Little Nothings - I

A question mark floats around in her head languidly, unhurriedly. Unattached to any articulate thought. But still there. Breathing, swimming as do tiny fish on the ocean floor. It darts from one corner to another. Not thinking, not working - just a small burst of curiosity, of wonderment - just the feeling of a question.

The poor air conditioning of the hotel room swirls warm air around, and in Lila's head, spurts bursts of sunset-orange light around the hotel room. She puts on a thin robe over her nightdress, opens the sliding door to the balcony and sits in one of the plastic chairs facing the ocean. The clouds all look like question marks.

----

Note: Skipping past the apologies, the I'm-so-sorry-I-haven't-been-posting - it's been a phase where I haven't felt like writing. Every time the thought would occur to me, I'd feel like I'd overeaten and was being forced to eat some more. So I didn't. 

Now that little magic flakes of creativity have started a low buzzing in my head again, I'll write those thoughts here. As they are. Little to no editing. I'm going to try this out. Okay? Okay.

Cheers and ocean love from Greece (from Greece!),
The Cyniqueen

Being an Intern (The Flip Side)

If I hadn't finally, at 26, been a few months away from starting a career (that's right, 26 and starting a career. Not 'building upon' or 'improving' or 'progressing ahead on an already brilliantly successful path', but starting.), I would've called this blog 'The eternal Intern' - really, I would've.

I've done, let's just say, several internships. And lucky for you, I'm in a wisdom dispelling mood today. Now, I'm a sneaky little intern. I'm not going to tell you which thing I learnt or did or didn't do where. I'm not naming any places I worked (or might be working) at, on account of I don't want to discredit anyone and lose my own credibility with them. And respect and stuff. So. Here we go:

Things about being an intern that you should be aware of (the flip side):

Starting out at the very bottom
You will have to put your ego aside. And you will have to do this for many aspects of the job.In India, in a lot of places (especially government organisations) they have 'chaprasis' or 'peons': people whose job entails doing errands, making chai and serving it, carrying files and messages across and so on. This is not the case in Germany. Everyone does everything here. That's the official version.

So your position as an intern is very low. Imagine a deep, mouldy well with smelly fungus at the bottom and rainbow cakes on top. You live in the slimy fungus. Now, in some companies, a few rainbow cake crumbs might be scattered your way (good quality work assignments, new things to learn, etc) and sometimes, they literally send across internship caviar - this is usually when they're short of a colleague and so you have to do the job. Except you do it for free.

Just to clarify, I have never done an internship where I wasn't respected and the people weren't really nice. I'm only talking about this in terms of the sort of work you're given. Or not given, as the case may be.

Show me the moneh (or don't)
How shall I put this: you're literally not even going to be paid a cent. I have never been paid for doing an internship (although I have earned money for articles I've written while doing the internship, yay!). And it sucks. And it really makes me think about the way interns are sometimes exploited, where doing the internship as a part of a course is obligatory and you're doing a full time, unpaid internship. How is it fair if you have to pause your student job in lieu of an unpaid one?

When you have an interview for an internship, it's tricky bringing up the topic of payment. I've gotten used to asking it as a sort of customary question which is always answered negatively. Don't be surprised if the question is met with muffled laughter - it hasn't happened to me, but there was this one time I asked the question, I was answered with a "sorry, we don't pay interns" and I swear I almost heard laughter and this subtext: "bwahahahaha. Oh, honey. NO."

I've just remembered, I did once get a gigantic packet of toilet paper rolls at an internship because they had ordered too many. I genuinely thought that was awesome of the boss. Does that count as some form of payment?

No one has high expectations of you
Which is horrid when you first thing about it, but it's great because (a)you're starting with a clean slate and (b)you can ask for and will receive honest feedback without feeling bad about it because the whole point is that you're there to learn. Which makes me think that people are probably more careful when they start out, they try to do their jobs better, you know? Like how you drive more carefully when you've just got your licence and five years later you're swerving like it's the bat mobile and not the pot hole filled roads of India?

