoking around you, and what are you supposed to say to your friends, with their half rolled cigarettes in their eager hands?

Are you supposed to be the uptight one that won't come out unless they're going to a non smoking place?Are you supposed to meet them only at cafes for heiße Schokolade and sit huddled in your apartment in the evenings? Because once you tell your friends that it bothers you when they always pick a smoking bar, you can't un-tell them. And then every time you go to a smoking bar, they'll probably be thinking that you're horribly uncomfortable the whole time. And if you go to a non smoking bar, you'll be thinking what a bitch you are for making them go out in the cold every time they want to smoke.

Look, I know what you smokers might think of me. It's how some people might think about vegans or people who never drink or dance at parties or people who aren't friends with people because they smoke or drink. I get it. But why should it come down to choosing between your health or your comfort level and having a good time?

*****

The unpleasantness with having to air out my clothes happened several times over the last few days. I figure I can write best about things that are really getting to me right now, even though it will probably mean my friends reading this. Oh well.

The Cyniqueen

Image via google.com

You're my bad habit

Why are 'bad' things always the most delicious ones?

Bad habits

• Naps that pull you in and sink you into perfect oblivion.
• Doodling in class (my latest penchant -- writing German names and words in the Devanagari script).
• Surfing rage comics on my smart phone.
• My smart phone.
• Eating that one last morsel of chicken curry even though I know I'm full.
• Hot chocolate (for when it's cold).
• Talking to myself.
• Not being able to decide Indecisiveness.
• Midnight "epiphanies" that you know are just a way to avoid studying.
• Venting your anger at the elevator button. (It's like you want to hit the STOP button on something else).
• Making too many lists.
• Letting the dishes pile on a little longer than necessary.
• Slipping into tawdry, remarkably shameless tardiness and running around like a tornado trying to restore the place to some basic accepted standard of cleanliness when you're expecting company.
• Not letting go easily enough.
• Thinking too much.
• Shopping too little.
• Chai.
• Stationery.

Life summary - The end of a hectic semester, the beginning of a promising internship, the reevaluation of goals and right this second, almost ground-shaking thunder. I never understood why those kids in The Sound of Music were so terrified by it. Doubt cleared.

Berlin has been hot and humid since a couple of days. Not particularly sunny, but a cloud of heat floating along everywhere you go, making your clothes stick to your skin, emanating hot waves of air from your scalp, making your face sweat and your skin burn. Feels that way, in any case.

On the other hand, I'm enjoying every second of Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children, which I'm currently reading. Next stop, The Little Prince, as soon as Amazon decides to actually send me my copy.

And here is a lovely new venture from a friend of mine who wants to bring an online reading community together. I really love the idea and the enthusiasm that people are already showing. Do take a look!

Thunder and suspense,

The Cyniqueen

'Cause growing up is awfuller than all the awful things that ever were.

Narrrr, sometimes I hate pretending that I'm a grown up. Think about it, really. Someone back in the prehistoric day decided that in order to grow up, you had to stop being a child. And truth be told, I don't see what is so terrible about childhood, that golden time when it was really really hard to be sad.

The truth of the matter is, we are all one hobo-trying-to-grab-your-hair away from snapping. Which happened to me at the subway station a few days ago. The hair grabbing attempt, I mean, not the snapping. The snapping is currently hidden away in the folds and curves of a looming screeching university deadline, which has assumed more urgency than other things like losing your mind.

And I must also, while I'm at it, tell you about my epiphany about work/homework/procrastination related stress. We're never actually stressed out about our tensions and problems. The thing that causes the stress is the stress itself. Take that away and you simply have that assignment you have to write or those pile of dishes you have to do. Take that burden off your shoulders and you're light enough to just do the thing that's getting you down. I realized this and was all woooooaaah, but as it turns out, setting this theory to practice is a bit stressful. Heh.

It was almost 30 degrees today and it's so so surreal how 30 degrees in India is like tralala but here in Berlin it just feels like a furnace. Time to buy that fan, I think.

Har har

This profound meme I found captures how I've been feeling for the last few weeks.

Oh well. It gets better, right? Blogging always helps.


Waiting for Godot,
The Cyniqueen


P.S - If you didn't understand the title, you absolutely must listen to 'I Won't Grow Up' from the Peter Pan movie. You must.

Groping in the dark

Weekend chai mug. Oh Yeah.

Listening to Chansons while trying to deal with impending deadlines.

Trying (ever so desperately, ever so unsuccessfully) to deal with homesickness, that illness whose cure I can't afford right now.

Trying to pinpoint the exact moment that Berlin became my wife and India my mistress instead of the other way around (I want to say husband and lover, but it doesn't convey my point in the same way, does it? Also, this metaphor has nothing to do with my views as a woman.)

Trying to shoo away the recurring gloom that intercepts every sentence and every thought on days like today.

University is like trying to get on a speeding train which decided not to wait for you but expects you to hop on anyway. I still like it better than not having anything to do. 

Being able to have Indian tasting chai in Berlin is funnily the only thing I can orient myself to on some days. Something about the fact that it tastes exactly the same in another time zone, something about its memories with people and places in my life, something about the fact that it reminds me all at once of being at home in Goa and in Pune, of drinking an end-of-a-work-day cup with my sister, the 'open canteen' in Pune, being in the PG (Paying Guest accommodation) with my roommate and being in the kitchen of my grandparents' place is pretty damn comforting.

Toast with me

A toast to tea

Gloom be damned,

The Cyniqueen

I dipped my heart in sunshine

Via Google Image Search

• I will be in Germany next month at this time soon (ifeverythinggoeswellwiththevisabutIhavefaithanditwill).
• Packing is hard.
• Wrapping up your life in a city (well, country) is harder still.
• Giving away old clothes which are ill-fitting and worn; and to which memories cling like musty smells, is tragic.
• I will miss Indian English Television. And knowing about the latest hindi movies and songs. And Tata Sky.
• And my night lamp in my room in Goa that I love so much (but I will buy another one at Ikea the first chance I get).
• I just discovered the best waterproof curling Mascara ev-er. The downside? I can't seem to find any more bottles. Talk about disappointing discontinuation of much loved products (Which I did here that one time).
• I have had 2 doses of local anaesthesia injected into my jaw in the last two days. A routine dental check-up has turned into one continual hell-session, with me needing to visit every day so as to be done with all root canal-ing and wisdom tooth extracting (uh huh) in time before I leave. Thankfully, I have no dentist phobia, and I'm, somewhat immaturely, I must admit, immensely enjoying coming up with new dental double entendres (cavities being filled, dark places being poked and so on). I share them only with myself though, not with the dentist. Obviously.

In other news, I might be cat-sitting for a friend for 3 whole weeks in December and the prospect makes me tizzy with excitement. Two. Cute. Fat. CATS. You guys! :D

The Cyniqueen

Eff this

via Google Image Search

• Eff being in a great hurry, trying dress quickly and wearing your top inside out.
• Eff sitting at home all day, doing application work.
• Eff paperwork. Eff it to the deep bowels of hell, where Satan and his minions will proceed to use it as second-hand toilet paper.
• Eff having to sit at the laptop for hours on the end and getting an aching finger-joint for your troubles.
• Eff feeling lonely despite all my alter-egos (Am I joking? Nnnalmost).
• Eff rolls of fat and the power they have to plunge one into depression.
• Eff being alone in the house all the time.
• Eff this heaving, circling, wrecking, smashing, screeching tornado inside my head.
• Eff eff eff eff eff eff.

Venting is overrated. But tomorrow is a new day.

I-can't-hear-you-over-the-noise-in-my-head,

The Cyniqueen

P.S - The 'nnalmost' thing is from Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things when Rahel is trying to deny having seen Velutha even though she actually has. How many nnalmost moments do you have? I have millions, mostly when in conversation with myself.

Dum dee dum

Because sometimes, only Van Gogh can capture how you're feeling.

Some of the things I will do when I send out my last university application:

1. A happy, crazed, I-never-want-to-look-at-another-university-website-in-official-German dance
2. SLEEP
3. Wake up every morning and remind myself that the ordeal of sifting through the 181 universities list is over forever and I don't have to do application work today.
4. Revive social life some what.
5. Read Bridget Jones' Diary again and laugh and ruminate.
6. Not think about anything document related, official language related, list-related at least for a day (because unfortunately, moving to a foreign country entails non application-related paperwork too).
7. Go to the Salon. Get a haircut. Get a hair spa thing.

The Cyniqueen

P.S- Pictures via Google Image Search

Nothing gets me feeling high like feeling a little low

A scene from Waiting for Godot [via Google Images]. Absurdism gets me every bloody time.

Too many things in life are overrated. Is it really worth it, all the things we keep fighting for, day in and day in and day in? 

Job, I could lose in a day. Money too. A degree is infinitesimal at the end of it all. Take it from someone who could have been doing a proper moderately well-earning job (already having completed a degree and all), but is instead doing an internship. Not to say that it's awful. Not to say that it isn't fancy. Not to say that I would rather not have it, but that's how it is.

What's left, then, at the end of a day? Love, I guess you'd say. 

But this is bad, the place I'm at - Being Cynical. Why then, does it feel familiar - like an old house I've come back to after many years? Things are a little dusty here, a little rusty there. And there are many bones lying around.

But it's a home I once lived in, a home that mattered.

I left it eventually. Stopped being cynical, more or less. But I'm always afraid a bubble will burst. And the worst bit is, sometimes there isn't even a bubble. Alles scheint hoffnungslos zu sein*. And I find that I can't even rest on cynicism, because I left it, and then it left me. Call it sour grapes, call it escape, call it cowardice. But it was always there for me when other things weren't, wasn't it?