Your time is the least important in the entire organization
Not having anything to do while you'e an intern is arguably the very worst bit. I detest it. I mean truly, completely abhor. If it was a tangible thing, this waiting, I'd go find one of those clubs they show in prehistoric age cartoons and batter it and beat the crap out of it till it was no more.
But this is something that my experience as an intern has taught me - your time is less important than the lone office fly every one is trying to swat. And less important than the people trying to swat it. Less important than the boss who calls you into their office via telephone (via telephone, this bit is crucial to what follows) to DIAL NUMBERS for long distance calls they're making. This actually happened to me.

It's bad. But you just have to learn to deal with it. And while you're dealing, find ways to kill time while still managing to look busy (basic tip: don't surf cat memes with mouth half open). Step one while doing useless internet surfing at work? MUTE THAT COMPUTER. In fact, you know what? The very first thing you do when you start an internship? Mute that computer! You don't want to leave the sound on and then accidentally click on the video of the dog that laughs like a hyena. Or a Harlem shake video - imagine that blasting in your office space.
My point is, you're going to spend a lot of time doing nothing. A LOT. A lot, a lot.


I'm not going to finish this off by tying a pretty little bow around the whole thing and saying that oh, it's not that bad. You still meet new people and learn how not to be. You start forming your own professional network. Because you do. Of course you do. But I'm not spelling it out.

Because the good stuff spoils you and let's you think life's alright. The bad stuff, however, turns you into a tough mofo and lets you know that being a grown up is not easy.
Not easy, but still, it's good fun. You get full freedom to decide when to clean up the cat poop in the living room. And, no one forces you to eat your greens.

The Cyniqueen

P.S: Seriously though. It's pretty okay. Don't be afraid.

Again and again

What's with me and monsoon-sickness? I woke up today and with my eyes still shut against the noise of the world, I could tell that it was overcast outside (well, mostly because dazzling sunshine wasn't trying to rip my eyes open like it usually does. I have flimsy curtains). And for no reason, I thought of how it is when the monsoon finally starts one late evening and it's absolutely divine because the heavens have saved you from the scorching heat. And the lights go out of course, because that's what happens in Goa. It's a natural reaction to everything. 

So anyway, you don't care about the electricity cut because it's raining and it's finally cool now. You slap on some mosquito repellent (anyone else remember the sticky, goopy, thick, pistachio-coloured, strong smelling Odomos cream?) and get into bed, happily lulled to sleep with the rhythmic sound of the rain drumming on the roof.

Do you remember that feeling, when you wake up the next day and you've forgotten that the monsoon started, but then you feel the overcast darkness and hear the errant drops still falling softly from the leaves of trees? I didn't even know that this was a thing, that it was a real, legitimate feeling like the first day of school until I woke up today and felt it.

I must be homesick again, because every time that happens, I start dreaming of family weddings in minute detail. Cousins happily married in real life are made to go through the wedding ordeal all over again in my dream world, houses are exchanged (relatives from dad's side of the family get married in homes from mum's side of the family and vice versa). Last night, it was two cousins getting married at the same time. I guess it can't be anything but homesickness.

Or maybe it's just escapism? The last couple of weeks  have been tinged with an oozing guilt, leaking out of my mind. I still have some time to go before I submit this thesis, but sometimes I find myself thinking if I honestly need that second Master's degree. It's bollocks, actually, I'm just trying to avoid it all.

Started reading 'Autobiography of a Yogi' by Paramahansa Yogananda in an attempt to cleanse mind of bad thoughts. And because I need to read something before I sleep every night. I thought of re-reading Bridget Jones' Diary or The God of Small Things, but then I thought may be I need a dose of spirituality in these troubled mental times.

Also, I finished reading Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh, my very first time reading him (brilliant, but not for me) and The Great Gatsby, which was also sort of okay.

Anyway, I have decided to work at home today, because it's raining so perfectly outside. And I'm wearing my tent like night gown and I don't want to change into decent day clothes accepted by society just yet.