I know I'm not making much sense and I'm going to stop now. It's just that I wonder sometimes, what it's all for. I want this and that and that. Say I get it. What then?

Yours pensively,

The Cyniqueen

*Everything seems hopeless.

Plip-plop

There's no water in the house
And in my mind, a tap's leaking

Does that make sense? Guess not. But there really isn't any running water in the house since morning. Urgh. So disgusting I feel in this sticky heat. But we had fish curry rice again for lunch today and then we had alsaandyachi bhaji yesterday and today (which is sort of like Rajma, but you only get  it in Goa) and life was merry again.

My internship's going pretty well and I've got a couple of bylines in the paper too. And also, I have the best morning commute in the world. The road from Margao to where I need to go is lined with coconut trees and fields and green and ponds and rivers and glimpses of the ocean. Whenever I get the window seat, I get no reading done whatsoever (except on Saturday, when I was so exhausted while coming back from work that I feel asleep with my face against the window, doing that involuntary, terribly undignified head bobbing, falling asleep thing I used to laugh at fellow-commuters for).

I miss my sister, who is still in Pune, very, very much. I wish she was here too. It's nice to be home, have my folks around, have the comforts of air conditioning and a soft bed. A little annoying what with the no water and all, but still. I get to be home home. In my birth and growing-up place ^_^

And and and I have a lot of work still, but I can't get my mind to be still. It's not horrible like the pre-German-test tension and restlessness that was pouring out of my ears, but simply the tired kind. I have to peel myself off the couch after I get back from work and I'm done with dinner. And then work again. But we must what we must, no? I gently placed my Berlin magnet above a photo frame in my room because there's no magnety surface it'll stick to. I need to keep reminding myself of the bigger (and ahem, thinner) picture. Next stop, fitness.

Until later.

The Cyniqueen

 

Here without you

Symbolic representation of my mind. [via Google Image Search]

Dear Blogger, 

I miss you.

Dear fellow bloggers whose blogs I read and love and comment on,

I miss you too (but guilty pleasures have a way of getting fulfilled).

Dear TestDaF exam which takes place on 12th April,

I want to crack you, but you're somewhat intimidating. You are the reason for my rear being stuck to this chair for hours on the end. You are the last German-related hurdle and you, my last exam (Hopefully in the first attempt).

Dear aimless internet-surfing,

You are the only thing that makes me feel entertained and useless at the same time(after 2 hours of mindless surfing and Wiki reading). But I miss you. The Massive Surfing of  31.03.2011 (as it shall be known from now on) about World war II after watching bits of Der Untergang (again) shall be our little secret.

Dear link-hopping on German university websites which I need to do till I finish my applications,

I haven't taken warmly to you (since you made me stop my much loved mindless surfing) and it is quite unlikely that I will ever miss you. Quite.

Note: These University websites have me caught in a web of links so tight and intricate, I can't breathe. Did you know you could get lost on the internet and roam in circles and get very scared you'll never be able to find your way back to your homepage again? I feel like that when I go through these links. So to reiterate, I will not be missing this particular activity.

Dear afternoon naps,

No, you aren't good for me, but we both know how much you mean to me. And now that I must study every chance I get (as relaxing as that is), I have to let you go. For a while, anyway. But we shall meet again, okay? Soon.

Dear Goan-raw-mango-concoction-which-we-made-in-pune-which-sits-on-the-dining-table-as-we-speak-and-which-makes-me-drool-just-thinking-about-it,

*drools*

Dear social life,

I mourn your death every moment of everyday. I will meet you in your new, reincarnated life in Germany, I will.

Dear English books, Vogue and Cosmo,

Hang in there. I'm getting to you very soon. Also, I miss you.

Dear Goa, dear home, dear air conditioner, dear fish, dear Tata Sky, dear backyard, dear peace,

Simply put, take me in your arms and let me live with you forever*.

*Conditions Apply

Dear Juno, my lovely guitar,

You are my weak-spot, but I haven't played you all year. All year! I'm so sorry, my precious, and I miss you.

Dear empty-wall-in-my-study-room,

It's weird not having you around. Instead, the wall is now a disorderly wall-of-post-its bearing Redemittel, Synonyme and other study stuff in general.

Dear Solitaire on my laptop, my sole sweet source of pleasure,

Don't ever leave me okay? You're all I have. You and my colourful stationary. And the new Rubik's cube, which is more fun to scramble expertly than try to solve uselessly .

Dear feeling of Nothing-On-My-Mind, 

I barely remember you. Your brethren Falling-Asleep-Quickly-And-Thoughtlessly and Mr.Switch-Off (as in switch off all your worries and be carefree, also called my Goan state of mind) have become vague memories too. Come back soon, won't you? Missing doesn't begin to cover what I feel for you.

Dear Germany, dear Berlin, dear people who made Germany magical for me,

Guess who I miss most?

Yours sincerely,

The Cyniqueen.

The grouch who stole Tuesday

Did you think Snape was adorable? What about Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada (okay, my love for Meryl Streep overshadows my feelings for the character, but still)? Or even Manorama as Hema Malini's obese aunt in Seeta Aur Geeta - the one with the perpetual scowl on her face? Let me refresh your memory:

Uh huh. Try having a good day after that look.

Here is a question that never fails to perplex me - why are some people so terribly happy being grouchy every moment of every day? What does it yield, really? Is it pleasure they derive from hurting people? Is it overcompensation perhaps, for low self-esteem? I'm no psychologist, but if I were one, I think I might have spearheaded an exclusive study on the grouch personality. 

You can't miss these people - bargaining monstrously at the vegetable market, cutting (make that bossily pushing) ahead of everyone at a store, bequeathing the grotesque glare on anyone who stumbles ahead of them. And they're always around, albeit (and luckily) not a lot of them. As inevitable as the single pea pod from a kilo that will house a fat worm, there's one grouch for every dozen people, I believe.

What brought on this wave of fresh grumpiness of my own, is something I won't dwell on. But it's true, that a couple of months ago, a grouch on the phone spoke so rudely to me, I almost cried (after hanging up, of course). Something similar came to pass today. And being at the bottom of the working-world barrel teaches you a thing or two about tolerance. I suppose it's for the better good. I have learnt to brush it aside, learnt to recognize its futility and I'm still learning that you can't let your own happiness and peace of mind get affected by something so trivial and unnecessary.

But there is one thing I pray fervently for - no matter what happens, never ever turn me into one of them. Never ever let me forget who I am. And (digressing every so slightly) I'd take humility over success any day if it comes to choosing between the two (which hopefully, it won't). Because arrogance and pride and churlishness? Is such a waste of the goodness that is within each one of us. 

Just to clarify, I don't mean to say that crabby people are bad people. They may be lovely human beings (and usually are). But haven't they ever heard of that smiling-requires-less-muscles-than-frowning-does fact?

The Cyniqueen

It's autumn again (but not outside)...

Autumn rustles, crumples and creates. (Photo via Google Image search)

There are times I wish life were a pool of mediocrity - of small minds and smaller dreams. Simpler desires. Lesser pressure. Stress of a different kind, and in smaller measures.

Sometimes I wish pain would go sting someone else.

Sometimes I feel tremendous wonder that one mind can house a million thousand gazillion thoughts within the span of a micro-second. And yet all those stray thoughts - those feelings of loveinsecuritylonelinesslongingirritationexcitementtension, howlingshrillyblindingsingingcomplainingcooingmourningshouting at me, how I can feel all this in one single, lonely moment?

And yet life goes on.

And yet it stays the same.

And I hope and I despair. And I simply long, despite myself, for a NOTHING. Just for a second. To be cocooned in a floating, unthinking, unaware, (but not unloving) state.

Too bad life can't wait. And so I trudge along, somewhat sadly, somewhat elatedly and very very madly.

Thank you for reading. Was it mediocre? Yes?  May be I'm getting somewhere.

The Cyniqueen

Dear Miscellaneous,

To my last level of German, C1: Thank you for everything. I will love you forevermore, especially because I unexpectedly topped the class with a 'sehr gut'. You gave me knowledge and wisdom (I had an exam related epiphany which told me that the ranks don't matter and that exams do not reflect our real capacity. And I stuck to this notion, for the most part). While I bid you goodbye, I can see my next German challenge in the horizon, an international exam in April that must be aced if I want to get into a good German university. That bridge draws closer and I'm going to cross the hell out of it.

To my internship at a newspaper, which will start soon: I am grateful for you, but please go easy on me, especially when it comes to running all over the city in this ever growing heat to cover events and stories. But I love you :)

And now, to the dumbshits playing drums cacophonously loudly outside my house (in light of India's good performance in the cricket match until now):  While I appreciate that you are using your lack of productivity and your drums, might I advise you to do so after the match has been won and not half way through. FYI, the national cricket team? They can't hear you in Bangalore where the match is being played. Which is in another city (in case your drumming and dancing kept you too busy to know this fact). Also, I can see you from my window and there are...let's see...precisely 5 other urchins with you, dancing and whistling and laughing like they just got hit on the head and lost their ability to think intelligently. So, not a very large number of crazed, whistling supporters, is it? Now, why don't you walk away slowly from the silly drum, stop dancing, and be very silent and think about all this? Especially in light of the article deadline that looms (and dances, much like yourselves) before my exasperated eyes?

Yours sincerely,

The Cyniqueen.