I love wearing lazy clothes while I work, don't you? I love being a slob sometimes, I love it.

Raindrops and wisdom,
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

Ennui et all

I've let my mind and my thoughts take their own course for a while: no leash holds back ennui, no sieve filters the muteness of my brain.

I'm being vague, I know. Doing that thing I don't like. But my mind has been stagnating of late, as have I.It doesn't matter much why I haven't been posting. It has been a sort of letting go, a sort of going wild. To put it a lot less dramatically, I've been lazy :P 

Well, that's not entirely true. See, I've been going through this excessively diffident phase(which began somewhere around here), and it has poured over, quite profusely, shall we say, to my self-worth as a writer (or someone who writes, to sound a lot less pretentious). Having been extremely busy with university and the such, the aforementioned laziness refers to a sort of giving up after a defeat, of lying where you fell, not heaving yourself up, dusting off the mud and saying 'let's try that again'.

But I must try and I mustn't let diffidence get the better of me, as it almost has. So here, in this little digital space I'd like to think of as my own, where no other voices sound except the echoes of my own thoughts, I'd like to say that I'm making a start - back to writing, back to hoping, back to trying, back to being ready to fall again. And stand up again.

Back to reading more, thinking more. And not letting my mind slide back into that happy, languid silence of creativity, too indolent, too satisfied, to want to lift a thought.

I'm going to try. 

Capiche? capiche.

Resolutely,
The Cyniqueen

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

Oops, I did it again

Hellew blogosphere!

Le bullet points:

• I just finished a spring internship 
• University just resumed 
• I have no time to breathe 
• Creativity is being throttled by aforementioned breathing difficulty 
• My face has surrendered to acne without the slightest struggle of a fight. Yet again.
• Last night K. and I video-recorded bits of a concert by an awesome band called The Legendary Lost Mojados. It was a part of university work and felt very hoity-toity, what with lugging the camera and tripod around and getting asked for our business card. Heh.

A bout of self-doubt seems to have left me creatively-paralysed as it were and all attempts to resuscitate my fading writing-abilities have been disappointing.

Until I figure out what the hell this phase this (and hopefully have some time to work on the idea for a new blog that has been fermenting in my mind) the posts might be scarce. Or there might too many for you to keep up with.

Flowers and spring love from Berlin,
The Cyniqueen

Like a drop of ink in a glass of crystal clear water

Set yourself free

Setting yourself free is more than just physical boundaries.


It's more than being able to buy what you want. More than the freedom of deciding that you want to watch a movie at one AM on a weeknight. More than getting the haircut you want because you don't care if he/she doesn't like it. More than saying yes to fun and no to homework. More than taking a cab one day because you had no patience to wait for the bus. Even more than trying something new. More than doing something because you can. 


Setting yourself free does not mean being free of love.


Setting yourself free means being unencumbered enough to look beyond yourself, to do something for someone because you want to. Because you can.


The Cyniqueen


Kanika says day seven of Fantabulous February is going to be a good one. I agree :)

A minute too late

Only for the longest eternity, I want you by my side 

Just for a minute I want to close my eyes and forget that I have a magazine to conceptualize and a radio-program manuscript to write.

Just for a minute I want to sip on hot ginger chai (with whole fat milk).

Just for a minute I want a clean room, an organized study table and a devilishly beckoning unmade bed

Just one for a minute, I want to feel the hurried impatience of turning the page in a book I can't put down.

Just for a minute, I want to read as if there's nothing else to do.

Just for a heartbeat, I want the hollow, crashing sound of the waves resonating in my ears.

Just for a minute, I want nothing else to matter, except the peace I feel when I'm lying in bed.

Just for a minute, a lingering minute that does not want to leave, that shuffles it's feet at the door and keeps looking back as it's walking away -- just for that little diamond of a minute, I want today to feel as Saturdays should -- lazy and free and bed-lounging and jazz-playing, with the glittering promise of a sloth-y Sunday right ahead.

Sigh. Such is life.

Yours longingly,

The Cyniqueen

P:S-[Photo via weheartit]

Quick Post (Because I miss you and love you)

The you in the title is you, dear reader. The me, on the other hand, is a bit ashamed at not having posted for a while. I find it very hard to post when life is happening at a fervent, bursting pace as it is now now. So, where does that leave us? At bullet points, of course, I am tempted to say, but I mustn't be lazy.

So. The coolest thing happened to me last week. I was running to catch the train  (descending down the steps of the subway train station). The train was in sight when the alarm signalling that the doors were about to close sounded. But the driver saw me and STOPPED THE CLOSING DOORS MIDWAY. I couldn't thank him, but I sent a lot of happy thoughts his way. Love small, silly, happy moments like this :)

Also, there's still no snow in Berlin. I saw snow once and was terribly excited about it, until people pointed out that what I saw wasn't 'real' snowfall and it's normally much thicker and prettier. They say it's one of the warmest winters in Berlin this year. I'm scared of minus temperatures, and I'm a little paranoid about whether I'll survive, but dammit, I want to see some of that white wonder.

University has been a little crazy, with lots of work and classes. I'm trying (hard) to organize my thoughts about what I want to do in the future. Sometimes an option glows before my eyes like a volcano sputtering fire. And the next day it dwindles to a tepid ember, impassively waiting its end. For how long can this back and forth-ing of career options go on? I can only hope it yields something fruitful.

And now, I have to go watch a film and write a critique about it.

(But before that, some indulgent Roadies 9 viewing online. Teehee).

Love and purple feathers (because that's a nice image, isn't it?),

The Cyniqueen

Because

Because sometimes, nothing helps. Not a hug. Not a hot cup of tea. Not a warm orange-crimson sunset.

Because sometimes, you simply need to let yourself go. To drop every little squirming bit of regret. Every baser desire. Every lonely thought. Every social gaffe.

Because sometimes, it's all you can do to keep from laughing so hard, the old man in the crisp suit at the other end of the train station can hear you as clearly as if the laughter were his own.

Because sometimes, like a waiter at a fancy restaurant who knows you'll tip him well, life will bow down to you and ask you what it is that you want. 

It is then that you will err. It is then that the sunny laughter will mellow.

It is also when you will really start to see life for the cruel joy it is.

Until then, my friend, be very still;
for Life is watching you with its sly, slanted eye.

"Just like that", she said randomly. And went on smoking her Cuban cigar.

Things on my mind:

1. You never really know for sure. About anything/anyone.
2. What will I do when I can't talk to my mom everyday over the phone when I'm far, far away? :-/
3. The Catcher in The Rye, as of page 50, is superb. Not at all the kind of stuffy narrative I thought it might be.
4. I am spatially challenged (as far as making space for things in my room is concerned).
5. I miss having room-mates (who stick by you no matter what and comfort you on sad days and willingly provide comic relief during exams).
6. Country music awakens something in me that no other music does (Hmm...except Jazz, perhaps).
7. I don't fit into about a thousand of my old college clothes. That, and a combination of Van Gogh, Rubens and Trinny and Susannah prompted a quirky poem about women's body image (at least I think it's quirky). May be I'll post it later. May. Be.
8. I really really really really miss having a pet, especially since our last cat, the alien-looking Baldy died last year. 
9. I love playing the C, G, D, A minor notes on my guitar in succession. They're like best friends who never fight.
10. I'm sort of kind of little bit may be starting to get closer to kids. No I'm not. Yes I am. No. Yes. May be. May. Be.

 Ever-ly faithful, never-ly flaky (almost),

The Cyniqueen.

P.S - Don't ask me about the title. It was the first thing that popped into my head.

Who's to say

Glittering evening sunshine

 Fading friendships

When it's raining and the sun comes out

 Making a book of recipes

Listening to Gloomy Sunday and not feeling gloomy at all

Feeling strong enough not to need someone  

Tender, teeming green after the first week of rain 

Missing your grandparents 

The taste of home food 

Wanting to read 5 books all at once

 Resisting chocolate

Laughing hard at 3 in the morning 

Watching once-hazy plans slowly take shape

Feeling happy for no reason

  Berlin on the horizon, here in Goa

Dusty fingerprints on forgotten memories

  Cynicism providing the cushion to the (big and small) blows of life

 Re-reading your favourite books

Missing having a cat

Reviving love

Stubby fingers

Old, soft, worn clothes, which, when you wear them, is like sleeping in a hug

Sleep tight y'all.

 
The Cyniqueen

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.

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.

Weird and lovely things

 Is it weird...

• that I've been dreaming about my grandparents' place all week (which I never do)?
• that I see signs of Berlin everywhere I look? Like at the institute yesterday, where they were giving away these newsletters with 'BERLIN' written in big bold letters on them? And not to mention, the tablets I take just happen to be manufactured in Berlin?
• that even though I'm exhausted when I go to bed, it takes me hours to fall asleep?
• that the very clamorous harmonic chirping of the sparrow family who seems to have set up camp above the parapet of the window near my bed is disturbing? And referring exclusively to the excessive bird calls, can spring (well, whatever watered down version we have here) get too springy for its own good?

Gulmohar. [Photo via Google Image Search]

And isn't it lovely...

• that there are exquisite summer flowers all along the roads? Like the Gulmohar trees (Delonix regia in English) with flowers in bright yellow and orange and soothing lavender?
• that my sister and I are going home tomorrow? :D
• that tea can lift up your spirits, bring a smile to your face, relax and energise you all at once?
• that I really really think that Berlin is happening this year?

More, later.

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

Very very arbitrary...

What I wrote two days ago:

Listening to Wir Sind Helden, having written my last article for the day (I think I forgot to tell you guys that I'm doing a part time working from home thing for a website, writing articles - for work experience).

I simply want to stretch, be in bed, not too cold, not too warm and feel safe.

But today I feel unsafe and disillusioned - look at the terrible things happening in Japan. Just reminds you that there's a force greater than all of us in the world. Not the richest, nor the kindest, nor the most sensitive, nor the most powerful could have stopped this from happening.

Sorry for the sadness and the vagueness that sometimes arises in my posts of late. Turns out, you can't tune it out simply when you want to. Anyway, here's some clarity - my sister and me are going to Goa next weekend, a break that I desperately crave. I miss my family, my friends, and hello, fish. 

Besides that, I'm trying to prepare for this very important German exam that I must answer in a month. No, I am not freaking out just yet. It'll be fine. I have a plan. And if it works out, then I will be crazily ecstatic and loud and you will want to hit me with a pillow. But I'll take that with a smile too.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dream to chase. And no better way to chase it down than with some ginger-mint tea I made earlier. Wish me luck (not just for the dream, I mean. The tea looks dubious).

Love and prayers,

The Cyniqueen

P.S - Strange how you can juxtapose the good, the bad, the happy, and the sad altogether. Such is life, eh? Peace.

Whoever said lemons are sour?

When life gives you lemons, make fresh lime soda (sweet & salty). [Image via Google Image Search]

That title has nothing to do with the post but I thought it sounded nice. May be I can use it in a book some day? If only, if only.

And also, I want fish. I want lovely rava fried chonok and delectably tender tandoor pomfret. And mussels (very fried, very oily, very yum. And completely worth it).I want to be sitting at Furtado's in Sernabatim or Boomerang in Colva - enjoying the breeze and that home town feeling. And I simply want to be in Goa.

It sucks that a part of my heart came cleanly away from the rest when I was in Germany and simply refused to come back to India with me. It lives in Germany, that bit, and beats softly and gently, nibbling at my longing and feeding the fire from all the way there. Couldn't I, just for a moment, hold both (Goa, Berlin) in my mind's arms like babies and cradle and coo?

My love-hate, now-we're-in-love, now-we're-not relationship with the Summer is back with double passion. Summer with its powdered dusty wings and its fool's smile. (Don't even ask. I have become Vague Queen for now, it would seem).

I must away. Food (for thought) beckons.

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